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 Cornell University Library 
 
 CT3202 .H 16 1853 
 
 Woman's record: or Sketches of all dist 
 
 3 1924 029 811 811 
 olin Overs 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924029811811 
 
WOMAN'S UECOED; 
 
 ktttliM of all liatingniatttb Watnti. 
 
WOMAN'S RECORD; 
 
 IketttieK uf eH li^tingui^ljei iBnmeii, 
 
 "THE BEGINNING" TILL A. D. 1850. 
 
 ARRANGED 
 
 IN FOUR ERAS. 
 
 SELECTIONS FROM FEMALE WRITERS OF EVERY AGE. 
 
 BY 
 
 SARAH JOSEPHA HALE, 
 
 EDITOR OF "the LADY'S BOOK;" AUTHOR OF "TRAITS OF AMERICAN LIFE,' 
 
 "NORTnWOOD/' "the VIGIL OF LOVE," "THE JUDGE," 
 
 ETC, ETC., ETC. 
 
 Gire her of the fruit of lier handaj and let her own works prai.«e 
 
 her in the gates. — Solomon. 
 For the woman is the glory of the man. — St. Paui. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY TWO HUNDRED AND THIRTY PORTRAITS, 
 
 ENGRAVED ON WOOD 
 
 %T\ iDBsing anh fanrritt. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 329 & 331 PEARL STREET, 
 FRANKLIN SQUARE. 
 
 185 3. 
 

 g"-lO -. g 
 
 Entered, according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1852, by 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, 
 
 in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, in and for the 
 Southern District of New York. 
 
INSCRIBED 
 
 TO THE 
 
 Jfirii of IntErifu; 
 
 WHO SHOW, IN THEIK LAWS AND CUSTOMS, RESPECTrNG 
 
 WOMEN, 
 
 IDEAS MORE JUST AND FEELINGS MORE NOBLE THAN WERE EVER 
 EVINCED BY MEN OF ANT OTHER NATION: 
 
 MAY 
 
 "WOMAN'S RECORD" 
 
 THE APPROVAL OF THE SONS 
 
 OF OUR 
 
 GREAT REPUBLIC; 
 THE WORLD WILL THEN KNOW THE 
 
 iangtita m •8)nrtliij nf Innniir. 
 
INTRODUCTOUY REMARKS. 
 
 Each century has its peculiar tide of thought ; the highest wave bearing 
 onwards, as ocean tides bear the tossed bark to land, the human race into the 
 promised harbour of millennial peace. 
 
 The ninth wave of the nineteenth century is the Destiny of Woman. 
 
 Within the last fifty years more books have been written by women and about 
 women than all that had been issued during the preceding five thousand and eight 
 hundred years. Far the greater portion of works concerning the female sex has 
 been published within the last twenty years. Since the idea of this " Woman's 
 Record " occurred to me — just three years ago to-day — a dozen or more of these 
 books have appeared. Among them are "Noble Deeds of Women," " Mothers of 
 the Wise and Good," " Heroines of the Missionary Entei-prise," " Woman in Ame- 
 rica," "Woman in France," and "Woman in all Ages and Nations." Three of 
 these works are by men ; thus showing that a deep interest in this subject pervades 
 society., Each work has its peculiar merits, but no one is satisfactory, because 
 none contains the true idea of woman's nature and mission ; therefore each work 
 has only made my own seem to me more necessary. 
 
 Does this frank confession appear like vain boasting ? Pray examine my book 
 before deciding against me. At any rate, it has cost me three years of hard study 
 and labour to make it. 
 
 The Publishers, all must own, have done their part nobly. The series of 
 Engravings furnish a gallery of Portraits that, besides their usefulness in stamping 
 on the mind of the reader a more permanent impression of each individual cha- 
 racter thus illustrated, furnish an interesting study to the curious in costume and 
 the adept in taste. 
 
 Then, the Selections afford an opportunity of judging the merits of female lite- 
 
 ' rature ; the choicest gems of thought, fancy, and feeling are here treasured, sought 
 
 out from works in different languages, and brought together in the uniform design 
 
 of a perfect Cyclopaedia of reference and comparison as regards woman and her 
 
viii INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. 
 
 productions. No work extant is similar to mine ; for this reason, I am sure it will 
 be welcomed. The world wants it. 
 
 " There are so many women of richly cultivated minds," says a British critic, 
 " who have distinguished themselves in letters or in society, and made it highly 
 feminine to be intelligent, as well as good, and co have elevated as well as amiable 
 feelings, that by-and-by the whole sex must adopt a new standard of education."* 
 
 Now, my work is prepared to be both an aid and incentive to such progress. In 
 order for this, three things are indispensable : to understand what God intended 
 woman should do ; what she has done ; and what farther advantages are needed to 
 fit her to perform well her part. 
 
 "The General Preface" is designed to answer the first query; also the "Re- 
 marks " at the beginning of each Bra, and hints scattered through the book, will, 
 I trust, be of service in the elucidation. 
 
 To show what she has done, I have gathered from the records of the world the 
 names and histories of all distinguished women, so that an exact estimate of the 
 capabilities of the sex might be formed by noting what individuals have accom- 
 plished through obstacles and discouragements of every kind. 
 
 The third proposition, growing naturally out of the two preceding, is answered 
 by considering their import. 
 
 If God designed woman as the preserver of infancy, the teacher of childhood, 
 the inspirer or helper of man's moral nature in its efforts to reach after spiritual 
 things ; if examples of women are to be found in every age and nation, who, without 
 any special preparation, have won their way to eminence in all pursuits tending 
 to advance moral goodness and religious faith, then the policy, as well as justice 
 of providing liberally for female education, must be apparent to Christian men. 
 " The excellent woman is she who, if her husband dies, can be a father to their 
 children," says Goethe. If read aright, this would give the female sex every 
 required advantage. 
 
 Like all moral and social changes, the one now going on in the public mind con- 
 cerning woman has its absurdities and its errors. When mists are rising, they 
 often take fantastic shapes and reveal ugly features in the landscape ; but truth, 
 like the sun, will at last make all clear and beautiful of its kind. 
 
 It has been my earnest endeavour to throw this true light over the important 
 themes discussed. 
 
 The Bible is the only guarantee of woman's rights, and the only expositor of her 
 duties. Under its teachings, men learn to honour her. Wherever its doctrines are 
 
 * See article on Mrs. Homans, in Blackwood's Magazine, 1849. 
 
INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. ix 
 
 observed, her influence gains in power. All human good is founded in goodness. 
 If the Gospel is the supreme good revealed to the world, and if this Gospel har- 
 monizes best with the feminine nature, and is best exemplified in its purity by the 
 feminine life, giving to the mother's instinctive love a scope, a hope, a support 
 which no religion of human device ever conferred or conceived, then surely God 
 has, in applying this Gospel so directly to her nature, oiEces, and condition, a 
 great work for the sex to do. " Christ was made of a woman ;" woman must train 
 her children for Christ. Is this an inferior office ? 
 
 Wherever the Bible is read, female talents are cultivated and esteemed. In 
 this " Record " are about two thousand five hundred names, including those of the 
 Female Missionaries : out of this number less than two hundred are from heathen 
 nations, yet these constitute at this moment nearly three-fourths of the inhabi- 
 tants of the globe, and for the first four thousand years, with the single exception 
 of the Jewish people, were the world. 
 
 Is not this conclusive evidence that God's "Word is woman's shield. His power 
 her protection, and His gifts her sanction for their full development, cultivation, 
 and exercise ? 
 
 In preparing "Woman's Record" I have been aided by several friends in 
 Europe, who have procured for me books and portraits not to be found in our 
 country. Mrs. Mary Howitt has been very kind in her assistance, and I am happy 
 to thank her thus publicly. Professor Charles B. Blumenthal rendered acceptable 
 service by furnishing translations of a number of the Sketches of distinguished 
 women of Germany. My American friends have also been ready to assist : W. 
 Gilmore Simms, Esq. wrote the Sketch of Miss Lee, and the Rev. Dr. Stevens and 
 Rev. Dr. Kip furnished each a Sketch. Those to whom I have applied for infor- 
 mation, have, in almost every instance, given all in their power, and cheered me 
 kindly with their encouragement. I hope they will find the finished work worthy 
 of approval. 
 
 The volume is larger than was at first contemplated, but materials increased, 
 new ideas were to be set forth and clearly illustrated; I have not exhausted the 
 theme. 
 
 One object is, however, accomplished : the picture of Woman's Life, as it has 
 been developed to the world from the Creation to the present date, is here truly 
 and completely displayed. 
 
 I am far from considering this outward semblance her best or loveliest praise. 
 Millions of the sex whose names were never known beyond the circles of their own 
 home influences, have been as worthy of commendation as those here commemo- 
 rated. Stars are never seen either through the dense cloud or bright sunshine ; 
 but when daylight is withdrawn from a clear sky they tremble forth : so female 
 
X INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. 
 
 Genius ia made visible only where God's Word has cleared from the mental horizon 
 the gross clouds of heathen error, while His Providence has withdrawn from the 
 individual woman that support and protection from man which is her sunshine over 
 the rough ways of the world. Hitherto she has usually won fame through suf- 
 fering : let those who envy the bright ones remember this. 
 
 But, as the stars of heaven guide the mariner safely over the night-enveloped 
 waters, so these stars of humanity are required to show the true progress of moral 
 virtue through the waves of temptation and sin that roll over the earth. The 
 greater the number, and the more light they diffuse, the greater will be the safety 
 of society. 
 
 When men fully comprehend this, they will bless female genius, and fashion their 
 own literature to a higher standard of moral taste and a nobler view of human 
 destiny. Says the gifted author of Pendennis, " Women are pure, but not men. 
 Women are unselfish, but not men." 
 
 In truth, the moral sense of men, though as yet imperfect, has rarely erred so 
 widely as to show, in works of imagination even, any ideal of masculine nature 
 80 perfect in moral virtues as the feminine. In the conflicts of contending duties, 
 in the trials of love and temptations of passion, the masters of dramatic art, great 
 poets and novelists, never fall into the sin against nature of making their men 
 better than their women. 
 
 The ideal of the angelic in humanity is, in Christian literature, always feminine. 
 When this instinctive perception of woman's mission becomes an acknowledged 
 and sustained mode of moral progress, it will be easy for the sex to make advances 
 in every branch of literature and science connected with human improvement ; 
 and the horizon will be studded with stars. 
 
 Now, some readers may think I have found too many celebrities ; others will 
 search for omissions. There was never a perfect work, so mine must bear the 
 general lot of criticism. All I ask is, that the contents be well understood before 
 judgment is rendered. 
 
 Philadelphia, July ith, 1851. 
 
LIST OF PORTRAITS, 
 
 The larger portion of our Portraits have been obtained directly from Europe for this work ; 
 Rome, Florence, Paris and London, contributing to form our Gallery. The originals were 
 executed by the most celebrated artists. We have not room for particulars respecting these 
 
 gems of art, excepting a few of the most rare. Portraits of the living American ladies are 
 chiefly from pictures or Daguerreotypes, taken expressly for this "Record." 
 
 FIRST EM. 
 
 Page 
 
 1. AGEIPPINA, JULIA, DATJGHTEE, OP GERMANICUS 21 
 
 2. ANDROMACHE, copied and enlarged from a picture on an ancient gem, representing Andromache, 
 
 her husband Hector, and her son Astyanax 24 
 
 3. ASPASIA 26 
 
 i. CARjMBNTA 29 
 
 5. CLEOPATRA, copied from an ancient Egyptian coin 31 
 
 6. OLYMPIAS, MOTHER OF ALEXANDER THE GREAT, enlarged from an ancient gem 60 
 
 7. PORTIA 62 
 
 8. SAPPHO 66 
 
 9. SEMIRAMIS, copied from an ancient gem 68 
 
 10. TAMYRIS, copied and enlarged from an ancient gem 60 
 
 SECOND ERA. 
 
 11. AGNES SOREL 68 
 
 12. ANNE BOLETN 72 
 
 13. ARC, JOAN OE ; 76 
 
 14. BEATRICE PORTINARI 82 
 
 16. BLANCHE OE CASTILE 84 
 
 16. BORGIA, LUCREZIA 86 
 
 17. BRUNORO, BONA LOMBARDI 88 
 
 18. CATHARINE SFORZA 91 
 
 19. CATHARINE, ST 92 
 
 20. COLONNA, VITTORIA 93 
 
 21. CORNANO, CATERINA 94 
 
 22. D'ANDOLO, ob BRANCALEONE GALEANA 95 
 
 23. BRMEN6ARDE 99 
 
 24. FAUSTINA, ANNIA GALERIA 102 
 
 26. GAMBARA VERONICA 106 
 
 26. GOZZADINI, BETISIA ., 107 
 
 27. HELENA, MOTHER OF CONSTANTINE, copied from a picture upon a Greek manuscript, 
 
 written in the Ninth Century 108 
 
 28. HELOISB 109 
 
 29. ISABELLA OF ARRAGON 113 
 
 30. ISABELLA OF CASTILE lU 
 
 31. ISAURE, CLEMENCE 115 
 
 32. JOANNA, COUNTESS OP HAINAULT AND FLANDERS 117 
 
 .33. JOANNA OF NAPLES 118 
 
 34. JOANNA IL OF NAPLES 119 
 
 35. JULIA DOMNA, copied from a bust in the collection of Montfaucon 119 
 
 36. LAURA, MADONNA 121 
 
 37. LEIVA, MARIA VIRGINIA 121 
 
 38. LOUISA OP SAVOY : 122 
 
 39. MARGARET, COUNTESS OP TYROL 126 
 
 40. MARGARET OP DENMARK 126 
 
 4L MARGARETTA OF SAXONY 128 
 
 42. MATILDA, COUNTESS OF TUSCANY 132 
 
 43. MATTUGLIANA, MEA 132 
 
 44. NOGAROLA, ISOTTA 133 
 
 Cxil 
 
ai LIST OF PORTRAITS. 
 
 Page 
 
 45. PACHECO, DONNA MARIA 134 
 
 46. PHILIPPA OF HAINAULT 136 
 
 47. POMPEIA PLOTINA 137 
 
 48. ROSSI, PROPERZIA DE 140 
 
 49. SAEINA JULIA 140 
 
 50. SPORZA, BIANCA MARIA VISCONTI 143 
 
 51. TENDA, BEATRICE 145 
 
 52. THEODELINDA 146 
 
 53. ZENOBIA SEPTIMIA, copied and enlarged from a gem with a Palmyrenian inscription 149 
 
 THIRD ERA. 
 
 54. ACCORAMBONI, VITTOBIA 163 
 
 55. ADAMS, MRS. ABIGAIL 154 
 
 56. ADAMS, MISS HANNAH 159 
 
 57. AGOSTINA, MAID OF SARAGOSSA 161 
 
 58. ALBRIZZI, TEOTOCHI ISABELLA 166 
 
 59. ANNE OF AUSTRIA 168 
 
 60. ANNE, QUEEN OF ENGLAND 169 
 
 61. ARBLAY, MADAME D' 171 
 
 62. ARBAGON, JOAN OF 180 
 
 63. BACCIOCHI, MADAME MARIE ANNE ELISE 195 
 
 64. BARBAULD, MRS. ANNE LETITIA 196 
 
 65. BASSI, LAURA MARIA CATHARINE 204 
 
 66. BELLINI, GUISEPA, COUNTESS OP 208 
 
 67. BEBTANA, LUCIA 209 
 
 68. BLESSINGTON, COUNTESS OF 212 
 
 69. BONAPARTE, MADAME EAMOLINA MARIA LETITIA 216 
 
 70. BORGHESE, MARIE PAULINE, PRINCESS DE 217 
 
 71. BRINVILLIERS, MARIE MARGUERITE, MARCHIONESS DE 222 
 
 72. CAMP AN, MADAME 236 
 
 73. CAPELLO, BIANCA 239 
 
 74. CAROLINE AMELIA ELIZABETH 242 
 
 75. CATHARINE DE MEDICIS 248 
 
 76. CATHARINE I., ALEXIEONA 250 
 
 77. CATHARINE II., ALEXIEONA 251 
 
 78. CBNCI, BEATRICE 253 
 
 79. CHRISTINA, QUEEN OP SWEDEN 269 
 
 80. CLIFFORD, ANNE 263 
 
 81. COEDAY, CHARLOTTE 266 
 
 82. COTTIN, MADAME SOPHIE 272 
 
 83. DARLING, GRACE 280 
 
 84. DESHOULIERES, MADAME 288 
 
 85. DEVONSHIRE, DUCHESS OF 289 
 
 86. DWIGHT, MRS. ELIZABETH BAKER 292 
 
 87. EDGEWORTH, MISS MARIA 293 
 
 88. ELIZABETH, QUEEN OF ENGLAND 299 
 
 89. ERAUSO, CATALINA DE 305 
 
 90. ESTE, ELBONORA D' 307 
 
 9L FANSHAWE, LADY 309 
 
 92. FEDOROWNA, MARIA 312 
 
 93. FERNANDEZ, MARIA MADDELENA MORELLI 312 
 
 94. FOUGBRET, MADAME 316 
 
 95. FRY, ELIZABETH 318 
 
 96. GENLIS, MADAME DE 322 
 
 97. GEOFFRIN, MADAME DE 325 
 
 98. GONZAGA, COLONNA JULIA 329 
 
 99. GONZAGA, COLONNA IPPOLITA 330 
 
 100. GREY, LADY JANE 333 
 
 101. GUIZOT, MADAME CHARLOTTE PAULINE 336 
 
 102. GWYNNE, ELEANOR 338 
 
 103. HEMANS, MRS. FELICIA DOROTHEA 344 
 
 104. HERSCHEL, MISS CAROLINE LUCRETIA 353 
 
 105. INCHBALD, MRS 360 
 
 106. JOSEPHINE, EMPRESS 366 
 
LIST OP PORTRAITS. xUi 
 
 Page 
 
 107. JUDSON, MKS. ANNE HASSBLTINE 367 
 
 108. JUNOT, LAUEA, DUCHESS D'ABRANTES 370 
 
 109. KAMAMALU 371 
 
 110. KAUFEMAN, MARIA ANGELICA 373 
 
 111. LANDON, MISS, or MRS. M'LEAN 383 
 
 112. LAVALLETTE, COUNTESS DE 388 
 
 113. L'BNCLOS, NINON DE 390 
 
 114. MADISON, MRS 396 
 
 115. MAINTENON, MADAME DE 398 
 
 116. MARIA THERESA, EMPRESS OE AUSTRIA idi 
 
 117. MARIE ANTOINETTE, QUEEN OE FRANCE 406 
 
 118. MARLBOROUGH, DUCHESS OF 408 
 
 119. MARS, MADEMOISELLE 409 
 
 120. MART I., QUEEN OF ENGLAND 416 
 
 121. MARY II., QUEEN OF ENGLAND 417 
 
 122. MART DE MEDICIS 418 
 
 123. MART, QUEEN OP SCOTS 419 
 
 124. MERCER, MISS MARGARET 424 
 
 125. MICHIBL, RENIER GIUSTINA 428 
 
 126. MNISZECH, MARINA, CZARINA OF MUSCOVY 429 
 
 127. MOHALBI, GARAFILIA 431 
 
 128. MONTAGU, LADT MART WORTLBT 434 
 
 129. MONTESPAN, MADAME DE 440 
 
 130. MONTPENSIER, DUCHESS DE 441 
 
 13L MORE, MRS. HANNAH 442 
 
 132. MOTHER ANNA 447 
 
 133. MOTTB, MRS. REBECCA 448 
 
 134. NECKER, MADAME 450 
 
 135. NEWCASTLE, DUCHESS OF 452 
 
 136. NEWELL, MRS. HARRIET 453 
 
 137. OSGOOD, MRS. FRANCES SARGENT 458 
 
 138. PICHLER, MADAME CAROLINE 468 
 
 139. POCAHONTAS 474 
 
 140. POMPADOUR, MARCHIONESS DE 477 
 
 141. PORTER, MISS JANE 478 
 
 142. ROLAND, MADAME 490 
 
 143. RUSSBL, LADT RACHEL 494 
 
 144. SBVIGNf, MARCHIONESS DE 501 
 
 145. SFORZA, BONA 504 
 
 146. SHREWSBURT, COUNTESS OF 505 
 
 147. SIRANI, BLIZABETTA 507 
 
 148. SMITH, MISS CHARLOTTE 508 
 
 149. SMITH, MRS. SARAH LANMAN 511 
 
 150. STAEL, MADAME DE 617 
 
 161. STEWART, MRS. HARRIET BRADFORD ,. 521 
 
 152. STUART, ARABELLA 522 
 
 153. TALLIEN, MADAME THERESA 526 
 
 154. TAMBRONI, CLOTILDE 526 
 
 155. TIGHE, MRS. MART 532 
 
 166. TRIMMER, MRS. SARAH 639 
 
 157. VALLIBRB, DUCHESS DE LA 541 
 
 168. WARREN, MRS. MBRCT 646 
 
 169. WASHINGTON, MRS. MARTHA..: 550 
 
 160. WHBATLEY, PHILLIS 652 
 
 161. ZINGA, ANNA 561 
 
 FOURTH ERA. 
 
 162. AMBLIB MARIE, EX-QUEEN OF THE FRENCH 566 
 
 163. ANCELOT, MADAME 667 
 
 164. BAILLIB, .lOANNA 574 
 
 165. BEECHBR, MISS ESTHER CATHERINE 578 
 
 166. BBLLOC, MADAME LOUISA SWANTON 583 
 
 167. BREMER, MISS FRBDBRIKA 586 
 
 168. BRIDQMAN, MISS LAUEA 692 
 
siv LIST OF PORTRAITS. 
 
 Page 
 
 169. CAEBY, MISS ALICE 615 
 
 no. CLARKE, MISS SARA JANE 624 
 
 m. COOK, MISS ELIZA 629 
 
 172. COUTTS, MISS ANGELA BUEDBTT 634 
 
 173. CUSHMAN, MISS CHARLOTTE 638 
 
 174. DUDEVANT, MADAME 641 
 
 175. ELLBT, MRS. ELIZABETH F 645 
 
 176. ELLIS, MRS. SARAH STICKNET 649 
 
 177. EMBURY, MRS. EMMA CATHARINE 653 
 
 178. FARLEY, MISS HARRIET 657 
 
 179. FULLER, SARAH MARGARET, or MARCHIONESS D'OSSOLI 666 
 
 180. GILMAN, MRS. CAROLINE 670 
 
 181. GIRARDIN, MADAME DELPHINE 674 
 
 182. GORE, MRS. CHARLES, copied for this work by Miss Maegahet Gillies, of London 676 
 
 183. HALL, MRS. ANNA MARIA 691 
 
 184. HENTZ, MRS. CAROLINE LEE, from a miniature by her husband, Prof. Hentz 697 
 
 185. HOWITT, MRS. MARY, from a picture by Miss Margaret Gillies 699 
 
 186. ISABELLA II., QUEEN OF SPAIN 703 
 
 187. JAGIBLLO, MISS APOLLONIA 705 
 
 188. JUDSON, MRS. EMILY C 710 
 
 189. KEMBLE, MRS. FRANCES ANNE 712 
 
 190. LESLIE, MISS ELIZA 721 
 
 191. LEWIS, MRS. ESTBLLE ANNA 727 
 
 192. LIND, MADEMOISELLE JENNY 728 
 
 193. LYNCH, MISS ANNE C 731 
 
 194. MARIA II., DA GLORIA 733 
 
 195. MARSH, MRS., from a picture drawn and painted for this work by Miss M. Gillies, of London.... 735 
 
 196. MARTINBAU, MISS HARRIET 739 
 
 197. MORGAN, SYDNEY, LADY 747 
 
 198. MOWATT, MRS. ANNA CORA 754 
 
 199. NEAL, MRS. ALICE BRADLEY 755 
 
 200. NICHOLS, MRS. GOVE 757 
 
 201. NORTON, HON. MRS 761 
 
 202. PARDOE, MISS JULIA 765 
 
 203. PHELPS, MRS. ALMIRA HART LINCOLN 770 
 
 204. RACHEL, MADEMOISELLE 773 
 
 205. SEDGWICK, MISS CATHARINE MARIA 777 
 
 206. SIGOURNBY, MRS. LYDIA HUNTLEY 782 
 
 207. SMITH, MRS. ELIZABETH OAKES 786 
 
 208. SOMERVILLB, MRS. MARY 789 
 
 209. SONTAG, MADAME HENRIETTA 792 
 
 210. SOUTHWORTH, MRS. EMMA D. E. NEVITTE 794 
 
 211. STEPHENS, MRS. ANN S 796 
 
 212. TROLLOPB, MRS 801 
 
 213. VICTORIA, QUEEN OF ENGLAND 806 
 
 214. WEBER, MISS HELBNE MARIE 809 
 
 215. WELBY, MRS. AMELIA B 811 
 
 216. WILLARD, MRS. EMMA 816 
 
 217. HAIGHT, MRS. SARAH ROGERS 828 
 
 218. HEWITT, MRS. MARY B 829 
 
 BENEFACTRESSES. 
 
 219. CHASE, MRS. ANN 859 
 
 220. COLQUHOUN, LADY 861 
 
 221. FELLER, MADAME 864 
 
 222. HILL, MRS. FRANCES M 868 
 
 223. PETER, MRS. SARAH 870 
 
 224. WHITTLESEY, MRS. ABIGAIL GOODRICH 872 
 
 SUPPLEMENT. 
 
 225. DONNE, MARIA DALLE 876 
 
 226. HALL, MRS. SARAH 877 
 
 227. LEE, MISS MARY B 879 
 
 228. MATILDA, QUEEN OF HENRY 1 882 
 
 229. ELIZABETH OF FRANCE 884 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Page 
 
 ABAUCA, MARIA DB 153 
 
 ABASSA 67 
 
 ABDY, MRS 839 
 
 Thy Maiden Name 839 
 
 Where shall I die? 839 
 
 ABBLLA 67 
 
 ABIGAIL 19 
 
 ABINGTON, FRANCES 153 
 
 ABISHAG 19 
 
 ACCA-LAURBNTIA 20 
 
 ACCIAIOLA, MAGDALENE 163 
 
 ACCORAMBONI, VITTORIA 153 
 
 ACKLAND, LADY HARRIET 154 
 
 ACME 20 
 
 ADA 20 
 
 ADAMS, ABIGAIL 154 
 
 Extracts from her Letters 154 
 
 ADAMS, HANNAH 159 
 
 ADAMS, SARAH FLOWER 874 
 
 Funeral Hymn 874 
 
 ADELAIDE 67 
 
 ADELAIDE 67 
 
 ADELAIDE 67 
 
 ADELAIDE 67 
 
 ADELICIA 67 
 
 ADORNI, CATHARINE EIESCHI 160 
 
 ADRICHOMIA, CORNELIA 160 
 
 AFRA 67 
 
 AGATHA 67 
 
 AGBSISTBATA 20 
 
 AGNES, ST 68 
 
 AGNES OF HUNGARY 68 
 
 AGNES DB MERANIA 68 
 
 AGNES OF FRANCE 68 
 
 AGNES SOREL 68 
 
 AGNESI, MARIA GAETANA 160 
 
 AGNODICE 20 
 
 AGNOULT, COUNTESS D' 565 
 
 AGOSTINA, THE MAID OF SARAGOSSA... 160 
 
 AGREDA, MARIE D' 160 
 
 AGRIPPINA, WIFE OF GERMANICUS 20 
 
 AGRIPPINA, JULIA 21 
 
 AGUILAR, GRACE 162 
 
 Poem from the Magic Wreath 162 
 
 AIGUILLON, DUCHESS D' 162 
 
 AIKEN, LUCY 163 
 
 AIROLA, ANGELICA VERONICA 163 
 
 Page 
 
 AiSS4 DBMOIS 163 
 
 AISHA 69 
 
 ALACOQUE, MARIA 164 
 
 ALBANY, LOUISA, COUNTESS OF 164 
 
 ALBEDYHL, BARONESS D' 164 
 
 ALBEMARLE, ANNE CLARGES, DUCHESS 
 
 OF 164 
 
 ALBERETTI, VERDONI THEBESE 565 
 
 ALBRET, CHARLOTTE D', DUCHESS DB 
 
 VALENTINOIS 164 
 
 ALBRET, JEANNE D', OP NAVARRE 164 
 
 "Impromptu" Poem 165 
 
 ALBRIZZI, TEOTOCHI ISABELLA 166 
 
 ALCESTE 22 
 
 ALCINOE 22 
 
 ALDRUDE 69 
 
 ALEXANDRA, QUEEN OF JUDBA 23 
 
 ALEXANDRA, MOTHER OF MARIAMNE... 23 
 
 ALICE, QUEEN OF FRANCE 69 
 
 ALICE OF FRANCE 70 
 
 ALLIN, ABBY 823 
 
 ALOARA 70 
 
 ALOYSIA, SIGEA 166 
 
 ALPAIDB 70 
 
 ALPHAISULI 70 
 
 ALTOVITI, MARSEILLE D' 166 
 
 AMALASONTHA 70 
 
 AMALTH(EA 23 
 
 AMBOISE, FRANCES D' 71 
 
 AMELIA, ANNA 166 
 
 AMELIA, MARIA FREDERICA AUGUSTA.. 565 
 AMELIA MARIA, EX-QUEEN OF THE 
 
 FRENCH 666 
 
 AMERICAN MISSIONARY WOMEN 889 
 
 AMHERST, LADY 873 
 
 AMMANATI, LAURA BATTIFERI 167 
 
 ANACOANA 71 
 
 ANASTASIA 71 
 
 ANASTASIA, ST 71 
 
 ANCELOT, VIRGINIB 667 
 
 An Old Peeress 567 
 
 ANCHITA 23 
 
 ANDRBINI, ISABELLA 167 
 
 ANDROCLEA 23 
 
 ANDROMACHE 24 
 
 ANDROMEDA 24 
 
 ANGBLBBRGA, or INGBLBERGA 71 
 
 (XT) 
 
INDEX. 
 
 ANGITIA 24 
 
 ANGOULfiMB, MARIE THErIiSB CHAR- 
 LOTTE, DUCHESS D' 668 
 
 ANGUSCIOLA, SOPHONISBA 167 
 
 ANGUSCIOLA, LDCIA 168 
 
 ANNA, OF TYRE 24 
 
 ANNA, THE PROPHETESS 71 
 
 ANNE OP BOHEMIA 72 
 
 ANNE BOLEYN 72 
 
 ANNE OP BEAUJBU 74 
 
 ANNE OP BRITTANY 74 
 
 ANNB OP CLEVES 75 
 
 ANNE OP CYPRUS 75 
 
 ANNE OP HUNGARY 75 
 
 ANNE OP RUSSIA 75 
 
 ANNE, DUCHESS OP THE VIENNOIS 75 
 
 ANNE OP WARWICK 75 
 
 ANNA IWANOWNA, EMPRESS OP RUSSIA 168 
 ANN AMELIA, PRINCESS OF PRUSSIA.... 168 
 
 ANNE OF AUSTRIA 168 
 
 ANNE, QUEEN OP ENGLAND 169 
 
 ANNB OF PERRARA 171 
 
 ANNE DE GONZAGUE 171 
 
 ANTIGONE 24 
 
 ANTONIA MAJOR 24 
 
 ANTONIA MINOR 24 
 
 ANTONINA 75 
 
 APOLLONIA, ST 76 
 
 ARBLAY, MADAME D' 171 
 
 From " Evelina" 
 
 A Pretended Highway Robbery 173 
 
 From "The Diary." 
 
 A Day of Happiness in a Palace 175 
 
 A Royal Reading Party 176 
 
 Poetry in a Palace 177 
 
 Letter to a Friend in Affliction 177 
 
 The King's Birtb-day 177 
 
 ARBOUVILLE, COUNTESS D' 874 
 
 ARC, JOAN OF 76 
 
 ABCHIDAMIA 79 
 
 ARCHINTA, MARGHERITA 179 
 
 ARBTAPHILA 25 
 
 ARETE 25 
 
 ARGYLL, DUCHESS OP 859 
 
 ARIADNE 79 
 
 ARIOSTA LIPPA 79 
 
 ARLOTTA 80 
 
 iRMYNE, LADY MARY 179 
 
 A.RNAUDE DE EOCAS 180 
 
 AENAULD, ANGELIQUE 180 
 
 AENAULD, MARIE ANGELIQUE 180 
 
 ARNAULD, CATHARINE AGNES 180 
 
 ARNIM, BETTINA VON 569 
 
 Letters 570 
 
 AENOULT, SOPHIE 180 
 
 AREAGON, JOAN OF 180 
 
 AERAGON, TULLIA D' 181 
 
 AREIA 80 
 
 AESINOB, OF EGYPT 25 
 
 AESINOB, OF THRACE 25 
 
 ARSINOB, OF EGYPT 26 
 
 ARTEMISIA 1 26 
 
 ARTEMISIA II 26 
 
 Page 
 
 ARUNDEL, LADY BLANCHE 181 
 
 ARUNDEL, MARY 181 
 
 ASCHAM, MARGARET 181 
 
 ASENATH 26 
 
 ASKEW, ANNB '. 182 
 
 ASPASIA 26 
 
 ASPASIA, OR MILTO 27 
 
 ASTBLL, MARY 182 
 
 ASTORGAS, MARCHIONESS OP 183 
 
 ATHALIAH 28 
 
 ATTENDULI, MARGAEBT DE 80 
 
 AUBESPINB, MAGDALEN DE L' 183 
 
 AUNOY, COUNTESS D' 183 
 
 AUSTEN, JANE 184 
 
 From " Northanger Ahhey" 
 
 The Heroine's Childhood 185 
 
 The Heroine at a Ball 186 
 
 A Walk and Conversation 188 
 
 The Romance of Mystery 191 
 
 AUSTIN, MRS 840 
 
 AVOGADRO, LUCIA 183 
 
 AXIOTHEA 28 
 
 AYCARD, MARIA 851 
 
 AYESHA 80 
 
 AYSA 194 
 
 AZZI DE PORTI, FAUSTINA 194 
 
 BABOIS, MADAME VICTOIRE 194 
 
 BACCIOCHI, MARIE ANNB ELISE 195 
 
 BACHE, SARAH 195 
 
 BACON, ANNE 196 
 
 BAILEY, MARGARET L 823 
 
 BAILLIE, JOANNA 574, 888 
 
 From " De Montfort" 
 
 Description of Jane De Montfort 575 
 
 True Love 576 
 
 Picture of a Country Life 576 
 
 The Wife 576 
 
 The Widovf and her Children 576 
 
 The Tomb of Columbus 576 
 
 Address to Miss Agnes Baillie 577 
 
 Jealousy 577 
 
 BANDELLINI, TERESA CORBLLA 854 
 
 BANDBTTINI, THERESA 196 
 
 BAEBAEA 81 
 
 BARBAULD, ANNA LETITIA 196 
 
 On Education 198 
 
 On Inconsistency in our Expectations 201 
 
 Washing Day 202 
 
 Painted Flowers 202 
 
 BARBE DE VERRUB 81 
 
 BARRIER, MARY ANN 203 
 
 BARNARD, LADY ANNE 203 
 
 Auld Robin Gray 203 
 
 BARNES, SUSAN REBECCA 823 
 
 BARONI, ADEIANNE BASILS 203 
 
 BAREY, COUNTESS DU 203 
 
 BARTON, ELIZABETH 204 
 
 BASINE, OR BASIN 81 
 
 BASSEPORTE, MADELEINE FRANCES 204 
 
 BASSI, LAURA MARIA CATHARINE 204 
 
 BASTIDE, JENNY 851 
 
 B ATHSHEB A, oe BATHCHUAH 28 
 
 BATTISTATI, LOUISA 578 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Page 
 
 BAUCIS 28 
 
 BAYARD, ELISE JUSTINE 823 
 
 BAYNAKD, ANNE 206 
 
 BAWR, MADAME 851 
 
 BEALE, MARY- 206 
 
 BEATRICE OF BURGUNDY 81 
 
 BEATRICE OF PROVENCE 81 
 
 BEATRICE PORTINARI... 81 
 
 BEAUFORT, JOAN 82 
 
 BEAUFORT, MARGARET, COUNTESS OF 
 
 RICHMOND AND DERBY 82 
 
 BBAUHARNAIS, FANNY, COUNTESS DE... 206 
 
 Bpitre aux Femmes . 206 
 
 BEAUMONT, MADAME LE PRINCE DE 206 
 
 BECTOR, CLAUDE DE 206 
 
 BEECHER, ESTHER CATHARINE 678 
 
 The Evening Cloud 680 
 
 To the Monotropa 680 
 
 Obedience to the Divine Law 680 
 
 BEHN, APHRA 207 
 
 BBKKER, ELIZABETH ..,,. 207 
 
 BBLGIOSO, PRINCESS DE 864 
 
 BELLAMY, GEORGIANA 20Y 
 
 BELLEVILLE, JANE DE 82 
 
 BELLINI, GUISBPA, COUNTESS' 208 
 
 BELLO.C, LOUISE SW ANTON 683 
 
 BENDISH, BRIDGET 208 
 
 BEN6ER, ELIZABETH OGILVY 208 
 
 BENTON, MARY _ 888 
 
 BENWBLL, MABY...„ 208' 
 
 BBRBNGARIA OF NAVARRE..... 82 
 
 BERENICE 28 
 
 BERENICE 28 
 
 BERENICE 28 
 
 BERENICE 28 
 
 BERENICE 28 
 
 BERENICE 29 
 
 BERENICE 29 
 
 BERENICE 83 
 
 BERGER, MADAME 868 
 
 BERNARD, CATHARINE 208 
 
 BERNERS, JULIANA 83 
 
 BERSALA, ANN 83 
 
 BERTANA, LUCIA 209 
 
 Sonnet.. 209 
 
 BERTHA 83 
 
 BERTHA, OE BBRTBADE 8i 
 
 BERTHA 84 
 
 BERTBADE i. 84 
 
 BETHMAN, FREDERICA 208 
 
 BIBI, JAND 215 
 
 EIGNE, GRACE DE LA 84 
 
 BILDERJIK, KATHARINE WILHELMINA 215 
 
 BILLINGTON, ELIZABETH 216 
 
 BILLIONI, N. BUSSA 215 
 
 BLACK, MRS ■.... 210 
 
 BLACK, MISS 210 
 
 BLACKWELL, ELIZABETH 210 
 
 BLACKWELL, ELIZABETH 684 
 
 BLAKE, KATHARINE 209 
 
 BLAMIBE, SUSANNA 210 
 
 The Nabob 210 
 
 The Waefu' Heart 
 
 Auld Robin Forbes 
 
 BLANCA, N. LE 
 
 BLANCHARD, MADAME 
 
 BLANCHE OP CASTILE 
 
 BLANCHE OF PADUA 
 
 BLANCHE DE BOURBON 
 
 BLAND, ELIZABETH 
 
 BLEECKER, ANNE ELIZA 
 
 Return to Tonaanick 
 
 BLESSINGTON, COUNTESS OF.... 
 
 Lord Byron in 1823 
 
 Lord Byron's lU-temper 
 
 Lord Byron's Regard for his Wife 
 
 A Birth-day 
 
 A New Year 
 
 Of Dancing and Dress in France 
 
 BLOMBBRG, BARBARA 
 
 BOADICBA 
 
 BOCCAGE, MARIE ANNE DU 
 
 A M. Bailey.. 
 
 BOGART, ELIZABETH 
 
 He came too late 
 
 An Autumn View 
 
 BOIS DE LA PIERRE, LOUISE MARIE 
 
 BOLTON, SARAH T 
 
 BONAPARTE, MADAME LETITIA 
 
 BONTEMS, MADAME 
 
 BORA, OR BORE, CATHARINE VON 
 
 BORGHESE, MARIE PAULINE, PRINCESS 
 
 DE : 
 
 BORGIA, LUCREZIA 
 
 BOUGNET, MADAME 
 
 BOULLOUGNE, MAGDELAINE DE 
 
 BOURETTE, CHARLOTTE 
 
 To M. De Fontenelle 
 
 BOUBGAIN, THBRESE 
 
 BOURGET, CLEMBNOB DE 
 
 BOURIGNON, ANTOINETTE 
 
 BOVETTE DE BLEMUE, JACQUELINE 
 
 BOVEY, CATHARINE 
 
 BOVIN, MADAME 
 
 BRACHMAN, LOUISE 
 
 BRADSTREET, ANNE 
 
 Lines addressed to her Hiishand 
 
 Contemplations 
 
 Elegy 
 
 BRAGELONGE, AGNES DE 
 
 BRAMBATI, EMILIA 
 
 ■ BRAMBATI, ISOTTA 
 
 BRATTON, MARTHA.... 
 
 BRAY, MRS 
 
 BRBESE, MARY 
 
 BREGY, CHARLOTTE SAUMAISE, COUNT- 
 ESS DE 
 
 BREMER, FRBDBRIKA 
 
 Advice to a Young "Wife 
 
 Resolutions of a Young Wife 
 
 Of Children 
 
 A Christian 
 
 Betrothment 
 
 Marriage 
 
 A Happy Family .V 
 
 Wisdom 
 
 Prayer 
 
 211 
 211 
 211 
 211 
 84 
 86 
 86 
 211 
 211 
 212 
 212 
 213 
 213 
 214 
 214 
 214 
 214 
 216 
 85 
 215 
 216 
 824 
 824 
 824 
 |216 
 824 
 216 
 217 
 
 217 
 86 
 218 
 218 
 218 
 218 
 218 
 218 
 219 
 219 
 219 
 873 
 219 
 219 
 220 
 220 
 221 
 86 
 221 
 221 
 221 
 840 
 221 
 
 221 
 586 
 688 
 589 
 590 
 590 
 690 
 690 
 591 
 691 
 591 
 
XVUl 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Page 
 
 Philanthrophy , 591 
 
 Devotion 591 
 
 Virtue 591 
 
 Twin Sisters 592 
 
 BEBNTANO, SOPHIA 221 
 
 BRIDGET, ST 86 
 
 BKIDGMAN, LAURA 592 
 
 The Good-natured Girl 596 
 
 BRINVILLIERS, MARIE MARGUERITE, 
 
 MARCHIONESS DE 222 
 
 BROCCHI, GABARDI 856 
 
 BRONTE, CHARLOTTE 597 
 
 Lowood Scenery, from "Jane Eyre" 598 
 
 The Meeting 599 
 
 ■ The Parting 600 
 
 Married Life 602 
 
 Erom "Shirley" 602 
 
 BROOKE, CHARLOTTE 840 
 
 BROOKE, FRANCES.. 222 
 
 BROOKS, MARIA 223 
 
 Ode to the Departed 223 
 
 Hymn 225 
 
 The Moon of Flowers 225 
 
 To Niagara ^. 225 
 
 Song 225 
 
 Friendship 225 
 
 Prayer 226 
 
 Description of Bgla 226 
 
 Meles and Egla contrasted 226 
 
 Zophiel listening while Egla sings 226 
 
 Morning 226 
 
 Amhition 227 
 
 Virtue 227 
 
 BROOKS, MART E 824 
 
 Psalm CXXXVII 824 
 
 Oh, never believe. Love 825 
 
 BROSSIER, MARTHA ; 227 
 
 BROWN, CATHARINE 228 
 
 BROWN, FRANCES 604 
 
 The Spanish Conquests in America 605 
 
 Dreams of the Dead 605 
 
 BROWNE, MART ANNE 228 
 
 The Heart and Lyre 228 
 
 Man's Love 229 
 
 Woman's Love 229 
 
 She wag not made for Happiness 229 
 
 Memory 229 
 
 Kindred Spirits 230 
 
 Jaques Balmot 230 
 
 BROWNING, ELIZABETH BARRETT 605 
 
 Adam's Prophecy of Woman 606 
 
 The Sleep 607 
 
 Romance of the Swan's- Nest 607 
 
 The Mother's Prayer 608 
 
 The Child and the Watcher 60S 
 
 Work and Contemplation 608 
 
 The Lady's Tea 608 
 
 Discontent 609 
 
 Patience taught by Nature 609 
 
 Cheerfulness taught by Reason 609 
 
 Cowper's Grave 609 
 
 BRUN, FREDERIKE CHRISTIANB 230 
 
 BBUN, MADAME L 230 
 
 BRUNBHAUT 87 
 
 BRUNORO, BONA LOMBARDI 88 
 
 BRUNTON, MART 230 
 
 From " Self-Control" 
 Sketch of the Heroine 231 
 
 Page 
 
 The Lover and his Declaration 231 
 
 Laura refuses Colonel Hargrave 232 
 
 buchan, countess op 88 
 
 buchan, elspeth 234 
 
 buchardeht, therese von 853 
 
 buffet, margaret 234 
 
 bulwbr, ladt 840 
 
 bunina, anna 857 
 
 bure, catharine 234 
 
 burleigh, ladt mildred 234 
 
 burnet, elizabeth 236 
 
 burt, ladt charlotte 841 
 
 burt, elizabeth 236 
 
 calagb, de pech de 235 
 
 calavrese; maria 235 
 
 calderon de la barca, frances 841 
 
 Of the Women of Mexico 841 
 
 CALLCOTT, LADT 874 
 
 CALPHURNIA 89 
 
 CALPURNIA 29 
 
 CAMARGO, MARIE ANNE CAPI DE ....'. 236 
 
 CAMILLA 29 
 
 CAMPAN, MADAME DE 236 
 
 Mesmer and his Magnetism 236 
 
 The Emperor Alexander 237 
 
 To Her only Son 237 
 
 Woman's Influence 238 
 
 Cultivation of the Arts 238 
 
 CAMPBELL, DOROTHEA PRIMROSE 610 
 
 Moonlight 610 
 
 CAMPBELL, JULIET H 825 
 
 A Story of Sunrise 826 
 
 CAMPIGLIA, MADDELENA 238 
 
 CANTARINI, CHIARA 238 
 
 CANTOFOLI, GENEVRA 238 
 
 CAPELLO, BIANCA 2.39 
 
 CAPILLANA 89 
 
 CARACCIOLO, MARIA RAFFAELLA 855 
 
 CARBW, LADT ELIZABETH 243 
 
 Revenge of Injuries 243 
 
 CARET, ALICE 616 
 
 Lights of Genius 616 
 
 Pictures of Memory 616 
 
 The two Missionaries 616 
 
 The Charmed Bird 616 
 
 To the Evening Zephyr 616 
 
 The Past and the Present 616 
 
 The Handmaid 617 
 
 Death's Ferryman 617 
 
 Watching..... '. 617 
 
 Visions of Light 617 
 
 CARET, PHEBE 618 
 
 Song of the Heart 618 
 
 Resolves 618 
 
 Our Homestead 618 
 
 Parting and Meeting 619 
 
 CARLEMIGELLI, ASPASIE 240 
 
 CARLEN, EMILIE 610 
 
 Erika, from "The Rose of Thistle Island" 611 
 
 Gabriella 612 
 
 The Divorce, from "The Magic Goblet".... 614 
 
 CARLISLE, ANNE.! 241 
 
 CARMBNTA, or NICOSTRATA 29 
 
INDEX. 
 
 CAEOLINE WILHBLMINB DOROTHEA 241 
 
 CAKOLINB MATILDA 241 
 
 CAROLINE MARIA 242 
 
 CAROLINE AMELIA ELIZABETH 242 
 
 CARTER, ELIZABETH 243 
 
 Letter from Miss Carter 244 
 
 Extracts from Epictetus 246 
 
 From "The Enchiridion" 246 
 
 CARTISMANDUA 89 
 
 OASALINA, LUCIA...; 247 
 
 CASE, LUELLA J. B 826 
 
 Energy in Adversity 826 
 
 CASSANA, MARIA VITTORIA 247 
 
 CASSANDRA 29 
 
 CASSIOPEIA 30 
 
 CASTBLNAU, HBNRIETTE JULIE DE 247 
 
 CASTRO, ANNE DB ' 247 
 
 CASTRO, INEZ DB 89 
 
 OATALANI, ANGELICA 247 
 
 CATELLAN, MARGUERITE DE 248 
 
 CATHARINE OE ARRAGON 89 
 
 CATHARINE SFORZA 90 
 
 CATHARINE, ST., OE SIENNA 91 
 
 CATHARINE, ST., OF ALEXANDRIA 91 
 
 CATHARINE OF VALOIS : 91 
 
 CATHARINE, ST., OE BOLOGNA 92 
 
 CATHARINE DB MBDICIS 248 
 
 CATHARINE PARR 249 
 
 CATHARINE OE BRAGANZA 260 
 
 CATHARINE ALBXIEONA 250 
 
 CATHARINE II., ALEXIEONA 251 
 
 CATHARINE PAULOWNA 253 
 
 CECONIA, OE CESBNIA 30 
 
 CENCI, BEATRICE 253 
 
 CENTLIVRE, SUSANNAH 264 
 
 CERETA 92 
 
 CBZELLI, CONSTANCE 254 
 
 CHALLIE, MADAME DE 851 
 
 CHAMBERS, MARY 255 
 
 CHAMPMESLE, MARIE DESMARES DE.... 265 
 
 CHANDLER, CAROLINE H 825 
 
 CHANDLER, MARY 255 
 
 CHANDLER, ELIZABETH MARGARET...... 255 
 
 The Devoted 255 
 
 CHAPMAN, PRISCILLA 873 
 
 CHAPONE, HESTER 265 
 
 Affectation 256 
 
 Scandal 256 
 
 A Timely Word 256 
 
 The Two Commandments 256 
 
 CHAEIXENA 30 
 
 CHARKE, CHARLOTTE 257 
 
 CHARLOTTE, PRINCESS OF WALES 257 
 
 CHASE, ANN 859 
 
 CHATEAUBRIAND, FRANCES DE...... 257 
 
 CHATEAUROUX, DUCHESS DE 257 
 
 CHATELET, MARCHIONESS DB 258 
 
 CHELIDONIS.... „ 30 
 
 CHELONIS 30 
 
 CHBMIN, CATHARINE DU 258 
 
 CHENY, HARRIET V. 825 
 
 CHERON, ELIZABETH SOPHIA 258 
 
 Page 
 CHEZY, WILHBLMINE CHRISTINE VON.. 259 
 
 CHILD, LYDIA MARIA 619 
 
 The Neighbour-in-Law 620 
 
 Politeness .'. 623 
 
 Beauty 623 
 
 CHIOMARA....'. 30 
 
 CqOIN, MARIE EMILIE JOLY DB 259 
 
 CHRISTINA, QUEEN OF SWEDEN 259 
 
 CHRODIBLDB 92 
 
 CHUDLBIGH, LADY MARY 262 
 
 CIBBBR, SUSANNA MARIA 262 
 
 CICCI, MARIA LOUISA.. 262 
 
 CINCHON, COUNTESS OF 262 
 
 CIRANI, ELIZABETH 262 
 
 CLAIRON, CLARA JOSBPHA DE LA TUDE 263 
 
 CLARA : 92 
 
 CLARKE, MARY COWDBN 624 
 
 CLARKE, SARA JANE 624 
 
 My Lays 626 
 
 Ariadne 625 
 
 The March of Mind 626 
 
 There was a Rose 626 
 
 I never will grow old 626 
 
 My first Fishing 627 
 
 The Intellectual Woman 628 
 
 Woman's Heart 628 
 
 Woman's Gratitude 628 
 
 The Poet's Mission 628 
 
 CLAYPOLB, ELIZABETH 263 
 
 CLBLIA 30 
 
 CLBLIA 92 
 
 CLEMENTS, MARGARET 263 
 
 CLEOBULE, OR CLEOBULINB 31 
 
 CLEOPATRA 31 
 
 CLERMONT, CLAUDE CATHARINE DB 263 
 
 CLEVELAND, BARBARA VILLIERS, DUCH- 
 ESS OF 263 
 
 CLIFFORD, ANNE 263 
 
 CLIVE, CATHARINE 264 
 
 CLOTILDE, WIFE OF CLOVIS 92 
 
 CLOTHILDE, QUEEN OP THE GOTHS 93 
 
 CLYTBMNESTRA 32 
 
 COCHRANE, GRIZEL 265 
 
 COCKBURN, CATHARINE 265 
 
 COLERIDGE, SARA HENRY 629 
 
 A Mother over her Child, &c 629 
 
 Love 629 
 
 COLIGNI, HENRIETTA, COUNTESS DE 265 
 
 COLONNA, VITTORIA 93 
 
 COLQUHOUN, LADY [ 861 
 
 COMNENA, ANNA. -. 93 
 
 COMSTOCK, SARAH D 876 
 
 CONSTANCE 94 
 
 CONTARINI, GABRIELLA CATERINA 94 
 
 CONTAL, LOUISE 266 
 
 CONTI, MARGARET LOUISE, PRINCESS DE 266 
 
 CONTI, PRINCESS DE 266 
 
 COOK, ELIZA 629 
 
 Silence 630 
 
 Buttercups and Daisies 630 
 
 A Love-song 631 
 
 I miss thee, my Mother 631 
 
 Oh! never breathe, &c 631 
 
 The Tree 631 
 
INDEX. 
 
 The Clouds 632 
 
 Hallowed be Thy Name 632 
 
 Through the Waters 632 
 
 Stanzas to the Young 633 
 
 ■Washington 633 
 
 The last Good-bye 633 
 
 COOPER, MISS 836 
 
 COPLEY, JfHS "842 
 
 COPPOLI, ELENA 94 
 
 CORDAUD, ISABELLA DE 94 
 
 CORDAY, CHARLOTTE 266 
 
 CORINNA 32 
 
 CORINNA, OR CRINNA 33 
 
 CORNANO, CATBRINA, QUEEN OF CYPRUS 94 
 
 CORNARO, HELENA LUCRETIA 271 
 
 CORNELIA, MOTHER OF THE GRACCHI.. .S3 
 
 CORNELIA, WIFE OF POMPEY 34 
 
 CORNELIA, DAUGHTER OF CINNA 34 
 
 CORTESI, GIOVANNI MARMOCCHINI 271 
 
 COSEL, COUNTESS OF 271 
 
 COSSON DE LA CRESSONIBRE, CHAR- 
 LOTTE CATHARINE 272 
 
 COSTA, MARIA MARGARITA 272 
 
 COSTELLO, LOUISA STUART 842 
 
 COSWAY, MARY , 272 
 
 COTTIN, SOPHIE 272 
 
 Temptations 273 
 
 Life 273 
 
 The Exiles and their Home 273 
 
 ■Winter in Siberia 274 
 
 The Mother and Daughter 274 
 
 Crossing the Wolga 275 
 
 The Mite given in Charity 275 
 
 COUTTS, ANGELA GEORGINA BURTIBTT.. 634 
 
 COUVREUR, ADRIANNB LE 276 
 
 COWLEY, HANNAH 276 
 
 COXE, MARGARET •. 826 
 
 CRAON, PRINCESS DE 851 
 
 CRATESIPOLIS 34 
 
 CRAVEN, ELIZABETH, LADY 276 
 
 CRAWFORD, ANNE 277 
 
 CREQUY, MARCHIONESS DE 277 
 
 CRETA, LAURA 277 
 
 CREUSA 34 
 
 CROMWELL, ELIZABETH 277 
 
 CROWE, CATHARINE 635 
 
 The Future that awaits us 636 
 
 Dreams '. 636 
 
 Presentiments ^ 636 
 
 Apparitions 637 
 
 Troubled Spirits 637 
 
 CRUZ, JUANA INEZ DE LA 277 
 
 CUBIERE, MADAME DE 861 
 
 CULMAN, ELIZABETH 278 
 
 OUNBGONDB 95 
 
 CUNITIA, on CUNITZ, MARIE 278 
 
 CUSHMAN, CHARLOTTE 637 
 
 CYNISCA 34 
 
 CZARTORYSKI, ISABELLA, PRINCESS 875 
 
 DACIER, ANNE 279 
 
 DACRB, LADY 640 
 
 DAMER, MRS. DAWSON 841 
 
 DAMER, ANNE SEYMOUR 280 
 
 Page 
 
 DAMO 34 
 
 DAMOPHILA 34 
 
 DANCY, ELIZABETH 280 
 
 D'ANDALO, OR BRANCALBONE GALEANA 95 
 
 DANGEVILLE, MARY ANNE BOTOL 280 
 
 DANTI, THEODORA 95 
 
 DARLING, GRACE 280 
 
 DARRAB, LYDIA 281 
 
 DARUSMONT, FRANCES 842 
 
 DASCHKOFF, CATHARINE ROMANOWNA 281 
 
 DASH, COUNTESS 641 
 
 DAVIDSON, LUCRETIA MARIA 282 
 
 To a Friend 283 
 
 The Guardian Angel 283 
 
 To a Star 284 
 
 Stanzas 284 
 
 Lines 284 
 
 Fragment.... 284 
 
 DAVIDSON, MARGARET MILLER 284 
 
 To my Mother 285 
 
 DAVIBS, LADY ELEANOR 285 
 
 DEBORAH, THE JUDGESS 34 
 
 Song of Triumph 35 
 
 DEBORAH 285 
 
 DEDICATION 5 
 
 DEFPAND, MADAME DU 285 
 
 Les Deux Ages de I'Homme 286 
 
 DEKKEN, AGATHE 286 
 
 DBLANY, MARY 286 
 
 DELILAH 36 
 
 DELORME, MARION 287 
 
 DEROCHES, MADELEINE REVUO 287 
 
 DERVORGILLE, LADY 96 
 
 DESCARTES, CATHARINE 287 
 
 DESHOULIERES, ANTOINETTE 288 
 
 Les Moutons 288 
 
 DESMOND, COUNTESS OF 95 
 
 DESMOULINS, LUCILLE : 289 
 
 DEVONSHIRE, GEORGIANA CAVENDISH, 
 
 DUCHESS OF 289 
 
 The Passage of the Mountain of St. Gothard 290 
 
 DEYSTER, ANNE 290 
 
 DIDO, OR ELISSA 36 
 
 DIGBY, LETTICE 290 
 
 DINAH 37 
 
 DINNIES, ANNA PEYRE 826 
 
 Lines 826 
 
 The Wife 827 
 
 DIOTIMA : 37 
 
 DIX, DOROTHEA L... 862 
 
 DODANE, DUCHESS OP SEPTIMANIB 96 
 
 DODD, MARY ANNE HANMAR :.. 827 
 
 DCETE DB TROYES 96 
 
 DOMIER, ESTHER 290 
 
 DONNE,-MARIA DALLE 876 
 
 DORCAS, OK TABITHA 96 
 
 DOUVRE, ISABELLA DE 96 
 
 DRUSILLA, LIVIA 96 
 
 DRUSILLA 96 
 
 DRUZBACKA, ELIZABETH , 877 
 
 DUBOIS, DOROTHEA , 290 
 
 DUCLOS, MARIE ANNE 291 
 
 DUDEVANT, MARIE AURORE 641 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Extracts 642 
 
 Letters of a Traveller 643 
 
 From "Consuelo" 644 
 
 DUBRINGSFIBLD, IDA VON 853 
 
 DTJEBBEIN, LADY 843 
 
 DUBRESNOY, MADEMOISELLE 291 
 
 DUMEE, JOAN 291 
 
 DUMBSNIL, MARIE ERANCBS 291 
 
 DUMONT, MADAME 291 
 
 DUPRE, MARY 291 
 
 DURAND, CATHARINE 291 
 
 DURAS, DUCHESS OF 291 
 
 DUROFP, MADEMOISELLE 857 
 
 DUSTON, HANNAH 291 
 
 DUYN, MARGUERITE DE 96 
 
 DWIGHT, ELIZABETH BAKER 292 
 
 DYER, MARY 292 
 
 EAMES, ELIZABETH J 827 
 
 BAMES, JANE A 827 
 
 BANFLBD , 97 
 
 EBBA 97 
 
 EBOLI, ANNE DB MBNDOZA LA CERDA .. 292 
 
 EDBSIA , 97 
 
 EDGBWORTH, MARIA 293 
 
 Only Children 296 
 
 The Power of Sympathy 297 
 
 Music as an Accomplishment 297 
 
 The Best Accomplishments 297 
 
 Literary Education ;. 298 
 
 On Prudence 298 
 
 Economy 298 
 
 EDITHA 97 
 
 BGEE 37 
 
 EGBRTON, LADY FRANCES 843 
 
 BGLOFESTEIN, JULIA, COUNTESS VON... 863 
 
 ELEANOR OF AQUITAINE 97 
 
 ELEANOR, ST 97 
 
 BLBCTRA 37 
 
 ELEONORE OF TOLEDO 298 
 
 ELGIVA 97 
 
 ELISABETH 98 
 
 ELIZABETH OF YORK 98 
 
 ELIZABETH, QUEEN OF ENGLAND 299, 
 
 Verses written at Woodstock 301 
 
 Letter to her Sister Mary , 302 
 
 ELISABETH OF FRANCE 302 
 
 ELIZABETH OF AUSTRIA 302 
 
 ELIZABETH CHARLOTTE, DUCHESS OF 
 
 ORLEANS 303 
 
 ELISABETH, MADAME 303 
 
 ELIZABETH CHRISTINA 303 
 
 ELIZABETH PETROWNA 303 
 
 BLLET, ELIZABETH F 644 
 
 From " Women of the American Revolution" 645 
 
 Sodus Bay 648 
 
 To the Lance-fly 648 
 
 ELLIS, SARAH STICKNEY 649 
 
 Man and Woman 660 
 
 The Lot of Woman 660 
 
 • Woman's Disinterestedness 660 
 
 The Husband and Wife 651 
 
 Secret Sorrows 652 
 
 Delicacy 652 
 
 Page 
 
 Flattery 662 
 
 Single Life 652 
 
 ELPIS 98 
 
 BLSTOB, ELIZABETH 304 
 
 EMBURY, EMMA CATHARINE 653 
 
 The One Fault 653 
 
 The Widow's Wooer 656 
 
 Never Forget 656 
 
 Stanzas 657 
 
 EMMA OF FRANCE 98 
 
 EMMA OF NORMANDY 98 
 
 ENGLISH, HESTER 304 
 
 ENNETIBRES, MARIE D' 304 
 
 EPINAY, LOUISE D' 304 
 
 BPONINA 99 
 
 BRAUSO, CATALETA DE 304 
 
 BRDMUTHE, SOPHIE, MARGRAVINE 
 
 OF 306 
 
 BRINNA 37 
 
 ERMENGARDB, OE HBRMENGARDE 99 
 
 BRNBCOURT, BARBARA OF -306 
 
 ESCOBAR, MARINE D' 306 
 
 BSLING, CATHARINE H. W 827 
 
 ESSARS, CHARLOTTE DBS 306 
 
 ESTAMPES, ANNE OF PISSELIEU, DUCH- 
 ESS OF 307 
 
 BSTB, ELEONORA D' 807 
 
 ESTHER, QUEEN 37 
 
 ESTHER OF POLAND 100 
 
 ESTRADA, MARIA D' 307 
 
 ESTRBBS, 6ABRIELLE D' 308 
 
 BTHELBURGA 100 
 
 ETHELDRBDA, ST 100 
 
 ETHELFLBDA, or BLFLEDA 100 
 
 EUDOCIA 100 
 
 BUDOCIA, OE EUDOXIA 101 
 
 EUDOCIA FEODOROWNA 308 
 
 EUPHBMIA, FLAVIA ShlA MARCIA 101 
 
 EURYDICE, AN ILLYRIAN 38 
 
 EURYDICE OF MACEDONIA 38 
 
 EURYDICE, WIFE OF ARID^US 38 
 
 EUSBBIA, AURELIA 101 
 
 EUSEBIA, ABBESS OF ST. CYR 101 
 
 BUSTACHIUM 102 
 
 EVE 38 
 
 FAINI, DIMANTE 308 
 
 FALCONBBRG, MARY, COUNTESS OF 102 
 
 FALCONBERS, MARY, VISCOUNTESS OF.. 309 
 
 FALCONIA, PROBA 102 
 
 FANE, ELIZABETH 309 
 
 FANNIA 102 
 
 FANSHAWE, ANN HARRISON, LADY 309 
 
 FANTASTICI, ROSELLINA MASSIMINA.... 657 
 
 FARLEY, HARRIET 657 
 
 The Window Darkened 659 
 
 Deal Gently 660 
 
 FARRAR, MRS 827 
 
 FARREN, MISS 310 
 
 FARNBSB, FRANCESCA 310 
 
 FATIMEH 102 
 
 PAUGBRE, MISS 311 
 
INDEX. 
 
 FATJGERES, MARGARETTA V 311 
 
 FAUSTINA, ANNIA GALBRIA 102 
 
 FAUSTINA, ANNIA 102 
 
 FAUSTINA, FLAVIA MAXIMIANA 103 
 
 FAVART, MARIE JUSTINE BENOITB 311 
 
 FAWCETT, HELEN 843 
 
 FAYETTE, LOUISE DE LA 311 
 
 FATETTE, MARIE MADELEINE, COUNT- 
 ESS DB i 311 
 
 Lettre ^ Madame de S6vign6 311 
 
 FEDELE, CASSANDRA 312 
 
 FEDOROWNA, MARIA 312 
 
 FELICITAS 103 
 
 FELLER, HENRIETTA, MADAME 864 
 
 FERGUSON, ELIZABETH GRAEME 312 
 
 FERNANDEZ, MARIA MADDELENA MO- 
 
 RELLI 312 
 
 FERRIEK, MISS 661 
 
 A Bustling Wife 662 
 
 Sunday 662 
 
 Disappointed Love 664 
 
 Sudden Poverty 664 
 
 Second Love 664 
 
 FERRIOL, MADAME DB 313 
 
 FICKER, CHRISTIANE D. S 314 
 
 FIDELIS, CASSANDRA 103 
 
 FIELDING, SARAH 314 
 
 FIORINA, ELIZABETTA 855 
 
 FISHER, CATHARINE 314 
 
 FISHER, MART 314 
 
 FISKE, CATHARINE , 866 
 
 FLAXMAN, ANN 314 
 
 FLORA 40 
 
 FLORE DE ROSE .' 103 
 
 FLORINE 103 
 
 FOA, EUGENIA 852 
 
 FODOR, MAINVILLE, JOSEPHINE 315 
 
 FOIX, MARGARET DB, DUCHESS D'EPER- 
 
 NON 315 
 
 FOLLEN, ELIZA LEE 664 
 
 The Exiled Stranger 664 
 
 Winter Scenes in the Country 665 
 
 FONSECA, ELEONORA, MARCHIONESS DE 316 
 
 FONTAINES, COUNTESS DE 877 
 
 FONTANA, LAVINIA 316 
 
 FONTANGES, DUCHESS DE 316 
 
 FONTE-MODBRATA 316 
 
 FORCE, CHARLOTTE ROSE DE CAUMENT 
 
 DE LA 316 
 
 FOUGERET, ANNA FRANCESCA DONTRE- 
 
 MONT 316 
 
 FOUQUE, CAROLINE AUGUSTE DE LA 
 
 MOTTE 317 
 
 FRANCISCA, OK FRANCES 317 
 
 FRANKLIN, ELEANOR ANN '. 317 
 
 FRANZ, AGNES 317 
 
 FRATBLLINI, GIOVANNA 317 
 
 FRBDEGONDE 104 
 
 FREILIGRATH, IDA 853 
 
 FRBYBERG, BARONESS VON 853 
 
 FRITIGILA 106 
 
 FROHBERG, REGINA 318 
 
 FRY, ELIZABETH .' 318 
 
 Page 
 
 Questions for Myself 319 
 
 The Effect of the Bible on Female Pri- 
 soners 319 
 
 Capital Punishment 319 
 
 FULLER, FRANCES A 827 
 
 FULLER, MEETA VICTORIA..' 827 
 
 FULLER, SARAH MARGARET 665 
 
 A Night in Michigan 667 
 
 The Prairie 667 
 
 American Women 668 
 
 True Marriage .' 669 
 
 Female Progress ; 669 
 
 On leaving the West 670 
 
 To AUston's Picture of the Bride 670 
 
 The Sacred Marriage 670 
 
 FULLBRTON, LADY GEORGIANA 843 
 
 FULVIA 40 
 
 GABRIBLLB DB BOURBON.... 105 
 
 GABRIELLI, CATHARINE 319 
 
 GA5ON DUFOUR, MARIE A JOHANNE 319 
 
 GAETANS, AURORA 319 
 
 GAIL, SOPHIE 320 
 
 GAILLAKD, JANE .' 320 
 
 GALERIA 105 
 
 GALIGAI, ELEONORA 320 
 
 GALLITZIN, AMALIA, PRINCESS 320 
 
 GAMBARA, VERONICA ; 105 
 
 GARRICK, EVA MARIA 320 
 
 GASKILL, MRS 844 
 
 Out of Employ 844 
 
 GASTON, MARGARET 321 
 
 GAUSSEM, JEANNE CATHARINE 321 
 
 GAY, SOPHIE 670 
 
 GENERAL PREFACE 35 
 
 GENEVIEVE, ST 106 
 
 GENEVIEVE, DUCHESS OF BRABANT 106 
 
 GENLIS, STEPHANIE FELICITE, COUNT- 
 ESS DE 322 
 
 Laws 322 
 
 Virtue 322 
 
 Prejudice 323 
 
 Music 323 
 
 A Scene in the Two Reputations 323 
 
 GENTILESCHI, ARTEMISIA 325 
 
 GEOFPRIN, MADAME 325 
 
 GBRBBR6E 106 
 
 GERMAINE, SOPHIA 877 
 
 GERSDORF, WILHELMINA VON 853 
 
 GETHIN, LADY GRACE 326 
 
 GHIRARDBLLI, LAURA FELICIA 326 
 
 GILMAN, CAROLINE 670 
 
 Family Education 671 
 
 Young Men 673 
 
 The Southern Wife 673 
 
 Mistakes of Strangers 674 
 
 The Mooking-Bird in the City 674 
 
 6INASSI, CATBRINA 326 
 
 GIRABDIN, DBLPHINE 674 
 
 From "La Canno de Balzac" 675 
 
 GISELLE 106 
 
 GLAPHYRA 40 
 
 GLAUBER, DIANA 326 
 
 GLEIM, BETTY 327 
 
INDEX. 
 
 GLBNOUCHY, WILHELMINA MAXWELL, 
 
 LADY 327 
 
 GODEWYCK, MARGAKBTTA 327 
 
 GODIVA 106 
 
 GODWIN, MARY WOLSTONECRAFT 327 
 
 GOMEZ, MAGDALENE ANGELINA PAIS- 
 
 SON DB 328 
 
 60NZAGA, BARBA VON ,....'. 106 
 
 GONZAGA, CECILIA DB 107 
 
 GONZAGA, BLEONORA 107 
 
 GONZAGA, ISABELLA DI , 107 
 
 GONZAGA, COLONNA JULIA, DUCHBSS OF 
 
 TRAIETTO 328 
 
 GONZAGA, LUCRBTIA : 329 
 
 GONZAGA, COLONNA IPPOLITA 330 
 
 GORE, MRS. CHARLES 676 
 
 From "Self," a Norel 677 
 
 How to Manage the World 678 
 
 Society 678 
 
 The Female Spendthrift 678 
 
 GEORGE, ANITA 857 
 
 GOTT^CHED, LOUISA ADELGUNDA VIC- 
 TORIA 330 
 
 GOUGES, MARIE OLYMPE DB 330 
 
 GOULD, HANNAH FLAG..- 680 
 
 The Moon upon the Spire 680 
 
 The Snow-flake 681 
 
 The Scar of Lexington 681 
 
 Forest Music 681 
 
 The Ship is ready ,,.... 681 
 
 The Ground-Laurel 682 
 
 The Pebble and the Acorn 682 
 
 Name in the Sand 682 
 
 GOURNBY, MARY DB JARS, LADY OF 330 
 
 GOZZADINI, BETISIA 107 
 
 GRACE, MRS 331 
 
 GRAFFIGNY, FRANgOISE D'HAPPON- 
 
 COURT 331 
 
 GRAHAM, ISABELLA 331 
 
 Widowhood 332 
 
 GRAHAM, MARIA 844 
 
 GRANT, ANNE 332 
 
 On a Sprig of Heath 332 
 
 GRAY, MRS 844 
 
 GREEN, FRANCES H 827 
 
 GRBVILLE, MRS 333 
 
 Prayer for Indifi'erence 333 
 
 GREY, LADY JANE , 333 
 
 Lines written in Prison 334 
 
 GRBY, MRS 683 
 
 GRIERSON, CONSTANTIA 334 
 
 GRIFFITH, ELIZABETH 335 
 
 GRIFFITH, MRS. MAJOR 844 
 
 GRI6NAN, FRANCES, COUNTESS DB 335 
 
 GROSS, AMALIE VON 683 
 
 GROSVENOR, COUNTESS H 844 
 
 GROTIUS, MARY '. 335 
 
 GROUCHY, SOPHIE , 335 
 
 GUBRCHBVILLE, MARCHIONESS DB 107 
 
 GUEST, LADY CHARLOTTE 845 
 
 GUILLAUMB, JAQUBTTB 335 
 
 GUILLBLMA 107 
 
 GUILLBT, PERNETTB DU.: 108 
 
 GUIZOT, CHARLOTTE PAULINE 336 
 
 GUIZOT, ELISE MARGARETTA , 336 
 
 GUYARD, ADELAIDE SABILLE 337 
 
 GUYON, JEANNE MARIE BOUVIER DB LA 
 
 MOTTE 337 
 
 GWYNNE, ELEANOR 338 
 
 HABERT, SUSAN DB 338 
 
 HACHETTE, JEANNE 108 
 
 HAGAR 40 
 
 HAHN-HAHN, IDA, COUNTESS OF 683 
 
 From " Reisbriefe," a Letter 684 
 
 Restlessness of Spring 684 
 
 Nice..... 684 
 
 France 685 
 
 Avignon 685 
 
 Constantinople 685 
 
 The Pyramids.' 685 
 
 HAIGHT, MRS 828 
 
 HALE, SARAH JOSEPHA 686 
 
 The Hand and its Work 687 
 
 Worship in the Temple 688 
 
 Worship in the Forest 688 
 
 A Blind Girl's Idea of the Ladies 688 
 
 A Thought -. 689 
 
 The Watcher 689 
 
 The Light of Home 689 
 
 I sing to Him..' 689 
 
 Iron 689 
 
 The Power of Music 690 
 
 It snows 690 
 
 The Mother's Mission 691 
 
 HALKBT, LADY ANNE 338 
 
 HALL, ANNA MARIA 691 
 
 Marian's Character 692 
 
 Blue-Stockings 694 
 
 Sentimental Young Ladies 694 
 
 Woman for Woman 694 
 
 The Public Singer 694 
 
 Prejudice. 695 
 
 Emulation 695 
 
 HALL, LOUISA JANE 695 
 
 The Parting 696 
 
 Dying Fancies 696 
 
 Miriam to Paulus, &c 696 
 
 Miriam to her Betrothed Lover 696 
 
 HALL, SARAH 877 
 
 HAMILTON, ELIZABETH 339 
 
 The Benefits of Society 340 
 
 On Imagination 340 
 
 A Peep at Scottish Rural Life, &c 340 
 
 HAMILTON, LADY 342 
 
 HANKE, HENRIETTA WILHELMINA =■. 696 
 
 HANNAH 41 
 
 HARCOURT, AGNES DE 878 
 
 HARCOURT, HARRIET EUSEBIA 342 
 
 HASER, CHARLOTTE HENRIETTA 342 
 
 HASTINGS, ELIZABETH 342 
 
 HASTINGS, LADY FLORA 343 
 
 Italy 343 
 
 The Swan-Song 343 
 
 HASTINGS, MARCHIONESS OF 873 
 
 HAUFFE, FREDERICA 343 
 
 HAYS, MARY 878 
 
 HECUBA 41 
 
 HEDWIG, AMELIA VON 344 
 
 HELEN 41 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Page 
 
 HELENA, MOTHER OP CONSTANTINE 108 
 
 HELENA, DAUGHTER OF CONSTANTINE 108 
 
 HELENA, MOTHER OF IRATES 108 
 
 HELOISB 108 
 
 HELVETIUS, MADAME 344 
 
 HEMANS, FELICIA DOROTHEA 344 
 
 The Switzer's Wife 347 
 
 Gertrude, or Fidelity, Ac 348 
 
 The Grave of a Poetess 349 
 
 The Mother's Love 349 
 
 Woman -and Fame 349 
 
 Song 360 
 
 Man and Woman 350 
 
 The Spells of Home 350 
 
 Woman on the Field of Battle 351 
 
 Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers 351 
 
 Sahbath Sonnet ; 351 
 
 The Poetry of the Psalms 351 
 
 HENDEL-SCHUTZ, HENRIETTA :.... 352 
 
 HENRIETTA OF ENGLAND 351 
 
 HENTZ, CAROLINE LEE 697 
 
 The Apostate is the True Believer 698 
 
 Do Lara's Love 698 
 
 Zoraya's Love 698 
 
 The Snow-Flake 698 
 
 HERBERT, MARY, COUNTESS OF PEM- 
 BROKE..! 353 
 
 HJERI.TIER, MARIE JEANNE L' 363 
 
 Rondeau 353 
 
 HERO 41 
 
 HERON, CECILIA 353 
 
 HERODIAS 110 
 
 HERSCHEL, CAROLINE LUCRETIA 363 
 
 HERSILIA 41 
 
 HEWITT, MARY E 829 
 
 The Spirit-Bond 829 
 
 The Bride's Reverie 829 
 
 The Child of Fame 829 
 
 HEYWOOD, ELIZA 355 
 
 HILDA, ST 110 
 
 HILDEGARDIS 110 
 
 HILL, FRANCES M 868 
 
 HILTRUDIS Ill 
 
 HIPPARCHIA 41 
 
 HIPPODAMIA 42 
 
 HODSON, MARGARET 845 
 
 Margaret of Anjou 845 
 
 Maternal Love 845 
 
 HOFLAND, BARBARA 355 
 
 HOHENHAUSER, PHILIPPINE AMALIA 
 
 ELISB VON 355 
 
 HOHBNHEIM, FRANCISCA, COUNTESS 
 
 VON 365 
 
 HOOPER, LUCY 355 
 
 To Old Days we remember 355 
 
 Time, Faith, Energy 356 
 
 HOPKINS, LOUISA PAYSON 830 
 
 HOPTON, SUSANNA '...J.... 366 
 
 HORSFORD, MARY GARDINER 830 
 
 My Native Isle 830 
 
 A Dream, &c 830 
 
 HORTENSIA 42 
 
 HORTENSE DE BBAUHARNAIS BONA- 
 PARTE 356 
 
 HOUDETOT, COUNTESS D' 367 
 
 Page 
 
 Imitation de Marot 357 
 
 HOUSTON, MRS 845 
 
 A Steamboat Company 845 
 
 HOWARD, CATHARINE 357 
 
 HOWARD, ANNE, VISCOUNTESS IRWIN... 357 
 
 HOWE, JULIA WARD 831 
 
 A Mother's Love 831 
 
 HOWITT, MARY 699 
 
 Away with the Pleasure 701 
 
 Song of Bdah 701 
 
 Song of Margaret 701 
 
 The Fairies of the Caldon-Low 701 
 
 The Use of Flowers 702 
 
 Father is Coming..: 702 
 
 The Children 702 
 
 HROSWITHA, HELENA VON ROSSEN Ill 
 
 HUBER, MARY 357 
 
 HUBBR, THERESA 358 
 
 HUGHS, MARY 845 
 
 HULDAH 42 
 
 HUILLE, HENRIETTE 853 
 
 HtJLSHOFF, ANBTTE 853 
 
 HUNGARIAN WOMEN 858 
 
 HUNTER, ANNE 358 
 
 Song , 358 
 
 The Lot of Thousands 358 
 
 HUNTINGDON, SBLINA, COUNTESS OF.... 358 
 
 HUTCHINSON, ANNE 358 
 
 HUTCHINSON, LUCY 359 
 
 HYDE, ANNE, DUCHESS OF YORK 360 
 
 HYP ASIA Ill 
 
 ICASIA 112 
 
 INCHBALD, ELIZABETH 360 
 
 INDEX 15 
 
 INGEBORGB, OE INGELBURGA 112 
 
 INGLIS, ESTHER 362 
 
 INGONDB, OR INGUNDIS 112 
 
 INGRIDA 113 
 
 INTRODUCTORY REMARKS 7 
 
 IPHIGBNIA 43 
 
 IRENE 113 
 
 IRBTON, BRIDGET 362 
 
 IRGB 113 
 
 ISABELLA OF ARRAGON 113 
 
 ISABELLA OF CASTILE 114 
 
 ISABELLA OF FRANCE 114 
 
 ISABELLA, WIFE OP EDWARD IL OP 
 
 ENGLAND '. 114 
 
 ISABELLA OF VALOIS 114 
 
 ISABELLA OF LORRAINE - II5 
 
 ISABELLA, QUEEN OP HUNGARY...'. 362 
 
 ISABELLA IL, QUEEN OP SPAIN 703 
 
 ISAURE, CLEMENCB 115 
 
 rVREA, MANZOLI DEL MONTE 855 
 
 JACOBS, SARAH 331 
 
 JAEL, OB JAHEL 43 
 
 JAGIELLO, APPOLONIA ,[[ 704 
 
 JAMBS, ANNA P ' 379 
 
 JAMES, MARIA §31 
 
 JAMESON, ANNA 706 
 
 Artists 707 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Page 
 
 ■Women Artists, Singers, Actresses 101 
 
 Female Gamblers 708 
 
 English Pride 708 
 
 The Duty of Travellers 708 
 
 Conversation 708 
 
 From "Loves of the Poets" 708 
 
 From "Winter Studies," Ac 708 
 
 Education 708 
 
 Authoresses 709 
 
 Dr. Johnson and Women 709 
 
 JANE OF FLANDEES 116 
 
 JARDENS, MAMB CATHARINE DBS 363 
 
 JARZOFF, MADEMOISELLE 867 
 
 JEANNE DB BOURBON 116 
 
 JEANNE OF FRANCE AND NAVARRE 116 
 
 JEMIMA, KEZIA, AND KERENHAPPUCK.. 43 
 
 JBWSBURT, MARIA JANE 363 
 
 Picture of Mrs. Hemans 364 
 
 The Weeper at the Sepulchre 364 
 
 Birth-day Ballads 365 
 
 Song 365 
 
 Passing Away 365 
 
 JBZBBBL 43 
 
 JOAN, THE POPESS 879 
 
 JOANNA, OB JANE OP NAVARRE 116. 
 
 JOANNA, COUNTESS OF HAINAULT AND 
 
 FLANDERS 117 
 
 JOANNA OF NAPLES, 1 118 
 
 JOANNA OF Naples; ii lis 
 
 JOCASTA 43 
 
 JOCHBBBD 43 
 
 JOHNSON, LADY ARABELLA 365 
 
 JOHNSON, ESTHER 365 
 
 JOHNSTONE, MRS 709 
 
 JORDAN, DOROTHEA 366 
 
 JOSEPHINE, EMPRESS 366 
 
 JUDITH OF BETHULIAH 44 
 
 JUDITH OF BAVARIA 119 
 
 JUDSON, ANNE HASSELTINE 367 
 
 Letter to her Brother-in-law 368 
 
 JUDSON, SARAH BOARDMAN 369 
 
 foem 369 
 
 JUDSON, EMILY C 709 
 
 The Farewell 710 
 
 My Bird , 711 
 
 The Two Mammas 711 
 
 JULIA, DAUGHTER OF JULIUS C^SAR... 44 
 
 JULIA, DAUGHTER OF AUGUSTUS 45 
 
 JULIA DOMNA 119 
 
 JULIA MAMMEA 120 
 
 JULIA MCESA 120 
 
 JULIA SCEMIUS 120 
 
 JULIA OF CARTHAGE „. 120 
 
 JULIANA 370 
 
 JULIANNA 120 
 
 JUNOT, LAURA, DUCHESS D'ABRANTBS.. 370 
 
 KAMAMALU 371 
 
 KAPIOLANI 372 
 
 KARSCH, ANNA LOUISA 372 
 
 KAUFFMAN, MARIA ANGELICA 373 
 
 KAVANAGH, JULIA 846 
 
 KBAN, ELLEN 712 
 
 KBLLBY, FRANCES MARIA 373 
 
 KEMBLE, FRANCES ANNE 712 
 
 A Night of Terror 713 
 
 Arrival at Valence, &c 714 
 
 My own Spirit 714 
 
 Rome 714 
 
 A Fair and Virtuous Woman 714 
 
 Woman's Heart 714 
 
 An Old Home 714 
 
 Song 715 
 
 Sonnet 715 
 
 A Mother's Memories 715 
 
 Absence 715 
 
 Lines from the Italian 715 
 
 KENT, DUCHESS OF 715 
 
 KEEALIO, MADAME DE 373 
 
 KHAULA 120 
 
 KILLIGREW, ANNE 373 
 
 KILLIGREW, CATHARINE 374 
 
 Lines to Mildred Cecil 374 
 
 KINGSTON, DUCHESS OF 374 
 
 KINNEY, E. 831 
 
 Cultivation: 831 
 
 The Quakeress Bride 832 
 
 KIRCH, MARY MARGARET 374 
 
 KIRCHGESSNBR, MARIANNE 374 
 
 KIRKLAND, CAROLINE M 716 
 
 New Settlers in the West 717 
 
 Improvement and Enjoyment 717 
 
 A Debating Society in the West 717 
 
 The Influence of Dress 718 
 
 Dress of Servants ' 718 
 
 ' Dress of Ladies 719 
 
 KLOPSTOCK, MARGARET 375 
 
 Letters 375 
 
 KNORRING, BARONESS 858 
 
 KOERTEN, JOANNA 376 
 
 KONIGSMARK, COUNTESS OF 376 
 
 KRUDENER, JULIANNA, BARONESS OF... 376 
 KULMAN, MADAME 857 
 
 LABANA 121 
 
 LABBE, LOUISA 377 
 
 LABROUSE, CLOTILDE SUZBTTE 378 
 
 LACOMBE, ROSE „ 378 
 
 LAFAYETTE, MADAME DE 378 
 
 LA FERTE IMBAULT, MARCHIONESS DE 379 
 
 LAFITE, MARIE ELIZABETH DE 379 
 
 LAIS 45 
 
 LAMB, LADY CAROLINE 379 
 
 LAMB, MARY 379 
 
 LAMBALLE, PRINCESS DE .■ 380 
 
 LAMBERT, ANNE THERESE, MARCHIO- 
 NESS DE 380 
 
 Extrait des Avis d'une Mere a son Fils.... 380 
 
 Extrait des Avis d'une Mere ^ sa Fille 380 
 
 Portrait de Fenelon 381 
 
 LAMBERT, MISS 846 
 
 LAMBRUN, MARGARET 381 
 
 LAMIA 45 
 
 LA MOTTE VALOIS, COUNTESS DE 382 
 
 LANDA, CATHARINE 382 
 
 LANDON, LETITIA ELIZABETH 382 
 
 Youth 384 
 
 Enthusiasm 384 
 
 Imagination 384 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Page 
 
 Aphorisms 384 
 
 Woman's Destiny 385 
 
 The Poet's Power 385 
 
 Musings 385 
 
 Lines of Life 385 
 
 Female Faith 386 
 
 Eve of St. John 386 
 
 Love 387 
 
 Last Verses of L. E. L 387 
 
 LANE, JANE '. 382 
 
 LANNOY, COUNTESS OF 387 
 
 LAODICE OF TROY 45 
 
 LAODICB OF PONTUS 45 
 
 LAODICE OF SYRIA 45 
 
 LAPIERRE, SOPHIE 388 
 
 LARCOM, LUCY 832 
 
 LASHFORD, JOAN 388 
 
 LAST WORDS 902 
 
 LAURA 121 
 
 LAVALLETTE, EMILIE, COUNTESS DE.... 388 
 
 LAWSON, MARY LOCKHART_ 832 
 
 LEAH 45 
 
 LE^NA 46 
 
 LEAPOR, MARY 389 
 
 LEE, ANN 389 
 
 LEE, HANNAH F 719 
 
 Beginning Life 720 
 
 The Reward 720 
 
 Living beyond the Means 720 
 
 LEE, ELEANOR PERCY 832 
 
 LEE, MARY E 879 
 
 LEE, SOPHIA 389 
 
 LEELA OF GRANADA 121 
 
 LEUGB, ELIZABETH 389 
 
 LEIVA, MARIA VIRGINIA DE 121 
 
 L'ENCLOS, ANNE, on NINON DE 389 
 
 LENNGRENN, ANNA MARIA 389 
 
 LENNOX, CHARLOTTE 391 
 
 LENORMAND, MADEMOISELLE 391 
 
 LEONTIUM 46 
 
 LESCAILE, CATHARINE 391 
 
 LESLIE, ELIZA 721 
 
 Love at First Sight 722 
 
 The English Radical, Ac 723; 
 
 The Fortune-Teller 724 
 
 LESPINASSB, MADEMOISELLE DE 391 
 
 LEVI, JUSTINE DE 121 
 
 LEWALD, FANNY 725 
 
 Social Intercourse in Italy , 725 
 
 Conversations in Rome 726 
 
 Lottery Tables 726 
 
 Smorfia, a Dream-book, &o 726. 
 
 LEWIS, ESTELLE ANNA 727 
 
 Beauty 727 
 
 Sorrow 727 
 
 Woman's Love 727 
 
 My Study 727 
 
 The Lovers... 727 
 
 The Cruise of Aureana 728 
 
 LICHTENAU, WILHELMINA, COUNTESS 
 
 OF 392 
 
 LINCOLN, COUNTESS OF 393 
 
 LIND, JENNY 728 
 
 LIOBA 122 
 
 Page 
 
 LIST OF AUTHORITIES 904 
 
 LIST OF FEMALE MISSIONARIES 891 
 
 American Board of Missions 891 
 
 Baptist 897 
 
 Episcopalian i 899 
 
 Presbyterian, (Old School) 900 
 
 LIST OF PORTRAITS H 
 
 LITTLE, SOPHIA 832 
 
 LIVIA 46 
 
 LIZARDIERE, MADEMOISELLE 881 
 
 LLANGOLLEN, LADIES OF 879 
 
 LLOYD, MARY 393 
 
 LOCKE, JANE E 832 
 
 LOCUSTA 46 
 
 LOGAN, MARTHA 393 
 
 LOGES, MARIE BRUNEAU 393 
 
 LOHMAN, JOHANNAH FREDERICA 393 
 
 LOHMAN, EMELIE F. SOPHIA 393 
 
 LOIS AND EUNICE 122 
 
 LONDONDERRY, MARCHIONESS OF 846 
 
 LONGEVITY 888 
 
 LONGUEVILLE, DUCHESS DE 393 
 
 LOQUEYSIE, MADAME DE ; 858 
 
 LOSA, ISABELLA DE 122 
 
 LOUDON, MRS. „ 846 
 
 LOUIS, MADAME 394 
 
 LOUISA OF SAVOY , 122 
 
 LOUISA AUGUSTA WILHELMINA AMALIA 394 
 
 LOUVENCOUBT, MARIE DE 394 
 
 LOWE, MISS 847 
 
 LOWELL, MARIA 832 
 
 The Morning-Glory 832 
 
 LUCAR, ELIZABETH 394 
 
 LUCCHESINI, GUIDICCEINI LAURA 394 
 
 LUCILLA 123 
 
 LUCRETIA 46 
 
 LUCY, ST 123 
 
 LUMLEY, JOANNA, LADY 394 
 
 LUSSAN, MARGARET DE 394 
 
 LYNCH, ANNE CHARLOTTE 730 
 
 Love 731 
 
 Jealousy .t. 731 
 
 Faith 731 
 
 Aspiration .^ « 731 
 
 The Honey-Bee 731 
 
 Bones in the Desert 731 
 
 A Thought by the Sea-Shore 732 
 
 LYNN, ELIZA 847 
 
 Sunset near Thebes 847 
 
 LYSER, CAROLINE LEONHARDT 732 
 
 MACAULEY, CATHARINE 394 
 
 MACDONALD, FLORA 395 
 
 MACOMBER, ELEANOR '. 881 
 
 MADISON, MRS 396 
 
 MCEROE 47 
 
 MAILLARD, MADEMOISELLE 397 
 
 MAINE, DUCHESS DE 397 
 
 MAINTENON, MADAME DE 398 
 
 Letters „ 399 
 
 MAKEDA 47 
 
 MALATESTI, BATTISTA 123 
 
 MALEGUZZI-VALERI, VERONICA 400 
 
 MALEPIERRA, OLYMPIA 400 
 
INDEX. 
 
 MALESCOTTI, MARGHBRITA 400 
 
 MALIBRAN, MARIE EELICITJB 400 
 
 MANDANB 48 
 
 MANLEY, MRS ■. 400 
 
 MANSON, MARIE ERANf AISE CLAIRISSB 401 
 
 MANZONI, GIUSTI ERANCESCA 401 
 
 MARA, GERTRUDE ELIZABETH 401 
 
 MARATTI, ZAPPI FAUSTINA 402 
 
 MARCET, JANE .; 732 
 
 MAREZOLL, LOUISA 864 
 
 MARGARET OE ANJOU 124 
 
 MARGARET, COUNTESS OF TYROL 125 
 
 MARGARET, ST 125 
 
 MARGARET OP ENGLAND 126 
 
 MARGARET t)P BURGUNDY 126 
 
 MARGARET OE SCOTLAND 126 
 
 MARGARET OF PROVENCE !.. 126 
 
 MARGARET OF DENMARK 126 
 
 MARGARET OF VALOIS 127 
 
 MARGARET OF YORK 127 
 
 MARGARET OF GERMANY 127 
 
 MARGARET, DUCHESS OF PARMA 402 
 
 MARGARET OF FRANCE 402 
 
 MARGARET, DUCHESS OF SAVOY 403 
 
 MARGARET LOUISA OF LORRAINE 403 
 
 MARGARBTTA OF SAXONY 127 
 
 MARIA, WIFE OF 6BNIS 48 
 
 MARIA THERESA 403 
 
 MARIA IL, QUEEN OF PORTUGAL 733 
 
 MARIA CHRISTINA 734 
 
 MARIE ANTOINETTE AMELIA 405 
 
 MARIE ANTOINETTE, QUEEN OF FRANCE 405 
 
 MARIE LOUISE 405 
 
 MARIAMNB 48 
 
 MARINA, DONA 407 
 
 MARINELLA, LUCRBTIA 407 
 
 MARINELLI, LUCRBZIA 407 
 
 MARKHAM, MRS 847 
 
 MARLBOROUGH, DUCHESS OF....: 407 
 
 MARLBt, LOUISE PRANf OISE, MARCHIO- 
 NESS DE VIELBOURG 409 
 
 MARON, THERESA DB.... 409 
 
 MARQUETS, ANNE DE 403 
 
 MARS, HYPPOLITE BOUTET 409 
 
 MARSH, ANNE 735 
 
 Woman's Influence ; 736 
 
 A Sad Spectacle 737 
 
 A Narrow Mind 737 
 
 An English Garden 737' 
 
 The Christian 737 
 
 Seduction 738 
 
 Illegitimacy 738 
 
 MARTHA, SISTER 409 
 
 MARTIA 128 
 
 MARTIN, ELIZABETH AND GRACE 410 
 
 MARTIN, MRS. BELL 882 
 
 MARTIN, SARAH , 410 
 
 MARTINBAU, HARRIET 739 
 
 Christianity 740 
 
 On Celibacy 741 
 
 Marriage 741 
 
 Children 741 
 
 Lore and Happiness 742 
 
 A Scene on the Nile 742 
 
 MARTINEZ, MARIANNE 415 
 
 MARTINOZZI, LAURA 415 
 
 MARY 128 
 
 MARY, WIFE OF CLEOPHAS 130 
 
 MARY, MOTHER OF MARK 130 
 
 MARY AND MARTHA 130 
 
 MARY MAGDALENE 130 
 
 MARY OF FRANCE 130 
 
 MARY OF BRABANT 130 
 
 MARY OF ANJOU 131 
 
 MARY OF ENGLAND 131 
 
 MARY OP BURGUNDY 131 
 
 MARY OF ARRAGON 131 
 
 MARY THERESA, WIFE OF LOUIS XIV.... 415 
 
 MARY OF CLEVES '. 415 
 
 MARY L, QUEEN OF ENGLAND 415 
 
 MARY II., QUEEN OF ENGLAND 417 
 
 MARY OP HUNGARY 417 
 
 MARY LECZINSKA 418 
 
 MARY BEATRICE D'ESTE 418 
 
 MARY DE MBDICIS 418 
 
 MARY STUART, QUEEN OF SCOTS 419 
 
 Sonnet 422 
 
 MASHAM, LADY DAMARIS 422 
 
 MASHAM, ABIGAIL 422 
 
 MASQUIBRES, FRANfOISB 422 
 
 MATILDA, WIFE OF HENRY L OP ENG- 
 LAND 131 
 
 MATILDA, OK MAUD, EMPRESS OF GER- 
 MANY 131 
 
 MATILDA, WIFE OF WILLIAM THE CON- 
 QUEROR... 1,32 
 
 MATRAINI, CLARA CANTARINI 42a 
 
 MATTUGLIANI, MEA 132 
 
 MAUPIN, N. AUBIGNY 423 
 
 MAURY, MRS 882 
 
 MAY, CAROLINE 833 
 
 Lilies 833 
 
 Thoughts 833. 
 
 MAY, EDITH 833 
 
 Prayer 833 
 
 Frost Pictures „ 834 
 
 MAYO, ABIGAIL 882 
 
 MAYO, S. C. EDGARTON 42.5 
 
 Types of Heaven 423. 
 
 The Shadow-Child 423 
 
 MAZARIN, HORTENSE MANCINI, DUCH- 
 ESS OF 424 
 
 M'CARTEE, JESSIE G 834 
 
 M'CRBA, JANE 882 
 
 M'INTOSH, MARIA J... 742 
 
 Woman's Work. 743 
 
 The Mother's Power 743 
 
 The Daughter's Destiny 743 
 
 MEDIA 48 
 
 MBGALOSTRATA 48 
 
 MBIGS, MARY NOEL 834 
 
 MELLON, HARRIET, DUCHESS OF ST. 
 
 ALBANS 424 
 
 MERAB 48 
 
 MERCER, MARGARET 424 
 
 Conversation 427 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Page 
 
 MEREDITH, MRS 847 
 
 The Blue-bell 847 
 
 MERIAN, MARIA SIBYLLA 427 
 
 MESSALINA VALERIA 132 
 
 MBSSALINA, WIFE OF NERO 133 
 
 METBYAED, ELIZA 848 
 
 MBTRANA, ANNA 428 
 
 MICHAL 48 
 
 MICHIEL, RENIER GIUSTINA 428 
 
 MILESI, BIANCA 855 
 
 MILLER, LADY 428 
 
 MILTON, MARY 428 
 
 MINGOTTI, CATHARINE 429 
 
 MINUTOLI, LIVIA 429 
 
 MIRBEL,, MADAME DE 883 
 
 MISSIONARY SOCIETIES 896 
 
 MIRIAM 49 
 
 MITCHELL, MARIA 743 
 
 MITFORD, MARY R0SSELL 744 
 
 Whitsun-Eve — My Garden 745 
 
 Characters ^... 746 
 
 Mrs. Lucas and her Daughters 746 
 
 Home and Love 747 
 
 MNISZECH, MARINA, CZARINA OF MUS- 
 COVY , 429 
 
 MOHALBI, GARAFILIA 431 
 
 MOLSA, TARQUINIA 432 
 
 MOMORO, SOPHIE, .' 431 
 
 MONICA 133 
 
 MONIMA 49 
 
 MONK, HON. MRS 431 
 
 MONTAGU, ELIZABETH '. 432 
 
 Letters 433 
 
 MONTAGU, LADY MARY WORTLBY 434 
 
 Extracts from her Letters 435 
 
 Lines written soon after her Marriage 439 
 
 Reply to Pope 440 
 
 Experience late , 440 
 
 MONTANCLOS, MADAME DB 440 
 
 M0NTE6UT, MADAME DB 440 
 
 MONTENAY, GEORGETTE DB 440 
 
 MONTBSPAN, MADAME DE 440 
 
 MONTI, CONSTANZA 855 
 
 MONTMORENCY, CHARLOTTE MARGARET 440 
 
 MONTPENSIER, DUCHESS DE 441 
 
 MONTPENSIER, JACQUELINE LONGVIC, 
 
 DUCHESS DE 441 
 
 MORATA, OLY'MPIA FULVIA 441 
 
 MORE, HANNAH 442 
 
 Extracts from "Hints for Forming," Ac... 446 
 
 From "Florio" 446 
 
 From "Sensibility" ,. 446 
 
 A Mother's Love 447 
 
 A good Conscience 447 
 
 Favour is Fleeting , 447 
 
 Faith 447 
 
 Wisdom 447 
 
 Trust in God ,. 447 
 
 MORELLA, JULIANA 442 
 
 MORGAN, SYDNEY', LADY 747 
 
 My first Rout in London 749 
 
 Good Mothers 750 
 
 Women in Asia 751 
 
 MORLEY, COUNTESS OF 848 
 
 Page 
 
 MOSCHENI, CONSTANZA 856 
 
 MOSBBY, MARY W 883 
 
 MOTHER ANNA, on ANN OF SAXONY ' 447 
 
 MOTT, LUCRETIA 752 
 
 MOTTE, REBECCA 448 
 
 MOTTEVILLB, FRANCES BERTRAND DB 449 
 
 MOWATT, ANNA CORA 754 
 
 MURATORI, TERESA 449 
 
 MUSSASA 449 
 
 MYBBRG, MADAME 858 
 
 MYRTIS. 49 
 
 NAOMI 49 
 
 NBAL, ALICE BRADLEY 755 
 
 The Bride's Confession 755 
 
 Old Letters 756 
 
 The Day of Rest : 766 
 
 Dedication of the "Gossips," &c , 756 
 
 NEALE, ELIZABETH .' 449 
 
 NECKER, SUZ-INNE 449 
 
 NBLLI, SUOR PLANTILLA 451 
 
 NEMOURS, DUCHESS DB 451 
 
 NEUBER, CAROLINE 451 
 
 NEUMANN, MADAME 854 
 
 NEWCASTLE, DUCHESS OF 451 
 
 Queen Mab 452 
 
 Mirth and Melancholy 452 
 
 NEWELL, HARRIET 453 
 
 NICHOLS, MARY SARGENT GOVE- 757 
 
 Medical Practice 758 
 
 General View, &c 760 
 
 NICHOLS, REBECCA L. : 834 
 
 NITOCRIS 49 
 
 NOil, CANEDI MADDALENA 761 
 
 NOGAEOLA, ISOTTA 133 
 
 NOGAROLA, ARCO D' ANGELA 134 
 
 NORDEN-FLBICHT, CHEBDERIG CHAR- 
 LOTTE DB 454 
 
 NORTON, HON. MRS 761 
 
 Lines to the Duchess of Sutherland 762 
 
 Twilight .'. 763 
 
 Obscurity of Woman's Worth 763 
 
 Weep not for Him that Dieth 763 
 
 Sonnet 764 
 
 Sonnet to my Books 764 
 
 Man and Woman 764 
 
 London Outcasts 764 
 
 Common Blessings 764 
 
 The Blind 764 
 
 From "Music on the Wave" 764 
 
 The Widow 764 
 
 NORTON, LADY FRANCES 454 
 
 NOVELLA 134 
 
 OBERLIN, MADELEINE SALOME 454 
 
 OCTAVIA, WIFE OF MARC ANTONY -50 
 
 OCTAVIA, WIFE OF NERO 134 
 
 OLDFIBLD, ANNE 455 
 
 OLGA 134 
 
 OLIVER, SOPHIA HELEN... 836 
 
 OLYMPIAS 50 
 
 O'NEILL, MISS ..." 465 
 
 OPIE, AMELIA 468 
 
 Two Years of Wedded Life 456 
 
INDEX. 
 
 The Orphan Boy's Tale 467 
 
 Song 467 
 
 Song 467 
 
 ORLANDINE, EMILIA, OF SIENNA 467 
 
 ORLEANS, DUCHESS D' 467 
 
 ORLEANS, MARIE D' 883 
 
 ORPAH 61 
 
 OSGOOD, FRANCES SARGENT '. 468 
 
 May-Day in New England 459 
 
 Stanzas 459 
 
 Love the lightest 460 
 
 The Baby blowing back, &o 460 
 
 Ellen's first Tooth 460 
 
 The little Slnmberer.... 460 
 
 The Child playing with a Watch 461 
 
 Little Children 461 
 
 To my Pen „.. 461 
 
 The Soul's Lament for Home 461 
 
 New England's Mountain Child ;. 462 
 
 Music 462 
 
 Garden Gossip 462 
 
 The Unexpected Declaration 462 
 
 Beauty's Prayer 462 
 
 Song 463 
 
 To the Spirit of Poetry 463 
 
 A Weed 463 
 
 Silent Love 464 
 
 Caprice 464 
 
 Aspirations 464 
 
 Labour , 464 
 
 OSTBRWYK, MARIA VAN 465 
 
 PACHECO, DOSNA MARIA 134 
 
 PADILLA, MARY DE 136 
 
 PAKIN6T0N, LADY DOROTHY 465 
 
 PALADINI, ARCHANGBLA , 465 
 
 PAMPHILA 136 
 
 PANTHBA 61 
 
 PANZACCHIA, MARIA ELENA 465 
 
 PAOLINI, MASSIMI PETRONELLA 465 
 
 PARADIBS, MARIA THERESA 466 
 
 PARDOB, JULIA 766 
 
 Amusements of the Court of Francis 1 766 
 
 Training a Beauty 766 
 
 The Religion of Fashion 766 
 
 Uses of Adversity 767 
 
 PARTHENAY, ANNE DE 466 
 
 PARTHENAY, CATHARINE DE 466 
 
 PARYSATIS 51 
 
 PASTA, JUDITH 767 
 
 PAULA, ST 136 
 
 PAULINA, A ROMAN LADY 136 
 
 PAULINA, WIFE OF SENECA 136 
 
 PBABODY, ELIZABETH F. 836 
 
 PEARSON, MARGARET 466 
 
 PEIRSON, LYDIA JANE 769 
 
 Old Trees 769 
 
 Women in the Wilderness 769 
 
 The Mother 769 
 
 The Poetess 770 
 
 The Shadows..... 770 
 
 To Sleep 770 
 
 PENELOPE 51 
 
 PENNINGTON, LADY ' 466 
 
 PENTHESILEA 61 
 
 PEROT, ELIZABETH ' 467 
 
 Pago 
 
 PERILLA 61 
 
 PERPETUA, VIVIA 135 
 
 PETER, SARAH 870 
 
 PETIGNY, MARIE LOUISE ROSE LE- 
 
 VIlSQUE 486 
 
 Le Papillon 467 
 
 PETRONILLA 1.35 
 
 PPIEFFER, CHARLOTTE BIRCH 767 
 
 PH^DYMA 51 
 
 PHANTASIA 51 
 
 PHBBE 136 
 
 PHELPS, ALMIRA H. LINCOLN 770 
 
 Works of Fiction 771 
 
 Moral Influence 772 
 
 Education 772 
 
 Energy „ 772 
 
 The Mother's Hopes 772 
 
 An Infant's first Ideas 772 
 
 Effect of Excitements 772 
 
 The Child and Nature 773 
 
 The Wonders of Nature 773 
 
 PHERETIMA 51 
 
 PHILIPPA OF HAINAULT 136 
 
 PHILIPS, CATHARINE 467 
 
 Against Pleasure 467 
 
 A Country Life 468 
 
 PHILIPS, ANNE H 835 
 
 PHILISTES 61 
 
 PHILLA 62 
 
 PHILOTIS - 61 
 
 PHRYNE ■ 52 
 
 PICHLER, CAROLINE 468 
 
 PICKERING, ELLEN 884 
 
 PIENNB, JOAN DE HALLUIN .'... 469 
 
 PILKINGTON, LETITIA 469 
 
 PINCKNEY, MARIA 469 
 
 PINDAR, SUSAN 836 
 
 The Shaded Flower 836 
 
 PINELLA, ANTONIA 470 
 
 PIOZZI, OB THRALE, ESTHER LYNCH 470 
 
 The Three Warnings 472 
 
 PIPBLET, CONSTANCE MARIE DE THBIS 473 
 
 Epitre aux Femmes 473 
 
 PISCOPIA, CORNARO ELENE 473 
 
 PISE, OR PISAN, CHRISTINE DE 136 
 
 PIX, MARY 473 
 
 PIZZOLI, MARIA LUIGI , 473 
 
 PLACIDIA 137 
 
 BLANCHE, MATILDA 848 
 
 PLANCINA 52 
 
 PLUMPTRE, ARABELLA 474 
 
 PLUNKBTT, MRS 474 
 
 POCAHONTAS 474 
 
 POICTIERS, DIANE DB, DUCHESS DE 
 
 VALBNTINOIS 476 
 
 POLLA ARGENTARIA 137 
 
 POLLEY, MARGARET 476 
 
 POLISH FEMALE WRITERS 866 
 
 POLYXENA 62 
 
 POLYXO 62 
 
 POMPADOUR, MARCHIONESS DE 476 
 
 POMPEIA PLOTINA 137 
 
 PONSONBT, CATHARINE 848 
 
 PONTHIEU, ADELAIDE 138 
 
INDEX. 
 
 POOL, RACHEL VAN 477 
 
 POOLE, MRS 848 
 
 POPE, MARIA 477 
 
 POPELINIBRB, MADAME DE... 477 
 
 PORTER, ANNA MARIA '. 477 
 
 PORTER, JANE 478 
 
 From "The Scottish Chiefs" 478 
 
 PORTIA ■. 62 
 
 PORTSMOUTH, DUCHESS OF 481 
 
 POZZO, ISABELLA DAL 481 
 
 POSTANS, MRS 848 
 
 PRIE, N. DE BERTBLOT, MARCHIONESS 
 
 DB 481 
 
 PRITCHARD, HANNAH 481 
 
 PRISCA 138 
 
 PROBA 138 
 
 PULCHERIA 138 
 
 PULCISBRIA iELIA 138 
 
 PYRRHA 63 
 
 QUEENSBURT, DUCHESS OF 884 
 
 RACHEL, WIFE OF JACOB 53 
 
 RACHEL, MADEMOISELLE :..: 773 
 
 RADCLIFFE, ANN 481 
 
 Description of the Castle of Udolpho 483 
 
 From the "Italian" 483 
 
 English Travellers visit a Neapolitan Church 483 
 
 RADEGONDE, ST 138 
 
 RAHAB ; ; 54 
 
 RAMBOUILLET, MARCHIONESS DE 484 
 
 RAMSAT, MARTHA LAURENS 484 
 
 Extracts from her Letters 484 
 
 RANCOURT, SOPHIE 486 
 
 RAVIRA, FELETTO ELEONORA OF CASALB 486 
 
 READ, CATHARINE 486 
 
 REBEKAH 64 
 
 RECAMIER, MADAME DE 486 
 
 REEVE, CLARA ; 486 
 
 REISKE, ERNESTINE CHRISTINE 487 
 
 REMARKS ON THE FIRST ERA 17 
 
 REMARKS ON THE SECOND ERA 66 
 
 REMARKS ON THE THIRD ERA 161 
 
 REMARKS ON THE FOURTH ERA 663 
 
 RBNARD, CBCILB 487 
 
 RENEE DE PRANCE, DUCHESS OF PER- 
 
 RABA 488 
 
 EEYBAUD, MADAME CHARLES 774 
 
 RHODOPE 65. 
 
 RICCOBONI, MARIE LABORAS-MEZIERBS 488 
 
 RICH, FRANCES 488 
 
 RICHMOND, DUCHESS OF ; 488 
 
 RIBDESEL, FREDBRICA, BARONESS OF... 488 
 
 EIGBY, MISS 849 
 
 RIZPAH 65 
 
 ROBERT, CLBMBNCE 862 
 
 ROBERTS, EMMA 886 
 
 ROBINSON, THERESE ALBERTINE 
 
 LOUISE 776 
 
 Selfishness 776 
 
 Loving unworthily 776 
 
 Grief and Guilt 776 
 
 The Soul's Power 776 
 
 ROCHE, MARIE SOPHIE DB LA 489 
 
 ROCHES, MESDAMBS DBS 489 
 
 ROCHIER, AGNES DU 139 
 
 RODHIA :... 139 
 
 ROHAN, ANNE DE 489 
 
 ROHAN, FRANCES DE 489 
 
 ROHAN, MARIE ELEONORE DE .'. 490 
 
 ROLAND, MARIE JEANNE 490 
 
 ROPER, MARGARET 492 
 
 ROSA, ANNA DI 492 
 
 ROSALBA, CAERIERA 492 
 
 ROSAMOND 139 
 
 ROSAMOND DE CLIFFORD 139 
 
 ROSARES, ISABELLA DB 139 
 
 ROSE, SUSAN PENELOPE 492 
 
 ROSSI, BLANCHE DE 139 
 
 ROSSI, PROPERZIA DE 139 
 
 ROSTOPCHIN, COUNTESS 867 
 
 ROWB, ELIZABETH 492 
 
 Prom "Meditations" 493 
 
 Ode to Love ." 493 
 
 ROWSON, SUSANNAH 493 
 
 ROXANA 66 
 
 ROZEE, MADEMOISELLE 494 
 
 RUFINA, CLAUDIA 140 
 
 RUSSEL, LADY RACHEL 494 
 
 Extracts from her Letters 496 
 
 RUTH 66 
 
 RUTILJA 56 
 
 RUYSCH, RACHEL 497. 
 
 RYVES, ELIZA 497 
 
 SABINA, JULIA 140 
 
 SABINA, POPP.ffiA 141 
 
 SABLlfiRE, MADAME DE LA 497 
 
 ST. LEGER, HON. ELIZABETH 497 
 
 SAINT CECILIA 171 
 
 SAINTB-NECTARB, MAGDALEN DE 497 
 
 SAINTB-PHALIER, FRANf OISB THERESE 
 
 DE 497 
 
 SAINTB DES PREZ 141 
 
 SALE, LADY 849 
 
 SALOME, SISTER OF HEROD 141 
 
 SALOME, DAUGHTER OF HBRODIAS 141 
 
 SALOME, WIPE OF ZEBEDEB 141 
 
 SALVIONI, ROSALBA MARIA 497 
 
 SAMSON, DEBORAH 497 
 
 SANDFORD, MRS 849 
 
 SAPPHIRA, WIFE OP ANANIAS 142 
 
 SAPPHIRA OF GUBLDRES 142 
 
 SAPPHO 56 
 
 SARAH, OB SARAI 57 
 
 SARTB, DAUPHINE DE 498 
 
 SAUSSURB, MADAME NBOKER DE 886 
 
 SAWYER, CAROLINE M 836 
 
 Pebbles 836 
 
 SCACBRNI, PROSPERI ANGELA 776 
 
 SOALA, ALEXANDRA , 142 
 
 SCALIGERI, LUCIA 493 
 
 SCHOPENHAUER, JOHANNA PROSINA...'.! 498 
 SCHOPPE, AMALIA VON 775 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Page 
 
 SCHROBDBR, SOPHIA 498 
 
 SCHUEMAN, ANNA MARIA 499 
 
 SCOTT, LADY ANNE 498 
 
 SCOTT, JULIA H 886 
 
 SCaiBONIA 68 
 
 SCUDEBI, MAGDALEINB DE 499 
 
 SEDGWICK, CATHARINE MARIA 777 
 
 The Opinions of a Yankee Spinster 778 
 
 The Training of a Belle ;.. 778 
 
 Thoughts pf a Dying Mother 779 
 
 True Politeness 779 
 
 Mr. Aitken's Philosophy 779 
 
 The Poor Rich Man's Blessings 779 
 
 His Advice to Ms Children 779 
 
 His Remarks on Manners 779 
 
 SEGUIBR, ANNE DE 500 
 
 ■SBIDBLMANN, APOLLONIA 600 
 
 SELENA 68 
 
 SELVAGfilA, RICCIARDA 142 
 
 SEMIBAMIS 68 
 
 SBNENA, OE SINA 142 
 
 SERMBNT, LOUISE ANASTASIB 600 
 
 SERVILIA 68 
 
 SBSSI, MARIANNE AND ANNA MARIA.... 600 
 
 SBTON, LADY 142 
 
 SETURNAN, MADAME '. 600 
 
 SEVIGNE, MADAME DB 501 
 
 Extracts from her Letters 501 
 
 SEWARD, ANNA 503 
 
 Extract from a Letter 503 
 
 SEWELL, ELIZABETH M 849 
 
 SEYMOUR, ANNE, MARGARET, AND JANE 603 
 
 SEYMOUR, JANE '. 603 
 
 SFORZA, BONA 503 
 
 SEORZA, CHRISTIERNA, DUCHBSS OF 
 
 MILAN 504 
 
 SFORZA, BIANCA MARIA VISCONTI 143 
 
 SFORZA, IPPOLITA 143 
 
 SHAKOTOA, ELIZABETH 857 
 
 SHARPE, LOUISA 860 
 
 SHELLEY, MARY WOLSTONECRAFT 780 
 
 The Creation of the Monster 781 
 
 LoTe 781 
 
 SHELOMITH 68 
 
 SHERBBN, OR SHIRIN, OR SIRA 504 
 
 SHERIDAN, FRANCES 504 
 
 SHERWOOD, MRS 781 
 
 SHINDLBR, MARY B 836 
 
 SHIPRAH AND PUAH 69 
 
 SHORE, JANE 143 
 
 SHREWSBURY, COUNTESS OF 505 
 
 SHUCK, HENRIETTA 886 
 
 SIDDONS, SARAH 506 
 
 SIDLAR, LUISE 854 
 
 SIGOURNEY, LYDIA HUNTLEY 782 
 
 From Letters of a Mother's, Ac 783 
 
 Power of a Mother 783 
 
 The Mother's Teachings 783 
 
 Woman's Patriotism 783 
 
 Sketch of a Family 783 
 
 The Mother of Washington 784 
 
 Prayer for Missions 786 
 
 A Butterfly on a Child's Grave 785 
 
 The Alpine Flowers 785 
 
 The Thriving Family 785- 
 
 SINCLAIR, CATHARINE 860 
 
 SIRANI, BLIZAEETTA 506 
 
 SIRIES, VIOLANTE BEATRICE 607 
 
 SISIGAMBIS, OR SISYGAMBIS 59 
 
 SMITH, CHARLOTTE 607 
 
 Flora's Horologe 508 
 
 The Cricket 509 
 
 Sonnets 609 
 
 SMITH, ELIZABETH 609 
 
 SMITH, ELIZABETH OAKES 785 
 
 Dreams of Childhood ." 786 
 
 Waking Dreams 786 
 
 Love 786 
 
 Religion 787 
 
 From ''Woman and her Needs" 787 
 
 Female Physician 787 
 
 The Wronged Mother and her Son 785 
 
 The Child Spirit 787 
 
 The Recall, or Soul Melody 788 
 
 The Water r. 788 
 
 Faith 788 
 
 Religion 788 
 
 The Wife 789 
 
 The Grief-Child 789 
 
 SMITH, EMMELINE S 837 
 
 SMITH, MRS. HARRISON 887 
 
 SMITH, SARAH LANMAN 511 
 
 Influence of Thankfulness and Cheerfulness 612 
 
 Satisfaction in Employment 612 
 
 Writings of Jane Taylor 512 
 
 Quiet Usefulness 513 
 
 Excitement 613 
 
 Selfishness 613 
 
 A Thought in Broadway 613 
 
 Anxiety respecting Public Interests 513 
 
 Sideboard Ornaments 613 
 
 Expensive Churches 613 
 
 Means of Happiness 513 
 
 Self-indulgence 613 
 
 Being of God 613 
 
 Contentment 513 
 
 Habits of Thought respecting Christ 513 
 
 Heaven 514 
 
 State of Women in Syria 514 
 
 Qualifications for an American', &c 514 
 
 SMITH, SARAH LOUISA P 610, 
 
 The Huma 610 
 
 The Heart's Treasures 510 
 
 Trust in Heaven 611 
 
 SOMMERY, N. FONTENBLLE DE 615 
 
 SOMERVILLB, MARY 789 
 
 God and his Works 790 
 
 Varieties of the Human Race ^90 
 
 Air 790 
 
 Food 791 
 
 Education 791 
 
 Benevolence 791 
 
 Influence of Christianity 791 
 
 SONTAG, HENRIETTA 791 
 
 SOPHIA OF HISPALI 143 
 
 SOPHIA OF WOLFENBUTTEL 515 
 
 SOPHONISBA 59 
 
 SOR, CHARLOTTE 862 
 
 SOUTHCOTT, JOANNA 516 
 
 SOUTHEY, CAROLINE ANNE 792 
 
 I never oast a Flower away 792 
 
INDEX. 
 
 The Treaty 792 
 
 Autumn Flowers 792 
 
 To Death 792 
 
 SOUTHWORTH, EMMA D. E. NEVITTB 793 
 
 Early Impressions 794 
 
 Infancy 794 
 
 Ciildhood 794 
 
 Unhappy Marriages, Ac 794 
 
 Mismanagement of Children 795 
 
 Ill-health 795 
 
 Early Courtship 795 
 
 X Dangers of Society to the Young 795 
 
 SOUZA, MAEIA FLAHAULT DE 616 
 
 SPILBERG, ADRIANNA 617 
 
 SPILIMBERGO, IRENE DI 517 
 
 SPROAT, ELIZA S 837 
 
 STAAL, MADAME DE 517 
 
 STAEL, ANNE LOUISE GERMAINB, MA- 
 DAME DE 517 
 
 Woman 518 
 
 Conversation 518 
 
 Education 619 
 
 Poetry 619 
 
 Taste 519 
 
 STANHOPE, LADY HESTER 519 
 
 STATIRA 59 
 
 STEELE, MRS. ANNE 521 
 
 STENGEL, FRANZISKA VON 854 
 
 STEPHENS, ANN S 796 
 
 Our Homestead 797 
 
 The Prisoner's Trial 798 
 
 STEPHENS, KATHARINE 521 
 
 STEWART, HARRIET BRADFORD 521 
 
 STOWE, HARRIET BEECHER 837 
 
 The Tea Rose : 837 
 
 STRATONICE 59 
 
 STRICKLAND, MISS AGNES 798 
 
 British Queens 799 
 
 Roman Catholic Queens 799 
 
 Protestant Queens 799 
 
 STUART, ARABELLA 522 
 
 STUART, PRANCES, DUCHESS OP RICH- 
 MOND ; 522 
 
 SUFFOLK, HENRIETTA, COUNTESS OF ... 523 
 
 SULPITIA '. 143 
 
 SURTILLE, CLOTILDE DE 144 
 
 SUZE, HENRIETTA COLIGNY DE LA 524 
 
 SYBELLA '. 144 
 
 SYBILLA, OR SYBIL 59 
 
 SYMPHOROSA 144 
 
 TAGGART, CYNTHIA 624 
 
 The Happiness of Early Years 524 
 
 Ode to the Poppy 525 
 
 TALBOT, CATHARINE 525 
 
 TALLBY, SUSAN ARCHER 838 
 
 TALLIBN, THERESA 625 
 
 TAMAR, OB THAMAR 60 
 
 TAMARIS 60 
 
 TAMBRONI, CLOTILDE 626 
 
 TAMYRIS, OR TOMYRIS 60 
 
 TANAQUIL, OE CARA CECILIA 60 
 
 TANSKA, CLEMENTINA 856 
 
 TARABOTI, CATBRINA 527 
 
 Page 
 
 TARNOW, FANNY 800 
 
 TARPBIA 60 
 
 TARQUINIA 60 
 
 TARRAKANOFF, n!, PRINCESS DE 527 
 
 TATNALL, MRS 873 
 
 TASTU, SABINE CASIMIR AMABLE VO- 
 
 REST 800 
 
 TAYLOR, JANE 527 
 
 The Things that are unseen, Ac 527 
 
 Experience 528 
 
 The Philosopher's Scales 528 
 
 TECHMESSA 61 
 
 TELESILLA 61 
 
 TEMPEST, MISS 850 
 
 TENCIN, MADAME DE 629 
 
 TENDA, BEATRICE... 145 
 
 TEODORO, DANTI 630 
 
 TERENTIA 61 
 
 TERRACINA, LAURA 630 
 
 THAIS _ 61 
 
 THALBSTRIS. 61 
 
 THEANO 61 
 
 THECLA 146 
 
 THEIS DE CONSTANCE, MARIE, PRIN- 
 CESS OF SALM-DYCK 800 
 
 THIERRY, MADAME 800 
 
 THEODELINDA 146 
 
 THEODORA 146 
 
 THEOT, CATHARINE 530 
 
 THERESA, ST 530 
 
 THEROIGNE DE MERICOURT, ANNE JO- 
 SEPH 530 
 
 THESSALONICA 61 
 
 THICKNESSB, ANNE 5.31 
 
 THISBB '61 
 
 THOMA 146 
 
 THOMAS, ELIZABETH 531 
 
 THURSTON, LAURA 888 
 
 THUSNELDA 146 
 
 THYMELE 61 
 
 THYNNE, FRANCES, DUCHESS OF SO- 
 MERSET 631 
 
 The Dying Christian's Hope 631 
 
 TIBERGEAU, MARCHIONESS DE 531 
 
 TIGHE, MARY 531 
 
 The Marriage of Cupid and Psyche 532 
 
 Psyche gazes on Loye asleep 633 
 
 Jealousy 533 
 
 Lovers' Quarrels 534 
 
 Delay of Love compensated 534 
 
 TIMOCLEA 61 
 
 TIM(EA 61 
 
 TINTORETTO, MARIETTA 534 
 
 TISHEM, CATHARINE 535 
 
 TOLLET, ELIZABETH 535 
 
 TOMLINS, ELIZABETH S 536 
 
 TONNA, CHARLOTTE ELIZABETH 536 
 
 The Advantages of Order 636 
 
 Brothers and Sisters 536 
 
 The Evils of Tight Lacing 537 
 
 Employment 537 
 
 The Bible , 
 
 537 
 
 TORNABUONI 147 
 
INDEX. 
 
 TORRELLA, IPPOLITA 538 
 
 TOSINI, BUTROPIA 538 
 
 TOWNSEND, ELIZA ;.... 800 
 
 The InoomprehenBibility of God 801 
 
 TRANTHAM, BETSEY 638 
 
 TRIMMER, SARAH 538 
 
 Letter to Hannah More 639 
 
 TROLLOPE, MRS 801 
 
 TROSINE 61 
 
 TULHAME, MRS 850 
 
 TULLIA 62 
 
 TULLIA, OK TULLIOLA 62 
 
 TUTHILL, LOUISA C 803 
 
 A Daughter's Duty 803 
 
 Behaviour to Servants 803 
 
 Home Habits 803 
 
 Society 80.4 
 
 Conversation 805 
 
 Christianity 806 
 
 Independence 805 
 
 Principles 805 
 
 Consistency 805 
 
 Cheerfulness 806 
 
 Self-Government 806 
 
 TUTHILL, CORNELIA 838 
 
 TWAMLET, LOUISA A 838 
 
 TWIERLEIN, ADERKEID VON 854 
 
 TYMICHA 62 
 
 ULRICA, BLEONORA 539 
 
 URGULANIA 147 
 
 URGULANILLA 147 
 
 URRACA, OE PATERNA 147 
 
 URSINS, PRINCESS DBS 540 
 
 UTTMAN, BARBARA 541 
 
 VALADA 147 
 
 VALDOR, OK "WALDOR, MADAME 852 
 
 VALENTINE 147 
 
 VALERIA 147 
 
 VALLIBRE, DUCHESS DB LA 641 
 
 VALMORB, MADAME 852 
 
 VANHOMRIGH, ESTHER 642 
 
 VAN LENNEP, MARY ELIZABETH 888 
 
 VAN NESS, MARCIA 543 
 
 VARANO DI COSTANZA 148 
 
 VARIOUS FRENCH AUTHORS 852 
 
 VARNHAGEN, RACHEL 543 
 
 VAROTARI, CHIARA.. 643 
 
 VASHTI t 62 
 
 VELBDA, OR VBLLEDA 148 
 
 VERDIER, MADAME DB 543 
 
 VERELST, MADEMOISELLE 543 
 
 VBRNBUIL, MARCHIONESS DE 644 
 
 VERONESE, ANGELA 856 
 
 VBRRUE, COUNTESS OF 544 
 
 VBSTRIS, MADAME 850 
 
 VBRGA, SILVIA ;. 856 
 
 VICTORIA, QUEEN OE GREAT BRITAIN.. 806 
 
 VICTORINA 148 
 
 VIBN, MADAME 544 
 
 VIGNB, ANNE DB LA 544 
 
 VIGRI, CATBRINA ; 644 
 
 A 
 
 VILLEBRUNE, MARIE DE 544 
 
 VILLEDIEU, HORTENSB DE 544 
 
 Madrigal 544 
 
 VILLENEUVB, GABRIELLE DE 544 
 
 VIMIERS, COUNTESS OF 888 
 
 VIOT, MARIE ANNE HBNRIBTTE 544 
 
 VIPSANIA 62 
 
 VIRGINIA 62 
 
 VOLUMNIA 63 
 
 VON DER WART, GERTRUDE 148 
 
 WALDIE, MISS 850 
 
 WAKEFIELD, PRISCILLA 545 
 
 WALPURGA, OE WALPURGIS 148 
 
 WALTERS, HENRIETTA 546 
 
 WARE, KATHARINE AUGUSTA 545 
 
 A New-Year's Wish 545 
 
 Loss of the First-Born 545 
 
 WARFIBLD, CATHARINE 838 
 
 WARNE, ELIZABETH 545 
 
 WARREN, MERCY 546 
 
 Suspicion 646 
 
 Remorse 646- 
 
 Fortune 646 
 
 Ardella 546 
 
 Decline of Public Virtue 546 
 
 Civil War 546 
 
 The Courage of Virtue 546 
 
 WARWICK, MARY, COUNTESS OP 646 
 
 WASHINGTON, MARY 647 
 
 WASHINGTON, MARTHA 649 
 
 WASSEE, ANNA 651 
 
 WATTS, JANE 551 
 
 WEBER, HELENE MARIE 809 
 
 Synopsis of "I?racts," &c 809 
 
 WBISSERTHURM, JOHANNA F. V. VON.... 551 
 
 WBLBY, AMELIA B 811 
 
 My Sisters 811 
 
 To a Sea-shell 811 
 
 The Old Maid 812 
 
 The Rainbow 812 
 
 Hopeless Love 813 
 
 The Last Interview 813 
 
 WELLS, ANNA MARIA 839 
 
 Nature 839 
 
 WBLSER, PHILIPPINE 551 
 
 WEST, ELIZABETH 551 
 
 WEST, JANE 551 
 
 WESTMORELAND, COUNTESS OF 552 
 
 WESTON, ELIZABETH JANE 562 
 
 WHARTON, ANNE, COUNTESS OF 662 
 
 WHEATLBY, PHILLIS .'.... 552 
 
 The Death of the Rev. George Whitfield... 563 
 
 WHITMAN, SARAH HELEN 813 
 
 To the Spirit of Poetry ,... 814 
 
 The Waking of the Heart 814 
 
 The Maiden's Dream 814 
 
 Stanzas with a Bridal Ring 815 
 
 A Song of Spring 815 
 
 A still Day in Autumn 815 
 
 Retrospection 816 
 
 WHITTLESEY, ABIGAIL GOODRICH 872 
 
 WILKINSON, ELIZA 553 
 
 WILKINSON, JEMIMA 553 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Page 
 
 WILLARD, EMMA 816 
 
 The Ocean Hymn 818 
 
 Greek Normal School 818 
 
 How to Teach 818 
 
 What to Teach 819 
 
 Care of Health 819 
 
 Motive Power of the Blood 819 
 
 WILLIAMS, ANNA 653 
 
 On a Lady singing 553 
 
 WILLIAMS, HELEN MARIA 654 
 
 Trust in Providence 654 
 
 WILSON, MRS 555 
 
 WINCHBLSEA, COUNTESS OF 654 
 
 A Nocturnal Reverie 554 
 
 Life's Progress 554 
 
 WINCKEL, THERESA EMILIA HENRI- 
 ETTA 655 
 
 WINKLE, MADEMOISELLE DE 864 
 
 WINTER, LUORBTIA WILHELMINA 658 
 
 WOFFINGTON, MARGARET 558 
 
 WOLF, ARNOLDINA 558 
 
 WOLF, MRS 558 
 
 WOOD, JEAN 669 
 
 WOODBRIDGB, ABBY DWIGHT •. 839 
 
 WOODMAN, HANNAH J. 839 
 
 WOODVILLB, ELIZABETH, QUEEN OF 
 
 ENGLAND 148 
 
 WORONZOFF, ELIZABETH 659 
 
 WOBTLET, LADY EMMELINE STUART.... 820 
 Extracts from "Travels in the United States" 820 
 Dreams 821 
 
 Page 
 
 American Mind 821 
 
 A Farewell to America 821 
 
 XANTIPPE., 
 
 63 
 
 YATES, MARY 659 
 
 YEARSLBY, ANNB 660 
 
 To Stella 560 
 
 YOUNG, CHARLOTTE 850 
 
 Evening 850 
 
 YOUNG WRITERS AND OTHERS 823 
 
 American 823 
 
 British 839 
 
 French 851 
 
 German 853 
 
 Italian 864 
 
 Polish 856 
 
 Russian 867 
 
 Spanish 857 
 
 Swedish 858 
 
 ZAIDA 149 
 
 ZANARDI, GENTILE 560 
 
 ZANARDI-BOTTIONI, SPBCIOSA 866 
 
 ZANWISEI, CONSTANTIA, PRINCESS 
 
 CZARTONYSKA 660 
 
 ZAPPI, FAUSTINA 560 
 
 ZENOBIA SEPTIMIA '. ; 149 
 
 ZINGA, ANNA 660 
 
 ZOBEIDE, OE ZOEBD-EL-KHEMATIN 160 
 
 ZOE, WIFE OE LEO VI 150 
 
 ZOB, DAUGHTER OF CONSTANTINE IX. .. 150 
 
GENERAL PREFACE. 
 
 The want of the world is moral power. Philosophy has become clear-sighted to the im- 
 portance of physical and mental improvement; new discoveries in science are rife on every 
 side, each one designed to aid man in his appointed task of subduing the earth; but who 
 has found out the way to attain that moral power which only can enable him to govern his 
 own spirit, and thus fit him to rule in righteousness and peace over the world he is con- 
 quering ? 
 
 Schools of learning educate the mind, but not the soul ; the world's school develops physi- 
 cal energies, sharpens the senses, enlightens the understanding, incites the passions ; but does 
 not purify the heart. Even the blessed Gospel, as set forth by its appointed teachers, fails 
 to move the mass of mankind the right way. There is a dead weight of earthly propensities 
 pressing down the Christian world ; every advance in material prosperity and intellectual 
 power brings in its train an increase of degradation and misery to a large class of society, 
 and new devices of crime and sin to darken history and discourage hope. 
 
 Are these things always to continue ? Is the theory of those philosophers, who hold that 
 mankind will remain to the end of time in this miserable state of perpetual change without 
 moral advancement, true ? Not if the Word of God is true. A better time is promised, — 
 the " good time," when " the work of righteousness shall be peace, and the effect of righteous- 
 ness, quietness and assurance for ever."* And the time will surely arrive, as the prophet 
 predicted, when beholding by the spirit what the nations of the earth should become, he 
 declared — " They shall sit every man under his vine and under his fig-tree ; and none shall 
 make them afraid."f 
 
 There must then be somewhere an agent to promote this radical change, and, in harmony 
 with the Gospel, and by the aid of the divine blessing, carry on and out the moral advance- 
 ment of society. 
 
 Now I believe (allow me to use the " pronoun in the first person singular," as I only am 
 responsible for the views this preface contains) that I have found the true source of moral 
 power in human nature, and also the way in which this power must be regulated and applied 
 to ensure the absolute moral advancement of mankind. I believe, and trust I shall make it 
 apparent, that Woman is God's appointed agent of morality, the teacher and inspirer of 
 those feelings and sentiments which are termed the virtues of humanity ; and that the pro- 
 gress of these virtues, and the permanent improvement of our race, depend on the manner 
 in which her mission is treated by man. 
 
 There are learned theologians who hold that the human heart is utterly corrupt by reason 
 of the " first transgression." Other theologians, equally learned, reject this doctrine of total 
 depravity, aflSrming that there are good dispositions or qualities inherent in human nature, 
 which may be cultivated and become noble moral virtues. 
 
 Without entering into the arguments on either side of this question, permit me to say that 
 my theory satisfies both. Man, by the " fall," was rendered incapable of cultivating, by his 
 
 * Isaiah, Chap, xxxii., verse 17. t Mioah, Chap, iv., verse 40. 
 
 (xxxt) 
 
xxxvi GENERAL PREFACE. 
 
 own unassisted eflForts, any good propensity or quality of his nature. Left f» himself; his 
 love becomes lust, patriotism, policy, and religion, idolatry. He is naturally selfish in his 
 affections ; and selfishness is the sin of depravity. But woman was not thus cast down. To 
 her was confided, by the Creator's express declaration, the mission of disinterested affection ; 
 her "desire" was to be to her husband — not to herself; she was endowed with the hope of 
 the Good, which, in . the fulness of time, developed by her seed, that is, by Christ, would 
 inake war with the Evil, and finally overcome Sin, Death, and the Grave. 
 
 And now let us turn to the holy Bible, the only record of truths which teach divine wis- 
 dom, for confirmation of this theory I have ventured to propound. 
 
 I entreat my readers, men, who I hope will read heedfuJly this preface, to lay aside, if 
 possible, their prejudices of education, the erroneous views imbibed from poetical descriptions 
 and learned commentaries, respecting the Creation and the Fall of Man. Go not to Milton, 
 or the Fathers, but to the Word of God ; and let us from it read this important history, the 
 foundation of all true history of the natural character and moral condition of mankind. 
 
 " And God said. Let us make man in our image, after our likeness : and let them have 
 dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over 
 all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth. 
 
 " So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him ; male and 
 female created he them. 
 
 " And God blessed them, and God said unto them, Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish 
 the earth and subdue it : and have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of 
 the air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the earth."* 
 
 Here we are instructed that the term man included woman ; the twain in unity, the female 
 being the complement of the male, formed the perfect being made in the " likeness of God." 
 Such was the recorded result of the human creation ; the particular process of the formation 
 of man is afterwards described. 
 
 " And the Lord God made man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into him the 
 breath of life ; and man became a living soul." — Genesis, Chapter II., ver. 7. 
 
 The process of the creation of woman is detailed in the same chapter, verses 18, 21, 22, 
 23, 24. 
 
 " And the Lord God said. It is not good that man should be alone ; I will make him an 
 help meet for him. 
 
 " And the Lord God caused a deep sleep to fall upon Adam, and he slept : and he took 
 one of his ribs, and closed up the flesh instead thereof; 
 
 " And of the rib, which the Lord God had taken from man, made he a woman, and brought 
 her unto the man. 
 
 " And Adam said. This is now bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh ; she shall be called 
 woman, because she was taken out of man. 
 
 " Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave to his wife : and 
 they shall be one flesh." 
 
 Who can read this, and not fail to perceive that there was a care and preparation in form- 
 ing woman which was not bestowed on man ? 
 
 Why was this recorded, if not to teach us that the wife was of finer mould, destined to 
 the most spiritual offices, — the heart of humanity, as her husband was the head ? She was 
 the last work of creation. Every step, from matter to man, had been in the ascending scale. 
 Woman was the crown of all, — the last, and must therefore have been the best in those 
 qualities which raise human nature above animal life ; the link which pressed nearest towards 
 the angelic, and drew its chief beauty and strength from the invisible world.f 
 
 Men, ay, good men, hold the doctrine of woman's inferiority, because St. Paul says she 
 was created "for man." Truly she was made "for man," but not in the sense this text has 
 
 * Genesis, Chapter I., verses 26, 27, 28. f See Biography of Eve, page 38. 
 
GENERAL PEEPACE. xxxvii 
 
 heretofore been interpreted. She was not made to gratify his sensual desires, but to refine 
 his human affections, and elevate his moral feelings. Endowed with superior beauty of per- 
 son, and a corresponding delicacy of mind, her soul was to " help" him where he was deficient, 
 — namely, in his spiritual nature. She was made for him, not to minister to, and thus in- 
 crease his animal appetites, but to purify his tastes and exalt his hopes. She was made " a 
 help meet for him" in Paradise ; and that he there needed her help shows that he was not 
 perfect while standing alone. She must have been more perfect than he in those qualities 
 which were to " help" him. She had not his strength of body or his capacity of understand- 
 ing to grasp the things of earth ; she could not help him in his task of subjluing the world ; 
 she must, therefore, have been above him in her intuitive knowledge of heavenly things ; 
 and the " help" he needed from her was for the " inner man." This will be shown more 
 clearly as we proceed. 
 
 Permit me, however, to remark here, that I am not aiming to controvert the authority of 
 the husband, or the right of men to make laws for the world they are to subdue and govern. 
 I have no sympathy with those who are wrangling for " woman's rights ;" nor with those 
 who are foolishly urging my sex to strive for equality and competition with men. What I 
 seek to establish is the . Bible doctrine, as I understand it, that woman was intended as the 
 teacher and the inspirer for man, morally speaking, of " whatsoever things are lovely, and 
 pure, and of good report." The Bible does not uphold the equality of the sexes. When 
 created, man and woman were unlike in three important respects. 
 
 1st. The mode of their creation was different. 
 
 2d. The materials* from which each was formed were unlike. 
 
 3d. The functions for which each was designed were dissimilar. 
 
 They were never equal ; they were one ; one in flesh and bones ; one in the harmony of 
 their wills ; one in the unison of their souls ; one in their hope of earthly happiness ; one 
 in the favour of G-od. Thus perfect was their union in Eden while they were innocent. Yet 
 as in their corporeal forms woman was the most refined and delicate, so her spirit (by the 
 term, I mean heart, soul, mind, including all the affections and passions) was purer and 
 holier than man's. He was formed of the earth, and had in the greatest development those 
 powers of mind which are directed towards objects of sense ; she, formed from his flesh and 
 bones, had in greatest development those powers of mind which seek the affections. But 
 these differences did not hinder their union ; such diversities only served to enhance the in- 
 tensity and enlarge the variety of their enjoyments. It is not disparity of intellect, or 
 difference in the innocent enjoyments of life, which make the miseries of the married pair ; 
 it is disunion of hearts and hopes, the conflicts of passion and will ; these mar domestic 
 bliss. There was nothing to disturb the serenity of Eden till sin entered ; then we learn 
 how the sexes differed. 
 
 In the Biography of Eve, I have given a particular account of the manner of the " fall ;" 
 showing that the man and woman were together when the serpent tempted her; and that 
 the idea of her being out alone gathering flowers is as fabulous as the story of Proserpine. 
 The Bible says : — " And when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it 
 was pleasant to the eyes, and a tree to be desired to make one wise, she took of the fruit 
 thereof, and did eat, and gave unto her husband with her; and he did eat." Genesis, Chap. 
 III., ver. 6. 
 
 Most commentators, men, of course, represent woman as the inferior, and yet the most 
 hlamable. She could not have been both. If man, who had the greatest strength of body, 
 had also the greatest wisdom of mind, and knew, as he did, that the serpent was a deceiver, 
 then surely man was the most criminal. He should have restrained or at least warned 
 his wife. 
 
 * Chemically tested, their bodily elements were similar ; like diamond from carbon, woman had 
 been formed from man ; yet the refining process which increased her beauty and purity did not alter 
 this elemental identity ; and hence they were one in the flesh. 
 
xxxviu GENERAL PKEFACE. 
 
 The Bible, however, is the authority to guide us in understanding which was the guilty- 
 transgressor ; which sinned because loving the things of earth more than the wisdom of God. 
 St. Paul says that — " The woman, being deceived, was in the transgression ;" thereby affirm- 
 ing that if she had understood what was to follow, she would not have disobeyed. 
 
 That this is the true interpretation of the apostle's words is made sure by the trial of the 
 guilty pair, and their sentence from their Creator, who knew their motives and could weigh 
 their sin. 
 
 Woman pleaded that she was deceived — " The serpent beguiled me, and I did eat." 
 
 The man said — " The woman whom thou gavest to be with me, she gave me of the tree, 
 and I did eat." 
 
 That Adam intended, in thus accusing his wife, covertly to throw the blame on God for 
 creating her, seems probable from the severity with which his sentence is worded. He is 
 judged as though he was the selfish criminal, disobeying God from sensuous inclinations — 
 "of the earth, earthy;" — his sin is so great, that the ground is "cursed for his sake;" — 
 like a felon he is condemned to hard labour for life; and- his death, connected with his origin 
 from dust, isset before him in the most humiliating light. The only ray of hope to which 
 he could turn was the promise made to his wife ; thus showing him that she was still consi- 
 dered worthy of trust, and must therefore have been the least culpable. A corroboration of 
 this is found in the sentence pronounced against the serpent or spirit of Evil which had 
 deceived her ; the clause reads thus : — " And I will put enmity between thee and the woman, 
 and between thy seed and her seed ; it shall bruise thy head, and thou shalt bruise his heel." 
 Gen. III. 5. 
 
 Now mark the words : — God says, — " / will put enmity between thee and the woman." Is 
 not here the assurance that the female bad still in her nature the disposition towards good, 
 which should be opposed to evil in this world? How could there be "enmity" between her 
 and the tempter, if her heart was wholly corrupt ? The conflict with sin was to be first 
 waged by her and with her. How could this be, unless she was then endowed with the germ 
 of divine grace, which, unfolded by the breath of the Holy Spirit, would, in the fulness of 
 time, be honoured by her glorious " seed," the Saviour, who would " put all His enemies 
 under His feet?" 
 
 This "enmity" between sin and the woman, which is as positively predicted as the coming 
 of Christ, and his conflict with the powers of Evil, has never been noticed by any writer on 
 the Bible. Yet the history of the world proves it is true, that to degrade and demoralize 
 the female sex is one of the first and most persevering efforts of false religions, of bad 
 governments, and of wicked men. 
 
 The difierence between the sin of the man and that of the woman, and the condition in 
 which they stood before their omniscient Judge, may well be illustrated by a passage from 
 the sermon of a learned and pious clergyman,* who had no thought, however, of this appli- 
 cation. The text was from Psalms, CXIX., ver. 11. "Thy word have I hid in my heart, 
 that I might not sin against thee." In the course of the sermon this true and striking 
 description of human nature occurs : — " Man is what the affections make him. His body, 
 in its physical powers, obeys the behests of his heart. Mind, in its wondrous faculties, is 
 also moulded by the same influence. The Will bows to the Affections ; the Judgment is 
 reversed by its decisions ; Reason yields to its power ; and Conscience even is taught to echo 
 what the heart desires." 
 
 It is the record of the Bible that the heart of the woman desired wisdom. Even in the 
 act of disobedience she did not withdraw her heart wholly from God. True, she sinned, 
 because she disobeyed, or in other words, aspired above her human condition, which God had 
 forbidden. Yet her aspirations were heavenward, while the man disobeyed wilfully and from 
 
 * Kev. Dr. Stevens, Rector of St. Andrew's Church, Philadelphia. 
 
GENERAL PREFACE. xxxix 
 
 sensuous motives ; he had no faith in the tempter's promises, no hope of obtaining heavenly 
 wisdom. 
 
 Another extract from this excellent sermon is important as an illustration of my views ; 
 the preacher truly says, — " The destinies of life lie not in the intellect, but in the disposi- 
 tions and affections of man. The ti-uths of the Bible brought to bear upon the heart will 
 produce this change, (regeneration;) nothing else can. Hence, if God's word be hid in 
 one's heart, it will lead him to renounce sin and lead a new life, following the commandments 
 of God." 
 
 Now, bear in mind that the " word," which after the " fall" was given to direct the human 
 race, is all contained in the declaration of God concerning the woman and her seed ; — there 
 was no other Law or Gospel, no other word of promise, given for eighteen hundred years. 
 That Eve kept this word hid in her heart, is made sure by what she said on the birth of 
 Cain : " I have gotten a man from the Lord." She believed God's word ; she clung to His 
 promise, even when her soul was pierced with such sore afSiction as might have been almost 
 an excuse for distrust : " God hath appointed me another seed instead of Abel, whom Cain 
 slew," was her pious reflection, when Seth was given her. While she thus had the word of 
 God hid in her heart, could she have been utterly depraved ? 
 
 . The sentence of her punishment proves also her comparative innocence. She is not ac- 
 cused of disobedience against God ; the word of hope is given her before she hears her doom ; 
 and that doom shows the possession of warm sensibilities and fond affections, even a heart 
 of flesh. — "I will greatly multiply thy sorrow and thy conception : in sorrow shalt thou 
 bring forth children; and thy desire shall be to thy husband, and he shall rule over thee." 
 Gen. in. 16. 
 
 The human pair were judged apart ; of course, they were severed beings ; they could be 
 no longer one in the sense of mutual reliance on God, and consciousness of perfect love to- 
 wards each other, when the wife was placed under the rule of her husband. Had she been 
 made inferior to him in mind, heart, soul, where would have been her punishment? She 
 would naturally, inevitably, have fallen into this inferior position. But if her nature was 
 more refined, more spiritual, a nearer assimilation with the angelic, and therefore the highest 
 degree of excellence in the human, then to be subjected to the coarser, earthlier, more sen- 
 suous nature of man, would be a sad and humiliating lot. Much did she need the gracious 
 word she had received and could keep " hid in her heart," that her seed should at last triumph 
 over the tempter who had wrought her woe ; and that although she must bear oppression and 
 endure sorrow, yet she should not fall into the utter depths of sin ; there should be " enmity" 
 between her nature and the spirit of Evil. Moreover, that she did, at first, hold the sove- 
 reignty of the earth in equal trust with man, is as surely true as that, after the " fall," her 
 husband was appointed to "rule over" her. God gave them joint dominion ;'*^ but she had 
 sought to be wise above her human condition ; by his door, sin had entered Eden ; the effect 
 of sin was to separate the creature from the Creator ; the earthly triumphed over the hea- 
 venly, the sensual over the moral ; man would rule ; and that woman, with the word hid in 
 her heart, was subjected to him, could not separate her happiness from his, but must work 
 out the moral sense of her sex through the physical strength of his, was the only way of 
 improvement, of salvation for the race. 
 
 This, then, is the doctrine of the Bible, that, when banished from Eden, man was ordained 
 to become the Worker or Provider ; the Protector ; and the Lawgiver. 
 
 Woman was to be' the Preserver ; the Teacher or Inspirer ; and the Exemplar. 
 
 Had each performed the part assigned, in love, and faith, and truth, the world would have 
 become an Eden to the human family ; but sin was with them, to poison their happiness, 
 divide their hopes, and corrupt their inclinations. This declension would, if my views are 
 true, naturally begin on the part of the man. The Bible shows, by the record of the first 
 
 * See Genesis, Chap I., verse 28. 
 
xl GENERAL PREFACE. 
 
 murder, that, it did so begin, and thus it continued; the more he exercised his physical 
 strength and cultivated his intellectual powers, directing these, as in a state of nature he 
 always has done, for selfish ends, earthoard, the less he appreciated the delicate sensibilities 
 of the companion God had given him, whose excellence was in the purifying power she 
 should have held over his grosser passions. But -he hated the true and the good, when 
 these checked his animal propensities, and only prized the beautiful in woman's outward 
 form, because it ministered to his sensual desires. He could not, or he would not, understand 
 that her mission was to help him in his spiritual nature, his warfare with sin ; and so he forced 
 her to become the slave of his power or the toy of his lusts. Woman was compelled to 
 yield ; but her nature had an innate spiritual strength he could not wholly overcome. There 
 was for her no resource but in this superior subtlety of her moral sense ; she could not resist 
 his stronger arm, but she could turn his passions against each other, and against himself. 
 She did this. *Delilah and Sampson are illustrations of these truths. And thus the sexes, 
 being in this false position, continued to corrupt each other more and more during the four 
 thousand years before the coming of Christ. 
 
 It was not to exhibit the great deeds of my sex, as the world understands greatness, that 
 I undertook the task of preparing this Kecord of celebrated Women. Viewed in the light, 
 or rather shadow of earthly value, the female sex has done little worthy of fame, little to 
 advance the material interests of society, or build up the renown of nations. But I venture 
 to assert that, in the moral progress of mankind, woman has been G-od's most efficient agent, 
 the co-worker with His Providence, in those remarkable events which have ehanged the. fate 
 of nations, brought light out of darkness, and given impulse and direction to the souls of 
 men, when these sought to advance the cause of righteousness. 
 
 In order to give more clearness to my views, I have divided the work into eras, or por- 
 tions of time, so that the progress of woman and her influence may be distinctly traced. 
 
 Era First includes the forty centuries from the creation to the Messiah's advent. During 
 all this time, the female sex had only their natural gifts of a lovelier organization of form, 
 and a purer moral sense, to aid them in the struggle with sin which had taken possession of 
 the brute strength, and human understanding of men.-]' 
 
 * See page 36. 
 
 f What this struggle was, and how the " enmity" of the " serpent," or wicked men who represent 
 the devil on earth, was manifested towards the "woman," maybe inferred from the present condition 
 of the female sex among heathen nations. Mrs. Ann H. Judson gives the following account ; no one 
 who has visited India, or read its history, will question her accuracy. 
 
 "In Bengal and Hindostan, the females, in the higher classes, are excluded from the society of 
 men. At the age of two or three years, they are married by their parents to children of their own 
 rank in society. On these occasions, all the parade and spMndour possible are exhibited ; they are 
 then conducted to their father's abode, not to be educated, not to prepare for the performance of 
 duties incumbent on wives and mothers, but to drag out the usual period allotted in listless idleness, 
 in mental torpor: At the age of thirteen, fourteen, or fifteen, they are demanded by their husbands, 
 to whose home they are removed, where again confinement is their lot. No social intercourse is 
 allowed to cheer their gloomy hours ; nor have they the consolation of feeling that they are viewed, 
 even by their husbands, in the light of companions. So far from receiving those deUoate attentions 
 which render happy the conjugal state, and which distinguish civilized from heathen nations, the wife 
 receives the appellation of my servant, or my dog, and is allowed to partake of what her lordly husband 
 is pleased to give at the conclusion of his repast ! In this secluded, degraded situation, females in ' 
 India receive no instruction; consequently, they are wholly uninformed of an eternal state. No 
 wonder mothers consider female existence a curse ; hence their desire to destroy their female offspring, 
 and to burn themselves with the bodies of their deceased husbands. This last circumstance might 
 imply some attachment, were it not a well-known fact that the disgrojie of a woman who refuses to 
 burn with the corpse of her husband is such, that her nearest relations would refuse her a morsel of 
 rice to prevent her starvation." 
 
 Another dreadful picture of the " enmity" of sin or wicked men to the " woman," is drawn by Mr. 
 J. J. Jarvis, in his " History of the Hawaiian or Sandwich Islands." He had been a resident there 
 and was well acquainted with the character and condition of the people. He says : " Oppressive as 
 
GENERAL PREFACE. xli 
 
 Era Second includes the time from the birth of Christ to the year 1500. Woman had 
 now the aid of the blessed Gospel, which seems given purposely to develop her powers and 
 sanction her influence. And that the laws Christ enjoined on his followers are pre-eminently 
 favourable to the development of her faculties, while they repress or denounce the peculiar 
 characteristics usually called manly, is an irrefragable proof that her nature was the best. 
 We can trace the efiect of Christianity everywhere by its tendency to elevate woman ; that 
 is, give her that rightful place of honour which makes her " the glory of the man ;" and 
 through the reaction of her purifying influence on her husband and children we trace the 
 gradual improvement of society. 
 
 Era Third contains sketches of the eminent women who have lived and died since the 
 year 1500. These were favoured with another great advantage. The G-ospel had emanci- 
 pated the soul of woman ; the invention of printing gave freedom to her mind. Instead of 
 the ignorance in which, like slaves, the sex had been kept, the cultivated intellect and supe- 
 rior manual ingenuity of their rulers were now made to contribute to their rapid advancement. 
 The results of this mental cultivation on the female character are most cheering. The philo- 
 sopher, seeking to disseminate truth ; the philanthropist, eager to do good ; the patriot, aiming 
 to exalt his country; the Christian, in earnest to promote his religion; will each and all find 
 in educated woman, as the Bible represents her mission, and this Record shows her influence 
 and her works, their best earthly helper, counsellor, encourager and exemplar. 
 
 Era Fourth is devoted to the living, who are already known by their writings. A new 
 element of improvement, now in course of rapid development, is destined to have a wonder- 
 ful effect on the female mind and character. This element is individual liberty, secured by 
 constitutional laws. Such freedom gives all the true light and life nations derive from 
 the Word of G-od, because this liberty is of the Bible ; and only where religious freedom 
 and civil liberty have made some progress, is the Bible permitted to be freely read. 
 
 The Bible ds woman's Magna Gharta ; in it is set forth her duties and her destiny. Allow 
 me to request those who desire to learn what the Scriptures teach concerning the female sex, 
 
 were the laws to the men, they were far more so upon the women. Their sex was hut an additional 
 motive for insult and tyranny. The right of blood gave to the_ highest female the power to rule ; hut 
 she, equally with the humblest dependent, was subject to the iron law of the " tabus." Neither could 
 eat with men ; their houses and their labours were distinct ; their aliment was separately prepared. 
 A female child from birth to death was allowed no food that had touched its father's dish. The choicest 
 of animal and vegetable products were reserved for the male child ; for the female, the poorest ; and 
 the use of many kinds, such as pork, turtle, shark, bananas, and cocoanut, were altogether interdicted. 
 Whatever was savoury or pleasant, man reserved for his own palate ; while woman was made bitterly 
 to feel her sexual degradation. When young and beautiful, a victim of sensuality ; when old and 
 useless, of brutality." 
 
 Nor is this "enmity" of sin to the "woman" confined to heathen nations. Everywhere among 
 those called Christians, are wicked men, " earthly, sensual, devilish," to use the apostle's words, who 
 strive to degrade and pollute woman. An account in this same "History" shows' the worse than 
 brute wickedness of the commanders of vessels touching at the Islands. These fiends in human 
 shape strove to reintroduce the licentiousness which had prevailed before the arrival of the 
 missionaries, and the conversion of the people to Christianity ; and there was exhibited a complete 
 picture of the " enmity" of the " serpent" or sin to the " woman," (that is, to her moral influence, 
 for she can have none when becoming a slave to the lusts of man,) and also of the " enmity" of his 
 'seed or imoked men to her seed, or Christian men. The officers of these vessels were Englishmen and 
 Americans — one* was an officer in the American navy ; and these men, brought up in Christian com- 
 munities, were not ashamed to allow their sailors to menace and attack the missionaries, who pre- 
 vented them from obtaining their victims. 
 
 * See Jarvis's "History of the Sandwich Islands," pp. 263-4-5. Also, Tracy's "History of Mis- 
 sions," p. 184, for the name of this miserable man. I wiU not stain the pages of this work with the 
 relation of the conduct of one who disgraced the American flag, by using the power it gave him for 
 the pollution of woman, and degraded the mother who bore him, by his " enmity" to the moral purity 
 of her sex. 
 
xlii GENERAL PBEFACE. 
 
 to read carefully the first four chapters of Grenesis ; and then every portion connected with 
 the histories of the Bible Women,* named in this Record. And there is one chapter in the 
 New Testament particularly important in its bearing on this subject ; I allude to I. Corin- 
 thians, Chapter XI., verses from the 1st to the 16th. This chapter has never, in my opinion, 
 been rightly understood. It contains the first exposition of St. Paul on what is now fami- 
 liarly termed " the woman question," or her right to equal privileges with man, in the family, 
 the church, and the state. In this chapter, and subsequently in others, the apostle gives his 
 opinions, which those who advocate the doctrine of man's supremacy consider as settling the 
 question entirely in their favour; while the champion of "Woman's Rights" always shirks 
 the decisions of St. Paul, seemingly inclined to reject his authority, and even deny the truth 
 of divine revelation, rather than submit to the clear letter of instruction in duties the apostle 
 sets forth. 
 
 But I believe his teachings were the result of divine inspiration ; that every command he 
 gave was not only binding on the men and women of his day, but will continue to be the 
 law of the true church till the end of time.' I do not wish to have a word expunged, a rule 
 altered, nor a command evaded. What I desire is to have the meaning of St. Paul rightly 
 understood. It appears to me this has never been ; therefore I trust those who make the 
 Bible their study, wise theologians and learned commentators, wiU pardon my attempt to 
 show the true interpretation. 
 
 Rightly to understand the apostle, we must find out the doctrine he sought to establish 
 and illustrate ; which was, as I read the chapter, (Cor. I. XI.,) the same God revealed when 
 declaring to the serpent — " / will put enmity between thee and the woman." What can this 
 declaration mean, if it does not imply that the female sex held the moral lever of the world ? 
 The apostle teaches the same doctrine. Let us examine the manner in which he enforces it. 
 
 Under the Jewish dispensation, the female sex was iScluded in the covenant by the ad- 
 mission of the male only, because the duties of religion or worship were ceremonial ; and 
 therefore, as works, belonged to the province of men. That they had all the outward offices 
 of religion assigned to them, shows they were farther from God than women were. Of two 
 children, let one be naturally strong, stubborn, selfish, sinful ; the other delicate, docile, dis- 
 interested, devout; — would not a good and wise Pather be most concerned for the worst 
 child ; take most care in his training ; set him tasks to perform, to keep his duties in remem- 
 brance, and prove his zeal ? Even thus has God dealt ; th6 Hebrew men were appointed to 
 perform all the ceremonies of the Law, while the women kept its word hid in their hearts, 
 and did not require to " go up three times each year to Jerusalem, and sacrifice to the Lord," 
 in order to prove they worshipped the true God. But when the Gospel was revealed, its 
 spiritual worship harmonized with woman's nature, and she made public profession of her 
 faith in Christ. It was natural that some of the female converts, in their devoted zeal, 
 should think Ihey had now the right to bear public testimony to the truth ; and it was doubt- 
 less in consequence of such pretension by them or their male friends on their behalf, that the 
 apostle's remarks and rules were required. He begins by reasserting the law of God, as 
 
 * Eve, Sarah, Rebekah, Jooheb.ed, Deborah, Hannah, Huldah, and others, from the Old Testament ; 
 and Anna, Elizabeth, Mary of Nazareth, and others, from the New Testament. He wiU find the HeJ 
 brew woman was the chosen agent of the moral providences of God to that nation, from the time 
 the Saviour was promised to Eve, till this her "seed" appeared; and further, that to woman the 
 Saviour revealed first, and in the clearest manner, his spiritual mission. 
 
 Then turn to the history of heathen nations, and see the dreadful condition of the female sex, 
 where the "enmity" of men, in their natural state, is acted out against moral goodness; and, of 
 course, they value woman only as she ministers to their sensuous desires and sensual lusts. They 
 will allow no manifestation of mental or moral power in her ; she is bound dowQ in chains of servile 
 ignorance. Yet God revealed to these poor oppressed women His truth, and chose them as His agents. 
 Kahab and Kuth were called to save from utter extermination the stock of those wicked nations God 
 would destroy. Through the female line, as the purest and best, the Gentiles were made progenitors 
 of Christ, and heirs of his Gospel. 
 
GENERAL PREFACE. xliii 
 
 declared to Eve, that man should rule, and woman's lot was submission. He does not, in 
 this chapter, forbid her to teach publicly, but rather seems to favour it, by giving directions 
 how she should be apparelled for such a vocation ; yet as he afterwards absolutely forbids 
 her, it is reasonable to conclude these directions were only preliminary to his final decision. 
 ' As Grod gave him light, he declared the will of God.* But in these directions concerning 
 her apparel, he reveals most surely and clearly the high spiritual office of woman. She must 
 not uncover her head ; while man is commanded to uncover his. Is it not the privilege of 
 the superior to remain covered in the presence of the inferior f The passage reads thus : — 
 
 Verse seventh. — " For a man indeed ought not to cover his head, forasmuch as he is the 
 image and glory of God : but the woman is the glory of the man." 
 
 That is, man represents in the government of the world the authority of God, and also 
 His creative power, so to speak, in bringing, by industry and art, order out of confusion, and 
 restoring earth to its pristine fruitfulness ; while woman, representing the moral power and 
 personal beauty of humanity, " is the glory of the man." He wears the crown of gold, but 
 she is the pure diamond which makes the crown glorious. This will be more clearly ex- 
 plained soon. 
 
 Verse eighth. — " For the man is not of the woman ; but the woman of the man." 
 
 True; the man was from the "dust of the ground;" therefore her origin from "his flesh 
 and bones" must have been more pure and delicate than his. 
 
 Verse ninth. — " Neither was the man created for the woman ; but the woman for the 
 man." 
 
 This proves incontestibly the more perfect nature of the woman ; she was needed to make 
 the man perfect; help him to sustain his part in Paradise; and be his "glory" when he 
 should have been redeemed by the blood of Christ. 
 
 Versfi tenth. — " For this cause ought th« woman to have power on her head, because of 
 the angels." 
 
 Theologians and conunentators have sought in vain the solution of this emphatic declara- 
 tion of the apostle ; yet it is the key-stone of his doctrine, and upholds the whole structure 
 of divine truth. What, then, does St. Paul mean, when he says — " The woman ought to 
 have power on her head, because of the angels?" He is declaring that woman represents to 
 the angels who " minister to the saints," and watch around every place where the true God 
 is worshipped, the moral nature of humanity, created at first in the "likeness of God;" and 
 which, when redeemed from sin and clothed with immortality, is destined to rise superior to 
 angelic nature. 
 
 That the redeemed are " to judge angels," to " become heirs of God, and joint heirs with 
 Jesus Christ,"f is positively declared. The Saviour had derived his human nature from 
 woman, his human soul from her soul ; his exhibitions of human passions, feelings, senti- 
 ments, were such as woman most naturally exhibits ; all the Christian virtues are congenial 
 to the feminine character. Did not the Son of God veil his divinity in the most perfect na- 
 ture of humanity ? That He came in the form of man, was necessary to draw men to Him ; 
 they are beings of sense, of outward observance, of authority and law. They require to 
 have works to perform in order to train them for his kingdom. The angels could not see in 
 man, whose life was in the outer world, a type of the spiritual purity which, redeemed by 
 the blood of Christ, should become superior to the heavenly intelligences. But woman, 
 permitted to appear even in the house of God with her head covered, bearing in humble 
 silence a glory which made "the glory of the man," not obliged to struggle for dominion 
 over earth, but cultivating the sweet charities of home, and all those tender, spiritual afiec- 
 tions which elevate the human above animal nature, on her meek head the angels beheld 
 the "power" which would become, in its development, "above angels." Therefore, on every 
 
 * See I. Corinthians, XIV., 34, 35 ; also, Tim. 11., 11, 12. 
 f See Cor. VI. 3 ; and Rom. VIII. 17. 
 
xliv GENERAL PREFACE. 
 
 Sabbath, in every place where the Christian's Grod is worshipped, and men bow with heads 
 uncovered, while women are permitted to wear covering on their heads, the superior moral 
 purity of the female sex is proclaimed as by a voice from heaven. Angels are witnesses that 
 " the woman is the glory of the man." 
 
 This gloiy she would forfeit, should she attempt " to usurp authority over him." And 
 while the wife is commanded to reverence and obey her husband, is he not the superior ? 
 
 In the estimation of the world he is, because he holds the highest place in the family ; 
 but the tenure of his office proves her superior moral endowments. The wife must reverence 
 and obey her husband, because "he is the saviour of the body;"* — that is, the worker or 
 provider, the protector, and the lawgiver. He has been placed in this office by Grod ; every 
 office so given demands obedience and reverence ; and the wife should, unhesitatingly, submit 
 to this law. 
 
 But the command to men is — " Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ loved the 
 church, and gave himself for it." Now, love is always called forth by qualities of character 
 in the being beloved, while reverence and obedience may belong to the external condition 
 only. 
 
 We are commanded to "love G-od," while we are only "to honour the king." Through- 
 out the Bible, the injunction "to love" always directs the heart, morally speaking, towards 
 the good; lifts up the soul towards an object aiove it; draws the mind to contemplate a 
 being more perfect than itself. It is the word always used to designate the homage men owe 
 to Grod. There is in the Bible only one single application of the word reverence to the 
 feelings men should cultivate towards God ; this occurs in Hebrews, Chap. XII., ver. 28, 
 where the apostle is enforcing the duty of submitting to the chastenings of Grod as to a 
 Father; the term reverence, as there applied, savours more of human than of heavenly 
 things. Invariably it is love Grod requires of his creatures ; love, called forth by the con- 
 templation of His holy attributes ; love elevating the nature of the one who entertains it 
 towards a higher nature. Love is then a purifying process, an emotion directed towards a 
 better object ; and Grod, by commanding husbands to love their wives, has set his seal to this 
 doctrine — that women are holier than men. The world also bears witness to the doctrine ; 
 for, of all the sinful deeds done on earth, nine-tenths are committed by men, or caused by 
 their wickedness. 
 
 The church bears witness to the truth of this doctrine ; more than three-fourths of the 
 professed followers of Christ are women. 
 
 Men themselves bear witness to the truth of this doctrine ; there is not a man, brought 
 up under the influence of Christianity, who would dare lay open before woman the scenes of 
 iniquity which he has witnessed or in which he has participated. He feels, as he enters the 
 presence of a virtuous woman, a moral restraint which he does not feel in the presence of the 
 most holy man. It is no excuse to say that he must be abroad in the world, which is full of 
 temptations to vice, whUe she can live in the pure atmosphere of home. What makes the 
 world a sink of iniquity, but the wickedness of man ? What makes the home a place of 
 safety, but the innocence — comparatively speaking — of woman ? Even when woman sins, it 
 is because she is "deceived" by the tempter; not that she loves iniquity. The Saviour's 
 stern rebuke to those who brought before him the woman "taken in adultery," is a proof in 
 point. Deeply he drove the dagger of self-accusation into the heart of every accuser ; and 
 as their violated vows, wicked devices, and brutal lusts, rose like dark and foul spectres 
 before them, how like branded felons they staggered and slunk away, priest and ruler, pha- 
 risee and publican, from the holy light of truth He had opened before them ! And thus it 
 will break upon many men who hold themselves righteous, at the last day, when the secrets 
 of their wickedness are discovered, and the " enmity" they have dared act out against the 
 moral purity of the woman will be shown as the sin next in enormity to their rejection of 
 her seed ! 
 
 * See Ephesians, Chap. V. ; verses, from 22 to i 
 
GENERAL PREFACE. xlv 
 
 But the woman, the poor, feeble, fallen woman, who no sooner heard her Saviour's voice 
 than she confessed him — called him " Lord" — how kind was the word of Jesus to her ! He 
 knew her dependent condition, her wrongs, her temptations, her sorrows, her repentance. He 
 did not condemn her, while condemning the sin. In judging between the sexes, he has left 
 this record, that man is the greatest sinner ; and hence Christian lawgivers should take warn- 
 ing and example, restrain their own passions, and make laws to punish their own sex ; while 
 carefully protecting the honour, safety, and happiness of women. 
 
 I anticipate the time when wise and good men will consider this subject of providing for 
 the well-being of the female sex as their most important earthly duty. Hitherto the mass 
 of men in Christian countries may be said to be at " enmity" with any improvement of 
 women that does not gratify their own sensuous propensities. Women are free to adorn their 
 persons ; but if they seek to cultivate their minds, it is treason against the prerogative of 
 man. The source from whence this jealousy of female intelligence springs, is not fear that 
 the sex will excel in learning ; it is hatred of the moral influence the sex would wield, were 
 they better instructed. Sensuality and selfishness always dread enlightened women. Charles 
 II. wanted none but pretty fools around him ; and Napoleon was more afraid of Madame 
 de Stael than of a regiment of armed foes. An obtuseness of the moral sense, even in good 
 men, has prevented them from perceiving the capacity of the female sex to aid the cause of 
 human improvement. What but this torpor of soul could have kept the Christian world 
 from reading aright this declaration of Grod — that there should be " enmity" between sin 
 and the woman ? It has passed into a proverb, that every eminently great man owes his 
 talents as well as virtues to his mother ; yet still to cast contempt on female intellect has 
 been and is the fashion with the greater portion of Christendom. 
 
 Can a stream rise higher than its fountain ; or a weak root nourish a lofty tree ; or a light 
 burn clear unless fed with pure oil ? Thus the genius and the goodness of the mother are 
 manifested through her sons, while unmindful of the source from whence this higher 
 standard of humanity is derived, far the greater portion of the advantages of education are 
 conferred on man. Some of my own sex, feeling the injustice of these things, are seeking 
 to " emancipate" themselves, and contending for the right of entering the arena of business 
 and public life equally with men. The attempt will never succeed. Thanks be to heaven, 
 woman cannot put off the moral delicacy of her nature. Could she do so, it would be as if 
 Venus, leaving her sweet office of shining the morning and the evening star, should become 
 a"fiery comet, and rush through the sky, bringing dismay with her light, and causing a deeper 
 darkness as she passed away. The first woman left to her daughters one duty to perform, 
 because it was imposed by God, — the obedience of each wife to her own husband ; and she 
 left also the holy privilege which motherhood gives over childhood, and the high honour of a 
 human nature akin to that of Jesus Christ. 
 
 But with the privileges we must take the position of women ; leave the work of the world 
 and its reward, the government thereof, to men ; our task is to fit them for their office, and 
 inspire them to perform it in righteousness. Nor is female influence, though hidden from the 
 public eye, of small importance. The most mighty agent in the material world is least 
 known. The sun is brilliant and powerful, giving light and heat to our planetary system ; 
 all eyes may see his glory, all nature bask in his beams; — but the mightier' influence of 
 gravitation, which binds Orion and the Pleiades with our planet, controls the universe, and 
 reaches — perchance — to the throne of God; who has seen gravitation, or can estimate its 
 power ? 
 
 Thus it is in the moral world. The forms of religion and the force of laws, which men. 
 
 make and administer with pomp and observance, impose on the imagination, and may regu- 
 
 . late the conduct; but how feeble are these to touch the heart and improve the character of 
 
 mankind, compared with the unseen spiritual influence which the loving deeds and kind 
 
 words of pious Christian women possess ! 
 
 The Kecord I have prepared will show these things ; and will, moreover, bring to light 
 
xlvi GENERAL PREFACE. 
 
 one curious fact, never before, I believe, noticed, but which goes far to prove that the female 
 was never formed, had she remained in innocence, to take an equal share in the work of 
 Eden. Setting aside her delicacy of organization, woman has very little of that kind of 
 genius termed mechanical or inventive. Among these hundreds of celebrated ladies, not 
 one has ever made herself famous by great discoveries in physical science, or by any wonder- 
 ful invention in the arts. Nor is it the lack of learning which has caused this uniform lack 
 of constructive talent. Many ignorant men have studied out and made curious inventions 
 of mechanical skill ; women never. I am constrained to say, I do not believe a woman ever 
 would have invented the compass, the printing-press, the steam-engine, or even a time-piece. 
 Seeking to find out the reason for this lack of mechanical skill in the female, I have studied 
 the Bible, history, philosophy, and life ; my position and pursuits have favoured the research j 
 I believe I have found the cause j but those who hold the doctrine of sexual equality will be 
 no doubt shocked to hear that I am convinced the difference between the constructive genius 
 of man and woman is the result of an organic difference in the operations of their minds. 
 That she reasons intuitively, or by inspiration, while he must plod through a regular sequence 
 of logical arguments, is admitted by all writers on mental philosophy ; but there is another 
 difference which has not been noticed. Woman never applies her intuitive reasoning to me- 
 chanical pursuits. It is the world of life, not of things, which she inhabits. Man models 
 the world of matter. These manifestations are precisely such as would result from the 
 differences in the nature of the two sexes, as I have described them in Adam and Eve. And 
 also we here find the perfect solution of the assertion of St. Paul, that man " is the image 
 and glory of God ; but the woman is the glory of the man." — An image is something visi- 
 ble ; the glory of Grod which men see, is in the things He has created ; consequently, to 
 create is to show forth, or be the " glory of God." Man is the maker or creator on earth : 
 true, he cannot absolutely make or create a particle of matter ; but he can, by new combina- 
 tions, create innumerable differences in the particles of matter ; and make, apparently, new 
 elements and new things. He, therefore, represents on earth the Creator's glory. 
 
 But to create is not man's greatest glory ; it is to worship God in spirit and in truth. The 
 manifestation of this worship is moral goodness. Woman cannot create or make, like man ; 
 but, better than he, she worships God in spirit and in truth ; and thus, showing forth the 
 beauty of moral goodness, becomes " the glory of the man." 
 
 Hence it is apparent that those who are seeking to elevate women through industrial pur- 
 suits and competition with men in the arts, will never succeed. The wife cannot work with 
 materials of earth; build up cities; mould marble forms; or discover new mechanical inven- 
 tions, to aid physical improvement. She has a better, a holier vocation. She works in the 
 elements of human nature ; her orders of architecture are formed in the soul ; — Obedience, 
 Temperance, Truth, Love, Piety, — these she must build up in the character of her children ; 
 often, too, she is called to repair the ravages and beautify the waste places which _sin, care, 
 and the desolating storms of life, leave in the mind and heart of the husband she reverences 
 and obeys. This task she should perform faithfully, but with humility; remembering that 
 it was for woman's sake Eden was forfeited, becaluse Adam loved his wife more than his 
 Creator ; and that man's nature has to contend with a degree of depravity into which the 
 female, by the grace of God, has never descended. Yes, the wife should be humble. She 
 is dependent on her husband for the position she holds in society ; she must rely on him for 
 protection and support. She should look up to him with reverence as her earthly guardian, 
 the " saviour of the body," and be obedient. Does any wife say her husband is not worthy 
 of this honour ! Then render it to the office with which God has invested him as head of 
 the family ; but use your privilege of motherhood to train your sons so that they may be 
 worthy of this reverence and obedience from their wives. Thus, through your sufferings, 
 the world may be made better ; every faithful performance of private duty adds to the stock 
 of public virtues. 
 
 And man : should he not bear himself humbly, from the remembrance that to woman's 
 
GENERAL PREFACE. xlvii 
 
 loving care he is indebted for preservation during helpless infancy ; that his mind takes its 
 impress from her daily teachings ; from her example he derives faith in those affections and 
 virtues which are the life of the soul ; that " God has chosen the weak things of this world 
 to confound the things which are mighty •" and given to woman the moral sceptre under 
 which men must pass before they can be prepared to enter heaven ?* 
 
 Humility is a Christian virtue equally necessary for both sexes ; by giving to each one 
 particular endowments to which the other must pay honour, all cause for boasting is removed 
 from both ; each should seek to promote the other's happiness and glory, and then the true 
 happiness and glory of both would be won. 
 
 It is the moral influence woman is destined to wield which makes imperative the necessity 
 for female education."]" If the mind which stamps the first and most indelible impression on 
 the child is in a state of mental darkness, how can the true light be communicated ? A 
 mother will teach the best she knows to her son ; but if she does not understand the true, 
 she will, of necessity, imbue his mind with the false. Woman has a quicker capacity for 
 coihprehending moral truth or sentiment than man, but she cannot explain this truth, nor 
 expose error to his comprehension, unless her intellect has been, in some measure, trained 
 like his. Men have little sympathy with intuitive knowledge, or feeling — "pure Reason" — 
 in the doctrine of Kant : hence they must have the truth set before them in its relations 
 with " practical Reason." The mother who can in this intelligible manner aid the mind of her 
 son in his pursuit of knowledge, will have over him a double control ; he will honour as well 
 as love her. And the pious woman who can give, clearly and wisely, a " reason for her hope," 
 will often silence the proud infidel who scoffs at believing what is OTilj felt to be true. 
 
 The examples in this " Record" prove the beneficial results of education on the female 
 mind and character, and also show that men gain happiness and glory when aiding and 
 encouraging the genius of woman. There is rarely an example where the father has given 
 his daughter a liberal education, but she has nobly and sweetly repaid his care, added enjoy- 
 ment to his life, and honour to his memory. There is scarcely an instance where the husband 
 has admired and cherished the intellectual gifts of his wife, but these have proved to himself 
 a blessing, a " help," and a " glory." The wide field of my plan, gathering reoordsj of 
 women from every age, country, condition and character, presents an opportunity, never before, 
 cicoessible, of ascertaining the scope of female talent, and the effect the cultivated intellect 
 of the sex, when brought to bear on Christian civilization, would exercise. It must be mani- 
 fest to every person who will examine this subject, that the " woman is the glory of the man," 
 and that her condition settles the destiny of humanity. In every country where men are at 
 " enmity" with her moral and intellectual influence, there the race is barbarian, brutal, or 
 
 * I am far from intending to represent that every individual woman is better, morally speaking, 
 than any individual man. The broad lines of distinction between the sexes is what I am describing ; 
 there are innumerable shades of moral character in both ; some women appear nearly as devoid of 
 moral sensibility as men ; while these last, when trained by pious mothers, or renewed by divine 
 grace, approach the female standard of feeling. A few instances of the highest moral purity have 
 been found in men ; Joseph is an example. When a man is thus, as it were, clothed in righteousness, 
 he exhibits to the world a spectacle of the sublimity of moral virtue above that of woman. Our own 
 Washington is another example ; he acted out, by his strong will, the holy precepts of his mother ; 
 the grandeur of her goodness was made visible through his brave soul ; the awe which this moral 
 virtue inspired surrounded him, while he lived, with a majesty above that of kings, and has made his 
 memory the glory of his country, and a blessing to the world. 
 
 j- At the close of the work, some suggestions will be offered respecting the means and ends of 
 female education, showing how the cultivated intellect of woman may be best employed to her own 
 and the general good. Many wise, men are doubtful of the expediency of giving to females a thorough 
 education, lest they should become unfitted for their feminine duties, and obtrusive in encroaching on 
 the prerogatives of the other sex. There is no danger from either of these results, if the Bible doc- 
 trine is clearly recognized and obeyed. Ignorance is not goodness, nor is it "bliss." The higher the 
 standard of female excellence, the higher will be man's glory. 
 
 J The " list of authorities" will be found at the close of the work. 
 
xlviii GENERAL PREFACE. 
 
 bigoted. Where the female sex is most kindly protected and most highly honoured, there 
 the race enjoys the greatest degree of civil freedom and social happiness, and is most rapidly 
 advancing in intelligence, prosperity, and civilization.*' 
 
 This result will become every year more apparent, if female education and influence, go on 
 progressively ; because, as woman rises, she will elevate, proportionably, the mind and life of 
 man. Such is her mission ; for though human nature in both sexes is rendered sinful or 
 prone to sin by the " fall," yet woman's nature has never sunk to the brute sensuality of 
 man's ; this comparative purity has kept her mind, as regards morality, above the standard 
 which even the most Christian men jfix for their own sex. This assertion requires no 
 laboured proof. Look around on society — who are the conservators of domestic purity, of 
 social decorum, of public sentiment ? The moral sense f is the highest natural faculty or 
 element of the human soul ; woman has this moral sense, the intuitive feeling of disgust 
 for sensuality, vice, and falsehood ; the intuitive feeling of love for the innocent, beautiful, 
 and true, better developed and more active than is found in the other sex. 
 
 I might here cite many authorities to show that good and great men have had glimpses of 
 these truths, that they have felt what woman has done, what she may do, and what she will 
 become, when men, acknowledging her moral mission, shall allow her the education and 
 opportunity necessary for its fulfilment. I have room now for only a few of these ; at the 
 close of the volume I shall recur to the subject. 
 
 " The little of true piety which yet exists on earth we owe to women much more than to 
 theologians. Our religion is that of our mother," says the learned Aim6-Martin. "The 
 mother is endowed, and endowed by God himself, with all the qualities which should render 
 her fit to become the principal agent in the moral and intellectual development of her child," 
 says the good Pestalozzi. " What the elevation of woman has done for the reform of social 
 manners, her educated mind is doing for our books," says our own eloquent Bethune. "On 
 the cultivation of the minds of women depends the wisdom of men," says the penetrating 
 Sheridan. " The future destiny of the child is always the work of the mother," said the 
 sagacious Napoleon. 
 
 But higher than these testimonies of good, learned and great men to the influence of the 
 female soul, comes the authority of God's Word. That the eulogy on woman was uttered by 
 a wicked and voluptuous king, who had dishonoured the sex by abolishing, so far as his ex- 
 ample had power, the true idea of marriage, militates nothing against its divine truth. 
 Like Balaam, Solomon was compelled to speak what the Lord permitted; had it been 
 otherwise, had that selfish sensualist commended what he practised, the Bible would have been 
 no better than the Koran. It is because the written counsel even of this bad man was wise 
 and good, that we feel the inspiration of the Holy Spirit dictated to his conscience that re- 
 markable declaration and prophesy concerning woman, in the chapter of his praises of the 
 feminine virtues : — " Strength and honour are her clothing; and she shall rejoice in time 
 to come." 
 
 * The United States of North America is the land of modern chivalry, where the moral qualities of 
 woman are most highly valued, and her station in society as " the glory of the man" most fully ac- 
 knowledged. The remarkable eflfect this has had on the destiny of the nation was comprehended by 
 M. de Tocqueville, who observed the result, though he did not analyze the process. At the close of 
 his work on America, he remarks, that if he were required to point out the cause of the wonderful 
 
 advancement in prosperity and civilization of the American people, he should reply "It was the 
 
 superior character of their women." 
 
 I By moral sense, I mean that feeling, or sentiment, which not only distinguishes between right and 
 wrong, but inclines to the right — an enlightened conscience; or "the primitive law of the heart " as 
 the German philosopher expressed it. Faith in God is a feeling or faculty of the soul above this 
 moral sense; but such saving grace av faith is the supernatural gift of God. (See Ephesians, II. 8.) 
 
REMARKS ON THE FIRST ERA. 
 
 We shall include in this era the time from the Creation to the birth of Christ; and, of course, the 
 names of all the distinguished women recorded in the annals of the world for four thousand years. 
 A long period ; but much of it concealed in thick darkness ; only here and there a faint, far-off star 
 of hope may be descried breaking through the gloom of sin, ignorance and misery cast over the lot 
 of the woman. 
 
 During these forty centuries she had only the peculiar attributes of her feminine nature to aid her 
 in the struggle for progress, which was the law of humanity after the first pair were driven forth on 
 the rough world, as happiness had been their privilege while abiding in Eden. Man had now the 
 ground, " cursed for his sake with briars and thorns," to subdue; and, harder still, his own earthly 
 passions to combat Woman, though she was not commanded to work, was placed under the power 
 of the man ; and soon she, who was formed and endowed to be his soul's help-meet, his bosom 
 friend, was degraded into the toy of his sensual lusts, or the slave of his physical strength. 
 
 We do not know how long the woman's spirit struggled against the vile degradation polygamy 
 imposed on the sex ; but we find that death-doom of her moral influence recorded at an early period 
 of the world's history. Might then took the place of right ; and for nearly eighteen centuries the 
 spiritual affections of woman were completely overshadowed by the sensual passions of man. 
 Excepting our first mother, no feminine mind has left its impress on the sin-blotted page of those 
 long centuries. Woman's nature must have yielded to the tide of wickedness that swept over the 
 antediluvian world, because it is recorded, " all flesh had corrupted his way upon the earth." No 
 wonder the race was destroyed, if the mothers had become utterly corrupt in their " imaginations."' 
 If the heart of woman was " only evil continually," there could be no hope of reform. But the 
 Bible places this dreadful wickedness to man's account. " The earth was filled with violence," does 
 not apply to the conduct of the dependent sex. Yet the poison of sin had reached the core of 
 humanity — woman's heart : all were corrupted ; all perished. 
 
 The flood was over, and the most contaminating sin blotted out. No polygamist was permitted 
 to pollute the ark. The four husbands and their four wives came forth to the empire of a world 
 they were to subdue and improve. The race of mankind was now to continue till the end of time ; 
 and the law of human improvement was niade sure by giving to woman a new and great advantage. 
 Human life was shortened ; and thus the mother's influence most wonderfully increased. Allow 
 "ten years as the period of childhood, when the mother's authority over her sons is predominant? then 
 compare the length of Noah's life with that of Moses, and it will be apparent how greatly female 
 influence was extended when man's life was shortened from 950 years to 120 years. In the former 
 case, her period of power over her sons was as 1 to 95 ; in the latter, 1 to 12. 
 
 We have, in the general preface, explained what we consider the distinctive characteristics of 
 woman's nature ; and how these were intended to make her God's best, as she was his last work of 
 creation. Also, in the biography of Eve, we have dwelt on these themes ; and we now call the 
 reader's attention to the remarkable corroboration of our theory which, in the first era, the glimpses 
 of the Hebrew women, reflected from the faithful mirror of divine history, afford. 
 
 If, as we affirm, the peculiar tendencies of the female mind are insight, or the wisdom that seizes 
 intuitively on the true and the good; also the moral sense, which turns instinctively, so to speak, 
 heavenward ; then we ought to find woman more elastic in hope, more fervent in faith, more idealized 
 in sentiment, more disinterested ih affection, than man. Is she not so? Do we not look to woman 
 for love and tenderness'! Do we not find that she is more easily impressed with the truth of divine 
 revelations, when these exceed the reasoning powers of man 1 Was there a woman who saw the 
 miracles of Christ and doubted'! Obstacles in the path of duty, that to man's reason seem as mouii- 
 . B n 
 
REMARKS ON THE FIRST ERA. 
 
 tains, are to her faith but mole-hills. And when the black cloud of fear fills the horizon, and he 
 listens for the thunder, she is looking upward for the rainbow. 
 
 Thus, though her physical strength and worldly knowledge be far inferior to man's, yet her firm 
 trust in heaven, her faithful truth in love, her disinterested zeal in duty, win the palm of victory in 
 conflicts that he abandons in despair. 
 
 The Bible history of woman clearly illustrates these important truths ; showing that when tho 
 faith and resources of men have been utterly overwhelmed, then the salvation of the cause of 
 improvement has been her work. Thus maternal love, faith and energy, preserved Moses to be 
 the Law-Giver for the world ; made Samuel the High Priest of the Lord ; seated Solomon on the 
 throne of David. Each one of these events was of great and momentous import, not only to the 
 destiny of the Hebrew nation, but to the progress of mankind. Deborah was the Deliverer of Israel 
 when not a Hebrew man dared lift his hand in defence of his country till she led the way. Esther 
 saved the Jews when no man could have stayed the decree of death. In short, from the time when 
 the promised seed was reaffirmed to the descendants of Sarah, " a mother of nations," the Hebrew 
 women kept the hope of " Shiloh" ever in their race. This divine faith, like a living light, passing 
 from hand to hand, shines out in the characters of the Hebrew women from Sarah to Huldah the 
 prophetess, who had the light of God's law when the high priest was in darkness. It is worthy, 
 too, of note, that the Bible furnishes no record of an apostate Hebrew woman; while the Hebrew 
 men could not be restrained from licentiousness, idolatry and apostasy. 
 
 Among the heathen nations, the mission of woman is less distinctly traced, because the revelation 
 of the hope in motherhood was lost. There was no " Shiloh," or Redeemer, expected. Still the 
 feminine nature displayed its inherent tendencies, a spiritual feeling more refined, and a moral sense 
 more delicate, than man's ; these constituted her insight, intuition or wisdom (call it which you 
 will), which made her appreciate the true and the good with more readiness and more sympathy 
 than man. If it were not so, why was the idea of woman invested with supreme wisdom and good- 
 ness ! Why was she deified and worshipped for those higher attributes of human nature ; Justice, 
 as she was in Themis; Wisdom, in Minerva; and Chastity, or Virtue, in Diana 7 ^ 
 
 We shall not, in our work, give the histories of the difierent goddesses (which properly belongs 
 to mythology) ; though, undoubtedly, all were representations of real women, or of those qualities 
 which the wisest of heathen men believed were types of female character ; qualities more inherent 
 or better developed in woman than in man. 
 
 But we would wish those who take an interest in our researches to examine carefully the cha- 
 racter of each distinguished woman we here introduce by the standard suggested. Compare the 
 conduct of the woman with that of the man of her own era and condition. Compare Cleopatra with 
 Marc Antony. She was wicked ; but she was less selfish, less gross in her wickedness than he. 
 She was true to her country and her people ; he was a traitor to the first, and a deserter of the last. 
 Patriotism was the highest virtue of the heathen mind. Which of these two persons showed the 
 most patriotism'! And which mind was the victor] 
 
 So, too, of Aspasia. She was the creature of the corrupt institutions which man, by his superior 
 physical strength, sensuous passions and unjust laws, had imposed on social life. Yet, degraded as 
 she was, Pericles, the hero of the Athenians, was her slave ; and Socrates, the wisest of the heathen 
 sages, her admirer and friend. Thus the vvoman's spirit held sway over the subtle Greek ! Aspasia 
 was better than those she subdued. They had degraded humanity by degrading woman; thus 
 compelling her to seek that influence by unholy means which should have been the right of every 
 Athenian wife, namely, that of social equality and companionship with her husband. 
 
 In Rome, while the ideal of woman was the divinity which gave the priest oracles and the people 
 ■laws, domestic purity was preserved. If the Sibyl and Egeria were only the fictions of artful men, 
 yet that these men had recourse to the feminine spirit for their purest wisdom, shows their estima- 
 tion of the female mind. The Vestal virgins represented the highest attributes of heavenly good- 
 ness. Purity and Mercy. Nor was it till the Roman men were banded together and absent from 
 their homes in their long wars, thus losing the softening, purifying influence of their mothers, 
 wives and daughters, that the frightful demoralization of the nation was reached. For the first five 
 hundred years not an instance of divorce occurred. While the wife was honoured, woman continued 
 worthy of honour. When men repudiated their wives, as Cicero did his, for no fault, but only to 
 gratify his selfish propensities, and the multitude of divorces had created a virtual polygamy, in 
 which the women participated, then the Roman Empire fell to rise no more. The Lucretias were 
 the life of the Republic; the Messalinas, the death of the Empire. Yet the licentious example was 
 ^et by the men ; — they made the laws ; and always the women were better than the men of their time. 
 
 18 . 
 
W M A N'S R E C E D. 
 
 FIEST EEA. 
 
 FROM THE CREATION TO THE BIRTH OF JESUS CHRIST. 
 
 A. 
 
 ABIGAIL, 
 
 Wife of Nabal, a rich but churlish man, of 
 little understanding, of the tribe of Judah, liTcd 
 probably near Maon, one of the most southern 
 cities of Judah. When David, who had taken 
 refuge from the pursuit of Saul in the wilderness 
 of Paran, sent ten young men to request assist- 
 ance from Nabal, who was then employed in 
 shearing his numerous flocks,, Nabal surlily re- 
 fused to give of his substance to strangers, al- 
 though David had protected his shepherds from 
 injury during his residence among them. Then 
 David, in his indignation, ordered four hundred 
 of his men to arm themselves, and went to put 
 Nabal and his family to the sword. But Abigail, 
 whose wisdom equalled her beauty, hearing of 
 what had passed, and foreseeing the result of her 
 husband's refusal, hastened to prepare provisions, 
 without Nabal's knowledge, with which she met 
 and appeased David. When Abigail returned from 
 her interview with David, she found her husband 
 at a feast, and intoxicated ; so that she said no- 
 thing of the affair to him till the next day. Then, 
 when he heard of the danger he had escaped, his 
 heart was so struck with fear that he died in ten 
 days. When David was informed of Nabal's death, 
 he sent messengers to Abigail, to' request that she 
 would become his wife ; to which she consented, 
 and accompanied the servants of David op their 
 return. 
 
 The old commentators are unanimous in their 
 commendations of the character and conduct of 
 Abigail. Father Berruyer, the Jesuit, in his " His- 
 tory of the People of God," has been an excellent 
 painter on this subject. "Nabal's riches," says 
 he, " consisted in vines and corn, but especially 
 in pasture grounds, in which a thousand goats and 
 three thousand sheep grazed. However, these 
 large possessions were nothing in comparison of 
 
 the treasure he possessed in the chaste Abigail, 
 his wife, the most accomplished woman of her 
 tribe. Nabal, unhappily for AbigaO, was not 
 worthy of her, and never couple were worse 
 matched. The wife was beautiful, careful, pru- 
 dent, a good housewife, vastly good-natured, and 
 indefatigably vigilant; but as for the husband, 
 he was dissolute, capricious, headstrong, con- 
 temptuous ; always exasperated at good advice, 
 and never failing to make a bad use of it ; in a 
 word, a man whose riotous intemperance the vir- 
 tuous Abigail was perpetually obliged to bear 
 with, to atone for his extravagant sallies, or dis- 
 semble his follies ; besides, he was an infidel, and 
 as depraved an Israelite as his wife was regular 
 and fervent." 
 
 Whether all these fancies of the learned Jesuit 
 be true or not, the history, as the holy Book re- 
 cords it, is highly in favour of the intellectual 
 powers as well as personal attractions of Abigail. 
 Her speech to David is replete with beauties, and 
 is a model of the oratory of thought applied to the 
 passions, to the prejudices, and the previous asso- 
 ciations of David. Read it in Samuel, I. Book, 
 chap. XXV., verses from 24 to 31, and then judge 
 of the effect it must have had on her auditor, 
 when his heart burst forth, as it were, in this 
 reply : 
 
 "And David said to Abigail, Blessed be the 
 Lord God of Israel, which hath sent thee this day 
 to meet me. 
 
 " And blessed be thy advice, and blessed be 
 thou, which hast kept me this day from coming 
 to shed blood, and from avenging myself with 
 mine own hand." 
 
 These events occurred, B. C. 1057. 
 
 ABISHAG, 
 The Shunamite, a beautiful young virgin, who 
 cherished David, king of Israel, in his old age, 
 and was afterwards desired by his son Adoni- 
 
 19 
 
AC 
 
 jah, as a wife ; which request caused him to be 
 put to death by the command of Solomon, who 
 looked upon it as an indication that Adonijah 
 wished in other respects also to take David, their 
 father's place. A learned commentator thus tells 
 the story: — "The king, (David,) though he had 
 been so robust in his youth, seemed to decay daily. 
 His affictions, labours, fatigues, and perpetual 
 ware, had exhausted .lim so much, that entering 
 on his seventieth year, his natural heat seemed 
 on the point of being extinguished ; while his 
 mind was as vigorous as ever, and he still governed 
 with so much wisdom and authority, as made his 
 life precious. His physicians, in order to prolong 
 it, hit upon an expedient whwsTi succeeded, at 
 least, for some time. All Israel was sought through 
 to find out a proper person, and the choice fell on 
 Abishag, the Shunamite, a young, beautiful, and 
 virtuous woman. He made her his wife, and she 
 was ' vrith him both night and day ; but though 
 he married her, they always lived together in a 
 state of continence.' " That Abishag was consi- 
 dered the honourable wife of king David, and was 
 so, according to the customs of that dark age, 
 there is no doubt ; she was innocent, yet the wick- 
 edness of polygamy is apparent in this gross trans- 
 action. The sons of David were, in consequence 
 of this sin of their father, involved in a quarrel 
 which cost the life of the eldest, and stained Solo- 
 mon's hands with his brother's blood. 
 
 ACCA-LACEENTIA or ARCA-LAXJRENTIA, 
 
 Wa.s wife of the shepherd Faustulus, and nurse 
 to Remus and Romulus. She was deified by the 
 Romans, to whom the flamen of Jupiter once a 
 year ofTered a sacrifice, on a holiday instituted to 
 her honour. She lived about B. C. 760. 
 
 ACME, 
 Was a Jewish lady, retained in the service of 
 Livia, the vrife of Augustus Csesar. She was 
 bribed by Antipater, the son of Herod the Great, 
 to engage in his interest ; but one of her attempts 
 to serve him proved fatal to herself; for having 
 forged a letter in the name of Salome, that king's 
 sister, to her mistress Livia, in order to expose 
 the former to Herod's resentment, the imposture 
 was detected, and she was punished with death. 
 Antipater was suffered to escape, though the 
 greater criminal. 
 
 ADA, 
 A SISTER of Artemisia, queen of Caria, mar- 
 ried Hidricus. After her husband's death she 
 succeeded to the throne of Caria, but was ex- 
 pelled by her younger brother, Pexodores, who, 
 in order to maintain himself in his usurpation, 
 gave his daughter in marriage to a Persian lord 
 called Orondates ; and he, afterwards, became 
 king of Caria, and defended Halioarnassus against 
 Alexander the Great. The revolutions which hap- 
 pened at that time, proved favourable to Ada ; she 
 implored the protection of the conqueror Alexan- 
 der against Orondates, the usurper of her king- 
 dom. Alexander gave her a very kind reception, 
 and restored her to the authority she had formerly 
 
 AG 
 
 enjoyed over all Caria, after he had taken the city 
 of Halicamassus. Ada, woman-like, thought to 
 give some testimony of her gratitude by sending 
 him all sorts of refreshments, sweetmeats, pastry, 
 delicate viands, and the best cooks she could hear 
 of; but Alexander answered that he had no occa- 
 sion for such things ; for Leonidas, his tutor, had 
 formerly furnished him with much more excellent 
 cooks, by teaching him, that he who would have an 
 appetite to hia dinner, must rise early and take a 
 walk; and if he is desirous of making a delicious 
 supper, he must eat moderately at dinner. 
 
 Why win not mothers be more careful to teach 
 these wise lessons to their sons ? 
 
 AGESISTRATA, 
 Wipe of Eudamidas 11., and mother of Agis IV., 
 king of Sparta, was a woman of great wealth and 
 infiuence among her people. She had brought 
 up her son very voluptuously ; but when he be- 
 came king, he resolved to restore the ancient se- 
 vere discipline and mode of living of the Spar- 
 tans, and began by setting the example himself. 
 Agesistrata at first opposed the reformation, by 
 which she would lose much of her wealth ; after- 
 wards she not only approved of her son's design, 
 but endeavoured to gain the other women to 
 join her, as they had great influence in the com- 
 munity, and the greatest difficulty was expected 
 to arise from their opposition; but instead of 
 uniting with her, they applied to Leonidas III., 
 the other king of Lacedoemon, to frustrate the de- 
 signs of his colleague. In consequence of the 
 disturbances that ensued, Agis was obliged to take 
 refuge in one of the temples ; but one day, on his 
 returning to his sanctuary from a bath, he was 
 seized and thrown into prison. Agesistrata, and 
 Archidamia, grandmother of Agis, used all their 
 influence, but in vain, to induce the ephori to al- 
 low Agis to plead his cause before his own people. 
 They were, however, allowed to share his prison, 
 when one of the ephori, who was in debt to Agesis- 
 trata, by his intrigues succeeded in having them 
 all strangled at once. Agesistrata met her iinex- 
 pected death with calmness and composure, about 
 B. C. 300. 
 
 AGNODICE, 
 
 An Athenian virgin, who disguised her sex, to 
 learn medicine. She was taught midwifery by 
 Herophilus, an eminent physician, born in B. C. 
 506, and when employed always discovered her 
 sex to her patients. This procured her so much 
 practice, that the male physicians accused her of 
 corruption before the Areopagus. She confessed 
 her sex to the judge, and a law was immediately 
 made allowing all free-born women to learn mid- 
 wifery. 
 
 AGRIPPINA, 
 The daughter of M. Vipsanius Agrippa and 
 Juha, the only child of Augustus, married Ger- 
 manicus, the son of Drusus, and nephew to Ti- 
 berius, to whom she bore nine children. Three 
 of them died in infancy, and among the remain- 
 ing six were Caligula, afterwards emperor, and 
 
 20 
 
AG 
 
 AG 
 
 Agrippina, the mother of Nero. On the death 
 of Augustus (A. D. 14) Germanicus and his wife 
 were with the army, on the banks of the Rhine, 
 where they had much difficulty in restraining the 
 mutinous soldiery from proclaiming Germanicus 
 in opposition to his uncle. On this occasion Agrip- 
 pina, by her resolution and courage, showed her- 
 self worthy of her descent from Augustus ; and 
 the following year she exhibited the same quali- 
 ties, in repressing a general panic that had seized 
 on the soldiers during her husband's absence, and 
 prCTenting them from disgracing themselves. 
 Agrippina was with her husband, in Syria, when 
 he fell a victim to the arts of Piso and Plancina. 
 Her resentment at this treatment was such as to 
 draw upon her the anger of Tiberius ; and when, 
 after a widowhood of seven years, she requested 
 him to give her a husband, he evaded her petition, 
 knowing well that the husband of Agrippina would 
 be a dangerous enemy. At length she^o offended 
 the emperor, by showing him that she suspected 
 him of an intention to poison her, that he banished 
 her to the island of Pandataria, and at last closed 
 her life by starvation, October 13, A. D. 33. The 
 rage of Tiberius was not appeased by the death 
 of Agrippina ; he had injured her too deeply to 
 forgive himself, and so he sought to appease his 
 hatred by persecuting her children — and her two 
 eldest sons were his victims. 
 
 The character of Agrippina presents some of 
 the strongest points, both of the good and bad, in 
 Roman Efe. She was frank, upright, sternly cou- 
 rageous, and unimpeachably virtuous. She was 
 faithful and loving to her husband, watchful and 
 anxious for her children. Yet with all this, she 
 was excessively proud of her noble descent ; fiery 
 and impetuous in passion, indiscreet in speech, 
 and imprudent in conduct. This is a mixed cha- 
 racter, but a shining one. It was one which fell 
 short of Cornelia, but excelled all common fame. 
 Compared with Tiberius, she was an angel in con- 
 flict with a demon. 
 
 AGRIPPINA, 
 
 JlTLiA, great-granddaughter of Augustus, and 
 daughter of Germanicus and Agrippina, was born 
 
 amidst the excitement of war, in a Roman camp, 
 on the shores of the Rhine, — and reared under 
 the laurels of her father's conquests, and the halo 
 of her mother's grandeur. Her father's death 
 occurring at a very early period of her life, her 
 first perception of the career opened to her might 
 have been derived from the sympathy and respect 
 accorded by the Roman people to her famUy, even 
 in the presence of her father's murderers. 
 
 Some historians have attributed to her a spirit 
 of vengeance, which, though the accusation is not 
 well substantiated, might indeed have been fos- 
 tered by the trials of her life, commencing with 
 her early estrangement from her glorious mother, 
 which was followed by her persecution, first by 
 the infamous Sejanus, and after the death of her 
 husband Domitius, by her brother Caligula — who 
 accused her before the senate, of participation in 
 a conspiracy, forced them to condemn her, and 
 had her driven into exile, where she remained in 
 constant fear of a violent death. 
 
 On the death of Caligula, Agrippina, recalled 
 from exile, was married to the consul Crispinus, 
 whose sudden death was ascribed by her enemie^ 
 to poison administered by his wife. Five years 
 after this, Pallas proposed her to Claudius as the 
 successor of Messalina, and after the interval of a 
 year, during which Agrippina had much to con- 
 tend with from rivalry and intrigue, the obstacle 
 opposed to this marriage by the ties of consan- 
 guinity was relieved by a special law, and the 
 daughter of Germanicus ascended the throne of 
 Augustus, and ruled the empire, from that mo- 
 ment, in the name of her imbecile husband. Under 
 her brilliant and vigorous administration, faction 
 was controlled, order re-established, and that sys- 
 tem of espionage abolished which had filled Rome 
 with informers and their victims. The reserve 
 and dignity of her deportment produced a reform 
 in the manners of the imperial palace, and her in- 
 fluence over her husband was of a most salutary 
 nature. 
 
 Tacitus has loaded the memory of Agrippina 
 with the imputation of inordinate ambition, and, " 
 though there is probably considerable calumny in 
 these charges, it may be supposed that a temper- 
 ament like hers did not shrink from the arbitrary 
 and cruel acts which might be thought necessary 
 to her safety or advancement. Still, the woman 
 must be judged by the circumstances under which 
 she lived, and with reference to the morality of 
 her contemporaries; and, so judged, she rises 
 immeasurably superior to the greatest men asso- 
 ciated with her history. 
 
 Agrippina was the first woman who acquired 
 the privilege of entering the capitol in the vehicle 
 assigned to the priests in religious ceremonies, 
 and on all public occasions she took an elevated 
 seat reserved for her, near the emperor. 
 
 On the occasion of the adoption of her son to 
 the exclusion of the emperor's own child by Mes- 
 "fealina, the infant Britannicus, she received the 
 cognomen of Augusta ; and to the prophetic augur 
 who bade her "beware, lest the sou she had so 
 elevated might prove her ruin," she replied, " Let 
 me perish, but let Nero reign." In this answer 
 
 21 
 
AG 
 
 AL 
 
 we have the secret of her great actions, and the 
 motive for all her imputed crimes. Amidst all 
 her lofty aspirations, her indomitable pride, her 
 keen sense of injuries inflicted, her consciousness 
 of power acquired, there was one deep and redeem- 
 ing afi'ection ; this brilliant despot, the astute 
 politician of her age, was still, above all and in 
 all — a moth^ ! 
 
 The marriage of her son to Octavia, the empe- 
 ror's daughter, consummated the hopes and views 
 of Agrippina, and relieving her from maternal 
 anxiety, allowed her to give up her mind entirely 
 to the affairs of state ; and owing to her vigorous 
 guidance of the reins of government, the last years 
 of the reign of Claudius were years of almost un- 
 equalled prosperity in every respect — and this 
 indolent and imbecile emperor died while the 
 genius and vigour of his wife were giving such 
 illustrations to his reign. 
 
 Agrippina has been accused of poisoning her 
 husband, but on no sufBcient grounds — his own 
 gluttony was most probably the cause of his death. 
 But that Agrippina's arts seated her son on the 
 throne of the Csesars, there can be no doubt. 
 
 In all tills great historical drama, who was the 
 manager, and most efScient actor? woman, or 
 man ? Whose was the superior mind ? who was 
 the intellectual agent ? Was it the wily Seneca ? 
 the ductile Burrhus ? the sordid army ? the ser- 
 vile senate ? the excitable people ? or the con- 
 sistent, concentrated Agrippina ; who, actuated by 
 one all-absorbing feeling, in the pursuit of one 
 great. object, put them all in motion? that feeling 
 was maternal love, that object the empire of the 
 world ! 
 
 Nero was but eighteen years old when he as- 
 cended the throne ; and, grateful to her whose 
 genius had placed him there, he resigned the ad- 
 ministration of affairs into her hands, and evinced 
 an extraordinary tenderness and submission to his 
 august mother. The senate vied with him in 
 demonstrations of deference to her, and raised her 
 to the priesthood, an assignment at once of power 
 and respect. 
 
 The conscript fathers yielded to aU her wishes ; 
 the Roman people had already been accustomed 
 to seeing her on the imperial tribunal ; and 
 Seneca, Burrhus, and Pallas became but the 
 agents of her will. In reference to the repose 
 and prosperity of the empire under her sway, 
 Trajan, in after years, was wont to compare the 
 first five years of Nero's reign with those of 
 Rome's best emperors. 
 
 Agrippina must have early discovered Nero's 
 deficiency in that physical sensibility, and those 
 finer sympathies which raise man above the tiger 
 and vulture. She is reported to have said, " The 
 reign of Nero has begun as that of Augustus 
 ended ; but when I am gone, it will end as that 
 of Augustus began:" — the awful prophecy -was 
 soon accomplished. The profound policy by which 
 she endeavoured to prolong her own government, 
 and her watchfulness over the young Britannicus, 
 are sufiicient evidences that the son so loved in 
 the perversity of maternal instinct must have 
 
 eventually laid bare the inherent egotism and 
 cruelty of his nature. 
 
 When, on the occasion of a public reception 
 given to an embassy from the East, Agrippina 
 moved forward to take her usual place beside 
 Nero, he, with officious courtesy and ironical re- 
 spect, sprang forward and prevented the accom- 
 plishment of her intention. After this public 
 insult, Agrippina lost all self-control, and uttered 
 passionate and impolitic words that were soon 
 conveyed to the emperor, and by awakening his 
 fears, let loose his worst passions. After murder- 
 ing Britannicus to frustrate her designs, imprison- 
 ing her in her own palace, and attempting to poi- 
 son her, a reconciliation took place between Nero 
 and Agrippina, of which the mother was the only 
 dupe, for the world tmderstood the hollowness of 
 her son's professions of affection, and all aban- 
 doned her. 
 
 Nero wag now resolved on the death of his 
 mother, and took great pains in arranging an art- 
 ful scheme to accomplish it — which was frustrated 
 by Aceronia, who voluntarily received the blow 
 intended for her mistress. Agrippina escaped 
 then, but was soon afterwards murdered by Ani- 
 cetus, who, commissioned by her son, entered her 
 chamber with a band of soldiers and put an end 
 to her life, after a glorious reign of ten years ; 
 during which she was distinguished for personal 
 and intellectual endowments, and gave peace and 
 prosperity to the empire she governed. Her faults 
 belonged to the bad men and the bad age in which 
 she lived — the worst on record : her virtues and 
 her genius were her own. She inherited them 
 from Agrippa, the friend and counsellor of Augus- 
 tus, and from Agrippina, the wife of Germanicus. 
 
 The mind of this extraordinary woman was not 
 wholly engrossed by the arts of intrigue or the 
 cares of government ; she found time to write her 
 own Memoirs or Commentaries on the events of 
 her time. Of which Tacitus availed himself for his 
 historical works. Pliny also quotes from her 
 writings. 
 
 ALCBSTE, 
 
 Daughter of Pelias, and wife of Admetus, king 
 of Thessaly. Her husband was sick, and, ac- 
 cording to an oracle, would die, unless some one 
 else made a vow to meet death in his stead? 
 This was done secretly by Alceste, who became 
 iU as Admetus recovered. After her death, Her- 
 cules visited Admetus, and promised his friend 
 that he would bring back his wife from the infer- 
 nal regions. He compelled Pluto to restore Al- 
 ceste to her husband. Euripides has made this 
 story the subject of a tragedy. 
 
 ALCINOE, 
 Datjghtek of Polybius the Corinthian, and wife 
 of Amphilochus, fell in love with one Xanthus 
 of the Isle of Samos, who lodged at her house. 
 This is not the strangest thing in the story of 
 her life; the subject of surprise is to see that 
 it was Minerva who inspired her with this disease 
 of love, to punish her because she had not paid 
 
 22 
 
AL 
 
 AN 
 
 all she had promised to a poor woman who had 
 worked for her. This woman prayed to Minerva 
 to avenge her, and behold her prayers were heard. 
 Alclnoe, by the care of this goddess, became so 
 desperately in love with her lodger, that she left 
 her home and little children, and embarked with 
 him. But during the voyage she reflected upon 
 her conduct ; and, as she called to mind her young 
 husband and her children, she wept in despair. 
 All the promises of Xanthus to marry her were of 
 no avail to console her grief, — and she threw her- 
 self into the sea. This story shows that the an- 
 cient heathen had! a true sense of the great impor- 
 tance of being just to the poor. 
 
 ALEXANDRA, 
 Queen of Judea, widow and successor of Alexan- 
 der Jannseus, a wise and virtuous princess, who, 
 contrary to the example of her husband, studied 
 to please her subjects, and preserved peace and 
 prosperity during her reign of seven years. She 
 died in the seventy-third year of her age, B. C. 70. 
 She was the mother of Hyrcanus and Aristobulus, 
 and the latter years of her reign were disturbed 
 by the attempt of her younger son, Aristobulus, 
 to obtain the sovereignty, as he had been exaspe- 
 rated by the favour his mother showed to the sect 
 of the Pharisees, and the authority she allowed 
 them. 
 
 ALEXANDRA, 
 
 Daughtek of Hyrcanus, and mother of Aristo- 
 bulus and Mariamue, wife of Herod the Great, 
 was a woman of superior powers of mind. When 
 Herod appointed Ananel, a person of obscure 
 birth, high-priest, instead of her son Aristobulus, 
 who had a right to that office, her spirited con- 
 duct caused him to depose Ananel in favour of 
 Aristobulus. Herod, displeased at her interfer- 
 ence, had her confined and guarded in her own 
 palace ; but Alexandra, receiving an invitation 
 from Cleopatra to come to Egypt, with her son, 
 attempted to escape with him, in two coffins ; 
 they were discovered, however, and brought back. 
 Herod, jealous of the affection of the Jews for 
 Aristobulus, had him drowned, which so much 
 affected Alexandra, that she at first resolved on 
 committing suicide ; but finally decided to live, 
 that she might revenge herself on the murderer. 
 She interested Cleopatra in her cause, who ioduced 
 Anthony to send for Herod to exculpate himself 
 from the charge, which, by presents and flattery, 
 he succeeded in doing. And when Herod returned 
 he again ordered Alexandra to be confined. But 
 Alexandra showed great terror, if the account be 
 true, and cowardice, when the jealousy of Herod 
 induced him to order the death of his wife Mari- 
 amne. Though she knew the innocence of her 
 daughter, she was so much alarmed for fear she 
 should share the same fate, that she sought every 
 opportunity of traducing her, and praising the 
 justice of Herod. 
 
 After the death of Mariamne, Herod's grief so 
 overcame him, that he lost his health, and was 
 
 at times deranged. Whilfe in this state, he retired 
 to Samaria, leaving Alexandra at Jerusalem. Al- 
 exandra attempted to obtain possession of the for- 
 tresses near the capital, that she might eventually 
 become mistress of the city ; Herod being informed 
 of her attempts, sent orders that she should be 
 immediately put to death, which was done, about 
 ,B. C. 27. 
 
 AMALTH^A, 
 The name of the sibyl of Cumje, who is said 
 to have offered to Tarquiu 11., or. The Proud, 
 king of Rome, B. C. 524, nine books, containing 
 the Roman destinies, and demanded for them 
 three hundred pieces of gold. He derided her, 
 for supposing that he would give so high a price 
 for her books ; she went away and burning three 
 of them, returned and asked the same price 
 for the other six; this being again denied, she 
 burnt three more, and offered the remaining three, 
 without lessening her demand. Upon which Tar- 
 quin, consulting the pontiffs, was advised to buy 
 them. These books, called the " Sibylline Ora- 
 cles," were in such esteem, that two magistrates 
 were created to consult them upon extraordinary 
 occasions. The books, and the story about them, 
 were probably fabrications of the priests of Rome, 
 to impose on that superstitious people, and in- 
 CEease their own importance, by occasionally quot- 
 ing and iaterpreting these Oracles. The story ia 
 also of importance in showing the spiritual influ- 
 ence the mind of woman exerted over that proud 
 nation which owed its greatness to the sword. 
 Even there the strength of man was fain to seek 
 aid from the quicker intellect and more refined 
 moral sense of woman. 
 
 ANCHITA, 
 
 Wife of Cleombrutus, king of Sparta, was mother 
 of Pausanias, who distinguished himself at the 
 battle of Platsea. Afterwards, he disgusted his 
 countrymen by his foolish and arrogant conduct, 
 whom he also agreed to betray to the Persian 
 king, on condition of receiving his daughter in 
 marriage. His treason being discovered, he took 
 refuge in the temple of Minerva, from which 
 it was not lawful to force him. His pursuers 
 therefore blocked up the door with stones, the first 
 of which, in the proud anguish of a Spartan mo- 
 ther, was placed by Anchita. Pausanias died 
 there of himger, B. C. 471. 
 
 ANDBOCLEA, 
 Gelebkated for her love to her country, was a 
 native of Thebes in Boeotia. That state was at 
 war with the Orchomenians, and the oracle de- 
 clared that they would be victors if the most 
 noble among them would suffer a voluntary death. 
 Antiopoenus, father of Androclea, the most illus- 
 trious perspn in Ifhebes, was not disposed to 
 sacrifice himself. Androclea and her sister Alois 
 fulfilled this duty in their father's stead ; and the 
 grateful Thebans erected the statue of a lion to 
 their memory in the temple of Diana. 
 
 23 
 
■AN 
 
 AN 
 
 ANDROMACHE, 
 Wife of the valiant Hector, son of Priam king 
 of Troy, and the mother of Astyanax,, was daugh- 
 ter of Eetion, king of Thebes, in Cilicia. After 
 the death of Hector, and the destruction of Troy, 
 B. C. 1184, she was given to Pyrrhus, son of 
 Achilles, and one of the most celebrated Greek 
 warriors, who married her. Helenus, son of P^^- 
 am, was also a captive to Pyrrhus, and having 
 given him advice, which resulted favourably, Pyr- 
 rhus bestowed Andromache upon him, with part 
 of the country of Epirug. She had children by 
 Pyrrhus ; and some authors are of opinion that 
 all the kings of Epirua, to that Pyrrhus who made 
 war against the Romans, were descended from a 
 son of Andromache. This princess had seven bro- 
 thers, who were killed by Achilles, together with 
 their father, in one day. One author tells us, that 
 she accompanied Priam when he went to desire 
 Achillea to sell him the body of Hector ; and that 
 to move him to greater compassion, she carried 
 her son with her, who was an infant. She was 
 of a large stature, if the poets are good authority ; 
 but though her beauty of person would never have 
 made her celebrated like Helen, the purity of her 
 mind and the beauty of her character have given 
 her a much nobler celebrity. The tragedy of Eu- 
 ripides is a monument to her memory ; and her 
 dialogue with Hector in the Sixth Book of the 
 Iliad is one of the most beautiful parts of that 
 poem. 
 
 ANDROMEDA, 
 
 Was daughter of Cepheus, king of Ethiopia 
 and of Cassiopeia. Cassiopeia having boasted 
 that her daughter surpassed the Nereides, if not 
 Juno herself, in beauty, the offended goddesses 
 called on Neptune, their father, to revenge the 
 insult. He not only inundated the territory 
 of Ethiopia, but sent a horrid sea-monster which 
 threatened universal destruction. The oracle de- 
 clared that the wrath of Neptune could be ap- 
 peased only by the delivery of Andromeda to the 
 monster. In this extremity Perseus beheld her 
 when he was returning from his victory over Me- 
 
 dusa. Touched by compassion and love, Perseus 
 offered to kill the monster, on condition that the 
 virgin should be given him in marriage. Cepheus 
 promised this, and kept his word. In memory of 
 the exploits of Perseus, Andromeda was placed by 
 Pallas among the stars. 
 
 ANGITIA, 
 Sister of Medea, and daughter of JJtes, king 
 of Colchis, taught antidotes against poison and 
 serpents. She lived about, B. C. 1228. 
 
 ANNA, • 
 
 Daughter of Belus, king of Tyre, and sister 
 of Dido, whom she accompanied in her flight to 
 Carthage. She was worshipped as a goddess by 
 the ancient Romans, under the title of Anna 
 Perenna, and sacrifices were offered to her both 
 publicly and privately. 
 
 ANTIGONE, 
 Was daughter of (Edipus, king of Thebes, by 
 his sister Jocasta. This incestuous union brought 
 a curse on the innocent Antigone ; yet she never 
 failed in her duty to her father, but attended him 
 in his greatest misfortunes. She was slain by 
 the usurper Creon, whose son Haemon, being in 
 love with her, killed himself upon her tomb. 
 Her death was avenged on Creon by Theseus, 
 and her name has been immortalized in a tragedy 
 by Sophocles. She lived about, B. C. 1250. 
 
 ANTONIA MAJOR, 
 The eldest daughter of Marc Antony and Octa- 
 via, sister to Augustus, was bom B. C. 39. She 
 married L. Domitius. Some of the most illustri- 
 ous persons in Rome were descended from her. 
 Also it was her misfortune that the infamous 
 Messalina and Nero were her grandchildren. 
 
 ANTONIA MINOR, 
 Sister of the preceding, was bom B. C. 38 or 
 37. She married Drusus, brother of Tiberius, 
 whose mother, Livia, had married the emperor 
 Augustus. After a victorious campaign in Ger- 
 many, Drusus died when on his way to Rome to 
 receive the reward of his exploits. The despair 
 of Antonia at this affliction knew no bounds. 
 Their union and virtues, in a dissolute court, had 
 been the admiration of Rome. Three children, 
 Germanicus, Claudius, afterwards emperor, and 
 LiviUa, were the fruits of this marriage. 
 
 Antonia, though widowed in the bloom of beauty 
 and the prime of life, refused all the splendid con- 
 nections which courted her acceptance ; and, re- 
 jecting the solicitations of Augustus to reside at 
 his court, she passed her time in retirement, and 
 in educating her children. She gained the respect 
 and confidence of Tiberius, who had succeeded 
 Augustus, by informing him of a conspiracy form- 
 ed by his favourite Sejanus against his life. 
 
 Domestic calamities seemed to pursue this prin- 
 cess. Her son Germanicus, endowed with every 
 noble quality, adored by the army, the idol of the 
 people, and the presumptive heir to the throne, 
 died suddenly in Syria, probably poisoned by order 
 
 24 
 
AE 
 
 AR 
 
 of the emperor. Agrippina, wife of Germanicus, 
 returned to Kome, bearing in an urn tlie ashes of 
 her husband, and joined -with Antonia in demand- 
 ing, but in vain, vengeance of the Senate. 
 
 Claudius, her younger son, dishonoured the 
 family by his stupidity and vices ; and Livilla was 
 convicted of adultery and the murder of her hus- 
 band. She was given up by Tiberius to Antonia, 
 who, with the spirit of the ancient Romans, con- 
 fined her in a room and left her to perish of 
 hunger. 
 
 Antonia died in the early part of the reign of 
 her grandson Caligula, who, by his neglect and 
 open contempt, is supposed to have hastened her 
 death. She was probably about seventy-five when 
 she died. Of her private life little is known. She 
 was celebrated for her beauty, chastity, and in- 
 tegrity. Pliny speaks of a temple dedicated to 
 her. 
 
 ARETAPHILA, 
 
 Op Cyrene, wife of Phsedimus, a nobleman of 
 that place, lived about, B. C. 120. Nicocrates, 
 having usurped the government of Cyrene, caused 
 Phsedimus to be slain, and forcibly espoused his 
 widow, of whose beauty he had become en- 
 amoured. Cyrene groaned under the cruelty of 
 the tyrant, who was gentle and kind only to Are- 
 taphila. Determined to free her country from 
 this cruel yoke, Aretaphila obtained several poi- 
 sons in order to try their strength. Her drugs 
 were discovered, and her design suspected. Cal- 
 bia, mother of Nicocrates, insisted that she should 
 be tortured, and after some delay Nicocrates con- 
 sented. But even in the extremity of her anguish, 
 Aretaphila persisted in her first explanation, that 
 the drugs were intended merely to compose love 
 philters for the preservation of his affections. 
 Nicocrates afterwards entreated her forgiveness, 
 but she remained inexorable. 
 
 Aretaphila had one daughter by her first mar- 
 riage, whom she had united to Lysander, brother 
 of Nicocrates, and through whom she persuaded 
 Lysander to rebel against the tyrant. He was 
 successfiil in his attempt, and Nicocrates was de- 
 posed and assassinated. But after Lysander's 
 accession to the throne, he neglected Aretaphila's 
 advice, and imitated the cruelties and the tyranny 
 of his brother. 
 
 Disappointed in her son-in-law, she sent secretly 
 to Anabus, a prince of Lybia, to ask him to invade 
 Cyrene, and free it of its oppressors. When Ana- 
 bus had arrived near Cyrene, Aretaphila, in a 
 secret conference with Mm, promised to place 
 Lysander in his hands, if he would retain him 
 prisoner as a tyrant and usurper. For this ser- 
 vice, she promised him magnificent gifts and a 
 present in money. She then insinuated into the 
 mind of Lysander, suspicions of the loyalty of his 
 nobles and captains, and prevailed on him to seek 
 an interview with Anabus, in order to make peace. 
 
 Lysander and Aretaphila accordingly set for- 
 ward unarmed and unattended to the camp of 
 Anabus. When they approached it, Lysander's 
 courage failed him, and he would have retreated. 
 But his mother-in-law urged him on, saying. 
 
 " Should you now return, you would be stamped 
 as a coward and a traitor ; as a man who, faith- 
 less, perfidious himself, was incapable of a gener- 
 ous confidence." 
 
 Again, when on the point of meeting Anabus, 
 Lysander hesitated; but Aretaphila seized his 
 hand, and drawing him forward, gave him up to 
 Anabus. 
 
 The tyrant was detained in the camp till the 
 stipulated presents arrived. The people of Cyrene, 
 when they learned what had happened, flocked in 
 crowds to the camp of Anabus, and throwing 
 themselves at the feet of Aretaphila, they ac- 
 knowledged her as their saviour and their queen. 
 Lysander was taken .back to the city, fastened in 
 a leather bag, and thrown into the sea ; and Calbia 
 was burnt at the stake. It was then decreed that 
 the administration of the government should be 
 given to Aretaphila, assisted by a council of the 
 nobles. But she declined the honour, preferring 
 the privacy of domestic life. She retired to her 
 own habitation amidst the prayers and blessings 
 of the people. 
 
 ARETE, 
 Was the daughter of Aristippus of Cyrene, who 
 flourished about, B. C. 380, and was the founder 
 of the Cyrenaic system of philosophy. Arete was 
 carefully instructed by her father ; and after his 
 death she taught his system with great success. 
 She had a son, Aristippus, to whom she commu- 
 nicated the philosophy she received from her 
 father. 
 
 ARSINOE, 
 Dattghtek of Ptolemy I., son of Lagus, king of 
 Egypt, and of Berenice, was married to Lysima- 
 chus, king of Thrace. Lysimachus fell in battle 
 in Asia, and his kingdom of Macedonia was taken 
 possession of by Seleucus. Seven months after- 
 wards, Seleucus was assassinated by Ptolemy 
 Ceraunus, elder brother of Ptolemy Philadelphus, 
 who also put to death the two children of his half- 
 sister Arsinoe, after he had inveigled her into a 
 marriage with him. Their mother he then ban- 
 ished to the island of Samothracia, where she re- 
 mained till she was summoned to Egypt to become 
 the second wife of her brother, Ptolemy II. Phila- 
 delphus, king of that country, who reigned from 
 B. C. 284 to 276. This is the first instance of the 
 unnatural custom of incestuous marriages which 
 prevailed among the Greek kings of Egypt. Though 
 Arsinoe was now quite advanced, her brother was 
 much attached to her, and called one of the dis- 
 tricts of Egypt after her. She is said to have 
 founded a city, called by her own name, on the 
 banks of the Achelous, in .ffitolia. 
 
 ARSINOE, 
 A DAUGHTEE of Lysimachus, king of Thrace, was 
 the first wife of Ptolemy Philadelphus, king of 
 Egypt, by whom she had three children, Ptolemy, 
 Lysimachus, and Berenice. Suspecting her of 
 plotting against his life, Ptolemy banished her, 
 and she fied to Cyrene, where she was kindly 
 received by Magas, half-brother of the kiog of 
 
 25 
 
AR 
 
 AS 
 
 Egypt. Magas married her, and adopted her 
 daughter, Berenice. Berenice was betrothed to 
 Demetrius, son of Demetrius Poliorcetes, who 
 came from Macedonia to marry her ; but instead, 
 transferred his affections to Arsinoe, which led to 
 his assassination, and the marriage of Berenice to 
 Ptolemy III., who was probably her brother, by 
 which the kingdoms of Egypt and Cyrene were 
 again united. The history of this princess is very 
 confused ; and there is much difference of opinion 
 on the subject. 
 
 ARSINOE, 
 Daughter of Ptolemy III. Euergetes, was mar- 
 ried to her brother, Ptolemy IV. Philopater; she 
 is called Eurydice by Justin, and Cleopatra by 
 livy. She was present at the battle of Rhaphia, 
 a city not far from Gaza, in Palestine, fought be- 
 tween her husband and Antiochus the Great, 
 B. C. 217, and is said to have contributed not a 
 little to gain the victory. Ptolemy afterwards, 
 seduced by the charms of Agathoclea, ordered 
 Arsinoe to be put to death. 
 
 ARTEMISIA, 
 
 Daughter of Lygdamis, became queen of Caria, 
 in Asia Minor, when her husband died. Accord- 
 ing to Herodotus, she was one of the most distin- 
 guished women of antiquity. She attended Xerxes 
 in his expedition against Greece, B. C. 480, and 
 furnished five ships, which were only inferior to 
 those of the Sidonians. In the counoU of war 
 before the battle of Salamis, she strongly repre- 
 sented to Xerxes the folly of risking a naval en- 
 gagement, and the event justified her opinion. 
 In the battle she displayed so much courage, that 
 Xerxes exclaimed, " The men behave like women, 
 and the women like men!" To her Xerxes in- 
 trusted his children, that they might be safely 
 transported to his kingdom, when, agreeably to her 
 advice, he abandoned Greece, to return to Asia. 
 
 These great qualities did not secure her from 
 the weakness of love ; she was passionately fond 
 of a man of Abydos, whose name was Dardanus, 
 and was so enraged at his neglect of her, that she 
 put out his eyes while he was asleep. This, how- 
 ever, instead of diminishing her passion, seemed 
 to increase it. At length she consulted the Del- 
 phic oracle, to learn how to conquer her love ; and 
 being advised to go to Leucadia, the ordinary re- 
 sort of desperate lovers, she, like the poet Sappho, 
 took the fatal leap from that promontory, and was 
 drowned and buried there. Many writers con- 
 found this Artemisia with the wife of Mausolus, 
 who lived some time after. 
 
 ARTEMISIA II., 
 The queen of Caria, wife of Mausolus, immor- 
 talized by her attachment to her husband, built 
 for him, at his death, the celebrated and stately 
 tomb, that was considered one of the seven won- 
 ders of the world. It was caUed the Mausoleum, 
 and from it all other magnificent sepulchres have 
 received the same name. It was built by four 
 architects, and the expense of its construction was 
 enormous ; the philosopher Anaxagoras exclaimed. 
 
 when he saw it, "How much money changed into 
 stones!" 
 
 Artemisia frequently visited the place where her 
 husband's ashes were deposited ; mixed the earth 
 that covered him with water, and drank it, for the 
 purpose, as she said, of becoming the living tomb 
 of her departed lord. She offered the richest 
 prizes to those who should excel in composing a 
 panegyric on his virtues. Yet in the midst of all 
 her grief, she did not suffer it to interfere with the 
 duties of her elevated position, but took the com- 
 mand of her army in a war against the Rhodians, 
 in which she is said to have shown undaunted 
 bravery. She too^ possession of the city of 
 Rhodes, and treated the inhabitants with great 
 severity. She caused two statues to be erected: 
 one of the city of Rhodes, habited like a slave ; 
 and the other of herself, branding the city with a 
 hot iron. Titruvius adds, that the Rhodians never 
 dared to remove that trophy from its place ; such 
 an attempt being prohibited by their religion ; but 
 they buUt a wall around it, which prevented it 
 from being seen. She lived in the fourth century 
 before Christ. 
 
 ASENATH, 
 Daughter of Potiphar or Potiphera, and wife of 
 Joseph, prime minister to Pharaoh, king of Egypt, 
 is supposed by some to be the daughter of the 
 same Potiphar, whose wife had caused Joseph's 
 imprisonment, and that Asenath had endeared 
 herself to Joseph by taking his part in his adver- 
 sity, and vindicating him to her father. 
 
 ASPASIA, 
 Or Miletus, and daughter of Axiochus, lived 
 principally at Athens. She gained the affections 
 of Pericles, who, according to Plutarch, divorced 
 his first wife, with her own consent, in order to 
 marry Aspasia. We are told little of her beauty, 
 but much of her mental powers and cultivation. In 
 eloquence, she surpassed aU her contemporaries. 
 She was the friend, and, according to Plato, the 
 instructress of Socrates, who gives her the high 
 praise of "having made many good orators, and 
 one eminent over all the Greeks, Pericles, the son 
 
 26 
 
AS 
 
 AS 
 
 of XamtMppus." On this and similar authority 
 we learn, that Pericles was indebted to Aspasia 
 for much of his high mental cultivation. The 
 Athenians used often to bring their wives to hear 
 her converse, notwithstanding what was said of 
 her immoral life. She is accused of having ex- 
 cited, from motives of personal resentment, the 
 war of Peloponnesus ; yet, calamitous as that con- 
 flict proved to Greece, Aspasia inflicted on the 
 country still more incurable evils. Her example 
 and instructions formed a school at Athens, by 
 which her dangerous profession was reduced to a 
 system. 
 
 Aspasia, on occasion of a check of the Athenian 
 army, came herself into the assembly of the peo- 
 ple, and pronounced an oration, inciting them to 
 rally and redeem their cause ; her speech was 
 allowed to be far more eloquent than those of Gor- 
 gias, and other famous orators who spoke on the 
 same conjuncture. 
 
 Hermippus, a comic poet, prosecuted Aspasia for 
 impiety, which seems to have consisted in disputing 
 the existence of their imaginary gods, and intro- 
 ducing new opinions about celestial appearances. 
 But she was acquitted, though contrary to the 
 law, by means of Pericles, who is said to have 
 shed tears in his application for mercy in her be- 
 half. 
 
 It should not be omitted that some modern 
 writers have maintained opinions on the life of 
 Aspasia very different from those popularly enter- 
 tained. They say, the woman whom Socrates re- 
 spected, the woman who for years was the bosom 
 counsellor of so eminent a man as Pericles, never 
 could have been devoid of personal purity ; vice 
 palls ; vice may please by charms of exterior, but 
 never could keep up mental enthusiasm such as 
 Aspasia certainly excited and retained with Peri- 
 cles. They suggest that aspersions were thrown 
 upon her character by Aristophanes, to wound Pe- 
 ricles through her bosom ; but that the friend, the 
 adviser, the sympathizing companion of the man 
 who has been called Princeps Chracia, was not a 
 courtezan. We may here recall some verses of 
 Croly, who, in a note to the poem now quoted, 
 evidently leans to the opinions just stated". 
 
 " And throned immortal by his side 
 
 A woman sits |Witli eye sublime, 
 Aspasia, all his spirit's bride; 
 
 But if their solemn love were crime, 
 Pity the beauty and the sage ; 
 Their crime was in their darken'd age." 
 
 Socrates, who was the intellectual admirer of 
 this fascinating woman, in his Dialogue of jEschi- 
 nes, gives an account of the method which Aspasia 
 took, in order to persuade Xenophon and his wife 
 t-o observe the reciprocal duties of a married state 
 in the best manner. The persons in the Dialogue 
 are Aspasia, Xenophon, and his wife, whom Mr. 
 Le Clerc supposes from a passage in Laertius to 
 have been named Philesia. 
 
 "Tell me, Philesia," says Aspasia, "whether, 
 if your neighbour had a piece of gold of more 
 value than your own, you would not choose it be- 
 fore your own ?" " Yes," answered Philesia. "If 
 she had a gown, or any of the female ornaments, 
 
 better than your's, would not you choose them 
 rather than your own?" "Yes," answered she. 
 " But," says Aspasia, " if she had an husband of 
 more merit than your own, would not you choose 
 the former ?" Upon this Philesia blushed. As- 
 pasia then addressed herself to Xenophon. "If 
 your neighbour, Xenophon, had an horse better 
 than your own, would not you choose him prefer- 
 ably to your own?" "Yes," answered he. "If 
 he had an estate or farm of more value than your 
 own, which would you choose ?" " The former," 
 answered he, " that is, that which is more of va- 
 lue." " But if his wife was better than your own, 
 would not you choose your neighbour's ?" Here 
 Xenophon wlas silent upon this question. Aspasia 
 therefore proceeded thus: "Since both of you, 
 then, have refused to answer me in that point only, 
 which I wanted you to satisfy me in, I will tell 
 you myself what you both think: for you, Phile- 
 sia, would have the best of husbands, and you, 
 Xenophon, the best of wives. And therefore if 
 you don't endeavour that there be not a better 
 husband and wife in the world than yourselves, 
 you will always be wishing for that which you 
 shall think best; you, Xenophon, will wish you 
 might be married to the best of wives, and Phi- 
 lesia, that she might have the best of husbands." 
 Pericles died at the age of seventy, B. C. 429 ; 
 and after this we hear nothing of Aspasia, except- 
 ing that she transferred her afi'ections to Lysicles, a 
 grazier, who, in consequence of her influence, be- 
 came, for a time, one of the leading men in Athens. 
 
 ASPASIA, or MILTO, 
 
 Mistress of Cyrus the younger, was born about 
 421, B. C. of free parents, at Phocis, in Ionia. She 
 was brought up virtuously but in poverty, and 
 being very beautiful, with a profusion of light curl- 
 ing hair, very uncommon in that country, she at- 
 tracted the notice of one of the satraps of Cyrus, 
 who forced her father to give her to him for the 
 seraglio of this prince. Her modesty, dignity, and 
 grief had such an eff'ect on Cyrus, that he made 
 her his wife in every thing but the name, consult- 
 ing her in the most important affairs, and following 
 her counsels. He changed her name to Aspasia, 
 that being the appellation of the celebrated wit and 
 beauty of Miletus. Aspasia bore her honours with 
 the greatest moderation, and availed herself of the 
 change in her fortunes only to rescue her father 
 from his poverty. When Cyrus was killed, B. C. 
 401, in the ambitious attempt to dethrone his bro- 
 ther Artaxerxes, Aspasia was taken prisoner and 
 brought before the conqueror. Artaxerxes treated 
 her with the greatest attention, and made her the 
 first among his women, although he could not 
 marry her, as his wife Statira was still living. He 
 ordered her to be clothed in magnificent apparel, 
 and to be sumptuously lodged; but it was long 
 before his attentions or kindness could efface the 
 memory of Cyrus, whom she had tenderly loved. 
 She showed the utmost indifference, through her 
 whole life, to her own personal aggrandizement, 
 and would seldom accept any present which she 
 did not need. On one occasion Cyrus had sent 
 her a chain of gold, remarking that " It was wor- 
 
 27 
 
AT 
 
 thy the wife of a king ;" but she requested him to 
 send it to his mother Parysatis. This so pleased 
 Parysatis, that she sent Aspasia many grand pre- 
 sents and a large sum of gold, all of which Aspasia 
 gave to Cyrus, after praising the generosity of his 
 mother. 
 
 " It may be of service to you," said she, "who 
 are my riches and ornament." 
 
 ATHALIAH, 
 The daughter of Ahab king of Samaria, and 
 of Jezebel, daughter of Ethbaal king of the Si- 
 donians, was wife of Jehoram, king of Judah, 
 who walked in the idolatrous ways of the house 
 of Ahab. Jehoram died in the year B. C. 885, 
 and the kingdom devolved on Ahaziah their son. 
 Ahaziah reigned only one year, and on his un- 
 timely death, Athaliah ' arose and slew all the 
 seed-royal of the house of Judah,' although they 
 were her grand-children, and ascended the throne 
 B. C. 884, and reigned six years. At the end of 
 that time, Joash, a son of Ahaziah, who had been 
 concealed six years in the temple by his aunt Je- 
 hosheba, the wife of Jehoida the high-priest, was 
 produced by Jehoida before the priests and sol- 
 diers, and anointed king. Athaliah hastened to 
 the temple and attempted to excite a reaction in 
 her own favour by raising a cry of treason, but in 
 vain, for Jehoida gave instant orders that she 
 should be removed from the sacred enclosure and 
 slain. This command was immediately obeyed, 
 B. C. 878. The discovery of Joash is the subject 
 of a tragedy by Racine, written by command of 
 Madame de Maintenon. 
 
 AXIOTHEA, 
 A FEMALE philosopher of the age of Plato, whose 
 lectures she attended in male attire. 
 
 B. 
 
 BATHSHEBA, or BATHCHUAH, 
 
 Daughtee of Eliam Ammiel, was wife of tJi;iah 
 the Hittite. While her husband was absent at the 
 siege of Rabbah, David, king of Israel, accident- 
 ally saw her and fell violently in love with her. 
 In consequence of this, he contrived the death of 
 her husband, and married her. Bathsheba's eldest 
 child by David died, but she bore four others to 
 him, of whom Solomon and Nathan are reckoned 
 in the genealogy of Jesus Christ. 
 
 Bathsheba is represented as very beautiful; 
 and she must have been a woman of extraordinary 
 powers of mind, as she exercised over her hus- 
 band, king David, such paramount influence. 
 Though he had, by his other wiveSj several sons 
 older than Solomon, and Adonijah seems to have 
 been his favourite, yet she induced him to promise 
 that Solomon her son should succeed to the throne. 
 The scene in David's death-chamber, when, at her 
 appeal, the old king calls back, as it were, the full 
 powers of his strong mind to give her again the 
 solemn promise that her son shall reign, is sufii- 
 cient confirmation of her influence. After David's 
 death she was treated with profound reverence by 
 
 BE 
 
 her son, king Solomon. The period of her death is 
 not recorded ; but the last time she is mentioned, 
 when she " sat on the right hand" of her son, who 
 was " on his throne," was about B. C. 1012. 
 
 BAUCIS, 
 A Phetgian woman, wife of Philemon, who re- 
 ceived Jupiter and Mercury kindly, after these 
 gods had been denied hospitality in the whole 
 country, while travelling in disguise. A deluge 
 afterwards destroyed all but PhUemon and Bau- 
 cis, who entreated the gods to make their cot- 
 tage a temple, in which they could officiate as 
 priest and priestess, and that they might die 
 together. Both of these requests were granted. 
 Their story has been a favourite theme of poetry. 
 
 BERENICE (1), 
 One of the four wives of Ptolemy I., the found- 
 er of the dynasty of the Lagidee.in Egypt, and 
 the mother of Ptolemy II., called Philadelphus. 
 She had another son, Magas, by a former husband, 
 who was afterwards king of Gyrene. 
 
 BERENICE (2), 
 A DAUGHTER of Ptolcmy II., Philadelphus, and 
 sister of Ptolemy III., Euergetes. She was mar- 
 ried to Antiochus II., king of Syria, who divorced 
 his wife Laodice on the occasion. But after the 
 death of Philadelphus, Antiochus divorced Bere- 
 nice and took back Laodice, who, enraged at her 
 husband's having married Berenice, murdered 
 them both, as well as a son Berenice had by An- 
 tiochus, B. C. 248. 
 
 BERENICE (3), 
 The daughter of Ptolemy Philadelphus and 
 Arsinoe, married her brother Euergetes. Being 
 passionately attached to him, she made a vow to 
 consecrate her beautiful locks to Venus, in case 
 of his safe return from a dangerous expedition. 
 He came home unhurt, and she performed her 
 vow ; but some time after, the hair disappeared 
 from the temple, and Conon, the astronomer, pub- 
 lished that they had been placed among the stars ; 
 and he gave to a constellation the name of Bere- 
 nice's hair, which it stUl retains. She was put to 
 death by her own son, B. C. 221. 
 
 BERENICE (4), 
 
 Sometimes called Cleopatra, was the only legi- 
 timate child of Ptolemy VIII. (Soter II.), reigned 
 six months, and was then murdered by her hus- 
 band, Alexander II., to whom she had been mar- 
 ried only nineteen days. 
 
 BERENICE (5), 
 A DAUGHTEB, of Ptolemy IX. , Auletes, who began 
 to reign in Egypt B. C. 81, was sister of the cele- 
 brated Cleopatra. While her father was at Rome, 
 from B. C. 58 to B. C. 55, Berenice was made re- 
 gent; but on the restoration of Auletes, he put his 
 daughter to death. Berenice first married Seleu- 
 cus, whom, it is said, she caused to be strangled ; 
 and afterwards, Archelaus, who was also put to 
 death by Auletes. 
 
 28 
 
BE 
 
 CA 
 
 BERENICE (6), 
 
 Of Chios, one of the wives of Mithridates Eupa- 
 tor, king of Pontus, B. C. 123, generally called 
 Mithridates the Great, was put to death by his 
 command, together with his other wives, lest they 
 should fall into the hands of his conqueror, Lu- 
 cullus. 
 
 BERENICE (7), 
 
 Daughter of Costoborus and Salome, Herod the 
 Great's sister, was married first to her cousin 
 Aristobulus, son of Herod and Marianme. He, 
 belonging to the Asmonean race, and having a 
 brother who married the daughter of Archelaus, 
 king of Cappadocia, often upbraided Berenice that 
 he had married below himself in wedding her. 
 Berenice related these discourses to her mother, 
 and exasperated her so furiously that Salome, who 
 had great influence over her brother Herod, made 
 him suspicious of Aristobulus, and caused him to 
 order the murder of his own son. Berenice mar- 
 ried again ; and, having lost her second husband, 
 went to Rome, and got into the favour of Augus- 
 tus ; and also of Antonia, wife of Drusus, son of 
 Augustus, which, in the end, proved of great ser- 
 vice to Herod Agrippa, her son by Aristobulus. 
 
 c. 
 
 CALPURNIA, 
 
 Daughter of Lucius Piso, of an ancient and an 
 honourable family in Rome, married Caesar, after 
 his divorce from his third wife, Pompeia. In her, 
 Csesar found a wife such as he desired, whose 
 propriety of conduct placed her "above suspi- 
 cion." To her virtues she added beauty, talents, 
 prudence, an extraordinary eloquence, and a gen- 
 erosity and magnanimity of mind truly Roman. 
 Unmoved by all re'»erses of fortune, she showed 
 herself equally dignified when wife to Caesar, sena- 
 tor of Rome, as when consort to the master of the 
 world. Warned, as she thought, in a dream, of 
 her husband's fate, she entreated him not to leave 
 ■ his house on the ides of March ; but, urged by the 
 conspirators, he disregarded her prayers, and was 
 assassinated before his return, March 15th, B. C. 
 44. 
 
 Calpumia, superior to the weakness of ordinary 
 tainds, pronounced publicly, in the rostra, the 
 funeral eulogium of her husband in an impressive 
 and eloquent manner. Having declared a loss 
 like hers to be irreparable, she passed the re- 
 mainder of her life in mourning, secluded in the 
 house of Mark Antony, to whom she entrusted the 
 treasures and papers of Csesar, that she might be 
 the better enabled to avenge his death. 
 
 CAMILLA, 
 
 Daughter and successor of Metabus, king of the 
 Volsci, and ally of Turnus in his contests with 
 .^neas in Italy. She was killed on the field of 
 battle. She is celebrated by Virgil for her 
 valour. 
 
 CARMENTA, or NICOSTRATA, 
 
 An ancient poetess of Latium, flourished before 
 the foundation of Rome, in which, afterwards, di- 
 vine honours were paid her. According to Diony- 
 sius of Halioarnassus, Carmenta was born in Arca- 
 dia, where she was known by her name of Nicos- 
 trata. Her son Evander being implicated in an 
 unintentional homicide, she found means for an 
 emigration, which she conducted herself, about 60 
 years prior to the Trojan war. She led her follow- 
 ers into Italy, and established her son Evander as 
 king of that country, which afterwards contained 
 Rome. She found it inhabited by a savage race, 
 without religion, without courtesy,, without agri- 
 culture. She taught them to sow grain, she polislied 
 them by introducing poetry and music ; and she 
 built their first temple, and lifted their thoughts to 
 a superintending Deity. For these great benefits 
 she was revered as prophetess, priestess and 
 queen, and received her celebrated name of Car- 
 menta, in allusion to the oracular power with 
 which she was supposed to be gifted. 
 
 That she was a woman of wonderful genius and 
 a remarkably practical mind, there can be little 
 doubt ; as the Romans would not otherwise have 
 acknowledged, for such a length of time, her 
 talents and merits. In their proudest days, the 
 Romans never forgot the honours due to the bene- 
 factress of their rude ancestors. Cicero, speaks 
 of an officer in his day called Flamen Oarmentalis, 
 who had charge of the rites instituted by this 
 ancient prophetess. Virgil alludes to this remark- 
 able woman in the eighth book of the .flSneid : — 
 
 Dehinc progressus, monstrat et aram, 
 
 Et Carmentalem Romano nomine portam, 
 
 Quam memorant Nymphffi priscum Carmentis honorein 
 
 Vatis fatidicffi. 
 
 It is supposed to be from her name that verses 
 were named Carmina by the Latins. She was 
 well skilled in the Greek language, and of extra- 
 ordinary learning for the age in which she lived. 
 
 CASSANDRA, 
 
 Daughter of Priam, king of Troy, was regarded 
 as a prophetess ; and, during the siege of Troy, 
 uttered various predictions of impending calami- 
 
 29 
 
CA 
 
 CL 
 
 ties, 'whioli were disregarded at the time, but veri- 
 fied in the event. During the plunder of Troy, 
 B. C. 1184, she took refuge in the temple of Mi- 
 nerva, where she was barbarously treated by Ajax. 
 In the division of the spoil, she fell to the lot of 
 Agamemnon, who brought her home, where she 
 excited the jealousy of Clytemnestra. In conse- 
 quence, Cassandra and Agamemnon were both 
 murdered by Clytemnestra and her paramour. 
 She is said to have been very beautiful, and to 
 have had many suitors in the flourishing time of 
 Troy. 
 
 CASSIOPEIA, . 
 
 Datjqhter of Arabus, and wife of Cepheus, king 
 of Ethiopia, to whom she bore Andromeda. She 
 dared to compare her daughter's beauty to that 
 of the Nereides, who besought Neptune for ven- 
 geance. The god complied by laying waste the 
 dominions of Cepheus by a deluge and a sea- 
 monster. In astronomy, Cassiopeia is a conspicu- 
 ous constellation in the northern hemisphere. 
 
 CECONIA, or CESENIA, 
 
 Wife of Caligula, emperor of Rome, was killed 
 by Julius Lupus, A. D. 41, while weeping over the 
 body of her murdered husband. When she saw 
 the assassin approaching, and discovered his pur- 
 pose, she calmly presented her breast to his sword, 
 urging him to finish the tragedy his companions 
 had begun. Her two daughters died by the same 
 hand. 
 
 CHAEIXENA, 
 
 A VERT learned Grecian lady, who composed 
 many pieces in prose and verse. One of her 
 poems is entitled " Cromata." She is mentioned 
 by Aristophanes. 
 
 CHELIDONIS, 
 
 Dauohtee of Leotychides, and grand-daughter 
 of Timoea, wife of Agis, king of Sparta, married 
 Cleonymus, son of Cleomcnes II., king of Sparta. 
 Cleonymus was disliked by the Lacedaemonians, 
 on account of his violent temper, and they gave 
 the royal authority to Atreus, his brother's son. 
 Chelidonis also despised him and loved Acrotatus, 
 a very beautiful youth, the son of Atreus. Cleo- 
 nymus left Lacedsemon in anger, and went to so- 
 licit Pyrrhus, king of Epirus, to make war against 
 the Lacedemonians. Pyrrhus came against the 
 city with a large army, but was repulsed. The 
 Spartans, on his approach, had resolved to send 
 the women, by night, to Crete for safety ; but Ar- 
 ohidamia came, sword in hand, into the senate, 
 complaining that they were thought capable of 
 surviving the destruction of their country. The 
 women laboured all night on the abutments, with 
 the exception of Chelidonis, who put a rope around 
 her neck, resolving not to fall alive into the hands 
 of her husband. Acrotatus did wonders, and was 
 received with acclamations on his return as a 
 conqueror to the city, which was saved chiefly by 
 the patriotism of the women, inspired by Chelido- 
 nis. She lived about 280 B. G 
 
 . CHELONIS, 
 
 Daughter of Leonidas, king of Sparta, B. C. 
 491, was the wife of Cleombrutus. Her father 
 was deposed by a faction, who placed Cleombrutus 
 on the throne in his stead. Chelonis refused to 
 share her husband's triumph, and retired with her 
 father into a temple in which he had taken sanc- 
 tuary. Leonidas, some time after, was permitted 
 to retire to Tagea, whither Chelonis accompanied 
 him. 
 
 A change occurring in the feelings of the popu- 
 lace, Leonidas was restored, and Cleombrutus 
 obliged to take refuge, in his turn, in the sanc- 
 tuary. Chelonis now left hef father for her hus- 
 band. Leonidas repaired, with an aimed force, 
 to the sanctuary, and bitterly reproached Cleom- 
 brutus, who listened in silence, with the injuries 
 he had received from him. The tears of Chelonis, 
 who protested that she would not survive Cleom- 
 brutus, softened Leonidas, and he not only gave 
 his son-in-law his life, but allowed him to choose 
 his place of exile. To the entreaties of Leonidas 
 that Chelonis would remain with him, she returned 
 a resolute refusal ; and, placing one of her chil- 
 dren in her husband's arms, and taking the other 
 in her own, she went with him into banishment. 
 
 CHIOMAEA, 
 
 The heroic wife of Ortiagon, a Gaulish prince, < 
 equally celebrated for her beauty and her chas- 
 tity. During the war between the Romans and 
 the Gauls, B. C. 186, the latter were entirely de- 
 feated on Mount Olympus. Chiomara, amongmany 
 other ladies, was taken prisoner, and committed 
 to the charge of a centurion. This centurion, 
 not being able to overcome the chastity of the 
 princess by persuasion, employed force ; and then, 
 to make her amends, offered her her liberty, for 
 an Attic talent. To conceal his design from the 
 other Romans, he allowed her to send a slave of 
 her own, who was among the prisoners, to her 
 relations, and assigned a place near the river 
 where she coiild be exchanged for the gold. 
 
 She was carried there the next night by the 
 centurion, and found there two relations of her 
 own, with the gold. WhUe the centurion was 
 weighing it, Chiomara, speaking in her own tongue, 
 commanded her friends to kill him, which they 
 did. Then cutting off his head herself, she carried 
 it under her robe to her husband, Ortiagon, who 
 had returned home after the defeat of his troops. 
 As soon as she came into his presence she threw 
 the head at his feet. Surprised, as he might well 
 be, at such a sight, he asked whose head it was, 
 and what had induced her to do a deed so uncom- 
 mon with her sex ? Blushing, but at the same 
 time expressing her fierce indignation, she de- 
 clared the outrage that had been done her, and 
 the revenge she had taken. During the remainder 
 of her life, she strenuously retained her purity of 
 manners, and was treated with great esteem. 
 
 CLELIA, 
 One of the Roman virgins given as a hostage to 
 Porsenna, when he came to restore the Tarquins, 
 
 30 
 
CL 
 
 CL 
 
 Stealing from his camp by night, she crossed the 
 Tiber on horseback. Porsenna sent to demand 
 her, and she was given up to him ; but he dis- 
 missed her with her companions for the great 
 esteem he had of her virtue. The Senate erected 
 an equestrian statue to her. 
 
 CLEOBULE, or CLEOBTJLINE, 
 
 Dauqhxee, of Cleobulus, prince of Lindos, in 
 Greece, who flourished B. C. 594, was celebrated 
 for her enigmatical sentences, or riddles, composed 
 chiefly ia Greek verse. 
 
 CLEOPATRA, 
 
 Was the eldest daughter of Ptolemy Auletes, 
 king of Egypt. On his death, B. C. 51, he left 
 his crown to her, then only seventeen years old, 
 and her eldest brother Ptolemy, who was still 
 younger, directing -them, according to the custom 
 of that family, to be married, and committing 
 them to the care of the Roman Senate. They 
 could not agree, however, either to be married or 
 to reign together ; and the ministers of Ptolemy 
 deprived Cleopatra of her share in the govern- 
 ment, and banished her from the kingdom. She 
 retired to Syria, and raised an army, with which 
 she approached the Egyptian frontier. Just at 
 this time, Julius Csesar, in pursuit of Pompey, 
 sailed into Egypt, and came to Alexandria. Here 
 he employed himself in hearing and determining 
 the controversy between Ptolemy and Cleopatra, 
 which he claimed a right to do as an arbitrator 
 appointed by the will of Auletes ; the power of the 
 Romans being then vested in him as dictator. But 
 Cleopatra laid a plot to attach him to her cause 
 by the power of those charms which distinguished 
 her in so peculiar a manner. She sent word to 
 Csesar that her cause was betrayed by those who 
 managed it for her, and begged to be allowed to 
 come in person and plead it before him. This 
 being granted, she came secretly into the port of 
 Alexandria in a small skiff, in the dusk of the 
 evening ; and to elude her brother's officers, who 
 then commanded the place, she caused herself to 
 be tied up in her bedding and carried to Caesar's 
 apartment on the back of one of her slaves. She 
 was then about nineteen ; and though, according 
 to Plutarch, not transoendently beautiful, yet her 
 wit and fascinating manners made her quite irre- 
 sistible. Her eyes were remarkably fine, and her 
 voice was delightfully melodious, and capable of 
 all the variety of modulation belonging to a musi- 
 cal instrument. She spoke seven different lan- 
 guages, and seldom employed an interpreter in 
 
 her answer to foreign ambassadors. She herself 
 gave audience to the Ethiopians, the Troglodytes, 
 Hebrews, Arabians, Syrians, Modes, and Par- 
 thians. She could converse on all topics, grave 
 or gay ; and put on any humour, according to the 
 purpose of the moment. So many charms capti- 
 vated Csesar at once ; and the next morning he 
 sent for Ptolemy and urged him to receive Cleo- 
 patra on her own terms ; but Ptolemy appealed to 
 the people, and put the whole city in an uproar. 
 A war commenced, in which Caesar proved victo- 
 rious ; and Ptolemy, while endeavouring to escape 
 across the Nile in a boat, was drowned. Csesar 
 then caused Cleopatra to marry her younger bro- 
 ther, also named Ptolemy, who, being a boy of 
 eleven, could only contribute Ms name to the joint 
 sovereignty. This mature statesman and warrior, 
 who had almost forgotten ambition for love, at 
 length tore himself from Cleopatra, who had borne 
 him a son, Csesarion, and went to Rome. 
 
 After his departure, Cleopatra reigned unmo- 
 lested; and when her husband had reached his 
 fourteenth year, the age of majority in Egypt, 
 she poisoned him, and from that time reigned 
 alone in Egypt. She went to Rome to see Csesar, 
 and while there lodged in his house, where her 
 authority over him made her insolence intolerable 
 to the Romans. His assassination so alarmed her 
 that she fled precipitately to her own country, 
 where, out of regard to the memory of Csesar, 
 she raised a fleet to go to the assistance of the 
 triumvirs, but was obliged by a storm to return. 
 
 After the battle of Philippi, Antony visited 
 Asia, and, on the pretext that Cleopatra had fur- 
 nished Cassius with some supplies, he summoned 
 her to appear before him at Tarsus, in Cilicia. 
 Cleopatra prepared for the interview in a manner 
 suited to the state of a young and beautifiil east- 
 ern queen. Laden with money and magnificent 
 gifts, she sailed with her fleet to the mouth of the 
 Cydnus. There she embarked in a vessel whose 
 stern was of gold, sails of purple silk, and oars 
 of silver that kept time to a concert of several in- 
 struments. She herself was lying under a canopy 
 of cloth of gold, dressed like Venus rising out of 
 the sea ; about her were lovely children like Cupids 
 fanning her ; the handsomest of her women, ha- 
 bited like Nereids and Graces, were leaning on 
 the sides and shrouds of the vessel ; the sweets 
 that were burning perfumed the banks of the _ 
 river, which were covered by crowds of people, 
 shouting, that " the goddess Venus was come to 
 visit Bacchus for the happiness of Asia;" while 
 Antony sat alone and unattended. 
 
 Cleopatra succeeded in her object ; Antony be- 
 came her captive ; and the impression her beauty 
 and splendour had made on him was completed 
 and rendered durable by the charms of her society. 
 Her influence over him became unbounded, and 
 she abused it to the worst purposes. At her 
 request, her younger sister, Arsinoe, was assas- 
 sinated ; and she scrupled no act of injustice for 
 the aggrandizement of her dominions. After 
 Antony had spent a winter with her at Alexan- 
 dria, he went to Italy, where he married Octavia. 
 Cleopatra's charms, however, drew him back to 
 
 31 
 
CL 
 
 Egypt ; and when he had proceeded on his expe- 
 dition against Parthia, he sent for her into Syria, 
 ■where she rendered him odious by the cruelties 
 and oppressions she urged him to practice. After 
 his return, he bestowed upon her many provinces, 
 by wliich he incurred the displeasure of the Roman 
 people. When the civil war broke out between 
 Antony and Octavianus, afterwards Augustus Cae- 
 sar, emperor of Eome, Cleopatra accompanied 
 Antony, and added sixty ships to his navy. It 
 was by her persuasion that the deciding battle 
 was fought by sea, at Actium. She commanded 
 her own fleet ; but her courage soon failed her, 
 and before the danger reached her she fled, fol- 
 lowed by the whole squadron and the infatuated 
 Antony, who, however, was very angry with Cleo- 
 patra on this occasion, and remained three days 
 without seeing her. He was at length reconciled 
 to her, and, on the approach of Octavianus, they 
 both sent publicly to treat with him ; but, at the 
 same time, Cleopatra gave her ambassadors pri- 
 vate instructions for negotiating with him sepa- 
 rately. Hoping to secure the kingdom of Egypt 
 for herself and her children, she promised to put 
 it into the hands of Octavianus ; and, as a pledge 
 for the performance, she delivered up to him the 
 important city of Pelusium. 
 
 Near the temple of Isis she had built a tower, 
 which she designed for her sepulchre ; and into 
 this was carried all her treasures, as gold, jewels, 
 pearls, ivory, ebony, cinnamon, and other precious 
 woods ; it was also filled with torches, faggots, 
 and tow, so that it could be easily set on fire. 
 To this tower she retired after the last defeat of 
 Antony, and on the approach of Octavianus ; and 
 when Antony gave himself the mortal stab, he was 
 carried to the foot of the tower, and drawn up 
 into it by Cleopatra and her women, where he ex- 
 pired in her arms. 
 
 Octavianus, who feared lest Cleopatra should 
 burn herself and aU her treasures, and thus avoid 
 falling into his hands and gracing his triumphal 
 entry into Rome, sent Proculus to employ all his 
 art in obtaining possession of her person ; which 
 he managed to do by stealing in at one of the 
 windows. When Cleopatra saw him, she attempted 
 to kill herself ; but Proculus prevented her, and 
 took from her every weapon with which she might 
 commit such an act. She then resolved to starve 
 herself; but her children were threatened with 
 death if she persisted in the attempt. When Oc- 
 tavianus came to see her, she attempted to capti- 
 vate him, but unsuccessfully ; she had, however, 
 gained the heart of his friend, Dolabella, who gave 
 her private notice that she was to be carried to 
 Rome within three days, to take a part in the 
 triumph of Octavianus. She had an asp, a small 
 serpent, whose bite is said to induce a kind of 
 lethargy and death without pain, brought to her 
 in a basket of figs ; and the guards who were sent 
 to secure her person, found her lying dead on a 
 couch, dressed in her royal robes, with one of her 
 women dead at her feet, and the other expiring. 
 The victor, though greatly disappointed, buried 
 her, with much magnificence, in the tomb with 
 Antony, as she had requested. She was in her 
 
 CO 
 
 thirty-ninth year at the time of her death ; she 
 left two sons and a daughter by Antony, whom 
 she had married after his divorce from Octavia, 
 besides her son by Caesar, whom Octavianus put 
 to death as a rival. With her terminated the' 
 family of Ptolemy Lagus, and the monarchy of 
 Egypt, which was thenceforth a Roman province. 
 Cleopatra was an object of great dread and abhor- 
 rence to the Romans, who detested her as the 
 cause of Antony's divorce from Octavia, and the 
 subsequent civil war. Her ambition was as un- 
 bounded as her love of pleasure ; and her usual 
 oath was, "So may I give law in the capitol." 
 Her temper was imperious, and she was bound- 
 lessly profuse in her expenditures ; nor did she 
 ever hesitate to sacrifice, when it suited her own 
 interest, all the decorums of her rank and sex. 
 But we must remember, also, that she lived in an 
 age of crime. She was better than the men her 
 subtle spirit subdued, — for she was true to her 
 country. Never was Egypt so rich in wealth, 
 power and civilization, as under her 'reign. She 
 reconstructed the precious library of her capital ; 
 and when the wealth of Rome was at her com- 
 mand, proffered by the dissolute Antony, who 
 thought her smiles cheaply bought at the price of 
 the Roman empire, Cleopatra remarked, — " The 
 treasures I want are two hundi-ed thousand vo- 
 lumes from Perganms, for my library of Alex- 
 andria." 
 
 Her children, by Antony, were carried to Rome, 
 to grace the triumph of Octavianus. Octavia, 
 Antony's repudiated wife, took charge of them ; 
 and Cleopatra, the daughter, was afterwards mar- 
 ried to Juba, king of Mauritania. 
 
 CLYTEMNESTRA 
 
 Was the daughter of Tyndarus, king of Sparta, 
 and Leda, and twim-sister of Helen. She bore 
 her husband, Agamemnon, two daughters, Sphi- 
 genia and Electra, and one son, Orestes. During 
 the absence of Agamemnon, in his wars against 
 Troy, she became enamoured of .SIgisthus, and 
 assisted him to murder Agamemnon on his return. 
 She then, together with .^gisthus, governed My- 
 cene for seven years. Orestes, at length, killed 
 them both. 
 
 CORINNA, 
 A POETESS, to whom the Greeks gave the appel- 
 lation of the Lyric Muse, was a native of Tanagra, 
 in Boeotia. She flourished in the fifth century B. 
 C, and was a contemporary of Pindar, from whom 
 she five times won the prize in poetical contests. 
 Her fellow-citizens erected a tomb to her in the 
 most frequented part of their city. Only a few 
 fragments of her works are extant. She did jus- 
 tice to the superiority of Pindar's genius, but ad^ 
 vised him not to suffer his poetical ornaments to 
 intrude so often, as they smothered the principal 
 subject ; comparing it to pouring a vase of flowers 
 all at once on the grotmd, when their beauty and 
 excellence could only be observed in proportion to 
 their rarity and situation. Her glory seems to 
 have been established by the public memorial of 
 her picture, exhibited in her native citv. and 
 
CO 
 
 CO 
 
 adorned with a symbol of her victory. Pausanias, 
 who saw it, supposes her to have been one of the 
 most beautiful women of her age ; and observes 
 that her personal charms probably rendered her 
 judges partial, — a very masculine idea. 
 
 COBINNA, or CEINNA, 
 Or the Isle of Telos, lived about B. C. 610. She 
 wrote a fine poem in the Doric language, consist- 
 ing of three hundred verses. Her style is said to 
 have resembled that of Homer. She died at the 
 age of nineteen. 
 
 CORNELIA, 
 
 The mother of the Gracchi. In this lady every 
 circumstance of birth, life, and character, con- 
 spired to give her a glowing and ever-living page 
 in history. Two thousand years have passed 
 away, and yet her name stands out as freshly, as 
 if she had been cotemporaneous with Elizabeth 
 and Mary. She was the daughter of Scipio Afri- 
 canus, the conqueror of Hannibal. Such descent 
 could hardly have received an addition of glory or 
 distinction. But, such was the life of Cornelia, 
 that even the fame of Scipio received new lustre. 
 She was married to a man, who, though he filled 
 many high Roman offices, yet derived still greater 
 dignity from her virtues. This was Tiberius 
 Gracchus, the grandson of Sempronius, who was 
 eulogized by Cicero for wisdom and virtue. He 
 was thought worthy of Cornelia, and the event 
 proved that one was as remarkable as the other, 
 for what in that age of the world must have been 
 deemed the highest excellencies of the human 
 character. Tiberius died, leaving Cornelia with 
 twelve children. Her character was such, that 
 Ptolemy king of Egypt paid his addresses to her, 
 but was rejected. She devoted herself to the care 
 of her house and children ; in which she behaved 
 with the sweetest sobriety, parental affection, and 
 greatness of mind. During her widowhood, she 
 lost aU her children except three, one daughter, 
 who was married to Scipio the younger, and two 
 sons, Tiberius and Caius Gracchus. Plutarch re- 
 marks, that " Cornelia brought them up with so 
 much care, that though they were without dispute 
 of the noblest family, and had the happiest 
 geniuses of any of the Roman youth, yet educa- 
 tion was allowed to have contributed more to their 
 perfections than nature." This remark may show 
 in forcible colours the vast influence of mothers in 
 the education of youth. It is certain that there 
 is no natural genius which may not be improved 
 by education, and it is equally certain that no 
 human being can have as much influence on that 
 education as the mother. When a Campanian 
 lady once displayed her jewels before Cornelia, 
 requesting to see hers in return, Cornelia pro- 
 duced her two sons, saying, "These are all the 
 jewels of which I can boast." 
 
 She also gave public lectures on philosophy in 
 Rome, and was more fortunate in her disciples 
 than her sons. Cicero says of her, that, " Cor- 
 nelia, had she not been a woman, would have 
 deserved the flrst place among philosophers." 
 
 Cornelia, like aU the leading women of Rome, 
 C 
 
 had imbibed the heroic, or ambitious spirit of the 
 age. She is said to have made remarks to her 
 sons whi6h seemed to spur them on more rapidly 
 in their public career. The result was not very 
 fortunate. For though her sons sustained the 
 highest name for purity of character ; though they 
 have come down to us, distinguished as the Gracchi, 
 and though they were associated with the popular 
 cause, yet their measures were so revolutionary 
 and violent, that they were both destroyed in 
 popular tumults. 
 
 Cornelia survived the death of her sons, which 
 she bore with great magnanimity. They had been 
 killed on consecrated ground, and of these places 
 she said, that "they were monuments worthy of 
 them." She lived subsequently a life of elegant 
 and hospitable ease, surrounded by men of letters, 
 and courted by the great. We cannot have a bet- 
 ter idea of the close of her life, and of the high 
 estimation in which she stood, than by the very 
 words of Plutarch. This writer closes the lives of 
 the Gracchi with the following account of Cornelia : 
 
 "She took up her residence at Misenum, and 
 made no alteration in her manner of living. As 
 she had many friends, her table was always open 
 for the purpose of hospitality. Greek, and other 
 men of letters she had always with her, and all 
 the kings in alliance with Rome expressed their 
 regard by sending her presents, and receiving the 
 like civilities in return. She made herself very 
 agreeable to her guests, by acquainting them with 
 many particulars of her father Africanug, and of 
 his manner of living. But what they most ad- 
 mired in her was, that she could speak of her sons 
 without a sigh or a tear, and recount their actions 
 and sufferings as if she had been giving an account 
 of some ancient heroes. Some therefore imagined 
 that age and the greatness of her misfortunes had 
 deprived her of her understanding and sensibility. 
 But those who were of that opinion seem rather 
 to have wanted understanding themselves ; since 
 they know not how much a noble mind may, by a 
 liberal education, be enabled to support itself 
 against distress ; and that though, in the pursuit 
 of rectitude. Fortune may often defeat the pur- 
 poses of Virtue, yet Virtue, in bearing affliction, 
 can never lose her prerogative." 
 
 The whole life of Cornelia presents a beautiful 
 character ; and from the facts which have come 
 down to us we may draw these inferences : 1. Cor- 
 nelia must have been educated in a very superior 
 manner by her father. For in no other manner 
 can we account for her knowledge and love of lite- 
 rature ; nor for the fact, that while yet young she 
 was regarded as worthy of the most virtuous and 
 'noble men of Rome. 2. She must have been, 
 from the beginning, a woman at fixed principles and 
 undaunted courage; for, in no other manner can 
 we give a solution to her rejection of the king of 
 Egypt, her unremitting care of her family, th« 
 high education of her sons, and the great influence 
 she held over them. 3. She must have cultivated 
 literature and the graces of conversation ; for, how 
 else could she have drawn around the flreside of 
 a retired widow, the men of letters, and even the 
 compliments of distant princes ? 
 
CO 
 
 DE 
 
 From all this we may draw the conclusion that 
 it ia quite possible for a lady to be a woman of 
 letters, and yet a good housekeeper, a good 
 mother, a very agreeable companion, and a useful 
 member of society. It is true, that all women 
 cannot have the same early advantages, the same 
 parental care, the same rich opportunities, and 
 the same splendid line of life. Yet how few are 
 they who have improved, to the same advantage, 
 the talents with which they have really been en- 
 dowed ! And, yet more, how few are the fathers 
 and mothers who think these riches of the immor- 
 tal mind at all equivalent to the petty accomplish- 
 ments of fasMon ? Yet it is these high qualities 
 of mind alone which remain, like the eternal laws 
 of nature, after all the modes of fashion and the 
 revolutions of time. From this living fountain 
 flows all the bubbling, sparkling, running waters 
 of life. It overflows beyond the boundaries of 
 life, and enriches every territory of distant pos- 
 terity. 
 
 In her lifetime a statue was raised to her, with 
 this inscription : Cornelia mater Gracchorum. She 
 died about 230 years before Christ. 
 
 CORNELIA, 
 
 A DAUGHTER of Mctcllus Scipio, who married 
 Pompey, after the death of her first husband, P. 
 Crassus. She was an eminently virtuous woman, 
 and followed Pompey in his flight to Egypt, after 
 his defeat, by Caesar at Pharsalia, B. C. 48 ; and 
 saw him murdered on his landing. She attributed 
 all his misfortunes to his connection with her. 
 
 CORNELIA, 
 
 DADGHTEKof Cinna, and first wife of Julius 
 CaBsar. She became the mother of Julia, Pom- 
 pey's wife, and was so ffeloved by her husband 
 that he pronounced a funeral oration over her 
 corpse. 
 
 CRATESIPOLIS, 
 A QUEEN of Sioyon, celebrated for her valour, 
 after the death of her husband, Alexander, B. C. 
 314. 
 
 CREUSA, 
 Dadghteb of Priam, king of Troy, and of Hecuba 
 his wife, married jEneas, by whom she had Asca- 
 nius. Wien Troy was taken, B. C. 1184, she fled 
 in the night with her husband ; but in the confu- 
 sion they were separated, and .Slneas could not 
 recover her. Some assert that Cybele saved her, 
 ajid that Creusa became a priestess in her temple.' 
 
 CTNISCA, 
 
 Dauqhteb. of Agesilaus, king of Sparta, B. C. 
 400, Tvas celebrated by the Lacedaemonians for 
 excelling in the Olympic games. Her brother, to 
 show his contempt for these exercises, with dif5- 
 oulty persuaded her to enter the lists ; for he 
 thought those amusements would not be held in 
 estimation, if a woman could obtain the prize. 
 
 D. 
 
 DAMO 
 Daughter of Pythagoras, the philosopher, was 
 one of his favourite disciples, and was initiated by 
 him into all the secrets of his philosophy. Her 
 father entrusted to her all his writings, enjoining 
 her not to make them public. This command she 
 strictly obeyed, though tempted with large offers, 
 while she was struggling with the evils of poverty. 
 She lived single, in obedience to her father's 
 wishes, and exhorted other young women, whose 
 education she took charge of, to do the same. 
 She was born at Crotona, in Italy, and lived about 
 B. C. 500. 
 
 DAMOPHILA, 
 
 Wife of Damophilus, the Grecian philosopher, 
 was the contemporary, relation, and rival of 
 Sappho. She composed a poem on Diana, and a 
 variety of odes on subjects connected with the 
 passion of love. She is mentioned by Theophilus, 
 in his life of ApoUonius Thayneus. She flourished 
 about B. C. 610. 
 
 DEBORAH, 
 
 A PROPHETESS and judge in Israel, and the most 
 extraordinary woman recorded in the Old Testa- 
 ment. She lived about a hundred and thirty years 
 after the death of Joshua. The Israelites were in 
 subjection to Jabin, king of the Canaanites, who 
 for twenty years had "mightily oppressed" them. 
 Josephus says, "No humiliation was saved them; 
 and this was permitted by God, to punish them 
 for their pride and obstinacy ;" according to the 
 Bibl'b, for their "idolatry and wickedness." In 
 this miserable and degraded condition they were, 
 when " Deborah, a prophetess, the wife of Lapi- 
 doth," was raised up to be the "judge" and deli- 
 verer of her people. By the authority God had 
 sanctioned, in giving her superior spiritual insight 
 and patriotism, she called and commissioned Barak 
 to take 10,000 men of the children of Naphthali and 
 of Zebulun, and go against Sisera and his host. 
 According to Josephus, this armed host of Ca- 
 naanites consisted of 800,000 infantry, 10,000 
 cavalry, and 3000 chariots; the Bible does not 
 give the number, but names " nine hundred cha- 
 riots of iron," and the army as "a multitude." 
 Barak seems to have been so alarmed at the idea 
 of defying such a host of enemies, or so doubtful 
 of succeeding in gathering his own army, that he 
 refused to go, unless Deborah would go vrith him. 
 Here was a new and great call on her energies. 
 She had shown wisdom in counsel, superior, we 
 must infer, to that of any man in Israel, for all the 
 people " came up to her for judgment ;" — but had 
 she courage to go out to battle for her country ? 
 The sequel showed that she was brave as wise ; and 
 the reproof she bestowed on Barak for his cow- 
 ardice or want of faith, is both delicate and dig- 
 nified. She had offered him the post of military 
 glory ; it belonged to him as a man ; but since he 
 would not take it, since he resolved to drag a 
 woman forward to bear the blame of the insurrec- 
 tion, should the patriot effort fail ; the " honour" 
 
 34 
 
DE 
 
 DE 
 
 of success would be given to a "woman!" And 
 it was. But Deborah's spirit-stirring influence 
 so animated the army of the Israelites, that 
 the nujnerioal force of the Canaanites was of no 
 avaU. When she said to Barak, " Up ; for this is 
 the daf in which the Lord hath delivered Sisera 
 into thine hand;" her battle-cry inspired him with 
 faith, and he rushed " down from Mount Tabor, 
 and 10,000 men after him." " The Lord discom- 
 fited Sisera and all his chariots, and all his host;" 
 being, if Josephus is right, a hundred to one 
 against the little army of Barak, besides the "nine 
 hundred iron chariots;" of the mighty host of 
 Sisera, not a man escaped. • What a victory to be 
 achieved, by the blessing of God, under the guid- 
 ance of a woman ! After the battle was won and 
 Israel saved, then Deborah, who had shown her 
 wisdom as a judge and her bravery as a warrior, 
 came forth to her people in her higher quality of 
 prophetess and priestess, and raised her glorious 
 song, which, for poetry, sublimity and historic in- 
 terest, has never been exceeded, except by the 
 canticle of Moses. It is true that Barak's name 
 is joined with hers in the singing, but the wording 
 of the ode shows that it was her composition ; as 
 she thus declares,^" Hear, ye kings; give ear, 
 ye princes ; I, I, will sing unto the Lord ; I 
 win sing to the Lord God of Israel." Then she 
 pathetically alludes to the wasted condition of her 
 country, when the "highways were unoccupied, 
 and the travellers walked through by-ways." — 
 " The villages ceased, they ceased in Israel, until 
 that I, Deborah, arose, that I arose a mother in 
 Israel." 
 
 How beautiful is her character shown in the title 
 she assumed for herself! not "Jw^^re," "Jerome," 
 "Prophetess," though she was all these, but she 
 chose the tender name of "Mother," as the highest 
 style of woman ; and described the utter misery 
 of her people, as arousing her to assume the high 
 station of a patriot and leader. It was not ambi- 
 tion, but love, that stirred her noble spirit, and 
 nerved her for the duties of government. She is 
 a remarkable exemplification of the spiritual in- 
 fluence woman has vrielded for the benefit of hu- 
 manity, when the energies of man seemed entirely 
 overcome. Her genius was superior to any re- 
 corded in the history of the Hebrews, from Moses 
 to David, an interval of more than four hundred 
 years ; and scriptural commentators have re- 
 marked, that Deborah alone, of all the rulers of 
 Israel, has escaped unreproved by the prophets 
 and inspired historians. The land under her 
 motherly rule had "rest forty years." See 
 "Judges," chapters iv., v. 
 
 The Eev. H. H. Milman, in his " History of the 
 Jews," thus comments on the genius of this ex- 
 traordinary woman. 
 
 " Deborah's hymn of triumph was worthy of the 
 victory. The solemn religious commencement — 
 the picturesque description of the state of the 
 country — the mustering of the troops from all 
 quarters — the sudden transition to the most con- 
 tamptuous sarcasm against the tribes that stood 
 jtloof — the life, fire, and energy of the battle — the 
 bitter pathos of the close — ^lyric poetry has no- 
 
 thing, in any language, which can surpass the 
 boldness and animation of this striking production. 
 But this hymn has great historic as well as poetic 
 value. It is the only description of the relation 
 of the tribes to each other, and of the state of 
 society during the period of the Judges. The 
 northern tribes — Zebulun, Issachar, Naphthali — 
 appear in a state of insurrection against their 
 oppressors : they receive some assistance from 
 Ephraim, Manasseh, and Benjamin. The pastoral 
 tribes beyond Jordan remain in unpatriotic inac- 
 tivity. Dan and Asher are engaged in their mari- 
 time concerns ; a curious fact, for we have no other 
 intimation of any mercantile transactions of the 
 Hebrews — as these expressions seem to imply — 
 earlier than the reign of Solomon. Of Judah and 
 Simeon there is no notice whatever, as if they had 
 seceded from the confederacy, or were occupied 
 by enemies of their own. 
 
 Thus sang Deborah and Barak, eon of Abinoain, 
 
 In the day of victory thus they sang ; 
 
 That Israel hath wrought her mighty vengeance, 
 
 That the willing people rushed to battle, 
 
 Oh, therefore, praise Jeliovah I 
 
 Hear, ye kings! give ear, ye princes! 
 I to Jehovah, I will lift the song, 
 I will sound the harp to Jehovah, God of Israel 1 
 Jehovah ! when thou wentest forth from Seir ! 
 When thou marchedst through the fields of Edoni . 
 duaked the earth, and poured the heavens. 
 Yea, the clouds poured down with water; 
 Before Jehovah's face the mountains melted, 
 That Sinai before Jehovah's face, 
 The God of Israel. 
 
 In the days of Shamgar, son of Anath, 
 
 In Jael's days, untrodden were the highways, 
 
 Through the winding by-path stole the traveller; 
 
 Upon the plains deserted lay the hamlets, 
 
 Even till that I, till Deborah arose. 
 
 Till I arose in Israel a mother. 
 
 They chose new gods; 
 War was in all their gates! 
 Was buckler seen, or lance, 
 'Mong forty thousand sons of Israel 1 
 
 My soul is yours, ye chiefs of Israel 1 
 And ye, the self-devoted of the people. 
 Praise ye the Lord with me I 
 Ye that ride upon the snow-white asses, 
 Ye that sit to judge on rich divans ; 
 Ye that plod on foot the open way. 
 Come meditate the song. 
 
 For the noise of plundering archers by the wells of water 
 Now they meet and sing aloud Jehovah's righteous acts ; 
 His righteous acts the hamlets sing upon the open plains, 
 And enter their deserted gates the people of Jehovah. 
 
 Awake, Deborah! Awake! 
 
 Awake, uplift the song I 
 
 Barak, awake ! and lead thy captives captive 
 
 Thou son of Abjnoam ! 
 
 With him a valiant few went down against the mighty. 
 With me Jehovah's people went down against the strong 
 
 First Ephraim, from the Mount of Amalek, 
 
 And after thee, the bands of Benjamin ! 
 
 From Machir came the rulers of the people. 
 
 From Zebulun those that bear the marshall's staff; 
 
 And Issachar's brave princes came with Deborah, 
 
 Issachar. the strength of Barak : 
 
 They burst into the valley on his footsteps. 
 
 By Reuben's fountains there was deep debating— 
 Why sat'st thou idle, Reuben, 'mid thy herd-stalls? 
 
 35 
 
DE 
 
 Was it to hear the lowing of thy cattle ? 
 
 By Reuben's fountains there was deep debating— 
 
 And Gilead lingered on the shores of Jordan— 
 And Dan, why dwelled he among his ships?— 
 And Asher dwelled in his sea-shore havens, 
 And sate upon his rocks precipitous. 
 But Zebulun was a death-defying people. 
 And Naphthali from oif the mountain heights. 
 
 Came the king and fought, 
 
 Fought the kings of Canaan, 
 
 By Taanacb, by Megiddo's waters. 
 
 For the golden booty that they won not. 
 
 From the heavens they fought 'gainst Sisera, 
 In their courses fought their stars against him: 
 The torrent Kishon swept them down. 
 That ancient river Kishon. 
 So trample thou, my soul, upon their might. 
 
 Then stamped the clattering hoofs of prancing horse 
 At the flight, at the flight of the mighty. 
 
 Curse ye Meroz, saith the angel of the Lord, 
 
 Curse, a twofold curse upon her dastard sons; 
 
 For they came not to the succour of Jehovah, 
 
 To the succour of Jehovah 'gainst the mighty. 
 
 Above all women blest be Jael, 
 
 Heber the Kenite's wife. 
 
 O'er all the women blest, that dwell in tents. 
 
 Water he asked— she gave him milk. 
 The curded milk, in her costliest bowl. 
 
 Her left hand to the nail she set. 
 Her right hand to the workman's hammer- 
 Then Sisera she smote— she clave his head ; 
 She bruised— she pierced his temples. 
 At her feet he bowed ; he fell ; he lay ; 
 At her feet he bowed ; he fell ; 
 Where he bowed, there he fell dead. 
 
 From the window she looked forth, she cried. 
 
 The mother of Sisera, through the lattice: 
 
 "Why is his chariot so long in coming? 
 
 Why tarry the wheels of his chariot ?" 
 
 Her prudent women answered her— 
 
 Yea, she herself gave answer to herself— 
 
 " Have they not seized, not shared the spoil T 
 
 One damsel, or two damsels to each chief? 
 
 To Sisera a many-coloured robe, 
 
 A many-coloured robe, and richly broidered. 
 
 Many-coloured, and broidered round the neck." 
 
 Thus perish all thine enemies, Jehovah; 
 
 And those who love thee, like the sun, shine forth. 
 
 The sun in all its glory.* 
 
 DELILAH, 
 
 Of Sorek, a Philistine woman, who enticed 
 Samson to reveal to her the secret of his superna- 
 tural strength, which was in his hair. This she 
 caused to he out off, and thus delivered him, help- 
 less, into the hands of his enemies. 
 
 The history of Samson is the history of the tri- 
 umphs of womans's spiritual nature over the phy- 
 sical strength and mental powers of man. Sam- 
 son's hirth, character and mission were first re- 
 vealed to his mother ; the angel appearing twice 
 to her before her husband was permitted to see 
 the heavenly messenger. AH the preparatory 
 regimen to ensure this wonderful son was ap- 
 pointed as the mother's duty; and when the angel 
 
 '*• " In the above translation an attempt is made to preserve 
 something like a rhythmical flow. It adheres to the original 
 language, excepting where an occasional word is but rarely, 
 inserted, for the sake of perspicuity." 
 
 of the Lord was revealed, the man's earthly na- 
 ture was overwhelmed with fear; the woman's 
 spiritual nature held its heavenly trust unshaken. 
 The arguments of the wife, to comfort and sustain 
 her husband, are as well-reasoned as any to be 
 found in man's philosophy. » 
 
 Next, the "woman in Timnath," the wife of 
 Samson, persuaded him to tell her his riddle or 
 enigma, then considered a remarkable proof of 
 genius to make. His wisdom was weakness 
 weighed with her attractions. But his great phy- 
 sical strength remained a secret stiU. It was the 
 especial gift of God, eonfi'ded to him that he might 
 become the deliverer of his nation. Yet this en- 
 dowment was rendered of little real avail, because 
 he devoted it to unworthy purposes, either to gra- 
 tify his sensual passions or to escape the snares 
 into which these had led him. The last trial of 
 his strength, mental and bodily, against the sub- 
 tlety of the woman's spirit, proved her superior 
 power. Delilah conquered Samson, and in the 
 means she employed she was far less culpable 
 than he ; because she was his paramour, perhaps 
 his victim, and he the heaven-gifted champion of 
 Israel. Read the history as recorded in the Bible, 
 not in Milton's " Samson Agonistes," where the 
 whole is set in a false light. Delilah was not the 
 wife of Samson. She owed him no obedience, no 
 faith. But his strength was consecrated to God — 
 he was the traitor, when he disclosed the secret. 
 See Judges, from chapters xiii. to s'vii. These 
 events occurred B. C. 1120. 
 
 DIDO, or ELISSA, 
 A Daughter of Belus, king of Tyre, who mar- 
 ried Sichseus of Sicharbas, her uncle, priest of 
 Hercules. Her brother, Pygmalion, who suc- 
 ceeded Belus, murdered Sichaeus, to get possession 
 of his immense riches ; and Dido, disconsolate for 
 the loss of her husband, whom she tenderly loved, 
 and dreading lest she should also fall a victim to 
 her brother's avarice, set sail, with a number of 
 Tyrians, to whom Pygmalion had become odious 
 from his tyranny, for a new settlement. Accord- 
 ing to some historians, she threw, into the sea the 
 riches of her husband, and by that artifice com- 
 pelled the ships to fly with her, that had come by 
 the order of the tyrant to obtain possession of her 
 wealth. But it is more probable that she carried 
 her riches with her, and by this influence pre- 
 vailed on the Tyrian sailors to accompany her. 
 Dviring her voyage Dido stopped at Cyprus, from 
 which she carried away fifty young women, and 
 gave them as wives to her followers. A storm 
 drove her fleet on the African coast, where she 
 bought of the inhabitants as much land as could 
 be surrounded by a bull's hide cut into thongs. 
 Upon this land she built a citadel, called Byrsa ; 
 and the increase of population soon obliged her 
 to enlarge her city and dominions. 
 
 Her beauty, as well as the fame of her enter- 
 prise, gained her many admirers ; and her subjects 
 wished to compel her to marry Jarbas, king of 
 Mauritania, who threatened them with a dreadful 
 war. Dido asked for three months before she 
 gave a decisive answer ; and during that time she 
 
DI 
 
 ES 
 
 erected a funeral pile, as if wisHng by a solemn 
 sacrifice to appease the manes of SicliBeiis, to whom 
 she had vowed eternal fidelity. When all was 
 prepared, she stabbed herself on the pile in pre- 
 sence of her people ; and by this uncommon action 
 obtained the name of Dido, or " the valiant wo- 
 man," instead of Elissa. Virgil and others repre- 
 sent her as visited by jEneas, after whose depart- 
 ure she destroyed herself from disappointed love ; 
 but this is a poetical fiction, as iEneas and Dido 
 did not live in the same age. After her death, 
 Dido was honoured as 5, deity by her subjects. 
 She flourished about B. C. 980. 
 
 DINAH, 
 The only daughter of the patriarch Jacob. Her 
 seduction by prince Shechem ; his honourable 
 proposal of repairing the injury by marriage, and 
 the prevention of the fulfilment of this just inten- 
 tion by the treachery and barbarity of her bloody 
 brethren Simeon and Levi, are recorded in Gen. 
 xxxiv. But every character in the Bible has its 
 mission as an example or a warning, and Dinah's 
 should be the beacon to warn the young of her 
 sex against levity of manners and eagerness for 
 society. " She went out to see the daughters of 
 the land ;" the result of her visit was her own 
 ruin, and involving two of her brothers in such 
 deeds of revenge as brought a curse upon them 
 and their posterity. And thus the idle curiosity 
 or weak vanity of those women who are always 
 seeking excitement and amusement, may end most 
 fatally for themselves and those nearest connected 
 and best beloved. Dinah lived B. C. 1732. 
 
 DIOTIMA, 
 One of the learned women who taught Socrates, 
 as he himself declared, the " divine philosophy." 
 She was supposed to have been inspired with the 
 spirit of prophecy ; and Socrates learned of her 
 how from corporeal beauty to find out that of the 
 soul, of the angelical mind, and of Grod. She lived 
 in Greece, about B. C. 468. 
 
 B. 
 
 EGEE, 
 Queen of the African Amazons, of whom it is 
 related, that she passed from Lybia into Asia, 
 with a powerful army, with which she made great 
 ravages. Opposed by Laomedon, king of Troy, 
 she set his power at defiance ; and, charged with 
 an immense booty, retook the way to her own 
 country. In repassing the sea, she perished with 
 her vrhole army. 
 
 ELECTEA, 
 Dattghtek of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra, 
 was the sister of Iphigenia and Orestes, Her 
 step-father .SIgisthus would not allow her to marry 
 any of her suitors who were princes, lest her child- 
 ren should avenge the murder of Agamemnon; 
 but he married her to a man of humble rank in 
 Argos, who left her a virgin. At the time of her 
 father's death she saved her brother Orestes, and 
 
 afterwards instigated him to murder jEgisthus 
 and Clytemnestra. When Orestes was tortured 
 by the furies on account of these murders, Electra 
 was informed by the oracle of Delphi that he was 
 slain by a priestess of Diana ; this so excited her 
 that she was about to kill Iphigenia, who had just 
 entered the temple as a priestess of Diana, with a 
 firebrand, when Orestes appeared. Electra after- 
 wards married Pylades, the friend of Orestes. 
 
 ERINNA, 
 
 A Gbeoian lady cotemporary with Sappho ; 
 composed several poems, of which some fragments 
 are extant in the " Carmina Novem Poetarum Scmi- 
 narum," published in Antwerp, in 1568. She 
 lived about B. C. 595. One of her poems, called 
 " The Distaff," consisted of three hundred hexa- 
 meter lines. It was thought that her verses ri- 
 valled Homer's. She died at the age of nineteen, 
 unmarried. 
 
 There is another poetess of the same name men- 
 tioned by Eusebius, who flourished in the year 
 B. 0. 354. This appears to have been the poetess 
 mentioned by Pliny as having celebrated Myro in 
 her poems. 
 
 ESTHER, 
 
 A Jewish maiden, whose great beauty raised 
 her to the throne of Persia, whereby she saved 
 her countrymen from total extermination. Esther 
 was an orphan, brought up by her cousin Morde- 
 cai, who was of the tribe of Benjamin, the great- 
 grandson of Kish, one of the captives taken from 
 Jerusalem by Nebuchadnezzar. Mordecai was 
 probably born in Babylon ; but he was a devout 
 worshipper of the God of Israel. He had adopted 
 Esther as his own daughter;. — and when after 
 king Ahasuerus had repudiated his first queen 
 Vashti, and chosen the " fair and beautiful" Jew- 
 ish maid, then her uncle, who had strictly enjoined 
 her not to let it be made known to the king that 
 she was a Jewess, left Babylon for Susa, where he 
 often waited at the gate to see his niece and hear 
 of her welfare. 
 
 About this time Ahasuerus passed an ordinance, 
 importing, that none of his household, under pen- 
 alty of death, should come into his presence while 
 he was engaged in the administration of justice. 
 If, however, he extended the golden sceptre to- 
 wards the intruder, the penalty was to be remit- 
 ted. Not long after, two of the chamberlains of 
 the king conspired against him ; the plot was dis- 
 closed to Mordecai, and, through the medium of 
 Esther, the king was apprised of his danger. Mor- 
 decai received no reward for this service, except 
 having the transaction entered in the records of 
 the state, and being allowed the privilege of ad- 
 mission to the palace. 
 
 Haman, an Amalekite, now became the chief 
 favourite of king Ahasuerus ; — Mordecai, probably 
 proud of his Jewish blood, and despising the base 
 parasite, refused to bow down to him in the gate, 
 as did all the king's servants. This afiront, so 
 offensive to Haman' s pride, determined him not 
 only to destroy Mordecai, but all the captive Jews 
 throughout the wide dominions of kiog Ahasuerus. 
 
EU 
 
 EV 
 
 Tlie favourite made such representations to the 
 king concerning the Jews, that a proclamation for 
 their entire destruction was promulgated. 
 
 The result is known to all who have read the 
 " Book of Esther ;" — how this pious and beautiful 
 woman, trusting in heaven and earnestly employ- 
 ing her own influence, succeeded in defeating the 
 malice of the Amalekite ; " Haman was hanged 
 on the gallows he had prepared for Mordecai." 
 The relationship of Esther and Mordecai waamade 
 known to the king, who gave Haman's office to 
 the noble Jew, and from that time took him into 
 his confidential service and promoted liim to the 
 highest honours. Between the king and his lovely 
 wife the most perfect confidence was restored. 
 Indeed from what is said by the prophet Nehe- 
 miah, who wrote some ten or twelve years later, 
 and who represented the queen as sitting beside 
 the king when petition was made concerning the 
 Jews, we must infer she was ever after his coun- 
 sellor and good angel. 
 
 The learned are not agreed who this Ahasuerus 
 was ; Josephus asserts, that he is the same as the 
 Artaxerxes Longimanus of profane history; and 
 the Septuagint, throughout the whole book of 
 Esther, translates Ahasuerus by Artaxerxes. In- 
 deed the great kindness shown by Artaxerxes to 
 the Jews, can hardly be accounted for, except on 
 the supposition that they had so powerful an advo- 
 cate as Esther to intercede for them. Some wri- 
 ters, however, assert that he is the same as Darius 
 Hystaspes, king of Persia, B. C. 521, who allowed 
 the Jews to resume the building of their temple. 
 But whoever the Ahasuerus of this history might 
 be, its interest centres in Esther. In her example 
 the influence of woman's pious patriotism is exhi- 
 bited and rewarded. Esther was deeply indebted 
 to Mordecai for his care and zeal in her educa- 
 tion; still, had she not possessed, and exercised 
 too, the highest powers of woman's mind — faith 
 in God, and love, self-sacrificing love for her peo- 
 ple — the Jews must have perished. This wonder- 
 ful deliverance has, from that time to this — more 
 than twenty-three centuries — been celebrated by 
 the Jews, as a festival called " the days of Purim," 
 or, more generally, " Esther's Feast." This great 
 triumph occurred B. C. 509. 
 
 EURYDICE, 
 An lUyrian lady, is commended by Plutarch, 
 for applying herself to study, though already ad- 
 vanced in years, and a native of a barbarous coun- 
 try, that she might be enabled to educate her 
 children. She consecrated to the muses an in- 
 scription, in which this circumstance is mentioned. 
 
 EUEYDICE, 
 Wife of Amyntas, king of Macedonia, in the 
 fifth century before Christ, was the mother of 
 Alexander, Perdiccas, and Philip, father of Alex- 
 ander the Great, and of one daughter, Euryone. 
 From a criminal love she had for her daughter's 
 husband, she conspired against Amyntas ; but he 
 discovered the plot, through one of his daughters 
 by a former wife, and forgave her. On the death 
 of Amyntas, Alexander ascended the throne, but 
 
 he perished through the ambition of his mother, 
 as well as his brother and successor, Perdiccas. 
 Philip, who succeeded them, preserved his crown 
 from all her attempts, on which she fled to Iphi- 
 crates, the Athenian general. What became of 
 her afterwards, is not known. 
 
 EURYDICE, 
 Wife of Aridaeus, the natural son of Philip,' 
 king of Macedonia, who, after the death of Alex- 
 ander the Great, was made king for a short time. 
 Aridseus had not full possession of his senses, and 
 was governed entirely by his wife. After a reign 
 of seven years, Aridseus and Eurydice were put 
 to death, B. C. 319, by Olympias, mother of Alex- 
 ander the Great, who had conquered them. 
 
 EVE, 
 
 The crowning work of creation, the first woman, 
 the mother of our race. Her history, in the sacred 
 Book, is told in few words ; but the mighty conse- 
 quences of her life will be felt through time, and 
 through eternity. We shall endeavour to give 
 what we consider a just idea of her character and 
 the influence her destiny exercises over her sex 
 and race. 
 
 The Bible records that " the Lord God formed 
 man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into 
 his nostrils the breath of life ; and man became a 
 living soul." Yet he was not perfect then, because 
 God said, " It is not good for man to be alone." 
 Would a perfect being have needed a helper? 
 So God caused a deep sleep to fall upon Adam ; 
 and while he slept God took one of the ribs of the 
 man; "And the rib which the Lord God had 
 taken from man, made he a woman, and brought 
 her unto the man. And Adam said, This is now 
 bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh ; she shall 
 be called woman, because she was taken out of 
 man." It was this twain in unity, to which allu- 
 sion is made in the 1st chap, of Genesis, 27th and 
 28th verses. The creation is there represented 
 as finished, and the " image of God was male and 
 female;" that is, comprising the moral excellen- 
 ces of man and woman ; thus united, they formed 
 the perfect being called Adam. 
 
 It is only when we analyze the record of the 
 particular process of creation, and the history of 
 the fall, and its punishment, that we can learn 
 what were the peculiar characteristics of man and 
 woman as each came from the hand of God. Thus 
 guided, the man seems to have represented 
 strength, the woman, beauty ; he reason, she "feel- 
 ing ; he knowledge, she wisdom ; he the material 
 or earthly, she the spiritual or heavenly in human 
 nature. 
 
 That woman was superior to man in some way 
 is proven, first, by the care and preparation in 
 forming her; and secondly, by analogy. Every 
 step in the creation had been in the ascending 
 scale. Was the last retrograde ? It must have 
 been, unless the woman's nature was more refined, 
 pure, spiritual, a nearer assimilation with the an- 
 gelic, a link in the chain connecting earth with 
 heaven, more elevated than the nature of man. 
 Adam was endowed with the perfection of physi- 
 
 38 
 
E'V 
 
 EV 
 
 oal strength, -which his wife had not. He did not 
 require her help in subduing the earth. He also 
 had the large understanding which could grasp 
 and comprehend all subjects relating to this world 
 
 — and was equal to its government. "He gave 
 names to all cattle, and to the fowl of the air, and 
 to every.beast of the field;" and that these names 
 were significant of the nature of all the animals, 
 thus subordinated to him, there can be no doubt. 
 Still, the sacred narrative goes on — "But for 
 Adam there was not found any help meet for him ;" 
 that is, a created being who could comprehend 
 him and help him where he was deficient, — ^in his 
 spiritual nature. For this help woman was formed, 
 
 — and while the twain were one, Adam was per- 
 fect. It was not till this holy union was dissolved 
 by sin that the distinctive natures of the masculine 
 and the feminine were exhibited. 
 
 Let us examine this exhibition. Adam and his 
 wife were placed in the garden of Eden, where 
 grew the "tree of the knowledge of good and 
 evil," the fruit of which they were forbidden to 
 eat on pain of death. The woman, being deceived 
 by the serpent, or spirit of evil, into the belief 
 thatHhe penalty would not be inflicted, and that 
 the fruit would confer on them, the human pair, 
 a higher degree of spiritual knowledge than they 
 then possessed — "Ye shall be as gods, knowing 
 good and evil," was the promise of the subtle 
 tempter — " she took of the fruit, and did eat, and 
 I gave also unto her husband with her, and he did 
 eat." Such is the precise account of the fall. 
 Commentators have imputed weakness of mind to 
 the woman, because the tempter assailed her. 
 But does it not rather show she was the spiritual 
 leader, the most difficult to be won, and the ser- 
 pent knew if he could gain her the result was 
 sure? Remember that her husband was "with 
 her" — the serpent addressed them both — "Ye shall 
 be as gods" &c. Now, is it not reasonable to sup- 
 pose that the nature (the human pair was then 
 one,) best qualified to judge of these high subjects, 
 would respond? The decision was, apparently, 
 left to her. The woman led ; the man followed. 
 Which showed the greatest spiritual power, the 
 controlling energy of mind ? In the act of disobe- 
 dience the conduct of the woman displayed her 
 superior nature. The arguments used by the 
 tempter were addressed to the higher faculties of 
 mind as her predominant feelings, namely, the 
 desire for knowledge and wisdom. With her these 
 arguments prevailed ; while man, according to his 
 own showing, had no higher motives than gratify- 
 ing his sensuous inclinations ; he ate, because his 
 wife gave him the fruit. Precisely such conduct 
 as we might expect from a lower nature towards 
 a higher ; compliance vrithout reason or from in- 
 ferior considerations. 
 
 We next come to the trial of the guilty pair, and 
 their sentence from the mouth of their Maker. 
 Every word confirms the truth of the position, 
 that woman's moral sense was of a higher standard 
 than man's. She was first sentenced. Meekly and 
 truly had she confessed her fault ; the unerring 
 sign of a noble spirit betrayed into sin when 
 striving for glory. Her temporal punishment im- 
 
 plied deep affections and acute sensibilities, re- 
 quiring endowments of a spiritual and intellectual 
 character. She was to suffer " sorrow" for her 
 children, and be subjected to the rule of her hus- 
 band, to whom her desire " shall be ;" that is, her 
 hopes of escaping from the ignorance and infe- 
 riority to which he would consign her, must be 
 centred on winning, by her love, gentleness and 
 submission, his heart ; and through the influence 
 of her purer mind, infused into their children, 
 finally spiritualize Ms harder and more earthly 
 nature. Her doom was sad, but not degrading ; 
 for though like an angel with wings bound, she 
 was to minister to her husband, yet a promise of 
 wondrous blessings for her seed preceded her sen- 
 tence. Not so with Adam. He had shown at 
 every step that his mind was of a different stamp. 
 He had disobeyed God from a lower motive ; and 
 when arraigned, instead of humility, he showed 
 fear ^.nd selfishness. He sought to excuse him- 
 self by throwing the blame on his wife. True, he 
 was not deceived. His worldly wisdom had not 
 been dazzled by the idea of gaining heavenly wis- 
 dom, which he probably did not covet or estimate 
 as she did. His sentence was in accordance with 
 his character, addressed to the material rather 
 than the spiritual in human nature. Like a felon 
 he was condemned to hard labour for life, on the 
 ground cursed for his sake. And he was further 
 degraded by reference to his origin — "from the 
 dust ;" and consigned to death and the grave ! Not 
 aTay of hope was given the man, save through 
 the promise made to the woman ! 
 
 Does it not mark her purer spiritual nature 
 that, even after the fall, when she was placed 
 under her husband's control, she stUl held his im- 
 mortal destiny, so to speak, in her keeping ? To 
 her what a gracious promise of future glory was 
 given ! Her seed was to triumph over the tempter 
 which had deceived her. She was not only to be 
 delivered from the power of the curse, but from 
 her was to come the deliverer of hey earthly ruler, 
 man. 
 
 After the sentence was promulgated, we find in- 
 stant acknowledgement that the mysterious union, 
 which had made this first man and woman one 
 being in Adam, was altered. There was no longer 
 the unity of soul ; there could not be where the 
 wife had been subjected to the husband. And 
 then it was that Adam gave to woman her specific 
 name — Ei>e, or the Mother. 
 
 Thus was motherhood predicated as the true 
 field of woman's mission, where her spiritual na- 
 ture might be developed, and her intellectual 
 agency could bear sway ; where her moral sense 
 might be effective in the progress of mankind, and 
 her mental triumphs would be won. Eve at once 
 comprehended this, and expressed its truth in the 
 sentiment, uttered on the birth of her first-bom, 
 "I have gotten a man from the Lord." When 
 her hopes for Cain were destroyed by the frater- 
 cidal tragedy, she, woman-like, still clung to the 
 spiritual promise, transferring it to Seth. The 
 time of her death is not recorded. 
 
 According to Blair's chronology, Adam and Eve 
 were created on Friday, October 28th, 4004 B. C. 
 
GL 
 
 HA 
 
 F. 
 
 FLORA, 
 
 A PAMOns courtezan of Rome, who loved Pom- 
 pey so devotedly, that though at his entreaties 
 she consented to receive another lover, yet when 
 Pompey took that opportunity to discontinue his 
 visits entirely, she fell into such despair as sho"wed 
 she had the true woman's heart, although so pol- 
 luted by her degradation that its holiest feelings 
 were made to become her severest tortures. Flora 
 was so beautiful that Ceoilius Metellus had her 
 picture drawn and kept in the temple of Castor 
 and Pollux. 
 
 FULVIA, 
 
 An extraordinary Roman lady, wife of Marc 
 Antony, had, as Paterculns expresses it, nothing 
 of her sex but the body ; for her temper and cou- 
 rage breathed only policy and war. She had two 
 husbands before she married Antony — Clodius, 
 the great enemy of Cicero, and Curio, who was 
 killed while fighting in Africa, on Ctesar's side, 
 before the battle of Pharsalia. After the victory, 
 which Octavius and Antony gained at Philippi 
 over Brutus and Cassius, Antony went to Asia to 
 settle the affairs of the East. Octavius returned 
 to Rome, where, falling out with Fulvia, he could 
 not decide the quarrel but with the sword. She 
 retired to Prjeneste, and withdrew thither the 
 senators and knights of her party ; she armed 
 herself in person, gave the word to her soldiers, 
 and harangued them bravely. 
 
 Bold and yiolent as Antony was, he met his 
 match in Fulvia. " She was a woman," says Plu- 
 tarch, " not bom for spinning or housewifery, not 
 one that would be content with ruling a private 
 husband, but capable of advising a magistrate, or 
 ruling the general.of an army." Antony had the 
 courage, however, to show great anger at Fulvia 
 for levying war against Octavius ; and when he 
 returned to Rome, he treated her with so much 
 contempt and indignation, that she went to Greece, 
 and died there of a disease occasioned by her 
 grief. 
 
 She participated with, and assisted her cruel 
 husband, during the massacres of the triumvirate, 
 and had several persons put to death, on her own 
 authority, either from avarice or a spirit of re- 
 venge. After Cicero was beheaded, Fulvia caused 
 his head to be brought to her, spit upon it, draw- 
 ing out the tongue, which she pierced several 
 times with her bodkin, addressing to the lifeless 
 Cicero, all the time, the most opprobrious lan- 
 guage. What a contrast to the character of Octa- 
 via, the last wife of Marc Antony ! 
 
 G. 
 
 GLAPHYRA, 
 
 A PKIBSTESS of Bellona's temple in Cappadocia, 
 and a daughter of Archelaus, the high-priest of 
 Bellona, is celebrated for her beauty and intrigue. 
 Although she was married and had two sons, 
 
 Sisinna and Archelaus, yet she fell in love with 
 Marc Antony, and he gave her the kingdom of 
 Cappadocia for her children. This infidelity of 
 Antony so displeased his wife Fulvia, that she 
 resolved to revenge herself by taking the same 
 course. 
 
 Glaphyra had a granddaughter of the same 
 name, who was a daughter of Archelaus, king of 
 Cappadocia, and married Alexander, son of Herod 
 and Mariamne, by whom she had two sons.' After 
 the death of Alexander she married her brother- 
 in-law Archelaus. 
 
 H. 
 
 HAGAR, 
 
 An Egyptian woman, the handmaid of Sarai, 
 whom she gave to her husband Abram as a concu- 
 bine or left-handed wife. Such arrangements 
 were not uncommon in those old times. When 
 the honoured wife was childless, she would give 
 her favourite slave or maid-servant to her hus- 
 band, and the children bom of this connection 
 were considered as belongiag to the real wife. 
 
 It had been promised Abram that his seed 
 should become a great nation ; but his wife Sarai 
 had borne him no children. She was nearly eighty 
 years of age ; her husband ten years older. De- 
 spairing of becoming herself the mother of the 
 promised seed, she would not stand in the way of 
 God's blessing to her husband — so she gave him 
 Hagar. It was, like aU plans of human device 
 that controvert the laws of God, very unfortunate 
 for the happiness of the parties. Hagar was soon 
 uplifted by this preference ; and believing herself 
 the mother of the promised heir, she despised her 
 mistress ; was rebuked, and fled into the wilder- 
 ness. There the angel of the Lord met her, and 
 commanded her to return to Sarai, and be sub- 
 missive. Hagar seems to have obeyed the divine 
 command at once ; and all was, for a time, well. 
 Ishmael was born, and for twelve years was the 
 only child, the presumptive heir of one of the 
 richest princes of the East. But at the birth of 
 Isaac, the true heir, all Hagar's glory vanished. 
 The bondwoman and her son were finally sent 
 forth from the tents of the patriarch, with " bread 
 and a bottle of water." Hagar carried these on 
 her shoulder, a poor, outcast mother, the victim of 
 circumstances and events she could not change or 
 control. But God hears the cry of affliction, and 
 all who turn to Him in their hearts will be com- 
 forted. Thus was Hagar relieved ; God "opened 
 her eyes, and she saw a well of water," when 
 Ishmael was dying of thirst. " She went and fiUed 
 the bottle with water, and gave the lad. drink." 
 Motherjlike, she never thought of herself, of her 
 own sorrows and wants. She devoted herself to her 
 son, who became the "father of twelve princes," 
 the progenitor of the Arabs, who, to this day, 
 keep possession of the wilderness where Hagar 
 wandered with her son Ishmael. Poetry and paint- 
 ing have made this scene of her life memorable. 
 It happened B. C. 1898. 
 
 40 
 
HA 
 
 HI 
 
 HANNAH, 
 
 Was wife of Elkanah, a Levite, and an inhabi- 
 tant of Bamah. Her history, as given in scrip- 
 ture, is very brief, but full of interest and instruc- 
 tion. Elkanah bad another wife, as was not 
 uncommon among the Israelites, a practice their 
 law tolerated though it never approved. Hannah 
 was the beloved wife, but she had no children ; 
 and her rival, who had, taunted her with this 
 sterility. The picture of this family gives a vivid 
 idea of the domestic discord caused by polygamy. 
 
 Hannah was fervent in faith towards God, and 
 when she went up to the temple to worship, prayed 
 earnestly for a son, and "wept sore." EU the 
 priest thought she was drunken ; but on her expla- 
 nation, blessed her, and she believed. The prayer 
 of Hannah was granted ; she bore a son, and 
 named him Samuel — that is, "asked of God." 
 She had vowed, if a son were given her to " lend 
 him unto the Lord," or dedicate him to the service 
 of the temple. Her tenderness as a mother is 
 only exceeded by her faith towards God. She 
 nursed her son most carefully, but he is nursed 
 for God. Her zeal and piety appear to have been 
 transfused into his nature ; from his birth he was 
 " in favour with the Lord, and also with men." 
 No wonder he was chosen to be among the most 
 illustrious of God's people. The last of her 
 judges ; the first of a long line of prophets ; emi- 
 nent as well for wisdom in the cabinet as for 
 valour in the field ; uncorrupted and incorruptible in 
 the midst of temptations ; Samuel's name stands 
 distinguished not only in the annals of Israel, but in 
 the history of all our race. Grotius has compared 
 him to Aristides, others to Alcibiades, and all 
 have celebrated his lofty and patriotic character. 
 And these great qualities, these wonderful powers, 
 directed to good purposes, were but the appro- 
 priate sequel to his mother's fervent prayers and 
 faithful training ; and God's blessing, which will 
 follow those who earnestly seek it. 
 
 HECUBA, 
 Second wife of Priam, king of Troy, and mother 
 of Hector and Paris, was, according to Homer, the 
 daughter of Dymas ; but according to Virgil, of 
 Cisseis, king of Thrace, and sister of Theais, 
 priestess of Apollo at Troy during the war. After 
 the capture of Troy, B. C. 1184, she attempted to 
 . revenge the death of her son Polydorus, and was 
 stoned to death by the Greeks. Some say that 
 she became a slave to Ulysses, and that he left 
 her in the hands of her enemies, who caused her 
 to be stoned. It is probable, however, that 
 Ulysses himself was the cause of her death ; as 
 it is recorded, that upon his arrival in SioUy, he 
 was so tormented with dreams, that in order to 
 appease the gods, he built a temple to Hecate, 
 who presided over dreams, and a chapel to Hecuba. 
 Euripides, in his tragedy of " Hecuba," has im- 
 mortalized this unfortunate mother and queen. 
 
 HELEN, 
 The most beautiful woman of her age, was the 
 daughter of Tyndarus, king of Sparta, and Leda/, 
 
 his wife. When very young she was carried off 
 by Theseus, king of Athens, a celebrated hero of 
 antiquity, by whom she had a daughter. Not- 
 withstanding this her hand was eagerly sought, 
 and she numbered among her suitors all the most 
 illustrious and distinguished princes of Greece. 
 The number of her admirers alarmed Tyndarus, 
 who feared for the safety of his kingdom ; but the 
 wise Ulysses, withdrawing his pretensions to 
 Helen, in favour of Penelope, niece of Tyndarus, 
 advised him to bind by a solemn oath all the suit- 
 ors, to approve of the uninfluenced choice which 
 Helen should make, and to unite to defend her, if 
 she should be forced from her husband. This 
 advice was followed, and Helen chose Menelaus, 
 king of Sparta. For three years they lived very 
 happily, and had one daughter, Hermione. Paris, 
 son of Priam, king of Troy, visiting Menelaus, 
 saw Helen, and persuaded her, during her hus- 
 band's absence at Crete, to fly with him to Troy. 
 
 AU the former suitors of Helen, bound by their 
 oath, took up arms to assist Menelaus in recover- 
 ing her. They succeeded in taking Troy, B. C. 
 1184, when Helen regained the favour of her hus- 
 band and returned with him to Sparta. After the 
 death of Menelaus, Helen fled to Ehodes. Polyxo, 
 queen of Khodes, detained her ; and to punish her 
 for being the cause of a war in which Polyxo's 
 husband had perished, had her hung on a tree. 
 Euripides has made Helen the subject of a tragedy. 
 
 HERO, 
 
 A PKIESTBSS of Venus at Sestos, on 'the coast 
 of Thrace. She saw Leander, a youth of Abydos, 
 at a festival in honour of Venus and Adonis at 
 Sestos, and they became in love with each other. 
 The sacred oflBce of Hero, and the opposition of 
 her relatives, prevented their marriage ; but every 
 night Leander swam across the Hellespont, guided 
 by a torch placed by Hero in her tower. At length 
 he perished one night in the attempt, and Hero, 
 while waiting for him, saw his lifeless body thrown 
 by the waves at the foot of her tower. In her 
 desperation, she sprang from the tower on the 
 corpse of Leander, and was killed by the fall. 
 
 HEESILIA, 
 WirB of Romulus, the founder of Rome, B. C. 
 753, was deified after her death, and worshipped 
 under the names of Horta or Orta. 
 
 HIPPARCHIA, 
 
 A CELEBBATED lady at Maronea, in Thrace, who 
 lived about B. C. 328. She was at one time mis- 
 tress to Alexander the Great ; but her attachment 
 to learning and philosophy was so great, that 
 having attended the lectures of Crates, the cynic, 
 she fell in love with him, and resolved to marry 
 him, though he was old, ugly, and deformed ; and 
 though she was addressed by many handsome 
 young men, distinguished by their rank and 
 riches. Crates himself was prevailed upon by her 
 friends to try to dissuade her from her singular 
 choice, which he did, by displaying to her his 
 poverty, his cloak of sheep's skins, and his crooked 
 back ; but all in vain. At last, he told her that 
 
 41 
 
HI 
 
 HU 
 
 she could not be hia wife, unless she resolved to 
 live as lie did. This she cheerfully agreed to, 
 assumed the habit of the order, and accompanied 
 him everywhere to public entertainments and 
 «rther places, which was not customary with the 
 Grecian women. She wrote several tragedies, phi- 
 losophical hypotheses, and reasonings and ques- 
 tions proposed to Theodoras, the atheist; but 
 none of her writings are extant. She had two 
 daughters by Crates. 
 
 HIPPODAMIA 
 Was the daughter of CEnomaus, king of Pisa, in 
 Elis. An oracle had predicted to the king that he 
 would be murdered by his son-in-law ; and there- 
 fore he declared that all the suitors of his daughter 
 should contend with him in a chariot-race, and 
 that if he defeated them, he should be allowed to 
 put them to death. In this way he slew thirteen 
 or seventeen smtors, when Pelops, by bribing the 
 driver of the king's chariot, had him overturned 
 in the middle of the course, and he lost his life. 
 Hippodamia married Pelops, and became the mo- 
 ther of Atreus and Thyestes. She killed herself 
 from grief, at being accused of having caused 
 these sons to commit fratricide. 
 
 HORTENSIA, 
 
 A Roman lady, daughter of Hortensius, the ora- 
 tor, was born B. C. 85. She inherited her father's 
 eloquence, as a speech preserved by Appian de- 
 monstrates ; which, for elegance of language, and 
 justness of thought, would do honour to Cicero or 
 Demosthenes. 
 
 The triumvirs of Rome, in want of a large sum 
 of money for carrying on a war, drew up a list of 
 fourteen hundred of the wealthiest women, intend- 
 ing to tax them. The women, after having in vain 
 tried every means to evade so great an innovation, 
 at last chose Hortensia for a speaker, and went 
 with her to the market-place, where she addressed 
 the triumvirs, while they were administering jus- 
 tice, in the following words : 
 
 " The unhappy women you see here, imploring 
 your justice and bounty, would never have pre- 
 sumed to appear in this place, had they not first 
 made use of all other means their natural modesty 
 could suggest. Though our appearing here may 
 seem contrary to the rules prescribed to our sex, 
 which we have hitherto strictly observed, yet the 
 loss of our fathers, children, brothers, and hus- 
 bands, may sufficiently excuse us, especially when 
 their unhappy deaths are made a pretence for our 
 further misfortunes. You plead that they had 
 offended and provoked you ; but what injury have 
 we women done, that we must be impoverished ? 
 If we are blameable as the men, why not proscribe 
 us also ? Have we declared you enemies to your 
 country ? Have we suborned your soldiers, raised 
 troops against you, or opposed you in pursuit of 
 those honours and offices which you claim ? We 
 pretend not to govern the republic, nor is it our 
 ambition which has drawn our present misfortune 
 on our heads ; empires, dignities and honours, are 
 not' for us ; why should we, then, contribute to a 
 war in which we have no manner of interest ? It 
 
 is true, indeed, that in the Carthaginian war our 
 mothers assisted the republic, which was at that 
 time reduced to the utmost distress ; but neither 
 their houses, their lands, nor their moveables, 
 were sold for this service ; some rings, and a few 
 jewels, furnished the supply. Nor was it con- 
 straint or violence that forced those from them ; 
 what they contributed, was the voluntary offering 
 of generosity. What danger at present threatens 
 Rome ? If the Gauls or Parthians were encamped 
 on the banks of the Tiber or the Amo, you should 
 find us not less zealous in the defence of our coun- 
 try, than our mothers were before us ; but it be- 
 comes not us, and we are resolved that we will 
 not be in any way concerned in a civil war. Nei- 
 ther Marius, nor Csesar, nor Pompey, ever thought 
 of obliging us to take part in the domestic troubles 
 which their ambition had raised; nay, nor did 
 ever Sylla himself, who first set up tyranny in 
 Rome ; and yet you assume the glorious title of 
 reformers of the state, a title which will turn to 
 youj eternal infamy, if, without the least regard 
 to the laws of equity, you persist in your wicked 
 resolution of plundering those of their lives and 
 fortunes, who have given you no just cause of 
 offence." 
 
 Struck with the justness of her speech, yet 
 offended at its boldness, the triumvirs ordered the 
 women to be driven away ; but the populace grow- 
 ing tumultuous in their favour, they were afraid 
 of an insurrection, and reduced the list of those 
 who should be taxed to four hundred. 
 
 HULDAH, 
 
 A Jewish prophetess, in the time of king Josiah. 
 Her husband was Shallum, keeper of the royal 
 wardrobe, an office of high honour. We have but 
 a glimpse of Huldah, just sufficient to show, that 
 when the Jewish nation was given up to idolatry 
 and ignorance of the Good, still the lamp of divine 
 truth was kept burning in the heart of a woman. 
 
 When Josiah, who was one of the few good kings 
 who ruled over Judah, came to the throne, he 
 found the Holy Temple'partly given up to idola- 
 trous rites, partly falling into ruins. In repairing 
 the temple, the copy of the Book of the Law was 
 found among the rubbish, and carried to Josiah. 
 The king and his counsellors seem to have been 
 ignorant of this book ; andf the' king was struck 
 with consternation, when he heard the law read, 
 and felt how it had been violated. He imme- 
 diately sent three of his chief officers, one of 
 whom was Hilkiah, the high priest, to "enquire 
 of the Lord concerning the words of the book." 
 -The officers went to "Huldah, the prophetess, 
 (now she dwelt in Jerusalem, in the college,) and 
 commuued with her." 
 
 Would the high priest have gone to consult a 
 woman, had not her repute for wisdom and piety 
 been well known ; and considered superior to what 
 was possessed by any man in Jerusalem? Her 
 place of residence was in " the- college," among 
 the most learned of the land ; and, as a prophetess 
 or priestess, her response shows her to have been 
 worthy of the high office she held. How bold 
 was her rebuke of sin, — how clear her prophetlo 
 
 42 
 
IP 
 
 JO 
 
 insight, — ^how true her predictions ! The language 
 and the style of her reply to the king of Judah, 
 make it as grand and impressive as any of the 
 prophecies from the lips of inspired men. The 
 history may be found in II. Kings, chapter X3di. 
 Huldah lived about B. C. 624. 
 
 1. 
 
 IPHIGENIA 
 
 Was daughter of Agamemnon, leader of the 
 Greek forces against Troy, and of Clytemnestra, his 
 ■wife. When the Greeks, going to the Trojan war, 
 were detained at Aulis by adverse winds, they 
 ■were told, by an oracle, that Iphigenia must be 
 sacrificed to appease Diana, who was incensed 
 against Agamemnon for killing one of her stags. 
 The father was horror-struck, and commanded his 
 herald to disband the forces. The other generals 
 interfered, and Agamemnon at last consented to 
 the sacrifice. As Iphigenia was tenderly loved by 
 her mother, the Greeks sent for her on pretence 
 of giving her in marriage to Achilles. When 
 Iphigenia came to Aulis, and sa'w the preparations 
 for the sacrifice, she implored the protection of 
 her father, but in vain. Calohas, the Grecian 
 priest, took the knife, and ■was about to strike the 
 fatal blow, ■when Diana relented, caught away 
 Iphigenia, who suddenly disappeared, and a goat 
 of uncommon size and beauty was found in her 
 place. This supernatural change animated the 
 Greeks ; the wind suddenly became favourable, 
 and the combined fieet set sail from Aulis. Cal- 
 chas, the Grecian priest, seems to have acted with 
 the same humane policy in this affair that the 
 bishop of Beauvois did in the case of Joan of Arc. 
 This story of Iplfigenia has furnished materials 
 for several tragedies; those of Euripides are 
 world-renowned. 
 
 J. 
 
 JAEL, or JAHEL, 
 
 Wife of Heber the Kenite, killed Sisera, general 
 of the Canaanitish army, who had fled to her tent, 
 and while sleeping there, Jael drove a large nail 
 through his temple. Her story is related in the 
 fourth chapter of Judges, B. C. 1285. 
 
 JEMIMA, KEZIA, KERENHAPPUCH: 
 These three were the daughters of Job, born to 
 him after he was restored to the favour of God 
 and man. 
 
 We give their names, not for any thing they 
 did, but for the sentiment taught in this sacred 
 history concerning family relations and female, 
 claims. We are instructed, by the particularity 
 ■?fith which these daughters are named, that they 
 were considered the crowning blessing God be- 
 stowed on his servant Job. And Job showed his 
 integrity as a man, and his wisdom as a father, in 
 providing justly for these his fair daughters. He 
 
 " gave them inheritance among their brethren ;" 
 that is, secured to them an equal share of his 
 property, and left them free to enjoy it as they 
 chose. 
 
 JEZEBEL, . 
 Dauohteb, of Ethbaal, king of Tyre and Sidon, 
 was the wife of Ahab, king of Israel. She seduced 
 him into the worship of Baal, and persecuted the 
 prophets of the Lord. Enraged at the death of 
 the prophets of Baal, slain by the command of 
 Elisha, she resolved on his destruction; but he 
 escaped her vengeance. Ahab, being very desirous 
 of obtaining a vineyard belonging to Naboth the 
 Jezreelite, which was close by the palace of the 
 king, offered the owner a better one in its. stead ; 
 but Naboth refused to give up the inheritance 
 which had descended to him from his fathers. In 
 consequence of this disappointment, Ahab came 
 into his house sad and dispirited ; Jezebel, disco- 
 vering the reason of his depression, procured tlje 
 death of Naboth, and Ahab took possession of the 
 ■vineyard. In consequence of this act of "wicked- 
 ness, Elijah foretold the sudden and violent death 
 both of Ahab and Jezebel, which occurred thres 
 years after. The story of this "wicked woman' 
 shows the power of female influence, and how per 
 nicious it may be when exerted for evil over th» 
 mind of man. Happily for the world, there have 
 been few Jezebels, and therefore the wickedness 
 of this one appears so awful that it has made her 
 name to be forever abhorred. She died B. C. 884. 
 
 JOGASTA, 
 Daughter of Creon, king of Thebes,, and wife 
 of Laius, was mother to (Edipus, whom she after- 
 wards iguorantly married, and had by him Poly- 
 nioes and Eteocles, who having killed one another 
 in a battle for the succession, Jocasta destroyed 
 herself in grief. She flourished about B. C. 1266. 
 Her son Oildipus had been given by Laius, his 
 father, to a shepherd to destroy, as an oracle had 
 foretold that he should be killed by Ms own son. 
 But the shepherd, not liking to kill the child, left 
 him to perish by hunger ; and he was found by 
 Phorbus, shepherd to Polybus, king of Corinth, 
 who brought him up, and (Edipus un^wittingly ful- 
 filled the oracle. Sophocles has vrritten a tragedy 
 foimded on this story. 
 
 JOCHEBED, 
 
 Wife of Amram, and mother of Miriam, Aaron, 
 and Moses, has stamped her memory indelibly on 
 the heart of Jew and Christian. She was grand- 
 daughter of Levi ; her husband was also of the 
 same family or tribe ; their exact relationship is 
 not decided, though the probability is that they 
 were cousins-german. 
 
 As Amram is only mentioned incidentally, we 
 have no authority for concluding he took any part 
 in the great crisis of Jochebed's life ; but as their 
 children were all distinguished for talents and 
 piety, it is reasonable to conclude that this mar- 
 ried pair were congenial in mind and heart. Still, 
 though both were pious believers in the promises 
 made by God to their forefathers, it was only the 
 
 43 
 
JO 
 
 JU 
 
 wife who had the opportunity of manifesting by 
 her deeds her superior wisdom and faith. 
 
 Nearly three hundred years had gone by since 
 Jacob and his sons went down into Egypt. Their 
 posterity was now a numerous people, but held in 
 the most abject bondage. Pharaoh, a king " who 
 knew not Joseph," endeavouring to extirpate the 
 hated race, had given strict commands to destroy 
 every male child born of a Hebrew mother. 
 
 Jochebed had borne two children before this 
 bloody edict was promulgated ; Miriam, a daugh- 
 ter of thirteen, and Aaron, a little son of three 
 years old. These were safe ; but now G-od gives 
 her another son, "a goodly child;" and the mo- 
 ther's heart must have nearly fainted with grief 
 and terror, as she looked on her helpless babe, 
 and knew he was doomed by the cruel Pharaoh to 
 be cast forth to the monsters of the NUe. No ray 
 of hoipe from the help of man was visible. The 
 Hebrew men had been bowed beneath the lash of 
 their oppressors, till their souls had become abject 
 as their toils. Jochebed could have no aid from 
 her husband's superior physical strength and 
 worldly knowledge. The man was overborne ; 
 the superior spiritual insight of the woman was 
 now to lead ; her mother's soul had been gifted 
 with a strength the power of Pharaoh could not 
 subdue ; her moral sense had a sagacity that the 
 reason of man could never have reached. Thus, 
 in the history of the human race, woman has ever 
 led the forlorn hope of the world's moral progress. 
 Jgohebed was then such a leader. She must have 
 had faith in God's promise of deliverance for her 
 people ; every man-child brought a new ray of 
 hope, as the chosen deliverer. She had a "goodly 
 son"— he should not die. So "she hid him three 
 mouths." Language can never express the agony 
 which must have wrung the mother's heart during 
 those months, when each dawning day might bring 
 the death-doom of her nursling son. At length, 
 she can hide him no longer. Another resource 
 niust be tried. She must trust him to God's pro- 
 vidence ; God could move the compassion even of 
 the Egyptian heart. But the mother has her 
 work to perform ; all that she can do, she must 
 do. So she gathers her materials, and as she sits 
 weaving an "ark of bulrushes, and daubing it 
 with slime," her slight fingers trembling with the 
 unwonted task, who that saw her could have 
 dreamed she was building a structure of more 
 importance to mankind than all the pyramids of 
 Egypt ? That in this mother's heart there was a 
 divine strength with which all the power of Pha- 
 raoh would strive in vain to cope ? That on the 
 events depending upon her work rested the me- 
 mory of this very Pharaoh, and not on the monu- 
 ments he was rearing at Baamses ? 
 
 She finished her " ark of bulrushes," and in 
 the fraU structure laid down her infant son. Then 
 concealing the basket among the flags on the 
 banks of the Nile, she placed her daughter Miriam 
 to watch what should become of the babe, while 
 she, no doubt, retired to weep and pray. The 
 whole plan was in perfect accordance with the 
 peculiar nature of woman — and women only were 
 the actors in this drama of life and life's holiest 
 
 hopes. That the preservation of Moses, and his 
 preparation for his great mission as the Deliverer 
 of Israel, and the Lawgiver for all men who wor- 
 ship Jehovah, were effected by the agency of 
 woman, displays her spiritual gifts in such a clear 
 light as must make them strikingly apparent; 
 and that their importance in the progress of man- 
 kindf wUl be frankly acknowledged by all Chris- 
 tian men, seems certain — whenever they will, 
 laying aside their masculine prejudices, carefully 
 study the word of God. These events occurred 
 B. C. 1535. See Exodus, chap. I. and II. 
 
 JUDITH, 
 
 Op the tribe of Reuben, daughter of Meravi, 
 and widow of Manasseh, lived in Bethuliah, when 
 it was besieged by Holofemes. She was beautiful 
 and wealthy, and lived very much secluded. Being 
 informed that the chief of Bethulia had promised 
 to deliver it in five days, she sent for the elders 
 and remonstrated with them, and declared her 
 intention of leaving the city for a short time. 
 Judith then prayed, dressed herself in her best 
 attire, and pretending to have fled from the city, 
 went, vrith her maid, to the camp of Holofemes. 
 He was immediately captivated by her, and pro- 
 mised her his protection. Judith continued with 
 Holofemes, going out of his camp every night ; 
 but the fourth night Holofemes sent for her to 
 stay with him. She went gorgeously apparelled ; 
 eating and drinking not with Holofemes, but only 
 what her maid prepared for her. Holofemes, 
 transported with joy at sight of her, drank immo- 
 derately, and fell into a sound sleep. Evening 
 being come, the servants departed, leaving Judith 
 and her maid alone with him. Judith ordered the 
 maid to stand without and watch, and putting up 
 a prayer to God, she took Holofemes' sabre, and 
 seized him by his hair, saying, " Strengthen me 
 this day, Lord !" Then she struck him tvrice on 
 the neck, and cut off his head, which she told her 
 maid to put in a bag — then wrapping the body in 
 the curtains of the bed, they went, as usual, out of 
 the camp, and returned to Bethulia, where, the head 
 of Holofemes being displayed on the gates of the 
 city, struck his army with dismay, and they were 
 entirely defeated. The high-priest Joachim came 
 from Jerusalem to Bethulia to compliment Judith. 
 Everything that had belonged to Holofemes was 
 given to her, and she consecrated his arms and 
 the curtains of his bed to the Lord. Judith set 
 her maid free, and died in Bethulia at the age of 
 one hundred and five, was buried with her hus- 
 band, and all the people lamented her seven days. 
 
 The " Song of Judith," as recorded in the 
 Apocrypha, is a poem of much power and beauty. 
 
 JULIA, 
 Daughter of Julius Csesar and Cornelia, was 
 one of the most attractive and most virtuous of 
 the Boman ladies. She was first married to Cor- 
 nelius Csepion, but divorced from him to become 
 the wife of Pompey. Pompey was so fond of her 
 as to neglect, on her account, politics and arms. 
 She died B. C. 53. Had she lived, there would 
 not have been war between Cassar and Pompey. 
 
 44 
 
JU 
 
 liE 
 
 JULIA, 
 
 Daughtee of Augustus and Soribonia, 'was the 
 ■wife successively of Metellus, Agrippa, and Tibe- 
 rius. She was banished for her debaucheries by 
 her father, and died of want in the beginning of 
 the reign of Tiberius, A. D. 15. Her daughter, 
 Julia, was equally licentious. • 
 
 LAIS, 
 
 A CELEBEATED courtezau, was supposed to be 
 the daughter of the courtezan Timandra and Alci- 
 biades. She was born at Hyrcania, in Sicily, and 
 being carried into Greece by Niciaa, the Athenian 
 general, began her conquests by music. Almost 
 all the celebrated courtezans of antiquity were 
 originally musicians ; and that art was considered 
 almost a necessary female accomplishment. 
 
 Lais spent most of.her life at Corinth, and from 
 that is often called the Corinthian. Diogenes the 
 cynic was one of her admirers, and also Aristip- 
 pus, another celebrated philosopher. This woman 
 sometimes ridiculed the fidelity of the philoso- 
 phers she had captivated. " I do not understand 
 what is meant by the austerity of philosophers," 
 she said, "for with this fine name, they are as 
 much in my power as the rest of the Athenians." 
 
 After having corrupted nearly all the youth of 
 Corinth and Athens, she went into Thessaly, to 
 see a lover of hers ; where she is said to have been 
 stoned by the women, jealous of her power over 
 their husbands, B. C. 340, in the temple of Venus. 
 
 LAMIA, 
 
 The most celebrated female flute-player of an- 
 tiquity, was regarded as a prodigy — from her 
 beauty, wit, and skill in her profession. The 
 honours she received, which are recorded, by sev- 
 eral authors, particularly by Plutarch and Athe- 
 naeus, are sufficient testimonies of her great power 
 over the passions of her hearers. Her claim to 
 admiration from her personal charms, does not 
 entirely depend upon the fidelity of historians, 
 since an exquisite engraving of her head, upon 
 amethyst, is preserved in a collection at Paris, 
 which authenticates the account of her beauty. 
 
 As she was a great traveller, her reputation 
 soon became very extensive. Her first journey 
 from Athens, the place of her birth, was into 
 Egypt, whither she was drawn by the fame of a 
 flute-player of that country. Her genius and 
 beauty procured for her the notice of Ptolemy, 
 and she became his mistress ; but in the conflict 
 between Ptolemy and Demetrius PoUorcetes, for 
 the island of Cyprus, about B. C. 332, Ptolemy 
 being defeated, his wives, domestics, and military 
 stores fell into the hands of Demetrius. 
 
 The celebrated Lamia was among the captives 
 on this occasion, and Demetrius, who was said to 
 have conquered as many hearts as cities, con- 
 ceived so ardent a passion for her, that from a 
 sovereign he was transformed into a slave — though 
 
 her beauty was in the decline, and Demetrius, the 
 handsomest prince of his time, was much younger 
 than herself. 
 
 At her instigation, he conferred such extraor- 
 dinary benefits on the Athenians, that they ren- 
 dered him divine honours ; and, as an acknowledg- 
 ment of the influence Lamia had exercised in their 
 favour, they dedicated a temple to her, under the 
 name of " Venus Damia." 
 
 LAODICE, 
 Daughtee of Priam, king of Troy, and of his 
 wife Hecuba, who fell in love with Acamas, son 
 of Theseus, who came to Troy to demand the res- 
 toration of Helen to Menelaus. She had a son, 
 called Munitus, by him. She afterwards married 
 Helioaon, son of Antenor and Telephus, king of 
 Mysia. She is said to have thrown herself from 
 the top of a tower, when Troy was taken by the 
 Greeks. 
 
 LAODICE, 
 A sisTEE of Mithridates the Great, king of Pon- 
 tus, flourished about B. C. 120. She first married 
 Ariarthes VII., king of Cappadooia ; but he being 
 assassinated by order of Mithridates, she next 
 married Nicomedes, king of Bithynia, who had 
 taken possession of Cappadocia. She was put to 
 death by Mithridates, for plotting his assassina- 
 tion. Laodice was also the name of a queen of 
 Cappadocia, who was put to death by the people, 
 for poisoning five of her children. 
 
 LAODICE, 
 
 A SISTEE of Antiochus II., king of Syria, who 
 also became his wife, and had two sons by him. 
 She murdered Berenice, daughter of Ptolemy of 
 Egypt, another wife of Antiochus, after having 
 poisoned the king. She then suborned Artemon, 
 who resembled Antiochus, to represent him. Ar- 
 temon, accordingly, pretended to be indisposed, 
 and, as king, called aU the ministers, and recom- 
 mended to them Seleucus, surnamed Callamachus, 
 son of Laodice, as his successor. It was then 
 reported that the king had died suddenly, and 
 Laodice placed her son on the throne, B. C. 246. 
 She was put to death by command of Ptolemy 
 Euergetes of Egypt. The city of Laodicea re- 
 ceived its name in honour of this queen. There 
 are several other women of that name mentioned 
 in ancient history. 
 
 One of these, the wife of a king of Pontus, was 
 renowned for her beauty, and the magnificence of 
 her court. But losing her only child, a daughter, 
 by death, Laodice retired to her inner apartments, 
 shut herself up, and was never seen afterwards, 
 except by her nearest friends. 
 
 LEAH, 
 
 ElDBST daughter of Laban, the Syrian, who 
 deceived Jacob into an intercourse, then termed 
 marriage, with this unsought, unloved woman. 
 She became mother of six sons, named as heads 
 of six of the tribes of Israel. Among these was 
 Levi, whose posterity inherited the priesthood, 
 and Judah, the law-giver, from whom descended 
 
 45 
 
LB 
 
 " SMloh," or the Messiah. These were great pri- 
 vileges ; yet dearly did Leah pay the penalty of 
 her high estate, obtained by selfish artifice, in 
 which modesty, truth, and sisterly affection, were 
 all Tiolated. Jacob, her husband, " hated her," 
 and she knew it ; knew, too, his heart was wholly 
 given to his other wife, her beautiful, virtuous 
 sister ; what earthly punishment could have been 
 so intensely grievous to Leah ? As her name im- 
 plies, " tender-eyed," she was probably afi^ectionate, 
 but ftnprincipled and of a weak mind, or she would 
 never have taken the place of her sister, whom she 
 knew Jacob had served seven years to gain. Leah 
 loved her husband devotedly ; but though she was 
 submissive and tender, and bore him many sons, 
 a great claim on his favour, yet he never appeared 
 to have felt for her either esteem or affection. 
 
 Jacob had sought to unite himself with Eachel 
 in the holy union of one man with one woman, 
 which only is true marriage ; but the artifice of 
 Laban, and the passion of Leah, desecrated this 
 union, and by introducing polygamy into the. 
 family of the chosen Founder of the house of 
 Israel, opened the way for the worst of evils to 
 that nation, the voluptuousness and idolatry which 
 finally destroyed it. A treacherous sister, a for- 
 ward woman, an unloved wife, Leah has left a 
 name unhonoured and unsung. She was married 
 about B. C. 1753. 
 
 LE^^NA, 
 A couKTEZAN of Athens, took an active part in 
 the conspiracy of Harmodius and Aristogiton, 
 against Hipparchus, son of Pisistratus. She was 
 arrested, and put to the torture by Hippias, the 
 brother of Hipparchus, but she refused to betray 
 her accomplices. However, fearful that her reso- 
 lution woTild not endure against the torments she 
 was suffering, she bit through her tongue, and 
 spat it in the face of her tormentor. When the 
 Athenians recovered their liberty, they erected to 
 her honour the statue of a lion without a tongue. 
 She lived about B. C. 505. 
 
 LEONTIUM, 
 An Athenian courtezan, who lived about B. C. 
 860, became a convert to the philosophy of Epi- 
 curus. She married Metrodorus, one of the prin- 
 cipal disciples of Epicurus, and had a son by him, 
 whom Epicurus commended to the notice and re- 
 gard of his executors. She wrote in defence of 
 the Epicurean philosophy, against Theophrastus, 
 one of the principal bf the peripatetic sect. The 
 book is said by Cicero to have been written in a 
 polite and elegant style. From her love of letters, 
 she was drawn by Theodorus, the painter, in a 
 posture of meditation. 
 
 LIVIA, 
 Dadghtek of Livius Drusus Calidianus, mar- 
 ried Tiberius Claudius Nero, by whom she had 
 two sons, Drusus and the emperor Tiberius. Her 
 husband was attached to the cause of Antony ; 
 and as he fled from the danger with which he was 
 threatened by Octavianus, afterwards the emperor 
 Augustus, Livia was seen by Octavianus, who im- 
 
 LU 
 
 mediately resolved to marry her. He divorced his 
 wife Scribonia, and, with the approbation of the 
 augurs, married Livia. She enjoyed, from this 
 moment, the entire confidence of Augustus, and 
 gained a complete ascendency over his mind by 
 an implicit obedience to his will — by never ex- 
 pressing a desire to learn his secrets — and by 
 seeming ignorant of his infidelities. Her children 
 by Drusus she persuaded Augustus to adopt as 
 his own ; and after the death of Drusus the eldest 
 son, Augustus appointed Tiberius his successor. 
 The respect and love of Augustus for Livia ended 
 only with his life. As he lay dying, he turned his 
 gaze on her, drew her in the grasp of death to- 
 wards him, and said — " Livia, be happy, and re- 
 member how we have loved." 
 
 Livia has been accused of having involved in 
 one common ruin the heirs and nearest relations 
 of Augustus, and also of poisoning her husband 
 that her son might receive the kingdom sooner ; 
 but these accusations seem to be unfounded. By 
 her husband's will she was instituted co-heiress 
 with Tiberius, adopted as his daughter, and 
 directed to assume the name of Livia Augusta. 
 On the deification of Augustus, she became the 
 priestess of the new god. 
 
 Tiberius, her son, and the successor to Augus- 
 tus, treated her with great neglect and ingrati- 
 tude, and allowed her no share in the government. 
 She died A. D. 29 ; and Tiberius would not allow 
 any public or private honours to be paid to her 
 memory. Tacitus speaks of her as being strictly 
 moral, but says she was " an imperious mother, a 
 compliant wife, a match for her husband in art, 
 and her son in dissimvdation." But if she was 
 " strictly moral," she must have been far worthier 
 than her son or her husband. 
 
 LOCUSTA, 
 A NOTORIOUS woman at Rome, a favourite of 
 Nero, the emperor. She poisoned Claudius and 
 Britannicus, and at last attempted to destroy 
 Nero himself, for which she was executed. 
 
 LXTCRETIA. 
 
 This celebrated female was the daughter of 
 Lucretius, and the wife of CoUatinus, aoa officer 
 of rank ; who, at the siege of Ardes, in the course 
 of conversation, unfortvmately boasted of the virtues 
 she possessed. Several other young men likevrise 
 expressed an entire confidence in the chastity and 
 virtue of their wives. A wager was the conse- 
 quence of this conversation; and it was agreed 
 that Sextus, the son of Tarquin, should go to 
 Rome, for the purpose of seeing how the different 
 females were employed. Upon his arrival at the 
 capital, he found all the other ladies occupied in 
 paying visits, or receiving different "guests ; but, 
 when he went to the house of CoUatinus, Luoretia 
 was bewailing the absence of her husband, and 
 directing her household affairs. As Sextus was 
 distantly related to CoUatinus, and son of the 
 monarch who reigned upon the throne, Lucretia 
 entertained him with that elegance and hospitaUty 
 due to a man of such elevated rank. If the person 
 of this charming woman excited brutal passions 
 
 46 
 
LU 
 
 MA 
 
 in his bosom, her oonversation delighted and cap- 
 tlfated his mind ; and a short time after he had 
 retired to the apartment prepared for him, the 
 terrified Lucretia beheld him enter her room. In 
 vain this detestable man pleaded the violence of 
 his passion for this breach of hospitality, and this 
 deviation from what was right ; for the alarmed 
 Lucretia preserved her purity until the monster 
 presented a dagger to her breast, and swore by 
 all the gods that he was determined to gratify his 
 inclinations ; and that he would then kill her and 
 one of CoUatinus's slaves, and afterwards place 
 him by the side of the injured Lucretia, and in- 
 form her husband that he had murdered both, in 
 consequence of having discovered them in the act 
 of committing the crime. The dread of having 
 her memory tarnished by so vile an aspersion at 
 length induced the terrified Lucretia to consent to 
 his desires ; but the next morning she despatched 
 a messenger to her father and her husband, re- 
 questing them immediately to repair to Rome. 
 They obeyed the summons with pleasure and 
 alacrity, at the same time they were anxious to 
 know the cause of this singular request; but, 
 • when they beheld the object of their solicitude, a 
 thousand apprehensions took possession of their 
 breasts. Instead of being welcomed with smiles 
 of pleasure, the countenance of Lucretia was 
 bathed in tears, her hair was dishevelled, her gar- 
 ments of the deepest sable, and her whole figure 
 displayed the image of despair. After describing, 
 in the most eloquent terms, the outrage that had 
 'been committed upon her person, she iiiplored 
 them to avenge the insult she had received ; and, 
 at the same time drawing forth a dagger, which 
 she had concealed for the purpose, declared her 
 resolution of not surviving her shame ; and, be- 
 fore they were able to prevent the horrid purpose, 
 buried the weapon in l^er heart. 
 
 The horror and despair of these dear connec- 
 tions were indescribable. Brutus, one of her re- 
 lations, drew the reeking weapon from her bosom, 
 and, with all the energy of true feeling, swore he 
 would avenge her fate. " I swear by this blood, 
 once so pure," said he, " and which nothing but 
 the villany of a Tarquin could have polluted, that 
 I will pursue Lucius Tarquinius the Proud, his 
 wicked wife and their children, with fire and 
 sword ; nor will I ever suffer any of that family, 
 or any other, henceforward to reign in Eome ! 
 And I now call all the gods to witness, that I will 
 most sacredly fulfil my oath." 
 
 If the most poignant grief had taken possession 
 of the minds of those who witnessed the dreadful 
 catastrophe which had recently happened, astonish- 
 ment for a moment banished the impression, at 
 the firmness and energy of the noble Roman's 
 words ; who, until that moment, had assumed the 
 appearance of idiotism, to avoid the suspicions of 
 Tarquin the Proud. Roused into action by the 
 affecting scene before him, the hatred which he 
 had long nourished burst into a flame, and he 
 executed the vengeance he had threatened. The 
 Tarquins were expelled from Rome, the kingly 
 government was overthrown, and the Republic 
 
 founded, in consequence of the outrage on the 
 chaste Lucretia and her heroic death. 
 
 An inscription is said to have been seen at 
 Rome, in the diocese of Viterbo, composed by 
 CoUatiuus, in honour of Lucretia, to the following 
 pvirport: — "Collatinus Tarquinius, to his most 
 dear and incomparable wife, honour of chastity, 
 glory of women. She who was most dear to me, 
 lived two-and-twenty years, three months, and six 
 days." 
 
 M. 
 
 MjEROE, 
 A WOMAN famed by the ancients for her extraor- 
 dinary learning, and particularly remembered for 
 her hymn to Neptune. She was a native of Greece ; 
 but her birthplace is not known. 
 
 MAKEDA, 
 
 Ok, as she is called' by the Arabians, Balkis, 
 queen of Sheba, famous for her visit to Solomon, 
 was probably queen of Abyssinia, or of that part 
 of Arabia Felix which was inhabited by the Sa- 
 beans, where women were admitted to govern. 
 Josephus Bays that she reigned over Egypt and 
 Ethiopia. According to the Abyssinian historians, 
 Balkis was a pagan when she undertook the jour- 
 ney ; but struck by the grandeur and wisdom of 
 Solomon, she became a convert to the true reli- 
 gion. They also state that she had a son by Solo- 
 mon, named David by his father, but called Meni- 
 lek, that is, another self, by his mother. This son 
 was sent to the court of Solomon to be educated, 
 and returned to his ovra country accompanied by 
 many doctors of the law, who introduced the Jew- 
 ish religion into Abyssinia, where it continued till 
 the introduction of Christianity. 
 
 The compilers of the Universal History are of 
 opinion, and so is Mr. Bruce, that the queen of 
 Sheba was really sovereign of Ethiopia. They 
 say that Ethiopia is mol-e to the south of Judea, 
 than the territory of the kingdom of Saba in Ara- 
 bia Felix ; consequently had a better claim than 
 that country to be the dominions of the princess 
 whom our Saviour calls " the Queen of the South." 
 One thing is certain — ^a queen came from a far 
 country to " hear the wisdom of Solomon ;" while 
 there is no record that any king sought to be in- 
 structed in the truths of his philosophy, or to be 
 enlightened by his wisdom. Why was this, unless 
 the mind of the woman was more in harmony with 
 this wisdom than were the minds of ordiaary men ? 
 So it should be, if our theory of the intuitive fa- 
 culty of woman's soul be true ; for Solomon's wis- 
 dom was thus intuitive ; the gift of God, not the 
 result of patient reflection and logical reasoning. 
 The mind of the queen was undoubtedly gifted 
 with that refined sensibility for the high subjects 
 discussed which stood to her in place of the learn- 
 ing of the schools. And as she came to prove 
 Solomon with "hard questions," she might have 
 been, also, a scholar. She has left proof of her 
 genius and delicate tact in her beautiful address 
 
 47 
 
MA 
 
 before presenting her offering to the wise king. 
 See I. Kings, chap. x. 
 
 MANDANE, 
 DArGHTEB of Astyages and wife of Cambyses, 
 reoeiTcs her highest honour from being the mother 
 of Cyrus the Great. Herodotus asserts that the 
 birthright and glory of Cyrus came from his mo- 
 ther, and that his father was a man of obscure 
 birth. This is partly confirmed by history, which 
 records that Astyages, who was king of Media, 
 dreamed that from the womb of his daughter Man- 
 darne, then married to Cambyses, king of Persia, 
 there sprung up a vine which spread over all Asia. 
 Cyrus was such a son as must have gladdened 
 his mother's heart ; and we must believe his mo- 
 ther was worthy of him. She lived B. C. 599. 
 
 MAEIA, 
 
 Wife of Zenis, who governed MtoMa,, as deputy 
 under Pharnabazus, a satrap of Persia, about 
 B. C. 409. Having lost her husband, she waited 
 on the satrap, and entreated to be entrusted with 
 the power which had been enjoyed by Zenis, which 
 she promised to wield with the same zeal and 
 fidelity. Her desire being granted, she effectuaUy 
 fulfilled her engagements, and acted on all occa- 
 sions with consummate courage and prudence. 
 She not only defended the places committed to 
 her charge, but conquered others; and, besides 
 paying punctually the customary tribute to Phar- 
 nabazus, sent him magnificent presents. She 
 commanded her troops in person, and preserved 
 the strictest discipline in her army. Pharnabazus 
 held her in the highest esteem. 
 
 At length, her son-in-law, Midias, mortified by 
 the reproach of having suffered a woman to reign 
 in his place, gained admittance privately to her 
 apartments, and murdered both her and her son. 
 
 MAEIAMNE, 
 Daughtee of Alexander and wife of Herod the 
 Great, tetrarch or king of Judaea, and mother of 
 Alexander and Aristobulus, and of two daughters, 
 was a woman of great beauty, intelligence, and 
 powers of conversation. Her husband was so 
 much in love with her that he never opposed her 
 or denied her amy thing, but on two occasions. 
 When he left her on dangerous errands, he gave 
 orders with persons high in his confidence, that 
 she should not be allowed to survive him. Mari- 
 amne was informed of these orders, and conceived 
 such a dislike to her husband, that on his return 
 she could not avoid his perceiving it ; nor would 
 her pride allow her to conceal her feelings, but 
 she openly reproached Herod with his barbarous 
 commands. His mother and^his sister Salome 
 used every means to irritate him against his wife, 
 and suborned the king's cup-bearer to accuse Ma- 
 riamne of an attempt to poison her husband ; she 
 was also accused of infidelity to him. Herod, 
 furious at these charges, had her tried for the at- 
 tempt to poison Mm, and she was condemned and 
 executed. Mariamne met death with the greatest 
 firmness, without even changing colour ; but after 
 her execution, which took place about B. C. 28, 
 
 MI 
 
 Herod's remorse and grief were so great, that he 
 became for a time insane. 
 
 Lord Byron in his poem " Herod's Lament," &c., 
 has given expression to this agony of the royal 
 murderer's mind : 
 
 " O Mariamne 1 now for thee 
 
 Th^ heart for which thou bled'st ii bleeding ; 
 Revenge is lost in agony, 
 
 And wild remorse to rage succeeding. 
 Oh, Mariamne I where art thou ? 
 
 Thou canst not hear my bitter pleading; 
 Ah, couldst thou— thou wouldst pardon now. 
 
 Though heaven were to my prayer unheeding." 
 
 MEDEA, 
 
 DAroHTEE of jEtes, king of Colchis, assisted 
 Jason in carrying off the Golden Fleece from her 
 father. When Medea ran away with Jason, Mtea 
 pursued her, but, to retard his progress, she tore 
 Absyrtus, her brother, to pieces, and strewed his 
 limbs in the way. Jason afterwards divorced Me- 
 dea, and married Glauce, daughter of the king of 
 Corinth. She lived about B. C. 1228. 
 
 Euripides has written a fine tragedy on this 
 story, . in which Medea ascribes the crimes and 
 misfortunes of her sex to laws, which obliged wo- 
 men to purchase husbands with large fortunes, 
 only to become their slaves and victims. 
 
 MEGALOSTRATA, 
 A Geecian poetess, a friend of Alcman, a Spar- 
 tan lyric poet, flourished in the twenty-seventh 
 Olympiad, about B. C. 668. None of her poems 
 remain, but there are satires written against her, 
 which prove her talents were known and envied. 
 
 MERAB, 
 Eldest daughter of king Saul, and promised by 
 him to David in reward for his victory over Goli- 
 ath ; but Saul gave her to Adriel instead, by whom 
 she had six sons, whom David gave up to the Gibe- 
 onites to be put to death, in expiation of some 
 cruelties Saul had inflicted on them. 
 
 MICHAL, 
 Daughtee of king Saul, fell in love with David, 
 which Saul took advantage of to require prooft 
 of valour from David, hoping he would fall by the 
 hands of the Philistines. But David doubled what 
 Saul required, and obtained Michal. Saul after- 
 wards sent messengers to seize David at night, but 
 Michal let him down out of the window, and placed 
 a figure in David's bed to deceive the people. Mi- 
 chal excused herself to her father by saying that 
 David threatened to kill her if she did not assist 
 him in his escape. Saul afterwards gave Michal 
 to Phalti or Phaltiel, son of Laish ; but when Da- 
 vid came to the crown, he caused Michal to be 
 restored to him. Some time after, Michal, seeing 
 David from a window, dancing before the ark, 
 when it was brought from Shiloh to Jerusalem, 
 upbraided him on his return, for dancing and 
 playing among his servants, acting rather like a 
 buffoon than a king. David vindicated himself 
 and reproved her. Michal bore David no children, 
 which the Scripture seems to impute to these re- 
 proaches. This was B. 0. about 1042. 
 
 48 
 
MI 
 
 NI 
 
 MIRIAM, 
 
 Sister of Aaron and Moses, was daughter of 
 Amram and Joohetiad. Her name — Miriam, " the 
 star of the sea," (according to St. Jerome, " she 
 who brightens or enlightens") — may have been given 
 from a precocious exhibition of the great qualities 
 which afterwards distinguished her. That it was 
 rightly given, her history proves. Our first view 
 of her is when she is keeping watch over the frail 
 basket, among the flags on the banks of the Nile, 
 where Moses, her baby-brother, lay concealed. 
 Miriam was then thirteen years old, but her intel- 
 ligence and discretion seem mature. Then, when 
 the time came for the redemption of Israel from 
 the house of bondage, Moses was not alone ; Aaron 
 his brother and Miriam his sister were his coadju- 
 tors. 
 
 "It is certain," says Dr. Clarke (a learned and 
 pious expounder of the Old Testament) " that Mi- 
 riam had received a portion of the prophetic spi- 
 rit ; and that she was a joint leader of the people 
 with her two brothers, is proved by the words of 
 the prophet Micah ; — ' For I brought thee up out 
 of the land of Egypt, and I sent before thee Mo- 
 ses, and Aaron, and Miriam;" — which would not 
 have been said if she had not taken a prominent 
 post in the emigration. Probably she was the 
 leader of the women ; as we find after the mira- 
 culous passage of the Bed Sea, and the destruc- 
 tion of Pharaoh and his army, when Moses, to 
 celebrate the great events, sung his glorious ' Song,' 
 the earliest recorded poetry of the world, that his 
 sister came forward and gave her beautiful and 
 spirit-thrilling response. 
 
 "And Miriam the prophetess, the sister of 
 Aaron, took a timbrel in her hand ; and all the 
 women went out after her vrith timbrels and 
 dances. 
 
 "And Miriam answered them, 'Sing ye to the 
 Lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously ; the horse 
 and his rider hath he thrown into the sea.' " 
 
 It is sad that we must record the fall of Miriam 
 from the high pinnacle which her faith, energy, 
 and genius had won. What her crime was is not 
 fully stated, only that she and Aaron "spake 
 against Moses" because " he had married an Ethi- 
 opian woman." Perhaps Miriam disliked her sis- 
 ter-in-law ; though it appears she and Aaron dis- 
 • paraged the authority of Moses ; it might be from 
 envy of his favour with the Lord. Her sin, what- 
 ever passion prompted it, was soon exposed and 
 punished. God smote her with leprosy ; and only 
 at the earnest intercession of Moses, healed her, 
 after seven days. The camp moved not while she 
 was shut out ; thus the people testified their reve- 
 rence and affection for her. She lived nineteen 
 years after this, but her name is mentioned no 
 more till the record of her death. She died a 
 short time before her brother Aaron, in Kadesh, 
 when the children of Israel were within sight of 
 the promised land. Eusebius asserts that her 
 monument stood near the city of Petrce, and was 
 considered a consecrated spot when he lived and 
 wrote, in the fourth century. Her death occurred 
 B. C. 1458, when she was about one hundred and 
 D 
 
 thirty-one years old, so that her life was prolonged 
 beyond the term of either of her brothers. She 
 has left a beautiful example of sisterly tenderness, 
 and warm womanly participation in a holy cause. 
 In genius, she was superior to all the women who 
 preceded her ; and in the inspiration of her spirit 
 (she was a " prophetess" or poet,) none of her con- 
 temporaries, male or female, except Moses, was 
 her equal. That she was too ambitious is proba- 
 ble, and did not willingly yield to the authority 
 with which the Lord had invested her younger 
 brother, who had been her nursling charge. From 
 this portion of her history, a warning is sounded 
 against the pride and self-sufficiency which the 
 consciousness of great genius and great usefulness 
 is calculated to incite. Woman should never put 
 off her humility. It is her guard as well as orna- 
 ment. 
 
 MONIMA, 
 Wife of Mithridates the Great, was a native of 
 Salonica. Her husband loved her devotedly, but 
 when he was defeated by Luoullus, he caused her 
 and all his other wives to be put to death, lest 
 they should fall into the hands of the enemy. 
 Some years after, Mithridates was killed at his 
 own request, to avoid a similar fate, B. C. 64. 
 
 MYRTIS, 
 
 A Gbeek woman, distinguished for her poetical 
 
 talents. She lived about B. C. 500, and instructed 
 
 the celebrated Corinna in the art of versification. 
 
 Pindar also is said to have been one of her pupils. 
 
 N. 
 NAOMI, 
 
 And her husband Elimelech, went to the land 
 of Moab, because of a famine in Canaan. After 
 about ten years, her husband and two sons died, 
 leaving no children. Naomi then returned with 
 Ruth, one of her daughters-in-law, to her own 
 country, poor and humble. Tet it speaks well for 
 the character and consistency of Naomi, that she 
 so thoroughly won the love and respect of her 
 daughters-in-law. And not only this, but she must 
 have convinced them, by the sanctity of her daily 
 life, that the Lord whom she worshipped was the 
 true God. Her name, Naomi, signifies beauty; 
 and we feel, when reading her story, that, in its 
 highest sense, she deserves to be thus character- 
 ized. 
 
 After Ruth married Boaz, which event was 
 brought about, humanely speaking, by Naomi's 
 wise counsel, she appears to have lived with them ; 
 and she took their first-born son as her own, " laid 
 him in her bosom, and became nurse to him." 
 This child, was Obed, the grandfather of David. 
 Well might the race be advanced which had such 
 a nurse and instructress. These events occurred 
 about 1312, B. C. 
 
 NITOCRIS, 
 Mentioned by Herodotus, is supposed by some 
 to have been the wife or at least the contemporary 
 
 49 
 
00 
 
 af Nebuchadnezzar, king of Assyria. She contri- 
 buted much to the improvement of Babylon, and 
 built a bridge to connect the two parts of the 
 city divided by the Euphrates, and also extensive 
 embankments along the river. She gave orders 
 there should be an inscription on her tomb, signi- 
 fying that her successors would find great trea- 
 sures within, if they were in need of money ; but 
 that their labour would be ill repaid if they open- 
 ed it without necessity. Cyrus opened it from 
 curiosity, and found within it only these words : 
 " If thy avarice had not been insatiable, thou 
 never wouldst have violated the monuments of the 
 dead!" 
 
 Other historians suppose her to have been the 
 wife of Evil-Merodach, son and successor of Nebu- 
 chadnezzar, who also governed during the lunacy 
 of his father. She was a woman of extraordinary 
 abilities, and did all that she could by human pru- 
 dence to sustain a tottering empire. She lived in 
 the sixth century before Christ. 
 
 0. 
 
 OCTAVIA, 
 
 Daughter of Caius Octavius, and sister to 
 Augustus Csesar, was one of the most illustrious 
 ladies of ancient Rome. She was first married to 
 Claudius Marcellus, who was consul. She bore 
 this husband three children. After his death she 
 married Antony, and in this way brought about a 
 reconciliation between Antony and her brother 
 Octavianus, afterwards the emperor Augustus 
 Caesar. These nuptials were solemnized B. C. 41. 
 Three years after, Antony went with his wife to 
 spend the winter at Athens. Here, becoming again 
 exasperated against Augustus by evil reports, he 
 sailed for Italy ; but Ootavia a second time in- 
 duced a reconciliation between them. 
 
 Antony went to the East soon afterwards, leav- 
 ing Octavia in Italy ; and though she discovered 
 that he did not intend to return, she remained in 
 his palace, continuing to take the same care of 
 everything as though he had been the best of hus- 
 bands ; acting the part of a kind mother to the 
 children of his first wife. She would not consent 
 that Antony's treatment of her should cause a 
 civil war. At length she was ordered to leave the 
 house by Antony, who sent her at the same time a 
 divorce. This treatment of Octavia exposed An- 
 tony to the hatred and contempt of the Romans, 
 when they saw him prefer to her a woman of 
 Cleopatra's abandoned character, who had no ad- 
 vantage of her rival either in youth or beauty. 
 Indeed, Cleopatra dreaded Ootavia's charms so 
 much that she had recourse to the most studied 
 artifices to persuade Antony to forbid Octavia to 
 come to him ; and she accompanied him wherever 
 he went. 
 
 After Antony's death, fortune seemed to flatter 
 Octavia with the prospect of the highest worldly 
 felicity. The son she had by her first husband, 
 Marcellus, was now about twelve, and was a boy of 
 great genius, and of an unusually cheerful, digni- 
 fied and noble disposition. Augustus married him 
 
 OC 
 
 to his own daughter, and declared him heir to the 
 empire. But he died early, not without suspicion 
 of being poisoned by Livia, wife of Augustus. 
 His mother sank under this blow, and mourned 
 bitterly for him till her death. 
 
 Virgil wrote in honour of this youth an eulogy 
 in the conclusion of the sixth jEneid ; and it is 
 said that Octavia fainted on hearing him read it, 
 but rewarded the poet afterwards with ten sesterces 
 for each verse, of which there are twenty-six. 
 Octavia died B. C. 11, leaving two daughters whom 
 she had by Antony. Great honours were paid to 
 her memory by her brother and the Senate. 
 
 So destitute was she of all petty jealousy, that 
 after the death of Antony and Cleopatra, when 
 their children were brought to Rome to grace her 
 brother's triumph, she took them under her pro- 
 tection, and married the daughter to Juba, king 
 of Mauritania. 
 
 OLYMPIAS, 
 Daughter of the king of Epirus, married Philip, 
 king of Macedonia, by whom she had Alexander the 
 Great. Her haughtiness and suspected infidelity 
 induced Philip to repudiate her, and marry Cleo- 
 patra, niece of Attains. This incensed Olympias, 
 and Alexander, her son, shared her indignation. 
 Some have attributed the murder of Philip to the 
 intrigues of Olympias, who paid the greatest ho- 
 nour to the dead body of her husband's murderer. 
 Though the administration of Alexander was not 
 altogether pleasing to Olympias, she did not hesi- 
 tate to declare publicly, that he was not the son 
 of Philip, but of Jupiter. On Alexander's death, 
 B. C. 324, Olympias seized on the government, and 
 cruelly put to death Aridseus, one of Philip's ille- 
 gitimate sons, who had claimed the throne, and his 
 wife Eurydice, as well as Nioanor, the brother of 
 Cassander, with a hundred of the principal men 
 of Macedonia. Cassander besieged her in Pydna, 
 where she had retired, and after an obstinate de- 
 fence she was obliged to surrender. Two hundred 
 soldiers were sent to put her to death, but the 
 splendour and majesty of the queen overawed 
 them, and she was at last massacred by those 
 whom she had injured by her tyranny. She died 
 about 316, B. C. 
 
 50 
 
OR 
 
 PH 
 
 ORPAH, 
 
 A MoABiTiSH damsel, who married Chillon, the 
 yovingest of the two sons of Elimelech and Naomi, 
 Israelites from Bethlehem-judah. Her story ia 
 included in the Book of Ruth ; and though but a 
 glimpse is afforded, the character is strikingly de- 
 fined. Orpah signifies, in the Hebrew, the open 
 mouth, a name probably given her to denote her 
 quick sensibility and lack of firmness. She was 
 a creature of feeling, but there was wanting the 
 strength of will to perform what she had purposed 
 as duty. After the death of Elimelech and his 
 two sons, Naomi, with her two young daughters- 
 in-law, set out to return to her own land; Orpah 
 seemingly more earnest than Ruth to accompany 
 Naomi. But when the trials of the undertaking 
 were set before them, Orpah " kissed" her mother- 
 in-law, and went "back to her people and her 
 gods." 
 
 P. 
 
 PANTHEA, 
 
 Wife of Abradatas, king of the Lusians, was 
 taken prisoner by Cyrus the Great. Though 
 the most beautiful woman of her time, Cyrus 
 treated her with a delicacy and forbearance very 
 unusual in those times, and permitted her to send 
 for her husband. Out of gratitude to Cyrus, 
 Abradatas became his ally, and was slain while 
 fighting for him against the Egyptians. Panthea 
 killed herself on the dead body of her husband, 
 and was buried in the same grave. 
 
 PARYSATIS, 
 Wipe of Darius Nothus, who ascended the throne 
 of Persia in the year 423 B. C, was the mother 
 of Artaxerxes Mnemon and Cyrus. Her par- 
 tiality for Cyrus led her to commit the greatest 
 injustice and barbarities ; and she poisoned Statira, 
 the wife of Artaxerxes. 
 
 PENELOPE, 
 
 Daughtee. of Icarus, married Ulysses, king of 
 Ithaca, by whom she had Telemachus. During 
 the absence of Ulysses, who went to the siege of 
 Troy, and was absent twenty years, several princes, 
 charmed with Penelope's beauty, told her that 
 Ulysses was dead, and urged her to marry one 
 of them. She promised compliance on condition 
 that they would allow her to finish a piece of 
 tapestry she was weaving ; but she undid at night 
 what she had woven in the day, and thus eluded 
 their importunity till the return of Ulysses. 
 
 Her beauty and conjugal fidelity have won for 
 her the praises of poets, and a warm place in the 
 heart of every pure-minded woman. Her character 
 and example appear most lovely when contrasted 
 with her celebrated contemporary Helen. The 
 character of Telemachus, as drawn by Fenelon, 
 is siich as we should imagine would be displayed 
 by the son of Penelope, — her wise influence would 
 be his Mentor. 
 
 PENTHESILEA, 
 
 Queen of the Amazons, succeeded Osythia. She 
 
 fought bravely at the siege of Troy, and was killed 
 
 by Achilles, B. C. 1187. Pliny says she invented 
 
 the battle-axe. She must have been a real amazon. 
 
 PERILLA, 
 
 A DAUGHTER of the poct Ovid, and of his third 
 wife, was very fond of poetry and literature, and 
 very devoted to her father. She accompanied 
 him in his banishment, and is supposed to have 
 survived him. She lived in the first century after 
 Christ. It is the best example left by Ovid, that 
 he encouraged his daughter in her literary tastes ; 
 and well did she repay his care, in the cultivation 
 of her mind, by her devoted attachment to him in 
 his misfortunes. 
 
 PHiEDYMA, 
 
 Daughter of Olanes, one of the seven Persian 
 lords who conspired against Smerdis the Magian. 
 Being married to Smerdis, who pretended to be 
 the son of Cyrus the Great, she discovered his im- 
 posture to her father, by his want of ears, which 
 Cambyses had cut oif. She lived B. C. 521. 
 
 PHANTASIA, 
 Daughter of Nicauchus of Memphis, in Egypt. 
 Chiron, a celebrated personage of antiquity, as- 
 serted that Phantasia wrote a poem on the Trojan 
 war, and another on the return of Ulysses to 
 Ithaca, from which Homer copied the greater part 
 of the Iliad and Odyssey, when he visited Memphis, 
 where these poems were deposited. She lived in 
 the 12th century before Christ. 
 
 PHERETIMA, 
 
 Wife of Battus, king of Gyrene, and the mother 
 of Arcesilaus, who was driven from his kingdom 
 in a sedition, and assassinated. After her son's 
 death, she recovered the kingdom by the aid of 
 Amasis king of Egypt ; and to avenge the murdei- 
 of Arcesilaus, she caused all his assassins to be 
 crucified round the walls of Gyrene, and she cut 
 oif the breasts of their wives, and hung them near 
 their husbands. It is said she was devoured by 
 worms ; which probably had reference to the re- 
 morse she must have felt for her cruelties. She 
 lived about 624 B. C. 
 
 PHILISTES, 
 
 An ancient queen, whose coin is still extant, but 
 of whose life, reign, country, and government, 
 nothing can be ascertained. Herodotus speaks of 
 her coin, so she must have flourished before he 
 lived, that is before B. C. 487 ; but says nothing 
 else of her. Some persons think that she was 
 queen of Sicily, others of Malta or Cossara. 
 
 PHILOTIS, 
 A servant-maid at Rome, saved her country- 
 men from destruction. After the siege of Rome 
 by the Gauls, about 381 B. C, the Fidenates* 
 marched with an army against the capital, demand- 
 ing all the wives and daughters in the city, as the 
 
 51 
 
PH 
 
 only conditions of peace. Philotis advised the 
 senators to send the female slaves, disguised in 
 matrons' clothes ; she offered to march herself 
 at their head. The advice was followed, and 
 when the Fidenates, havirg feasted late, had fallen 
 asleep intoxicated, Philotis lighted a torch, as a 
 signal for her countrymen to attack the enemy. 
 The Fidenates were conquered; and the senate, 
 to reward the fidelity of the slaves, allowed them 
 to appear in the dress of the Roman matrons. 
 
 PHILLA 
 
 Was daughter of Antipater, governor of Mace- 
 \don, during the absence of Alexander, B. C. 334. 
 She was a woman of remarkable powers of mind, 
 being consulted when quite young, by her father, 
 one of the wisest politicians of the time, on affairs 
 of the greatest moment. By skilful management 
 she prevented an army, fuU of factions and turbu- 
 lent spirits, from making an insurrection ; she 
 married poor maidens at her own expense, and 
 opposed the oppressors of innocency with so much 
 vigour, that she preserved the lives of many guilt- 
 less persons. Philla first married Craterus, one 
 of Alexander's captains, and the favourite of the 
 Macedonians ; and after his death Demetrius I., son 
 of Antigonus, king of Asia. He was a voluptuous 
 man, and though she was the chief of his wives, 
 she had little share in his affections. Philla poi- 
 soned herself on hearing that Demetrius had lost 
 his possessions in Asia, in a battle at Ipsus, B. C. 
 301, with three of Alexander's former generals. 
 She had by Demetrius a sou and a daughter, the 
 famous Stratonice, who was the wife of Seleucus, 
 and yielded to him by his son Antiochus. Diodorus 
 Siculus gave a history of this excellent princess, 
 but unfortunate woman, in which he extolled her 
 character and talents. 
 
 PHRYNE, 
 
 A Grecian courtezan, flourished at Athens, 
 about B. C. 328. Society alone can discover the 
 charms of the understanding, and the virtuous 
 women of ancient Greece were excluded from 
 society. The houses of the courtezans, on the 
 contrary, were frequented by the poets, statesmen, 
 philosophers, and artists of Athens, ' and became 
 schools of eloquence. Phryne was one of the most 
 distinguished of that class of women. She served 
 as a model for Praxiteles, and a subject for Apel- 
 les, and was represented by both as Venus. Her 
 statue in gold was placed between those of two 
 kings at Delphi. She offered to rebuild at her 
 own expense the walls of Thebes, if she might be 
 allowed to inscribe on them, " Alexander destroyed 
 Thebes, Phryne rebuilt it." She was born in 
 Thespise in Boeotia. She was accused of disbelief 
 in the gods, but Hyperides obtained her acquittal 
 by exposing her charms to the venerable judges 
 of the Helica. 
 
 But though all these honours and favours were 
 bestowed on Phryne, she was not allowed to re- 
 build the walls of Thebes ; and this shows there 
 still remained in the hearts of those old Greeks, 
 corrupted as they were, the sentiment of respect 
 for female virtue ; and also a fear of degradation 
 
 PO 
 
 if they permitted such a woman to immortalize 
 her name. 
 
 PLANCINA 
 Was the vrife of Piso, consul in the reign of 
 Augustus, and accused with him of having mur- 
 dered Germanicus in the reign of Tiberius. She 
 was acquitted, either through the partiality of the 
 empress Livia, or of Tiberius. Though devoted 
 to her husband during their confinement, she was 
 no sooner set free than she left him to his fate. 
 At the instigation of Livia, she committed the 
 greatest crimes to injure Agrippina. Being accused 
 of them, and knowing she could not elude justice, 
 she committed suicide, A. D. 33. 
 
 POLTXENA, 
 One of the daughters of Priam, king of Troy, 
 and Hecuba. Achilles, the celebrated hero of the 
 Greeks, loved her ; and by means of his passion 
 for her Ms death was effected, for he was mortally 
 wounded in the heel by her brother Paris, while 
 treating about the marriage. It is said by some 
 that she was sacrificed to his manes ; by others, 
 that she killed herself on his tomb. - She is sup- 
 posed to have died about B. C. 1183. 
 
 POLYXO, 
 
 A NATIVE of Argos, who married Tleoptolemus. 
 She followed him to Rhodes, and when he went to 
 the Trojan war, B. C. 1184, Polyxo became sole 
 mistress of the kingdom. After the death of 
 Menelaus, Helen fled from Peloponnesus to Rhodes ; 
 and Polyxo, to punish her for being the cause of a 
 war in which Tleoptolemus had perished, ordered 
 her to be hanged on a tree by her female servants, 
 disguised as furies. 
 
 PORTIA, 
 
 Daughtee of the celebrated Cato of Utica, was 
 married first to Bibulus, by whom she had two 
 children. Becoming a widow, she married her 
 cousin Marcus Brutus. When Brutus was engaged 
 in the conspiracy against Csesar, he attempted, 
 but in vain, to conceal the agitation of his mind 
 
 52 
 
PO 
 
 EA 
 
 from his wife, who did not venture to urge him to 
 let her share in the secret, till she had given deci- 
 sive proof of her strength of mind. She accord- 
 ingly gave herself a deep wound in the thigh, and 
 then, when pain and loss of blood had confined her 
 to her bed, she represented to Brutus, that the 
 daughter of Cato, and his wife, might hope to he 
 considered as something more than a mere female 
 companion. She then showed him her wound, 
 and Brutus, after Imploring the gods that he 
 might live to prove himself worthy a wife like 
 Portia, informed her of the conspiracy. 
 
 When the important day arrived, March 15, 
 B. C. 44, she sent messenger after messenger to 
 bring her word what Brutus was doing, and at 
 length fainted away, so that a report reached her 
 husband that she was dead. 
 
 Brutus perceiving that he had not accomplished 
 his object by the assassination of Cassar, left Kome 
 for Athens. Portia accompanied him to the shore 
 and then left him, as he thought it necessary that 
 she should return to Rome. On parting with him 
 she melted into tears, and some one present re- 
 peated from Homer the address of Andromache to 
 her husband — 
 
 " Be careful, Hector, for with thee my all, 
 My father, mother, brother, husband, fall." 
 
 Brutus replied, smiling, " I must not answer Por- 
 tia in the words of Hector, 
 
 Mind you your wheel, and to your maids give law ;' 
 
 for, if the weakness of her frame seconds not her 
 mind, in courage, in activity, in concern for the 
 cause of freedom, and for the welfare of her coun- 
 try, she is not inferior to any of us." 
 
 After the death of Brutus, Portia resolved not 
 to survive him, and being closely watched by her 
 friends, snatched burning coals from the fire, and 
 thrusting them in her mouth, held them there tiU 
 she was suffocated, B. C. 42. 
 
 The character of Portia appears to have been 
 much nearer the common standard of high-bred 
 women, than that of the accomplished and com- 
 manding Cornelia, whose grandeur and supremacy 
 of spirit seems to have swayed both the minds and 
 hearts of all around her. Portia, on the other 
 hand, was more strictly feminine. She gushed 
 out with warm affection to her husband. She felt 
 the dignity of her Patrician descent from the 
 family of Cato. She was full of anxiety for her 
 own friends, and she entered into the spirit and 
 enterprises of the times. If the anecdote about 
 the painting and quotations of Brutus be true, and 
 we have no reason to doubt them, it gives us some 
 insight into the spirit of Roman education. Both 
 Brutus and Portia must have been familiar with 
 Homer. This shows how much the Roman litera- 
 ture and education were founded upon that of the 
 Greeks. Many distinguished men, and probably 
 Brutus himself, visited Athens to finish their edu- 
 cation. Brutus was familiar with the Greek phi- 
 losophy, and as Portia was his cousin and the 
 daughter of Cato, she must have had a highly 
 finished education. It is more than probable that 
 the Roman women of the higher ranks had a 
 better education in proportion to the men, than 
 
 the women of our own era. They were educated 
 more in the solid, than in the merely ornamental 
 knowledge of life. They were not estranged alto- 
 gether from the politics and the higher philosophy 
 of their country. They read, in common with 
 fathers and husbands, the stern and yet brilliant 
 literature of the ancient Greeks. Barbarous and 
 heathen as it was, it had the advantage of being 
 exempted from the effeminacy and corrupting in- 
 fluences of oriental manners. 
 
 PYRRHA, 
 
 The daughter of Epimethus and Pandora, was 
 wife of Deucalion, king of Thessaly, in whose 
 reign a flood happened. She was the mother of 
 Amphictyon, Helen, and Protogenia. 
 
 The flood that occurred in the time of Deuca- 
 lion, about B. C. 1500, is supposed to have been 
 only an inundation of that country, occasioned by 
 heavy rains, and an earthquake, that stopped the 
 course of the river Penua, where it usually dis- 
 charged itself into the sea. Deucalion governed 
 his people with equity ; but the rest of mankind 
 being very wicked, were destroyed by a flood, 
 while Deucalion and Pyrrha saved themselves by 
 ascending Mount Parnassus. When the waters 
 had subsided, they consulted the oracle of Themis 
 on the means by which the earth was to be re- 
 peopled; when they were ordered to veil their 
 faces, unloose their girdles, and throw behind 
 them the bones of their great mother. At this 
 advice, Pyrrha was seized with horror ; but Deu- 
 calion explained the mystery, by observing, that 
 their great mother meant the earth, and her bones 
 the stones ; when, following the directions of the 
 oracle, those thrown by Deucalion became men, 
 and those by Pyrrha, women. 
 
 Some have supposed that Deucalion was the 
 same with the patriarch Noah ; and that his flood 
 in Thessaly, was the same as that recorded in the 
 Scriptures ; tradition thus corroborating the autho- 
 rity of the Bible. 
 
 R. 
 
 RACHEL, 
 
 TJKE youngest daughter of Laban, the Syrian, 
 the beloved wife of Jacob, the patriarch, mother 
 of Joseph and Benjamin; — how many beautiful 
 traits of character, how many touching incidents 
 of her husband's life, are connected with her 
 name! Rachel was the true wife of Jacob, the 
 wife of his choice, his first and only love. For 
 her, "he served Laban seven years, and they 
 seemed to him but a few days, for the love he bore 
 her." At the close of this term, the crafty father, 
 who wished to retain Jacob in his service, prac- 
 tised the gross deception of giving Leah instead 
 of Rachel, and then permitting Jacob to have the 
 beloved one as another wife, provided he would 
 serve another seven years ! Thus Rachel really 
 cost her husband fourteen years' servitude. 
 
 She was "beautiful and well-favoured," Moses 
 tells us ; yet surely it was not her personal charms 
 which gained such entire ascendency over the wise 
 
 53 
 
KA 
 
 RE 
 
 son of Isaac. Jacob must have been nearly sixty 
 years old at the time of bis marriage ; and if 
 Rachel bad been deficient in those noble qualities 
 of mind and soul, which could understand and 
 harmonize with bis lofty aspirations to fulfil the 
 great duties God had imposed on him, as the 
 chosen Founder of the house of Israel, she never 
 would have been bis confidant, counsellor, friend, 
 as well as bis lovely, and loving wife. That she 
 was this all in all to her husband, seems certain 
 by the grief, the utter desolation of spirit, which 
 overwhelmed him for her loss. He cherished her 
 memory in his heart, loved her in the passionate 
 love he lavished on her children till his dying day. 
 Her two sons were, in moral character, far supe- 
 rior to the other sons of Jacob ; and this is true 
 testimony of her great and good qualities. She 
 died in giving birth to Benjamin, while Jacob, 
 with all his family, was on bis way from Syria to 
 his own land. She was buried near Bethlehem, 
 in Judea, and Jacob erected a monument over her 
 grave. Her precious dust was thus left, as though 
 to keep possession of the land sure, to hers and 
 her husband's posterity, diiring the long centuries 
 of absence and bondage. And, as if to mark that 
 this ground was hallowed, the Messiah was born 
 near the place of Rachel's grave. She died B. C. 
 1732. 
 
 RAHAB, 
 
 A WOMAN of Jericho. When Joshua, the leader 
 of the Israelitish host, sent out two spies, saying, 
 "Go view the land, even Jericho," it is recorded 
 "that they went, and came into an harlot's house, 
 ■named Bahab, and lodged there." The king of 
 .lericho hearing of their visit, sent to Rahab, re- 
 quiring her to bring the men forth ; but instead 
 of complying, she deceived the king, by telling 
 iim that they went out of the city about the time 
 ■of the shutting of the gate, and whither they went, 
 •she knew not, but doubtless if the king pursued 
 after them they would be overtaken. In the mean 
 time, while the messengers thus put upon the false 
 track pursued after tbem to the fords of Jordan, 
 Rahab took the two men up to the roof of the 
 house, which, after the custom of eastern cities, 
 was flat, and hid tbem under the stalks of flax 
 which she had spread out there to dry. 
 
 This strange conduct, in defence of two stran- 
 gers, she explained to the spies, by telling them, 
 .after they reached the roof, that " she knew that 
 ■the Lord had given the children of Israel the land, 
 for they bad heard of their doings from the time 
 that they came out of Egypt, so that all the in- 
 babitants of the land faint because of you." 
 
 In return for her care, she made them swear 
 unto her that they would save alive herself and 
 all her family,' — father, mother, brothers, sisters, 
 ftnd all that they had. Having thus secured her- 
 self from threatened destruction, she let them 
 down by a cord through a window, for her house 
 was upon the town wall, and they escaped to the 
 mountains, whence, after three days, they re- 
 turned to the camp of Joshua. 
 
 For the important service rendered to these 
 spies, herself .and kindrfid were saved from the 
 
 general massacre which followed the capture of 
 Jericho, her house being designated by a scarlet 
 cord let down from the window out of which the 
 spies escaped. 
 
 Several commentators, anxious to relieve the 
 character of a woman so renowned from the im- 
 putation cast upon her by the opprobrious epithet 
 usually aflttxed to her name, would translate the 
 Hebrew word Zonah, which our version renders 
 harlot, by the term hostess or innkeeper. But 
 the same Hebrew word in every other place means 
 what the old English version says, and we see no 
 reason to make its use here an exception ; besides, 
 there were no inns in those days and countries ; 
 and when, subsequently, something answerable to 
 our ideas of them were introduced, in the shape 
 of caravanseri, they were never kept by women. 
 
 It is a remarkable feature of the Bible, that it 
 glosses over no characters, but freely mentions 
 failings and defects, as well as goodness and 
 virtue ; and hence, when errors of life are spoken 
 of as connected with any individual, it is not in- 
 cumbent on us to defend all the life of that indi- 
 vidual, if the character is good from the time that 
 it professes to be good ; the evil living which went 
 before, may freely be named withotit compro- 
 mising or reflecting upon subsequent goodness. 
 
 Her remarks to the spies evince her belief in 
 the God of the Hebrews, and her marriage, at a 
 later period, with Salmon, one of the princes of 
 Israel, proves her conversion to Judaism. 
 
 The Jewish writers abound in praises of Rahab ; 
 and even those who do not deny that she was a 
 harlot, admit that she eventually became the wife 
 of a prince of Israel, and that many great persons 
 of their nation sprang from this union. 
 
 According to the Bible, Rahab was a woman of 
 fidelity, discretion, and a believer in the God of 
 Israel ; and the only individual, among -all the na- 
 tions which Joshua was commissioned to destroy, 
 who aided the Israelites, and who was received 
 and dwelt among the people of God as one with 
 them. St. Paul quotes her as one of his examples 
 of eminent faith. These events occurred B. C. 
 1451. 
 
 REBEKAH, 
 
 Daughtek of Bethuel, and wife of Isaac the 
 patriarch, is one of the most interesting female 
 characters the Bible exhibits for the example and 
 instruction of her sex. Her betrothal and mar- 
 riage are graphite pictures of the simple customs 
 of her maiden life, and her own heart-devotion to 
 the will of God. No wonder her beauty, modesty 
 and piety, won the love and confidence of Isaac at 
 once. She was his only wife, and thus highly 
 favoured above those who were obliged to share 
 the heart of a husband with hand-maidens and 
 concubines. The plague-spot of polygamy which 
 has polluted even the homes of the chosen of God 
 did not fasten its curse on her bridal tent. So 
 distinguished was this example, that ever since, 
 the young married pair have been admonished to 
 be, as " Isaac and Rebecca, faithful." 
 
 The first portion of her history, contained in 
 Genesis, chap. xxiv. (any synopsis would mar its 
 
 54 
 
BE 
 
 RI 
 
 beauty) has -won for her unqualified approbation ; 
 while commentators and divines are almost as 
 unanimous in censuring her later conduct. But 
 is this censure deserved ? Let us examine care- 
 fully before we venture to condemn what the Bible 
 does not. 
 
 This pious couple, who inherited the promises 
 of God, and in whom centred the hopes of the 
 world, were childless for twenty years; when 
 Bebekah's twin sons were born. Before their 
 , birth, it had, in some mysterious manner, been 
 revealed to the mother that these sons would be 
 the progenitors of two nations, different from each 
 other, and that the elder should serve the younger. 
 From their birth the boys were as unlilie as though 
 they were of difiFerent races. Esau is represented 
 as red, rough, reckless, rebellious; Jacob was 
 fair, gentle, home-loving and obedient ; such a 
 son as must have gladdened his mother's heart. 
 But there was a higher and holier motive for her 
 devoted love to this, her youngest son, — she knew 
 he was the chosen of God. 
 
 "Isaac loved Esau, because he did eat of his 
 venison; but Rebekah loved Jacob;" — that is, 
 she loved him with the holy, disinterested affec- 
 tion which" her faith that he was born for a high 
 destiny would inspire. She kept him with her 
 and instructed him in this faith, making him thus 
 aware of the value of the birthright ; while Esau, 
 like a young heathen, was passing his life in the 
 hunting-field, caring nothing for the promises 
 made to Abraham ; probably scofling at the men- 
 tion of such superstitions, he " despised his birth- 
 right," and sold it for a mess of pottage. 
 
 Next occurs a scene reflecting great honour on 
 the character of Rebekah, as it shows she had the 
 heart-purity which is ever under the holy guar- 
 dianship of heaven ; — we allude to what passed at 
 Gerar. Isaac was there guilty of a cowardly false- 
 hood, and seems to have been forgiven, and great 
 privileges allowed him solely on account of the 
 reverence and admiration felt for his wife. Thus 
 the patriarch prospered exceedingly in conse- 
 quence of Rebekah's beauty, virtue, and piety; 
 while Esau's perverse disposition manifested itself 
 more and more. And yet, though he grieved the 
 hearts of his parents by uniting himself with 
 idolaters, (marrying two Hittite wives,) still the 
 father's heart clung to this unworthy son — because 
 he furnished him savoury food! 
 
 Isaac had grown older in constitution than in 
 years; "his eyes were dim so that he could not 
 see ;" fearing he might die suddenly, he called 
 Esau, and said to him — " Take, I pray thee, thy 
 weapons, thy quiver and thy bow, and go out to 
 the field, and take me venison ; and make me 
 savoury food, such as I love, and bring it to me, 
 that I may eat ; that my soul may bless thee be- 
 fore I die." It is worthy of note that Isaac did 
 not allude to any blessing the Lord had promised 
 to his eldest son, nor to any motive, save indulging 
 his own appetite. If Isaac knew that Jacob the 
 younger son had been by God preferred before 
 the elder, did he not purpose committing a great 
 sin, in thus attempting to give the blessing to 
 Esau? And if Isaac did not know the promise 
 
 made to Rebekah concerning the destiny of her 
 sons, then we must allow the spiritual insight con- 
 ferred on her devolved also the duty of prevent- 
 ing, if possible, the sin her husband would bring 
 on his own soul by attempting to bless him whom 
 the Lord had not blessed. It is manifest that 
 Rebekah felt the time had come for her to act. 
 If she had entreated her husband to bless the 
 youngest born, he had not listened to her counsel, 
 as Abraham was directed to do when Sarah ad- 
 vised him. We may say Rebekah should have had 
 faith that God would bring to pass what he had 
 ordained ; but we cannot know her convictions of 
 the duty devolving on herself. She certainly did 
 not wait the event ; but overhearing the directions 
 of Isaac, she immediately took such measures as 
 deceived him, and obtained his blessing for Jacob. 
 
 Rebekah must have been either perfectly as- 
 sured she was working under the righteous inspi- 
 ration of God, or she was willing to bear the 
 punishment of deceiving her husband rather than 
 allow him to sin by attempting to givte the bless- 
 ing where God had withheld it. That the result 
 was right is certain, because Isaac acknowledged 
 it when, after the deception was made manifest, 
 he said of Jacob — " Yea, and he shall be blessed." 
 
 When, to avoid the murderous hatred of Esau, 
 Jacob fled from his home, the Lord met him in a 
 wondrous vision, where the promise made to Abra- 
 ham and to Isaac was expressly confirmed to this 
 cherished son of Rebekah ; thus sealing the truth 
 of her belief and the importance of her perse- 
 verance ; and not a word of reproof appears on 
 the holy page which records her history. She did 
 not live to see her son's triumphant return, nor is 
 the date of her decease given ; but she was buried 
 in the family sepulchre at Macpelah ; and as Isaac 
 had no second wife, she was doubtless mourned. 
 It has been urged that because her death was not 
 recorded, therefore she had sinned in regard to 
 her son. No mention is made of the death of 
 Deborah, or Ruth, or Esther, — had they sinned ? 
 
 There are no perfect examples among mankind ; 
 but in the comparison of Isaac and Rebekah, the 
 wife is, morally, superior to her husband ; and 
 appears to have been specially entrusted by God 
 with the agency of changing the succession of her 
 sons, and thus building up the house of Israel. 
 See Genesis, chapters xxvi. xxvii. xxviii. 
 
 BHODOPE, 
 
 A CELEBRATED Grecian courtezan, who was fel- 
 low-servant with .Ssop at the court of the king 
 of Samos. She was carried to Egypt by Xanthus, 
 and purchased by Charaxes of Mytelene, the bro- 
 ther of Sappho, who married her. She gained so 
 much money by her charms that she built one of 
 the pyramids, .^lian says that one day, as she 
 was bathing, an eagle carried away one of her 
 sandals, and dropt it near king Psammetichus, at 
 Memphis, who sought out the owner and married 
 her. She Uved about B. C. 610. 
 
 RIZPAH 
 
 Was daughter of Aiah, concubine to king Saul. 
 Saul having put to death many of the Gibeonites, 
 
 55 
 
RO 
 
 SA 
 
 God, to punish this massacre, sent a famine which 
 lasted three years. To expiate this, David, who 
 was then king, gave to the Gibeonites two sons of 
 Saul by Rizpah, and five sons of Michal, the 
 daughter of Saul, whom the Gibeonites hanged 
 on the mountain near Gibeah. Rizpah spread a 
 sackcloth on the rock, and watched night and day 
 to prevent ravenous beasts and birds from devour- 
 ing the dead bodies ; till David, pitying her, had 
 their bones brought and interred in the tomb of 
 Kish. Abner, Saul's general, married Rizpah 
 after Saul's death, which was so much resented 
 by Ishbosheth, son of Saul, that Abner vowed and 
 procured his ruin. 
 
 Her sad story has been the theme of poets ; and 
 the picture of the childless mother, watching be- 
 side the bleaching bones of her murdered sons, is 
 an illustration of the truth and tenderness of wo- 
 man's love, which every human heart must feel. 
 This tragedy occurred B. C. about 1021. 
 
 ROXANA, 
 A Pebsian princess of great beauty, daughter 
 of Darius, king of Persia, whom Alexander the 
 Great took for his wife. Their son Alexander, 
 born after his father's death, was murdered by 
 Cassander, one of Alexander's generals, 323 B. C, 
 and she shared his fate. She had cruelly put to 
 death, after Alexander's decease, her sister Sta- 
 tira, whom the conqueror had also married. 
 
 RUTH, 
 
 A MoABiTESS, widow of Mahlon, an Israelite, 
 and one of the ancestors of our Saviour, lived, 
 probably, in the days of Gideon. Being left a wi- 
 dow, she accompanied her mother-in-law, Naomi, 
 to Judea, where she married Boaz, a wealthy He- 
 brew and a near relative of her late husband — 
 and became the ancestress of David and of our 
 Saviour. Her name signifies "full, or satisfied." 
 
 Her story, told at length in the eighth book of 
 the Old Testament, is one of the most interesting 
 in the Bible. Poetry and painting have exhausted 
 their arts to illustrate her beautiful character; 
 yet to the truthful simplicity of the inspired his- 
 torian, the name of Ruth still owes its sweetest 
 associations. Her example shows what woman 
 can do,, if she is true to the best impulses of her 
 nature, and faithfully works in her mission, and 
 waits the appointed time. 
 
 RUTILIA, 
 
 A Roman lady, sister of that Pub. Rutilius who 
 siiffered his unjust banishment with so much for- 
 titude, was the wife of Marcus Aurelius Cotta ; 
 and had a son, who was a man of great merit, 
 whom she tenderly loved, but whose death she 
 bore with resignation. 
 
 Seneca, during his exile, vfrote to his mother 
 and exhorted her to imitate Rutilia, who, he says, 
 followed her son Cotta into banishment ; nor did 
 she return to her country till her son came with 
 her. Tet she bore his death, after his return, 
 with equal courage, for she followed him to his 
 burial without shedding a tear. She lived about 
 B. C. 120. 
 
 SAPPHO, 
 
 A OEtEBKATED Greek poetess, was a native of 
 Mitylene, in the isle of Lesbos, and flourished 
 about B. C. 610. She married Cercala, a rich in- 
 habitant of Andros, by whom she had a daughter, 
 named Cleis ; and it was not, probably, till after 
 she became a widow that she rendered herself 
 distinguished by her poetry. Her verses were 
 chiefly of the lyric kind, and love was the general 
 subject, which she treated with so much warmth, 
 and with such beauty of poetical expression, as to 
 have acquired the title of the " Tenth Muse." 
 Her compositions were held in the highest esteem 
 by her contemporaries, Roman as well as Greek, 
 and no female name has risen higher in the cata- 
 logue of poets. Her morals have been as much 
 depreciated, as her genius has been extolled. She 
 is represented by Ovid as far from handsome ; and 
 as she was probably no longer young when she 
 fell in love with the beautiful Phaon, his neglect 
 is not surprising. Unable to bear her disappoint- 
 pointment, she went to the famous precipice of 
 Leucate, since popularly called the Lover's Leap, 
 and throwing herself into the sea, terminated at 
 once her life and her love. To this catastrophe 
 Ausonius alludes : 
 
 " And the masculine Sappho about to perish with her Les- 
 bian arrows, 
 Threatens a leap from the snow-crownecl Leucade." 
 
 Longinus quotes this celebrated ode written by 
 Sappho, of which we give the translation, as an 
 example of sublimity : 
 
 "Blest as th' immortal gods is he, 
 The youth who fondly sits by thee. 
 And hears and sees thee all the while. 
 Softly speak and sweetly smile. 
 
 'Twas this deprived my soul of rest, 
 And raised such tumults in my breast 
 For, while I gazed in transport lost, 
 My breath was gone, my voice was lost; 
 
 56 
 
SA 
 
 SA 
 
 My bosom glowed; the subtle flame 
 Ran quick through all my vital frame: 
 O'er my dim eye a darkness hung, 
 My ears with hollow murmurs rung; 
 
 In dewy damps my limbs were chilled 
 My Wood with gentle horrors thrilled; 
 My feeble pulse forgot to play ; 
 1 fainted, sunk, and died away." 
 
 No less beautiful is the Hymn to Venus, of 
 which the f oUoTring is an extract : 
 
 " O Venus, beauty of the skies, 
 To whom a thousand temples rise, 
 Gaily false in gentle smiles. 
 Full of love perplexing wiles; 
 Oh, goddess! fVom my heart remove 
 The wasting cares and pains of love. 
 
 If ever thou hast kindly heard 
 A song in soft distress preferred, 
 Propitious to my tuneful vow. 
 Oh, gentle goddess ! hear me now ; 
 Descend, thou bright, immortal guest. 
 In all thy radiant charms confest. 
 
 Thou once didst leave almighty Jove, 
 And all the golden roofs above, 
 The car thy wanton sparrows drew, 
 Hovering in air they lightly flew; 
 As to my bower they winged their way, 
 I saw their quivering pinions play. 
 
 The birds dismist, while you remain. 
 Bore back their empty car again; 
 Then you with looks divinely mild. 
 In every heavenly feature smiled, 
 And asked what new complaints I made, 
 And why I called you to my aid." 
 
 Sappho formed an academy of females who ex- 
 celled in music ; and it was doubtless this academy 
 which drew on her the hatred of the women of 
 Mitylene. She is said to have been short in sta- 
 ture, and swarthy in her complexion. Ovid con- 
 firms this description in his Heroides, in the cele- 
 brated epistle from Sappho to Phaon : 
 
 " To me what nature has in charms denied. 
 Is well by wit's more lasting flames supplied. 
 Though short my stature, yet my name extends 
 To heaven itself, and earth's remotest ends ; 
 Brown as I am, an Ethiopian dame 
 Inspired young Perseus with a generous flame." 
 
 Translated by Pope. 
 
 The Mitylenes esteemed her so highly, and were 
 so sensible of the glory they received from her 
 having been born among them, that they paid her 
 sovereign honours after her death, and stamped 
 their money with her image. The Romans also 
 erected a noble monument to her memory. " It 
 must be granted," says Eapin, " from what is left 
 us of Sappho, "that Longinus had great reason to 
 extol the admirable genius of this woman; for 
 there is in what remains of her something deli- 
 cate, harmonious, and impassioned to the last de- 
 gree. CatuUus endeavoured to imitate Sappho, 
 but fell infinitely short of her ; and so have aU 
 others who have written upon love." 
 
 Besides the structure of verse called Sapphic, 
 she invented the .^olic measure, composed elegies, 
 epigrams, and nine books of lyric poetry, of which 
 all that remain are, an ode to Venus, and an ode 
 to one of her lovers, quoted above, and some small 
 fragments. 
 
 SARAH, or SARAI, 
 Wife of Abraham, was born in Uz of the Chal- 
 dees, (the region of fire, or where the people were 
 fire-worshippers,) from which she came out with 
 her husband. She was ten years younger than 
 Abraham, and in some way connected with him 
 by relationship, which permitted them to be called 
 brother and sister. Some commentators suppose 
 she was the daughter of Haran, Abraham's brother 
 by a different mother, and consequently, the sister 
 of Lot. But Abraham said of her to Abimilech, 
 " She is indeed my sister ; she is the daughter of 
 my father, but not the daughter of my mother ; 
 and she became my wife." Such intermarriages 
 had not, in that age of the world, been prohibited 
 by God or man. Her story is told at length in 
 Genesis, chap, xii., xviii., xx., xxxiii. None of 
 the women of the Bible are so prominently placed 
 or so distinctly described as Sarah, whose name 
 was changed by God so that its meaning (her title) 
 might be "mother of nations." Her first name, 
 Sarai, signifies "princess" — and her personal love- 
 liness, and the excellences of her character, justify 
 the appellation. But as the Bible is the word of 
 divine truth, it describes no perfect men or women. 
 Sarah's love and devotion to her husband are 
 themes of the apostle's praise ; and her maternal 
 faithfulness is proven by the influence of her cha- 
 racter on Isaac, and the sorrow with which he 
 mourned her death. Yet Sarah has been accused 
 of harshness towards the handmaid Hagar, and 
 cruelty in causing her and her sou Ishmael to be 
 sent away. But the sacred narrative warrants no 
 such inference. It should be borne in mind that 
 in the first promise, when God said to Abram, " I 
 will make of thee a great nation," &c., no mention 
 is made of the mother of this favoured race. 
 Abram undoubtedly told his beloved Sarai of God's 
 promise ; but when ten years passed, and she had 
 no children, she might fear she was not included 
 in the divine prediction. Regardless of self, where 
 the glory and happiness of her adored husband 
 were concerned, with a disinterestedness more than 
 heroic, of which the most noble-minded woman 
 only could have been capable, she voluntarily re- 
 linquished her hope of the honour of being the 
 mother of the blessed race ; and, moreover, with- 
 drew her claim to his sole love, (a harder trial,) 
 and gave him her favourite slave Hagar. It was 
 Sarai who proposed this to Abram, and as there 
 was then no law prohibiting such relations, it was 
 not considered sin. But it was sin, as the event 
 showed. God, from the first, ordained that the 
 union of the sexes, to be blessed, cannot subsist 
 but in a marriage made holy by uniting, indisso- 
 lubly and faithfully, one man with one woman. 
 This holy union between Abraham and Sarah, which 
 had withstood all temptations and endured all 
 trials, was now embittered to the wife by the in- 
 solence and ingratitude of the concubine. 
 
 That the subsequent conduct of Sarah was right, 
 under the circumstances, the angel of the Lord 
 bore witness, when he found Hagar in the wilder- 
 ness, and said, "Return to thy mistress, and sub- 
 mit thyself under her hands." 
 
 57 
 
sc 
 
 SH 
 
 So too, -when Hagar and her son Ishmael were 
 sent away — God distinctly testified to Abraham 
 that it should be thus ; that Sarah was right. 
 There are but two blemishes on the bright perfec- 
 tion of Sarah's character — her impatience for the 
 promised blessing, and her hasty falsehood, told 
 from fear, when she denied she had laughed. 
 From the first fault came the troubles of her life 
 through the connection of her husband with Ha- 
 gar. She died at the great age of one hundred 
 and twenty-seven years, and "Abraham came to 
 mourn for Sarah and to weep for her ;" true tes- 
 timonials of her worth and his love. He purchased 
 for her a sepulchre, at a great price, "the field 
 of Macpelah, before Mamre," which became af- 
 terwards the site of Hebron, an important city. 
 Sarah's death occurred B. C. 1860. 
 
 SCEIBONIA, 
 The daughter of Scribonius, was the second 
 wife of Augustus, after he had divorced Claudia. 
 As divorces were then, at Borne, common as mar- 
 riages, almost, Augustus, in a few years, divorced 
 Scribonia, to marry the only woman he ever pro- 
 bably loved — the beautiful and magnificent Livia. 
 Scribonia had been twice married prior to her 
 union with Augustus, by whom she had a daugh- 
 ter, the infamous Julia, an offspring who seemed 
 to inherit the vices of both her parents. 
 
 SELENA 
 Was the wife of Antiochus X., king of Syria, 
 who was put to death by Tigranes, king of Arme- 
 nia. She was the daughter of Ptolemy Physcon, 
 king of Egypt, and according to the custom of her 
 country, married first her brother Lathyrus, and 
 afterwards her other brother, Gryphus. At the 
 death of Gryphus, she married Antiochus, by 
 whom she had two sons. According to Appian, 
 she first married the father, Antiochus Cyzenicus, 
 and after his death the son, Eusebes. She lived 
 in the century immediately preceding Christ. 
 
 SEMIRAMIS, 
 
 A CELEBBATED quecu of Assyria, was the wife 
 of Menones, governor of Nineveh, and accompa- 
 nied him to the siege of Bactria, where by her 
 advice and bravery she hastened the king's ope- 
 rations, and took the city. Her wisdom and 
 beauty attracted the attention of Ninus, king of 
 Assyria, who asked her of her husband, offering 
 him his daughter Sozana in her stead ; but Me- 
 nones refused his consent ; and when Ninus added 
 threats to entreaties, he hung himself. Semiramis 
 then married Ninus, about B. C. 2200, and became 
 the mother of Ninyas. She acquired so great an 
 influence over the king, that she is said to have 
 persuaded him to resign the crown for one day, 
 and command that she should be proclaimed queen 
 and sole empress of Assyria for that time ; when 
 one of her first orders was that Ninus should be 
 put to death, in order that she might retain pos- 
 session of the sovereign authority. 
 
 She made Babylon the most magnificent city in 
 the world ; she visited every part of her domi- 
 nions, and left everywhere monuments of her 
 
 greatness. She levelled mountains, filled up val- 
 leys, and had water conveyed by immense aque- 
 ducts to barren deserts and unfruitful plains. 
 She was not less distinguished as a warrior. She 
 conquered many of the neighbouring nations, 
 Ethiopia among the rest; and she defeated the 
 king of India, at the river Indus ; but pursuing 
 him into his own country, he drew her into an 
 ambush, and put her to flight, with the loss of a 
 great number of her troops. To prevent him from 
 pursuing her still farther, she destroyed the bridge 
 over the Indus, as soon as her troops had crossed 
 it. After exchanging prisoners at Bactria, she 
 returned home with hardly a third of her army, 
 which, if we believe Ctesias, consisted of 300,000 
 foot-soldiers and 5000 horse, besides camels and 
 armed chariots. At her return, finding her son 
 engaged in a conspiracy against her, she resigned 
 the government to him. Ninyas is said, notwith- 
 standing, to have killed his mother himself, in the , 
 sixty-second year of her age, and the twenty-fifth 
 of her reign. 
 
 SERVILIA, 
 
 A SISTER of the celebrated Cato, who was ena- 
 moured of Julius Cajsar, though he was one of her 
 brother's most inveterate enemies. One day, she 
 sent him a very affectionate letter, which was 
 given to Cossar in the senate-house, while the 
 senate were debating about punishing Catiline's 
 associates. Cato, supposing that the letter was 
 from one of the conspirators, insisted on its being 
 publicly read. Ca;sar then gave it to Cato, who 
 having read it, returned it, saying, " Take it, 
 drunkard !" She flourished about B. C. 66. 
 
 SHELOMITH, 
 Daughter of Dibri, of the tribe of Dan, was 
 mother of that blasphemer who was stoned to 
 death. The Scripture tells us that Shelomith had 
 this blasphemer by an Egyptian ; and the rabbins 
 say that she was a handsome and virtuous woman, 
 with whom this Egyptian, an overseer of the 
 Hebrews, became enamoured ; and that during 
 her husband's unexpected absence, he stole by 
 night into the house and bed of Shelomith. When 
 
 58 
 
SII 
 
 ST 
 
 the woman discovered the injury, she complained 
 of it to her husband, and proving with child, he 
 put her away, and assailed the Egyptian with 
 Wows, who retaliated. Moses passing by, tooli 
 the part of the Israelite, and killed the Egyptian. 
 The brothers of Shelomith called her husband to 
 account for putting her away ; and coming to 
 blows, Moses again interfered ; but the husband 
 asking him whether he would kill him, as yester- 
 day he had killed the Egyptian, Moses fled to the 
 land of Midian. B.C. 1570. 
 
 SHIPHRAH and PUAH, 
 
 Two midwives of Goshen, in Egypt, celebrated 
 in sacred history, and rewarded by the Almighty 
 himself, for their humanity in disobeying the man- 
 date of the tyrant of Egypt to murder the Hebrew 
 boys at their birth. They were undoubtedly He- 
 brew women. It is worthy of remembrance, that 
 when the Hebrew nation was crushed by the power 
 of Pharaoh, the men lost all courage, and yielded 
 to their oppressor, however cruel might be his 
 edicts ; it was the Hebrew women who devised 
 means of eluding those laws. 
 
 SIBYL, or SYBIL, 
 
 Is the name by which several prophetic women 
 were designated, who all belonged to the mythical 
 ages of ancient history. It was believed that the 
 Sibyls were maidens who, by direct inspirations, 
 possessed a knowledge of the future, and of the 
 manner in which evils might be averted, and the 
 gods appeased. Their number seems to have been 
 very great. There were Egyptian, Persian, Greek, 
 Hebrew, Babylonian, and Italian Sibyls. 
 
 The most ancient Sibyl was Herophile, probably 
 the one called Sibylla Lybica by Varro. The 
 Erythrten Sibyl was supposed by some to be a 
 native of Babylon, and by others, of Erythrte. 
 She lived before the Trojan war, the cause and 
 issue of which she is said to have predicted. 
 
 In the time of Pausanias, a hymn on Apollo, 
 attributed to this Sibyl, was well known in Delos, 
 in which she calls herself a daughter of one of the 
 Idasn nymphs, and a mortal. The Samian Sibyl 
 was supposed to have been a priestess in the 
 temple of Apollo Smyntheus. She spent most of 
 her life at Samos ; but, like the other Sibyls, is 
 described as travelling about, and communicating 
 to men her inspired wisdom. Thus, we find her 
 at Claros, Delos, and Delphi. She is said to have 
 died at Troas, where a monument was erected to 
 her in a grove, sacred to Apollo Smyntheus. 
 
 Cumse, in Ionia, was also celebrated for its 
 Sibyl ; but the Sibyl of Cumse, in Campania, called 
 Demo, has acquired more celebrity than any other. 
 In the reign either of Tarquinius Prisons or Tar- 
 quinius Superbua, there appeared before the king 
 a woman, either a Sibyl or sent by a Sibyl, who 
 offered him nine books for sale, which he refused 
 to purchase. The woman went away, and burn- 
 ing three of the books, returned and asked the 
 same price for the remaining six as she had for 
 the nine. The king again refused ; and the woman 
 burnt three more, and again returning, offered the 
 three books at -the same price as before. The 
 
 king's curiosity was excited ; he purchased the 
 books, and the woman vanished. These three 
 were the Sibylline books which play such a promi- 
 nent part in the history of Rome. They were 
 written on palm-leaves, and in verse or symbolical 
 hieroglyphics. The Romans were in the constant 
 habit of consulting them, and abiding by their de- 
 cisions. This Sibyl is supposed by some to have 
 been the Erythrasn Sibyl ; by others, the Sibyl from 
 Cumse, in Ionia ; and by others, that she was from 
 the Italian Cumse. A book of Sibylline verses 
 is extant, but scholars deem it spurious and use- 
 less. 
 
 SISIGAMBIS, or SISYGAMBIS, 
 Was mother of Darius, the last king of Persia. 
 She was taken prisoner by Alexander the Great, 
 at the battle of Ipsus, with the rest of the royal 
 family. The conqueror treated her with the 
 greatest deference, saluted her as his own mother,, 
 and often granted to her what he had denied to 
 the petitions of his other favourites and ministers. 
 ■yVhen the queen heard of Alexander's death, she 
 committed suicide, B. C. 324, unwilling to survive 
 so generous an enemy, though she had survived 
 the loss of her son and of his kingdom. She had 
 before lost in one day, her husband and eighty of 
 his brothers, whom Ochus had assassinated. 
 
 SOPHONISBA, 
 Daughter of Asdrubal, the celebrated Cartha- 
 ginian general, a lady of uncommon beauty and 
 accomplishments, married Syphax, a Numidian 
 prince, who was totally defeated by the combined 
 forces of his rival, Massinissa, and the Romans. 
 On this occasion, Sophonisba fell into the hands 
 of Massinissa, who, captivated by her beauty, mar- 
 ried her, on the death of Syphax, which occurred 
 soon after at Rome. But this act displeased the 
 Romans, because Sophonisba was a Carthaginian 
 princess ; and Massinissa had not asked their 
 consent. The elder Scipio Africanus ordered the 
 timid Numidian monarch to dismiss Sophonisba ; 
 and the cowardly king, instead of resenting the 
 insult, and joining the Carthaginians against the 
 Romans, sent his wife a cup of poison, advising 
 her to die like the daughter of Asdrubal. She 
 drank the poison with calmness and serenity, 
 about B. C. 203. 
 
 STATIRA, 
 Dadghtek of Darius, king of Persia, and wife 
 of Alexander the Great. The conqueror had for- 
 merly refused her; but when she fell into his 
 hands at the battle of Ipsus, the nuptials were 
 celebrated with uncommon splendour. Nine thou- 
 sand persons were present, to each of whom Alex- 
 ander gave a golden cup to be offered to the gods. 
 Statira had no children. She was put to death by 
 Roxana, another daughter of Darius, and also the 
 wife of Alexander, after the conqueror's death. 
 
 STRATONICE, 
 The beautiful daughter of Demetrius Poliorcetes 
 and his wife Philla, married Seleuctis Nicator, king 
 of Syria. His son and heir, Antiochus Soter, fell 
 
 59 
 
TA 
 
 TA 
 
 ill, and was at the point of death, when Erasistra- 
 tus, the physician, observing his pulse to beat high 
 whenerer his young step-mother entered the room, 
 guessed the cause of his illness to be love for 
 Stratonice, which Antiochus then confessed. Se- 
 leucus, to save his son, yielded up his wife, and 
 they were married. Stratonice became the ances- 
 tress of that impious race of princes who so cru- 
 elly persecuted the Jews. Antiochus died B. C. 
 291. 
 
 TAMAR, or THAMAR, 
 
 Was daughter-in-law to the patriarch Judah, 
 wife of Er and Onan. After Onan's death, Tamar 
 lived with her father-in-law, expecting to marry 
 his son Shelah, as had been promised her, and 
 was the custom of the time. But the marriage 
 not having taken place, some years after, when 
 Judah went to a sheep-shearing feast, Tamar dis- 
 guised herself as a harlot and sat in a place where 
 Judah would pass- — and this old man yielded at 
 once to the temptation. When it was told Judah 
 that his daughter-in-law had been guilty, he im- 
 mediately condemned her to be brought forth and 
 burned alive ; never remembering his own sin. 
 But when he found that he was the father of the 
 child she would soon bear, his conscience was 
 awakened, and he made that remarkable admis- 
 sion that " she was more just than he had been." 
 
 This history displays the gross manners of those 
 old times, and how false are all representations 
 of the purity of pastoral life. Tamar had twins, 
 sons— and from one of these, Pharez, the line of 
 Judah is descended. These events occurred about 
 B. C. 1727. 
 
 TAMARIS 
 Was a princess of Tarraco, the modern Tarra- 
 gon, a province in Spain : she lived about the year 
 220 B. C. After her husband's death, she became 
 anxious to free the province from the Roman yoke, 
 and, in 'order to succeed in her wishes, she fa- 
 voured secretly Hannibal, to whom she furnished 
 men and provisions. When her treachery was 
 discovered, she lost both her property and her 
 life. After her death, the Romans made the city 
 of Tarraco the chief dep6t for their arms in 
 Spain. 
 
 TAMYRIS, or TOMYRIS, 
 
 Queen of the Scythians, was a contemporary of 
 Cyrus, who' made war against her. After Cyrus 
 had advanced very rapidly, he pretended to fly, 
 and left his camp with provisions and wine behind 
 him. The Scythians, led by Spargopises, the son 
 of Tamyris, pursued until they reached the camp, 
 where they stopped to regale themselves. Cyrus, 
 who was watching for this opportunity, rushed 
 upon them unawares, and slew the greater part of 
 the army with its young commander. 
 
 Tamyris, filled with rage and grief for the loss 
 of her son and the defeat of her troops, now took 
 the field herself, and succeeded, by her wily ma- 
 noeuvres, in drawing the army of Cyrus into an 
 ambuah, and then she fell upon them with 'such 
 fury, that, though he had 200,000 men of battle, 
 
 scarce one escaped. She afterwards built the city 
 of Tamyris not far from the Doran. Brave she 
 was, and living in the era of bloody battles, her 
 character was the reflex of her age ; yet we think 
 her agency in founding the city was more to her 
 credit than gaining the victory in war. 
 
 TANAQUIL, or CARA CECILIA, 
 Wife of Tarquin the Elder, the fifth king of 
 Rome, was a native of Tarquinia, in Etruria. Her 
 husband was originally a citizen of the same place, 
 and called Lucomon Damaratus. But Tanaqml, 
 who was skilled in augury, and foresaw the future 
 eminence of her husband, persuaded him to go to 
 Rome, where he changed his name to Lucius Tar- 
 quinius. Here he was chosen king, B. C. 616. 
 He was assassinated B. C. 577 ; but Tanaquil, by 
 keeping the event secret, adopted measures for 
 securing the succession of her son-in-law, Servius 
 TuUius. She was a woman of such liberality and 
 powers of mind, that the Romans preserved her 
 girdle with great veneration. 
 
 TARPEIA, 
 
 A VESTAL virgin, daughter of Tarpeius, gover- 
 nor of Rome under Romulus. When the Sabines 
 made war on the Romans, in (ionsequence of the 
 rape of the Sabine women by the latter, Tarpeia 
 betrayed the citadel of Rome to the enemy, for 
 which service she requested the ornaments the 
 soldiers wore on theii; left arm, meaning their gold 
 bracelets. Pretending to misunderstand her, they 
 threw their shields at her as they passed, and she 
 was crushed beneath their weight. From her 
 the hill was called the Tarpeian rock, from whence 
 traitors were precipitated by the Romans. 
 
 TARQUINIA, 
 
 A DAUGiiTEB of Tarquinius Prisons, who mar- 
 ried Servius TuUius. When her husband was mur- 
 dered by his son-in-law, Tarquinius Superbus, she 
 privately buried his body. This so preyed upon 
 her mind that she died the following night. Some 
 attribute her death, however, to Tullia, wife of 
 young Tarquin. 
 
 60 
 
TE 
 
 TR 
 
 TECHMESSA, 
 
 BAuaHTEE, of Teuthras, king of Phrygia, was 
 taken captive by Ajax, tlie celebrated Greek hero, 
 by whom she had a son, Erysaces. She prevented 
 Ajax from killing himself. 
 
 TELESILLA, 
 A NOBLE poetess of Argos, who being advised 
 by the oracle, which she had consulted respecting 
 her health, to the study of the muses, soon at- 
 tained such excellence, as to animate by her poe- 
 try the Argive women to repel, under her com- 
 mand, Cleomenes, the Spartan king, and afterwards 
 king Demaratus, from the siege of Pamphiliacum, 
 with great loss. 
 
 TERENTIA, 
 
 Wife of Cicero. She became the mother of M. 
 Cicero, and of TuUia. Cicero repudiated her, on 
 account of her temper, he said, to marry his young, 
 beautiful, and wealthy ward, Publilia. But the 
 circumstance that Cicero was then deeply in debt, 
 and wanted the fortune of his ward, explains his 
 motives. He was in his sixty-first year, when he 
 committed this great wrong, and as he had been 
 married thirty years to Terentia, if her temper 
 had been so very troublesome, he would, proba- 
 bly, have parted with her before. The transaction 
 left a stain upon his private character which no 
 apologist has been able to efface. 
 
 Terentia, after her divorce, married Sallust, 
 Cicero's enemy, and he dying, she then married 
 Messala Corvinus. She lived to her one hundred 
 and third, or, according to Pliny, one hundred and 
 seventeenth year. She seems to have been a 
 woman of spirit and intelligence. 
 
 THAIS, 
 A CELEBKATED courtezan of Corinth, mistress 
 of Alexander the Great, who persuaded him to set 
 Persepolis on fire, in revenge for the injuries 
 Xerxes had infiicted on her native city ; and who 
 incited the conqueror, when intoxicated, to throw 
 the first torch himself. She afterwards became 
 the mistress and finally the wife of Ptolemy, king 
 of Egypt. MenarvJer celebrated her charms, on 
 which account she is called Menandrea. 
 
 THALESTRIS, 
 A QCEEN of the Amazons, who, accompanied by 
 three hundred women, came thirty-five days' jour- 
 ney to meet Alexander in his Asiatic conquests, to 
 raise children by a man whose fame was so great, 
 and courage so uncommon. The story is, doubt- 
 less, as fabulous as that a nation of Amazons ever 
 lived. 
 
 THEANO 
 Was wife of Metapontus, king of Icaria. She 
 was childless, and as her husband was very de- 
 sirous of offspring, she obtained some children, 
 which she made her husband believe were her 
 own. She afterwards became a mother, and to 
 prevent the suppositious children from inheriting 
 the kingdom, she persuaded hers to kiU them 
 
 while hunting. In the struggle her own children 
 were slain, and Theano died of grief. 
 
 There were two other women of the same name ; 
 Theano Loorencis, a native of Locri, surnamed 
 Melica, from the melody of her songs and lyric 
 poems ; the second was a poetess of Crete, said 
 by some to have been the wife of Pythagoras. 
 
 THESSALONICE, 
 Dauohtee of Philip II., king of Macedon, and 
 sister of Alexander the Great ; married Cassander, 
 one of Alexander's generals, and bore him three 
 sons, Philip IV., Antipater, and Alexander V. 
 She was murdered by her son Antipater, because 
 she favoured his brother Alexander's claim to the 
 throne, although she entreated him by the memory 
 of her maternal care of him to spare her, but in vain. 
 
 THISBE, 
 
 A BEADTiruL Babylonian maiden, whose un- 
 happy love for Pyramus has rendered her immor- 
 tal. The parents of the lovers opposing their 
 union, they were able to converse only through a 
 hole in the wall which separated their parents' 
 houses. They made an appointment to meet at 
 the tomb of Ninus without the city. Thisbe came 
 first, and frightened by the appearance of a lioness, 
 she fled to a neighbouring thicket, dropping her 
 mantle in her flight, which was torn to pieces by 
 the animal. Pyramus coming just in time to see 
 the torn mantle and the lioness in the distance, 
 concluded that Thisbe had been devoured by the 
 wild beast. In his despair he killed himself with 
 his sword. When Thisbe emerged from her hiding- 
 place, and found Pyramus lying dead, she stabbed 
 herself with the same weapon. They were buried 
 together. 
 
 THYMELE, 
 A MUSICAL composer and poetess, mentioned by 
 Martial, and reported to have been the first who 
 introduced into the scene a kind of dance, called 
 by the Greeks, from this circumstance, Themelinos. 
 From Thymele also, an altar, used in the ancient 
 theatres, is supposed to have taken its name. 
 
 TIMOCLEA, 
 A Theban lady, sister to Theagenes, who was 
 killed at Cheronssa, B. C. 874. One of Alexan- 
 der's soldiers offered her violence, after which she 
 led him to a well, and pretending to show him 
 immense treasures concealed there, she pushed 
 him into it. Alexander commended her, and for- 
 bade his soldiers to hurt the Theban women. 
 
 TIMQEA, 
 Wife of Agis, king of Sparta, was seduced by 
 Alcibiades. Her son Leotychides was consequently 
 refused the throne, though Agis, on his death-bed, 
 declared him legitimate. 
 
 TROSINE, 
 Wife of Tigranes, king of Armenia, who, upon 
 her husband's being conquered by Pompey, was 
 compelled to grace his entrance into Rome, B. C. 
 about 70. 
 
 61 
 
TU 
 
 VI 
 
 TTJLLIA, 
 A DAnOHTER of Servius Tullius, king of Rome, 
 married Tarquinius Superbus, after she had mur- 
 dered her first husband, Arunx ; and consented to 
 see Tullius assassinated, that she might be raised 
 to the throne. She is said to have ordered her 
 chariot to be driven over the dead body of her 
 father, which had been thrown all bloody into one 
 of the streets. She was afterwards banished from 
 Rome, with her husband. Tarquinius Superbus 
 had been before married to Tullia's sister, whom 
 he murdered, in order to marry TuUia. 
 
 TULLIA, or TULLIOLA, 
 A DAUGHTER of Cicero, and Terentia, his wife. 
 She married Caius Piso, and afterwards Furius 
 Crassippus, and lastly P. Corn. Dolabella. Dola- 
 bella was turbulent, and the cause of much grief 
 to TuUia, and her father, by whom she was ten- 
 derly beloved. Tullia died in childbed, about 
 B. C. 44, soon after her divorce from Dolabella. 
 She was about thirty-two years old at the time of 
 her death, and appears to have been an admirable 
 woman. She was most affectionately devoted to 
 her father ; and to the usual graces of her sex 
 having added the more solid accomplishments of 
 knowledge and literature, was qualified to be the 
 companion as well as the delight of his age ; and 
 she was justly esteemed not only one of the best, 
 but the most learned of the Roman women. Cice- 
 ro's afiiiction at her death was so great, though 
 philosophers came from all parts of the world to 
 comfort him, that he withdrew for some time from 
 all society, and devoted himself entirely to writing 
 and reading, especially all the works he could 
 meet with on the necessity of moderating grief. 
 
 TYMICHA, 
 
 A Lacedaemonian lady, consort of Myllias, a 
 native of Crotoua. Jamblichus, in his life of Py- 
 thagoras, places her at the head of his list, as the 
 most celebrated female philosopher of the Pytha- 
 gorean school. When Tymicha and her husband 
 were carried as prisoners before Dionysius, the 
 tyrant of Syracuse, B. C. 330, he made them both 
 very advantageous offers, if they would reveal the 
 mysteries of Pythagorean science ; but they re- 
 jected them all with scorn and detestation. The 
 tyrant not succeeding with the husband, took the 
 wife apart, not doubting, from her situation at the 
 time, that the threat of torture would make her 
 divulge the secret ; but she instantly bit oif her 
 tongue, and spat it in the tyrant's face, to show 
 him that no pain could make her violate her pledge 
 of secresy. 
 
 V. 
 
 VASHTI, 
 
 The beautiful wife of Ahasuerus, (or Artaxerxes,) 
 
 king of Persia, gained her celebrity by disobeying 
 
 her husband. Ahasuerus, who was then the most 
 
 powerful monarch of the world, reigning over a 
 
 kingdom stretching from "India to Ethiopia," 
 gave a great feast to the governors of his provinces, 
 his courtiers, and the people who were at his pa- 
 lace of Shushan. This feast lasted seven days, 
 and every man drank wine "according to his 
 pleasure," which means they were very gay, at 
 least. Queen Vashti also gave a feast, at the 
 same time, to the women of her household. On 
 the seventh day, "when the king's heart was 
 merry with wine," he commanded Vashti to be 
 brought before him with the crown-royal on her 
 head, "to show the people and the princes her 
 beauty." 
 
 She refused to come. The sacred historian does 
 not inform us why she refused ; the presumption 
 is, that the thing was unprecedented, and she con- 
 sidered it, as it was, an outrage of her modesty 
 to show her face to these drunken men. Her 
 courage must have been great as her beauty, thus 
 to have braved the displeasure of her royal and 
 drunken husband. 
 
 In his wrath the king instantly referred the 
 matter to his "wise men," who "knew law and 
 judgment ;" for since the days of Cyrus the Great, 
 the kingdom of Persia had been, ostensibly, gov- 
 erned by established laws. But it appears there 
 was no law which reached Vashti's case ; so the 
 king was advised to repudiate his wife by a royal 
 decree, unjust because retrospective, and issued 
 expressly for her conjugal disobedience. The 
 speech of Memucar, who delivered the opinion of 
 the council, is curious, as showing the reasons 
 which have, usually, (in all countries more or 
 less,) influenced men in making laws for the gov- 
 ernment of women, namely — what man requires 
 of the sex for his own pleasure and convenience , 
 not that which would be just towards woman, and 
 righteous in the sight of God. See chap. i. of the 
 Book of Esther. What became of Vashti after she 
 was repudiated is not known. These events oc- 
 curred B. C. 519. 
 
 VIPSANIA, 
 Daughter of Marcus Agrippa, a celebrated 
 Roman general, and mother of Drusus. She was 
 the only one of Agrippa's daughters who died a 
 natural death. She married Tiberius, emperor 
 of Rome, when he was a private man. He repu- 
 diated her, and she then married Asinius Gallus. 
 
 VIRGINIA, 
 Daughter of Virginius, a citizen of Rome, and 
 betrothed to Icilius, was seen by Appius Claudius, 
 a Roman decemvir, as she was going to and re- 
 turning from school. Captivated by her beauty, 
 he resolved to obtain possession of her. In order 
 to carry out this determination, he suborned an 
 abandoned favourite to claim her as the daughter 
 of one of his slaves, who had been placed for a 
 temporary period under the care of Virgioius. 
 Though evidence was brought that this story was 
 a fabrication, yet Appius Claudius, who himself 
 filled the office of judge upon this occasion, de- 
 creed the young Virginia to be the property of his 
 tool. Virginius, under pretence of wishing to 
 take a last farewell of his child, drew her aside 
 
 62 
 
TO 
 
 XA 
 
 from the ■wretches who surroiinded her, and 
 plunged a knife into her bosom, -while she was 
 clinging around his neck. 
 
 The soldiers and people, incensed against the 
 cause of this sanguinary catastrophe, instantly 
 dragged Claudius from the seat of justice, and an 
 end was put to the decemviral power, B. C. 450. 
 
 The popular tragedy of " Virgiiiius," written by 
 J. Sheridan Knowles, is a Tivid portraiture of these 
 events. 
 
 VOLXJMNIA, 
 
 A KoMAN matron, and mother of Coriolanus. 
 When her son, incensed at his banishment from 
 Rome, was marching against it with the Volsci, 
 she went out to meet him, accompanied by his 
 wife VirgUia, and many other Roman matrons, 
 and by her entreaties and persuasions induced him 
 to withdraw his army, though that step was fatal 
 to his own life. To show their respect for the 
 patriotism of Volumnia, the Romans dedicated a 
 temple to Female Fortune. She lived B. C. 488. 
 
 In Shakspeare's tragedy of Coriolanus the cha- 
 racter of Volumnia is exquisitely portrayed, and 
 appears to have been of a far higher order of moral 
 developement than that of her distinguished son. 
 She was forgiving, self-sacrificing, patriotic : he, 
 proud, selfish, revengeful. Her noble mind sub- 
 dued his stubborn' will because, with womanly for- 
 titude and fidelity, she firmly but lovingly upheld 
 
 the right, and thus prevented the wrong he would 
 have done. His physical strength was shown to 
 be weakness when contrasted with the power of 
 truth which sustained her gentle spirit. Thus 
 will moral suasion and the faith of love finally tri- 
 umph over physical strength and mental power. 
 
 XANTIPPE, 
 
 Wife of Socrates, the Athenian philosopher, 
 was remarkable for the moroseness and violence 
 of her temper. It is said that Socrates was aware 
 of her character, and married her to exercise his 
 patience. She, however, loved her husband, and 
 mourned his death, which took place about 398 
 B. C, with the deepest grief. If we take into the 
 account this true love she felt for her husband, 
 and consider what she must have sufi'ered while 
 he was passing his evenings in the society of the 
 beautiful and fascinating Aspasia, we shall hardly 
 wonder at her discontent. If his wife loved him, 
 it must have been for his mind, as he was not en- 
 dowed with attractions that win the eye and fancy 
 of a woman ; and thus loving him, she must have 
 keenly felt the discord between the wisdom of his 
 teachings and the foolishness of his conduct. 
 That he acknowledged her influence over him was 
 good, is a sufiicient proof of her true devotion to 
 him ; had he been as true to her, he would have 
 been a wiser and a better man ; and she, no doubt, 
 a much milder as well as a happier woman. 
 
 63 
 
REMARKS ON THE SECOND ERA. 
 
 In this Era we include the fifteen hundred years following the birth of Jesus Christ. Had 
 an angel been gifted with power to look over the whole inhabited globe on the opening of the 
 eventful year 4004 of the old era, what would have appeared'! Everywhere the spectacle of 
 demoralization, despair, and death. Rome, representing the Gentile world, had trodden down with 
 iron heel alike the civilized Greek and barbarian Goth, into a passive state called peace! The 
 temple of Janus was shut; but the flood-gates of sin were opened wide as those of death ; and from 
 the corrupt hearts of wicked men such foul streams were poured forth as threatened to overwhelm 
 the race. The moral power of woman was nearly lost ; the last struggle of her spirit to retain its 
 love of the Good, — that inner wisdom with which she had been gifted for the special purpose of 
 moulding the souls of the young to her standard, — seemed fast approaching. Patriotism, the holiest 
 emotion of the pagan mind, the proudest virtue of the Roman people, which had given such won- 
 derful power to the men and women of tliat regal nation — patriotism had hardly a votary in the 
 Eternal City. 
 
 The Jews, the chosen people of God, had also touched the lowest point of national degradation — 
 subjection to a foreign power. Their religion had lost its life-giving faith, and become a matter of 
 dead forms or vain pretences, used by the priests for their own profit, and to foster their own pride. 
 Everywhere sins and crimes filled the world. There was no faith in God ; no hope in man ; no trust 
 in woman. The selfish passions were predominant ; the evil, animal nature, triumphed ; love had 
 become lust; and the true idea of marriage, the hallowed union of one man with one woman, faith- 
 ful to each other through life, was treated as an idle jest, a mockery of words never intended to be 
 made true. That this degradation of woman, through the practice of polygamy or by the licentious- 
 ness an easy mode of divorce had made common, was the real source of the universal corruptions 
 of society, there can be no doubt. The last of God's inspired messengers, the fervent Malachi, thus 
 reproves the Jewish men, and denounces their sin; adding this emphatic declaration: — 
 
 " Therefore take heed to your spirit, and let none deal treacherously with the wife of his youth. 
 For the Lord, the God of Israel, saith that he hateth putting away." 
 
 Yet not only in Rome and throughout the Gentile world was this licentiousness become the rule 
 and fashion of society, but even in Jerusalem, the holy city, king Herod lived openly with his bro- 
 ther's wife, and the people were not troubled by the shame or the sin. 
 
 If the angel, whom we have imagined as regarding the awful condition of humanity, had looked 
 around for some barrier to stay this torrent of iniquity, would he have found it in the nature of man .' 
 No — there was none who had faith for the office; not even Zacharias, when Gabriel appeared to 
 him and announced the birth of John, would believe the heavenly messenger. 
 
 Man's power to sustain the Good and the True being wholly overborne, woman was called to tlie 
 ministry of salvation. That her nature was of a purer essence, and more in harmony with the things 
 of heaven than man's was, we have shown, conclusively as we think, in the General Preface and in 
 the Biographies of the women of the Old Testament ; but .the fact that the Saviour of the world, 
 the Son of God, inherited his human nature entirely from his mother, can hardly be too often pressed 
 on the attention of Christians. The Virgin Mary was the human agent, through whose motherly 
 ministry the divine Saviour was nurtured and instructed in his human relations and duties. Women 
 were the first believers in Christ; the first to whom he revealed his spiritual mission; the first to 
 hail his resurrection from the tomb. It is worthy of note, that none of the apostles saw the angels 
 at the sepulchre ; to the women only these heavenly messengers revealed themselves; as though 
 the veil of a more earthly nature darkened the vision even of those men chosen by the Saviour tf) 
 be his especial friends and disciples. But why, if women were thus good, and gifted, and faithful, 
 why was not the public ministry of the gospel committed to them ■? 
 
 We have, in the general preface, shown the reasons why the government of the world and the 
 
 administration of the ritual laws were confided to men rather than to women. The same reasons 
 
 apply to the apostleship and to the preaching of the gospel. Where both sexes were to be instructed 
 
 and reformed, it was necessary each should have its distinct sphere of duty ; men were sent forth 
 
 r 65 
 
REMARKS ON THE SECOND ERA. 
 
 to preach the word and organize the church ; women were to keep their homes sacred as the house 
 of God, and instruct their children in the true faith. The distinctive characteristics of each sex 
 were thus made to contribute their best energies to the advancement of the truth. Yet throughout 
 the whole life of the blessed Redeemer — from his manger-cradle to his blood-stained cross, we trace 
 the predominant sympathy of his nature with that of woman. We trace this in his example and 
 precepts, which were in unison with her character; in his tender love of children ; in the sternness 
 with which he rebuked the licentious spirit of man in regard to the law of divorce. When the 
 Pharisees told him what Moses had permitted — 
 
 " Jesus answered and said unto them, For the hardness of your hearts he wrote you this precept. 
 
 "But from the beginning of the creation God made them male and female. 
 
 " For this cause shall a man leave his father and mother and cleave to his wife. 
 
 "And they twain shall be one tlesh: so then they are no more tvpain but one flesh. 
 
 " What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder." 
 
 Thus was the true idea of marriage restored ; and it is now, as it was in the beginning, and will 
 be till the end of the world, the keystone in the temple of social improvement, and true civilization. 
 Wherever the Gospel is preached and believed, polygamy is annihilated. What no law or power 
 of man could have done, the law of God, re-affirmed by Jesus Christ, and baptized by the Holy 
 Ghost into the hearts of regenerated men, effected. Then the Christian wife took the Eden seat 
 beside her husband ; his soul's companion, his best earthly friend. And soon she was recognised 
 and acknowledged as "the glory of the man." How beautiful are the glimpses we gain of the 
 feminine character as developed under the first influences of the preached Gospel ! Besides the 
 host of female friends whom St. Paul names with warm affection and approval, there was the 
 "honourable women" who waited on his ministry; and Priscilla who was always an helper; and the 
 " elect lady and her children," to whom the gentle, pure-minded St. John wrote his epistle of love 
 and faith. 
 
 Thanks be to God that this blessed Gospel, which seems to have been revealed purposely for the 
 help of woman, was not like the Jewish dispensation, to be confined to one people ! No : it was to 
 be preached throughout the world, and to every creature. Wherever this Gospel was made known, 
 women were found ready to receive it. Queens became the nursing mothers of the true Church, 
 and lovely maidens martyrs for its truth. The empress Helena has been widely celebrated for her 
 agency in introducing Christianity into the Roman empire. It may not be as well known that many 
 queens and princesses have the glory of converting their husbands to the true faith, and thus securing 
 the success of the Gospel in France, England, Hungary, Spain, Poland, and Russia. In truth, it 
 was the influence of women that changed the worship of the greater part of Europe from Paganism 
 to Christianity. No wonder these honourable ladies were zealous in the cause of the religion which 
 gave their sex protection in this life and the promise of eternal happiness in the life to come. The 
 zeal with which women — one-half of the human race — sustained the faith and labours of the apos- 
 tles and first missionaries, was one of the greatest human elements of their success. Could this 
 simple teaching and believing have gone on unhindered, the whole world would long ago have 
 received the Gospel. But truth was perverted by selfish men; monachism established; and the 
 woman's soul, again consigned to ignorance, was bowed to the servile office of ministering to the 
 passions and lusts of men. 
 
 Then came the deification of the Virgin Mary ; a worship, though false to the word of God, yet 
 of salutary influence over the robbers and tyrants who then ruled the world. Next, chivalry was 
 instituted, partly from the religious sentiment towards woman the worship of the Virgin had 
 awakened, and partly from the necessities of worldly men. But religious sentiment, as a barrier 
 against vice, has never been sufficiently strong to control, though it may for a time check, the cor- 
 ruptions of sin. At the beginning of the fifteenth century, every light of hope was fading or extin- 
 guished. The Christian world— so called— was one wide theatre of wars, rapine, and superstition. 
 France, beautiful France, was the focus of anarchy and misery such as the world had not witnessed 
 since the Roman empire was overthrown. The British, brave but brutal soldiers, seemed about to 
 trample the sacred oriflamme of St. Louis in the dust. Charles VII. was a king without a country- 
 all he possessed was a few provinces in the south of France ; and even these seemed likely to be soon 
 wrested from him. At this juncture, when the strength of the warriors was overborne, the arm 
 of a simple country maiden interposed, and was the cause of beating back the haughty foe to the 
 limits of his own island home, there to learn that colonization, not conquest, was to make his glory. 
 The Maid of Orleans is the most marvellous person, of either sex, who lived from the time of 
 the apostles to the end of the Era on which we are now entering. 
 
SECOND EEA, 
 
 FROM THE BIRTH OF JESUS CHRIST TO THE YEAR 1500. 
 
 ABASSA, 
 A SISTER of Haroun al Kaschid, caliph of the 
 Saracens, A. D. 786, was so beautiful and accom- 
 plished, that the caliph often lamented he Tvas her 
 brother, thinking no other husband could be found 
 worthy of her. To sanction, however, a wish he 
 had of oonversing at the same time with the two 
 most enlightened people he tnew, he married her 
 to his Tizier Giafar, the Barmecide, on condition 
 that Giafar should not regard her as his wife. 
 Giafar, not obeying this injunction, was put to 
 death by order of the enraged caliph, and Abassa 
 was dismissed from his court. She wandered 
 about, sometimes reduced to the extreme of wretch- 
 edness, reciting her own story in song, and there 
 are still extant some Arabic verses composed by 
 her, which celebrate her misfortunes. In the di- 
 van entitled Juba, Abassa's genius for poetry is 
 mentioned ; and a specimen of her composition, 
 in six Arabic lines, addressed to Giafar, her hus- 
 band, whose society she was restricted by her bro- 
 ther from enjoying, is to be found in a book writ- 
 ten by Ben Abon Haydah. She left two children, 
 twins, whom Giafar, before his death, had sent 
 privately to Mecca to be educated. 
 
 ABELLA, 
 A FEMALE writer bom at Salerno, in Italy, in 
 the reign of Charles VI. of France, in 1380. She 
 wrote several works on medicine ; and, among 
 others, a treatise De atra bili, which was very 
 highly esteemed. 
 
 ADELAIDE, 
 Daughter of Eodolphus, king of Burgundy, 
 married Lotharius II., king of Italy, and after his 
 death, Otho I., emperor of Germany. Her charac- 
 ter was exemplary, and she always exerted her 
 influence for the good of her subjects. She died 
 in 999, aged sixty-nine. 
 
 ADELAIDE, 
 Wife of Louis II. of Prance, was motlier of 
 Charles III., sumamed the Simple, who was king 
 in 598. 
 
 ADELAIDE 
 Of Savoy, daughter of Humbert, count of Mau- 
 rienne, was queen to Louis VI. of France, and 
 mother of seven sons and a daughter. After the 
 king's death, she married Matthew of Montmo- 
 renci, and died 1154. 
 
 ADELAIDE, 
 
 Wife of Frederic, prince of Saxony, conspired 
 with Lewis, marquis of Thuringia, against her 
 husband's life, and married the murderer in 1055. 
 
 ADELICIA, 
 
 Of Louvain, surnamed " The fair Maid of Bra- 
 bant," was the second wife of Henry I. of Eng- 
 lartd. She was descended from the imperial Car- 
 lovingian line, and was remarkable for her profi- 
 ciency in all feminine acquirements. She was 
 very beautiful, and wise in conforming to the 
 tastes of the king, and in affording all possible 
 encouragement to literature and the polite arts. 
 Henry's death happened in 1185, and three years 
 afterwards Adelicia contracted a second marriage 
 with William de Albini, who seems to have been 
 "the husband of her choice," by whom she had 
 several children. She died about 1151. Anne 
 Boleyn and Catherine Howard, the victim queens 
 of Henry VIII., were her lineal descendants. 
 
 AFRA, 
 
 A MARTYR in Crete, during the Dioclesian per- 
 secution, which commenced A. D. 303. She was 
 a pagan and a courtezan, but she no sooner heard 
 the Gospel preached than she confessed her sins 
 and was baptized. Her former lovers, enraged at 
 this change, denounced her as a Christian. She 
 was examined, avowed her faith with firmness, and 
 was burnt. Her mother and three servants, who 
 had shared her crimes and repentance, were ar- 
 rested, as they watched by her tomb, and suffered 
 the same fate. 
 
 AGATHA, 
 A Sicilian lady, was remarkable for her beauty 
 and talents. Quintius, governor of Sicily, fell in 
 love with her, and made many vain attempts on 
 
 67 
 
Aa 
 
 AG 
 
 her virtue. When he found Agatha inflexible, his 
 desire changed into resentment, and discovering 
 that she was a Christian, he determined to gratify 
 his revenge. He ordered her to he scourged, burnt 
 with red-hot irons, and torn with sharp hooks. 
 Having borne these torments with admirable forti- 
 tude, she was laid naked on live coals mingled 
 with glass, and being carried back to prison, she 
 expired there, in 251. 
 
 AGNES, St. 
 A Chkistian martyr at Rome in the Dioclesian 
 persecution, whose bloody edicts appeared in 
 March, A. D. 303, was only thirteen at the time of 
 her glorious death. Her riches and beauty ex- 
 cited many of the young noblemen of Rome to 
 seek her in marriage ; but Agnes answered them 
 all, that she had consecrated herself to a heavenly 
 spouse. Her suitors accused her to the governor 
 as a Christian, not doubting that threats and tor- 
 ments would overcome her resolution. The judge 
 at first employed the mildest persuasions and most 
 inviting promises, to which Agnes paid no atten- 
 tion ; he then displayed before her the instruments 
 of torture, with threats of immediate execution, 
 and dragged her before idols, to which she was 
 commanded to sacrifice ; but Agnes moved her 
 hand only to make the sign of the cross. The go- 
 vernor, highly exasperated, ordered her to be im- 
 mediately beheaded ; and Agnes went cheerfully 
 to the place of execution. Her body was buried 
 at a small distance from Rome, near the Nonietan 
 road. A church was built on the spot in the' time 
 of Constantine the Great. 
 
 AGNES, 
 Wife of Andrew III., king of Hungary, was the 
 daughter of Albert, emperor of Germany. She 
 distinguished herself by her address and political 
 abilities ; but appears to have had more Machia- 
 vellian policy than true greatness of mind. After 
 the death of her father, she resided in Switzer- 
 land, where her finesse was of gi-eat service to her 
 brother, Albert II., with whom the Swiss were at 
 war. She died in 1364. 
 
 AGNES DE MERANIA, 
 
 Daughtek of the duke de Merania, married 
 Philip Augustus, king of France, after he was di- 
 vorced by his bishops from his wife Ingeborge, 
 sister of the king of Denmark. The Pope declared 
 this second marriage null, and placed France un- 
 der an interdict till Philip should take back Inge- 
 borge. Philip was at length obliged to do this, 
 and Agnes died of grief the same year, 1201, at 
 Poissy. Her two children were declared legiti- 
 mate by the Pope. 
 
 AGNES 
 
 Or France, the only child that Louis VII., of 
 France, had by his third wife, Alix de Champagne, 
 was sent before she was ten years old to marry 
 Cesar Alexis, the young son of Emmanuel Com- 
 nenus, emperor of Constantinople. The marriage 
 was celebrated with great pomp, 1179, and the 
 next year Alexis, though then only thirteen, suc- 
 
 ceeded his father in the government. But in 1183 
 a prince of the same family, Andronicus, deposed 
 and murdered Alexis, forced Agnes to marry him, 
 and ascended the throne. In 1185 Andronicus 
 was deposed and killed. Being thus left a second 
 time a widow, before she was sixteen, Agnes sought 
 for a protector among the Greek nobility, and her 
 choice fell on Theodore Branas, who defended her 
 cause so well, that when the crusaders took Con- 
 stantinople, they gave him the city of Napoli, and 
 that of Adrianople, his country, and of Didymo- 
 ticos. He soon after married Agnes, and the rest 
 of her life, so stormy in its commencement, was 
 passed very tranquilly. 
 
 AGNES SOREL, 
 
 A NATIVE of Fromenteau, in Lorraine, was maid 
 of honour to Isabella of Lorraine, sister-in-law of 
 the queen of Charles VII. of France. The king 
 became enamoured of her, and at last abandoned 
 the cares of government for her society. But 
 Agnes roused him from enervating repose to deeds 
 of gloi-y, and induced him to attack the English, 
 who were ravaging France. She maintained her 
 influence over him till her death, 1450, at the age 
 of thirty-nine. Some have falsely reported that 
 she was poisoned by the orders of tlie dauphin, 
 Louis XL From her beauty, she was called the 
 fairest of the fair, and she possessed great mental 
 powers. She bore three daughters to Charles 
 VII., who were openly acknowledged by him. 
 
 She herself relates, that an astrologer, whom 
 she had previously instructed, being admitted to 
 her presence, said before Charles, that unless the 
 stars were deceivers, she had inspired a lasting 
 passion in a great monarch. Turning to the king, 
 Agnes said, " Sire, suffer me to fulfil my destiny, 
 to retire from your court to that of the king of 
 England ; Henry, who is about to add to his son 
 the crown you relinquish, is doubtless the object 
 of this prediction." The severity of this reproof 
 effectually roused Charles from his indolence and 
 supineness. 
 
 The tomb of Agnes was strewed with flowers by 
 the poets of France. Even Louis, when he came 
 to the throne, was far from treating her memory 
 
 68 
 
AI 
 
 AL 
 
 witli disrespect. The canons of Lo.ches, from a 
 servile desire to gratify tlie reigning monarch, had, 
 notwithstanding her liheralitiea to their church, 
 proposed to destroy her mausoleum. Louis re- 
 proached them -with their ingratitude, ordered 
 them to fulfil all her injunctions, and added six 
 thousand livres to the charitable donations which 
 she had originally made. 
 
 Francis I. honoured and cherished her memory. 
 The four lines made on her by that prince, are 
 well known : 
 
 Gentille Agnes! plus d'honneur lu merite, 
 La cause etaiit de France recouvrer, 
 - ^ue ce que pent dans un cloitrc ouvrer 
 Clause Nonain, ou bien devote ijermite," 
 
 AISHA, 
 
 A POETESS of Spain, during the time that the 
 Moors had possession of that kingdom. She was 
 a daughter of the duke of Ahmedi, and her poems 
 and orations were frequently read with applause 
 in the royal academy of Corduba. She was a vir- 
 tuous character, lived unmarried, and left behind 
 her many monuments of her genius, and a large 
 and well-selected library. She lived in the twelfth 
 century. 
 
 ALDEUDB, 
 
 Countess de Bertinoro, in Italy, of the illus- 
 trious house of Frangipani, is celebrated, by the 
 writers of her time, for her beauty, magnificence, 
 courtesy, and generosity. She was left a widow 
 in the bloom of youth, and her court became the 
 resort of all the Italian chivalry. When Ancona 
 was besieged by the imperial troops, in 1172, and 
 was reduced to extremity, the Anconians appealed 
 for assistance to William degli Adelardi, a noble 
 and powerful citizen of Ferrara, and to the coun- 
 tess de Bertinoro, who immediately hastened to 
 their relief. 
 
 The combined forces reached Ancona at the 
 close of day, and encamped on a height which 
 overlooked the tents of the besiegers. William 
 then assembled the forces, and having harangued 
 them, Aldrude rose, and addressed the soldiers as 
 follows : 
 
 "Fortified and encouraged by the favour of 
 Heaven, I have, contrary to the customs of my 
 sex, determined to address you. A plain exhorta- 
 tion, destitute of precision or ornament, should it 
 fail to flatter the ear, may yet serve to rouse the 
 mind. I solemnly swear to you, that, on the pre- 
 sent occasion, no views of interest, no dreams of 
 ambition, have impelled me to succour the be- 
 sieged. Since the death of my husband, I have 
 found myself, though plunged in sorrow, unre- 
 sisted mistress of his domains. The preservation 
 of my numerous possessions, to which my wishes 
 are limited, affords an occupation sufSciently ar- 
 duous for my sex and capacity. But the perils 
 which encompass the wretched Anconians, the 
 prayers and tears of their women, justly dreading 
 to fall into the hands of an enemy, who, governed 
 by brutal rapacity, spare neither sex nor age, 
 have animated me to hasten to their aid. 
 
 " To relieve a people, consumed by famine, ex- 
 
 hausted by resistance, and exposed to calamities, 
 I have left my dominions, and come hither with 
 my son, who, though still a child, recalls to my 
 remembrance the great soul of his father, by 
 whom the same zeal, the same courage, was ever 
 displayed for the protection of the oppressed. 
 And you, warriors of Lombardy and Romagne, 
 not less illustrious for fidelity to your engage- 
 ments than renowned for valour in the field ; you, 
 whom the same cause has brought here, to obey 
 the orders and emulate the example of William 
 Adelardi, who, listening only to his generosity 
 and love of freedom, has scrupled not to engage 
 his possessions, his friends, and his vassals, for 
 the deliverance of Ancona. A conduct so gene- 
 rous, so worthy of praise, requires no comment ; 
 beneath our sense of its magnanimity, language 
 fails. It is by those only who are truly great, that 
 virtue is esteemed more than riches or honours, 
 or that virtuous actions can be duly appreciated. 
 An enterprise, so full of glory, has already nearly 
 succeeded ; already have you passed through the 
 defiles occupied by the enemy, and pitched your 
 tents in the hostile country. It is now time that 
 the seed which was scattered, should bring forth 
 its fruit; it is time to make trial of your strength, 
 and of that valour for which you are distinguished. 
 Courage is relaxed by delay. Let the dawn of day 
 find you under arms, that the sun may illumine 
 the victory promised by the Most High to your 
 pity for the unfortunate." 
 
 The exhortation of the countess was received 
 by the soldiery with unbounded applause, mingled 
 with the sound of trumpets and the clashing of 
 arms. The enemy, alarmed at the approach of so 
 large a force, retreated during the night, so that 
 the assailants had no opportimity of proving their 
 bravery. 
 
 After this bloodless victory, the combined troops 
 remained encamped near Ancona, till it was no 
 longer endangered by the vicinity of its enemies, 
 and till an abundant supply of provisions was 
 brought into the city. The Anconians came out 
 to thank their gallant deliverers, to whom they 
 offered magnificent presents. 
 
 Aldrude, with her army, on her return to her 
 dominions, encountered parties of the retreating 
 enemy, whom they engaged in skirmishes, in all 
 of which they came off victorious. The time of 
 her death is not recorded. 
 
 ALICE, 
 
 Queen of France, wife of Louis VII., was the 
 third daughter of Thibaut the Great, count of 
 Champagne. The princess received a careful 
 education in the magnificent court of her father ; 
 and being beautiful, amiable, intelligent, and 
 imaginative, Louis TIL, on the death of his se- 
 cond wife, in 1160, fell in love with her, and de- 
 manded her of her father. To cement the union 
 more strongly, two daughters of the king by his 
 first wife, Eleanor of Guienne, were married to 
 the two eldest sons of the count. In 1165, she 
 had a son, to the great joy of Louis, afterwards 
 the celebrated Philip Augustus. Beloved by her 
 husband, whose ill-health rendered him unequal 
 
 69 
 
AL 
 
 AM 
 
 to the duties of his station, Alice not only assisted 
 him in conducting the aifairs of the nation, but 
 superintended the education of her son. 
 
 Louis died in 1180, having appointed Alice to 
 the regency ; but Philip Augustus being married 
 to Isabella of Hainault, niece to the earl of Flan- 
 ders, this nobleman disputed the authority of 
 Alice. Philip, at last, sided with the earl ; and 
 his mother, with her brothers, was obliged to 
 leave the court. She appealed to Henry II. of 
 England, who was delighted to assist the mother 
 against the son, as Philip was constantly inciting 
 his sons to acts of rebellion against him. Philip 
 marched against them ; but Henry, unwilling to 
 give him battle, commenced negotiations with 
 him, and succeeded in reconciling the king to his 
 mother and uncles. Philip also agreed to pay her 
 a sum equal to five shillings and ten pence Eng- 
 lish per day, for her maintenance, and to give up 
 her dowry, with the exception of the fortified 
 places. 
 
 Alice again began to take an active part in the 
 government; and her son was so well satisfied 
 with her conduct, that, in 1190, on going to the 
 Holy Land, he confided, by the advice of his 
 barons, the education of his son, and the regency 
 of the kingdom, to Alice and her brother, the car- 
 dinal archbishop of Rheims. During the absence 
 of the long, some ecclesiastical disturbances hap- 
 pened, which were carried before the pope. The 
 prerogative of Philip, and the letters of Alice to 
 Borne concerning it, were full .of force and gran- 
 deur. She remonstrated upon the enormity of 
 taking advantage of an absence caused by such a 
 motive ; and demanded that things should at least 
 be left in the same situation, till the return of her 
 son. By this firmness she obtained her point. 
 Philip returned' in 1192, and history takes no 
 other notice of Alice afterwards, than to mention 
 some religious houses which she founded. She 
 died at Paris, in 1205. 
 
 ALICE 
 
 Op France, second daughter of Louis Til. of 
 France, and of Alice of Champagne, was betrothed, 
 at the age of fourteen, to Eichard Coeur de Lion, 
 second son of Henry II. of England. She was 
 taken to that country to learn the language, where 
 her beauty made such an impression that Henry 
 II., though then an old man, became one of her 
 admii-ers. He placed her in the castle of Wood- 
 stock, where his mistress, the celebrated Rosa- 
 mond Clifford, had been murdered, as was then 
 reported, by his jealous wife, Eleanor of Guienne. 
 Alice is said to have taken the place of Rosamond ; 
 at any rate, Henry's conduct to her so irritated 
 Eichard, that, incited by his mother, he took up 
 arms against his father. Henry's death, in 1189, 
 put an end to this unhappy position of affairs ; 
 but when Eichard was urged by Philip Augustus 
 of France to fulfil his engagement to his sister 
 Alice, Richard refused, alleging that she had had 
 a daughter by his father. The subsequent mar- 
 riage of Richard with Berengaria of Navarre, so 
 enraged Philip Augustus, that from that time he 
 became the relentless enemy of the English king. 
 
 Alice returned to France, and in 1195 she married 
 William III., count of Ponthieu. She was the 
 victim of the licentious passions of the English 
 monarch. Had she been as happily married as 
 her mother, she would, probably, have showed as 
 amiable a disposition, and a mind of like excel- 
 lence. 
 
 ALOARA, 
 
 An Italian princess, daughter of a count named 
 Peter. She was married to Pandulph, sumamed 
 Ironhead, who styled himself prince, duke, and 
 marquis. He was, by inheritance, prince of 
 Capua and Benevento, and the most potent noble- 
 man in Italy. He died at Capua, in 981, leaving 
 five sons by Aloara, all of whom were unfortunate, 
 and three of them died violent deaths. Aloara 
 began to reign conjointly with one of her sons in 
 982, and governed with wisdom and courage. 
 She died in 992. 
 
 It is asserted that Aloara put to death her 
 nephew, lest he should wrest the principality from 
 her son ; and, that St. Nil then predicted the 
 failure of her posterity. 
 
 ALPAIDE 
 Was the beautiful wife of Pepin D'Heristal of 
 France, after Ms divorce from his first wife, Plec- 
 trude. This union was censured by Lambert, 
 bishop of Liege ; and Alpaide induced her brother 
 Dodan to murder the bold ecclesiastic. After her 
 husband's death she retired to a convent near 
 Namur, where she died. She was the mother of 
 Charles Martel, who was born in 686. 
 
 ALPHAIZULI, 
 
 Makia, a poetess of Seville, who lived in the 
 eighth century. She was called the Arabian Sap- 
 pho, being of Moorish extraction. Excellent works 
 of hers are in the library of the Escurial. Many 
 Spanish women of that time cultivated the muses 
 with success, particularly the Andalusians. 
 
 AMALASONTHA, 
 
 Daughter of Theodorie, king of the Ostrogoths, 
 was mother of Athalaric, by Eutharic. She inhe- 
 rited her father's possessions, as guardian of her 
 son ; but by endeavouring to educate him in the 
 manners and learning of the more polished Ro- 
 mans, she offended her nobles, who conspired 
 against her, and obtained the government of the 
 young prince. Athalaric was inured, by them, 
 to debauchery, and he sunk under his excesses, at 
 the early age of seventeen, in the year 534. The 
 afflicted mother knew not how to support herself 
 against her rebellious subjects, but by taking as her 
 husband and partner on the throne, her cousin 
 Theodatus, who, to his everlasting infamy, caused 
 her to be strangled in a bath, 534. For learning 
 or humanity she had few equals. She received 
 and conversed with ambassadors from various na- 
 tions without the aid of an interpreter. 
 
 The emperor of Constantinople sent an army 
 against the murderer, under the celebrated ge- 
 neral Belisarius, who defeated and dethroned 
 him. 
 
 70 
 
AM 
 
 AN 
 
 AMBOISE, 
 
 Frances d', daughter of Louis d'Amboise, is 
 celebrated for the improvement she introduced in 
 the manners and sentiments of the Bretons. She 
 was wife of Peter II., duke of Brittany, whose 
 great inhumanity to her she bore with Christian 
 resignation, and which she opposed with a gentle- 
 ness and moderation that gradually gained his 
 affections and confidence. 
 
 She rendered moderation and temperance fash- 
 ionable, not only at court, but throughout the city 
 of Kennes, where she resided ; and when the 
 dulie, desirous of profiting by this economy, pro- 
 posed laying a new impost upon the people, the 
 duoheSs persuaded him against it. She used all 
 her influence over her husband for the good of the 
 public, and the advancement of religion. 
 
 When Peter was seized with his last illness, his 
 disorder, not being understood by the physicians, 
 was ascribed to magic, and it was proposed to 
 seek a necromancer to counteract the spell under 
 which he suffered ; but- the good sense of the 
 duchess led her to reject this expedient. Her 
 husband died October, 1457. His successor treated 
 her with indignity, and her father wished her to 
 marry the prince of Savoy, in order to obtain a 
 protector. But the duchess determined to devote 
 herself to the memory of her husband, and when 
 M. d'Amboise attempted to force her to yield to 
 his wishes, she took refuge in the convent des 
 Trois Maries, near Vannes, where she assumed the 
 Carmelite habit. She died October 4th, 1485. 
 
 ANACOANA, 
 
 Queen of Xiragua in tlie island of St. Domingo, 
 was cruelly put to death by Ovando, who owed 
 her, agreeably to the promises of Bartholomew 
 Columbus, both friendship and protection. 
 
 ANASTASIA, 
 
 A Christian martyr at Rome, in the Dioolesian 
 persecution. Her father, Prebextal, was a pagan, 
 and her mother, Flausta, a Christian, who in- 
 structed her in the principles of her own religion. 
 After the death of her mother, she was married to 
 Publius Patricius, a Koman knight, who obtained 
 a rich patrimony with her ; but he no sooner dis- 
 covered her to be a Christian, than he treated her 
 harshly, confined her, and kept her almost in want 
 of necessaries, while he spent her wealth in all 
 kinds of extravagance. He died in the course of 
 a few years, and Anastasia devoted herself to the 
 study of the Scriptures and to works of charity, 
 spending her whole fortune in the relief of the 
 poor, and the Christians, by whom the prisons 
 were then filled. 
 
 But she, and three of her female servants, sis- 
 ters, were soon arrested as Christians, and com- 
 manded to sacrifice to idols. Refusing to do this, 
 the three sisters were put to death on the spot, 
 and Anastasia conducted to prison. She was then 
 exiled to the island of Palmaria ; but soon after- 
 wards brought back to Rome and burned alive. 
 Her remains were buried in a garden by Apol- 
 louia, a Christian woman, and a church afterwards 
 
 built on the spot. Anastasia suffered about 
 A. D. 303. 
 
 ANASTASIA, 
 
 Saint. Several eminently pious women are 
 known by that name. The earliest and most 
 famous among them lived at Corinth, about the 
 time when St. Paul preached the gospel in that 
 city. She heard the apostle, and was seized with 
 a firm conviction that the doctrines inculcated by 
 that eminent disciple of Christ were true. She 
 joined the Christian church without the knowledge 
 of her parents and relations. Although betrothed 
 to a Corinthian whose interests made him hostile 
 to the introduction of the new religion, she never- 
 theless suffered neither persuasion nor threats to 
 shake her in her enthusiasm for the new faith. 
 She prevailed even so far upon her lover as to 
 make him resolve to become a Christian. Finally 
 she was compelled, on account of persecution, to. 
 conceal herself in a vault. But her lover, to whom 
 she had declared her intention of living the life 
 of a virgin devoted to God, betrayed her retreat. 
 Every attempt to make her recant proved fruit- 
 less. She suffered the death of a martyr ; and her 
 lover died soon afterwards, a victim to remorse 
 and grief. Petrarch mentions her several times 
 in his poems. 
 
 ANGELBERGA, or INGELBERGA, 
 Empress of the West, wife of Louis II., em- 
 peror and king of Italy, is supposed to have 
 been of illustrious birth, though that is uncer- 
 tain. She was a woman of courage and ability ; 
 but proud, unfeeling, and venal. The war in 
 which her husband was involved with the king of 
 Germany was rendered unfortunate by the pride 
 and rapacity of Angelberga. In 874, Angelberga 
 built, at Plaisanee, a monastery which afterwards 
 became one of the most famous in Italy. Louis 
 II. died at Brescia in 875. After his death, An- 
 gelberga remained at the convent of St. Julia in 
 Brescia, where her treasures were deposited. In 
 881, Charles the Fat, of France, caused Angel- 
 berga to be taken and carried prisoner into Ger- 
 many ; lest she should assist her daughter Her- 
 mengard, who had married Boron king of Provence, 
 a connection of Charles, by her wealth and poli- 
 tical knowledge : but the pope obtained her release. 
 It is not known when she died. She had two 
 daughters, Hermengard, who survived her, and 
 Gisela, abbess of St. Julia, who died before her 
 parents. 
 
 ANNA, 
 
 A Jewish prophetess, the daughter of Phanuel, 
 of the tribe of Asher. She had been early mar- 
 ried, and had lived seven years with her husband. 
 After his death, she devoted herself to the service 
 of God, and while thus employed, finding the vir- 
 gin Mary with her son in the temple, she joined 
 with the venerable Simeon in thanking God for 
 him, and bearing testimony to him as the promised 
 Messiah. It is worth remarking, that these two 
 early testifiers of our Saviour's mission being both 
 far advanced in life, could not be liable to the 
 
 71 
 
AN 
 
 AN 
 
 most distant suspicion of collusion with Joseph 
 and Mary in palming a false Messiah on their 
 countrymen, as they had not the smallest probable 
 chance of living to see him grow up to maturitj', 
 and fulfil their prophecies, and therefore could 
 have no interest in declaring a falsehood. Thus 
 we find the advent of our Lord was made known, 
 spiritually, to woman as well as to man. The 
 good old Simeon had no clearer revelation than 
 the aged devout Anna. Both were inspired ser- 
 vants of the Most High ; but here the character- 
 istic piety of the woman is shown to excel. Simeon 
 dwelt "in Jerusalem," probably engaged in secu- 
 lar pursuits ; Anna " departed not from the tem- 
 ple, but served God with fasting and prayers night 
 and day." See St. Luke, chap. ii. 
 
 ANNE 
 
 Of Bohemia, daughter of the emperor Charles 
 IV., was born about 1367, and was married to 
 Richard II. of England, when she was fifteen years 
 of age. This was just after the insurrection of 
 Wat Tyler ; and the executions of the poor, op- 
 pressed people who had taken part with him, had 
 been bloody and barbarous beyond all precedent, 
 even in that bloody age. At the young queen's 
 earnest request, a general pardon was granted by 
 the king ; this mediation obtained for Richard's 
 bride the title of " the good queen Anne." Never 
 did she forfeit the appellation, or lose the love of 
 her subjects. 
 
 She was the first in that illustrious band of 
 princesses who were " the nursing mothers of the 
 Reformation;" and by her influence the life of 
 Wickliffe was saved, when in great danger at the 
 council at Lambeth, in 1382. Anne died 1394 ; 
 she left no children ; and from the time of her 
 decease all good angels seem to have abandoned 
 her always affectionate, but weak and unfortunate 
 husband. 
 
 ci^^^y 
 
 ANNE BOLEYN, 
 Or, more properly, Bullen, was the daughter 
 of Sir Thomas Bullen, the representative of an 
 ancient and noble family in Norfolk. Anne was 
 born in 1507, and in 1514 was carried to France 
 by Mary, the sister of Henry VIII. of England, 
 
 when she went to marry Louis XII. After the 
 death of Louis, Mary returned to England, but 
 Anne remained in France, in the service of Claude, 
 wife of Francis I. ; and, after her death, with the 
 duchess of Alenfon. The beauty and accomplish- 
 ments of Anne, even at that early age, attracted 
 great admiration in the French court. 
 
 She returned to England, and, about 1526, be- 
 came maid of honour to Katharine of Arragon, 
 wife of Henry VIII. Here she was receiving the 
 addresses of Lord Percy, eldest son of the duke 
 of Northumberland, Vhen Henry fell violently in 
 love with her. But Anne resolutely resisted his 
 passion, either from principle or policy ; and at 
 length the king's impatience induced him to set 
 on foot the divorce of Katharine, which was exe- 
 cuted with great solemnity. The pope, however, 
 would not consent to this proceeding ; so Henry 
 disowned his authority and threw off his yoke. 
 
 He married Anne privately, on the 14th of No- 
 vember, 1532. The marriage was made public 
 on Easter-eve, 1533, and Anne was crowned the 
 1st of June. Her daughter Elizabeth, afterwards 
 queen, was born on the 7th of the following Sep- 
 tember. Anne continued to be much beloved by 
 the king, till 1536, when the disappointment caused 
 by the birth of a still-born son, and the charms 
 of one of her maids of honour, Jane Seymour, 
 alienated his affections, and turned his love to 
 hatred. • 
 
 He caused her, on very slight grounds, to be 
 indicted for high treason, in allowing her brother, 
 the viscount of Eochford, and four other persons, 
 to invade the king's conjugal rights, and she was 
 taken to the Tower, from which she addressed the 
 following touching letter" to the king : 
 
 " Sir, 
 
 "Your grace's displeasure, and my imprison- 
 ment, are things so strange unto me, as what to 
 write, or what to excuse, I am altogether ignorant. 
 Whereas you send unto me, willing me to confess 
 a truth, and so obtain your favour, by such an one 
 whom I know to be mine ancient professed enemy, 
 I no sooner received this message by him, than I 
 rightly conceived your meaning; and if, as you 
 say, confessing a truth indeed may procure my 
 safety, I shall with all willingness and duty per- 
 form your command. 
 
 " But let not your gi-ace ever imagine, that your 
 poor wife will ever be brought to acknowledge a 
 fault, when not so much as a thought thereof pre- 
 ceded. And, to speak a truth, never prince had 
 wife more loyal in all duty, and in all true afi'ec- 
 tion, than you have ever found in Anne Boleyn ; 
 with which name and place I could willingly have 
 contented myself, if God and your grace's pleasure 
 had been so pleased. Neither did I at any time 
 so far forget myself in my exaltation or received 
 queenship, but that I always looked for such an 
 alteration as I now find ; for the ground of my 
 preferment being on no surer foundation than 
 your grace's fancy, the least alteration I knew was 
 fit and sufficient to draw that fancy to some other 
 object. You have chosen me from a low estate to 
 be your queen and companion, far beyond my de- 
 
 72 
 
AN 
 
 AN 
 
 sert or desire. If then you found me worthy of 
 such honour, good your grace let not any light 
 fancy, or bad counsel of mine enemies, withdraw 
 your princely favour from me; neither let that 
 stain, that unworthy stain, of a disloyal heart to- 
 wards your good grace, ever cast so foul a blot on 
 your most dutiful wife, and the infant princess 
 your daughter. Try me, good king, but let me 
 have a lawful trial, and let not my sworn enemies 
 sit as my accusers and judges ; yea, let me receive 
 an open trial, for my truth shall fear no open 
 shame ; then shall you see either mine innocence 
 cleared, your suspicions and conscience satisfied, 
 the ignominy and slander of the world stopped, 
 or my guilt openly declared. So that whatsoever 
 God or you may determine of me, your grace may 
 be freed from an open censure ; and mine offence 
 being so lawfully proved, your grace is at liberty 
 both before God and man, not only to execute 
 worthy punishment on me as an unlawful wife, 
 but to follow your affection already settled on that 
 party for whose sake I am now as I am, whose 
 name I could some good while since have pointed 
 unto, your grace not being ignorant of my suspi- 
 cions therein. 
 
 " But, if you have already determined of me, 
 and that not only my death, but an infamous slan- 
 der, must bring you the enjoying of your desired 
 happiness, then I desire of God that he will par- 
 don your great sin therein, and likewise mine ene- 
 mies, the instruments thereof, and that he will not 
 call you to a strict account for your unprincely 
 and cruel usage of me, at his general judgment- 
 seat, where both you and myself must shortly ap- 
 pear, and in whose judgment I doubt not, whatso- 
 ever the world may think of me, mine innocence 
 shall be openly known and sufficiently cleared. 
 My last and only request shall be, that myself 
 may only bear the burden of your grace's displea- 
 sure, and that it may not touch the innocent souls 
 of those poor gentlemen who, as I understand, are 
 likewise in strait imprisonment for my sake. If 
 ever I have found favoiu- in your sight, if ever the 
 name of Anne Boleyn hath been pleasing in yom- 
 ears, then let me obtain this request, and I will 
 so leave to trouble your grace any farther, with 
 mine earnest prayers to the Trinity to have your 
 grace in his good keeping, and to direct you in 
 all your actions. From my doleful prison in the 
 Tower, this sixth of May. 
 
 " Your most loyal and ever faithful wife, 
 
 "Anne Boleyn." 
 
 This pathetic and eloquent address failed to 
 touch the heart of the tyrant, whom licentious and 
 selfish gratification had steeled against her. 
 
 Norris, Weston, Brereton, and Smeton, the four 
 gentlemen who were accused with her, were 
 brought to trial ; but no legal evidence could be 
 produced against them, nor were they confronted 
 by the queen. Smeton, by a vain hope of life, 
 was induced to confess his guilt; but even her 
 enemies despaired of gaining any advantage from 
 this confession, and he was immediately executed, 
 together with Weston and Brereton. Norris, a 
 favourite of the king, was offered his life if he 
 
 would criminate Anne, but lie replied, that rather 
 than calumniate an innocent person, he would die 
 a thousand deaths. 
 
 Anne and her brother were tried by a jury of 
 peers, of which their uncle, the duke of Norfolk, 
 one of Anne's most inveterate enemies, was presi- 
 dent. The sittings of this commission were secret, 
 and all records of its proceedings were immediately 
 destroyed; none of the ladies of the queen's 
 household were examined ; and the queen was 
 unassisted by legal advisers, but, notwithstanding 
 the indecent impatience of the president, she de- 
 fended herself with so much clearness and presence 
 of mind, that she was unanimously believed guilt- 
 less. Judgment was however passed against her 
 and her brother, and she was sentenced to be 
 burned or beheaded, according to the king's plea- 
 sure. Not satisfied with annulling the marriage, 
 Henry had her daughter Elizabeth declared illegi- 
 timate. 
 
 The queen, hopeless of redress, prepared to 
 submit without repining. In her last message to 
 the king, she acknowledged obligation to him, for 
 having advanced her from a private gentlewoman, 
 first to the dignity of a marchioness, and after- 
 wards to the throne ; and now, since he could raise 
 her no higher in this world, he was sending her 
 to be a saint in heaven. She earnestly recom- 
 mended her daughter to his care, and renewed her 
 protestations of innocence and fidelity. She made 
 the same declarations to all who approached her, 
 and behaved not only with serenity, but with her 
 usual cheerfulness. " The executioner," said she 
 to the lieutenant of the Tower, "is, I hear, very 
 expert ; and my neck (grasping it with her hand, 
 and laughing heartily,) is very slender." 
 
 When brought to the scaffold, she assumed a 
 more humble tone, recollecting the obstinacy of 
 her predecessor, and its efi'ects upon her daughter 
 Mary ; maternal love triumphed over the just in- 
 dignation of the sufi'erer. She said she came to 
 die, as she was sentenced by the law ; that she 
 would accuse no one, nor advert to the ground 
 upon which she was judged. She prayed fervently 
 for the king, calling him a most merciful and 
 gentle prince, and acknowledging that he had 
 been to her a good and gracious sovereign. She 
 added, that if any one should think proper to can- 
 vass her cause, she desired him to judge the best. 
 She was beheaded by the executioner of Calais, 
 who was brought over for the purpose, as being 
 particularly expert. Her body was thrown into a 
 common elm chest, made to hold arrows, and 
 buried in the Tower. 
 
 The innocence of Anne Boleyn can hardly be 
 questioned. The tyrant himself knew not whom 
 to accuse as her lover ; and no proof was brought 
 against any of the persons named. An occasional 
 levity and condescension, unbecoming the rank to 
 which she was elevated, is all that can be charged 
 against her. Henry's marriage to Jane Seymour, 
 the very day after Anne's execution, shows clearly 
 his object in obtaining her death. 
 
 It was through the influence of Anne Boleyn 
 that the translation of the Scriptures was sanc- 
 tioned by Henry Till. Her own private copy of 
 
 73 
 
AN 
 
 AN 
 
 Tindal's translation is still in existence. She was 
 a woman of a highly cultivated mind, and there 
 axe still extant some verses composed by her, 
 shortly before her execution, which are touching, 
 from the grief and desolation they express. The 
 following is an extract from them : 
 
 " O Dethe ! rocke me on sleepe, 
 Bringe me on quiet rest; 
 Let pass my very guiltlesse goste 
 
 Out of my carefull breste. 
 Toll on the passinge bell, 
 Ringe out the doleful knell, 
 Let thesounde my dethe tell, 
 For 1 must dye, 
 There is no remedy, 
 For now I dye. 
 ****** 
 " Farewell my pleasures past, 
 Welcum my present payne! 
 1 fele my torments si increse 
 That lyfe cannot remayne. 
 Cease now the passinge bell, 
 Rong is my doleful knell, 
 For the sounde my dethe doth tell ; 
 Dethe doth draw nye, 
 Sounde my end dolefully; 
 For now I dye." 
 
 ANNE 
 
 Of Beaujeau, eldest daughter of Louis XI. of 
 France, born in 1462, was early distinguished for 
 genius, sagacity, and penetration, added to an as- 
 piring temper. Louis, in the jealous policy which 
 characterized him, married her to Pierre de Bour- 
 bon, sire de Beaujeu, a prince of slender fortune, 
 moderate capacity, and a quiet, unambitious 
 nature. The friends of Anne observed on these 
 nuptials, that it was the union of a living with a 
 dead body. Pierre, either through iudolenoe, or 
 from a discovery of the superior endowments of 
 his wife, left her uncontrolled mistress of his 
 household, passing, himself, the greatest part of 
 his time in retirement, in the Beaujolais. 
 
 On the death-bed of Louis, his jealousy of his 
 daughter, then only twenty-six, gave place to con- 
 fidence in her talents: having constituted her 
 husband lieutenant-general of the kingdom, he 
 bequeathed the reins of empire, with the title of 
 governess, to the lady of Beaujeu, during the 
 minority of her brother, Charles VIII., a youth 
 of fourteen. Anne fully justified, by her capacity, 
 the choice of her father. 
 
 Two competitors disputed the will of the late 
 monarch, and the pretensions of Anne ; her hus- 
 band's brother, John, duke de Bourbon, and Louis, 
 duke of Orleans, presumptive heir to the crown ; 
 but Anne conducted herself with such admirable 
 firmness and prudence, that she obtained the no- 
 mination of the states-general in her favour. By 
 acts of popular justice, she conciliated the confi- 
 dence of the nation ; and she appeased the duke 
 de Bourbon by bestowing on him the sword of the 
 constable of France, which he had long been am- 
 bitious to obtain. But the duke of Orleans was 
 not so easily satisfied. He, too, was her brother- 
 in-law, having been married, against his own 
 wishes, by Louis XI. to his younger daughter, 
 Jeanne, who was somewhat deformed. Having 
 offended Anne by some passionate expressions, 
 
 she ordered him to be arrested ; but he fled to his 
 castle on the Loire, where, being besieged by 
 Anne, he was compelled to surrender, and seek 
 shelter in Brittany, under the protection of 
 Francis II. 
 
 The union of Brittany with the crown of France, 
 had long been a favourite project of the lady of 
 Beaujeu, and she at first attempted to obtain pos- 
 session of it by force of arms. The duke of' 
 Orleans commanded the Bretons against the forces 
 of Anne, but was taken prisoner and detained for 
 more than two years. Philip de Comines, the ce- 
 lebrated historian, also suffered an imprisonment 
 of three years, for carrying on a treasonable cor- 
 respondence with the duke of Orleans. Peace 
 with Brittany was at length concluded, and the 
 province was annexed to the crown of France, by 
 the marriage of the young duchess, Anne of Brit- 
 tany, who had succeeded to her father's domain, 
 to Charles VIII. of France. 
 
 The lustre thrown over the regency of Anne, by 
 the acquisition of Brittany, received some diminu- 
 tion by the restoration of the counties of BoussiUon 
 and Cerdagne to the king of Spain. Anne became 
 duchess of Bourbon in 1488, by the death of John, 
 her husband's elder brother ; and though, before 
 this, Charles VIII. had assumed the government, 
 she always retained a rank in the council of state. 
 Charles VIII. dying without issue in 1498, was 
 succeeded by the duke of Orleans ; and Anne 
 dreaded, and with reason, lest he should revenge 
 himself for the severity she had exercised towards 
 him ; but, saying " That it became not a king of 
 France to revenge the quarrels of the duke of Or- 
 leans," he continued to allow her a place in the 
 council. 
 
 The duke de Bourbon died in 1503 ; and Anne 
 survived him till November 14th, 1522. They left 
 one child, Susanne, heiress to the vast possessions 
 of the family of Bourbon, who married her cousin, 
 the celebrated and unfortunate Charles de Mont- 
 pensier, constable of Bourbon. 
 
 ANNE, 
 
 Or Bretagne, or Brittany, only daughter and 
 heiress of Francis II., duke of Bretagne, was born 
 at Nantz, Jan. 26th, 1476. She was carefully 
 educated, and gave early indications of great 
 beauty and intelligence. When only five years 
 old, she was betrothed to Edward, prince of Wales, 
 son of Edward IV., of England. But his tragical 
 death, two years after, dissolved the contract. 
 She was next demanded in marriage by Louis, 
 duke of Orleans, presumptive heir to the throne 
 of France, who had taken refuge in Bretagne, to 
 avoid the displeasure of Anne of Beaujeu, govern- ■ 
 ess of France ; and Anne of Bretagne, though but 
 fourteen, was supposed to favour his pretensions. 
 
 The death of her father, in 1490, which left her 
 an unprotected orphan, and heiress of a spacious 
 domain, at the time when the duke of Orleans was 
 detained a prisoner by Anne of Beaujeu, forced 
 her to seek some other protector; and she was 
 married by proxy to Maximilian, emperor of Aus- 
 tria. But Anne of Beaujeu, determined to obtain 
 possession of Bretagne, and despairing of conquer- 
 
 74 
 
AN 
 
 AN 
 
 ing it by her arms, resolved to accomplish her 
 purpose by efFectiag a marriage between her young 
 brother, Charles VIII., of France, and Anne of 
 Bretagne. Charles VIII. had been affianced to 
 Margaret, daughter of Maximilian, by a former 
 marriage ; the princess had been educated in 
 France, and had assumed the title of queen, al- 
 though, on account of her youth, the marriage 
 had been delayed. But the lady of Beaujeu scru- 
 pled not to violate her engagements, and, sending 
 back Margaret to her father, she surrounded Bre- 
 tagne with the armies of France. 
 
 Anne of Bretagne resisted for a time this rough 
 courtship ; but, vanquished by the persuasion of 
 the duke of Orleans, who had been released from 
 captivity on condition of pleading the suit of 
 Charles, she yielded a reluctant consent, and the 
 marriage was celebrated, Dec. 16th, 1491. 
 
 Anne soon became attached to her husband, 
 who was an amiable though a weak prince; and on 
 his death, in 1498, she abandoned herself to the 
 deepest grief. She retired to her hereditary do- 
 mains, where she affected the rights of an inde- 
 pendent sovereign. 
 
 Louis, duke of Orleans, succeeded Charles VIII. 
 under the title of Louis XII., and soon renewed 
 his former suit to Anne, who had never entirely 
 lost the preference she had once felt for him. The 
 first use Louis made of his regal power was to 
 procure a divorce from the unfortunate Jeanne, 
 daughter to Louis XI., who was personally de- 
 formed, and whom he had been forced to marry. 
 Jeanne, with the sweetness and resignation that 
 marked her whole life, submitted to the sentence, 
 and retired to a convent. Soon after, Louis mar- 
 ried Anne at Nantes. 
 
 Anne retained great influence over her husband 
 throughout her whole life, by her beauty, amia- 
 bility, and the purity of her manners. She was a 
 liberal rewarder of merit, and patroness of learn- 
 ing and literary men. Her piety was fervent and 
 sincere, though rather superstitious ; but she was 
 proud, her determination sometimes amounted to 
 obstinacy, and, when she thought herself justly 
 offended, she knew not how to forgive. She re- 
 tained her attachment to Bretagne while queen of 
 France, and sometimes exercised her influence 
 over the king in a manner detrimental to the inte- 
 rests of her adopted country. Louis XII. was 
 sensible that he frequently yielded too much to 
 her, but her many noble and lovely qualities en- 
 deared her to him. 
 
 Anne died, January 9th, 1514, at the age of 
 thirty-seven, and Louis mourned her loss with the 
 most sincere sorrow. 
 
 ANNE, 
 
 Or Cleves, daughter of John III., duke of Clevea, 
 was the fourth wife of Henry VIII., of England. 
 He had fallen in love with her from her portrait 
 painted by Holbein, but as the painter had flat- 
 tered her, Henry soon became disgusted with her, 
 and obtained a divorce from her. Anne yielded 
 •without a struggle, or without apparent concern. 
 She passed nearly all the rest of her life in Eng- 
 land as a private personage, and died 1S57. 
 
 ANNE, 
 Of Cyprus, married, in 1431, Louis, duke of Sa- 
 voy, and showed herself able, active, and discri- 
 minating, at the head of pubUo affairs. She died 
 in 1462. 
 
 ANNE, 
 Of Hungary, daughter of Ladislaus VI., mar- 
 ried Ferdinand of Austria, and placed him on the 
 throne of Bohemia. She died in 1547. 
 
 ANNE, 
 
 Of Russia, daughter of Jaraslaus, married 
 Henry I., of France, in 1044 ; after his death, she 
 married Eaoul, who was allied to her first hus- 
 band ; in consequence of which she was excom- 
 mimicated, and at last repudiated, when she re- 
 turned to Eussia. 
 
 ANNE, 
 Duchess of the Viennois, after the death of her 
 brother, John I., defended her rights with great 
 courage and success against the claims of Robert, 
 duke of Burgundy. She died in 1296. 
 
 ANNE, 
 Of Warwick, was born at Warwick Castle, in 
 1454. She was almost entirely educated at Ca- 
 lais, though she was often brought to England 
 with her older sister, Isabel, and seems to have 
 been a favourite companion, from her childhood, 
 of the duke of Gloucester, afterwards Richard III., 
 who was two years older than herself. In August, 
 1470, Anne was married, at Angers, France, to 
 Edward of Lancaster, son of Henry VI., and Mar- 
 garet of Anjou, and rightful heir of the English 
 throne. She was very much attached to him, and, 
 when he was barbarously murdered after the fatal 
 battle of Tewksbury, in 1471, she mourned him 
 bitterly. She disguised herself as a cook-maid, in 
 a mean house in London, to elude the search of 
 Gloucester, who was much attached to her. Shu 
 was, however, discovered by him, and, after a reso- 
 lute resistance, forced to marry him in 1473. 
 There are strong proofs that Anne never consented 
 to this marriage. Her son Edward was born at 
 Middleham Castle, 1474. By a series of crimes, 
 Richard obtained the throne of England, and was 
 crowned, with his consort, July 5th, 1483. In 
 1484, Anne's only son died, and from this time her 
 health declined. There were rumours that the king 
 intended to divorce her, but her death, in 1485, 
 spared him that sin. She had suffered all her 
 life from the crimes of others, and yet her sor- 
 rows and calamities seem to have been borne with 
 great meekness, and till the death of her son, 
 with fortitude. 
 
 ANTONINA, 
 The infamous wife of Belisarius, the general of 
 the emperor Justinian's army, and one of the 
 greatest commanders of his age. She repeatedly 
 dishonoured her husband by her infidelities, and 
 persecuted Photius, her own son, with the utmost 
 virulence, because he discovered her intrigues, and 
 
 75 
 
AP 
 
 AE 
 
 revealed them to his step-father. In the language 
 of Gibbon, " She was, in the Tarious situations of 
 fortune, the companion, the enemy, the servant, 
 and the favourite, of the empress Theodora, a 
 woman as wicked and worthless as herself." She 
 lived in the sixth century. 
 
 APOLLONIA, ST., 
 A MARTYR at Alexandria, A. D. 248. In her 
 old age, she was threatened with death if she did 
 not join with her persecutors in pronouncing cer- 
 tain profane words. After beating her, and 
 knocking out her teeth, they brought her to the 
 fire, which they had lighted without the city. 
 Begging a short respite, she was set free, and im- 
 mediately threw herself into the fire, and was 
 consumed. — _j„„ 
 
 ARC, JOAN OF, 
 
 Generally called the Maid of Orleans, was 
 born in 1410, at the little village of Domremy, in 
 Lorraine. Her father was named Jacques d'Arc, 
 and his wife, Isabella Eomee ; Isabella had al- 
 ready four children, two boys and two girls, when 
 .loan was born, and baptized Sibylla Jeanne. She 
 was piously brought up by her mother, and was 
 often accustomed to nurse the sick, assist the 
 poor, receive travellers, and take care of her 
 father's flock of sheep ; but she was generally 
 employed in sewing or spinning. She also spent 
 a great deal of time in a chestnut grove, near her 
 father's cottage. She was noted, even when a 
 child, for the sweetness of her temper, her pru- 
 dence, her industry, and her devotion. 
 
 During that period of anarchy in France, when 
 the supreme power, which had fallen from the 
 hands of a monarch deprived of his reason, was 
 disputed for by the rival houses of Orleans and 
 Burgundy, the contending parties carried on war 
 more by murder and massacre than by regular 
 battles. When an army was wanted, both had re- 
 course to the English, and these conquering stran- 
 gers made the unfortunate French feel still deeper 
 the horrors and ravages of war. At first, the 
 popular feeling was undecided ; but when, on the 
 death of Charles VI., the crown fell to a young 
 prince who adopted the Armagnac side, whilst the 
 
 house of Burgundy had sworn allegiance to a fo- 
 reigner (Henry V.) as king of France, then, in- 
 deed, the wishes and interests of all the French 
 were in favour of the Armagnacs, or the truly pa- 
 triotic party. Remote as was the village of Dom- 
 remy, it was still interested in the issue of the 
 struggle. It was decidedly Armagnac, and was 
 strengthened in this sentiment by the rivalry of a 
 neighbouring village which adopted Burgundian 
 colours. 
 
 Political and party interests were thus forced 
 upon the enthusiastic mind of Joan, and mingled 
 with the pious legends which she had caught from 
 the traditions of the Virgin. A prophecy was 
 current, that a virgin should rid France of its ene- 
 mies ; and this prediction seems to have been real- 
 ized by its effect upon the mind of Joan. The 
 girl, by her own account, was about thirteen when 
 a supernatural vision first appeared to her. She 
 describes it as a great light, accompanied by a 
 voice telling her to be devout and good, and pro- 
 mising her the protection of heaven. Joan re- 
 sponded by a vow of eternal chastity. In this 
 there appears nothing beyond the effect of imagi- 
 nation. From that time, the voice or voices con- 
 tinued to haunt Joan, and to echo the enthusiastic 
 and restless wishes of her own heart. We shall 
 not lay much stress on her declarations made be- 
 fore those who were appointed by the king to in- ■ 
 quire into the credibility of her mission. Her own 
 simple and early account was, that ' voices' were 
 her visitors and advisers ; and that they prompted 
 her to quit her native place, take up arms, drive 
 the foe before her, and procure for the yoiing king 
 his coronation at Rheims. These voices, however, 
 had not influence enough to induce her to set out 
 upon the hazardous mission, until a band of Bur- 
 gundians, traversing and plundering the country, 
 had compelled Joan, together with her parents, to 
 take refuge in a neighbouring town ; when they 
 returned to their village,' after the departure of 
 the marauders, they found the church of Domremy 
 in ashes. Such incidents were well calculated to 
 arouse the indignation and excite the enthusiasm 
 of Joan. Her voices returned, and incessantly 
 directed her to set out for France ; but to com- 
 mence by making application to De Baudricourt, 
 commander at Vaucouleurs. Her parents, who 
 were acquainted with Joan's martial propensities, 
 attempted to force her into a marriage ; but she 
 contrived to avoid this by paying a visit to an 
 uncle, in whose company she made her appear- 
 ance before the governor of Vaucouleurs, in May, 
 1428. De Baudricourt at first refused to see her, 
 and, upon granting an interview, treated her pre- 
 tensions with contempt. She then returned to her 
 uncle's abode, where she continued to announce 
 her project, and to insist that the prophecy, that 
 ' France, lost by a woman (Isabel of Bavaria), 
 should be saved by a virgin from the frontiers of 
 Lorraine, ' alluded to her. She it was, she asserted, 
 who could save France, and not ' either kings, or 
 dukes, nor yet the king of Scotland's daughter' — 
 an expression which proves how well-informed she 
 was as to the political events and rumours of the 
 day. 
 
 76 
 
AR 
 
 AR 
 
 The fortunes of the dauphin Charles at this 
 time had sunk to the lowest ebb ; Orleans, almost 
 his last bulwark, was besieged and closely pressed, 
 and the loss of the ' battle of Herrings' seemed to 
 take away all hope of saving the city from the 
 English. In this crisis, when all human support 
 seemed unavailing, Baudrioourt no longer despised 
 the supernatural aid promised by the damsel of 
 Domremy, and gave permission to John of Metz 
 and Bertram of Poulengy, two gentlemen who had 
 become converts to the truth of her divine mission, 
 to conduct Joan of Arc to the dauphin. They pur- 
 chased a horse for her, and, at her own desire, 
 furnished her with male habits, and other neces- 
 sary equipments. Thus provided, and accompa- 
 nied by a respectable escort, Joan set out from 
 Vauoouleurs on the 13th of February, 1429. Her 
 progress, through regions attached to the Burgun- 
 dian interest, was perilous, but she safely arrived 
 at Fierbois, a place within five or six leagues of 
 Chinon, where the dauphin then held his court. 
 At Fierbois was a celebrated church dedicated to 
 St. Catherine, and here she spent her time in de- 
 votion, whilst a messenger was despatched to the 
 dauphin to announce her approach. She was 
 commanded to proceed, and reached Chinon on 
 the eleventh day after her departure from Vau- 
 couleurs. 
 
 Charles, though he desired, still feared to accept 
 the proffered aid, because he knew that the instant 
 cry of his enemies would be, that he had put his 
 faith in sorcery, and had leagued himself with the 
 infernal powers. In consequence of this, Joan 
 encountered every species of distrust. She was 
 not even admitted to the dauphin's presence with- 
 out difficulty, and was required to recognize 
 Charles amidst all his court; this Joan happily 
 was able to do, as well as to gain the good opinion 
 of the young monarch by the simplicity of her de- 
 meanour. Nevertheless, the prince proceeded to 
 take every precaution before he openly trusted 
 her. He first handed her over to a commission of 
 ecclesiastics, to be examined ; then sent her for 
 the same purpose to Poictiers, a great law-school, 
 that the doctors of both faculties might solemnly 
 decide whether Joan's mission was from heaven or 
 from the devil ; for none believed it to be merely 
 human. The greatest guarantee against sorcery 
 was considered to be the chastity of the young 
 girl, it being an axiom, that the devil would not or 
 could not take part with a virgin ; and no pains 
 were spared to ascertain her true character in this 
 respect. In short, the utmost incredulity could 
 not have laboured harder to find out imposture, 
 than did the credulity of that day to establish its 
 grounds of belief. Joan was frequently asked to 
 do miracles, but her only reply was, ' Bring me to 
 Orleans, and you shall see. The siege shall be 
 raised, and the dauphin crowned king at Rheims.' 
 
 They at length granted her request, and she 
 received the rank of a military commander. A 
 suit of armour was made for her, and she sent to 
 Fierbois for a sword, which she said would be 
 found buried in a certain spot within the church. 
 It was found there, and conveyed to her. The 
 circumstance became afterwards one of the alleged 
 
 proofs of her sorcery or imposture. Her having 
 passed some time at Fierbois amongst the eccle- 
 siastics of the place must have led, in some way 
 or other, to her knowledge of the deposit. Strong 
 in the conviction of her mission, it was Joan's de- 
 sire to enter Orleans from the north, and through 
 all the fortifications of the English. Dunois, how- 
 ever, and the other leaders, at length overruled 
 her, and induced her to abandon the little com- 
 pany of pious companions which she had raised, 
 and to enter the beleaguered city by water, as the 
 least perilous path. She succeeded in carrying 
 with her a convoy of provisions to the besieged. 
 The entry of Joan of Arc into Orleans, at the end 
 of April, was itself a triumph. The hearts of the 
 besieged were raised from despair to a fanatical 
 .confidence of success ; and the English, who in 
 every encounter had defeated the French, felt 
 their courage paralyzed by the coming of this 
 simple girl. Joan announced her arrival to the 
 foe by a herald, bearing a summons to the English 
 generals to be gone from the land, or she, the 
 Pucelle, would slay them. The indignation of the 
 English was increased by their terror ; they de- 
 tained the herald, and threatened to burn him, as 
 a specimen of the treatment which they reserved 
 for his mistress. But in the mean time the Eng- 
 lish, either from being under the influence of ter- 
 ror, or through some unaccountable want of pre- 
 caution, allowed the armed force raised and left 
 behind by Joan, to reach Orleans unmolested, tra- 
 versing their entrenchments. Such being the state 
 of feeling on both sides, Joan's ardour impelled 
 her to take advantage of it. Under her banner, 
 and cheered by her presence, the besieged marched 
 to the attack of the English forts one after an- 
 other. The first carried was that of St. Loup, to 
 the east of Orleans. It was valiantly defended by 
 the English, who, when attacked, fought despe- 
 rately ; but the soldiers of the Pucelle were invin- 
 cible. On the following day, the 6th of May, Joan, 
 after another summons to the English, signed 
 " Jhesus Maria and Jehanne la Pucelle," renewed 
 the attack upon the other forts. The French 
 being compelled to make a momentary retreat, the 
 English took courage, and pursued their enemies : 
 whereupon Joan, throwing herself into a boat, 
 crossed the river, and her appearance was suffi- 
 cient to frighten the English from the open field. 
 Behind their ramparts they were still, however, 
 formidable ; and the attack led by Joan against 
 the works to the south of the city is the most me- 
 morable achievement of the siege. After cheering 
 on her people for some time, she had seized a 
 scaling-ladder, when an English arrow struck her 
 between the breast and shoulder, and threw her 
 into the fosse. When her followers took her aside, 
 she showed at first some feminine weakness, and 
 wept ; but seeing that her standard was in danger, 
 she forgot her wound, and ran back to seize it. 
 The French at the same time pressed hard upon 
 the enemy, whose strong hold was carried by as- 
 sault. The English commander, Gladesdall, or 
 Glacidas, as Joan called him, perished vrith his 
 bravest soldiers in the Loire. The English now 
 determined to r.iise the siege, and Sunday being 
 
 77 
 
AR 
 
 AB 
 
 the day of their departure, Joan forbade her sol- 
 diers to molest their retreat. Thus in one week 
 from her arrival at Orleans was the beleaguered 
 city relieved of its dreadful foe, and the Pucelle, 
 henceforth called the Maid of Orleans, had re- 
 deemed the most incredible and important of her 
 promises. 
 
 No sooner was Orleans freed from the enemy, 
 than Joan returned to the court, to entreat Charles 
 to place forces at her disposal, that she might re- 
 duce the towns between the Loire and Bheims, 
 where she proposed to have him speedily crowned. 
 Her projects were opposed by the ministers and 
 warriors of the court, who considered it more po- 
 litic to drive the English from Normandy than to 
 harass the Burgundians, or to make sacrifices for 
 the idle ceremony of a coronation ; but her earnest 
 solicitations prevailed, and early in June she at- 
 tacked the English at Jargeau. They made a 
 desperate resistance, and drove the French before 
 them, till the appearance of Joan chilled the stout 
 hearts of the English soldiers. One of the Poles 
 was killed, and another, with Suffolk the com- 
 mander of the town, was taken prisoner. This 
 success was followed by a victory at Patay, in 
 which the English were beaten by a charge of 
 Joan, and the gallant Talbot himself taken pri- 
 soner. No force seemed able to withstand the 
 Maid of Orleans. The strong town of Troyes, 
 which might have repulsed the weak and starving 
 army of the French, was terrified into surrender 
 by the sight of her banner ; and Bheims itself fol- 
 lowed the example. In the middle of July, only 
 three months after Joan had come to the relief of 
 the sinking party of Charles, this priilce was 
 crowned in the cathedral consecrated to this cere- 
 mony, in the midst of the dominions of his ene- 
 mies. Well might an age even more advanced 
 than the fifteenth century believe, that superhu- 
 man interference manifested itself in the deeds of 
 Joan. 
 
 Some historians relate that, immediately after 
 the coronation, the Maid of Orleans expressed to 
 the king her wish to retire to her family at Dom- 
 remy ; but there is little proof of such a resolution 
 on her part. In September of the same year, we 
 find her holding a command in the royal army, 
 which had taken possession of St. Denis, where 
 she hung up her arms in the cathedral. Soon 
 after, the French generals compelled her to join 
 in an attack upon Paris, in which they were re- 
 pulsed with great loss, and Joan herself was 
 pierced through the thigh with an arrow. It was 
 the first time that a force in which she served had 
 suffered defeat. Charles immediately retired once 
 more to the Loire, and there are few records of 
 Joan's exploits during the winter. About this 
 time a royal edict was issued, ennobling her family, 
 and the district of Domremy was declared free 
 from all tax or ti'ibute. In the ensuing spring, 
 the English and Burgundians formed the siege of 
 Compiegne ; and Joan threw herself into the town 
 to preserve it, as she had before saved Orleans, 
 from their assaults. She had not been many hours 
 in it when she headed a sally against the Burgun- 
 dian quarters, in which she was taken by some 
 
 oflicers, who gave her up to the Burguudian com- 
 mander, John of Luxemburg. Her capture ap- 
 pears, from the records of the Parisian parliament, 
 to have taken place on the 23d of May, 1430. 
 
 As soon as Joan was conveyed to John of Lux- 
 emburg's fortress at Beaurevoir, near Cambray, 
 cries of vengeance were heard among the Anglican 
 partizans in France. The English themselves 
 were not foremost in this unworthy zeal. Joan, 
 after having made a vain attempt to escape by 
 leaping from the top of the donjon at Beaurevoir, 
 was at length handed over to the English parti- 
 zans, and conducted to Rouen. The University 
 of Paris called loudly for the trial of Joan, and 
 several letters are extant, in which that body re- 
 proaches the bishop of Beauvais and the English 
 with their tardiness in delivering up the Pucelle 
 to justice. 
 
 The zeal of the University was at length satis- 
 fied by letters patent from the king of England 
 and France, authorizing the trial of the Pucelle, 
 but stating in plain terms that it was at the de- 
 mand of public opinion, and at the especial re- 
 quest of the bishop of Beauvais and of the Univer- 
 sity of Paris, — expressions which, taken in con- 
 nection with the delay in issuing the letters, suffi- 
 ciently prove the reluctance of the English council 
 to sanction the extreme measure of vengeance. 
 After several months' interrogatories, the judges 
 who conducted the trial drew from her confessions 
 the articles of accusation: these asserted that 
 Joan pretended to have had visions from the time 
 when she was thirteen years old : to have been 
 visited by the archangels Gabriel and Michael, the 
 saints Catharine and Margaret, and to have been 
 accompanied by these celestial beings to the pre- 
 sence of the Dauphin Charles ; that she pretended 
 to know St. Michael from St. Gabriel, and St. 
 Catharine from St. Margaret ; that she pretended 
 to reveal the future ; and had assumed male attire 
 by the order of God. Upon these charges her ac- 
 cusers wished to convict her of sorcery. More- 
 over, they drew from her answers, that she de- 
 clined to submit to the ordinances of the church 
 whenever her voices told her the contrary. This 
 was declared to be heresy and schism, and to 
 merit the punishment of fire. 
 
 These articles were dispatched to the University 
 of Paris, and all the faculties agreed in condemn- 
 ing such acts and opinions, as impious, diabolical, 
 and heretical. This judgment came back to Rouen, 
 but it appears that many of the assessors were un- 
 willing that Joan should be condemned ; and even 
 the English in authority seemed to think impri- 
 sonment a suflicient punishment. The truth is, 
 that Joan was threatened with the stake unless 
 she submitted to the church, as the phrase then 
 was, that is, acknowledged her visions to be false, 
 forswore male habits and arms, and owned herself 
 to have been wrong. Every means were used to 
 induce her to submit, but in vain. At length she 
 was brought forth on a public scaffold at Rouen, 
 and the bishop of Beauvais proceeded to read the 
 sentence of condemnation, which was to be fol- 
 lowed by burning at the stake. Whilst it was 
 reading, every exhortation was used, and Joan's 
 
AR 
 
 AR 
 
 courage for once failing, she gave utterance to 
 words of contrition, and expressed her willingness 
 to suhmit, and save herself from the flames. A 
 written form of confession was instantly produced, 
 and read to her, and Joan, not knowing how to 
 write, signed it with a cross. Her sentence was 
 commuted to perpetual imprisonment, 'to the 
 bread of grief and the water of anguish.' She 
 was borne back from the scaffold to prison ; whilst 
 those who had come to see the sight displayed the 
 usual disappointment of unfeeling crowds, and 
 even threw stones in their anger. 
 
 When brought back to her prison, Joan submit- 
 ted to all that had been required of her, and as- 
 sumed her female dress ; but when two days had 
 elapsed, and when, in the solitude of her prison, 
 the young heroine recalled this last scene of weak- 
 ness, forming such a contrast with the glorious 
 feats of her life, remorse and shame took posses- 
 sion of her, and her religious enthusiasm returned 
 in all its ancient force. She heard her voices re- 
 proaching her, and imder this impulse she seized 
 the male attire, which had been perfidiously left 
 within her reach, put it on, and avowed her altered 
 mind, her resumed belief, her late visions, and her 
 resolve no longer to belie the powerful impulses 
 under which she had acted. ' What I resolved,' 
 said she, ' I resolved against truth. Let me suifer 
 my sentence at once, ratHer than endure what I 
 suifer in prison.' 
 
 The bishop of Beauvais knew that if Joan were 
 once out of the power of the court that tried her, 
 the chapter of Rouen, who were somewhat favour- 
 ably disposed, would not again give her up to pun- 
 ishment; and fears were entertained that she 
 might ultimately be released, and gain new con- 
 verts. It was resolved, therefore, to make away 
 with her at once, and the crime of relapse was 
 considered sufficient. A pile of wood was pre- 
 pared in the old market at Rouen, and scaffolds 
 placed round it for the judges and ecclesiastics : 
 Joan was brought out on the last day of May, 
 1431 ; she wept piteously, and showed the same 
 weakness as when she first beheld the stake. But 
 now no mercy was shown. They placed on her 
 head the cap used to mark the victims of the Inqui- 
 sition, and the fire soon consumed the unfortunate 
 Joan of Arc. When the pile had burned out, all 
 the ashes were gathered and thrown into the Seine. 
 
 It is difficult to say to What party most disgrace 
 attaches on account of this barbarous murder : 
 whether to the Burgundians, who sold the Maid 
 of Orleans ; the English, who permitted her exe- 
 cution ; the French, of that party who brought it 
 about and perpetrated it,; or the French, of the 
 opposite side, who made so few efi'orts to rescue 
 her to whom they owed their liberation and their 
 national existence. The story of the Maid of Or- 
 leans is, throughout, disgraceful to every one, 
 friend and foe ; it forms one of the greatest blots 
 and one of the most curious enigmas in historic 
 record. It has sometimes been suggested that she 
 was merely a tool in the hands of the priests ; but 
 this supposition will hardly satisfy those who read 
 with attention the history of Joan of Arc. 
 
 No scrutiny has ever detected imposture or ar- 
 tifice in her. Enthusiasm possessed her, yet it 
 was the lofty sentiment of patriotic zeal; not a. 
 particle of selfish ambition shadowed her bright 
 path of victory and fame. She seemed totally 
 devoid of vanity, and showed in all her actions as 
 much good sense, prudence, firmness, and resolu- 
 tion, as exalted religious zeal and knowledge of 
 the art of war. Her purity of life and manners 
 was never doubted. During all the time she was 
 Vfith the army, she retired, as soon as night came, 
 to the part of the camp allotted to females. She 
 confessed and communed often, and would never 
 allow a profane word to be uttered in her pre- 
 sence. She always tried to avoid the great defer- 
 ence paid to her ; and when, at one time, a crowd 
 of women pressed around her, off'ering her different 
 objects to touch and bless, she said laughingly to 
 them, " Touch them yourselves ; it will do just as 
 well." And yet she would never allow the slight- 
 est, familiarity from any one. Not the least re- 
 markable part of her character was the influence 
 she invariably acquired over all with whom she 
 was brought into contact. Her personal attrac- 
 tions were very great. 
 
 The works on the subject of Joan of Arc are 
 very numerous. M. Chaussard enumerates up- 
 wards of four hundred, either expressly devoted 
 to her life or including her history. Her adven- 
 tures form the subject of Voltaire's poem of La 
 Pucelle, and of a tragedy by Schiller ; but perhaps 
 the best production of the kind is Mr. Southey's 
 poem bearing her name. 
 
 ARCHIDAMIA, 
 The daughter of king Eleonymas of Sparta, 
 was famed for her patriotism and her courage. 
 When Pyrrhus marched against Laoedemon, it 
 was resolved by the Senate that all the women 
 should be sent out of the city ; but Sparta's women 
 would not listen to this proposition. Sword in 
 hand, they entered with this leader Archidamia, 
 the senate chamber, and administered to the city 
 fathers a severe reproof for their want of coufi- ' 
 dence in woman's patriotism, and declared that 
 they would not leave the city, nor survive its fall, 
 if that should take place. 
 
 ARIADNE, 
 Daughter of Leo I., married to Zeno, who suc- 
 ceeded as emperor of the East, 474. She was so 
 disgusted with the intemperance of her husband, 
 and so much in love with Anastasius, a man of 
 obscure origin, that she shut Zeno, when intoxi- 
 cated, into a sepulchre, where he was left to die ; 
 and Anastasius was placed on the throne. She 
 died in 515. 
 I 
 ARIOSTA LIPPA, 
 
 Concubine of Opizzon, Marquis of Este and 
 Ferrara, confirmed in such a manner by her faith- 
 fulness and political skill, the impressions that 
 her beauty had made upon the heart of this Mar- 
 quis, that at last he made her his lawful wife, in 
 1352. He died in the same year, and left to her 
 
 79 
 
AR 
 
 AY 
 
 the administration of his dominions, In -which she 
 acquitted herself yery well, during the minority 
 of her eleven children. From her came all the 
 house of Este, which still subsists in the branch 
 of the Dukes of Modena and of Rhegio. The 
 author from whom I borrow this, observes, that 
 Lippa Ariosta did more honour to her family, 
 which is one of the noblest in Ferrara, than she 
 had taken from it. 
 
 ARLOTTA, 
 A, BEAUTIFUL woman of Falaise, daughter of a 
 tanner. She was seen, standing at her door, by 
 Robert duke of Normandy, as he passed through 
 the street ; and he made her his mistress. She 
 had by him William the Conqueror, who was born 
 1044. After Robert's death, she married Herluin, 
 a Norman gentleman, by whom she had three 
 children, for whom William honourably provided. 
 
 ARRIA, 
 
 Wipe of Cascinna Psetus, a consul under Clau- 
 dius, emperor of Rome in 41, is immortalized for 
 her heroism and conjugal affection. Her son and 
 husband were both dangerously ill at the same 
 time ; the former died; and she, thinking that in 
 his weak state. Foetus could not survive a know- 
 ledge of the fatal event, fulfilled every mournful 
 duty to her child in secret ; but when she entered 
 the chamber of her husband, concealed so effec- 
 tually her anguish, that till his recovery Ptetus 
 had no suspicion of his loss. 
 
 Soon after, Psetus joined with Scribonius in 
 exciting a revolt against Claudius in Illyria. They 
 were unsuccessful, and Ptetus was carried a pri- 
 soner to Rome, by sea. Arria, not being allowed to 
 accompany him, hired a small bark, and followed 
 him. On her arrival at Rome, she was met by the 
 widow of Scribonius, who vrished to speak to her. 
 
 " I speak to thee !" replied Arria, indignantly ; 
 " to thee, who hast been witness of thy husband's 
 death, and yet survivest!" 
 
 She had herself determined that, if all her endea- 
 vours to save Pretus failed, she would die with him. 
 Thraseus, her son-in-law, in vain combated her re- 
 solution. " Were I," said he, " in the situation of 
 Pietus, would you have your daughter die with me?" 
 
 " Certainly," answered she, " had she lived with 
 you as long and as happily as I with Psetus." 
 
 Her husband was at length condemned to die, 
 whether by his own hands or not is uncertain ; if 
 it were not so, he wished to avoid the punishment 
 allotted to him, by a voluntary death ; but at the 
 moment wanted courage. Seeing his hesitation, 
 Arria seized the dagger, plunged it first into her 
 own breast, and then presenting it to her husband, 
 said, with a smile, " It is not painful, Psetns." 
 
 The wife of Thraseus, and her daughter, who 
 married Heloidius Prisons, inherited the senti- 
 ments and the fate of Arria. 
 
 Martial wrote a beautiful epigram on the subject 
 of An'ia's death, of which this is the translation : 
 
 " When to her husband Arria gave the steel, 
 Which from her chaste, her bleeding breast she drew; 
 
 Slie said—' My Ptetus, this I do not feel, 
 But, oh! the wound that must be given by you!" 
 
 /ATTENDULI, 
 
 Maegaeet de, a sister of the great Sforza, 
 founder of the house of Sforza, dukes of Milan, 
 was born about 1375, at Catignola, a small town 
 in Italy. Her father was a day labourer ; but after 
 her brother James, under the name of Sforza, had 
 made himself distinguished by his valour and skill, 
 he sent for her to share his honours. She had 
 married Michael de Catignola. 
 
 She seems to have shared her brother's heroic 
 spirit ; when James, count de la Marche, came to 
 espouse Joanna II., queen of Naples, Sforza, then 
 grand constable of Naples, was sent to meet him ; 
 but that prince threw him, his relations, and all 
 his suite, into prison, thinking by this means to 
 attain, more easily, the tyraimic power he after- 
 wards assumed. When the news of Sforza's arrest 
 arrived, Margaret, with her husband, and other 
 relations who had served with honour in his 
 troops, were at Tricarico. They assembled an 
 army, of which Margaret took the command. 
 The ill treatment Joanna experienced from her 
 new husband, soon made the revolt general, and 
 James was at length besieged in a castle, where 
 the conditions proposed to him were, to be con- 
 tented with the title of lieutenant-general of the 
 kingdom, and give Sforza his liberty. Knowing 
 the value of his hostage, James sent deputies to 
 Margaret, menacing her brother with instant 
 death, if Tricarico were not given up to him. 
 Anxious for her brother, but indignant at the pro- 
 position, she immediately imprisoned the deputies, 
 whose families, alarmed for their safety, ceased 
 not to intercede, until the count consented to set 
 Sforza and his friends at liberty, and to reinstate 
 him in his former situation. 
 
 AYESHA, 
 
 The second, and most beloved of all Mahomet's 
 wives, was the daughter of Abubeker, the first 
 caliph, and the successor of Mahomet. She was 
 the only one of all his wives who had never been 
 married to any other man ; but she was only nine 
 when she was espoused by him. She had no 
 children ; but his affection for her continued till 
 death ; and he expired in her arms. After his 
 death, she was regarded with great veneration by 
 the Mussulmen, as being filled with an extraordi- 
 nary portion of Mahomet's spirit. They gave her 
 the title of " Mother of the Faithful," and con- 
 sulted her on important occasions. Ayesha en- 
 tertained a strong aversion for the caliph Othman ; 
 and she had actually formed a plot to dethrone 
 him, with the intention of placing in his stead her 
 favourite Telha, when Othman was assassinated, 
 by another enemy, in a sedition. 
 
 The succession of Ali was also strongly opposed 
 by Ayesha. Joined by Telha and Zobier, at 
 Mecca, she r.iised a revolt, under pretence of 
 avenging the murder of Othman; an army was 
 levied, which marched towards Bassora, while 
 Ayesha, at its head, was borne in a litter on a 
 camel of great strength. On arriving at a village 
 called Jowab, she was saluted with the loud bark- 
 ing of the dogs of the place, which, reminding her 
 
 80 
 
BA 
 
 BE 
 
 of a prediction of the prophet, in which the dogs 
 of Jowab were mentioned, so intimidated her, that 
 she declared her resolution not to advance a step ; 
 and it was not till a number of persons had been 
 suborned to swear that the village had been 
 wrongly named to her, and till the artifice had 
 been employed of terrifying her with a report of 
 All's being in the rear, that she was prevailed on 
 to proceed. 
 
 When the revolters reached Bassora, they were 
 met by a party of the inhabitants, whom they de- 
 feated. A number of people then came from the 
 city, to know their intentions, on which Ayesha 
 made a long speech, in a voice, so loud and shrill 
 from passion, that she could not be understood. 
 One of the Arabs replied to her, saying, " 0, mo- 
 ther of the faithful, the murdering of Othman was 
 a thing of less moment than thy leaving home on 
 this cursed camel. God has bestowed on thee a 
 veil and a protection ; but thou hast rent the veil, 
 and set the protection at nought." 
 
 She was refused admittance into the city. In 
 the end, however, her troops gained possession. 
 Ali assembled an army, and marched against her. 
 Ayesha violently opposed all pacific counsels, and 
 resolved to proceed to the utmost extremity. A 
 fierce battle ensued, in which Telha and Zobier 
 were slain. The combat raged about Ayesha's 
 camel, and an Arabian vpriter says, that the hands 
 of seventy men, who successively held its bridle, 
 were cut off, and that her litter was stuck so full 
 of darts, as to resemble a porcupine. The camel, 
 from which this day's fight takes its name, was 
 at length hamstrung, and Ayesha became a cap- 
 tive. Ali treated her with great respect, and sent 
 her to Medina, on condition that she should live 
 peaceably at home, and not intermeddle with state 
 affairs. 
 
 Her resentment afterwards appeared in her re- 
 fusal to suffer Hassan, the unfortunate son of Ali, 
 to be buried near the tomb of the prophet, which 
 was her property. She seems to have regained 
 her influence in the reign of the caliph Moawiyah. 
 She died in the fifty-eighth year of the Hegira, 
 A. D. 677, aged sixty-seven ; having constantly 
 experienced a high degree of respect from the 
 followers of Mahomet, except at the time of her 
 imprudent expedition against Ali. 
 
 B. 
 
 BAEBAB,A, 
 Wipe of the emperor Sigismond, was the daugh- 
 ter of Herman, Count of Cilia, in Hungary. Si- 
 gismond had been taken by the Hungarians, and 
 placed under the guard of two young gentlemen, 
 whose father he had put to death. While they had 
 him in custody, he persuaded their mother to let 
 him escape. This favour was not granted without 
 a great many excuses for the death of her husband, 
 and a great many promises. He promised, among 
 other things, to marry the daughter of the Count 
 of Cilia, a near relation of that widow; which 
 promise he performed. He had the most extra- 
 F 
 
 ordinary wife of her that ever was seen. She had 
 no manner of shame for her abandoned life. This 
 is not the thing in which her great singularity 
 consisted ; for there are but too many princesses 
 who are above being concerned at any imputations 
 on account of their lewdness. What was extraor- 
 dinary in her was Atheism, a thing which there is 
 scarce any instance of amongst women. 
 
 The Bohemians, notwithstanding, gave her a 
 magnificent funeral at Prague, and buried her in 
 the tomb of their kings, as we are assured by 
 Bonfinius in the VII. Book of the III. Decade. 
 Prateolus has not omitted her in his alphabetical 
 catalogue of heretics. 
 
 BARBE DE VERRUE, 
 A French improvisatrice, was an illegitimate 
 child born of obscure parents. The count de Ver- 
 rue adopted her after she became famous and gave 
 her his name. She was called a trouhadouresse, or 
 female troubadour; and she travelled through 
 towns and cities singing her own verses, by means 
 of which she acquired a considerable fortune. 
 She sung the stories of Griselidis ; of William with 
 the Falcon ; of Ancassin and Nicolette ; and a 
 poem entitled, The Gallic Orpheus or Angelinde 
 and Cyndorix, which related to the civilization of 
 the Gauls. Barbe lived to a very advanced age, 
 travelled a great deal, and, although not beauti- 
 ful, had many admirers. She lived in the thir- 
 teenth century. 
 
 BASINE, or BASIN, 
 Was the wife of Basin, king of Thuringia. Chil- 
 deric, king of France, driven from his dominions 
 by his people, sought an asylum with the king of 
 Thuringia ; and during his residence at that court, 
 Basine conceived a strong attachment for him. 
 Childeric was at length restored to his kingdom : 
 and a short time after, he beheld with surprise 
 the queen of Thuringia present herself before 
 him. " Had I known a more valiant hero than 
 yourself," said she to Childeric, "I should have 
 fled over the seas to his arms." Childeric received 
 her gladly, and married her. She became the 
 mother, in 467, of the great Clovis, the first Chris- 
 tian king of France. 
 
 BEATRICE, 
 Daughter of the count of Burgundy, married 
 the emperor Frederick in 1156. It is asserted by 
 some historians that she was insulted by the Mi- 
 lanese, and that the emperor revenged her wrongs 
 by the destruction of Milan, and the ignominious 
 punishment of the inhabitants. 
 
 BEATRICE, 
 Op Provence, daughter of Raymond Berenger, 
 count of Provence, married, in 1245, Charles, son 
 of Louis VIII. of France, who was afterwards 
 crowned king of Naples and Sicily. She died at 
 Nocisa. 
 
 BEATRICE PORTINARI 
 
 Is celebrated as the beloved of Dante, the Italian 
 poet. She was born at Florence, and was very 
 
 81 
 
BE 
 
 beautiful. The death of her noble father, Folco 
 Portinari, in 1289, is said to have hastened' her 
 own. The history of Beatrice may be considered 
 as an affection of Dante — in that lies its sole inte- 
 rest. All that can be authenticated of her is that 
 she was a beautiful and virtuous woman. She 
 died in 1290, aged twenty-four. And yet she still 
 lives in Dante's immortal poem, of which her me- 
 mory was the inspiration. He says, in the con- 
 clusion of his Eime, (his miscellaneous poems on 
 the subject of his early love) — "I beheld a mar- 
 vellous vision, which has caused me to cease from 
 writing in praise of my blessed Beatrice, until I 
 can celebrate her more worthily ; which that I 
 may do, I devote my whole soul to study, as sh-e 
 knoweth well ; in so much, that if it please the 
 Great Disposer of all events to prolong my life for 
 a few years upon this earth, I hope hereafter to 
 sing of my Beatrice what never yet was said or 
 sung of any woman." 
 
 It was in this transport of enthusiasm that 
 Dante conceived the idea of the "Divina Commc- 
 dia," his great poem, of which his Beatrice was 
 ■destined to be the heroine. Thus to 'the inspira- 
 tion of a young, lovely, and noble-minded woman, 
 we owe one of the grandest efforts of humiin ge- 
 nius. 
 
 BEAUFORT, 
 
 Joan, queen of Scotland, was the eldest daugh- 
 ter of John Beaufort, earl of Somerset, (son of 
 John of Gaunt,) and of Margaret, daughter of 
 the earl of Kent. . , 
 
 She was seen by James, sometimes called the 
 Royal Poet, son of Robert III. , king of Scotland, 
 while he was detained a prisoner in the Tower of 
 London, and he fell . passionately in love with her. 
 On his release, in 1423, after nineteen years' cap- 
 tivity, he married Joan, and went with her to 
 Edinburgh, .where they were crowned, May 22d, 
 1 424. In 1430, Joan became the mother of James, 
 afterwards James II. of Scotland. 
 
 She possessed a great deal of influence, which 
 she always exercised on the side of mercy and 
 gentleness. In 1437, the queen received informa- 
 tion of a conspiracy formed against the life of her 
 
 BE 
 
 husband, and hastened to Roxburgh, where he 
 then was, to warn him of his danger. The king 
 immediately took refuge with his wife in the Do- 
 minican abbey near Perth ; but the conspirators, 
 having bribed a domestic, found their way into 
 the room. The queen threw herself between them 
 and her husband, but in vain ; after receiving two 
 wounds, she was torn from the arms of James I., 
 who was murdered, Feb. 21st, 1437. 
 
 Joan married a second time, James Stewart, 
 called the Black Knight, son to the lord of Lome, 
 to whom she bore a son, afterwards earl of Athol. 
 She died in 1446, and was buried at Perth, neai 
 the body of the king, her first husband. 
 
 BEAUFORT, 
 Mauqabet, countess of Richmond and Derby, 
 was the only daughter and heiress of John Beau- 
 fort, duke of Somerset (grandson to John of 
 Gaunt, duke of Lancaster), by Margaret Beau- 
 champ, his wife. She was born at Bletshoe in 
 Bedfordshire, in 1441. While very young she 
 was married to Edmund Tudor, earl of Richmond, 
 by whom she had a son named Henry, who was 
 afterwards king of England, by the title of Henry 
 VII. On the 3d of November, 1456, the earl of 
 Richmond died, leaving Margaret a very young 
 widow, and his son, and heir, Henry, not above 
 fifteen weeks old. Her second husband was Sir 
 Henry Stafford, knight, second son to the duke of 
 Buckingham, by whom she had no issue. And 
 soon after the death of Sir Henry Stafford, which 
 happened about 1482, she married Thomas, lord 
 Stanley, afterwards earl of Derby, who died in 
 1504. After spending a life in successive acts of 
 beneficence, she paid the great debt of nature on 
 the 29th of June, 1509, in the first year of the 
 reign of her grandson Henry VIII. She was 
 buried in Westminster Abbey, where a monument 
 was erected to her memory. It is of black marble, 
 with her effigy in gilt copper; and the head is 
 encircled with a coronet. She founded and en- 
 dowed the colleges of Christ and St. John's, at 
 Cambridge. 
 
 BELLEVILLE, 
 Jane de, wife of Oliver III., lord of Clisson. 
 Philip de-Valois, king of France, having caused 
 her husband to be beheaded, in 1343, on unau- 
 thenticated suspicion of correspondence with Eng- 
 land, Jane sent her son, a boy of twelve, secretly 
 to London, for safety, sold her jewels, armed three 
 vessels, and attacked all the French she met. She 
 made descents in Normandy, took their castles, 
 and the most beautiful woman in Europe might 
 be seen, with a sword in one hand, and a flambeau 
 in the other, enforcing and commanding acts of 
 the greatest cruelty. 
 
 BERENffARIA 
 Or Navarre, was daughter of Sancho the Wise, 
 Icing of Naples, and married Richard Coeur de Lion 
 soon after he ascended the throne of England. 
 Richard had been betrothed, when only seven 
 years of age, to Alice, daughter of Louis VII., who 
 was three years old. Alice was sent to the English 
 
 82 
 
BE 
 
 BE 
 
 court, when a girl of thirteen, for her education. 
 The father of Richai-d Coeur de Lion, Henry II., 
 fell in loTe with this betrothed of his son ; and 
 had prevented the marriage from heing solemn- 
 ized. But Richard, after he ascended the throne, 
 was still trammelled hy this engagement to Alice, 
 while he was deeply in love with Berengaria. 
 At length these obstacles were overcome. " It 
 was in the joyous month of May, 1191," to quote 
 an old writer, "in the flourishing and spacious 
 isle of Cyprus, celebrated as the very abode of the 
 goddess of love, did long Richard solemnly take 
 to wife his beloved lady Berengaria." 
 
 This fair queen accompanied her husband on 
 his warlike expedition to the Holy Land. In the 
 autumn of the same year Richard concluded his 
 peace with Saladin, and set out on his return to 
 England. But he sent Berengaria by sea, while 
 he, disguised as a Templar, intended to go by 
 land. He was taken prisoner, and kept in durance, 
 by Leopold of Austria, nearly five years. Ri- 
 chard's profligate companions seem to have es- 
 tranged his thoughts from his gentle, loving wife, 
 and for nearly two years after his return from 
 captivity, he gave himself up to the indulgence of 
 his baser passions ; but finally his conscience was 
 awakened, he souglit his ever-faithful wife, and 
 she, womanrlike, forgave him. From that time 
 they were never parted, till his death, which oc- 
 curred in 1199. She survived him many years, 
 founded an abbey at Espan, and devoted herself 
 to works of piety and mercy. "From her early 
 youth to her grave, Berengaria manifested devoted 
 love to Richard : uncomplainingly when deserted 
 by him, forgiving when he returned, and faithful 
 to his memory unto death," says her accomplished 
 biographer, Miss Strickland. 
 
 BERENICE, 
 
 Daushtek of Herod Agrippa I., King of Judea, 
 grandson of Herod the Great, was the sister of 
 Herod Agrippa II., before whom Paul preached, 
 and married her uncle, Herod, king of Chalcis. 
 After her husband's death, she was accused of 
 incest with her brother Agrippa ; an accusation 
 which seems to have determined her to engage in 
 a second marriage. She signified to Polemon, 
 king of Cilicia, her willingness to become his wife, 
 if he would embrace Judaism. Polemon, induced 
 by her wealth, consented ; but Berenice soon de- 
 serted him, and he returned to his former faith. 
 
 Scrupulous in all religious observances, she 
 made a journey to Jerusalem, where she spent 
 thirty days in fasting and prayer. While thus 
 engaged, she suffered a thousand indignities from 
 the Roman soldiers. She also went barefoot to 
 the Roman governor to intercede for her people, 
 but he treated her with open neglect. 
 
 Berenice then resolved to apply to Vespasian, 
 emperor of Rome, or his son Titus, to avoid being 
 involved in the ruin of her nation. She accord- 
 ingly went, with her brother, to Rome, and soon 
 gained Vespasian by her liberality, and Titus by 
 her beauty. Titus even wished to marry her; 
 but the murmurs of the Roman people prevented 
 him ; he was even obliged to banish her, with a 
 
 promise of recalling her when the tumult should 
 be appeased. Some historians assert that Bere- 
 nice returned and was again banished. 
 
 She is mentioned in the 25th chapter of the 
 Acts of the Apostles, as coming with her brother 
 Agrippa to Cesarea, to salute Festus. 
 
 BERNERS, or BARNES, 
 Juliana, a sister of Richard, lord Berners, is 
 supposed to have been bom about 1388, and was 
 a native of Essex. She was prioress of Sopewell 
 nunnery, and wrote " The Boke of Hawkyng and 
 Iluntyng" which was one of the first works that 
 issued from the English press. She is represented 
 as having been beautiful, high-spirited, and fond 
 of all active exercises. She lived to an advanced 
 age, and was highly respected and admired. The 
 indelicacies that are found in her book, must be 
 imputed to the barbarism of the times. 
 
 , BERSALA, 
 
 Ann, daughter and principal heiress of Wolfard 
 de Borselle, and of Charlotte de Bourbon-Mont- 
 pensier, who were married June the 17th, 1468, 
 was wife of Philip of Burgundy, son of Anthony 
 of Burgundy, lord of Bevres, one of the illegitimate 
 sons of the duke of Burgundy, Philip the Good. 
 She brought to him, for her dowi'y, the lordship 
 of Vere, that of Flushing, and some others, and 
 had by him one son and two daughters. 
 
 Erasmus had a particular esteem for her. He 
 thus writes to a friend: — "We came to Anne, 
 princess of Vere. Why should I say any thing to 
 you of this lady's complaisance, benignity, or 
 liberality ? I know the embellishments of rheto- 
 ricians are suspected, especially by those who are 
 not unskilled in those arts. But, believe me, I 
 am so far here from enlarging, that it is j\bove tlie 
 reach of our art. Never did nature produce any 
 thing more modest, more wise, or more obliging. 
 She was so generous to me — she loaded me with 
 so many benefits, without my seeking them ! It 
 has happened to me, my Battus, with regard to 
 her, as it often used to happen with regard to you, 
 that I begin to love and admire most when I am 
 absent. Good God, what candour, what complai- 
 sance in the largest fortune, what evenness of 
 mind in the greatest injuries, what cheerfulness 
 in such great cares, what constancy of mind, what 
 innocence of life, what encouragement of learned 
 men, what affability to all!" 
 
 BERTHA, 
 
 Daughter of Cherebert, king of Paris. She 
 married Ethelbert, king of Kent, wlio succeeded 
 to the throne about the year 560. Ethelbert was 
 a pagan, but Bertha was a Christian, and in the 
 marriage treaty had stipulated for the free exer- 
 cise of her religion, and taken with her a French 
 bishop. By her influence Christianity was intro- 
 duced into England ; for so exemplary in every 
 respect were her life and conduct, that she inspired 
 the king and his court with a high respect for her 
 person, and the religion by which she was influ- 
 enced. ■ The Pope taking advantage of this, sent 
 forty monks, among whom was St. Augustine, to 
 
BE 
 
 BL 
 
 preach the gospel. Under the protection of the 
 queen they soon found means of communication 
 with the king, -who finally submitted to public 
 baptism. Christianity proved the means of pro- 
 moting knowledge and ciyilization in England; 
 and this convert king enacted a body of laws which 
 was the first written code promulgated by the 
 northern conquerors. Thus was the influence of 
 this pious queen Bertha the means of redeeming 
 England from paganism ; and moreover to her 
 belongs the glory of planting the first Christian 
 Church in Canterbury. 
 
 BERTHA, or BERTBADE, 
 Wife of Pepin and mother of Charlemagne, 
 emperor of France, was a woman of great natural 
 excellencies, both of mind and heart. Charle- 
 magne always showed her most profound respect 
 and veneration, and there was never the slightest 
 difficulty between them, excepting when he di- 
 vorced the daughter of Didier, king of the Lom- 
 bards, whom he had married by her advice, to 
 espouse Emergarde. Bertha died in 783. 
 
 BERTHA, 
 Widow of Eudes, count de Blois, married Robert 
 the Pious, king of France. She was a relation 
 of his, and he had been godfather to one of her 
 children. These obstacles, then very powerful, 
 did not prevent the king from marrying her. A 
 coupcil assembled at Rome in 998, and ordered 
 Robert to repudiate Bertha, which he refusing to 
 do, the terrible sentence of excommunication was 
 pronounced against him, and he was at length 
 obliged to yield. Bertha retired to an abbey and 
 devoted herself to pious works. Her title of queen 
 was always given to her, and the king continued 
 to show her constant proofs of affection and respect. 
 
 BERTRADE, 
 Daughter of the count of Montfort, married 
 the count of Anjou, from whom she was divorced 
 to unite herself to Philip I., king of France, 1092. 
 This union was opposed by the clergy, but the 
 love of the monarch triumphed over his respect 
 for religion. Bertrade was ambitious, and not 
 always faithful to her husband. After the king's 
 death, she pretended sanctity, and was buried in 
 a convent which she herself founded. 
 
 EIGNE, 
 Grace de la, a French poetess of Bayeux, ac- 
 companied king John to England, after the battle 
 of Poictiers, and died in 1374. 
 
 BLANCHE 
 
 Of Castile, queen of France, was the daughter 
 of Alphonso IX., king of Castile, and of Eleanor, 
 daughter of Henry I. of England. In 1200, she 
 was married to Louis VIII. of France ; and became 
 the mother of nine sons and two daughters, whom 
 she educated with great care, and in such senti- 
 ments of piety, that two of them, Louis IX. and 
 Elizabeth, have been beatified by the church of 
 Rome. 
 
 On the death of her husband, in 1266, he showed 
 
 his esteem for her by leaving her sole regent 
 during the minority of his son, Louis IX., then 
 only twelve years old ; and Blanche justified by 
 her conduct in the trying circumstances in which 
 she was placed, the confidence of her husband. 
 The princes and nobles, pretending that the re- 
 gency was unjustly granted to a woman, confede- 
 rated against her; but by her prudence and 
 courage, opposing some in arms, and gaining over 
 others with presents and condescension, Blanche 
 finally triumphed. She made use of the romantic 
 passion of the young count of Champagne to obtain 
 information of the projects of the malcontents ; 
 but her reputation was endangered by the favour 
 she showed him, as well as by the familiar inter- 
 course to which she admitted the gallant cardinal 
 Romani. 
 
 In educating Louis, she was charged with put- 
 ting him too much in the hands of the clergy ; but 
 she proved an excellent guardian of his virtue, 
 and inspired him with a lasting respect for herself. 
 In 1234, she married him to Margaret, daughter 
 of the count de Provence ; and in 1235, Louis 
 having reached the age of twenty-one, Blanche 
 surrendered to him the sovereign authority. But 
 even after this she retained great ascendency over 
 the young king, of which she sometimes made an 
 improper use. Becoming jealous of Margaret, 
 wife of Louis, she endeavoured to sow dissensions 
 between them, and, failing in this, to separate 
 them ; and these disturbances caused Louis great 
 uneasiness. 
 
 When, in 1248, Louis undertook a crusade to 
 the Holy Land, he determined to take his queen 
 with him, and leave his mother regent; and in 
 this second regency she showed the same vigour 
 and prudence as in the first. The kingdom was 
 suffering so much from the domination of the 
 priesthood, that vigorous measures had become 
 necessary; and notwithstanding her strong reli- 
 gious feelings, she exerted her utmost power 
 against the tyranny of the priests and in favour 
 of the people; and as usual, Blanche was suc- 
 cessful. 
 
 The unfortunate defeat and imprisonment of her 
 son in the East, so affected her spirits, that she 
 
 84 
 
BL 
 
 BO 
 
 died, in 1252, to Ma great grief, and the regret 
 of the whole kingdom. She was buried in the 
 abbey of Maubisson. She was one of the most 
 illustrious characters of her time, being equally 
 distinguished for her personal and mental endow- 
 ments. 
 
 We may observe here that among the sovereigns 
 of France, those most beloved by the people, and 
 who thought most of the good of their subjects — 
 Louis IX., Louis XII., and Henry IV. — ^were edu- 
 cated by their mothers. Blanche had attended in 
 so careful a manner to the infancy and childhood 
 of her son, that she performed for him many of 
 the offices usually entrusted to inferiors. His 
 attachment to her was ardent, and all her precepts 
 were laws. She said to him one day, as she was 
 tenderly caressing him, " My son, you know how 
 very fondly I love you ; and yet I would rather 
 see you dead than sullied by the commission of a 
 crime." Such a woman was worthy of Shak- 
 speare's panegyric, which he has so warmly be- 
 stowed on Blanche in his " King John." 
 
 BLANCHE, 
 
 A NATIVE of Padua, was celebrated for her reso- 
 lution. On the death of her husband, at the siege 
 of Bassano, Acciolin, the general of the enemy, 
 offered violence to her person, when she threw 
 herself into her husband's tomb, and was crushed 
 by the falling of the stone that covered the en- 
 trance, 1253 
 
 BLANCHE DE BOURBON, 
 Second daughter of Pierre de Bourbon, a noble- 
 man of France, married Pedro, king of Castile, in 
 1352. She was cruelly treated by her husband, 
 who was attached to Maria Padilla, and was at 
 last imprisoned and murdered, in 1361, aged 
 eighteen. Her misfortunes were avenged by Du 
 Guesclin at the head of a French army. Her 
 beauty and virtues made her a great favourite, 
 not only with the mother of Pedro, but the whole 
 Spanish nation. 
 
 BOADICEA, 
 A British queen in the time of Nero, wife to 
 Prasutagas, king of the Iceni, that is, Norfolk, 
 Suffolk, Cambridge, and Huntingdonshire. Pra- 
 sutagas, in order to secure the friendship and pro- 
 tection of Nero to his wife and family, left the 
 emperor and his daughters co-heirs. The Roman 
 oifioers, availing themselves of a privilege so re- 
 plete with mischief, seized upon all his eflFects in 
 their master's name. Boadicea strongly remon- 
 strated against these iinjust proceedings, and being 
 a woman of high spirit, she resented her ill usage 
 in such terms, that the officers, in revenge, caused 
 her to be publicly scourged, and violated her 
 daughters. Boadicea assembled the Britons, and 
 standing on a rising ground, her loose robes and 
 long fair hair floating in the wind, a spear in her 
 hand, her majestic features animated with a desire 
 for vengeance, she reminded her people, in a strain 
 of pathetic eloquence, of the wrongs, they had en- 
 dured from the invaders, and exhorted them to 
 instant revolt. While speaking, she permitted a 
 
 hare, which she had kept concealed about her 
 person, to escape among the crowd. The Britons, 
 exulting, hailed the omen, and the public indigna- 
 tion was such, that all the island, excepting Lon- 
 don, agreed to rise in rebellion. 
 
 Boadicea put herself at the head of the popular 
 army, and earnestly exhorted them to take ad- 
 vantage of the absence of the Roman general, 
 Paulinus, then in the Isle of Man, by putting their 
 foreign oppressors to the sword. The Britons 
 readily embraced the proposal, and so violent was 
 the rage of the exasperated people, that not a single 
 Roman of any age or either sex, within their reach, 
 escaped ; no less than seventy thousand perished. 
 Paulinus, suddenly returning, marched against 
 the revolted Britons, who had an army of one 
 hundred thousand, or, according to Dion Cassius, 
 two hundred and thirty thousand strong, under 
 the conduct of Boadicea and her general, Venu- 
 tius. The noble person of Boadicea, large, fair, 
 and dignified, with her undaunted courage, had 
 gained for her the entire confidence of the people, 
 and they were impatient for the engagement with 
 Paulinus, whose army consisted of only ten thou- 
 sand men. The Roman general was in doubt 
 whether he should march with this small force 
 against his numerous enemies, or shut himself up 
 in the town and wait for them. At first he chose 
 the latter, and stayed in London, but soon altered 
 his resolution, and determined to meet the Britons 
 in the open field. The place he pitched upon for 
 the decisive battle was a narrow tract of ground, 
 facing a large plain, supposed to be Salisbury 
 plain, and his rear was secured by a forest. The 
 Britons, exulting in their numbers, and secure of 
 victory, had brought their wives and children in 
 wagons, and placed them around their entrench- 
 ments. Boadicea in her chariot, accompanied by 
 her two daughters, rode among the several squad- 
 . rons of her army, addressing them to the following 
 effect : "It will not be the first time, Britons, that 
 you have been victorious under the conduct of 
 your queen. For my part, I come not here as one 
 descended of royal blood, not to fight for empire 
 or riches, but as one of the common people, to 
 avenge the loss of their liberty, the wrongs of my- 
 self and children. The wickedness of the Romans 
 is at its height, and the gods have already begun 
 to punish them, so that instead of being able to 
 withstand the attack of a victorious army, the 
 very shouts of so many thousands will put them 
 to flight. And, if you, Britons, would but consi- 
 der the number of our forces, or the motives of 
 the war, you will resolve to conquer or to die. Is 
 it not much better to fall honourably in defence 
 of liberty, than be again exposed to the outrages 
 of the Romans ? Such, at least, is my resolution ; 
 as for you men, you may, if you please, live and 
 be slaves!" 
 
 Paulinus was no less assiduous in preparing his 
 troops for the encounter. The Britons expected 
 his soldiers, to be daunted at their number ; but 
 when they saw them advance, sword in hand, 
 without showing the least fear, they fell into dis- 
 order, and precipitately fled: the baggage and 
 wagons in which their families were placed, ob- 
 
 85 
 
BO 
 
 BR 
 
 Structing their flight, a total defeat and dreadful 
 carnage ensued. Eighty thousand Britons were 
 left on the field. Boadicea escaped falling into 
 the hands of the enemy, hut, unable to survive 
 this terrible disappointment, she fell a victim 
 either to despair or poison. The battle was fought 
 in the year 61 
 
 BORGIA, 
 
 LucREziA, sister of Cesare Borgia, and daughter 
 of Rodriguez Borgia, afterwards Pope Alexander 
 v., was' married in 1493, to Giovanni Sforza, lord 
 of Pessaro, with whom she lived four years, when 
 her father being pope, dissolved the marriage, and 
 gave her to Alfonso, duke of Bisceglia, natural 
 son of Alfonso II., duke of Naples. On this occa- 
 sion she was created duchess of Spoleto and of 
 Sermoneta. She had one son by Alfonso, who 
 died young. In June, 1500, Alfonso was stabbed 
 by assassins, supposed to have been employed by 
 the infamous Cesare Borgia, so that he died two 
 months after at the pontifical palace, to which he 
 had been carried at the time. Lucrezia has never 
 been accused of any participation in this murder, 
 or in any of her brother's atrocious deeds. She 
 then retired to Nepi, but was recalled to Rome by 
 her father. Towards the end of 1501, she married 
 Alfonso d'Este, son of Ercole, duke of Ferrara, 
 and made her entrance into Ferrara with great 
 pomp, on the second of February, 1502. 
 
 She had three sons by Alfonso, who intrusted 
 her with the government when he was absent in 
 the field, in which capacity she gained general 
 approbation. She was also the patroness of lite- 
 rature, and her behaviour after she became duch- 
 ess of Ferrara affords no grounds for censure. 
 Her conduct while living at Rome with her father 
 has been the subject of much obloquy, which 
 seems to rest chiefly on her living in a flagitious 
 court among profligate scenes. No individual 
 charge can be substantiated against her. On the 
 contrary, she is mentioned by cotemporary poets 
 and historians in the highest terms ; and so many 
 different writers would not have lavished such 
 high praise on a person profligate and base as she 
 has been represented. Many of the reports about 
 her were circulated by the Neapolitans, the natu- 
 
 ral enemies of her family. She died at Ferrara, 
 in 1523. In the Ambrosian Library there is a 
 collection of letters written by her, and a poetical 
 effusion. A curiosity which might be viewed with 
 equal interest, is to be found there — a tress of her 
 beautiful hair, folded in a piece of parchment. 
 
 BORE, or BORA, 
 
 Catharine von, daughter of a gentleman of 
 fortune, was a nun in the convent of Nimptschen, 
 in Germany, two leagues from Wittemberg. She 
 left the convent, with eight others, at the com- 
 mencement of the reformation by Luther. Leo- 
 nard Koppe, senator of Torgau, is said to have first 
 animated them to this resolution, which they put 
 in practice on a Good Friday. Luther undertook 
 the defence of these nuns and Leonard Koppe, and 
 published a justification of their conduct. 
 
 Luther, who admired Catharine on account of 
 her heroism, in addition to her excellent qualities 
 of mind and heart, gained her consent and married 
 her. Catharine was then twenty-six, and added 
 to the charms of yftuth, much sprightliness of 
 mind. The reformer, many years older than his 
 wife, was as affectionately beloved by her as if he 
 had been in the flower of his youth. She brought 
 him a son ; and he writes on this occasion, " that 
 he would not change his condition for that of 
 Crcesus." The character of his wife was excel- 
 lently adapted to make him happy. Modest and 
 gentle, decent in her attire, and economical in the 
 house, she had the hospitality of the German no- 
 blesse without their pride. On the 15th February, 
 1546, she became a widow, and although several 
 fair offers were made to her, she lived for many 
 years in great poverty, and sometimes in actual 
 distress ; Martin Luther left little or no property, 
 and she was compelled to keep a boarding-house 
 for students, in order to support herself and chil- 
 dren. She died on the 20th of December, 1552, 
 in consequence of a cold she had contracted from 
 a fall in the water, wliile moving from Wittemberg 
 to Torgau. 
 
 She left three sons, Paul, Martin, and John, 
 and two daughters. 
 
 BRAGELONGNE, 
 Agnes de, a French poetess, lived in the 12th 
 century, in the reign of Philip Augustus. She 
 was the daughter of the count de Tonnerre, and 
 was married when very young to the count de 
 Plancy, and after his death, to Henri de Craon, 
 whom she had long loved, and to whom much of 
 her poetry is addressed. The poem of " Oabrielle 
 de Vergy," which is only a romance versified, is 
 attributed to this writer. 
 
 BRIDGET, or BRIGIT, 
 And by contraction, Sx. Bride, a saint of the 
 Romish church, and the patroness of Ireland, lived 
 in the end of the fifth century. She was born at 
 Pochard, in Ulster, soon after Ireland was con- 
 verted, and she took the veil in her youth from 
 the hands of St. Mel, a nephew and disciple of 
 St. Patrick. She built herself a cell under a large 
 oak, thence called Kill-dare, or the cell of the oak, 
 
BR 
 
 and being joined by several women, they formed 
 tliemselves into a religious commnmty, Trhicli 
 branched out in,to several other nunneries through- 
 out Ireland, all of which acknowledged her as 
 their foundress. She is commemorated in the 
 Roman martyrology on the first of February. 
 
 BRUNEHAUT, 
 
 YoDNQEE, daughter of Athanagilde, king of the 
 Visigoths of Spain, married, in 565, Siegbert, the 
 Frankish king of Metz or Austrasia. Siegbert 
 had resolved to have but one wife, and to choose 
 her from a royal family ; his choice fell on Brune- 
 haut, who fully justified his preference. She was 
 beautiful, elegant in her deportment, modest and 
 dignified in her conduct, and conversed not only 
 agreeably, but with a great deal of wisdom. Her 
 husband soon became exceedingly attached to her. 
 
 Her elder sister, Galsuinda, had married Chil- 
 peric, Siegbert's brother, and king of Normandy. 
 Galsviinda was murdered, through the instigation 
 of Fredegonde, Chilperio's mistress, who then in- 
 duced Chilperic to marry, her. Brunehaut, to 
 avenge her sister's death, persuaded Siegbert to 
 make war upon his brother ; and he had suc- 
 ceeded in wresting Chilperic's territories from 
 him, and besieging him in Tournai, when two 
 assassins, hired by Fi'edegonde, murdered Sieg- 
 bert in his camp, in 575. 
 
 As soon as Brunehaut heard of this misfortune, 
 she hastened to save her sou, the little Childebert, 
 heir to the kingdom of Austrasia. She hid him 
 in a basket, which was let down out of a window 
 of the palace she occupied in Paris, and confided 
 him to a servant of the Austrasian duke Gonde- 
 bald, who carried him behind him on horseback 
 to Metz, where he was proclaimed king, on Christ- 
 mas day, 575. When Chilperic and Fredegonde 
 arrived at Paris, they found only Brunehaut, with 
 her two daughters and the royal treasure. Her 
 property was taken from her, her daughters were 
 exiled to Meaux, and she was sent to Rouen. 
 
 But during the few days that Brunehaut, then 
 a beautiful widow of twenty-eight, had remained 
 at Paris, she had inspired Meroveus, Chilperic's 
 second son by his first wife Andowere, with a 
 violent passion, so that soon after she had reached 
 Rouen, he abandoned the troops his father had 
 placed under his charge, and hastened to join 
 her. They were married by the bishop of Rouen, 
 although it was contrary to the canons of the 
 church to unite a nephew and aunt. Chilperic, 
 furious at this step, came with great haste to 
 separate them ; but they took refuge in a little 
 church, and the king, not daring to violate this 
 asylum, was at last obliged to promise, with an 
 oath, that he would leave them together. " Since 
 God allows them to be united," said he, " I swear 
 never to separate them." 
 
 Reassured by this solemn promise, Meroveus 
 and Brunehaut left their asylum, and gave them- 
 selves up to Chilperic. At first he treated them 
 kindly ; but in a few days he returned to Soissons, 
 taking his son with him as a prisoner, and leaving 
 Brunehaut under a strong guard at Rouen. Me- 
 roveus, after having dragged out a miserable ex- 
 
 BR 
 
 istence as a prisoner, for thirteen months ; and 
 having in vain attempted to escape to join Brune- 
 haut, who does not seem to have made any great 
 effort to come to his assistance, was killed by one 
 of his servants, some say by his own request, and 
 others, by order of Fredegonde. 
 
 Meanwhile, Childebert had demanded and ob- 
 tained from the king of Normandy his mother's 
 release ; and Brunehaut returned to her son's 
 court, where she commenced that struggle, which 
 afterwards proved fatal to her, against the nobles 
 of Austrasia. At one time, her own party, and 
 that of the nobles, were drawn up in battle array 
 against each other, when she, seeing that the 
 combat would be a bloody one, and that her own 
 side was the weakest, boldly rushed between them, 
 calling to them to desist. " Woman, retire !" ex- 
 claimed one of the dukes, "You have reigned 
 long enough under the name of your husband ; let 
 that suffice you. Your son is now our king ; Aus- 
 trasia is under our guardianship, not yours. Re- 
 tire, directly, or our horses' feet shall trample 
 you to the earth." 
 
 But the intrepid Brunehaut, unmoved by this 
 savage address, persisted, and at last succeeded in 
 preventing the combat. Although obliged to yield 
 to her turbulent subjects for a short time, Brune- 
 haut soon regained her authority, which she used 
 with great cruelty. In her anger, she spared no 
 one, but put to death or exiled all persons of 
 rank who fell in her power. She also raised an 
 army, which she sent against Clotaire, the young 
 son of Fredegonde ; but she was defeated, and 
 Fredegonde took advantage of the intestine com- 
 motion in Austrasia, to regain all that her husband 
 had lost. 
 
 Childebert died in 596, and the kingdom was 
 divided between Theodebert and Theodoric. Bru- 
 nehaut remained with Theodebert, to whom Aus- 
 trasia had fallen ; and on the death of Fredegonde, 
 in 597, she bent all her energies towards the reco- 
 very of those dominions that her rival had obtained 
 from her, and she partially succeeded. She 
 treated with the utmost cruelty all the relations 
 of Fredegonde who fell in her power, and every 
 one who resisted her axxthority. 
 
 But the day of retribution came at last ; a mur- 
 der, committed in 599, upon Wintrion, duke of 
 Champagne, roused against her aU the powerful 
 men of her nation. They seized her, and, carry- 
 ing her across the frontiers, abandoned her alone 
 in the midst of an uncultivated part of the coun- 
 try. A beggar, whom she met, conducted her to 
 Theodoric, her other grandson, king of Burgundy, 
 by whom she was but too well received. 
 
 Here she attempted, by surrounding him with 
 infamous women of all classes, to prevent him 
 from taking a wife, who might interfere with her 
 authority ; and she drove away, with insults, St. 
 Colomban, abb^ of Luxeuil, and St. Didier, bishop 
 of Vienne, who had addressed remonstrances both 
 to her and Theodoric on their mode of life. St. 
 Didier, after an exile of three years, returned to 
 his church, and, displaying the same zeal in the 
 performance of his duty, she had him stoned. 
 
 To raise her favourite, Protadius, to the dignity 
 
 87 
 
BR 
 
 BU 
 
 of mayor of the palace, she procured the death of 
 Bertoald, who held that position, hy sending him 
 with a handful of men against a large army, where 
 he was killed after making a brave resistance. In 
 612, she armed her grandsons against each other. 
 Theodebert was pursued by Theodoric to Cologne, 
 and there assassinated. His children, one of 
 whom was an infant, were slain by order of Bru- 
 nehaut. Theodoric died in 613, and Brunehaut, 
 betrayed by her subjects, and abandoned by her 
 nobles, fell into the hands of Clotaire, son of Frede- 
 gonde. He loaded her with insults, accused her 
 of having caused the death of ten kings, or sons 
 of kings, and gave her up to the vengeance of his 
 infuriated soldiery. This queen, then eighty years 
 old, was carried naked on a litter for three days, 
 and then bound by one arm and one leg to the tail 
 of an unbroken colt, who dragged her over rocks 
 and stones till she was nothing but a shapeless 
 mass. Her remains were then burnt. 
 
 BEUNORO, 
 
 Bona Lombaudi, was bom in 1417, in Sacco, a 
 little village in Vattellina. Her parents were ob- 
 scure peasants, of whom we have but little in- 
 formation. The father, Gabriel Lombardi, a pri- 
 vate soldier, died while she was an infant; and 
 her mother not surviving him long, the little girl 
 was left to the charge of an aunt, a hard-working 
 countrywoman, and an uncle, an humble curate. 
 
 Bona, in her simple peasant station, exhibited 
 intelligence, decision of character, and personal 
 beauty, which raised her to a certain consideration 
 in the estimation of her companions; and the 
 neighbourhood boasted of the beauty of Bona, 
 when an incident occurred which was to raise her 
 to a most unexpected rank. In the war between 
 the duke of Milan and the Venetians, the latter 
 had been routed and driven from Vattellina. 
 Piccinino, the Milanese general, upon departing 
 to follow up his advantages, left Captain Brunoro, 
 a Parmesan gentleman, to maintain a camp in 
 Morbegno, as a central position to maintain the 
 conquered country. One day, after a hunting 
 party, he stopped to repose himself, in a grove 
 where many of the peasants were assembled for 
 some rustic festival ; he was greatly struck with 
 
 the loveliness of a girl of about fifteen. Upon 
 entering into conversation with her, he was sur- 
 prised at the ingenuity and spirited tone of her 
 replies. Speaking of the adventure on his return 
 home, every body told him that Bona Lombardi 
 had acknowledged claims to admiration. Brunoro, 
 remaining through the summer in that district, 
 found many opportunities of seeing the fair pea- 
 sant; becoming acquainted with her worth and 
 character, he at last determined to make her the 
 companion of his life ; their marriage was not 
 declared at first, but, to prevent a separation, 
 however temporary. Bona was induced to put on 
 the dress of an oificer. Her husband delighted in 
 teaching her horsemanship, together with all mili- 
 tary exercises. She accompanied him in battle, 
 fought by his side, and, regardless of her own 
 safety, seemed to be merely an added arm to 
 shield and assist Brunoro. As was usual in those 
 times, among the condottieri, Brunoro adopted 
 different lords, and fought sometimes in parties to 
 which, at others, he was opposed. In these vicis- 
 situdes, he incurred the anger of the king of Na- 
 ples, who, seizing him by means of an ambuscade, 
 plunged him into a dungeon, where he woiJd pro- 
 bably have finished his days, but for the untiring 
 and well-planned efforts of his wife. To effect his 
 release, she spared no means ; supplications, 
 threats, money, all were employed, and, at last, 
 with good success. She had the happiness of re- 
 covering her husband. 
 
 Bona was not only gifted with the feminine 
 qualities of domestic affection and a well-balanced 
 intellect ; in the hottest battles, her bravery and 
 power of managing her troops were quite remark- 
 able ; of these feats there are many instances re- 
 corded. We will mention but one. In the course 
 of the Milanese war, the Venetians had been, on 
 one occasion, signally discomfited in an attack 
 upon the castle of Povoze, in Brescia. Bnmoro 
 himself was taken prisoner, and carried into the 
 castle. Bona arrived with a little band of fresh 
 soldiers ; she rallied the routed forces, inspired 
 them with new courage, led them on herself, took 
 the castle, and liberated her husband, with the 
 other prisoners. She was, however, destined to 
 lose her husband without possibility of recovering 
 him ; he died in 1468. When this intrepid 
 heroine,- victor in battles, and, rising above all 
 adversity, was bowed by a sorrow resulting from 
 affection, she declared she could not survive Bru- 
 noro. She caused a tomb to be made, in which 
 their remains could be united ; and, after seeing 
 the work completed, she gradually sank into a 
 languid state, which terminated in her death. 
 
 BUCHAN, 
 
 Countess of, sister of the earl of Fife, crowned 
 Robert Bruce, king of Scotland, at Scone, March 
 29th, 1306, in place of her brother, whose duty it 
 was, but whose fears prevented him from per- 
 forming it. She was taken prisoner by Edward I. 
 of England, and, for six years, confined in a 
 wooden cage, in one of the towers of Berwick 
 castle. 
 
 88 
 
CA 
 
 CA 
 
 CALPHURNIA, 
 
 Wipe of the celebrated philosopher Pliny the 
 Elder, who was killed, in 79, in consequence of 
 approaching too near to' Mount Vesuvius, when it 
 was in a state of eruption, must have been a wo- 
 man of superior character, by the manner in 
 which her husband spoke of her, and the strong 
 affection he seems to have borne her ; in a letter 
 to her aunt HispuUa, he says : 
 
 "As you are an example of every virtue, and 
 as you tenderly loved your excellent brother, 
 whose daughter (to whom you supplied the place 
 of both parents) you considered as your own, I 
 doubt not but you will rejoice to learn, that she 
 proves worthy of her father, worthy of you, and 
 worthy of her grandfather. She has great talents ; 
 she is an admirable economist; and she loves me 
 with an entire affection : a sure sign of her chas- 
 tity. To these qualities, she unites a taste for 
 literature, inspired by her tenderness for me. She 
 has collected my works, which she reads perpe- 
 tually, and even learns to repeat. When I am to 
 speak in public, she places herself as near to me 
 as possible, under the cover of her veil, and lis- 
 tens with delight to the praises bestowed upon me. 
 She sings my verses, and, untaught, adapts them 
 to her lute : love is her only instructor." 
 
 In a letter to Calphurnia, Pliny writes : " My 
 eager desire to see you is incredible. Love is its 
 first spring ; the next, that we have been so sel- 
 dom separated. I pass the greater part of the 
 night in thinking of you. In the day also, at 
 those hours in which I have been accustomed to 
 see you, my feet carry me spontaneously to your 
 apartment, whence I constantly return out of hu- 
 mour and dejected, as if you had refused to admit 
 me. There is one part of the day only that affords 
 relief to my disquiet; the time dedicated to pleading 
 the causes of my friends. Judge what a life mine 
 must be, when labour is my rest, and when cares 
 and perplexities are my only comforts. Adieu." 
 
 CAPILLANA, 
 
 A Peeuvian princess, who, having become a wi- 
 dow very young, retired from court to the country, 
 about the time that Pizarro appeared on the coast. 
 Capillana received kindly the persons he had sent 
 to reconnoitre, and expressed a desire to see the 
 general. Pizarro came, and an attachment soon 
 sprang up between them. He endeavoured to con- 
 vert Capillana to the Christian faith, but for some 
 time without success ; however, while studying 
 the Spanish language, she became a Christian. 
 On the death of Pizarro, in 1541, she retired again 
 to her residence in the country. In the library 
 of the Dominicans of Peru, a manuscript of hers 
 is preserved, in which are painted, by her, ancient 
 Peruvian monuments, with a short historical ex- 
 planation in Castilian. There is also a representa- 
 tion of many of their plants, with curious disserta- 
 tions on their properties. 
 
 CARTISMANDUA, 
 Queen of the Brigantes, in Britain, is known in 
 history for treacherously betraying Caraotacus, 
 
 who had taken refuge in her dominions, to the Ro- 
 mans, and for discarding her husband Venusius 
 to marry his armour-bearer Velocatus. When her 
 subjects revolted against her, she solicited aid 
 from the Romans, who thus obtained possession 
 of the whole country. But she at last met with 
 the reward of her perfidies ; being taken prisoner 
 by Corbred I., king of Scots, and buried alive, 
 about the year 57. 
 
 CASTRO, 
 
 Inez de, who was descended from the royal line 
 of Castile, became first the mistress of Pedro, son 
 of Alphonso IV., king of Portugal, and after the 
 death of his wife Constance, in 1344, he married 
 her. As Pedro rejected all proposals for a new 
 marriage, his secret was suspected, and the king 
 was persuaded, by those who dreaded the influ- 
 ence of Inez and her family, that this marriage 
 would be injurious to the interests of Pedro's 
 eldest son. He was induced to order Inez to be 
 put to death ; and, while Pedro was absent on a 
 hunting expedition, Alphonso went to Coimbra, 
 where Inez was living in the convent of St. Clara, 
 with her children. Inez, alarmed, threw herself 
 with her little ones at the king's feet, and sued for 
 mercy. Alphonso was so touched by her prayers 
 that he went away, but he was again persuaded to 
 order her assassination. She was killed in 1355, 
 and buried in the convent. Pedro took up arms 
 against his father, but was at length reconciled to 
 him. After Alphonso's death, Pedro, then king 
 of Portugal, executed summary vengeance on two 
 of the murderers of Inez ; and two years after, in 
 1362, he declared before an assembly of the chief 
 men of the kingdom, that the pope had consented 
 to his union with Inez, and that he had been mar- 
 ried to her. The papal document was exhibited 
 in public. The body of Inez was disinterred, 
 placed on a throne, with a diadem on her head 
 and the royal robes wrapt around her, and the no- 
 bility were required to approach and kiss the hem 
 of her garment. The body was then carried in 
 great pomp from Coimbra to Alcoba^a, where a mo- 
 nument of white marble was erected, on which was 
 placed her statue, with a royal crown on her head. 
 
 Mrs. Hemans has described this scene with great 
 pathos and touching beauty. Her poem ends thus : 
 
 There is music on the midnight — 
 
 A requiem sad and slow. 
 As the mourners through the sounding aisle 
 
 In dark procession go; 
 And the ring of state, and the starry crown, 
 
 And all the rich array. 
 Are borne to the house of silence down. 
 
 With her, that queen of clay ! 
 And tearlessly and tirmly 
 
 King Pedro led the train, — 
 But his face was wrapt in his folding robe, 
 
 When they lower'd the dust again. 
 'T is hush'd at last the tomb above. 
 
 Hymns die, and steps depart : 
 Who caird thee strong as Death, O Love ? 
 
 Mightier thou wast and art. 
 
 CATHARINE OF ARRAGON, 
 
 Queen of England, was the daughter of Ferdi- 
 nand and Isabella, king and queen of Spain. She 
 was born in 1483, and, in November, 1501, was 
 
CA 
 
 CA 
 
 married to Arthur, prince of Wales, son to Henry 
 VII.. of England. He died April 2d, 1502, and 
 his -widow was then betrothed to his brother 
 Henry, then only eleven years old, as Henry VII. 
 was unwilling to return the dowry of Catharine. 
 In his fifteenth year the prince publicly protested 
 against the marriage ; but, overpowered by the 
 solicitations of his council, he at length agreed to 
 ratify it, and gave his hand to Catharine, June 
 3d, 1505, immediately after his accession to the 
 throne ; having first obtained a dispensation from 
 the pope, to enable him to marry Ms brother's 
 widow. 
 
 The queen, by her sweetness of manners, good 
 sense, and superior endowments, contrived to re- 
 tain the affections of this fickle and capricious 
 monarch for nearly twenty years. She was de- 
 voted to literature, and was the patroness of lite- 
 rary men. She bore several children, but all, 
 excepting a daughter, afterwards queen Mary, 
 died in their infancy. Scruples, real or pretended, 
 at length arose in the mind of Henry concerning 
 the legality of their union, and they were power- 
 fully enforced by his passion for Anne Boleyn. 
 In 1527, he resolved to obtain a divorce from Ca- 
 tharine on the grounds of the nullity of their mar- 
 riage, as contrary to the Divine Laws. Pope 
 Clement VII. seemed at first disposed to listen to 
 his application, but overawed by Charles V., em- 
 peror of Germany and nephew to Catharine, he 
 caused the negotiation to be so protracted, that 
 Henry became very impatient. Catharine con- 
 ducted herself with gentleness, yet firmness, in 
 this trying emergency, and could not be induced 
 to consent to an act which would stain her with 
 the imputation of incest, and render her daughter 
 illegitimate. 
 
 Being cited before the papal legates, Wolsey 
 and Campeggio, who had opened their court at 
 London, in May 1529, to try the validity of the 
 king's marriage, she rose, and kneeling before her 
 husband, reminded him, in a pathetic yet resolute 
 speech, of her lonely and unprotected state, and 
 of her constant devotion to him, in proof of which 
 she appealed to his own heart ; then protesting 
 against the proceedings of the court, she rose and 
 vrithdrew, nor could she ever be induced to appear 
 again. She was declared contumacious, although 
 she appealed to Rome. The pope's subterfuges 
 and delays induced Henry to take the matter in 
 his own hands : he threw ofi' his submission to the 
 court of Eome, declared himself head of the 
 Church of England, had his marriage formally 
 annulled by archbishop Cranmer, and in 1532 
 married Anne Boleyn. 
 
 Catharine took up her abode at Ampthill in 
 Bedfordshire, and afterwards at Kimbolton-castle 
 in Huntingdonshire. She persisted in retaining 
 the title of queen, and in demanding the honours 
 of royalty from her attendants ; but in other re- 
 spects employing herself chiefly in her religious 
 duties, and bearing her lot with resignation. She 
 died in January, 1536. The following letter, 
 which she wrote to the king on her death-bed, 
 drew tears from her husband, who always spoke 
 in the highest terms of his injured consort. 
 
 " My King and Dearest Spouse, — 
 
 " Insomuch as already the hour of my death 
 approacheth, the love and affection I bear you 
 causeth me to conjure you to have a care of the 
 eternal salvation of your soul, which you ought to 
 prefer before mortal things, or all worldly bless- 
 ings. It is for this immortal spirit you must ne- 
 glect the care of your body, for the love of which 
 you have thrown me headlong into many calamities, 
 and your own self into infinite disturbances. But 
 I forgive you with all my heart, humbly beseech- 
 ing Almighty God he will in heaven confirm the 
 pardon I on earth give you. I recommend unto 
 you our most dear Mary, your daughter and mine, 
 praying you to be a better father to her than you 
 have been a husband to me. Remember also the 
 three poor maids, companions of my retirement, 
 as likewise all the rest of my servants, giving them 
 a whole year's wages besides what is their due, 
 that so they may be a little recompensed for the good 
 service they have done me ; protesting unto you, 
 in the conclusion of this my letter and life, that 
 my eyes love you, and desire to see you more than 
 any thing mortal." 
 
 By her will she appointed her body to be pri- 
 vately interred in a convent of observant friars 
 who had suffered in her cause ; five hundred 
 masses were to be performed for her soul ; and a 
 pilgrimage imdertaken, to our lady of Walsingham, 
 by a person who, on his way, was to distribute 
 twenty nobles to the poor. She bequeathed con- 
 siderable legacies to her servants, and requested 
 that her robes might be converted into ornaments 
 for the church, in which her remains were to be 
 deposited. The king religiously performed her 
 injunctions, excepting that which respected the 
 disposal of her body, resenting, probably, the op- 
 position which the convent had given to his divorce. 
 The corpse was interred in the abbey church at 
 Peterburgh, with the honours due to the birth of 
 Catharine. 
 
 It is recorded by lord Herbert, in his history 
 of Henry VIII., that, from respect to the memory 
 of Catharine, Henry not only spared this church 
 at the general dissolution of religious houses, but 
 advanced it to be k cathedral. 
 
 CATHARINE SFORZA, 
 
 Natural daughter of Galeas Sforza, duke of 
 Milan, in 1466 acquired celebrity for her courage 
 and presence of mind. She married Jerome 
 Riario, prince of Forli, who was some 'time after 
 assassinated by Francis Del Orsa, who had revolted 
 against him. Catharine, with her children, fell 
 into the hands of Orsa, but contrived to escape 
 to Rimini, which still continued faithful to her, 
 which she defended with such determined bravery 
 against her enemies, who threatened to put her 
 children to death if she did not surrender, that at 
 last she restored herself to sovereign power. She 
 then married John de Medicis, a man of noble 
 family, but not particularly distinguished for ta- 
 lents or courage. Catharine stiU had to sustain 
 herself; and, in 1500, ably defended Forli against 
 CsEsar Borgia, duke Valentino, the illegitimate 
 son of pope Alexander VI. Being obliged to sur- 
 
 90 
 
CA 
 
 CA 
 
 render, she v, i- i iihued in the castle of San An- 
 gelo, but soon set at liberty, though never restored 
 to her dominions. She died soon after. She is 
 praised by a French historian for her talents, cou- 
 rage, military powers, and her beauty. 
 
 Sporza, Isabella, of the same family as the 
 preceding, was distinguished in the sixteenth 
 ■ century for her learning. Her letters possessed 
 great merit. One of them is a letter of consola- 
 tion, -written to Bonna Sforza, widow of the king 
 of Poland ; and one was in yindication of poetry. 
 
 CATHARINE, 
 Daughter of Charles VI. of France, and Isa- 
 bella of Bavaria, married Henry V. of England, 
 and after his death, Owen Tudor, a Welshman, by 
 whom she had Edmund, the father of Henry VII. 
 She died in 1438. She was celebrated for her 
 beauty. 
 
 CATHARINE, ST., 
 Was born at Sienna, in 1347. The monks re- 
 late of this saint, that she became a nun of St. 
 Dominic at the age of seven, that she saw num- 
 berless visions, and wrought many miracles while 
 quite yotmg, and that she conversed face to face 
 with Christ, and was actually married to him. 
 Her influence was so great that she reconciled 
 pope Gregory XI. to the people of Avignon, in 
 
 1376, after he had excommunicated them ; and in 
 
 1377, she prevailed on him to re-establish the 
 pontifical seat at Rome, seventy years after Cle- 
 ment v. had removed it to France. She died 
 April 30th, 1380, aged thirty-three, and was 
 canonized by Pius II., in 1461. Her works con- 
 sist of letters, poems, and devotional pieces. 
 
 CATHARINE, ST., 
 Was a noble virgin of Alexandria. Having been 
 instructed in literature and the sciences, she was 
 afterwards converted to Christianity, and by order 
 of the emperor Maximinian she disputed with fifty 
 heathen philosophers, who, being reduced to 
 silence by her arguments and her eloquence, were 
 all to a man converted, and suffered martyrdom 
 
 I in consequence. From this circumstance, and her 
 ! great learning, she is considered in the Romish 
 church as the patron saint of philosophy, litera- 
 ture, and schools. She was afterwards condemned 
 to suffer death, and the emperor ordered her to 
 be crushed between wheels of iron, armed with 
 sharp blades ; the wheels, however, were marvel- 
 lously broken asunder, as the monks declare, and, 
 all other means of death being rendered abortive, 
 she was beheaded in the year 310, at the age of 
 eighteen. Her body being afterwards discovered 
 on Mount Sinai, gave rise to the order of the 
 Knights of St. Catharine. 
 
 CATHARINE OF VALOIS, 
 SnENAMED the Fair, was the youngest child of 
 Charles VI. and Isabeau of Bavaria. She was 
 born October 27th, 1401, at the Hotel de St. Paul, 
 Paris, during her father's interval of insanity. 
 She was entirely neglected by her mother, who 
 joined with the king's brother, the duke of Or- 
 leans, in pilfering the revenues of the household. 
 On the recovery of Charles, Isabeau fled with the 
 duke of Orleans to Milan, followed by her children, 
 who were pursued and brought back by the duke 
 of Burgundy. Catharine was educated in the 
 convent at Poissy, where her sister Marie was 
 consecrated, and was married to Henry V. of 
 England, June 3, 1420. Henry V. had previously 
 conquered nearly the whole of France, and received 
 with his bride the promise of the regency of 
 France, as the king was again insane, and on the 
 death of Charley VI. the sovereignty of that coun- 
 try, to the exclusion of Catharine's brother and 
 three older sisters. Catharine was crowned in 
 1421, and her son, afterwards Henry VI., was 
 born at Windsor in the same year, during the 
 absence of Henry V. in France. The queen joined 
 her husband at Paris in 1422, leaving her infant 
 son in England, and was with him, when he died, at 
 the Castle of Vinoennes, in August 1422. Some 
 years afterwards Catharine married Owen Tudor, 
 an ofBcer of Welsh extraction, who was clerk of 
 the queen's wardrobe. This marriage was kept 
 concealed several years, and Catharine, who was 
 a devoted mother, seems to have lived very hap- 
 pily with her husband. The guardians of her son, 
 the young Henry VI., at length suspected it, and 
 exhibited such violent resentment, that Catharine 
 either took refuge, during the summer of 1436, in 
 the abbey of Bermondsey, or was sent there under 
 some restraint. Her children (she had four by 
 Owen Tudor) were torn from her, which cruelty 
 probably hastened the death of the poor queen. 
 She was ill during the summer and autumn, and 
 died January, 1437. The nuns, who piously at- 
 tended her, declared she was a sincere penitent. 
 She had disregarded the injunctions of her royal 
 husband, Henry V., in choosing, Windsor as the 
 birth-place of the heir of England ; and she had 
 never believed the prediction, that " Henry of 
 Windsor shall lose all that Henry of Monmouth 
 had gained." But during her illness she became 
 fearful of the result, and sorely repented her dis- 
 obedience of her husband. 
 
 91 
 
CA 
 
 CL 
 
 CATHARINE, ST., 
 A SAINT of the Komish church canonized by 
 pope Clement VII. She was born at Bologna in 
 1413, and admitted a nun at Ferrara, in 1432. 
 She was afterwards abbess of a convent at Bo- 
 logna, where she died in 1463. She wrote a book 
 of "Revelations," and several pieces in Latin and 
 Italian. 
 
 CERETA, 
 Latjea, an Italian lady, born at Brescia, emi- 
 nent for her knowledge of philosophy and the 
 learned languages. She became a widow early in 
 life, and then devoted herself entirely to literary 
 labours. Her Latin letters appeared at Padua in 
 1680. She died in 1498, aged twenty-nine. Her 
 husband's name was Pedro Serini. 
 
 CHRODIELDE, 
 
 A NUN of the convent founded by Radegonde at 
 Poitiers, was the cause of the temporary disper- 
 sion of this powerful community. Soon after 
 Radegonde's death, which occurred in 590, Chro- 
 dielde, who pretended that she was the daughter 
 of the late king Cheribert, induced many of the 
 nuns to take an oath, that as soon as she succeeded 
 in forcing the abbess Leubov^re to leave the con- 
 vent, by accusing her of several crimes, they would 
 place her at their head. She then, with more than 
 forty nuns, among whom was Basine, daughter of 
 Chilperic, went to Tours, where she wished to 
 place her companions under the care of Gregory, 
 bishop of Tours, while she went to lay her com- 
 plaint before Gentran, king of Burgundy. Gre- 
 gory advised her to return, but, in vain ; and 
 Chrodielde went to make her petition to the king, 
 who promised to examine into the cause of her 
 dissatisfaction. Chrodielde would not return to 
 the cloister, but went with her companions into 
 the cathedral of St. Hilary, while the bishops, 
 whom the king had sent, were investigating the 
 affair. Here she collected around her for her de- 
 fence, thieves, murderers, and criminals of all 
 kinds, who drove away with violence the bishops 
 who came to disperse them. Childebert, king of 
 
 France, sent orders that these disturbances should 
 be repressed by force if necessary; but Chro- 
 dielde, at the head of her banditti, made such a 
 valiant resistance, that it was with difSculty the 
 king's orders were executed. The abbess of St. 
 Radegonde was tried by the tribunal of bishops, 
 on the charges of severity, ill-treatment, and sa^ 
 crilege, which Chrodielde had preferred against 
 her, and found entirely innocent of everything but 
 too great indulgence. Chrodielde and her followers 
 were excommunicated on account of their violent 
 conduct, and their attack on the convent, and on 
 the abbess Leubovfire, and the nuns, whom they 
 had maltreated and wounded, even in their orato- 
 ries. Leubov&e they had drawn through the 
 streets by the hair, and afterwards imprisoned. 
 
 LARA, 
 A NATIVE of Assisi, in Italy, of respectable pa- 
 rentage, early devoted herself to a religious and 
 recluse life. Her example was followed by her 
 sister Agnes, and other female friends. She ob- 
 tained from St. Francis d' Assisi the church of 
 Damain, and became abbess of a new order of 
 nuns, which she there established. She died in 
 1193, aged one hundred, and was canonized by 
 Alexander IV. 
 
 CLELIA, 
 
 A YOUNG Roman girl, whose courage and pa- 
 triotism entitle her to a place among the distin- 
 guished of her sex. She was one of ten virgins 
 who were sent as hostages by the Roman senate 
 to Porseua. The young Clelia hated the enemies 
 of her people, and resolved not to live among 
 them. One day while walking near the Tiber with 
 her companions, she persuaded them to throw 
 themselves with her in the river, svrim to the 
 opposite shore, and then return to Rome. Her 
 eloquence prevailed upon them, and they all reach- 
 ed their home in safety, although they had to ac- 
 complish the feat amidst a shower of arrows that 
 were poured upon them by the enemy. But the 
 consul, Publicola, did not approve of the bold 
 deed, and sent the poor maidens back to king Por- 
 sena's camp. Porsena was moved by the courage 
 of the girls and the generosity of the Romans, 
 and gave them their liberty ; and to Clelia in ad- 
 dition, as a mark of his particular esteem, a noble 
 charger splendidly caparisoned. Rome then erect- 
 ed, in the Via Sacra, an equestrian statue in honour 
 of the fair heroine, which Plutarch mentions in 
 his writings. 
 
 CLOTILDE, 
 Wife of Clovis, king of France, was the daugh- 
 ter of Chilperic, third son of Gandive, king of 
 Burgundy. Gandive dying in 470, left his king- 
 dom to his four sons, who were for three years 
 engaged in a constant contest to obtain the entire 
 control of the country. At length the two elder 
 princes succeeded. Chilperic and Godemar were 
 murdered, Chilperic's wife was drowned, his two 
 sons killed, his eldest daughter placed in a con- 
 vent, and Clotilde, still very young, confined in a . 
 castle. Clovis, hearing of her beauty, virtues, 
 
 92 
 
CO 
 
 CO 
 
 and miafortunes, and besides ■wishing to have an i 
 excuse for extending his dominions, sent to de- 
 mand her in marriage of her uncle, who was 
 afraid to refuse the alliance, though he foresaw 
 the disasters it might bring on his country. Clo- 
 tilde was married to Clovis in 493, at Soissons. 
 She then devoted her whole life to the fulfilment 
 of two great designs ; one was to convert her 
 husband, still a pagan, to the Christian faith ; and 
 the other to revenge on her uncle Gondebaud, the 
 deaths of her father, mother, and brothers. She 
 at length succeeded in the first object, and Clovis 
 was baptized in 496, together with his sister 
 Alboflede and three thousand warriors, on the oc- 
 casion of a victory he obtained through the inter- 
 cession of the god of Clotilde, as he thought. 
 Clovis next turned his arms against Gondebaud, 
 and conquered him, but left him in possession of 
 his kingdom. Clovis died in 511, and Clotilde 
 retired to Tours, but used all her influence to in- 
 duce her three sons to revenge her injuries still 
 more effectually ; and in a battle with the Bur- 
 gundians her eldest and best-beloved son Chlodo- 
 mir was slain. He left three young sons, of whom 
 Clotilde took charge, intending to educate them, 
 and put them in possession of their father's in- 
 heritance. She brought them with her to Paris, 
 when her two remaining sons obtained possession 
 of them, and sent to her to know whether they 
 should place them in a monastery or put them to 
 death. Overcome by distress, Clotilde exclaimed, 
 "Let them perish by the sword rather than live 
 ignominiously in a cloister." The two elder chil- 
 dren were killed, but the younger one was saved, 
 and died a priest. After this catastrophe, Clo- 
 tilde again retired to Tours, where she passed her 
 time in acts of devotion. She died in 545. She 
 was buried at Paris, by the side of her husband 
 and St. Genevieve, and was canonized after her 
 death. 
 
 CLOTILDE, 
 The unfortunate queen of the Goths, was daugh- 
 ter of Clovis and Clotilde of France. She married 
 Amalaric, who was an Arian, while she was a 
 pious Catholic. She was so persecuted by her 
 subjects for her faith, that her life was in danger, 
 while her bigoted husband united with her foes in 
 abusing her. She at last applied to her three 
 brothers, who then governed the divided kingdom 
 of the Franks, sending to Chilperic, king of Paris, 
 her eldest brother, a handkerchief saturated with 
 the blood drawn from her by the blows of her 
 barbarous husband. Her brothers took up arms 
 to revenge her cause, and in this bloody war the 
 cruel Amalaric was slain. Clotilde returned to 
 her native France, and died soon after, about 535. 
 She was a pious and amiable woman. 
 
 COLONNA, 
 ViTTOKiA, daughter of Fabricio, duke of Pa- 
 liano, was bom at Marino in 1490, and married in 
 1507, Francesco, Marquis of Pescara. Her poems 
 have often been published, and are highly and 
 deservedly admired. Her husband died in 1525, 
 and she determined to spend the remainder of her 
 
 life in religious seclusion, although various pro- 
 posals of marriage were made to her. Her beauty, 
 talents, and virtue, were extolled by her contem- 
 poraries, among others by Michael Angelo and 
 Ariosto. She died in 1547, at Rome. She was 
 affianced to the Marquis of Pescara in childhood, 
 and as they grew up a very tender affection in- 
 creased with their years. Congenial in tastes, of 
 the same age, their union was the model of a 
 happy marriage. Circumstances showed whose 
 mind was of the firmer texture and higher tone. 
 Francesco having exhibited extraordinary valour 
 and generalship at the battle of Pavia, was thought 
 of importance enough to be bribed ; a negotiation 
 was set on foot to offer him the crown of Naples, 
 if he would betray the sovereign to whom he had 
 sworn fealty. The lure was powerful, and Fran- 
 cesco lent a willing ear to these propositions, 
 when Yittoria came to the aid of his yielding vir- 
 tue. She sent him that remarkable letter, where, 
 among other things, she says, " Your virtue may 
 raise you above the glory of being king. The sort 
 of honour that goes down to our children with 
 real lustre is derived from our deeds and qualities, 
 not from power or titles. For myself, I do not 
 "wish to be the wife of a king, but of a general 
 who can make himself superior to the greatest 
 king, not only by courage, but by magnanimity, 
 and superiority to any less elevated motive than 
 duty." 
 
 COMNENUS, 
 
 Anna, daughter to the Greek emperor Alexius 
 Comnenus, flourished about 1118, and wrote fifteen 
 books on the life and actions of her father, which 
 she called " The Alexiad." Eight of these books 
 were published by Hseschelius in 1610, and the 
 whole of them with a Latin version in 1651 ; to 
 another edition of which, in 1670, the learned 
 Charles du Fresne added historical and philolo- 
 gical notes. 
 
 The authors of the "Journal des Savans," for 
 1675, have spoken as follows of this learned and 
 accomplished lady. " The elegance with which 
 Anna Comnenus has described the life and actions 
 of her father, and the strong and eloquent manner 
 
CO 
 
 CO 
 
 with which she has set them off, are so much 
 above the ordinary understanding of women, that 
 one is almost ready to doubt whether she was in- 
 deed the author of those books. It is certain that 
 we cannot read her descriptions of countries, 
 towns, rivers, mountains, battles, sieges, her re- 
 flections upon particular events, the judgments 
 she passes on human actions, and the digressions 
 she makes on many occasions, without perceiving 
 that she must have been very well skilled in 
 grammar, rhetoric, philosophy, mathematics, phy- 
 sic and divinity ; all of which is very uncommon 
 in any of that sex." 
 
 CONSTANCE, 
 Daughtek of Conan, duke of Brittany, wife of 
 Geoffrey Plantagenet, son of Henry II., king of 
 England. She was contracted to him while they 
 were both in the cradle, and, by her right, Geoffrey 
 became duke of Brittany. By him she had two 
 children, Eleanor, called the Maid of Brittany, 
 and Arthur, who was born after the death of his 
 father. She afterwards married Ralph Blunde- 
 ville, earl of Chester, who suspected her of an 
 intrigue with John of England, his most bitter 
 enemy. He obtained a divorce, and Constance 
 married Guy, brother of the viscount de Thenars. 
 She had by him a daughter, Alix, whom the Bre- 
 tons, on the refusal of John to set free her elder 
 sister, elected for their sovereign. The king of 
 France, and Richard Coeur de Lion, king of Eng- 
 land, both claimed Brittany as a fief. Constance, 
 to keep it in her own name, fomented divisions 
 between the sovereigns. On the death of Richard, 
 it was found that he had left the kingdom to his 
 brother John, instead of his nephew Arthur, to 
 whom it rightfully belonged. Constance resented 
 this injustice, and being a woman of judgment and 
 courage, might have reinstated her son in his 
 rights, if she had not died before she had an 
 opportunity of asserting his claims. She died in 
 1202. Her eldest daughter was kept all her life 
 in prison. 
 
 CONTARINI, 
 Gabriello Catteeina, of Agolfio. No exact 
 date of her birth is to be procured ; that she lived 
 towards the end of the fifteenth century is indubi- 
 table. She possessed a very fertile vein of poetic 
 fancy. Her poetry manifests natural facOity in 
 composing, as well as considerable erudition. She 
 was distinguished for her pleasing manners and 
 solid virtues. Her works are, " Life of St. Fran- 
 cesco," a poem ; " Life of St. Waldo," a poem ; five 
 odes, seven canzonets, and some occasional poems. 
 
 COPPOLI, 
 
 Elena or Ceoiiia, of Perugia, born 1425, died 
 1500. This learned woman was the daughter of 
 Francesco Coppoli. In the twenty-Seventh year 
 of her age she entered the religious house of Santa 
 Lucia, and became a member of the sisterhood. 
 She was an intimate friend of the famous Por- 
 cellio, who addressed many Latin poems to her. 
 She was not only mistress of the Greek and Latin, 
 but well acquainted with elegant literature. She 
 
 has left some Latin poems, "Ascetic Letters," a 
 manuscript life of a certain sister Eustachia of 
 Messina, and a " History of the Monastery of St. 
 Lucia." 
 
 CORDAUn, 
 
 Isabella de, a beautiful, rich, and accom- 
 plished lady, mistress of the Latin, Greek, and 
 Hebrew languages, took her degree in theology, 
 with the title of doctor. 
 
 CORNANO, 
 Cateeina, queen of Cyprus. At the court of 
 James IV., king of Cyprus, resided a Venetian 
 gentleman, exiled for some youthful indiscretions. 
 He found especial favour with his adopted monarch, 
 and rose to an intimate intercourse with him. 
 One day, happening to stoop, he let fall a minia- 
 ture, which represented so beautiful a face that 
 the king eagerly inquired about the original. After 
 stimulating his curiosity by affecting a discreet 
 reserve, he acknowledged it to be the likeness of 
 his niece. In subsequent conversations he artfully 
 praised this young lady, and so wrought upon the 
 sovereign that he resolved to take her for his wife. 
 This honourable proposal being transmitted to 
 Venice, she was adopted by the state, and sent as 
 a daughter of the republic — a mode often adopted 
 by that oligarchy for forming alliances with foreign 
 powers. The fine climate and rich soil of Cyprus 
 — an island so favoured by nature, that the an- 
 cients dedicated it to the queen of beauty and 
 love — had made it always a coveted spot of earth. 
 After the dominion of the Ptolemies, it was go- 
 verned successively by the Arabs, the Comneni, 
 and the Templars. In 1192, it fell into the pos- 
 session of Guy de Lusignan. Fourteen kings of 
 that house kept the dominion for 240 years, until 
 the accession of John III., a weak man, who re- 
 signed all power to his wife Elena, a woman of 
 haughty disposition, and an object of public- dis- 
 like. This king had two children, a daughter, 
 Carlotta, married to John of Portugal, and resid- 
 ing in the island, and a son who was illegitimate, 
 James. Elena, that there might be no danger of 
 his rivalling her daughter in the succession, had 
 . 94 
 
cu 
 
 DE 
 
 obliged him to take monastic vows ; and he was 
 subsequently made archbishop of the kingdom ; 
 but he entertaining ambitious views, obtained a 
 dispensation, resigned his ecclesiastical dignity, 
 and upon the death of his father openly oifered 
 himself as heir and claimant to the throne. Car- 
 lotta had lost her husband. She maintained an 
 opposition to her natural brother with various 
 success, but the people had imbibed so thorough 
 a disgust of her mother's domination, that she met 
 with obstacles everywhere, and James obtained 
 triumphant success. He had been for some years 
 peaceably possessed of the crown, 'whon he mar- 
 ried the beautiful Venetian. His wedded felicity 
 was of short duration ; he died, leaving the queen 
 in a state of pregnancy. Venice stepped in to 
 support her claims to a regency, which she ob- 
 tained without much difficulty. She gave birth to 
 a son, who lived but two years. Here Carlotta 
 appears again on the scene ; she raised troops and 
 began a war, but the Venetian republic had deter- 
 mined upon the fate of Cyprus. Her power easily 
 defeated the pretender Carlotta, and when Cath- 
 erine was proclaimed queen, as easily procured 
 her abdication in favour of the state of Venice. 
 After various forms, and overpowering some op- 
 position, Cyprus was annexed to the republic of 
 Venice, in 1489, the 20th of June. Catherine re- 
 turned to her country and family, where she passed 
 so obscure a life that no historian has taken the 
 pains to note the period of her death. 
 
 Her name remains in the archives of Venice, 
 because through her means a kingdom was ac- 
 quired. Her features enjoy immortality, for she 
 was painted by Titian. 
 
 CUNEGONDE, 
 Daughter of Ligefroi, count of Luxembourg, 
 married the emperor Henry II. of Germany, by 
 whom she had no children. She has been accused 
 by some historians of incontinence, while others 
 regard her as iU-treated by her husband, after 
 whose death, in 1024, she retired to a monastery. 
 
 D. 
 
 D'ANDALO, or BRANCALEONE GALEANA. 
 NOTHINQ is known of the early youth of this 
 lady, but that she belonged to the noble house of 
 Saviolo of Bologna. She lived in the thirteenth 
 century, a melancholy epoch for Italy, divided, 
 and torn to pieces by factions and princely dema- 
 gogues. In 1251 her husband, Branoaleone D'An- 
 dalo, was selected by the upper council of Bologna 
 to go to Eome, where the imbecile administration 
 wished to confer on him the dignity of Senator, 
 and to obtain the advantage of his_ services in ap- 
 peasing their dissensions. He declined going 
 until they sent hostages to Bologna. Galeana 
 remained at Bologna to receive these noble Ro- 
 mans, and upon their arrival wrote to her husband 
 a very elegant Latin letter, describing them and 
 their reception. She then proceeded to Rome, 
 where she found D'Andalo precipitated from his 
 
 honours — the caprice of popular favour had turned 
 — he was in a dungeon and his life menaced. 
 Struck with horror, she sunk not under this blow, 
 but courageously presented herself to the council, 
 and with a manly eloquence did this Bolognese 
 matron appeal to the public faith ; and solemnly 
 one by one call upon the weak and perfidious indi- 
 viduals who had invited her husband to this snare. 
 The good cause triumphed ; Galeana had the feli- 
 city of returning home with D'Andalo, endeared 
 to him by her virtuous exertions. She died in 
 1274. 
 
 DANTI, 
 Theodora, an Italian artist, was born at Peru- 
 gia, in 1498, and died there in 1573. She painted 
 small pictures in the manner of Pietro Perugino, 
 in an excellent style. She also excelled in mathe- 
 matics, in which science she instructed one of her 
 nephews, who, with his aunt, acquired great re- 
 putation for learning. 
 
 DESMOND, 
 Catharine Fitzgerald, countess of, who at- 
 tained the age of one hundred and forty-five years, 
 was daughter of the house of Drumana, in the 
 county of Waterford, Ireland, and second wife of 
 James, twelfth earl of Desmond, to whom she was 
 married in the reign of Edward IV. (1461), and 
 being on that occasion presented at court, she 
 danced with the duke of Gloucester, afterwards 
 Richard III. The beauty and vivacity of lady 
 Desmond rendered her an object of attraction to 
 a very advanced age, and she had passed her hun- 
 dredth year before she could refrain from dancing, 
 or mingling in gay assemblies. She resided at 
 Inchiquin, in Munster, and held her jointure as 
 dowager from many successive earls of Desmond, 
 till the family being by an attainder deprived of 
 the estate, she was reduced to poverty. Although 
 then one hundred and forty, she went to London, 
 laid her case before James I., and obtained relief. 
 Sir Walter Raleigh was well acquainted with this 
 lady, and mentions her as a prodigy. Lord Bacon 
 informs us that she had three new sets of natural 
 
 95 
 
DE 
 
 DU 
 
 teeth. It is uncertain in what year she died ; 
 but she was not living in 1617, when Sir Walter 
 Raleigh published his history. 
 
 DEKVOEGILLE, 
 
 Lady, was widow of John de Baliol, of Bar- 
 nard's castle, in the county of Durham, a man of 
 opulence and power in the thirteenth century, on 
 whom devolved the duty of carrying on her hus- 
 band's design of founding the college called Baliol 
 College, in Oxford. Her husband left no written 
 deed for the purpose ; but his widow in the most 
 honourable and liberal manner fulfilled his desire. 
 
 DODANE, 
 Duchess de Septimanie, was the wife of Ber- 
 nard, duke de Septimanie, son of William of Aqui- 
 taine, whom she married, in the palace of Aix-la- 
 Chapelle, in June, 824. She became the mother 
 of two sons, William and Bernard, for whom she 
 vrrote, in 841, a book in Latin, called. The Advice 
 of a Mother to her Sons. Some fragments of this 
 work still remain, and do honour to the good 
 sense and religious feeling of the writer. Dodane 
 died in 842. 
 
 DOETE DE TROYES, 
 Was born in that city in 1220, and died in 1265. 
 She accompanied her brother Sherry, surnamed 
 the Valiant, to the coronation of Conrad, emperor 
 of Germany, at Mayence, where she was much 
 admired for her wit and beauty. She attracted 
 the notice of the emperor, but he found her virtue 
 invincible. She wrote poetry with ease and grace. 
 
 DORCAS, or TABITHA, 
 (The first was her name in Greek, the second 
 in Syriac) signifies a roe, or gazelle, and was the 
 name, probably, given to indicate some peculiar 
 characteristic of this amiable woman. Dorcas 
 lived in Joppa, now called Jafi'a, a sea-port upon 
 the eastern coast of the Mediterranean sea, about 
 forty-five miles north-west of Jerusalem. Dorcas 
 had early become a convert to the Christian reli- 
 gion, and must have been a most zealous disciple, 
 as she "was full of good works and alms-deeds, 
 which she did." She was not satisfied -with advo- 
 cating the right way, or giving in charity ; she 
 worked with her own hands in the good cause — she 
 made garments for the poor ; she relieved the sick, 
 and she comforted those who mourned. We feel 
 sure she must have done all these deeds of love, 
 because, when she died, the "widows" were 
 " weeping, and showing the coats and garments 
 Dorcas had made." Peter, the apostle, was jour- 
 neying in the country near Joppa when Dorcas 
 died. The disciples sent for him to come and 
 comfort them in this great affliction ; he went, 
 and prayed, and raised the dead Dorcas to life. 
 
 This was the first miracle of raising the dead to 
 life performed by the apostles. A woman was thus 
 distinguished for her " good works." And her 
 name has since been, and will ever continue to 
 be, synonymous with the holiest deeds of woman's 
 charity, till time shall be no more. Every " Dor- 
 cas Society " is a monument to the sweet and happy 
 
 memory of this pious woman, who did her humble 
 alms-deeds more than 1800 years ago. See Acts, 
 chap, ix., ver. 36 to 43. 
 
 DOUVRE, 
 
 Isabella he, of Bayeux, in France, was mistress 
 to Robert the Bastard, son of Henry I. of England, 
 by whom she had Richard, bishop of Bayeux. She 
 died at Bayeux, at an advanced age, in 1166. 
 
 • DRAHOMIRA, 
 
 Wife of duke Wratislaw of Bohemia. She was 
 a pagan when, in 907, the duke chose her for his 
 wife, but with the condition that she should be- 
 come a Christian. She complied, yet adhered in 
 secret to her idolatrous practices. She had two 
 sons, Winzeslaus and Boleslaus — the former be- 
 came a devoted Christian, and the latter adhered 
 to the idolatry of his mother. When the duke 
 died, she seized upon the reins of government, 
 and endeavoured to re-establish idolatry, by per- 
 secuting her Christian subjects, and by favouring 
 the pretensions of her son Boleslaus, at the ex- 
 pense of his elder brother, Winzeslaus. She 
 caused the assassination of her pious mother-in- 
 law, Ludmilea. The Christians became at last 
 tired of her wicked conduct, and rose in rebellion 
 against her. Her adherents were defeated, and 
 Winzeslaus was proclaimed duke. But she induced 
 Boleslaus to assassinate him at a feast given by 
 her. Shortly after this horrible act, she was 
 killed by her horses, which ran away, and dragged 
 her body, so that she died witli excruciating 
 suffering. 
 
 DRUSILLA LIVIA, 
 
 Dauohteb of Germanicus and Agrippina, was 
 notorious for her licentiousness. She openly mar- 
 ried her brother Caligula, who was so tenderly 
 attached to her, that in a dangerous illness he 
 made her heiress of all his possessions, and com- 
 manded that she should succeed him in the Roman 
 empire. She died in 88, in the twenty-third year 
 of her life, and was deified by her brother, who 
 built temples to her honour. She was very beau- 
 tiful. 
 
 DRUSILLA, 
 The third daughter of Herod Agrippa, the go- 
 vernor of Abilene, was married to Azisus, king of 
 the Emessenians, whom she abandoned that she 
 might marry Claudius Felix, governor of Judea, 
 in 53, by whom she had a son named Agrippa. 
 She was one of the most beautiful women of her 
 age. One day Felix and Drusilla, who was a 
 Jewess, sent for Paul, and desired him to explain 
 the Christian religion. The apostle, with his usual 
 boldness, spoke on justice, chastity, and the last 
 judgment. 
 
 DUYN, 
 Maeguekite de, abbess of the convent of La 
 Chartreuse de Poletin, on the confines of Dau- 
 phiny and Savoy, lived at the close of the thir- 
 teenth century. During her life she was considered 
 a saint, and she wrote several meditations in Latin, 
 
 96 
 
EA 
 
 EL 
 
 remarkable only for the correctness and propriety 
 of the language. She also wrote her own language 
 with ease, and her works show a cultivation of 
 mind uncommon in those days. 
 
 E. 
 
 EANFLED, 
 Dauohtbe of Edwin, king of Northumbria and 
 Ethelburga, was the first individual who received 
 the sacrament of baptism in that kingdom. She 
 afterwards married Osmy, king of Meroia. 
 
 EBBA, 
 Abbess of the monastery of Coldingham in Ire- 
 land, is celebrated for her resolution and courage. 
 The Danes having ravaged the country with fire 
 and sword, were approaching Coldingham, when 
 Ebba persuaded her nuns to disfigure themselves 
 by cutting off their noses and upper lips, that 
 they might be preserved from the brutality of the 
 soldiery. Her example was followed by all the 
 sisterhood. The barbarians, enraged at finding 
 them in this state, set fire to the monastery, and 
 consumed the inmates in the flames. 
 
 EDESIA 
 
 Or Alexandria, wife of the philosopher Hermias. 
 She lived in the beginning of the fifth century. 
 Though at an early period of her life a convert to 
 Christianity, she escaped persecution on account 
 of her faith, in consequence of the high respect 
 she commanded for her virtuous and exemplary 
 life. After the death of her husband, she removed 
 to Athens to her relations. 
 
 The Fathers of the church mention her in their 
 writings as having been instrumental, by her ex- 
 emplary conduct, in doing away many prejudices 
 entertained against the followers of Christ, and 
 in causing numbers to join the church. 
 
 EDITHA, 
 Dauqhtee of Earl Godwin, and wife of Ed- 
 ward the Confessor, was an amiable and very 
 learned lady. Ingulphus, the Saxon historian, 
 afbms that the queen frequently interrupted him 
 and his school-fellows in her walks, and question- 
 ed them, with much closeness, on their progress 
 in Latin. Ingulphus was then a scholar at West- 
 minster monastery, near Edith's palace. She was 
 also sMlful in needle-work, and kind to the poor. 
 Her character is very interesting, and her heart- 
 trials must have been severe. 
 
 ELEANOR 
 Or Aquitaine, succeeded her father, William X., 
 in 1137, at the age of fifteen, in the fine duchy 
 which at that time comprised Gascony, Saintonge, 
 and the Comte de Poitou. She married the same 
 year Louis VII., king of France, and went with 
 him to the Holy Land. She soon gave him cause 
 for jealousy, from her intimacy with her uncle, 
 Raymond count of Poitiers, and with Saladin ; 
 G 
 
 and after many bitter quarrels, they were divorced 
 under pretence of consanguinity, in 1152. 
 
 Six weeks afterwards, Eleanor married Henry 
 II., duke of Normandy, afterwards king of Eng- 
 land, to whom she brought in dowry Poitou and 
 Guienne. Thence arose those wars that ravaged 
 France for three hundred years, in which more 
 than three millions of Frenchmen lost their lives. 
 
 Eleanor had four sons and a daughter by her 
 second husband. In 1162, she gave Guienne to 
 her second son, Richard Coeur de Lion, who did 
 homage for it to the king of France. She died in 
 1204. She was very jealous of her second hus- 
 band, and showed the greatest animosity to all 
 whom she regarded as rivals. She is accused of 
 having compelled one of his mistresses, Rosamond 
 Clifford, generally called the Fair Rosamond, to 
 drink poison ; but the story has been shown to be 
 untrue by later researches. She incited her sons 
 to rebel against their father, and was in conse- 
 quence throT/n into prison, where she was kept 
 for sixteen years. She was in her youth remark- 
 ably beautiful; and, in the later years of her 
 varied life, showed evidences of a naturally noble 
 disposition. As soon as she was liberated from 
 her prison, which was done by order of her son 
 Richard on his accession to the throne, he placed 
 her at the head of the government. No doubt she 
 bitterly felt the utter neglect she had suffered 
 during her imprisonment ; yet she did not, when 
 she had obtained power, use it to punish her ene- 
 mies, but rather devoted herself to deeds of mercy 
 and piety, going from city to city, setting free all 
 persons confined for violating the game-laws, 
 which, in the latter part of king Henry's life, were 
 cruelly enforced; and when she released these 
 prisoners, it was on condition that they prayed 
 for the soul of her late husband. Miss Strickland 
 thus closes her interesting biography of this beau- 
 tiful but unfortunate queen of England: — "Elea- 
 nor of Aquitaine is among the very few women 
 who have atoned for an ill-spent youth by a wise 
 and benevolent old age. As a sovereign she ranks 
 among the greatest of female rulers." 
 
 ELEANOR 
 Or England, surnamed the Saint, was the daugh- 
 ter of Berenger, the fifth count of Provence. In 
 the year 1236, she became the wife of king Henry 
 III. of England, and afterward the mother of 
 Edward I. After the death of her husband she 
 entered the nunnery at Ambresbury, and lived 
 there in the odour of sanctity. Her prayers were 
 reputed to have the power of producing miracles. 
 
 ELGIVA, 
 A BEAtrnrrL English princess, who married 
 Edwy, king of England, soon after he ascended 
 the throne, in 955. She was within the degree of 
 kindred prohibited by the canon law; and the 
 savage Dunstan, archbishop of Canterbury, ex- 
 cited a disaffection against the king in conse- 
 quence. This party seized the queen, and by the 
 order of archbishop Odo, branded her in the face 
 with a red-hot iron, hoping to destroy her beauty, 
 and carried her into Ireland to remain there in 
 
 97 
 
EL 
 
 EM 
 
 exile ; wliile Edwy consented to a divorce. Elgira, 
 liaving completely recovered from her wounds, 
 was hastening to the arms of her husband, when 
 she fell into the hands of her enemies, and was 
 harbarously murdered. 
 
 ELISABETH, 
 Wife of Zachariaa, and the mother of John the 
 Baptist. St. Luke says that she was of the 
 daughters of Aaron, of the race of priests. Her 
 ready faith, and rejoicing acknowledgment of the 
 " Lord," show the warm soul of a pious woman. 
 " Elisabeth was filled with the Holy Ghost ;" that 
 is, inspired to understand that her young cousin, 
 Mary the virgin, would become the mother of the 
 Messiah. Thus was the Saviour foretold, wel- 
 comed and adored by a woman, before he had 
 taken the form of humanity. This tender sensi- 
 bility to divine truth, when mysteriously mani- 
 fested, has never been thus fuUy understood, and 
 fondly cherished, by any man. Do not these ex- 
 amples show, conclusively, that the nature of 
 woman is most in harmony with heavenly things ? 
 See St. Luke, chap. i. 
 
 ELISABETH 
 
 Of York, daughter of Edward IV. of England 
 and Elisabeth Woodville, was bom February 11th, 
 1466. When about ten years old, she was be- 
 trothed to Charles, eldest son of Louis XI. of 
 France ; but when the time for the marriage ap- 
 proached, the contract was broken by Lojiis XI. 
 demanding the heiress of Burgundy in marriage 
 for the dauphin. This so enraged her father, that 
 the agitation is said to have caused his death- 
 After the decease of Edward, Elisabeth shared her 
 mother's trials, and her grief and resentment at 
 the murder of her Wo young brothers by Richard 
 
 III. She remained with her mother for some time 
 in sanctuary, to escape the cruelty of the king, 
 her uncle ; and while there, was betrothed to 
 Henry of Richmond. But in March, 1483, they 
 were obliged to surrender themselves ; Elisabeth 
 was separated from her mother, and forced to ac- 
 knowledge herself the illegitimate child of Edward 
 
 IV. On the death of Anne, the queen of Richard 
 III., it was rumoured that he intended to marry 
 his niece, Elisabeth, which caused so much excite- 
 ment in the public mind, that Richard was obliged 
 to disavow the report. Elisabeth herself showed 
 such an aversion to her uncle, that she was con- 
 fined in the castle of Sheriff Hatton, in Yorkshire. 
 After the battle of Bosworth, August 22, 1485, in 
 which Richard III. was slain, Henry of Richmond 
 was declared king, under the title of Henry VII. 
 of England ; and on January 18, 1486, he was 
 married to the princess Elisabeth, — thus uniting 
 the houses of York and Lancaster. Elisabeth was 
 the mother of several children ; the eldest of whom, 
 Arthur, prince of Wales, married, in 1501, Katha- 
 rine of Arragon, afterwards the wife of his younger 
 brother, Henry VIII., Arthur dying five months 
 after his marriage. Elisabeth died, February 11, 
 1603, a few days after the birth of a daughter. 
 She was a gentle, pious, and well-beloved prin- 
 cess, and deeply lamented by her husband, al- 
 
 though his natural reserve led him often to be, 
 accused of coldness towards her. She was very 
 beautiful. 
 
 ELPIS, 
 A LABT of one of the most considerable families 
 of Messina, was the first wife of the celebrated 
 Boethius, and was bom in the latter part of the 
 fifth century. Like her husband, she was devoted 
 to science, and shared his literary labours with 
 him. She united all the accomplishments of the 
 head and the heart. Her two sons, Patritius and 
 Hypatius, were raised to the consular dignity, 
 which Boethius had also several times enjoyed. 
 Elpis died before the misfortunes of her husband 
 fell upon him. 
 
 EMMA, 
 
 Wife of Lothaire, king of France, was the 
 daughter of Otho, emperor of Germany, and of his 
 wife Adelaide. In 984, Lothaire having taken 
 Verdun, left his wife there to guard it, who, the 
 next year, was attacked by a large army. She 
 repulsed them at first, and gave her husband time 
 to come to her aid. Lothaire died in 986. Some 
 writers have accused Emma and the bishop Alde- 
 beron of having poisoned him, that they might 
 continue their guilty intercourse ; but the charge 
 has never been proved. 
 
 EMMA, 
 
 Dacghtek of Richard II., duke of Normandy, 
 married Etheked, king of England, with whom 
 she fled, on the invasion of the Danes. She after- 
 wards married Canute ; and when her son Edward, 
 called the Confessor, ascended the throne, she 
 reigned conjointly with him. Her enemy, the 
 earl of Kent, opposed her ; and when she appealed 
 for assistance to her relation, the bishop of Win- 
 chester, she was accused of criminal intercourse 
 with that prelate ; a charge from which she extri- 
 cated herself by walking barefoot and unhurt over 
 nine red-hot ploughshares, after the manner of 
 the times. She passed the night previous to her 
 trial in prayer, before the tomb of St. Swithin; 
 and the next day, she appeared plainly dressed, 
 her feet and legs bare to the knee, and underwent 
 the ordeal, in the presence of the king, her son, 
 Edward the Conffessor, the nobility, clergy, and 
 people, in the cathedral church at Winchester. 
 Her innocence proved so miraculous a preserva- 
 tion that, walking with her eyes raised to heaven, 
 she did not even perceive the least reflection from 
 the heated irons, (if the old chronicle be true,) 
 but inquired, after having passed over them, when 
 they designed to bring her to the test. 
 
 The king, struck with the miracle, fell on his 
 knees before his mother, and implored her pardon ; 
 while, to expiate the injury done to her and her 
 relation, the reverend prelate, he devoutly laid 
 bare his shoulders before the bishop, whom he 
 ordered to inflict on him the discipline of the 
 scourge. 
 
 Emma, however, stripped by Edward of the im- 
 mense treasures she had amassed, spent the last 
 ten years of her life in misery, in a kind of prison 
 or convent at Winchester, where she died in 1502. 
 
 98 
 
ETl 
 
 EP 
 
 EEMENGARDE, or HERMENGARDE. 
 The life of this queen is but a relation of her 
 misfortunes. She is not the only woman to whom 
 misery has been a monument — to whom the tran- 
 quillity of private life would have been oblivion — 
 and to whom the gifts of fortune have brought 
 sorrow and celebrity. The precise date of her 
 birth is not known. She was the daughter of 
 Desiderio or Didier, as he is generally named by 
 English writers, king of the Lombards, and his 
 queen Ansa. Desiderio was born at Brescia of 
 noble race, and had succeeded to the throne of 
 Lombardy by the testament of Astolfo, the last 
 monarch of the dynasty of Alboinus. Desiderio 
 was a renowned general, and also a zealous de- 
 fender of the Christian church, which at that time 
 was not so firmly established as to need no sup- 
 port from the temporal powers. 
 
 Charlemagne ascended the throne of France in 
 768 ; two years after, his mother Bertrade, making 
 a journey into Italy, was struck by the flourishing 
 state of Desiderio's kingdom, as well as by the 
 beauty and attractive charms of his daughter Er- 
 mengarde. She then formed the plan of a double 
 marriage with this family, allotting Ermengarde 
 to Charlemagne, and her owji Ciola to Adelchi son 
 of Desiderio. This scheme was opposed by the 
 existing Pope, Stephen III., who used many argu- 
 ments to dissuade France from the connection. 
 The influence of Bertrade, however, prevailed, 
 and she had the satisfaction of taking home with 
 her the young princess, for whom she cherished 
 so warm an affection. 
 
 ■ At first everything was done to bring pleasure 
 and happiness to the young queen ; the particular 
 friendship subsisting between her and her mother- 
 in-law has been commemorated by Manzoni in 
 beautiful and touching poetry. A terrible reverse, 
 however, awaited her. Charlemagne, from causes 
 impossible now to ascertain, repudiated her, and 
 sent her ignominiously back to her family. His 
 mother and his nearest kinsmen remonstrated, and 
 entreated him to revoke this cruel mandate, but 
 in vain. After a year of deceptive happiness, 
 Ilermengarde returned to the court of Lombardy. 
 
 Her father and brother received her with the 
 utmost tenderness. Unfortunately their just in- 
 dignation at the unmerited disgrace of the young 
 princess, induced them to attempt a fruitless ven- 
 geance against one too decidedly superior in power 
 for any petty sovereign to cope with. A plan was 
 set on foot to bring forward another claimant to 
 the throne of France, to the succession of which, 
 in modern days of direct inheritance, Charlemagne 
 would not be considered wholly eligible. For this 
 purpose armies were raised and secret alliances 
 courted. 
 
 In the mean time Ermengarde received intelli- 
 gence that her faithless husband had just united 
 himself to the young and lovely Ildegarde. This 
 was to her a death-blow. She retired to a mon- 
 astery founded by her parents, and of which her 
 sister Anoperge was abbess. Here her existence 
 was soon terminated. She died in 773. The 
 chroniclers of that day recount that Adelard, a 
 cousin of Charlemagne, was so disgusted with the 
 unlawful marriage of his sovereign that he became 
 a monk, by way of expiation, and carried to such 
 a degree his devotion and austere piety that he 
 obtained the honours of canonization. Desiderio, 
 and his son Adelchi, after much ineffectual valour, 
 were obliged to succumb to the genius and armies 
 of Charlemagne, who, taking possession of theii- 
 states, obliged them to retire into a monastery for 
 the rest of their lives. 
 
 EPONINA, 
 
 Wipe of Julius Sabinus, a Roman general na- 
 tive of Langres, has been called the heroine of 
 conjugal affection. During the struggles of Otho, 
 Vitellius, and Vespasian, for the sovereignty of 
 Rome, Sabinus, who pretended to trace his lineage 
 to Julius Coesar by casting an imputation on the 
 chastity of his grandmother, put in his claim to 
 the throne. Being defeated, and an immense 
 reward offered for his head, he assembled his few 
 faithful friends, and acknowledging his gratitude 
 towards them, he expressed his resolution of not 
 surviving his misfortunes, but of setting his house 
 on fire and perishing in the flames. They remon- 
 strated in vain, and at length were obliged to 
 leave him, in order to preserve their own lives. 
 To a freedman of the name of Martial, he alone 
 imparted his real intention, which was to conceal 
 himself in a subterranean cavern, which had com- 
 munication with his house. The superb mansion 
 of Sabinus was then set on fire, and the report of 
 his death, with the attendant circumstances, was 
 sent immediately to Vespasian, and soon reached 
 Eponina's ears. Frantic with grief, she resolved 
 to put an end to her life also. For three days she 
 refused every kind of nourishment, when Martial, 
 hearing of her violent sorrow, contrived to disclose 
 to her the truth, but advised her to continue the 
 semblance of grief lest suspicions should arise ; 
 but at night he conducted her to the cavern, which 
 she left before daybreak. 
 
 Frequent were the excuses which Eponina made 
 to her friends for her absences from Rome ; and 
 after a time, she not only visited her husband in 
 the evening, but passed whole days with him in 
 
 99 
 
ES 
 
 EH 
 
 the cavern. At length her apprehensions were 
 excited by her situation ; but by rubbing a poi- 
 sonous ointment upon herself, she produced a 
 swelling in her legs and arms, so that her com- 
 plaint tras thought to be a dropsy ; she then retired 
 to the cave, and vrithout any medical assistance, 
 she gave birth to a boy. For nearly nine years 
 she continued to visit her husband in his solitude, 
 and during that period twice became a mother. 
 At length her frequent absences were noticed, she 
 was watched, and her secret discovered. 
 
 Loaded with chains, Sabinus was brought before 
 Vespasian, and condemned to die. Eponina threw 
 herself at the feet of the emperor, and implored 
 him to spare her husband ; and, at the same time, 
 she presented her two children to him, who joined 
 in the solicitation, with tears and entreaties. 
 Vespasian, however, remained inflexible, and 
 Eponina, rising with an air of dignity, said, " Be 
 assured that I know how to contemn life ; with 
 Sabinus I have existed nine years in the bowels 
 of the earth, and with him I am resolved to die." 
 She perished with her husband about seventy- 
 eight years after the Christian era. 
 
 ESTHEE, 
 
 A Jewess, mistress to Casimir III., king of Po- 
 land in the fourteenth century, from whom she 
 obtained great privileges for her nation. 
 
 ETHELBITRGA, 
 Datjghtee. of Ethelbert, king of Kent, married 
 Edwin, king of Northumbria. He was a very 
 brave and warlike prince, but a pagan when she 
 married him. However, she won him to the Chris- 
 tian faith, as her mother Bertha had won her 
 father Ethelbert. Thus was Christianity planted 
 in England by the faith and influence of woman. 
 
 ETHELDREDA, ST., 
 Was a daughter of Anna, king of the East An- 
 gles, and Hereswitha his queen, and was bom 
 about 630, at Ixming, a small village in Suffolk. 
 In 673, she founded the church and convent of 
 Ely. Of this monastery she was constituted 
 abbess. The convent, with its inhabitants, was 
 destroyed by the Danes in 870. 
 
 ETHELFLEDA, or ELFLEDA, 
 Eldest daughter of Alfred the Great, and sister 
 of Edward I., king of the West-Saxons, was wife 
 to Etheldred, earl of Mercia. After the birth of 
 her first child, having suifered severely in child- 
 birth, she made a vow of chastity, and devoted 
 herself to arms. She retained a cordial friend- 
 ship for her husband, with whom she united in 
 acts of munificence and valour. They assisted Al- 
 fred in his wars against the Danes, whom they 
 prevented the Welsh from succouring. Not less 
 pious than valiant, they restored cities, founded 
 abbeys, and protected the bones of departed 
 saints. 
 
 After the death of her husband, in 912, Ethel- 
 fleda assumed the government of Mercia ; and, 
 emulating her father and brother, commanded ar- 
 mies, fortified towns, and prevented the Danes 
 
 from re-settling in Mercia. Then carrying her 
 victorious arms into Wales, she compelled the 
 Welsh, after several victories, to become her tribu- 
 taries. In 918, she "took Derby from the Danes ; 
 and in 920, Leicester, York, &c. Having become 
 famed for her spirit and courage, the titles of 
 lady and queen were judged inadequate to her 
 merit ; to these she received, in addition, those of 
 lord and king. 
 
 Her courage and activity were employed in the 
 service of her country till her death, in 922, at 
 Tamworth, in Staffordshire, where she was carry- 
 ing on a war with the Danes. She left one daugh- 
 ter, Elswina. 
 
 Ethelfleda was deeply regi'etted by the whole 
 kingdom, especially by her brother Edward, to 
 Whom she proved equally serviceable in the cabi- 
 net and the field. Ingulphus, the historian, speaks 
 of the courage and masculine virtues of this prin- 
 cess. 
 
 EUDOCIA, 
 
 Whose name was originally Athenaia, was the 
 daughter of Leontius, an Athenian sophist and 
 philosopher. She was born about 393, and very 
 carefully educated by her father. Her progress 
 in every branch of learning was uncommon and 
 rapid. Her father, proud of her great beauty 
 and attainments, persuaded himself that the merit 
 of Athenais would be a sufficient dowry. With 
 this conviction, he divided, on his death-bed, his 
 estate between his two sons, bequeathing his 
 daughter only one hundred pieces of gold. 
 
 Less sanguine in the power of her charms, Athe- 
 nais appealed at first to the equity and affection 
 of her brothers ; finding this in vain, she took re- 
 fuge with an aunt of hers, and commenced a legal 
 process against her brothers. In the progress of 
 the suit, Athenais was carried, by her aunts, to 
 Constantinople. Theodosius II. at this time di- 
 vided with his sister Pulcheria the care of the em- 
 pire ; and to Pulcheria the aunts of Athenais ap- 
 pealed for justice. The beauty and intellect of 
 the young Greek interested Pulcheria, who con- 
 trived that her brother should see her and hear 
 her converse, without being himself seen. Her 
 slender and graceful figure, the regularity of her 
 features, her fair complexion, golden hair, large 
 blue eyes, and musical voice, completely enrap- 
 tured the young king. He had her instructed in 
 the principles of the Greek church, which she em- 
 braced, and was baptized, in 421, by the name of 
 Eudocia. She was then married to the emperor 
 amid the acclamations of the capital, and after 
 the birth of a daughter, received the surname of 
 Augusta. 
 
 Amidst the luxuries of a court, the empress 
 continued to preserve her studious habits. She 
 composed a poetical paraphrase of the first eight 
 books of the New Testament ; also of the prophe- 
 cies of Daniel and Zachariah ; to these she added 
 a canto of the verses of Homer, applied to the 
 life and miracles of Christ ; the legend of St. Cy- 
 prian ; and a panegyric on the Persian victories 
 of Theodosius. 
 
 " Her writings," says Gibbon, "which were ap- 
 
 100 
 
EU 
 
 EU 
 
 plauded by a servile and superstdtious age, have 
 not been disdained by the candour of impartial 
 criticism." 
 
 After the birth of her daughter, Eudocia re- 
 quested permission to discharge her grateful vows, 
 by a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. In her progress 
 through the East, she pronounced, from a throne 
 of gold and gems, an eloquent oration to the Se- 
 nate of Antioch, to whom she declared her inten- 
 tion of enlarging the walls of the city, and assist- 
 ing in the restoration of the public baths. For 
 this purpose she allotted two hundred pounds of 
 gold. Her alms and munificence in the Holy Land 
 exceeded that of the great Helena. She returned 
 to Constantinople, covered with honours and laden 
 with pious relics. 
 
 Ambition now awoke in the heart of Eudocia ; 
 aspiring to the government of the empire, she 
 contended for power with the princess, her bene- 
 factress, whom she sought to supplant in the con- 
 fidence of the emperor. But, in 445, an unlucky 
 accident exposed her to the emperor's jealousy. 
 He had given her an apple of extraordinary size, 
 which she sent to Paulinus, whom she esteemed 
 on account of his learning. Paulinus, not know- 
 ing whence it came, presented it to the emperor, 
 who soon after asked the empress what she had 
 done with it. She, fearing his anger, told him 
 she had eaten it. This made the emperor suspect 
 that there was too great an intimacy between her 
 and Paulinus, and, producing the apple, he con- 
 victed her of falsehood 
 
 The influence of Pulcheria triumphed over that 
 of the empress, who found herself unable to pro- 
 tect her most faithful adherents: she witnessed 
 the disgrace of Cyrus, the praetorian prefect, 
 which was followed by the execution of Paulinus, 
 whose great personal beauty and intimacy with 
 the empress, had excited the jealousy of Theo- 
 dosius. 
 
 Perceiving that her husband's affections were 
 irretrievably alienated, Eudocia requested permis- 
 sion to retire to Jerusalem, and consecrate the rest 
 of her life to solitude and religion ; but the ven- 
 geance of Pulcheria, or the jealousy of Theodo- 
 sius, pursued her even in her retreat. Stripped 
 of the honours due to her rank, the empress was 
 disgraced in the eyes of the surrounding nations. 
 This treatment irritated and exasperated her, and 
 led her to commit acts unworthy her profession as 
 a Christian or a philosopher. But the death of 
 the emperor, the misfortunes of her daughter, and 
 the approach of age, gradually calmed her pas- 
 sions, and she passed the latter part of her life in 
 building churches, and relieving the poor. 
 
 Some writers assert that she was reconciled to 
 Theodosius, and returned to Constantinople during 
 his life ; others, that she was not recalled till after 
 his death. However this may be, she died at Je- 
 rusalem, about 460, at the age of sixty-six, so- 
 lemnly protesting her innocence with her dying 
 breath. In her last moments, she displayed great 
 composure and piety. 
 
 During her power, magnanimously forgetting 
 the barbarity of her brothers, she promoted them 
 to the rank of consuls and prefects: observing 
 
 their confusion on being summoned to the imperial 
 presence, she said, " Had you not compelled me 
 to visit Constantinople, I should never have had it 
 in my power to bestow on you these marks of sis- 
 terly affection." 
 
 EUDOCIA, or EUDOXIA, 
 
 SuRNAMEB Maorembolitissa, widow of Constan- 
 tine Ducas, caused herself to be proclaimed em- 
 press with her three sons, on the death of her 
 husband, in 1067. Romanus Diogenes, one of the 
 greatest generals of the empire, attempted to de- 
 prive her of the crown; and Eudoxia had him 
 condemned to death, but happening to see him, 
 she was so charmed by his beauty, that she par- 
 doned him, and made him commander of the troops 
 of the East. He there effaced by his valour his 
 former delinquency, and she resolved to marry 
 him. But it was necessary to obtain a deed, then 
 in the hands of the Patriarch Xiphilinus, by which 
 she had promised Constantine Ducas never to 
 marry again. She did this by pretending that she 
 wished to espouse a brother of the Patriarch, and 
 gave her hand to Romanus in 1068. Three years 
 after, her son Michael caused himself to be pro- 
 claimed emperor, and shut her up in a convent. 
 
 She had displayed the qualities of a great sove- 
 reign on the throne ; in a convent, she manifested 
 the devotion of a recluse. She cultivated litera- 
 ture successfully. There was a manuscript in her 
 writing in the French king's library, on the gene- 
 alogies of the gods, and of the heroes and hero- 
 ines of antiquity, showing a vast extent of reading. 
 
 EUPHEMIA, 
 
 Flatia JEli/^ Makcia, was married to the em- 
 peror Justin I. in 518. She was originally a 
 slave, of what country is not known ; but she was 
 mistress to Justin before he married her. She 
 died before the emperor, about the year 523, 
 without children. She owed her elevation to her 
 fidelity, and the sweetness of her disposition. 
 
 EUSEBIA, 
 Adkelia, the wife of Constantius, emperor of 
 the East, was a woman of genius and erudition, 
 but strongly addicted to the Ariau heresy; in 
 support of which she exerted her influence over 
 her husband, which was considerable. Few of 
 the empresses had been so beautiful or so chaste. 
 She prevailed on Constantius to give his sister 
 Helena to Julian, and to name him Caesar. Many 
 virtues are allowed her by historians ; among 
 others, those of compassion and humanity. She 
 left no children, and died in 360, much regretted 
 by her husband. 
 
 EUSEBIA, 
 Abbess of St. Cyr, or St. Saviour, at Marseilles, 
 is said by French writers to have cut off her nose, 
 like the abbess of Coldingham in England, to se- 
 cure herself from ravishers, and her nuns are said 
 to have followed her example. This took place 
 in 731, when the Saracens invaded Provence. The 
 catastrophe of the tale in both countries is, that 
 the ladies were murdered by the disappointed sa- 
 
 101 
 
EU 
 
 FA 
 
 vages. These tales may not be wholly true, yet 
 that they were considered probable, shows the 
 awful condition of society in those dark ages. 
 
 EUSTACHIUM, 
 Dauohtek of Paula, a Koman lady of ancient 
 family, was learned in Greek and Hebrew, as well 
 as in the Latin language, so that she could read 
 Hebrew psalms fluently, and comment ably upon 
 them. She was many years a disciple of St. Je- 
 rome, and followed him in his journeys to different 
 places. He speaks of her in high terms in his 
 epistles, and in the life of St. Paula. She lived 
 in a monastery at Bethlehem, till she was forced 
 from it by a kind of persecution said to have been 
 excited by the Pelagians. She died about 419. 
 
 F. 
 
 FALCONBERG, 
 Mast, countess of, the third daughter of Oliver 
 Cromwell, was a lady of great beauty, and greater 
 spirit ; she was the second wife of Thomas, lord 
 viscount Falconberg. Bishop Burnet, who calls 
 her a wise and worthy woman, says, that " she 
 was more likely to have maintained the post of 
 protector than either of her brothers." There 
 was a common saying about her, " that those who 
 wore breeches deserved petticoats better ; but if 
 those in petticoats had been in breeches, they would 
 have held faster." After her brother, Eichard 
 Cromwell, was deposed, who, as she well knew, 
 was never formed to reign, she exerted herself in 
 behalf of Charles II., and is said to have had a 
 great and successful hand in his restoration. It 
 is certain that her husband was sent to the Tower 
 by the commission of safety a little while before 
 that event took place, and that he stood very high 
 in the king's favour. She died March 14th, 1712, 
 much respected for her munificence and charity. 
 
 FALCONIA, 
 PnoEA, a Roman poetess, flourished in the 
 reign of Theodosius ; she was a native of Horta, 
 or Hortanum, in Etruria. There is still extant 
 by her, a cento from Virgil, giving the sacred 
 history from the creation to the deluge ; and 
 " The History of Christ," in verses selected from 
 that poet, introduced by a few lines of her own. 
 She has sometimes been confounded with Anicia 
 Faltonia Proba, the mother of three consuls, and 
 with Valeria Proba, wife of Adelsius, the procon- 
 sul. She lived about 438. 
 
 FANNIA, 
 
 Daughter of Psetus Thrasea, and grand-daugh- 
 ter of Arria, was the wife of Helvidius, who was 
 twice banished by Domitian, emperor of Rome, in 
 81, and who was accompanied each time into 
 exile by his devoted wife. Fannia being accused 
 of having furnished Senecio with materials for 
 writing the life of Helvidius, boldly avowed the 
 fact, but used the greatest precaution to prevent 
 her mother from being involved in the transaction. 
 
 She was as gentle as magnanimous, and fell a vic- 
 tim to the unremitting tenderness with which she 
 watched over a young vestal, Junia, who had been 
 entrusted to her care, when ill, by the high priest. 
 
 FATIMEH, 
 The only daughter of Mahomet, and mother of 
 all Mahommedan dynasties, was bom at Mecca. 
 In the year 623, she married her cousin Ali, who 
 afterwards became Caliph. Turkish writers assert 
 that the archangels Michael and Gabriel acted as 
 guardians to the bride, and that 70,000 angels 
 joined the procession. One of her descendants 
 founded the dynasty known by the name of the 
 Fathemir Caliphs who reigned in Africa and Syria. 
 Fatimeh died a few months after her father. 
 
 FAUSTINA, 
 Annia Galeeia, called the elder Faustina, was 
 the daughter of Annius Verus, prefect of Rome, 
 and wife of the emperor Titus Antoninus Pius. 
 Her beauty and wit were of the highest order, but 
 her conduct has been represented as dissolute in 
 the extreme. Still the emperor built temples and 
 struck coins to her honour ; yet it is reported 
 even when he discovered her debaucheries he 
 favoured without resenting them. Such a course 
 of conduct in a man represented as the wisest of 
 sovereigns, and a model of private and domestic 
 virtues, is hardly credible. That he loved her 
 with constancy and confidence during her life, and 
 raised temples to her virtues, and altars to her 
 divinity after her death, are matters of history. 
 There is a beautiful medal of his reign still extant, 
 representing Antoninus Pius on one side, and on 
 the reverse Faustina ascending to heaven, with a 
 lighted torch, under the figure of Diana. Surely 
 Antoninus must himself have had faith in the vir- 
 tues of his wife. But she was beautiful and 
 witty : such women will be envied and slandered, 
 as well as loved and praised. She died in 141, at 
 the age of about thirty-seven. 
 
 FAUSTINA, ANNIA, 
 Daughter of the former, and wife of the em- 
 peror Marcus Aurelius, surpassed her mother In 
 
 102 
 
PA 
 
 AR 
 
 the dissoluteness of her manners. Without being 
 as regularly handsome, she was attractive, lively, 
 and witty ; daughter of a prince, who, though he 
 deeply regretted crimes, was very unwilling to 
 punish them, and wife to a philosopher who held 
 it a duty to pardon all offences, she met with no 
 restraints to her inclinations : yet even she had 
 her temples and her priests. Marcus, in his Me- 
 ditations, thanks the gods for a wife so tract- 
 able, so loving, and so unaffected. She attended 
 him into Asia, where he went to suppress the re- 
 volt of Cassius, and there died, near mount 
 Laurus, in 175. Therei was a third Faustina, 
 grand-daughter of this one, who was the third 
 wife of Heliogabalus, but was soon neglected by 
 him. She was very unlike her female ancestors, 
 except in beauty. 
 
 FAUSTINA, 
 Flavia Maximiana, was the second wife of 
 Constantine the Great. She was the daughter of 
 Maximian Hercules, and sister to Maxentius. 
 Her father having received the title of Augustus 
 in 306, took her into Gaul, where he gave her in 
 marriage to the emperor Constantine. She was 
 for a long time a most exemplary wife and mother, 
 and a strenuous advocate with the emperor for all 
 acts of indulgence and liberality to the people. 
 She even sacrificed her father's life to her husband, 
 by discovering to Constantine a plot for his de- 
 struction. She has been accused of staining the 
 last years of her life by the commission of many 
 crimes ; among others, that of causing the death 
 of Crispus, the sou of Constantine by a former 
 wife,; by false accusations ; and, it is said, that 
 the emperor revenged his honour, and his son's 
 death, by causing her to be suffocated in a warm 
 bath, in 327. The truth of these latter circum- 
 stances has been much doubted. 
 
 FELICITAS, 
 An illustrious Boman lady, who lived in 162, 
 during the persecution carried on against the 
 Christians by the emperor Marcus Aurelius, was 
 a devout Christian. She had also brought up her 
 seven sons in the same faith. They were seized, 
 and Felioitas was threatened with her own death 
 and that of all her family, if she did not give up 
 her religion ; but she was inflexible, and the sons 
 also remaining steadfast, they all suffered cruel 
 deaths, the mother being executed last. 
 
 FIDELIS, CASSANDRA, 
 
 A Venetian lady, died in 1558, aged 100. De- 
 scended from ancestors who had changed their 
 residence from Milan to Venice, and had uniformly 
 added to the respectability of their rank by their 
 uncommon learning, she began at an early age to 
 prosecute her studies with great diligence, and 
 acquired such a knowledge of the learned lan- 
 guages, that she may with justice be enumerated 
 among the first scholars of the age. The letters 
 which occasionally passed between Cassandra and 
 Politian, demonstrate their mutual esteem, if in- 
 deed such an expression be sufficient to charac- 
 terize the feelings of Politian, who expresses, in 
 
 language unusually florid, his high admiration of 
 her extraordinary acquirements, and his expecta- 
 tion of the benefits which the cause of letters 
 would derive from her labours and example. In 
 the year 1491, the Florentine scholar made a visit 
 to Venice, when the favourable opinion he had 
 formed of her writings was confirmed by a per- 
 sonal interview. 
 
 " Yesterday," says he, writing to his great pa- 
 tron, Lorenzo de Medicis, "I paid a visit to the 
 celebrated Cassandra, to whom I presented your 
 respects. She is, indeed, Lorenzo, a surprising 
 woman, as well from her acquirements in her own 
 language, as in the Latin; and, in my opinion, 
 she may be called handsome. I left her, aston- 
 ished at her talents. She is much devoted to your 
 interests, and speaks of you with great esteem. 
 She even avows her intention of visiting you at 
 Florence, so that you may prepare yourself to 
 give her a proper reception." 
 
 From a letter written by this lady, many years 
 afterwards, to Leo X., we learn that an epistolary 
 correspondence had subsisted between her and Lo- 
 renzo de Medicis ; and it is with concern we find, 
 that the remembrance of this intercourse was 
 revived, in order to induce the pontiff to bestow 
 upon her some pecuniary assistance, she being 
 then a vridow, with a numerous train of depend- 
 ants. She lived, however, to a more advanced 
 period, and her literary acquirements, and the 
 reputation of her early associates, threw a lustre 
 upon her declining years ; and, as her memory 
 remained unimpaired to the last, she was resorted 
 to from all parts of Italy as a living monument 
 of those happier days, to which the Italians never 
 reverted without regret. The letters and oration.s 
 of this lady were published at Pavia, in 1636, 
 with some account of her life. She wrote a volume 
 of Latin poems also, on various subjects. 
 
 She is thus spoken of by M. Thomas, in his 
 "Essay on Women." "One of the learned wo- 
 men in Italy, who wrote equally well in the three 
 languages of Homer, Virgil, and Dante, in verse 
 and in prose, who possessed all the philosophy of 
 her own and the preceding ages, who, by her 
 graces, embellished even theology ; sustained the- 
 ses with eclat, and many times gave public lessons 
 at Padua; who joined to her various knowledge, 
 agreeable talents, particularly music, and exalted 
 her talents by her virtue. She received homage 
 from sovereign pontiffs and kings ; and, that eve- 
 rything relating to her might be singular, lived 
 more than a century." 
 
 FLORE DE ROSE, 
 Was a French poetess of the 13th century. 
 Very few of her writings are now extant. 
 
 FLORINE, 
 
 Dauohtbk of the duke of Burgundy, was be- 
 trothed to Suenon, king of Denmark, and accom- 
 panied this prince to the first crusade, in 1097. 
 She was to have married him immediately after 
 the conquest of Jerusalem. But they were both 
 killed in a battle, with all their companions. Not 
 one was left to bury the slain. 
 
 103 
 
FR 
 
 FREDEGONDB, 
 
 A WOMAN of low birth, but of great beauty, in 
 the service of the queen An^owere, wife of Chil- 
 peric, king of Normandy, resolved to make herself 
 a favourite of the king. To effect thia, she in- 
 duced Andowere, who had just given birth, in the 
 absence of Chilperic, to her fourth child, a daugh- 
 ter, to have it baptized before its father's return, 
 and to ofaciate herself as godmother. The queen 
 did so, not aware that by placing herself in that 
 relation to her child, she, by the laws of the Ro- 
 man Catholic church, contracted a spiritual rela- 
 tionship with the child's father that was incom- 
 patible with marriage ; and the bishop, probably 
 bribed by Predegoude, did not make the least ob- 
 jection. On Chilperic's return, Fredegonde ap- 
 prised him of this inconsiderate act of his wife, 
 and the king, struck by her beauty, willingly 
 consented to place Andowere in a convent, giving 
 her an estate near Mans, and took Fredegonde 
 for a mistress. 
 
 Chilperic, not long after, married Galswintha, 
 eldest sister of Brunehaut, queen of Austrasia, 
 and Fredegonde was dismissed. But the gentle 
 Galswintha soon died, strangled, it is said, in her 
 bed, by order of the king, who was instigated by 
 Fredegonde. Fredegonde then persuaded Chil- 
 peric to marry her, and from that time her ascend- 
 ency over him ceased only with his life. 
 
 Brunehaut urged her husband, Siegbert, who 
 was the brother of Chilperic, to avenge her sister's 
 murder, and a war ensued, closed by a treaty, by 
 which Chilperic gave up five important cities, 
 in order to preserve his kingdom. This treaty 
 wounded the pride of Fredegonde, and at her in- 
 stigation, Chilperic again took up arms, but was 
 unsuccessful; and the Normans, alarmed by the 
 threats of Siegbert, who was approaching Paris, 
 offered to renounce their allegiance to Chilperic, 
 and recognise him as their king. This annoimce- 
 ment plunged Chilperic into a stupor, from which 
 nothing could arouse him ; but Fredegonde, whom 
 danger only stimulated to greater activity, sent 
 two emissaries, devoted to her service, to Sieg- 
 bert's camp, armed with poisoned daggers, with 
 orders to approach him, and while saluting him 
 as king, to kill him. She promised them great 
 wealth and honours, if they escaped, and if they 
 died, to obtain their everlasting salvation. They 
 succeeded in killing Siegbert, while, carried on a 
 buckler, he was receiving the homage of the people 
 as king of Normandy; but in the struggle that 
 ensued, they were slain. 
 
 The murder of Siegbert, and the dispersion of 
 his army, restored the kingdom to Chilperic and 
 Fredegonde. No sooner was the queen firmly 
 seated on her throne, than she resumed her plans 
 which had been interrupted by these disturbances. 
 These were to accomplish th'fe destruction of the 
 two remaining sons of Andowere and Chilperic, 
 Merov«us and Clovis; and she had Merovseus, 
 who had married Brunehaut, assassinated. But 
 these projects were interrupted for a short time 
 by a plague, which ravaged France in 580, of 
 which one of the three sons of Chilperic died, and 
 
 FR 
 
 which attacked the other two. In great terror, 
 Fredegonde induced Chilperic to relieve the people 
 from the heavy taxation to which he had sub- 
 jected them, hoping to avert the wrath of God ; 
 but her two sons died, and Fredegonde became 
 more ferocious than ever. Clovis, Andowere's 
 youngest son, was still living ; and the idea that 
 it was for him, and not for her ovoi children, that 
 she had struggled, caused her transports of rage. 
 She exposed him to the plague ; but he recovered, 
 and denounced Fredegonde vrith so much bitter- 
 ness, that, alarmed, she had him assassinated, 
 under pretext that he had caused the death of his 
 brothers. She implioated Andowere in the same 
 crime, and made her suffer a cruel death ; and the 
 only daughter of the unhappy queen was shut up 
 in a convent. 
 
 In 584, another child of Fredegonde died, and 
 Chilperic was assassinated on his return from 
 hunting. This act was said to have been com- 
 mitted by orders of Fredegonde, because the king 
 had discovered an intrigue she was carrying on 
 with Landerick, one of the most powerful noble- 
 men in Normandy. She then took refuge in Paris, 
 with an infant son, Clotaire, the only one of five 
 children that remained to her, and placed herself 
 under the protection of Gonthramn, king of Bur- 
 gundy, who sent her to RueU, a royal domain near 
 Rouen, retaining her son under his protection. 
 
 Furious at this exile, and the loss of her power, 
 which she attributed to Brunehaut, she sent an 
 emissary to Austrasia to assassinate her ; but his 
 design was discovered, and Brunehaut sent him 
 back vrith contempt. Fredegonde was so exaspe- 
 rated at his failure, that she had his hands and 
 feet cut off. She also sent two men to assassinate 
 Brunehaut's son, Childebert, who had succeeded 
 his father, Siegbert, in the kingdom, and another 
 one to murder Gonthramn; but both attempts 
 were discovered and frustrated. 
 
 Gonthramn died in 595, and Fredegonde, freed 
 from a yoke which she had long worn with impa- 
 tience, raised an army in the south of Normandy, 
 and invaded the Soissonnais, assisted by Lande- 
 rick. She put to flight the young Theobert, 
 son of Childebert, whom his father had made king 
 of Soissons, and the ancient capital of the kingdom 
 of Chilperic was restored to his son. An army of 
 Austrasians, Burgundians, and Franks, came to 
 dispossess her; but the queen, hearing of their 
 approach, raised an army, and at their head, vrith 
 her son Clotaire in her arms, she rode all night, 
 and arriving at daybreak at the enemy's camp, 
 she awoke the Austrasians vrith her trumpets, 
 and attacking them so suddenly, put them to 
 flight. They rallied, however, and a bloody battle 
 ensued, in which the Normans were victorious ; 
 but so many on both sides were slain, that the 
 people compelled Brunehaut and Fredegonde to 
 make peace. 
 
 Childebert died in 696, and Fredegonde, with 
 her usual activity, seized the favourable moment 
 to recover Paris from Brunehaut, left regent on 
 her son's death. This caused another battle be- 
 tween the rival queens, in which Fredegonde was 
 again victorious ; but while she was preparing to 
 
 104 
 
GA 
 
 profit by her victory, she died suddenly in 597, 
 leaving her son Clotaire, then only thirteen, under 
 the care of Landerick, mayor of the palace. She 
 was buried in the monastery of St. Vincent, since 
 St. Germain-des-Pres. Half of the cruelties com- 
 mitted by this woman, whose ambition and intel- 
 lect seem to have been equalled only by her crimes, 
 have not been related. She tortured and murdered 
 without the slightest remorse all who opposed her 
 will. The only womanly affection she exhibited 
 was her love for her children ; but this, corrupted 
 by her wicked heart, was the cause of many of 
 her crimes. 
 
 FRITI6ILA, 
 QcEEN of the Maroomans, lived in 396. Being 
 instructed in Christianity by the writings of Am- 
 brose, she embraced it herself, and induced her 
 husband and the whole nation to do the same. 
 By her persuasion, they entered into a durable 
 alliance with the Romans ; so that, in the various 
 irruptions of the barbarians on the empire, the 
 Marcomans are never mentioned by historians, 
 though only separated by the Danube. 
 
 G. 
 
 GABRIELLE de BOURBON, 
 Datjghteb, of count de Montpensier, married, 
 in 1485, Louis de la Tremouille, a man who filled 
 with honour the highest oJEces of the state. He 
 was killed at the battle of Pavia in 1525. Her 
 son Charles, count of Talmond, was also killed at 
 the battle of Marignan in 1515 ; and she died in 
 1516. Her virtues were very great; and some 
 published treatises remain as proofs of her devoted 
 piety. She passed her time chiefly in solitude ; 
 for she had formed a resolution to withdraw from 
 the court, whenever her husband's duties, as an 
 officer in the king's army, compelled him to be 
 absent. Charitable, as well as magnificent in her 
 tastes, no person in want ever left her unsatisfied. 
 She employed an hour or two daily with her 
 needle ; the rest of her time was spent in reading, 
 writing, in her devotional duties, or in instructing 
 the young girls by whom she liked to surround 
 herself. She also took great care of the education 
 of her son, who amply repaid all her trouble. She 
 died of grief at his loss. Her works are a " Con- 
 templation of the Nativity and Passion of Jesus 
 Christ;" " The Instruction of Young Girls ;" and 
 two other religious works. 
 
 GALERIA, 
 
 Wife of Vitellius, emperor of Rome in 69, dis- 
 tinguished herself in a vicious age, by exemplary 
 wisdom and modesty. After the tragical death of 
 her husband, she passed her days in retirement. 
 
 GAMBARA, 
 Vekonioa, an Italian lady, born at Brescia. 
 She married the lord of Correggio, and after his 
 death devoted herself to literature and the educa- 
 tion of her two sons. She died in 1550, aged sixty- 
 
 HE 
 
 five. The best edition of her poems and her letters 
 is that of Brescia, in 1759. She was born in 1485 ; 
 her father, count Gian Francesco Gambara, was 
 of one of the most distinguished Italian families. 
 Very early she manifested a partiotilar love for 
 poetry, and her parents took pleasure in cultivating 
 her literary taste. Her marriage with the lord 
 Correggio was one of strong mutual attachment. 
 Her husband, who was devoted to her, delighted 
 in the homage everywhere paid to her talents and 
 charms. In 1515, she accompanied him to Bo- 
 logna, where a court was held by the pope, Leo X., 
 to do honour to Francis I., of France. That gal- 
 lant monarch was frequently heard to repeat that 
 he had never known a lady so every way accom- 
 plished as Veronica. Her domestic happiness was 
 of short duration ; death snatched away Correggio 
 from the enjoyment of all that this world could 
 afford. The grief of Veronica was excessive. She 
 had her whole house hung with black ; and though 
 very young at the time of her widowhood, never 
 wore anything but black during the remainder of 
 her life. On the door of her palace she caused to 
 be inscribed the following lines from Virgil : — 
 
 Ille meos primus qui me sibi junxit amores 
 Abstulit ; ille habeat Becum, servet que sepulchro. 
 
 All this has an air of ostentation which seldom 
 accompanies real sensibility ; but the subsequent 
 conduct of the lady was entirely consistent with 
 her first demonstrations. She turned a deaf ear 
 to many suitors who sought her hand, and devoted 
 herself to the education of her two sons, and the 
 administration of their property. Her labours 
 were crowned with remarkable success ; the one 
 becoming a distinguished general, highly valued 
 by his sovereign ; the other a cardinal, eminent for 
 piety and learning. Her leisure, in the meantime, 
 was employed in the study, not only of elegant 
 literature, but of theology and philosophy. Her 
 brother Uberto, being made governor of Bologna, 
 in 1528, by Clement VII., she removed her resi- 
 dence to that city, where she frequently enter- 
 tained at her house the eminent literati of the 
 day; among whom may be mentioned Bembo, 
 
 105 
 
<m 
 
 GO 
 
 Capello, Mauri, and Molza. She enjoyed the 
 highest esteem among her contemporaries ; and 
 appears to have been as remarkable for her virtues 
 as for her knowledge. 
 
 Her works consist of a collection of elegant 
 letters, and many poems, some of which are on 
 religious subjects. 
 
 GENEVIEVE, ST., 
 
 The patroness of the city of Paris, was born in 
 423, at Manterre, and died January 3, 501. FiTe 
 years after her death, Clovis erected the church 
 of St. Genevieve, where her relics were preserved 
 with great care. 
 
 St. Germain, bishop of Auxerre, observing her 
 disposition to sanctity, when she was quite young, 
 advised her to take the vow of perpetual virginity, 
 which she did. After the death of her parents, 
 Genevieve went to Paris ; and when the city was 
 about to be deserted, in consequence of the ap- 
 proach of the Huns under Attila, she assured the 
 inhabitants of entire safety if they would seek it 
 by prayers. Attila went to Orleans and returned 
 without touching Paris ; and this event established 
 Genevieve's reputation. In a time of famine, she 
 went along the Seine, and returned with twelve 
 large vessels loaded with grain, which she distri- 
 buted gratuitously among the sufferers. This 
 increased her authority, so that Merovoeus and 
 Chilperic, kings of France, paid her the highest 
 respect. From her fifteenth to her fiftieth year, 
 she ate nothing but barley-bread, excepting now 
 and then a few beans ; after her fiftieth year, she 
 allowed herself milk and fish. 
 
 GENEVIEVE, 
 DvcHESS of Brabant, was born in the year 700. 
 She was married to Siegfreid, and shortly after 
 her marriage (732) her husband was called to the 
 field by his sovereign, Charles Martel, whom he 
 joined with his soldiers. He left his wife in the 
 care of Golo, the captain in his castle. When 
 Golo, who loved Genevieve, saw that she repulsed 
 him, he wrote to the duke that Genevieve had 
 been unfaithful, and would shortly become the 
 mother of an illegitimate child. Siegfried, who 
 put full confidence in Golo, ordered him to have 
 the mother and child killed. But the servants to 
 whose hands the wicked man confided that deed 
 had compassion upon the poor innocent woman, 
 and left her in the woods, where a doe supplied 
 her with milk for the child. The animal accom- 
 panied her for five years, till one day, on the 6th 
 of January, 757, pursued by Siegfried, she fled to 
 the cave, where the husband found both his wife 
 and chUd. An explanation took place, and she 
 became again the cherished wife of his bosom. 
 
 GERBERGE, 
 
 Wipe of Louis IV., of France, was the daughter 
 of Henry, who became king of Germany in 918. 
 She married first Gislebert, duke of Lorraine, who 
 was drowned in the Rhine. In 940, Gerberge 
 married Louis IV. Five years after, her husband 
 was taken prisoner by the Normans. Hugh the 
 Great, duke of the Franks, wished to obtain pos- 
 
 session of him ; but the duke of Normandy, con- 
 sented to give him up only on condition that Louis' 
 two sons should become hostages for their father. 
 Hugh sent to demand them of Gerberge, but she 
 refused, well knowing that the race of Charle- 
 magne would be entirely destroyed, if 'the father 
 and children were all prisoners. She only sent 
 the youngest son with a bishop ; so Louis not being 
 set free, Gerberge sent to demand aid from her 
 brother Otho, king of Germany. Louis was at 
 length liberated by Otho's assistance, and he con- 
 fided to Gerberge the defence of the town of 
 Rheims, in which she shut herself up with her 
 troops. In 954, Louis died, and Gerberge exerted 
 herself effectually to have her eldest son, Lothaire, 
 although hardly twelve, placed on his father's 
 throne. She, together with her brother, Bruno, 
 duke of Lorraine, were appointed regents. She 
 marched, with her young son, at the head of an 
 army, and besieged Poictiers; and, in 960, she 
 retook the city and fortress of Dijon, which had 
 been treacherously given up to Robert of Treves, 
 and had the traitor beheaded in the presence of 
 the whole army. 
 
 GISELLE, 
 
 SiSTEB of Charlemagne, emperor of France, 
 sympathized with that great monarch and his 
 eldest daughter, Rotrude, in the protection and 
 encouragement they afforded to learned and scien- 
 tific men. She induced the celebrated Alcuin to 
 compose several works ; Alcuin dedicated to Gi- 
 selle and Rotrude his Commentary on St. John. 
 Giselle died about the year 810. She was abbess 
 of Chelles at her death. 
 
 GODIVA, 
 
 The name of a beautiful lady, sister of Therald 
 de Burgenhall, sheriff of Lincolnshire, and vrife 
 of Leofric, earl of Leicester, who was the eldest 
 son of Algar, the great earl of Mercia. This lady, 
 having an extraordinary affection for Coventry, 
 solicited her husband to release the inhabitants of 
 that city from a grievous tax laid on them. He 
 consented, on condition that she would ride naked 
 through the streets of Coventry in noon-day. This 
 she did, first enjoining every one to keep within 
 their houses, the doors and windows of which 
 were to be closely shut. She then partially veiled, 
 herself with her flowing hair, mounted her palfrey, 
 and made the circuit of the city. Leofric kept his 
 promise, and the city of Coventry was relieved 
 from the oppression. This adventure was painted 
 in one of the windows of Trinity-church, in Co- 
 ventry, with these lines, 
 
 " 1, Luric, for the love of thee, 
 Do make Coventry toll-fi-ee." 
 
 GONZAGA, 
 
 Barea von, duchess of Wurtembnrg, was the 
 daughter of Louis III., duke of Mantua. She 
 married the duke of Wurtemburg, Eberhard with 
 the beard, in the year 1474. A devoted student 
 herself, she became the patroness of learning and 
 literary men in her husband's domain. Through 
 her influence was the university of Zuliengen es- 
 
 106 
 
GO 
 
 GIT 
 
 tablished. She died, 1505, mourned by her sub- 
 jects, and by the ■whole literary ■world. 
 
 GONZAaA, 
 Cbciiia de, an Italian lady of high birth, gave 
 proofs, even ■when a child, of a remarkable fond- 
 ness for learning. Her father, John Francis Gon- 
 zaga, lord of Mantua, procured the best masters 
 to instruct her, and at the age of eight she is said 
 to have kno^wu Greek. She was religious and cha- 
 ritable as ■well as learned, gave marriage portions 
 to poor young women, and repaired and beautified 
 convents and churches ; in order to do this, she 
 was obliged to use the greatest self-denial in her 
 personal expenses. Her father, for a long time, 
 resisted her desire of taking the veil, but he at 
 length yielded to her entreaties, and she passed 
 all the latter part of her life in the cloister. She 
 was born about 1422. 
 
 GONZAGA, 
 Eleonora, daughter of Francis II., marquis of 
 Mantua, was united, when very young, to the duke 
 of Urbino. She was celebrated for her devotion 
 to her husband, who was deposed by pope Leo X., 
 in favour of Lorenzo de Medicis. The duke would 
 have sunk under this misfortune, but for the 
 strength of mind and tenderness of his wife. On 
 the death of Lorenzo, in 1492, the dukedom was 
 restored to its rightful owner. Two sons and 
 three daughters were the fruit of this union. 
 Eleonora, by the chastity and severity of her 
 manners, reformed the morals of her court 
 
 GONZAGA, 
 
 Isabella de, wife to Guido Ubaldo de Monte- 
 feltro, duke d'Urbino, was aunt to Eleonora Gon- 
 zaga, who married the successor of her husband. 
 This lady is celebrated for her conjugal fidelity 
 and attachment. Her husband, who was sick and 
 infirm, was driven from his dominions by Caesar 
 Borgia. In his distress, he implored the assist- 
 ance of Louis XII., of France; but he dared not 
 comply with this request, lest he should draw on 
 himself the resentment of the house of Borgia. 
 The duke then intimated to the king of France, 
 that, in consequence of his infirm health, he was 
 willing to enter into holy orders, and divorce Isa- 
 bella, whom a ceremony only made his wife. The 
 duchess was powerfully solicited, in consequence 
 of this declaration of her husband, to make an- 
 other choice, but she resolutely refused. She de- 
 voted herself to the duke in his adversity with the 
 tenderest affection. After his death, she aban- 
 doned herself to an excessive and imfeigned sor- 
 row. She had been married twenty years, and 
 devoted the rest of her life to the memory of her 
 husband. 
 
 GOZZADINI, 
 Betisia, born in Bologna, in 1209, of a noble 
 ■ family. She manifested from infancy a love for 
 study, and a disinclination for ordinary girlish oc- 
 cupations ; feeling the futility of the instruction 
 given to young ladies, she prevailed upon her 
 parents to allow her to devote herself to the ac- 
 
 quirement of learning and science. In order to 
 enjoy the advantage of the university, she put on 
 man's apparel, and followed every course ; as a 
 student, she soon took the highest standing in her 
 college, and at the gaining of her degree, received 
 the laurel crown. She afterwards studied law, 
 and obtained the title of Dr., and the privilege of 
 wearing the professional robe. Her eloquence 
 was very much esteemed as well as her learning 
 and piety. She lost her life from an inundation 
 caused by an overflow of the waters of the Idio, 
 which overwhelmed a villa on its banks, where 
 she was visiting. This accident happened in 1261. 
 
 GUERCHEVILLE, 
 
 Antoinette ee Pons, marchioness of, is re- 
 markable for her spirited answer to Henry IV. of 
 France. " If," said she, " I am not noble enough 
 to be your wife, I am too much so to be your mis- 
 tress." When Henry IV. married Mary de Medi- 
 cis, he made this lady dame d'honneur to that 
 princess. "Since," said he, "your are really 
 dame d'honneur, be so to the queen, my ■wife." 
 
 On one occasion, having hunted purposely near 
 her chateau, Henry sent word to Madam de Guer- 
 cheville that he would sup and lodge at her house ; 
 she replied that all possible attention should be 
 paid to his accommodation. Henry, delighted at 
 this answer, hastened to the chateau, where he 
 was received by his hostess, elegantly attired, and 
 surrounded by all her household. Having lighted 
 the king herself to his room, she bowed and 
 retired. When supper was served up, Henry sent 
 for the lady, but was told that she had just driven 
 from the house, leaving this message for him : — 
 " A king, wherever he is, should always be mas- 
 ter. As to myself, I also choose to be free." 
 
 GUILLELMA, 
 
 A WOMAN of Bohemia, who, in the thirteenth 
 century, founded, in Italy, a sect which imited 
 enthusiasm with lewdness. After being respected 
 during her life as a saint, her body was, when 
 dead, taken from her grave, and burnt. 
 
 107 
 
GU 
 
 HE 
 
 GUILLET, 
 
 Pernette du, a poetess of Lyons, and a con- 
 temporary of Louise Labb6, was illustrious for her 
 virtue, grace, beauty, and learning. She sang 
 and played exquisitely, understood several lan- 
 guages, and ■wrote in Latin with facility. 
 
 In Pernette du Guillet, it is said, "all that is 
 lovely in woman was united." 
 
 H. 
 
 HAGHETTE, JEANNE, 
 
 Ok Jeanne Foucquet, a heroine of Beauvais, in 
 Picardy, France, who successfully headed a body 
 of women in an assault upon the Burgundians, 
 who besieged her native place in 1470. When the 
 Burgundians ascended their ladders to plant their 
 standards on the walls, Jeanne, with a battle-axe, 
 drove several of them back, seized their flag, 
 which she deposited in a church, after the battle. 
 Louis XI. of France recompensed her for her 
 bravery; she afterwards married Collin Pillon, 
 and she and her descendants were exempted from 
 taxation. In commemoration of her intrepid con- 
 duct, there is an annual procession at Beauvais, 
 on the tenth of July, in which the women march 
 at the head of the men. 
 
 HELENA, 
 The empress, mother of Constantine, and one 
 of the saints of the Roman Catholic communion, 
 owed her elevation to her beauty. She was of ob- 
 scure origin, born at the little village of Drepanum, 
 in Bithynia, where we hear of her first as a host- 
 ess of an inn. Constantius Chlorus saw her, fell 
 in love with her, and married her ; but, on being 
 associated with Dioclesian in the empire, divorced 
 her to marry Theodora, daughter of Maximilian 
 Hercules. The accession of her son to the empire 
 drew her again from obscurity ; she obtained the 
 title of Augusta, and was received at court with 
 all the honours due the mother of an emperor. 
 Her many virtues riveted the affection of her sou 
 
 to her, yet she did not hesitate to admonish him 
 when she disapproved his conduct. 
 
 When Constantine embraced Christianity, she 
 also was converted ; and when nearly eighty, went 
 on a journey to the Holy Land, where she is said 
 to have assisted at the discovery of the true cross 
 of Christ, reported by zealous devotees to have 
 been accompanied by many miracles. She died 
 soon after, in the year 328, at the age of eighty. 
 Helena left proofs, wherever she went, of a truly 
 Christian liberality ; she relieved the poor, orphans, 
 and widows ; built churches, and showed herself, 
 in all respects, worthy the confidence of her son, 
 who gave her unlimited permission to draw on his 
 treasures. At her death, he paid her the highest 
 honours, had her body sent to Rome to be depo- 
 sited in the tomb of the emperors, and raised her 
 native village to the rank of a city, with the name 
 of Helenpolis. She showed her prudence and 
 political wisdom by the influence she always 
 retained over her son, and by the care she took to 
 prevent all interference of the half-brothers of 
 Constantine, sons of Constantius Chlorus and The- 
 odora, who, being brought into notice, after her 
 death, by the injudicious liberality of the emperor, 
 were massacred by their nephews as soon as they 
 succeeded their father in the empire. 
 
 HELENA, 
 
 Daughter of Constantine the Great and of 
 Fausta, was given in marriage, by her brother 
 Constantius, to her cousin Julian, when he made 
 him Coesar at Milan, in 355. She followed her 
 husband to his government of Gaul, and died in 
 359, at Vienna. 
 
 HELENA, 
 Wife and sister of Monobasus, king of Adiabena, 
 and mother of Irates, the successor of Monobasus, 
 flourished about the year 50. Though Irates was 
 one of the younger sons of the king, yet, being 
 his favourite, he left the crown to him at his death. 
 In order to secure the throne to him, the principal 
 ofieers of the state proposed to put those of his 
 brothers to death who were inimical to him ; but 
 Helen would not consent to this. Helen and 
 Irates were both converts to the Jewish faith. 
 When Helen saw that lier son was in peaceable 
 possession of the throne, she went to Jerusalem to 
 worship and sacrifice there. When she arrived in 
 that city, there was a great famine prevailing 
 there, Vrhich she immediately exerted herself 
 effectually to relieve, by sending to different places 
 for provisions, and distributing them among the 
 poor. After the death of Irates, Helen returned 
 to Adiabena, where she found that her son Mono- 
 basus had succeeded to the throne ; but she did 
 not long survive her favourite son Irates. 
 
 HELOISE, 
 Rendeued famous by her unfortunate passion 
 for Abelard, was born about 1101 or 1102. Her 
 parents are unknown, but she lived with her 
 uncle, Fulbert, a canon of the cathedral of Paris. 
 Her childhood was passed in the convent of Ar- 
 genteuU, but as soon as she was old enough, she 
 
 108 
 
HE 
 
 HE 
 
 returned to her uncle, who taught Jier to speak 
 and write in Latin, then the language used in 
 literary and polite society. She is also said to 
 have understood Greek and Hebrew. To this 
 education, very uncommon at that time, Heloise 
 added great beauty, and refinement and dignity 
 of manner ; so that her fame soon spread beyond 
 the walls of the cloister, throughout the whole 
 kingdom. 
 
 Just at this time, Pierre Abelard, who had al- 
 ready made himself very celebrated as a rhetori- 
 cian, came to found a new school in that art at 
 Paris, where the originality of his principles, his 
 eloquence, and his great physical strength and 
 beauty, made a deep sensation. Here he saw 
 Heloise, and commenced an acquaintance with 
 her by letter ; but, impatient to know her more 
 intimately, he proposed to Fulbert that he should 
 receive him into his house, which was near Abe- 
 ' lard's school. Fulbert was avaricious, and also 
 desirous of having his niece more thoroughly in- 
 structed, and these two motives induced him to 
 consent to Abelard's proposal, and to request him 
 to give lessons in his art to Heloise. He even 
 gave Abelard permission to use physical punish- 
 ment towards his niece, if she should prove re- 
 bellious. 
 
 "I cannot," says Abelard, "cease to be as- 
 tonished at the simplicity of Fulbert; I was as 
 much surprised as if he had placed a lamb in the 
 power of a hungry wolf. Heloise and I, under 
 pretext of study, gave ourselves up wholly to love ; 
 and the solitude that love seeks, our studies pro- 
 cured for us. Books were open before us ; but 
 we spoke oftener of love than philosophy, and 
 kisses came more readily from our lips than words." 
 
 The canon was the last to perceive this intimacy, 
 although he was often told of it, and heard daily 
 the songs that Abelard composed for Heloise sung 
 through the streets. When he did discover the 
 truth, he was deeply incensed, and sent Abelard 
 from the house. But he contrived to return, and 
 carry off Heloise to Palais, in Brittany, his native 
 country. Here she gave birth to a son, surnamed 
 Astrolabe from his beauty, who passed his life in 
 the obscurity of a monastery. 
 
 The flight of Heloise enraged Fulbert to the 
 highest degree ; but ho was afraid to act openly 
 against Abelard, lest his niece, whom he still 
 loved, might be made to suffer in retaliation. At 
 length Abelard, taking compassion on his grief, 
 sent to him, implored his forgiveness, and offered 
 to marry Heloise, if the union might be kept se- 
 cret, so that his reputation as a religious man 
 should not suffer. Fulbert consented to this, and 
 Abelard went to Heloise for that purpose ; but 
 Heloise, unwilling to diminish the future fame of 
 Abelard, by a marriage, which must be a restraint 
 upon him, refused at first to listen to him. She 
 quoted the precepts and the example of all learned 
 men, sacred and profane, to prove to him that he 
 ought to remain free and untrammelled. She also 
 warned him that her uncle's reconciliation was too 
 easily obtained, and that it was but a feint to en- 
 trap him more surely. But Abelard was resolute, 
 and Heloise returned to Paris, where they were 
 soon after married. 
 
 Fulbert did not keep his promise of secresy, but 
 spoke openly of the marriage, which when Heloise 
 heard she indignantly denied, protesting that it 
 had never taken place. This made her uncle treat 
 her so cruelly, that Abelard, either to protect her 
 from his violence, or to prove that the announce- 
 ment of the marriage was false, took her himself 
 to the convent of Argenteuil, where she did not 
 immediately take the veil, but put on the dress of 
 a novice. Not long after he ordered her to take 
 the veil, which she did, although the nuns, touched 
 by her youth and beauty, endeavoured to prevent 
 her from making the sacrifice. 
 
 Twelve years passed without Heloise ever hear- 
 ing mentioned the name of the one she so devo- 
 tedly loved. She had become prioress of Argen- 
 teuil, and lived a life of complete retirement. But 
 her too great kindness and indulgence to the nuns 
 under her control, gave rise to some disorders, 
 which, although she was perfectly blameless, yet 
 caused her to be forced by Ligur, abbot of St. 
 Denis, to leave her retreat, with her companions. 
 Abelard, hearing of her homeless situation, left 
 Brittany, where he was living in charge of the 
 monastery of St. Gildas-de-Ruys, and went to 
 place Heloise and her followers in the little ora- 
 tory of the Paraclete, which had been founded 
 by him. Here Heloise exerted herself to the ut- 
 most to build up a convent ; and though their life 
 at first was a painful one, yet, by the end of a 
 year their wealth was so much increased by the 
 miinificence of pious persons about them, that they 
 became very comfortable. 
 
 Heloise had the rare charm of attaching every 
 one who approached her to herself. Bishops called 
 her daughter, priests, sister, and laymen, mother. 
 Every one reverenced her for her piety, her wis- 
 dom, her patience, and her incomparable sweet- 
 ness. She rarely appeared in public, but devoted 
 herself almost wholly to prayer and meditation. 
 
 She happened, one day, to see a letter that 
 Abelard had written, giving an account of his Ufe. 
 She read it many times with tears, and at length 
 wrote to her lover that well-known, eloquent, and 
 passionate letter. His reply was severe but kind ; 
 
 109 
 
HE 
 
 HI 
 
 and these two letters -were followed by several 
 others. 
 
 In April, 1142, Heloise having heard a report 
 of Abelard's death, wrote to demand his body, 
 that it might be buried at the Paraclete, accord- 
 ing to a wish that he had himself expressed in 
 writing. He was buried in a chapel built by his 
 order, and for more than twenty years, Heloise 
 went every night to weep over his tomb. She 
 died May 17th, 1164, aged sixty-three, and was 
 placed in the same tomb. 
 
 In 1497, from religious motives, the tomb was 
 opened, and the bones of Abelard and Heloise 
 were removed. In 1800, by order of Lucien Bo- 
 naparte, these hallowed remains were carried 
 to the Museum of French Monuments. And in 
 1815, when this Museum was destroyed, the' 
 tomb was taken to P6re-le-Chaise, where it still 
 remains. 
 
 In reviewing this melancholy story, where ge- 
 nius was dethroned by passion, we cannot but 
 consider the noble-hearted, though erring Heloise, 
 a victim to the vanity of the selfish Abelard. He 
 does not pretend to have loved her passionately ; 
 he formed the plan of a cold-blooded seduction, 
 merely for a passing amusement. Perhaps he 
 considered the affair a study of mental philosophy, 
 and watched to analyze the manifestations of the 
 tender passion in the young, warm heart of the 
 innocent, beautiful, gifted pupil confided to his 
 instruction. He had no tenderness or truth of 
 love in his soul. Heloise, on the contrary, was 
 affected with the most devoted, the most unselfish 
 affection. It needs only to compare their letters 
 to see this — those of Abelard, cold, hard, calcu- 
 lating. The ill-regulated, but ardent and sincere 
 effusions of Heloise, have been too frequetly quoted 
 to need a repetition here. The very arrangement 
 of their correspondence marks the difference. He 
 divides and subdivides his letters ; he answers 
 methodically, and by chapters ; he addresses them 
 " To the Spouse of Christ" — " Heloissse dilectis- 
 sima sorori suse in Christo — Abailardus;" "To 
 his dear sister in Christ — Abelard." The tone of 
 Heloise is thus : 
 
 " Domino sue — im6 patri ; conjugi suo, imo fratei ; 
 Ancilla sua imo filia ; ipsiusi uxor, imo soror.'^ 
 
 HcloissiE, Epist. 4. 
 
 And after their separation, the better-tempered 
 soul of Heloise rises wonderfully above that of her 
 master. He abandoned his intellectual weapons, 
 and sank into a mere monk ; his admirers, who 
 could not comprehend the metamorphosis, clus- 
 tered around him ; they forced ^ome sparks of 
 former animation to appear. Arnold of Brescia 
 persuaded him to encounter St. Bernard in a 
 logical duel. Time and place were chosen. The 
 king, the counts of Champagne and Nerus, bishops, 
 ecclesiastics of highest rank, a concourse of cele- 
 brities, crowded to the arena. St. Bernard came 
 with repugnance ; he dreaded the powerful elo- 
 quence that had so often disarmed him ; he was 
 saved by the pusillanimity of his rival. Abelard 
 was mute. After this signal defeat, there is no- 
 thing more to relate of him ; he died, in inglorious 
 repose, in the abbey of Clury. 
 
 In the mean time, Heloise had taken the veil, 
 not from a vocation, but to gratify the caprice of 
 her husband, in a very different career. As Abe- 
 lard subsided into a sluggish monk, she rose into 
 something superior to a mere formalized recluse. 
 She sought means of improving the minds and 
 morals of all within her influence. She founded 
 a great college of theology, Greek and Hebrew. 
 She delivered lectures on these subjects with such 
 success, as to arouse a spirit of study and inves- 
 tigation through an extended sphere ; crowds 
 flocked to hear her ; and similar institutions, for 
 the advancement of learning, grew up around her. 
 Heloise was declared by the pope, head of her 
 order. 
 
 HERODIAS, I 
 
 Daughter of Aristobulus and Berenice, sister 
 to king Agrippa, and grand-daughter to Herod 
 the Great, married first her uncle, Herod Philip, 
 by whom she had Salome. She left Herod Philip 
 to marry his brother, Herod Antipas, tetraroh of 
 Galilee, and it was for censuring this incestuous 
 marriage that Antipas ordered John the Baptist 
 to be imprisoned. Some time after, Herodias 
 suggested to her daughter Salome to ask, as a 
 reward for her dancing, the head of John the 
 Baptist, who was accordingly beheaded. Hero- 
 dias, mortified to see her husband tetrarch only, 
 while her brother Agrippa was king, persuaded 
 Antipas to visit Rome, and endeavour to obtain 
 the royal title. But Agrippa sent word to the 
 emperor, that Antipas had arms for seventy thou- 
 sand men in his arsenals ; and Antipas, unable to 
 deny the charge, was banished to Lyons. Cali- 
 gula was willing to pardon Herodias, as the sister 
 of Agrippa; but she chose rather to accompany 
 her husband, than to owe anything to her bro- 
 ther's fortune. The time or the manner of her 
 death is not known ; but she has left the inef- 
 faceable memory of her sin and Herod's crime as 
 a warning to the world, to beware of placing a 
 man in office who sets at defiance the laws of 
 God, or who is united to a wicked woman. 
 
 HILDA, ST., 
 
 Pkincess of Scotland, was learned in Scripture, 
 and composed many religious works. She opposed 
 strenuously the tonsure of the priests, probably 
 supposing it a heathenish custom. She built the 
 convent of St. Fare, of which she became abbess, 
 and died there in 685. 
 
 HILDEGARDIS, 
 
 A FAMOUS abbess of the order of St. Benedict, 
 at Spanheim, in Germany, whose prophecies are 
 supposed to relate to the reformation, and the de- 
 struction of the Roman see ; they had great influ- 
 ence at the time of the reformation. She lived in 
 1146. The books in which these prophecies are 
 contained, appear to have been written by a zeal- 
 ous, godly, and understanding woman, shocked at 
 the crimes which she saw prevailing around her. 
 She also wrote a poem on medicine, and a book 
 of Latin poems. Her good works and her piety 
 were long remembered. 
 
 110 
 
HI 
 
 HY 
 
 HILTRUDIS, 
 
 Daughtee. of Charles Martel, was born in the 
 year 728. After the death of her father, when 
 she saw that her brothers, Pepin and Carlman, 
 treated the rest of the family with great cruelty, she 
 fled to her aunt, the duchess of Bavaria. Her cou- 
 sin Odillo, enchanted with her courage and beauty, 
 married her, and made her duchess of Bavaria. 
 
 Five years afterwards, Odillo declared war 
 against the Franks, but fell, badly wounded, a 
 prisoner into the hands of his enemies. Hiltrudis 
 disguised herself as a knight, and followed her 
 husband to the court of her brothers, where she 
 arrived just in time to assist at the baptism of 
 Charlemagne, whom she presented with costly 
 jewels. She was recognised by her brothers, and, 
 reconciled to them, obtained the liberty of her 
 husband. She died in the year 759, and was 
 buried in Osterhofer, by the side of Odillo. 
 
 HROSWITHA, 
 
 (Helena V. Eossen,) a nun of the Benedictine 
 order, was born in Saxony, and died at Gander- 
 shein, in 984. She is known as a religious poetess 
 through her " Comaedia Saorse TI.," edited by 
 Sohurzfleisch. These plays were written by her 
 to suppress the reading of Terence, then a very 
 popular author among the literary clergy of the 
 age. She also composed a poetic narrative of the 
 deeds performed by Otho the Great, to whom she 
 was related, and a number of elegies. She wrote 
 in Latin altogether. Her works were printed in 
 Nuremberg, in 1501. 
 
 HYPASIA, 
 
 A MOST beautiful, learned, and virtuous lady of 
 antiquity, was the daughter of Theon, who governed 
 the Platonic school at Alexandria, in Egypt, where 
 she was born and educated in the latter part of 
 the fourth century. Theon was famous for his 
 extensive knowledge and learning, but principally 
 for being the father of Hypasia, whom, on account 
 of her extraordinary genius, he educated not only 
 in all the qualifications belonging to her sex, but 
 likewise in the most abstruse sciences. She made 
 astonishing progress in every branch of learning. 
 Socrates, the ecclesiastical historian, a witness of 
 undoubted veracity, at least when he speaks in 
 favour of a heathen philosopher, tells us that 
 Hypasia " arrived at such a pitch of learning, as 
 very far to exceed all the philosophers of her 
 time:" to which Nicephorus adds, "Or those of 
 other times." Philostorgiua, a third historian of 
 the same stamp, affirms that she surpassed her 
 father in astronomy ; and Suidas, who mentions 
 two books of her vrriting, one " On the Astronomi- 
 cal Canon of Diophanim," and another " On the. 
 Conies of Apolhnius," avers that she understood 
 aU other parts of philosophy. 
 
 She succeeded her father in the government of 
 the Alexandrian school, teaching out of the chair 
 where Ammonius, Hierocles, and many other cele- 
 brated philosophers had taught; and this at a 
 time when men of immense learning abounded at 
 Alexandria, and in other parts of the Roman em- 
 
 pire. Her fame was so extensive, and her worth 
 so universally acknowledged, that she had a 
 crowded auditory. One cannot represent to him^ 
 self without pleasure the flower of all the youth 
 in Europe, Asia, and Africa, sitting at the feet of 
 a very beautiful woman, for such we are assured 
 Hypasia was, all eagerly imbibing instruction from 
 her mouth, and many doubtless love from her 
 eyes ; yet Suidas, who speaks of her marriage to 
 Isidorus, relates at the same time that she died a 
 maid. 
 
 Her scholars were as eminent as they were nu- 
 merous. One of them was the celebrated Synesius, 
 afterwards bishop of Ptolemais. This ancient 
 Christian Platoniat everywhere bears the strongest 
 testimony to the learning and virtue of his instruc- 
 tress ; and never mentions her without the pro- 
 foundest respect, and in terms of affection coming 
 little short of adoration. In a letter to his brother 
 Euoptius, he says, " Salute the most honoured 
 and the most beloved of God, the Philosopher; 
 and that happy society, which enjoys the blessing 
 of her divine voice." In another, he mentions 
 one Egyptius, who "sucked in the seeds of wis- 
 dom from Hypasia." In another he says, " I sup- 
 pose these letters will be delivered by Peter, 
 which he will receive from that sacred hand." 
 The famous silver astrolabe, which he presented 
 to Peonius, he owns to have been perfected by the 
 directions of Hypasia. In a long epistle to her, 
 he tells her his reasons for writing the two books 
 he sends her ; and asks her opinion of one, resolv- 
 ing not to publish it without her approbation. 
 
 Never was a woman more caressed by the pub- 
 lic, and never had a woman a more unspotted 
 character. She was considered an oracle of wis- 
 dom, and was consulted by the magistrates in all 
 important cases. This frequently drew her among 
 the greatest concourse of men, without causing 
 the least censure of her manners. 
 
 " On account of the confidence and authority," 
 says Socrates, "which she had acquired by her 
 learning, she sometimes came to the judges with 
 singular modesty. Nor was she anything abashed 
 to appear thus among a crowd of men; for all 
 persons, by reason of her extraordinary discretion, 
 did at the same time both reverence and admire 
 her." This is also confirmed by other writers, 
 and Damascus and Suidas relate, that the govern- 
 ors and magistrates of Alexandria regularly visited 
 and paid their court to her ; and, when Nicepolus 
 wished to pay the princess Eudocia the highest 
 compliment, he called her "another Hypasia." 
 
 While Hypasia thus reigned the brightest orna- 
 ment of Alexandria, Orestes was governor of the 
 same place, under the emperor Theodosius, and 
 Cyril bishop or patriarch . Orestes admired Hy- 
 pasia, and as a wise governor, frequently consulted 
 her. This created an intimacy between them 
 highly displeasing to Cyril, who had a great aver- 
 sion to Orestes, and who disapproved of Hypasia, 
 as she was a heathen. The life of Orestes nearly 
 fell a sacrifice to the fury of a Christian mob, 
 supposed to have been incited by Cyril on account 
 of this intimacy ; and, afterwards, it being reported 
 that Hypasia prevented a reconciliation between 
 
 HI 
 
IC 
 
 IN 
 
 Cyril and Orestes, some men, headed by one 
 Peter, a lecturer, entered into a conspiracy against 
 her, waylaid her, and dragged her to the church 
 called Cassais, where, stripping her nalied, they 
 killed her with tiles, tore her to pieces, and carry- 
 ing her limbs to a place called Cinaron, there 
 burnt them to ashes. 
 
 This happened in March, about the year 415 ; in 
 the tenth year of Honorius' and the sixth of Theo- 
 dosius' consulship. The wealc and trifling emperor 
 was roused from his usual indiff'erence by such an 
 awful crime, and threatened the assassins of this 
 incomparable woman with a merited punishment ; 
 but at the entreaties of his friends, whom Orestes 
 had corrupted, was induced to suffer them to 
 escape, by which means, it is added, he drew ven- 
 geance on himself and famUy. There are few 
 recorded crimes of wicked men so utterly fiend- 
 like as the unprovoked murder of the lovely, 
 learned, and virtuous Hypasia. 
 
 ICASIA, 
 
 Spouse of Theophilus, emperor of Constantino- 
 ple, in 829. He having assembled the most beau- 
 tiful young women of the empire, for the purpose 
 of choosing a wife, fixed upon Icasia, and gave 
 orders for her coronation ; but on her answering 
 some questions he proposed to her, in a manner 
 at once learned and acute, he changed his mind. 
 Icasia, therefore, retired to a monastery, where 
 she composed many works. The emperor had the 
 same taste, probably, for foolish, flippant women, 
 as characterized Charles II., king of England. 
 
 INGEBOBGE, or INGELBURGA, 
 Wife of Philip Augustus, king of France, was 
 born in 1175, and was the daughter of Waldemar, 
 king of Denmark, and of his wife Sophia, a Eus- 
 sian princess. In 1193, she was selected, from 
 motives of policy, by Philip Augustus, then a 
 widower of twenty-eight, as his wife. She is re- 
 presented as very beautiful and discreet, but the 
 king, almost from the first interview, conceived a 
 strong aversion to her, and on a frivolous pretext 
 of Ingeborge's just discovered relationship to his 
 first wife, he assembled the nobles of the kingdom 
 at Compi^gne, November 5th, 1193, who declared 
 the marriage null and void. Ingeborge was pre- 
 sent on this occasion, but having no counsellor, 
 and not unde»6tanding the language, knew nothing 
 of the business that the nobles were transacting, 
 till she was informed of their decision by her 
 interpreter, when she burst into tears, and ap- 
 pealed to Rome. She was taken to an abbey, 
 where she was kept in confinement, and almost 
 without the necessaries of life. The pope, urged 
 by the king of Denmark as well as by Ingeborge, 
 refused to sanction the divorce ; but Philip Au- 
 gustus imprisoned the legates, and married Agnes, 
 daughter of Berthed, duke of Merania, a descend- 
 ant of the emperor Charlemagne. Ingeborge ap- 
 pealed in vain to pope Celestine III. ; but, on his 
 
 death, he was succeeded by Innocent III., who 
 immediately took very severe measures, and in 
 1199 Philip Augustus was excommunicated, and 
 his kingdom declared under an inderdict. All 
 the churches were closed, no baptisms, mar- 
 riages, or burials were allowed to be performed, 
 the dying were refused the benefit of the priest's 
 services, and all the religious duties were sus- 
 pended. In those days of superstition, this ter- 
 rible sentence fell with tenfold weight on the 
 people ; and moved by their distress, after having 
 resisted the papal authority for eight months, 
 Philip at length sent Agnes to the royal castle of 
 St. Leger, and allowed Ingeborge to return to 
 him. But she still complained, and justly, that 
 she had only exchanged one prison for another, 
 and was treated with no respect. Meanwhile 
 there was a solemn assembly held at Soissons to 
 give a final judgment on the demand the king 
 made for a legal separation. The king was sur- 
 rounded by a crowd of lawyers, who vied with each 
 other in urging the justice of his claim. Ingeborge 
 was alone and defenceless ; after waiting a few 
 moments for her advocate, the judges were about 
 to pronounce their decision, when a young and 
 unknown lawyer came forward and argued her 
 cause so eloquently, that the judges dared not 
 utter the wished-for sentence. The king, leaving 
 the assembly, went to the abbey where Ingeborge 
 had taken refuge, and taking her behind him, on 
 horseback, left the city without any of his usual 
 train. When this was told to Agnes de Merania, 
 it affected her so deeply that she died a few days 
 after. 
 
 Philip Augustus, still more irritated against his 
 queen, confined her in the tower of the castle of 
 Etampes, where no one was allowed to converse 
 with her without his permission ; her food was 
 insufficient and coarse, her clothes hung about 
 her in rags, and the servants who attended her 
 were so brutal, that they were accused of wishing 
 to cause her death by their ill-treatment. Philip 
 endeavoured to induce his wife to take the veil, 
 but in vain ; and in 1213, after a separation of 
 twenty years, he allowed her to reside under the 
 same roof with him, where the sweetness of her 
 temper, the goodness and purity of her soul, at 
 length conquered his aversion. After the death 
 of Philip, in 1223, Ingeborge was treated with 
 the greatest respect by his successor ; while she 
 devoted herself chiefly to her religious duties. 
 She died in 1236. 
 
 INGONDE, orlNGUNDIS, 
 Datjghteb of Siegbert I., king of Austrasia, or 
 Lorraine, and of his wife, the famous Brunehaut, 
 was married about 570, to Brunechilde, or Er- 
 menegild, second son of Leovigild, one of the 
 Gothic kings of Spain. She was received with 
 great pomp and tenderness by her husband and 
 his grandmother Gosuinda. But the old queen 
 had an aversion to Catholicism, and attempted, at 
 first by persuasions and afterwards by threats to 
 convert Ingonde to Arianism, and to have her re- 
 baptized, but Ingonde resolutely refused to con- 
 sent. Gosuinda, enraged at her firmness, seized 
 
 112 
 
IN 
 
 her by the hair, threw her down, stamped upon 
 her, and had her plunged by force into the bap- 
 tistry. Ingonde, howeTer, at length, by her 
 patience and piety, converted her husband to her 
 own faith, -which, when his father heard of it, 
 made him so furious, that he had his son taken 
 prisoner and beheaded. Ingonde fled, but -was 
 captured and taken to Sicily, where she died, 
 about 585. She was venerated as a martyr. 
 
 INGRIDA, 
 A NUN of the convent of St. Brigitta, in Wad- 
 stena, Sweden, who lived in 1498, wrote an epistle 
 to her lover, which is considered the most elegant 
 and correct specimen of the Swedish language of 
 that period, and indeed superior to any that ap- 
 peared for a long time after. This composition, 
 full of eloquence and genuine passion, in which 
 the sentiments of love and mystical devotion are 
 intermingled, places 'Ingrida by the side of the 
 more celebrated Heloise. 
 
 IRENE, 
 Empress of Constantinople, was an Athenian 
 orphan, distinguished only by her accomplish- 
 ments, when, in 769, at the age of seventeen, she 
 was married to Leo IV., emperor of Constanti- 
 nople. She was banished by her husband on ac- 
 count of her attachment to image worship, of 
 which the Greek church disapproved. On the 
 death of Leo, in 780, she returned to Constanti- 
 nople, and was associated in the government with 
 her son, Constautine VI., then only ten years of 
 age. Artful and cruel, Irene deposed her son, in 
 797, and caused his eyes to be put out, and theh 
 reigned alone. On this occasion, she entered Con- 
 stantinople in state, with a splendid retinue.' She 
 made Charlemagne, then emperor of the West, a 
 proposal of marriage, in order to preserve her 
 Italian dominions from his grasp, and the marriage 
 treaty was actually concluded, when Nicephorus, 
 chancellor of the empire, conspired against her, 
 seized her in her bed, and banished her to a nun- 
 nery in the island of Lesbos. She was here so 
 reduced, as to be forced to earn a scanty subsist- 
 ence by her distafi^, and died the same year, 802. 
 During her reign, she had submitted to be tribu- 
 tary to the Saracens. She governed under the 
 direction of two ambitious eunuchs, who were per- 
 petually plotting against each other. 
 
 IRGE, 
 A Japanese princess, born 858, whose writings 
 are said still to be in great repute in Japan. 
 
 ISABELLA, 
 Op Arragon, daughter of Alphonso, duke of 
 Calabria, married, in 1480, John Galeazzo Sforza, 
 duke of Milan, who, yet in his minority, was un- 
 der the protection of his uncle, Louis Sforza. 
 When Isabella arrived at Milan, her beauty in- 
 spired the protector with a passion for her that 
 proved fatal to her happiness. The lovers having 
 been married only by proxy, Louis contrived to 
 keep them apart, while he attempted to supplant 
 the bridegroom. But Isabella repulsed him with 
 H 
 
 disdain, and exhorted her husband to throw ofi' 
 the yoke of his uncle, and assert his rights. 
 
 The protector, artful and politic, attempted, by 
 negotiation, to annul the marriage, in his own 
 favour ; but Alphonso threatened to arm Europe 
 in his Bon-in-law's cause, and Louis was at length 
 obliged to restore to his nephew his betrothed 
 bride. His love for Isabella was now turned to 
 hatred ; and he endeavoured in every way to em- 
 bitter her life. He married Alphonsina, daughter 
 of the duke of Ferrara, a woman as haughty and 
 ambitious as Isabella. Compelled to reside under 
 the same roof with her rival, and to see her sta- 
 tion and privileges usurped, Isabella found her 
 position so insupportable, that she wrote to her 
 father and grandfather, Ferdinand, king of Na- 
 ples, protesting that if no means for her deliver- 
 ance were devised, she would escape from her suf- 
 ferings by relinquishing her life. 
 
 These princes, however, could not redress her 
 grievances ; and, in the mean time, her husband 
 died of a slow poison, recommending his wife and 
 children to his cousin, Charles VIII., of France, 
 who was passing through Pavia. Hardly had Ga- 
 leazzo expired, than the party of Louis, saluting 
 him duke, ordered the bells to be set ringing. 
 During this indecent and insulting display of joy, 
 Isabella immured herself and her children, thus 
 deprived at once of their father and their inherit- 
 ance, in a dark chamber. 
 
 The French having taken Milan, Isabella fled to 
 Naples ; but that city was at length compelled to 
 surrender to the invaders. Isabella's only son 
 was carried captive to France, where it was in- 
 tended to compel him to become a monk, and 
 where he died by a fall from his horse. Louis 
 Sforza was also taken prisoner and carried to 
 France, where he died. 
 
 Isabella retired to a town in Naples, which had 
 been assigned to her as a dower, and where she 
 still maintained an air of state and grandeur. 
 Her daughter. Bona Sforza, married Sigismund, 
 king of Poland. Some time previous to her death, 
 Isabella made a journey of devotion to Rome, 
 where she walked to the Vatican, attended by a 
 train of ladies, dressed in bridal ornaments. Her 
 
 113 
 
li 
 
 IS 
 
 reputation in her youth was unblemished, but in 
 her later years, she gave occasion for censure, by 
 admitting the attentions of Prosper Colonna. She 
 died Feb. 11th, 1524. 
 
 ISABELLA, 
 
 Or Castile, the celebrated queen of Spain, 
 daughter of John II., was born in 1451, and mar- 
 ried, in 1469, Ferdinand V., king of Arragon. 
 After the death of her brother, Henry IV., in 
 1474, she ascended the throne of Castile, to the 
 exclusion of her elder sister, Joanna, who had the 
 rightful claim to the crown. During the lifetime 
 of her brother, Isabella had gained the faTOur of 
 the estates of the kingdom to such a degree that 
 the majority, on his death, declared for her. 
 From the others, the victorious arms of her hus- 
 band extorted acquiescence, in the battle of Toro, 
 in 1476. After the kingdoms of Arragon and Cas- 
 tUe were thus united, Ferdinand and Isabella as- 
 sumed the royal title of Spain. 
 
 With the graces and charms of her sex, Isabella 
 united the courage of a hero, and the sagacity of 
 a statesman and legislator. She was always pre- 
 sent at the transaction of state affairs, and her 
 name was placed beside that of 'her husband in 
 public ordinances. The conquest of Granada, 
 after which the Moors were entirely expelled from 
 Spain, and the discovery of America, were, in a 
 great degree, her work. In all her undertakings, 
 the wise cardinal Ximenes was her assistant. 
 
 She has been accused of severity, pride, and 
 unbounded ambition ; but these faults sometimes 
 promoted the welfare of the kingdom, as well as 
 her virtues and talents. A spirit like hers was 
 necessary to humble the haughtiness of the nobles 
 without exciting their hostility, to conquer Gra- 
 nada without letting loose the hordes of Africa on 
 Europe, and to restrain the vices of her subjects, 
 who had become corrupt by reason of the bad ad- 
 ministration of the laws. By the introduction of 
 a strict ceremonial, which subsists till the present 
 day at the Spanish court, she succeeded in check- 
 ing the haughtiness of the numerous nobles about 
 the person of the king, and in depriving them of 
 their pernicious influence over him. Private war- 
 
 fare, which had formerly prevailed to the destruc- 
 tion of public tranquillity, she checked, and intro- 
 duced a vigorous administration of justice. In 
 1492, pope Alexander TI. confirmed to the royal 
 pair the title of Catholic king, already conferred 
 on them by Innocent VIII. The zeal for the Eo- 
 man Catholic religion, which procured them this 
 title, gave rise to the Inquisition, which was intro- 
 duced into Spain in 1480, at the suggestion of 
 their confessor, Torquemada. Isabella died in 
 1504, having extorted from her husband (of whom 
 she was very jealous) an oath that he would never 
 marry again. 
 
 ISABELLA OF FRANCE, 
 YotTNGEST child of Louis VIII. and Blanche of 
 Castile, was bom in 1224. She was early cele- 
 brated for her beauty, learning, and piety. She 
 refused every offer of marriage, even the son of 
 the emperor Ferdinand, and declared her inten- 
 tion to devote herself wholly to religion. The 
 pope, at her mother's request, vrrote to dissuade 
 her from doing this ; but her answer to his letter 
 was so full of humility, piety, and reason, that 
 both he and Blanche were obliged to yield. She 
 founded the monastery of Longchamp about 1260, 
 though she never withdrew entirely from the 
 world, or joined any religious order. Towards 
 the end of her life she observed the most rigorous 
 silence, to expiate for the idle words she had 
 spoken in her youth. She died, February 12th, 
 1269, at the age of forty-five. For several ages, 
 it was believed that miracles were performed at 
 her tomb. 
 
 ISABELLA, 
 
 Dauqhtek of Philip the Fair, king of France, 
 was born in 1295. She married, in 1308, Edward, 
 afterwards Edward II. of England. She was very 
 beautiful ; but her licentiousness disgraced her, 
 and embittered the last years of her husband's 
 life. By her intrigues she induced his abdication 
 and the accession of their son Edward III., then a 
 boy. She sought to secure the sovereign power in 
 her hands, and those of her infamous favourite, 
 Roger Mortimer. She did not effect this till after 
 the wicked murder of her husband, the deposed 
 Edward II., which was attributed to her instiga- 
 tions. Soon afterwards her son, Edward III., 
 joined with his indignant barons in an attack on 
 Nottingham castle, where she and Mortimer had 
 taken up their abode. The crafty queen was over- 
 come ; her paramour seized and executed ; and 
 she confined for the remainder of her life, twenty- 
 eight years, at Castle Rising. She died in 1358, 
 aged sixty-three years. 
 
 " Since the days of the fair and false Elfrida 
 of Saxon celebrity, no queen of England has left 
 so d^rk a stain on the annals of female royalty as 
 the consort of Edward II., Isabella of France," 
 says Miss Strickland. 
 
 SABELLA OF VALOIS, 
 Was the daughter of Charles VI. of France, 
 and Isabella of Bavaria. She was born in the 
 Louvre palace at Paris, November 9th, 1387. In 
 
 114 
 
IS 
 
 rs 
 
 October, 1396, Isabella became the second wife 
 of Richard II. of England, though she was then 
 only eight years old. After Richard was dethroned 
 and murdered by Henry of Bolingbroke, after- 
 wards Henry IV., in 1400, and Isabella remained 
 in England for two years, treated with great re- 
 spect as queen-dowager, but steadily refusing the 
 hand of Henry's eldest son, who had fallen very 
 much in love with her. In 1402, Isabella return- 
 ed to Paris, and at the age of eighteen married 
 her cousin, the celebrated archduke of Orleans, 
 who, though some years younger than herself, she 
 dearly loved. She died at Blois, September 13th, 
 1410, leaving an infant daughter only a few hours 
 old. 
 
 ISABELLA OP LORRAINE, 
 Eldest daughter of Charles II. of Lorraine, 
 was married in 1420, at the age of thirteen, to 
 Ren^, duke d'Anjou, brother-in-law of Charles VI. 
 of France, then about fourteen. She united to 
 great beauty, intellect, generosity, and courage. 
 When her husband was taken prisoner by the duke 
 of Burgundy, in 1429, she assembled the nobles 
 of Lorraine, placed her four children under their 
 protection, and raised an army to rescue her hus- 
 band. While he was still a prisoner, the Idngdom 
 of Sicily, by the death of Charles I., became his; 
 and Reu^ sent Isabella to claim it. She went 
 there, and by her wise and skilful government 
 acquired great popularity. In 1437, Ren^ joined 
 her ; but in less than five years he was forced to 
 return with his family to France, by his victorious 
 rival, Alphonso of Arragon. In 1444, Isabella's 
 youngest daughter, Margaret of Anjou, married 
 Henry VI. of England ; and the misfortunes of this 
 beloved child so preyed upon the mother, that they 
 are supposed to have caused her death. She died 
 at the castle d' Angers, February 28th, 1452, at 
 the age of forty-four. Her husband's grief at her 
 loss nearly proved fatal to him ; and though he 
 married again, he never ceased to regret her. 
 
 Among the illustrious females of the fifteenth 
 century, Isabella of Lorraine must ever hold a 
 distinguished place. Her commanding talents, her 
 personal endowments, her courage and conjugal 
 tenderness, all unite to form a character of the 
 most lovely and perfect type of womanhood. She 
 was the contemporary of Joan of Arc ; she was 
 the patroness of Agnes Sorel, and seems to have 
 possessed the true heart of the heroine and the 
 cultivated intellect of the poetess. Her daughter, 
 Margaret of Anjou, "inherited from this illus- 
 trious parent those energies which the sternest 
 shocks of adversity were unable to subdue," says 
 Miss Strickland ; she also describes Isabella as 
 the " tenderest and most courageous of conjugal 
 heroines ;" a title most appropriate to her deeds 
 of daring, all done for the sake of her husband. 
 
 ISAURE, 
 CiiEMENOB, or Clemenza, a lady of Toulouse in 
 France, celebrated for her learning. She insti- 
 tuted the Jeux Floraux, or Floral Gfames, in that 
 city, where prizes were bestowed on the success- 
 ful poetical competitors.. She was born in 1464, 
 
 and was the daughter of Ludovico Isaure, who 
 died when Clemence was only five years old. 
 
 Some years afterwards the romance of her life 
 began. Near her garden dwelt Raoul, a young 
 troubadour, who fell in love with her for her ge- 
 nius and beauty, and communicated his passion in 
 songs in which her name and his were united. 
 The maiden replied with flowers, whose meaning 
 Eaoul could easily interpret. He was the natural 
 son of count Raymond of Toulouse, and followed 
 his father to the war against the emperor Maxi- 
 milian. In the battle of Guigenaste both were 
 slain, and Clemence resolved to take the veil. Be- 
 fore doing so, however, she renewed the poetic 
 festival which had been established by the gay 
 company of the seven troubadours, but had been 
 long forgotten, and assigned as prizes for the 
 victors the five different flowers, wrought in gold 
 and silver, with which she had replied to her 
 lover's passion. She fixed on the first of May as 
 the day for the distribution of the prizes ; and she 
 herself composed an ode on spring for the occa- 
 sion, which acquired for her the surname of the 
 Sappho of Toulouse. Her character was tinged 
 with melancholy, which the loss of her lover pro- 
 bably heightened ; and her poems partake of this 
 plaintive style. Her works were printed at Tou- 
 louse in 1505. They remained a long time in obli- 
 vion, and perhaps never would have seen the light 
 but for the fortunate discovery of M. Alexandre 
 Dumenge. There are extant two copies of this 
 precious volume, which is entitled " Dictats de 
 Dona Clamenza Isaure;" it consists of cantos or 
 odes ; the principal and most finished is called 
 " Plainte d'Ainour." The two first strophes have 
 been translated almost literally into modem 
 French. 
 
 Au Boin (fea bois la colombe amoureuse 
 Murmure en paix sea longs, et doax accena; 
 Sua noa coteaux, la Fauvette de meilleuse 
 Va celebrer le retour dti Printemps.! 
 
 Helaa ! et moi, plaintive, solitaire 
 Moi qui n'ai su qu' aimes, et que souffrir, 
 Je doie, au monde, au bonheur, etrangere 
 Pleurer mea manx, lea redjfe, et mourir. 
 
 115 
 
J A 
 
 JO 
 
 The queen of poetry, as her contemporaries en- 
 titled her, died in the first year of the great reign 
 of Frances I., and Leo X. Her mortal remains 
 were deposited in the choir of the church of Notre 
 Dame, at Toulouse. A bronze tablet, inscribed 
 with a highly eulogistic tribute to her fame, still 
 remains, at the foot of a statue of Clemence. Af- 
 ter the lapse of three centuries, it required nothing 
 less than the convulsions of the French Kevolution 
 of 1789 to suspend the floral games ; they were 
 reinstated under Napoleon, as a municipal institu- 
 tion, in 1806. The memory of Clemence Isaure 
 lived "green with immortal bays;" for centuries 
 the Toulousians had made her their boast — but 
 " aU that beauty, all that wit e'er gave," could find 
 no grace with the patriots of 1793. That intel- 
 ligent body of citizens voted Clemence Isaure an 
 " aristocrat," and, as such, sentenced her bronze 
 monument to be melted down, and used for vulgar 
 purposes. Fortunately, the honest artisan to 
 whom the work was consigned, had a feeling which 
 saved this venerable relic. At the risk of his 
 head, he substituted some other bronze, and con- 
 cealed the tablet till a time of political safety 
 arrived. 
 
 J. 
 JANE OF FLANDERS, 
 
 CoDNTESs of Montfort, was one of the most 
 extraordinary women of her age. Her husband, 
 the count of Montfort, having been, in 1342, 
 made prisoner and conducted to Paris, she assem- 
 bled the inhabitants of Rennes, her place of resi- 
 dence, and by her eloquence, aided by the pity 
 inspired by her infant son, moved the inhabitants 
 of Rennes to take up arms in her behalf. The 
 movement was participated in by all Brittany, and 
 she soon found herself in a position to protect her 
 rights. Having shut herself in the fortress of 
 Hennebonne, Charles de Blois, her husband's enemy, 
 besieged her there, after an obstinate defence, in 
 which the countess showed many of the qualities 
 of a commander. The repeated breaches made in 
 the walls at length rendered it necessary for the 
 besieged, who were diminished in numbers, and 
 exhausted by fatigue, to treat for a capitulation. 
 During a conference for that purpose, in which 
 the bishop of Leon was engaged with Charles de 
 Blois, the countess, who had mounted a high 
 tower, which commanded a view of the sea, 
 descried some sails at a distance, and immediately 
 exclaimed, "Behold the succours! the English 
 succours! no capitulation!" 
 
 This fleet, prepared by Edward III. for the re- 
 lief of Hennebonne, having been detained by con- 
 trary winds, entered the harbour, under the com- 
 mand of Sir Walter Mauny. The garrison, by 
 this reinforcement, animated with fresh spirits, 
 immediately sallied forth, beat the besiegers from 
 their posts, and obliged them to decamp. The 
 flames of war still continued their devastations, 
 when Charles de Blois, having invested the fortress 
 of Roche de Rien, the Countess of Montfort, re- 
 inforced by some English troops, attacked him. 
 
 during the night, in his entrenchments, dispersed 
 his army, and took him prisoner. His wife, in 
 whose right he had pretended to Brittany, com- 
 pelled by the captivity of her husband, assumed, 
 in her turn, the government of the party; and 
 opposed herself, a formidable and worthy rival, 
 both in the cabinet and field, to the countess of 
 Montfort. 
 
 The mediation of France and England failed to 
 put an end to the disputes in Brittany, till Charles 
 de Blois was at length slain, at the battle of Auray. 
 The young count de Montfort soon after obtained 
 possession of the duchy, and, though a zealoiis 
 partizan of England, had his title acknowledged 
 by the French king, to whom he did homage for 
 his dominions. 
 
 JEANNE DE BOURBON, 
 
 Daughteb of Pierre I., duke de Bourbon, was 
 born at Vincennes, near Paris, February 3d, 1337. 
 April 8th, 1350, when about thirteen, she married 
 Charles, who was nearly the same age, afterwards 
 Charles V. of France, eldest sou of king John. 
 She was a very beautiful woman, and her hus- 
 band was much attached to her. He had a high 
 opinion of her judgment, often consulted her on 
 state affairs, and loved to see her surrounded by 
 all the pomp and luxury suited to her station. On 
 days of solemnity, Charles frequently brought his 
 wife, whom he called "the sun of his kingdom," 
 with him to the parliament, where she took her 
 seat by his side. By his wOl, he left the regency 
 to Jeanne, although he had three brothers of ma- 
 ture age. However, his queen died before him, 
 at the Hotel de St. Paul, in Paris, February 11th, 
 1378. Her death proved a real misfortune to 
 France. She is spoken of, by historians, as one 
 of the most accomplished and virtuous princesses 
 of her time. 
 
 JEANNE OF FRANCE AND NAVARRE, 
 
 Wife of Philip IV., surnamed the Fair, of 
 France, was the only child and heiress of Henry 
 I., king of Navarre and count of Champagne. 
 The count de Bar having attacked Champagne, she 
 placed herself at the head of a small army, forced 
 him to surrender, and kept him a long time in 
 prison. But her most solid title to glory, is the 
 having founded the famous college of Navarre. 
 
 Jeanne of Navarre died at Vincennes, in 1304, 
 aged thirty-three. Her husband was devotedly 
 attached to her, and she fully deserved his love. 
 Philip never took the titles of king of Navarre, or 
 of count of Champagne and of Brie ; and to all his 
 ordinances relative to the government of these 
 principalities, he always added that he acted with 
 the concurrence of his dear companion; and 
 Jeanne added her seal to that of her husband. 
 Jeanne was married at the age of thirteen, and, 
 during her twenty years of wedded life, she bore 
 her husband seven children. She was equally 
 beautiful, eloquent, generous, and courageous. 
 
 JOANNA, 
 Ob. Jane op Navaere, consort of Henry IV. of 
 England, was the second daughter of Charles 
 
 116 
 
30 
 
 d' Albert, king of Navarre, surnamed the Bad. 
 Her mother was Jane, daughter of John, king of 
 France. Joanna was born about 1370, and in 
 1386, she married John de Montfort, duke of 
 Bretagne, surnamed the Valiant, by whom she 
 was tenderly beloved, and who left her regent and 
 sole guardian of the young duke, their eldest son, 
 ^ on his death, in 1399. In 1402, Joanna married 
 Henry of Lancaster, king of England, who died in 
 1413 ; after which event, Joanna still remained in 
 England. In 1419, she was arrested on a charge 
 of witchcraft against the king, Henry V., her 
 step-son. She was condemned, deprived of all 
 her property, and imprisoned till 1422, when she 
 was set free, and her dower restored. She died 
 at Havering Bower, in 1437. Joanna had nine 
 children by the duke of Bretagne, some of whom 
 died before her ; but none by Henry IV. She was 
 a beautiful and a very intelligent woman. 
 
 JOANNA, 
 
 Countess of Hainault and Elandera. Baldwin, 
 count of Flanders, born in 1171, was one of the 
 heroes of the fourth crusade. He had taken the 
 city of Constantinople, and borne for a short time 
 the empty title of emperor. The fortunes of war 
 rendered him prisoner during a tedious captivity 
 of eighteen years. In parting for the crusade, 
 Baldwin left two young daughters, Joan and Mar- 
 garet — the former destined to be his heiress and 
 successor. Their mother, Mary di Sciampagna, 
 died at Acre, in making a pilgrimage to the Holy 
 Land. During the absence of Baldwin, Flanders 
 was governed by the guardian and cousin of the 
 infants, Philip of Namur. ,» 
 
 Joan, from early girlhood, manifested an impe- 
 rious will and ardent desire for sway. Profiting 
 by a rumour of the death of her father, which 
 began to be spread abroad, she seized the reins 
 of government, and caused herself, in 1209, to be 
 declared countess of Hainault and Flanders. Two 
 years after this she formed a marriage, which, 
 judging from its result, must have arisen on her 
 side from motives of policy, unmingled with affec- 
 tion. The husband she selected was Ferdinand, 
 
 JO 
 
 son of Sancho, king of Portugal. Uncertain in 
 disposition, unskilful in conduct, and weak in de- 
 sign, Ferdinand attempted various expeditions, 
 and performed all with ill-success. He began by 
 forming an alliance with Philip Augustus ; then 
 owing to some frivolous pique we find him desert- 
 ing to the English, just at the time of the famous 
 battle of Bouvines. Covered with wounds, he fell 
 into the hands of the French, and was conveyed a 
 prisoner to Paris, where he remained fifteen years 
 in captivity. Joan appears to have considered 
 him well disposed of, as she maintained an ami- 
 cable relation with Philip Augustus, and after- 
 wards with Louis VIII. These kings were her 
 friends, supporters, and trusty allies. No doubt 
 they consulted her wishes in retaining the un- 
 happy Ferdinand in the Louvre, while they granted 
 her the honours and privileges of a sovereign ^er 
 se, among which was the holding an unsheathed 
 sword before them. She seems to have governed 
 with vigour and judgment. Her political treaties 
 were made with a sagacity rare at that period. 
 She had none of the tenderness of an amiable 
 woman, but was gifted with the shrewd sense and 
 hardness of a statesman. Circumstances soon 
 arose before which a less stout heart would have 
 quailed, and a more sensitive conscience refused 
 to act. 
 
 In 1225, a broken-down, grey-haired, feeble old 
 man made his appearance in Lisle, and declared 
 himself to be Baldwin, the father of the countess, 
 returned to resume his sovereignty ! Joan boldly 
 asserted that he was an impostor, and denied him 
 admission to the palace ; but his piteous tale, his 
 venerable appearance, and the natural bias of the 
 populace to side with the oppressed, gained him 
 numerous partizans. Joan's residence was sur- 
 rounded by a tumultuous mob, and she hastily 
 fled to Peronne, and put herself under the protec- 
 tion of her trusty friend king Louis, who sum- 
 moned the soi-disant Baldwin to appear before his 
 tribunal, when as suzerain he would pronounce 
 between the contending parties. His decision 
 would probably have been the same had the un- 
 fortunate pretender offered the strongest evidence 
 — as it was, the old man was unable to answer 
 questions propounded to him about early events 
 and persons. He pleaded that age, and trouble, 
 and present sickness and agitation, dulled his 
 faculties and injured his memory ; but Louis gave 
 sentence that he was an impostor, and as such, 
 ordered him out of the kingdom, though he re- 
 spected the safe-conduct under which he had pre- 
 sented himself, and had him carried safely beyond 
 the frontiers. The countess being reinstated in 
 her domains, showed by her cruelty that she did 
 not despise the claims of the wretched veteran. 
 She sent persons to seize him, and when under her 
 jurisdiction, after submitting his aged limbs to 
 the torture, she caused him to be decapitated. 
 Kneeling on the scaffold, with one hand on the 
 crucifix, and his head on the block, he repeated 
 that he was the true and real Baldwin, count of 
 Flanders. At a neighbouring window appeared a 
 pale visage, with closed teeth and contracted 
 muscles — it was Joan — who took a fearful satis- 
 
 117 
 
JO 
 
 JO 
 
 faction in seeing with her own eyes the fulfilment 
 of her dire will ! 
 
 After this scene of blood, the countess gOTerned 
 Flanders peacefully and prosperously for sixteen 
 years. The justice of St. Louis when he ascended 
 the throne of France opened the prison-doors of 
 Ferdinand ; but the privations, and sufferings, 
 and solitude of years, had weakened his moral 
 and physical economy — he was prematurely old — 
 and did not live to enjoy his freedom, so long 
 wished for. The widow princess deemed it expe- 
 dient to enter into new nuptials. She espoused 
 Thomas of Savoy. The day after this marriage, 
 mounted in a stately car with her husband, she 
 went in procession through the city of Lisle ; but 
 when she arrived at the place where her father 
 had been executed, a bloody phantom rose before 
 her — the head but half attached to the bust — and 
 uttered the most frightful menaces. Who shall 
 pronounce whether this apparition was the eifect 
 of a guilty conscience, stimulated by the accusa- 
 tions of the populace, or a nervous disorder, the 
 beginning of divine vengeance ! At all events, 
 from that day Joan led a life of agony and terror, 
 always haunted by the fatal spectre. Consulting 
 holy churchmen, she was advised to build a mon- 
 astery on the very spot where the phantom rose, 
 .loan not only did this, but also erected a hospital 
 and two convents ; and that her repentance might 
 prove still more efficacious, assumed herself the 
 habit of a nun, and died in the cloister in the 
 year 1241. Her death-bed was surrounded by the 
 holy sisterhood, who lavished every comfort of 
 religion upon her ; she grasped convulsively the 
 crucifix, and her last words were, in accents of 
 despair, "Will God forgive me?" 
 
 JOANNA, 
 
 Op Naples, daughter of Robert, king of Naples, 
 of the Anjou dynasty, succeeded her father in 
 1343. She was then sixteen, handsome and ac- 
 complished. She had been for some time married 
 to her cousin Andreas of Hungary ; but this union 
 was not a happy one. Andreas claimed to be king 
 and to share his wife's authority, which, by her 
 father's will, had been solely left to her. The 
 
 conduct of Andreas, and his haughty manners, 
 offended the Neapolitan nobility, and his Hunga- 
 rian guards excited their jealousy. A conspiracy 
 was formed by the nobles, and one night while the 
 court was at Aversa, Andreas was strangled, and 
 his body thrown out of a window of the castle. 
 
 Joanna went immediately to Naples, and thence 
 issued orders for the apprehension of the mur- 
 derers. Many persons were put to a cruel death 
 as accessaries, but public opinion still implicated 
 the queen in the murder. The same year Joanna 
 married her cousin Louis, prince of Tarentum. 
 Soon after Louis, king of Hungary, the brother of 
 Andreas, came with an army to avenge his bro- 
 ther's death. He defeated the queen's troops, 
 and entered Naples. Joafcna then took refuge in 
 her hereditary principality of Provence. She soon 
 repaired to Avignon, and, before Pope Clement 
 VI., protested her innocence and demanded a trial. 
 She was tried and acquitted ; and, out of grati- 
 tude, she gave up to the papal see the town and 
 county of Avignon. 
 
 In the mean time, a pestilence had frightened 
 away the Hungarians from Naples, and Joanna, 
 returning to her kingdom, was solemnly crowned 
 with her husband, in 1351. Joan reigned many 
 years in peace. Having lost her husband in 1362, 
 she married James of Arragon, a prince of Majorca, 
 and on his death she married, in 1376, Otho, duke 
 of Brunswick ; but having no children, she gave 
 her niece Margaret to Charles, duke of Durazzo, 
 and appointed him her successor. On the break- 
 ing out of the schism between Urban YI. and 
 Clement VII., Joanna took the part of the latter. 
 Urban excommunicated her, and gave her king- 
 dom to Charles Durazzo, who revolted against his 
 sovereign and benefactress. With the aid of the 
 pope he raised troops, defeated the queen, and 
 took her prisoner. He then tried to induce Joanna 
 to abdicate in his favour ; but she firmly refused, 
 and named Louis of Anjou, brother of Charles V., 
 king of France, as her successor. Charles then 
 transferred Joanna to the castle of Muro, in Basi- 
 licata, where he caused her to be murdered, in 
 1382. She was a woman of great accomplish- 
 ments, and many good qualities. 
 
 JOANNA II., 
 Daughter of Charles Durazzo, and sister of 
 Ladislaus, king of Naples, succeeded the latter in 
 1414. She was then forty-four, and was noted 
 for her licentiousness and weakness. She married, 
 from political motives, James, Count de la Marche, 
 who was allied to the royal family of France. But 
 the union proved a most unhappy one, and James 
 fled to France, where it is said that he ended his 
 days in a convent. Meantime unworthy favour- 
 ites ruled in succession in the court of Joanna. 
 One of them, Ser Gianni Caracciolo, of a noble 
 family, saw his influence disputed by the famous 
 Condottiere Sforza Attendolo, who, together with 
 many barons that were jealous of Caracciolo, took 
 the part of Louis of Anjou, grandson of that Louis 
 to whom Joanna I. had bequeathed the crown. 
 The queen sought for support in Alfonso of Arra- 
 gon, king of Sicily, whom she appointed her suc- 
 
 118 
 
JU 
 
 JU 
 
 cessor. Alfonso came to Naples ; but the fickle 
 Joan, having made her peace with Sforza, revoked 
 her adoption of Alfonso, and appointed Louis of 
 Anjou her successor. Alfonso was obliged to re- 
 turn to Sicily, and soon after Caracciolo was mur- 
 dered in consequence of court jealousy. Louis of 
 Anjou died also, and was followed to the grave by 
 Joanna herself, who appointed Ren^ of Anjou her 
 successor. She died in 1435, leaving her kingdom 
 in great disorder, and with the prospect of dis- 
 puted succession and civil war. 
 
 JUDITH, 
 
 Dauohteb. of WelflF, a count, by some writers 
 called the duke of Bavaria, was selected, from her 
 beauty, to be the second wife of Louis le Debon- 
 naire, son of Charlemagne, emperor of France. 
 She was well educated, and succeeded in obtaining 
 such control over the king's aifections, that she 
 governed not only in the palace, but also exercised 
 the greatest influence in the government. Her 
 oldest son, who afterwards i-eigned under the name 
 of Charles the Bald, was born in 823 ; but as the 
 king had already divided his estates between the 
 sons of his former marriage, there was nothing 
 left for him. Judith immediately exerted herself 
 to obtain a kingdom for her child ; and having 
 made her god-son, Bernard, duke of Aquitaine, 
 prime minister, a national assembly was convoked 
 at Worms, and by the consent of Lothaire, the 
 eldest son of Louis, the country between the Jura, 
 Alps, Rhine, and Maine, was given to Charles, 
 who was placed under the care of Bernard. 
 
 Pepin, the second sou of Louis, having convinced 
 Lothaire of his folly in yielding up his possessions 
 at the request of Judith, induced him to unite 
 with him in a rebellion against Judith and Louis. 
 In 829 they surrounded Aix, took Judith and her 
 husband prisoners, and accusing Judith of too 
 great intimacy with Bernard, forced her to take 
 the veil, in the convent of St. Radegonde, at Poi- 
 tiers. They, however, permitted Judith to have 
 a private interview with her husband, on condition 
 that she would urge on him the necessity of an 
 immediate abdication. Judith promised to do so ; 
 but instead, advised Louis to yield to circum- 
 
 stances, and go to the monastery of St. M^dard, 
 at Soissons, but not to abdicate the crown. Tlfe 
 king followed her advice ; and, in 830, Lothaire, 
 having quarrelled with his brother, restored the 
 crown to Louis, who immediately recalled Judith. 
 The pope released her from her conventual vows, 
 and she cleared herself by an oath from the accu- 
 sation of adultery that was brought against her. 
 Bernard, who had fled to Aquitaine, also returned, 
 and offered to prove his innocence of the crime by 
 single combat, with any of his accusers. No one 
 accepted the challenge, but the public feeling was 
 so strong against him, that the empress was obliged 
 to send him away. 
 
 In 833, the emperor was again betrayed and 
 deposed by his children, although Judith had ex- 
 erted herself in every way, even by cruelty, to 
 retain for her weak husband the power he could 
 not keep for himself. After a year of confinement, 
 Louis was again placed on the throne ; and by the 
 new division of the empire, arranged in 839, Ju- 
 dith had the satisfaction of seeing her son placed 
 in possession of a large share of those estates from 
 which he had seemed forever excluded. Louis 
 the Mild died in 840, and Judith only survived 
 him three years. She died at Tours. Some his- 
 torians, however, say that her death did not occur 
 till 848, or even till 874. In her heart the mo- 
 ther's ambition was the predominating power. 
 
 JULIA DOMNA 
 
 Was the daughter of a noble Phoenician, a high 
 priest of the temple of the sun, at Emesa. Nature 
 had blessed her with great intellectual and per- 
 sonal endowments ; and the high gifts of beauty, 
 wit, imagination, and discernment, were augment- 
 ed by all the advantages of study and education. 
 She is said to have been well acquainted with his- 
 tory, moral philosophy, geometry, and other sci- 
 ences, which she cultivated through life ; and her 
 mental accomplishments won her the friendship 
 of all the most distinguished among the learned in 
 Rome, "where," (says one of her modern histo- 
 rians, in modern phrase,) " elle vint, dans Finten- 
 tion de faire fortune, et y reussit." 
 
 From the time of her union with Severus, 
 
 119 
 
JU 
 
 KH 
 
 (twenty years before his elevation to tlie throne,) 
 he almost aJways adopted her counsels, and mainly 
 owed to them that high reputation with his army, 
 which induced his troops in Illyria to proclaim 
 him emperor. Although Julia Domna has been 
 accused, by the scandal of ancient history, of gal- 
 lantry in her early days, (the common accusation 
 of the compilers of anecdotes, who pass for histo- 
 rians,) all writers acknowledge that the follies of 
 her youth were effaced by the virtues and the ge- 
 nius which glorified her maturity ; and that, when 
 seated on the throne of the empire, she surrounded 
 it by whatever the declining literature and science 
 of the day still preserved of the wise, able, and 
 eminent. 
 
 Her husband esteemed her genius, and consulted 
 her upon all affairs ; and she, in some measure, 
 governed during the reign of her sons, though 
 she had the misfortune of seeing one slain by 
 his execrable brother, whose excesses she in- 
 wardly murmured at, when she dared not openly 
 condemn. 
 
 To the last hour of her son's life, Julia Domna, 
 who had accompanied him to the East, adminis- 
 tered all that was moral or intellectual in the go- 
 vernment of the empire ; and the respectful civility 
 of the usurper Macrinus to the widow of Severus, 
 might have flattered her with the hope of an ho- 
 nourable if not a happy old age, in the society of 
 the lettered and the scientific, whom to the last 
 she served and protected. 
 
 But the heart, if not the spirit of this great 
 woman, and most unfortunate of mothers, was 
 broken. " She had experienced all the vicissi- 
 tudes of fortune. From an humble station she 
 had been raised to greatness, only to taste the 
 superior bitterness of an exalted rank. She was 
 doomed to weep over the death of one of her sons, 
 and over the life of another. The terrible death 
 of Caraoalla, though her good sense must have 
 long taught her to expect it, awakened the feel- 
 ings of a mother and an empress. She descended 
 with a painful struggle into the condition of a 
 subject, and soon withdrew herself, by a voluntary 
 death, from an anxious and a humiliating depend- 
 ence." She refused all food and died of starva- 
 tion. 
 
 JULIA MAM ME A, 
 MoTHEB of Alexander Severus, emperor of 
 Rome, in 222, was possessed of equal genius and 
 courage. She educated her son very carefully for 
 the throne, rendering him a man of virtue and 
 sensibility. Severus thought so highly of his 
 mother that he consulted her in every thing, and 
 followed her advice. Julia having heard of Ori- 
 gen, sent for him, and is supposed to have been 
 converted by him to Christianity. She was mur- 
 dered with her son, in Gaul, by the discontented 
 soldiery, in 235. 
 
 JULIA MCBSA, 
 Geandmothek of Heliogabalus, emperor of 
 Rome, was a great politician, and a virtuous wo- 
 man. She strove to counteract the bad counsels 
 of the mother of the emperor, and bring him back 
 
 to common sense and duty. She saw that the 
 Romans would not long bear such a shameful 
 yoke, and she induced the emperor, who always 
 retained his respect for her, to nominate his cou- 
 sin, Alexander Severus, his successor. Julia Moesa 
 attained a happy and respected old age, and was 
 placed by Alexander Severus in the list of divi- 
 nities. 
 
 JULIA SCEMIUS, 
 Mother of Heliogabalus, emperor of Rome, 
 was a native of Apamea ; her father was Julius 
 Avitus, and her mother, Moesa. Her sister, Julia 
 Mammea, was the second wife of the emperor 
 Septimus Severus. Julia Soemius was made pre- 
 sident of a senate of women, which she had elect- 
 ed, to decide the quarrels and affairs of the Roman 
 matrons, an office of some difficulty, if not honour. 
 She at last provoked the people by her debauche- 
 ries, extravagance, and cruelties, and was mur- 
 dered with her son and family, in 222. 
 
 .JULIA, 
 A VIRGIN and martyr of Carthage. At the sack 
 of Carthage by Genseric, king of the Vandals, 
 Julia was sold to a heathen merchant, and carried 
 to Syria. Here she was discovered to be a Chris- 
 tian, by her refusal to take a part in some of the 
 festivals instituted in honour of the female deities, 
 and was put to death, in 440. 
 
 JULIANNA, 
 
 Wife of Eustace de Breteuil, was the natural 
 daughter of Henry I. of England. Her husband 
 having confided to her the defence of the castle 
 de Breteuil, in 1119, she defended it bravely 
 against her father, at the head of a large army. 
 Her father had taken her two sons prisoners, and 
 given them to their enemies, who had mutilated 
 thei< faces. When Julianna found that she could 
 hold out no longer, she sent to desire an interview 
 with her father, who, suspecting no treachery, 
 went to meet her, when she attempted to kill him. 
 Henry avoided the blow, and forced her to sur- 
 render. She was obliged to leave the castle igno- 
 miniously, and went to rejoin her husband at 
 Pacy-sur-Eure. 
 
 K. 
 
 KHAULA, 
 An Arabian heroine, who, in the famous battle 
 of the Yermonks, between the Greeks and the 
 Arabs, in the seventh century, rallied the Arabs, 
 when they were driven back by the furious onset 
 of their assailants, and, with several other of the 
 chief women, took the command of the army. In 
 leading the van, Khaula was beaten to the ground 
 by a Greek, when Wafeira, one of her female 
 friends, rescued her, by striking off his head with 
 one blow. This courageous conduct so animated 
 the Arabs, that they routed the Greeks with great 
 loss. Khaula afterwards married the caliph 
 AU. 
 
 120 
 
LA 
 
 LE 
 
 L. 
 
 LABANA, 
 
 A Moorish-Spaniard, of a noble family at Cor- 
 duba. She was a most accurate poetess, and also 
 was skilled in pbilosophy and music. She died 
 young, in 995. 
 
 LAURA, 
 
 The beloved of Petrarch, is better knovm by 
 that title, than by her own name of Laura de 
 Noyes. She was born at Avignon, and married 
 Hugo de Sade. Petrarch first saw her in 1327, 
 and conceived a passion for her, which existed 
 during her life ; yet her chastity has never been 
 called in question. Petrarch wrote three hundred 
 and eighteen sonnets and eighty-eight songs, of 
 which Laui-a was the subject. She died of the 
 plague, in 1348, aged thirty-eight. She ^ said to 
 have had a graceful figure, a sweet voice, a lioble 
 and distinguished appearance, and a countenance 
 which inspired tenderness. 
 
 The poetry of Petrarch gave Laura a wide cele- 
 brity during her lifetime. It is recorded, that the 
 king of Bohemia, arriving at Avignon, sought out 
 this well-sung lady, and kissed her on the fore- 
 head, in token of homage. All this may appear 
 very pleasant; romantic young ladies may even 
 account Laura a very fortunate woman ; but there 
 is a dark side to the picture. The husband of 
 Laura was not pleased with the notoriety which 
 the devotion of Petrarch conferred on the object 
 of his passion or his poetry. No wonder the 
 jealousy of the husband, even an Italian husband, 
 should have been awakened ; and though no real 
 infidelity of his wife was ever discovered, yet it 
 was not possible he could enjoy the quiet happi- 
 ness of domestic life, which is based on perfect 
 confidence in the affections as well as principles 
 of the married pair. The children of this ill- 
 matched couple showed either that their training 
 was neglected, or their natural gifts very me- 
 diocre ; both consequences unfavourable to the 
 character of their mother. Of Laura's nine sons, 
 not one was ever distinguished for sense or spirit ; 
 
 and her only daughter conducted herself in such 
 an h-regular manner, that her friends were forced 
 to shut her up in a convent. Such were the 
 children of this " beloved of Petrarch." Surely, 
 Laura's celebrity can be no object of envy to any 
 good mother who has good children. And Pe- 
 trarch — could he have been an honourable man, 
 who, for twenty-two years, made love to another 
 man's wife ? 
 
 LEELA, 
 
 Of Granada, a Moorish-Spaniard, who was cele- 
 brated for her learning. She died in the early 
 part of the thirteenth century. 
 
 LEVI, 
 Justin de, daughter of Andr^ Perotti, of Sasso 
 Ferrato, a descendant of the illustrious house of 
 Levi, was born at Cremona, in the fourteenth cen- 
 tury, and was a successful writer of Italian poetry. 
 She was a contemporary and correspondent of 
 Petrarch. She addressed to him a sonnet, to 
 which he replied by another. But, to avoid the 
 appearance of rivalry with this celebrated poet, 
 she determined to write only in French. She 
 married Louis da Puytendre, a French gentleman, 
 living on the borders of the Rhine, and was the 
 ancestress of Clotilde de Surville. 
 
 LEIVA, 
 Maria Virginia di. Horace remarks, in an 
 often-quoted sally, that many heroes worthy of 
 renown have existed, acted, and been forgotten, 
 because there was no bard to cast his sacred light 
 around their deeds. The interest awakened by 
 the poet, is indeed universal and far-spreading. 
 Who, for instance, does not feel more alive to the 
 identity of Agamemnon — the very king noted by 
 Homer — or of Andromache, or of Helen, than'to 
 the well-authenticated existence of many an actual 
 prince or pretty woman, who, wanting the bard, 
 is made known to us merely by chronological 
 tablets? It is that sort of interest, inspired by 
 being the subject of the pen of genius, that ren- 
 ders the Signora Di Leiva worthy a place in these 
 sketches. Manzoni, in the btest romance Italy hafl 
 
 vn 
 
LI 
 
 LO 
 
 ever produced — we may say, one of the best ro- 
 mances to be found in any language — has given 
 importance to the memory of an otherwise obscure 
 gentlewoman. Those versed in Italian literature, 
 need not be reminded of the interesting and 
 strongly depicted account of the lady of Monza ; 
 but little is to be added to the episode of the 
 " Promessi Sposi." 
 
 It must be stated, that the circumstances de- 
 tailed in that work did not really happen at 
 Monza, but in some obscure bourg, whose name 
 cannot now be ascertained ; the real name of the 
 lady was Maria Virginia di Leiva. Her father, 
 Antonio di Leiva, from an imjust ambition to en- 
 dow his son with an excessive wealth, immured 
 this unfortunate daughter in a convent, where 
 she was forced to take the veil, without the 
 smallest vocation or sentiment of religion. To 
 recompense her for this sacrifice, uncommon pri- 
 vileges were extended to her; she was account- 
 able to nobody for her time or actions, and this 
 led to her ruin. A young nobleman, of dissolute 
 habits and abandoned life, found means to attract 
 her attention from a neighbouring house — to gain 
 her affections, and to seduce her. Thus far Man- 
 zoni : — but the work called the Monaca di Monza, 
 by Rossini, which affects to give a detailed and 
 continued life of this lady, is entirely incorrect 
 and without real foundation. The true end of her 
 history is, that the scandalous life she led, was 
 brought by report to the ears of the Cardinal Bor- 
 romeo, who quietly withdrew her from the scene 
 of her errors, placed her in another monastery, 
 under strict overseeing, and in fine, by tenderness 
 and spiritual exhortations, awakened her torpid 
 conscience, instructed her in religious truths, and 
 brought about a sincere repentance. She became 
 as eminent for the saintly piety of her latter days, 
 as she had been offensive from her early licen- 
 tiousness. Her seducer, after a series of fearful 
 crimes — among which murder was to be reckoned 
 — came to an untimely and violent death. 
 
 LIOBA, 
 A RELATION of St Boniface, the intrepid apostle 
 of Northern Europe, was placed by him at the 
 head of a convent which he had founded for wo- 
 men, in the midst of the barbarous tribes of Ger- 
 many, not far from the monastery of Fulda. She 
 was a very learned woman for that age, and was 
 thoroughly acquainted with the writings of the 
 Fathers, ecclesiastical law, and theology. The 
 Bible was almost always in her hands, and even 
 during her sleep she had it read to her. All 
 her life, Lioba was considered a saint. She was 
 the only woman who was ever allowed to enter 
 the monastery of Fulda. When St. Boniface was 
 massacred at Friesland, he requested to be buried 
 near Lioba; "I wish," said he, "to wait with 
 her for the day of resurrection. Those who have 
 laboured together for Christ, ought together to 
 receive their reward." 
 
 LOIS and EUNICE, 
 Mother and daughter, were Jewish women, and 
 early believers in the Christian faith ; they resided 
 
 at Lystra, a city of Lycaonia. Eunice was the 
 mother of Timothy, who was the first bishop of 
 the Ephesians, and the favourite convert and 
 friend of the apostle Paul. As the husband of 
 Eunice was a Greek, the religious education of 
 Timothy must have been entirely the work of his 
 mother and grandmother. This is proved by what 
 Paul says in his epistle to Timothy regarding the 
 " unfeigned faith" of these two noble women. He 
 judged the piety of this gifted young man by the 
 measure of excellence they possessed ; and if 
 Timothy came up to this standard of the female 
 soul, Paul was satisfied. Thus was the piety of 
 woman held up as the pattern for the best of men, 
 by the sternest and most masculine mind among 
 the apostles. See Acts, chap, xvi., and 2 Timo- 
 thy, chap. i. 
 
 LOSA, 
 
 Isabella, a native of Cordova, Spain, was so 
 Ulustrious for her knowledge of Greek, Latin, and 
 Hebrew, that she was honoured with the degree 
 of D. D. When she became a widow, she took 
 the habit of St. Clair, went to Italy, and founded 
 there the hospital of Loretto, where she ended 
 her days, in acts of devotion and benevolence, 
 March 5ih, 1546, aged seventy-titree. 
 
 LOUISA, 
 Of Savoy, countess of Angouleme, wife of 
 Charles, duke of Orleans, and mother of Francis 
 I., who succeeded to the throne of France in 1515. 
 Immediately on his accession, he raised Angouleme 
 into a duchy from motives of filial affection. 
 Louisa had been eminently beautiful, and even 
 then, time had diminished her charms but little, 
 while the gifts of nature were carefully improved 
 and embellished by cultivation. Gifted with strong 
 talents, and a mind active,, vigorous, penetrating, 
 and decisive, she aimed at the acquisition of 
 power, but, unhappily for the nation, her virtues 
 were overbalanced by her vices ; her passions were 
 strong and impetuous, and to their gratification 
 she sacrificed all a woman should hold dear ; vain, 
 avaricious, intriguing, jealous, and implacable, 
 she thwarted the best concerted plans of her son, 
 
 122 
 
LO 
 
 LU 
 
 and occasioned the greatest distress to the na- 
 tion. 
 
 Francis, on his Italian expedition, left his mo- 
 ther regent of the kingdom, and, after his return 
 from it, when his duchy of Milan was threatened 
 by the Pope, and Lautrec was appointed its gover- 
 nor, Louisa, partly from avarice, and partly from' 
 an inveterate dislike she had conceived for Lau- 
 trec, who had spoken too freely of some of her 
 intrigues, seized and appropriated the three hun- 
 dred thousand crowns which had been raised for 
 the pay of the Milanese troops. Lautrec per- 
 formed prodigies of valour, but the Swiss merce- 
 naries, who formed the greater part of the army, 
 enraged at not receiving their pay, left him, and 
 Lautrec was obliged to return to France. The 
 king was so enraged at the loss of the Milanese, 
 that he at first refused to see him ; but, having at 
 length obtained an audience, he justified himself 
 by imputing the disasters of the campaign to the 
 want of the promised money. Francis flew into 
 a violent passion with Semblancy, superintendant 
 of the finances, insisting on knowing what had be- 
 come of the money he had ordered to be sent to 
 Italy ; the minister, a man of virtue and integrity, 
 who had grown grey in the service of his country, 
 confessed he had been obliged to pay it to the 
 duchess d'Angouleme, who had taken the conse- 
 quences on herself ; but that infamous woman had 
 the presumption to deny the fact, though Sem- 
 blancy produced her receipt for the amount. 
 When Semblancy had thus justified himself in 
 the eyes of Francis, and continued to enjoy his 
 place, the vindictive Louisa soon suborned one of 
 his clerks to accuse him of peculation ; he was 
 tried by partial judges, condemned, and executed. 
 Louisa's affections had long been fixed on the 
 duke of Bourbon, but finding her love rejected by 
 a prince sincerely attached to his wife, in revenge 
 she prejudiced the king against him. The death 
 of the duchess of Bourbon revived her former 
 tenderness, and she offered her hand to the duke. 
 This being rejected with contempt, she doomed 
 Bourbon to destruction. A law-suit was com- 
 menced against him, to recover some possessions 
 he held in right of his wife ; and the judges, over- 
 awed by Louisa, pronounced a sentence by which 
 his estate was sequestered. Bourbon, driven to 
 desperation by this injustice, entered into a treaty 
 with Henry VIII., of England, and Charles V., of 
 Germany, against the king of France. 
 
 At first, Francis was successful in repelling the 
 confederate princes, which encouraged him to at- 
 tempt, in person, the recovery of the Milanese ; 
 in vain did his mother and his wisest ministers 
 dissuade him from it; he departed, leaving the 
 duchess regent of the kingdom. After the battle 
 of Pavia, at which he had lost his army and his 
 liberty, he addressed the following note to his mo- 
 ~ ther, " Madame, all is lost except our honour." 
 The captivity of the king, and the loss of a flour- 
 ishing army, added to a discontent prevailing 
 throughout the kingdom, seemed to threaten a 
 general insurrection. In this trying emergency, 
 the magnanimity of Louisa was eminently dis- 
 played, and the kingdom, which her passions had 
 
 endangered, her abilities were exerted to save. 
 She assembled, at Lyons, the princes of the blood, 
 the governors of the provinces, and the notables 
 of the realm, who generously resolved to ransom 
 immediately the ofScers and soldiers taken at 
 Pavia. The army and garrisons were recruited, 
 and enabled to repel the Imperialists, while Louisa 
 conciliated the favour of the king of England, 
 whom she disengaged from the confederacy ; and 
 to her mediation Francis acknowledged himself 
 indebted for his liberty, which he recovered in 
 March, 1526. The terms of his liberation by the 
 emperor were so exorbitant that he never intended 
 to fulfil them, and the Pope absolved him from 
 his oath. 
 
 Consequently, hostilities continued, till Marga- 
 ret of Austria and the duchess of AngoulSme met 
 at Cambray, and settled the terms of pacification, 
 whence the peace was called the "Ladies' Peace." 
 Louisa died, 1571. In obedience to her counsels, 
 Francis completed, after her death, her favourite 
 project of annexing the duchy of Brittany to the 
 crown. 
 
 LUCILLA, 
 
 A DAUGHTER of M. Aurcllus, celebrated for her 
 youthful virtues and her beauty ; and also noto- 
 rious, at a later period, for her debaucheries and 
 misfortunes. At the age of sixteen, her father 
 sent her to Syria, to marry the emperor Verus, 
 who was then at war with the Parthians and Ar- 
 menians. Lucilla loved her husband passionately, 
 and, at first, conducted herself with great mo- 
 desty and discretion ; but, seeing Verus plunge 
 into dissipations of every kind, while he neglected 
 her, she yielded to the fashion of the times, and 
 became very profligate. After the death of Verus, 
 she married, by order of her father, an old bnt 
 virtuous senator. She was accused of incest with 
 her brother Commodus ; and when he treated her 
 with coldness, she, with many of the senators, 
 conspired against him. The plot was discovered, 
 and Lucilla was banished, in 185. Soon after, she 
 was put to death by her brother, in the thirty- 
 eighth year of her age. 
 
 LUCY, ST., 
 
 A VIRGIN martyr, born at Syracuse. She re- 
 fused to marry a young man who addressed her, 
 because she had determined to devote herself to 
 religion, and, to prevent his importunities, she 
 gave her whole fortune to the poor. Enraged at 
 this, the young man accused her, before Pascha- 
 sius the heathen judge, of professing Christianity, 
 and Lucy was put to death by him, in 305. 
 
 M. 
 
 MALATESTI, 
 
 Battista, of Urbino. This very erudite lady 
 was the daughter of Guide di Montefeltro, lord of 
 Urbino. She was a pupil of Leonardo Bruni. 
 She understood Latin, and was so expert in phi- 
 losophy that she was able to hold public theses. 
 
 123 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 As a ■widow, she maintained a fair and wise 
 government of her dominions, until having reached 
 a very advanced age, she retired into the convent 
 of St. Clara, where she finished her life in pious 
 tranquillity. She died in 1460. 
 
 MAEGAEET OF ANJOU, 
 
 QuEEN-ooNSOBT of England, was daughter of 
 Eegnier, or Eeng, titular king of Sicily, Naples, 
 and Jerusalem, descended from the counts of 
 Anjou, and brother of Charles V. of France. 
 Brought up in the petty court of Anjou, her na- 
 tural strength of mind was not enfeebled by in- 
 dulgence, and she was considered the most accom- 
 plished princess of her time, when she was selected 
 by cardinal Beaufort for the wife of Henry VI. 
 of England. She was married in 1445, when only 
 sixteen, to share with a weak prince a throne dis- 
 turbed by rancorous and contending factions. 
 She naturally threw herself into that party which 
 had favoured her marriage, of which the earl of 
 Suffolk was the chief; and when the destruction 
 of Humphrey, duke of Gloucester, was effected by 
 their machinations, she was generally suspected 
 of being privy to his murder. The surrender of 
 the province of Maine, in France, to the king of 
 that country, who was Margaret's uncle, in con- 
 sequence of a secret article in the marriage treaty, 
 aggravated the odium under which Margaret and 
 Suffolk laboured ; and the sacrifice of that noble- 
 man, which followed, is said to have cost her more 
 tears than are usually shed on the loss of a poli- 
 tical ally. 
 
 Her son was born in 1453, while the national 
 discontents were rising to a crisis. She was soon 
 after called upon to exert all the vigour of her 
 character in resisting the Yorkists, who had de- 
 feated the royal army at St. Albans. Though 
 Henry TI. was taken prisoner, she raised troops, 
 and defended the royal cause with so much spirit, 
 that she effected a favourable compromise, and 
 restored her husband to the sovereignty. The 
 war, however, was renewed, and at the battle of 
 Northampton, the Lancasterians were totally 
 routed, and Henry again taken prisoner. Mar- 
 garet, with her son, fied to Durham, and thence 
 to Scotland. Eeturning into the north of England, 
 she interested the nobles there in her cause, and 
 collected a powerful army. With this she met the 
 duke of York at Wakefield, and totally defeated 
 him. The duke was killed in this battle, and, by 
 the order of Margaret, his head was struck off, 
 and, crowned with a paper diadem, was placed on 
 the gates of York. His youngest son, Eutland, 
 was killed in cold blood by the furious Clifford ; 
 several prisoners of distinction were put to death, 
 and an example given of the cruelties which 
 marked the progress of this unnatural war. 
 
 In 1461, the queen defeated the earl of War- 
 wick, partizan of Edward, sou of the duke of 
 York, at the second battle of St. Albans, in which 
 she recovered the person of the king, now a pas- 
 sive agent in the hands of friends and foes. She 
 displayed her fierce and cruel disposition, by 
 ordering lord Bonville to be executed, to whose 
 
 care Henry had been entrusted by the Yorkists, 
 and to whom the powerless king had promised 
 pardon. The approach of Edward with a superior 
 force, obliged her again to retreat to the north, 
 and that prince was elevated to the throne by the 
 Londoners, and the lords of the Yorkists. 
 
 Margaret's influence, and the licentiousness in 
 which her troops were indulged, increased the 
 Lancasterian party to sixty thousand men. It 
 was met at Towton, in Yorkshire, by Edward and 
 Warwick, at the head of forty thousand men, and 
 a battle was fought, March 1461, which was the 
 bloodiest of these destructive wars. The Lancas- 
 terians were defeated, and Margaret and Henry, 
 who had remained at York, hastily retreated to 
 Scotland. After soliciting aid in vain from that 
 country, she went over to France for the same 
 purpose : and by offering to deliver Calais to the 
 French, should Henry be restored to the crown, 
 she obtained the succour of two thousand men, 
 with which she landed in Scotland. Joined by 
 some of her partizans, and a band of freebooters, 
 she made an incursion into the north of England, 
 and proceeded to Hexham. She was there met 
 and defeated by a force under lord Montacute. 
 
 The unfortunate queen fled with her son into a 
 forest, where she was seized by a band of robbers, 
 who took her jewels, and treated her with great 
 indignity. While they were quarrelling about the 
 booty, Margaret escaped, and fled wearied and 
 terrified into the depths of the forest. Seeing a 
 man coming towards her with a drawn sword, she 
 summoned up all her courage, and going to meet 
 him, " Here, friend," said she, " I commit to your 
 protection the son of your king." Struck by the 
 nobleness and dignity of her manner, and charmed 
 with the confidence reposed in him, the man, 
 though a robber, devoted himself to her service. 
 He concealed the queen and her son for some time 
 in the woods, and then led them to the coast, 
 whence they escaped to Flanders. 
 
 Margaret went to her father's court, where she 
 remained several years, while her husband was 
 imprisoned in the Tower of London. In 1470, 
 the rebellion of the earl of Warwick against Ed- 
 ward, and his subsequent arrival in France, pro- 
 duced an alliance between him and the exiled 
 queen. It was agreed that Warwick should en- 
 deavour to restore the house of Lancaster, and 
 that Edward, the son of Margaret and Henry, 
 should marry his daughter Anne, which alliance 
 took place in France. Warwick landed in Eng- 
 land, and Edward was forced to escape to Flan- 
 ders. Margaret was preparing to second his 
 efforts ; but on the very day on which she landed 
 at Weymouth, the battle of Barnet, April 14th, 
 1471, terminated the life of Warwick, and the 
 hopes of the confederacy. Margaret, with her 
 son, took refuge in the sanctuary of Beaulieu, in 
 Hampshire, intending to return to France ; but 
 being encouraged by the increase of her party, 
 she advanced to Tewksbury, where she was met 
 by Edward, who totally defeated her, and took her 
 and her son prisoners, the latter of whom was 
 cruelly put to death. Margaret was confined in 
 the Tower, where her husband died about the 
 
 124 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 same time. Louis XI. ransomed her, and she re- 
 turned again to her father's protection. 
 
 The home to which the loving ReniS welcomed 
 his forlorn daughter, was a castle on the river 
 Mayence ; the scenery was beautiful, and the king 
 had a gallery of paintings and sculpture, which 
 he took delight in adorning with his own paintings ; 
 he had also ornamented the walls of his garden 
 with heraldic designs carved in marble. It was 
 in such pursuits that Ren^, a true Provenyal 
 sovereign, found alleviations for his afflictions. 
 But Margaret's temperament was of too stormy a 
 nature to admit of the slightest alleviation of her 
 griefs. She passed her whole time in bitter re- 
 grets, or unavailing sorrows. This intensity of 
 suffering affected her constitution. The agonies 
 and agitations she had undergone seemed to turn 
 her blood into gall : her eyes were sunken and 
 hollow, her skin was disfigured by a dry, scaly 
 leprosy, until this princess, who had been a mira- 
 cle of beauty, such as the world seldom beholds, 
 became a spectacle of horror. 
 
 Her errors and her misfortunes were the result 
 of the circumstances by which she was surround- 
 ed ; her talents and virtues were of a lofty stamp ; 
 had she been married to a stronger-minded man, 
 she would no doubt have been a better and a hap- 
 pier woman. 
 
 MARGARET, 
 
 Countess of the Tyrol and duchess of Carinthia. 
 Her father Henry succeeded to the throne of Bo- 
 hemia, at the death of Winzeslaus III., but was 
 expelled from it by John of Luxemburg. Henry 
 preserved the title of king and retired to the castle 
 of the Tyrol, where, in 1318, was born the princess 
 Margaret. This sole heiress of the Tyrol and of 
 Carinthia soon became the aim of the houses of 
 Austria, Bavaria, and Luxemburg. King John 
 of Bohemia, with finesse superior to the others, 
 ingratiated himself with the count of Tyrol, who 
 agreed to betroth the countess Margaret, then 
 seven years old, to his son John, yet an infant. 
 The union did not take place till the year 1338, 
 when Margaret had reached the age of twenty. 
 
 This princess, who was of a light and frivolous 
 
 disposition, open to flattery, and easily swayed by 
 the designing, had an invincible repugnance to 
 her husband, who, to the petulance of a beardless 
 boy, joined the haughtiness of a sovereign. The 
 ambition of the house of Bavaria took advantage 
 of these circumstances, and secret negotiations 
 were opened with Margaret. Her marriage with 
 John was cancelled, and the emperor proposed one 
 of his sons as his successor. Some suspicions en- 
 tering the mind of John, he proceeded to harsh 
 measures with his wife, causing her to be guarded 
 in a tower of the castle of the Tyrol. This was a 
 very imprudent step; for it excited her subjects 
 to such indignation, that the emissaries of Bavaria 
 found it an easy matter to excite a revolt. John 
 was himself driven from the country, and Marga- 
 ret fell into the hands of the emperor. 
 
 Ludovic, margrave of Brandenburg, was selected 
 to become the new spouse of Margaret. His 
 handsome person, pleasing manners, and military 
 reputation, easily reconciled her to the decree. 
 But he manifested extreme repugnance to wed a 
 princess who was without intrinsic merit, who was 
 lawfully married to another, and who was related 
 to him within the permitted degrees of consan- 
 guinity. His father silenced all these scruples ; 
 the dower of Margaret, in his eyes, neutralized 
 every objection. He used his imperial power to 
 annul her first marriage, and proceeded to unite 
 her with Ludovic. 
 
 In the year 1361, Ludovic died suddenly, and 
 many attributed his death to poison ; some even 
 hinted that Margaret was implicated ; but there 
 exist no proofs of such an atrocity. The death 
 of their only son, Mainard, in the flower of his 
 age, has also been by some ascribed to his mo- 
 ther's malice. But the most authentic historians 
 are far from attributing to her such revolting 
 wickedness. What can really be proved is her 
 want of capacity, which was shown in the mistakes 
 she made when, for a short time, the powers of 
 government were concentrated in her hands. 
 Rodolph, who, by many manoeuvres and intrigues, 
 had captivated the favours of Margaret, had, in 
 the life-time of Ludovic, obtained from her a set- 
 tlement investing him with the inheritance of the 
 Tyrol in case of her husband and son dying with- 
 out heirs. He, taking advantage of her weakness, 
 induced her to abdicate her sovereignty in his 
 favour ; painting the troubles that invest a throne, 
 and the life of pleasure and ease she would lead 
 in a court that was then the first in Europe. She 
 had an appointed revenue of 6000 gold marks, 
 and four princely residences. When all was con- 
 cluded, she proceeded with the widow of Mainard 
 to the court of Vienna, where she was received 
 with most distinguished attention. She passed 
 six years of tranquillity, if insignificant pleasures 
 deserve that term, and died in 1369. She was 
 buried in the convent of St. Croce, near Baden. 
 
 MARGARET, ST., 
 A VIRGIN, who is said to have suffered martyr- 
 dom at Antioch, in 275. She is not mentioned by 
 the ancient martyrologists, and she did not become 
 famous till the eleventh century. A festival is 
 
 125 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 held in honour of her memory on the 20th of July. 
 The Orientals reverence her under the name of 
 St. Pelagia, or St. Marina, and the western church 
 under that of St. Geruma, or St. Margaret. 
 
 MARGARET, 
 Sister of Edgar Atheling, grandson of Edmund 
 Ironsides, king of England, fled to Scotland on the 
 invasion of William the Conqueror, and married 
 Malcolm, king of that country. She was a very 
 amiable and benevolent princess. Her sons, Edgar, 
 Alexander, and David, successively filled the throne 
 of Scotland; and her daughter Matilda married 
 Henry I. of England. She died November 16th, 
 1093, aged forty-seven. 
 
 MARGARET, 
 Daughter of Robert, duke of Burgundy, mar- 
 ried Louis Hutin, king of France, in 1305. She 
 was a beautiful but very licentious woman. Her 
 lover was flayed alive, and she herself was stran- 
 gled to death, in 1815. 
 
 MARGARET OF SCOTLAND, 
 The first wife of Louis XI. of France, died in 
 1445, at the age of twenty-six, before her husband 
 had .ascended the throne. Margaret was devoted 
 to literature, and, while she lived, patronised men 
 of learning and genius. Her admiration for the 
 poet Alain Chartier is said to have induced her to 
 kiss his lips, as he sat asleep one day in a chair. 
 Her attendants being astonished at this act of con- 
 descension, the princess replied that " she did not 
 kiss the man, but the lips which had given utter- 
 ance to so many exquisite thoughts." She excited 
 in the gloomy and ferocious Louis XL a taste for 
 science and literature, which lasted long after her 
 death. She left no children. Her death is said 
 to have been caused by the calumnies circulated 
 against her; of which, however, she was proved 
 innocent. 
 
 MARGARET, 
 Daughter of Raymond Berenger, count of Pro- 
 vence, married St. Louis, king of France, in 1254, 
 and attended him during his wars in the Holy 
 Land with the Saracens ; when, on his captivity, 
 she behaved with heroic intrepidity in the defence 
 of Damietta. She died at Paris in 1285, aged se- 
 venty-six. 
 
 MARGARET, 
 
 The Semiramis of the North, third daughter of 
 Waldemar, king of Denmark, was born in 1853. 
 At the age of six she was contracted to Haguin, 
 king of Norway ; but the Swedes, of whom his 
 father Magnus was king, insisted on his renouncing 
 the alliance ; and to oblige them, he consented to 
 demand Elizabeth of Holstein in marriage, whom 
 he espoused by proxy. But, on her voyage to 
 Norway, a storm drove her off the coast of Den- 
 mark, where she was detained by Waldemar until 
 his daughter was married to Haguin in 1366. 
 
 Waldemar died in 1375, leaving only two daugh- 
 ters, of whom Margaret was the younger. Olaus, 
 the son of Margaret, was at that time king of 
 
 Norway ; and as the grandson of Magnus, who 
 had however been deposed, he had some claims 
 on the crown of Sweden. The eldest daughter, 
 Ingeburga, wife of Henry, duke of Mecklenburg, 
 had also a son ; but the right of succession was 
 then confused and uncertain, and Margaret con- 
 trived that the election should be decided in favour 
 of her son, then eleven years old, who was placed 
 on the throne, under her guidance as regent. 
 Haguin died soon after ; and Olaus died in 1887, 
 at the age of twenty-two ; with him the male line 
 was extinct, and custom had not yet authorized 
 the election of a woman. Henry of Mecklenbui'g 
 omitted nothing that could advance his preten- 
 sions ; but Margaret's genius, and well-placed 
 liberality, won over the bishops and clergy, which 
 was in efi'ect gaining the greater part of the peo- 
 ple, and she was unanimously elected queen of 
 Denmark. 
 
 But her ambition gasped at the crown of Nor- 
 way also ; she sent deputies to solicit the states, 
 gained over the chief people by money, and found 
 means to render herself mistress of the army and 
 garrisons ; so that, had the nation been otherwise 
 disposed, she would in the end have succeeded ; 
 but they readily yielded to her wishes. The Nor- 
 wegians, perceiving thot the succession was in 
 danger of being extinct, entreated her to secure it 
 by an advantageous marriage ; but she received 
 the proposal coldly. To satisfy, however, their 
 desire, she consented to appoint a successor ; but 
 fixed on one so young that she would have full 
 time to satisfy her ambition before he could be of 
 age to take any share in the government ; yet he 
 was the true heir, and grandson of her sister. 
 
 She recommended herself so strongly to the 
 Swedes, who were oppressed by their king Albert, 
 who had gone to war with her, that they renounced 
 their allegiance to that prince, and made her a 
 solemn offer of their crown, thinking that her 
 good sense would set bounds to her ambition, and 
 prevent any encroachment on their rights. She 
 accepted the ofl'er, marohed to their assistance, de- 
 feated Albert, who was deposed, in 1388, after a war 
 of seven years. She then imprisoned him another 
 seven years, till he made a solemn renunciation 
 
 126 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 of his crown, and retired to the dominions of his 
 brother, the duke of Mecklenburg. Mai-garet 
 then assumed the reins of goyernment in Sweden, 
 and was distinguished by the appellation of the 
 Semiramis of the North. 
 
 In 1S95, she associated with her in the three 
 elective kingdoms, her great-nephew Eric, duke 
 of Pomerania. She governed with absolute au- 
 thority ; and when reminded of her oaths by the 
 nobility, who added, " they had the records of 
 them," she replied, " I advise you to keep them 
 carefully ; as I shall keep the castles and cities of 
 my kingdom, and all the rights belonging to my 
 dignity." 
 
 At the treaty of Calmar, concluded in 1397, she 
 endeavoured to make the union of the three king- 
 doms perpetual, and introduced Eric separately to 
 all the deputies. She represented to them, with 
 eloquence and address, the advantages that would 
 accrue from the consolidation of the three nations 
 into one kingdom ; that it would put an end to the 
 frequent wars which desolated them, and render 
 them entirely masters of the commerce of the 
 Baltic ; keep in awe the Hanse-towns, grown pow- 
 erful by the divisions of her people ; and acquire 
 for them all the advantages resulting from a per- 
 fect conformity of laws, customs, and interests. 
 The majesty of her person, the strength of her 
 arguments and her eloquence, gained over the de- 
 puties. They approved and established a funda- 
 mental law, which was received by the three na- 
 tions, and solemnly confirmed by oath. This was 
 the celebrated law called the union of CalmSr, 
 which only served to show how impotent are 
 human wishes, though conceived with wisdom and 
 forwarded by address. 
 
 Margaret is charged with only one political 
 error, that of suffering Olaus to grant the import- 
 ant duchy of Keswick to the house of Holstein, 
 whose enmity they thus wished to do away, but 
 which proved a thorn in her side till the death of 
 the duke ; when she, by her vigorous measures, 
 forced his successors to hold their possessions as a 
 fief from Denmark. 
 
 Distinguished at the same time for moderation, 
 solid judgment, enterprising and persevering am- 
 bition, Mai'garet receives different characters from 
 Danish and Swedish historians. The latter were 
 prejudiced against her, because she abridged the 
 power of the nobles and favoured the clergy ; but 
 she was exceeded by none in prudence, policy, 
 and true magnanimity. She died suddenly, iu 
 1412, at the age of fifty-nine. 
 
 Though merciful. She made the wisest regula- 
 tions for strict justice, and to prevent offenders 
 being screened from punishment. Private oppres- 
 sions and abuses she did away, and decreed that 
 assistance should be given to all who were ship- 
 wrecked on her coasts ; for which acts of humanity 
 she provided rewards by law. She exerted all her 
 power to repress piracies ; and by her regulations 
 laid the foundations for future commerce. It was 
 in her reign that we first meet with the mention 
 of the copper mines of Sweden. In fact, she 
 equalled the most famous politicians. Her father, 
 perceiving while she was yet a child her surprising 
 
 elevation of soul and mental resources, said that 
 nature had been deceived in forming her, and in- 
 stead of a woman had made a hero. 
 
 MARGARET OF VALOIS, 
 
 Queen of Navarre, and sister to Francis I. of 
 France, was born at Angoulgme, in 1492 ; being 
 the daughter of Charles of Orleans, duke of An- 
 gouleme, and Louisa of Savoy. In 1509, she 
 married Charles, the last duke of Alen9on, who 
 died at Lyons, after the battle of Pavia, in 1525. 
 The widow went to Madrid, to attend her brother, 
 who had been taken prisoner in tliat battle by the 
 Spaniards, and was then ill. She was of the 
 greatest service to her brother, obliging Charles 
 and his ministers, by her firmness, to treat him as 
 his rank required. His love equalled her merits, 
 and he warmly promoted her marriage with Henry 
 d'Albret, king of Navarre. The offspring of this 
 union was Joan d'Albret, mother of Henry IV. 
 
 Margaret filled the part of a queen with exem- 
 plary goodness, encouraging arts, learning, and 
 agriculture, and everything that could contribute 
 to the prosperity of the kingdom. She died in 
 1549, of a cold, caught while making observations 
 on a comet. Dm-ing her life, she inclined to the 
 Protestant faith, but the Roman Catholics say that 
 she was reconverted before she died. 
 
 She wrote well in prose and verse, and was 
 called the Tenth Muse ; and the Margaret, or 
 pearl, surpassing all the pearls of the East. Some ■ 
 of her works are, "Heptameron, or Novels of the 
 Queen of Navarre ;" " Les Marguerites de la Mar- 
 guerite des Princesses," a collection of her pro- 
 ductions, formed by John de la Haye, her valet- 
 de-chambre. A long poem was entitled, " The 
 Triumph of the Lamb ;" and another, " The Com- 
 plaints of a Prisoner." 
 
 MARGARET OF YORK, 
 SiSTEK of Edward IV. of England, married 
 Charles the Rash, duke of Burgundy. She ren- 
 dered herself notorious by the opposition she 
 made to the accession of Henry VII. to the throne 
 of England, in 1485 ; and the impostures she sup- 
 ported to disturb his reign. 
 
 MARGARET, 
 Dadghtek of Maximilian I., emperor of Ger- 
 many, was betrothed to the dauphin of France, 
 afterwards Charles VIII., but did not marry him. 
 She married the infanta of Spain in 1497, who 
 died the same year. In 1501, she married PhUi- 
 bert, duke of Savoy, who died in 1504. She was 
 governess of the Netherlands, and displayed her 
 religious zeal against the Lutherans. She died, 
 December, 1530, aged fifty. 
 
 MARGARETTA OF SAXONY 
 Was born in the year 1416, and was the daugh- 
 ter of Ernst, Ai-chduke of Austria, and Cimburgia, 
 his vrife. In 1431, she married Frederick the MUd, 
 of Saxony, and brought to her husband a dower 
 of 29,000 ducats, which was then considered 
 so great a sum, that the chroniclers mention it 
 as something very extraordinary. She was the 
 
 127 
 
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 MA 
 
 mother of eight children, two of of whom, Ernst 
 and Albert, are particularly mentioned, on account 
 of an incident which nearly cost them their lives. 
 Margaretta had proved herself so wise a counsellor 
 in state affairs, that her husband not only accorded 
 her the right (which she also exercised) of coining 
 legal money, but also, to assist in governing the 
 state. She contributed much, by her wise coun- 
 sels, to put an end to the bloody wars between the 
 brothers. After these wars were over, she drew 
 upon herself and her husband the hatred of Kuntz 
 von Kaufunger, a brave but wicked knight, who, 
 thinking himself aggrieved, resolved to avenge 
 himself upon his patrons. During the temporary 
 absence of Frederick, Kuntz penetrated, with two 
 companions, into the castle, and kidnapped the 
 two princes. As soon aa Margaretta discovered 
 that her enemy had carried off her children, she 
 ordered the alarm-bells to be rung throughout the 
 country, and sent out armed men in pursuit of the 
 robbers. They were discovered in a wood near 
 Grunhair, and captured by a collier ; who, when 
 he was requested to name his reward, asked only 
 permission to have the privilege to make as much 
 charcoal, free of expense, as he and his family 
 could attend to. When, in the year 1467, her 
 husband died, she assumed the reins of govern- 
 ment, and proved herself truly a mother to her 
 subjeets. She was the first sovereign who provided 
 public rooms where the poor could have an oppor- 
 tunity to warm themselves, during the severe 
 winter months. Margaretta died, February 12th, 
 1486, in her seventieth year, after she had lived a 
 widow for more than twenty-two years. 
 
 MARTIA, 
 SuENAMED Proba, or the Just, wag, according 
 to HoUinshed, "the widow of Gutiline, king of 
 the Britons, and was left protectress of the realm 
 during the minority of her son. Perceiving much 
 in the conduct of her subjects which needed re- 
 formation, she devised sundry wholesome laws, 
 which the Britons, after her death, named the 
 Martian statutes. Alfred caused the laws of this 
 excellently-learned princess, whom all commended 
 for her knowledge of the Greek tongue, to be esta- 
 
 blished in the realm." These laws, embracing 
 trial by jury and the just descent of property, 
 were afterwards collated and further improved by 
 Edward the Confessor. Thus there are good rea- 
 sons for believing that the remarkable code of 
 laws, called the common law of England, usually 
 attributed to Alfred, were by him derived from 
 the laws first established by a British queen, a 
 woman. 
 
 MARY, 
 
 The mother of our Lord and Saviour, was the 
 daughter of Eli, or Joachim, of the house of Da- 
 vid. She dwelt in the city of Nazareth ; and her 
 personal history commences with the salutation 
 of the angel, " Hail, highly favoured, the Lord is 
 with thee : blessed art thou among women." 
 
 It was the angel Gabriel that thus addressed 
 her. What appearance this ministering spirit 
 wore, we are not told ; but it seems that she felt 
 it was an angel, and was " troubled," as she could 
 not comprehend the purport of the salutation. 
 Then Gabriel went on to unfold the purpose of 
 God towards her ; that she was to be the bkssed 
 mother of the holy Messiah, the "Jems ; called 
 the Son of the Highest." 
 
 To be the mother of "Shiloh" had been, pro- 
 bably, the hope and prayer of many a pious mother 
 in Israel, from the time of Jacob's prediction. 
 But, though Isaiah had prophesied that " a virgin 
 shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall call 
 his name Emmanuel, which being interpreted is, 
 God with us," still it is not probable this was un- 
 derstood literally, or that any Jewish virgin had 
 even hoped to be thus miraculously endowed with 
 the privilege of motherhood. 
 
 Mary of Nazareth was a young and humble 
 maiden, betrothed to a poor man, a carpenter 
 named Joseph. Could she, in her lowly estate, 
 ever have dreamed of the glory awaiting her? 
 She could not. She had, in all truth and humility, 
 only been solicitous to perform, from her heart, 
 every duty before her, in the fear and love of 
 God ; thus it was that she " found favour with 
 God." 
 
 When the angel had assured her she should be 
 the blessed mother of the promised Messiah, and 
 had answered her simple, child-like question, 
 " How shall this be?" she instantly believed, and 
 accepted the high mission. 
 
 Zacharias did not believe the announcement 
 made to him by Gabriel of the birth of John. 
 The priest was righteous — as man is righteous — 
 but the difference between the masculine and the 
 feminine nature is most strikingly illustrated in 
 these two examples ; Zacharias was earthward in 
 his doubts, his reamn ; Mary was heavenward in 
 her faith, her feelings. He believed not the angel, 
 and was struck dumb; she believed, and "the 
 Holy Ghost overshadowed" her ! 
 
 Great, indeed, must have been her faith, when 
 it wholly overcame all fear of man, all selfish con- 
 siderations. She was betrothed, and therefore 
 not only her reputation, but her life, would be 
 placed in jeopardy if she were proven to have been 
 unfaithful to her plighted husband. When assured 
 
 128 
 
MA 
 
 that she should " bear a Son," who would not be 
 Joseph's son, it would seem natural that some 
 fears for her own safety might have clouded her 
 faith. But no ; her humble, trusting answer was, 
 " Behold the handmaid of the Lord ; be it unto me 
 according to thy word." Worthy was Mary to be 
 the mother of our Saviour ; — that the human na- 
 ture. He who was very God took on himself, 
 should be derived from her, the obedient woman ! 
 Thus is the high and holy mission of her sex indi- 
 cated ; — to receive the promises of God in humble 
 faith, and transmute these, as it were, like living 
 principles, into the souls of their sons. 
 
 The next event in Mary's life was her visit to 
 her cousin Elisabeth, who lived in the " Hill coun- 
 try." Elisabeth was old, but the angel had pro- 
 mised her a son, and had also told Mary of this 
 event. The meeting between these two holy and 
 happy women is one of the most beautiful and 
 sublime exhibitions of piety and inspiration to be 
 found in the world's history. Elisabeth, "filled 
 with the Holy Ghost," poured out the blessing of 
 heaven on the helieving virgin mother, and predicted 
 the fulfilment of every promise. Then Mary 
 breathed forth that sweetest strain of triumphant 
 faith, love, and thanksgiving, ever recorded as the 
 production of a human mind. — And Mary said, 
 
 ''My soul doth magnify the Lord. 
 My Spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour. 
 He hath regarded the low estate of his handmaiden ; 
 Behold, from henceforth all generations shall call me 
 
 blessed. 
 For he that is mighty hath done me great things; 
 And holy is his name. 
 His mercy is on them that fear him from generation to 
 
 generation. 
 He hath showed strength with his arm; 
 He hath scattered the prond in the imagination of their 
 
 hearts. 
 He hath put down the mighty from, their seats. 
 And exalted them of low degree. 
 He hath filled the hungry with good things ; 
 And the rich he hath sent empty away. 
 He hath hoipen his servant Israel, 
 In remembrance of his mercy. 
 As he spake to our fathers. 
 To Abraham and his seed forever." 
 
 Though the mental endowments of woman will 
 never atone for the lack of moral excellence, yet 
 we are glad to find, as we do from these records 
 of holy writ, that the mother of our Saviour pos- 
 sessed the highest order of genius, that which can 
 • comprehend the beautiful in the true and the good, 
 and give fitting expression to these sublime ideas 
 and holy feelings. She was then prepared by her 
 natural gifts, to imbue the opening mind of her 
 divine son with those lofty aspirations, those ten- 
 der sympathies, which, as a man, he always exhi- 
 bited. His human soul, derived from a woman, 
 trained by a woman, was most truly womanly in 
 its characteristics. Examine the doctrines he 
 taught, the duties and virtues he enforced, the ex- 
 amples he set — where, in any of these, are the 
 distinctive traits men vaunt as proofs of mascu- 
 line greatness? Physical strength, earthly ho- 
 nours, riches, worldly wisdom, even the gifts of 
 intellect and the pride of learning, our Saviour 
 put all these down far, far beneath meekness, mercy, 
 pwrity, patience, charity, humility ; qualities and 
 I 
 
 MA 
 
 graces always considered peculiarly feminine ; 
 qualities and graces his blessed mother had dis- 
 played and commended. 
 
 From the birth of her first-born son, Mary seepis 
 to have been absorbed in his destiny. We only 
 see her when ministering to him. That his nature 
 and office were revealed to her, the Bible records ; 
 and that she was his first disciple is also indicated, 
 as she first applies the term " my Saviour" to God. 
 She kept all these divine revelations, "all these 
 sayings in her heart." A woman's heart was the 
 only human heart which then held the secret that the 
 Saviour had come. 
 
 And it was at the suggestion of a woman, of 
 Mary, that the first miracle of the Saviour was 
 performed. There seems to be a strange misap- 
 prehension in many minds respecting the circum- 
 stances attending this miracle — the changing of 
 the water into wine — ^^as if our Saviour spoke chid- 
 ingly, or disrespectfully, to his mother. The word 
 "Woman" is in reality a nobler and more beauti- 
 ful appellation than Lady or Madam, or any other 
 conventionalism or title. It is the Eden name of 
 the female, and when our Saviour used it, was 
 most honourable. It appears from the sacred nar- 
 rative, that Mary, discovering there was no wine, 
 and feeling assured in her own soul that the time 
 was come for her divine Son to begin his mission 
 of love, intimated this to him. 
 
 His reply — "Woman, what have I to do with 
 thee? Mine hour is not yet come;'' seems to 
 have been in answer to her intuitive faith, he fear- 
 ing she had anticipated the time of his " begin- 
 ning." But the sequel shows she was right. And 
 her perseverance was rewarded, when, having or- 
 dered the servants to do " whatsoever he saith 
 unto you;" — and they had filled the water-pots 
 with water — it "was made wine." What a tri- 
 umph this, to the power of maternal influence ! to 
 the gift of insight or harmony with heavenly 
 things which the mind of a true, and pure, and 
 pious woman possesses! Even the Son of God, 
 when he came in the form of man to redeem the 
 world, was to be subject to this influence; and 
 only at his mother's persuasion begin his miracles ! 
 
 That, during the three eventful years which fol- 
 lowed, Mary watched the ministry of her divine 
 son, rejoicing in his wonderful deeds of love and 
 mercy, and weeping with him in his sorrows, there 
 can be no doubt. And she was beside him in his 
 last agony. We see in this the immense power of 
 her love ; though he was condemned to die the 
 bitter death of a felon; forsaken of all his follow- 
 ers save a few women ; of all his chosen disciples 
 save one — the faithful, gentle, loving, womanlike 
 John ; and though the dreadful scene would be "a 
 sword to pierce through her own soul" — yet Mary 
 the mother was near the cross of the Christ. And 
 the last throb of human aifection the Son of God 
 manifested was for his mother. With his dying 
 breath, he consigned her to the care of the be- 
 loved John. 
 
 We have one last glimpse of this "highly fa- 
 voured among women," as a meek and earnest 
 follower of the faith the risen Saviour had estab- 
 lished. In the "Acts of the Apostles" it is re- 
 
 129 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 corded that in an upper room at Jerusalem, where 
 the eleven apostles " abode" — "these all continued 
 with one accord in prayer and supplication with 
 the women, and Mary the mother of J'esus.^^ 
 
 Her history commences with the heavenly salu- 
 tation, and ends, appropriately, with prayeri Her 
 youth was distinguished by the favour of God ; 
 her maturity by active piety and faithful disciple- 
 ship ; her age by fervent devotion and hallowed 
 communion with the first church. Her birth- 
 place, death, and burial, are not recorded; but 
 the life is highest in honour whose records are of 
 holy acts and heroic fidelity. What she said pro- 
 phetically of herself has proved true — "All gene- 
 rations shall call me blessed." Can the like be 
 said of any man? See St. Luke, chap, i., and St. 
 John, chap. ii. and xix. 
 
 MARY, 
 
 The wife of Cleophas, was mother of James, 
 Jude, Josea, Simeon, and Salome. Cleophas and 
 Joseph, the husband of the Virgin Mary, were 
 probably brothers, which made these Marys 
 sisters. Her children are therefore represented 
 as the brothers of our Lord. She early believed 
 on the Saviour, attended to his preaching, and 
 ministered to his support. She witnessed his 
 crucifixion, and prepared spices to embalm his 
 body; and went, with Mary Magdalene and Sa- 
 lome, "early to the sepulchre." It was this 
 Mary who, with Salome, saw the vision of the 
 angel, and heard from him those cheering words, 
 " Be not afraid ; ye seek Jesus of Nazareth ; he 
 is risen," &c. 
 
 MAEY, 
 Mother of Mark, the Evangelist. She had a 
 house in Jerusalem, where it is thought that the 
 apostles retired, after the ascension of our Lord, 
 and where they received the Holy Ghost. After 
 the imprisonment of Peter, the faithful assembled 
 at this house, and were praying there, when Peter, 
 delivered by the angel, knocked at the door. 
 
 MARY AND MARTHA, 
 Sisters of Lazarus, whom Jesus raised from 
 the dead, lived with their brother at Bethany, a 
 village near Jerusalem. Jesus had a particular 
 affection for this family, and often resorted to 
 their house. One day Martha, preparing an en- 
 tertainment for him, whUe Mary sat at his feet, 
 listening to his words, wished her sister's assist- 
 ance, and said to Jesus, "Do you not see. Lord, 
 that my sister leaves me to minister alone ? Bid 
 her come to help me." But Jesus said, that 
 "Mary had chosen the better part, that should 
 not be taken from her." 
 
 Six days before the passover, Jesus came to 
 Bethany, and was at "meat in the house of Simon. 
 Martha attended, and Lazarus was one of the 
 guests. Mary took a pound of spikenard, the 
 most precious perfume of the kind, and poured it 
 over the head and feet of Jesus. 
 
 The sisters were of one mind in the reverence 
 and love they bore him ; yet the characters of the 
 two are in striking contrast — Martha was active, 
 
 Mary contemplative. Martha seems to have been 
 a creature of impulse ; Mary was slower of appre- 
 hension, and, of course, less sudden in her resolves 
 and movements. Martha had the most fervent 
 faith ; Mary the most humble piety. " Jesus 
 loved Martha and her sister, and Lazarus." What 
 a beautiful illustration is here ! showing that the 
 sweet, pure affections of domestic life are sanc- 
 tified by the best blessings of heaven. See St. 
 John, chap. xi. 
 
 MAEY MAGDALENE 
 Seems to have been an inhabitant of Magdala, 
 otherwise called Dalmanutha. The city is sup- 
 posed to have been situated somewhere on the 
 eastern coast of the sea of Galilee. Wherever it 
 was, it probably gave the surname of Magdalene 
 to this Mary. It has been asserted by some 
 writers, that she was a plaiter of hair to the wo- 
 men of her city ; but all we certainly know of her, 
 is contained in the New Testament. We are there 
 taught, she had been a great sinner, that she re- 
 pented, came to the feet of Jesus, whUe he " sat 
 at meat in the Pharisee's house, and began to 
 wash his feet with tears, and did wipe them vrith 
 the hairs of her head, and kissed his feet, and 
 anointed them with precious ointment." Her 
 penitence and humility are graphically portrayed ; 
 and she has ever since that time been as a star 
 of hope to the fallen sisterhood, proving, that 
 from the lowest depths of degradation the true 
 penitent may be raised, if she wiH, like Mary 
 Magdalene, turn from her sins, and love the Lord 
 Jesus Christ. From the moment when Mary 
 Magdalene heard those sweet words from the Sa- 
 viour, " Thy sins are forgiven," she seems to have 
 devoted herself to his followers ; and at the cross, 
 and at the sepulchre, she proved that her faith 
 was as firm and devoted, as her love was true and 
 holy. According to the apostle St. John, Mary 
 Magdalene was the first person who reached the 
 sepulchre on the eventful morning, " when it was 
 yet dark;" she first discovered that the stone was 
 taken away from the sepulchre ; and to her, the 
 risen Saviour first made himself manifest. This 
 female disciple was honoured above even the be- 
 loved John ; for he and all the other disciples were 
 taught by her that Jesus had risen from the tomb. 
 
 MARY OF FRANCE 
 Is one of the first of her sex who wrote French 
 verses, and she holds a distinguished rank among 
 the Anglo-Norman poets. Her learning, her en- 
 lightened opinions, and the courage she showed in 
 speaking the truth to ears little accustomed ' to 
 hear it, place her far in advance of her age. It 
 is to be regretted that the writings of this cele- 
 brated woman have thrown no light on her private 
 life, or the name and rank of her family. She 
 was born in France, and probably in Normandy, 
 in 1200. She went to England, where she com- 
 posed all her works, and died about 1268. Her 
 first productions are lays in French, relating the 
 adventures of valiant knights. There are fourteen 
 of them; she also wrote a hundred and three 
 fables, which show a great penetration into cha- 
 
 180 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 racter, deep reflection, and are written in an easy 
 and unaffected style. 
 
 MARY OF BRABANT, 
 
 Daughtee of Henry III., duke of Bra^bant, mar- 
 ried PMlip the Bold of France, in 1274. She was 
 accused of poisoning her husband's eldest son, by 
 a former marriage ; but was deemed innocent be- 
 cause of the knight, who was sent by her brother 
 to challenge her accusers, proving victorious. She 
 was a woman of a cultivated mind, and possessed 
 great in^uence. She died in 1321. 
 
 MARY OF ANJOU, 
 Daughtee. of Louis II., king of Sicily and duke 
 of Anjou, was the wife of Charles VII., and the 
 mother of Louis XI. of France. She was a woman 
 of a very heroic character ; and though insulted 
 and neglected by her husband, during the latter 
 part of their married life, she applied all the 
 powers of her great mind to secure the crown to 
 him. She died in 1463, aged fifty-nine. She was 
 a devoted mother, and superintended herself her 
 children's education. 
 
 MARY, 
 Daughter of Henry VII. of England, and wife 
 of Louis XII. of France. He died soon afterwards, 
 and she married Charles Brandon, duke of Suffolk, 
 by whom she had a daughter, the mother of Lady 
 Jane Grey. She died in 1534, aged thirty-seven. 
 
 MARY, 
 
 Daughtek of Charles, duke of Burgundy, mar- 
 ried Maximilian, son of Frederick, emperor of 
 Austria, and thus transferred the dominions of 
 Burgundy to the house of Austria. She died at 
 Bruges, 1482, in consequence of a fall from her 
 horse, while she was hunting. 
 
 MARY OF ARRAGON, 
 Daughtee of Sancho III., and wife of Otho of 
 Germany, is said to have been put to death, in 
 998, for causing the death of the count of Modena, 
 whom she falsely accused of attempts on her 
 virtue. 
 
 MATILDA, 
 Or Scotland, daughter of Malcolm Canmore, 
 king of Scotland, and Margaret Atheling, a de- 
 scendant of the Anglo-Saxon line of England's 
 kings, was a beautiful and accomplished lady. 
 She married Henry I. of England, and proved a 
 wise and excellent queen. She was charitable to 
 the poor, and always watchful to do what was 
 most useful for her people. She caused bridges 
 to be built, and roads to be made and repaired, 
 while she acted as regent during her husband's 
 absence in Normandy. As king Henry was obliged 
 to pass most of his time in Normandy, then be- 
 longing to the English crown, in order to suppress 
 the continual revolts of his Norman subjects, the 
 good Matilda was left to govern England in her 
 own way. She was always popular ; and at her 
 decease, in 1118, she was "passionately lamented 
 by every class of the people, to whom her virtues 
 
 and wisdom had rendered her inexpressibly dear." 
 She was mother of the empress Matilda. 
 
 MATILDA, or MAUD, 
 
 Empress of Germany, and queen of England, 
 daughter of Henry I. , king of England, and Matilda 
 of Scotland, was born in 1102. At eight years of 
 age, she was betrothed to Henry V., emperor of 
 Germany, and was sent to that country for educa- 
 tion. The emperor dying without issue, in 1125, 
 Matilda returned to her father's court, who, hav- 
 ing lost his only son, caused all his nobles, prelates, 
 &c., to swear fealty to her as his successor, in 
 case he died without male issue; and in 1127, he 
 married her to Geoffrey Plantagenet, eldest son 
 of Fulke, count of Anjou. 
 
 Matilda went to reside in Normandy, where, in 
 1132, her son, afterwards Henry II., was bom. 
 By the death of her father, in 1135, she became 
 heiress of all his dominions in England and Prance. 
 She was then at Anjou with her husband, of which 
 circumstance her cousin Stephen, earl of Blois, 
 took advantage, and seized on the crown of Eng- 
 land. The barons of Normandy also submitted to 
 Stephen ; but his administration soon becoming 
 unpopular, Matilda, in 1139, landed in England, 
 and a number of powerful barons declared in her 
 favour. A civil war ensued, and in 1141, Stephen 
 was taken prisoner, and Matilda crowned queen 
 in the cathedral of Winchester. 
 
 But no sooner was she seated on the throne, 
 than her haughty and impolitic conduct irritated 
 the nobles and estranged her friends. She refused 
 to listen to their requests, or to the petition of the 
 Londoners for the restoration of the laws of Ed- 
 ward the Confessor. Conspiracies were formed 
 against her, and she was obliged, in 1148, to flee 
 to Normandy, where she resided till her death, in 
 1167. The art of government consists mainly in 
 an accurate knowledge of the human heart; by 
 which princes acquire the art of conciliating the 
 affections of those around them, and by graceful 
 condescensions, win the regard of the lower orders, 
 of whom the great body of the nation, emphatically 
 called "the people," is composed. The German 
 education of the empress Matilda, as well as her 
 pride, prevented her from duly estimating the im- 
 portance of these things ; and thus she failed in 
 obtaining the crown of England, which was hers 
 in the order of regular succession. 
 
 MATILDA, 
 
 Countess of Tuscany, daughter of Boniface, 
 marquis of Mantua, was born in 1039. - Her 
 mother Beatrice, sister of Henry III., emperor of 
 Germany, after the death of Boniface, married 
 Galezo, duke of Lorraine, and contracted Matilda 
 to Godfrey Gibbosus, or Crpokbaok, duke of Spo- 
 leto and Tuscany, Gazelo's son by a former mar- 
 riage. This alliance alarmed Henry, who marched 
 into Italy, took his sister prisoner, and carried 
 her to Germany, hoping to dissolve the agreement ; 
 but he died soon after, in 1056. Matilda's hus- 
 band also died, in 1076, and she was afterwards 
 married to Azo V., marquis of Ferrara, from whom 
 she was divorced by the pope, as she was also 
 
 131 
 
MA 
 
 ME 
 
 from her third husband, Welpho V., duke of Ba- 
 varia, •whom she married in 1088. She parted 
 from him in 1095. Dispossessed of her estates by 
 the emperor Henry III., she recovered them, with 
 vast additions, by the aid of the pope, Gregory 
 VII. ; ■who was always a friend of hers, and to 
 whose interests Matilda through life devoted her- 
 self. She died in 1115, leaving all her estates to 
 the see of Rome. 
 
 Matilda, in her wars with the emperor, mani- 
 fested an indomitable firmness, that no reverses 
 could shake. It would be tedious to trace the 
 various brawls — they hardly deserve the dignified 
 name of wars — which vexed the little sovereign- 
 ties of that period. Matilda was so situated as 
 to be shaken by every swell of the storm, but she 
 emerged with honour from all her conflicts. With 
 rare heroism she made and sustained sieges, 
 manoeiivred troops, and, after many disasters, 
 proved victorious, enlarged her dominions, and 
 exalted her fame. Dante, so severe upon every 
 flaw, gives this lady unqualified praise in his 
 "Purgatorio," where she is celebrated in beauti- 
 ful verse. 
 
 MATILDA, 
 Daughter of Baldwin de Lille, count of Flan- 
 ders, married her cousin, William of Normandy, 
 afterwards king of England. The pope granted 
 them absolution on their marriage, on condition 
 of their erecting two chapels, which they did. 
 She is distinguished for worljing the tapestry in 
 wool, portraying the descent upon England, which 
 is still preserved in the cathedral at Bayeux. She 
 was a woman of great Idndness and generosity ; 
 and her death, in 1083, was a source of unfeigned 
 sorrow to her husband, and deep regret of the 
 people both of England and Normandy. 
 
 MATTUGLIANI MEA. 
 
 Among the women who gave lustre to the lite- 
 rature of Bologna during the fifteenth century, 
 was Bartolomea, whom her contemporaries univer- 
 pally called Mea. She is supposed to have been 
 the wife of Michele Mattugliani, or Mattugani, a 
 
 man honoured and respected by his fellow-citizens, 
 both for his own merit, and for the elevated situa- 
 tion to which his birth entitled him. She is repre- 
 sented as beautiful, accomplished, and learned. 
 A modern Bolognese writer has indulged his ima- 
 gination with the probabilities of a romantic at- 
 tachment between her and the young Carlo Caval- 
 cabo ; but this is mere fantasy : we have nothing 
 to authenticate, or even afford the slightest base 
 for such a legend. On the contrary, Mea appears 
 to have been a prudent, virtuous vrife. 
 
 Carlo Cavalcabo, elevated to the lordship of 
 Bologna in 1405, took pleasure in a select society 
 of intellectual persons. He addressed to the Bo- 
 lognese poetess a poetical epistle which breathes 
 nothing but the most respectful friendship. She 
 replied to it by an answer in terza rima, which is 
 the only one of her works now extant. The poetry 
 is graceful, sweet, and of an elevated moral tone. 
 She enumerates the titles and honours of Caval- 
 cabo, gives him just praise without adulation. In 
 a dignified manner she thanks him for attributing 
 so much merit to her, while she modestly disclaims 
 his praises ; she says they will be to her an incen- 
 tive to improvement. Then follows a learned 
 account of those women who have honoured their 
 sex by virtue, with deprecations for those who 
 
 have sought other than honest fame. She con- 
 cludes by exhorting the lord of Cremona to meri- 
 torious enterprises. 
 
 MESSALINA VALERIA, 
 
 Daughter of Messala Barbatus, was married to 
 Claudius, emperor of Rome, before he came to the 
 empire. She had great influence over her hus- 
 band, and was as notorious for her cruelties as for 
 her licentiousness. By the instigation of Messa- 
 lina and her minions, Claudius was led to commit 
 many of those excesses that disgraced his reign. 
 At length, when Claudius was at Ostia, Messalina, 
 in utter contempt of all appearance of propriety, 
 married publicly her lover Lilius, a young noble- 
 man of great beauty. When Claudius heard of 
 the dishonour inflicted on him, he exclaimed, with 
 terror, "Am I still emperor?" His fears were 
 I dispelled, and Liliua, with a number of Messalina's 
 
 132 
 
ME 
 
 NO 
 
 other aocomplioea, ■were put to death. She was 
 preparing to go to Claudius, to appease his anger, 
 in which she would probably have succeeded, 
 when Narcissus, the freedman of the emperor, 
 gave orders to kill her, in the year 46. Her name 
 has become almost a common appellation for wo- 
 men of abandoned characters. 
 
 MESSALINA, 
 
 Wife of Nero, also called Statilia, was descended 
 from a consular family, and married the consul 
 Atticus Visticus, whom Nero murdered. She re- 
 ceived her husband's murderer with tenderness, 
 and married four husbands before she came to the 
 imperial throne. After the death of Nero, in 68, 
 she retired from public life, and occupied her- 
 self with literary pursuits. Otho, the eighth 
 emperor of Rome, next addressed her, but be- 
 fore their marriage he destroyed himself, in the 
 year 69. 
 
 MONICA, 
 
 MoTHEK of Augustine, bishop of Hippo, was 
 born of Christian parents, in Numidia. She was 
 not so much indebted to her mother's care, as to 
 that of an old servant of the house, who had 
 nursed her father. This pious servant never suf- 
 fered the children to drink even water, except at 
 meals, telling them, that if they ever became mis- 
 ■ tresses, the custom of drinking would remain ; and 
 they, would indulge it with wine, not water. Yet 
 Monica learned by degrees to drink wine, having 
 been sent to draw it for the use of the family ; but 
 having been called a drunkard by one of the maids 
 when in a passion, she, struck with shame that 
 such a reproach should be addressed to her, gave 
 up the practice forever. 
 
 She was married to Patricius, a pagan, a native 
 of Tagasta, in Numidia, and endeavoured, by her 
 gentleness, to win him over to her faith, patiently 
 enduring his passionate temper, in the hope that 
 his natural goodness and benevolence would one 
 day make him a restraint to himself. Many of 
 her friends complained to her of the harsh treat- 
 ment they received from their husbands, when she 
 advised them to follow her plan ; which some did, 
 and afterwards thanked her for her counsel. She 
 also completely gained the heart of her unkind 
 and prejudiced mother-in-law. She was never 
 known to repeat any thing that might cause a 
 quarrel, but only what would heal and reconcile. 
 
 Though so obedient to her husband, Monica 
 prevailed on him to allow their son Augustine, 
 born in the year 357, to be brought up a Chris- 
 tian ; but though he made great progress in learn- 
 ing, he was, in early life, very dissipated. Patri- 
 cius, who only wished him to be learned and elo- 
 quent, was satisfied ; but Monica grieved over his 
 errors, and prayed constantly for him, and pa- 
 tiently remonstrated with him for more than nine 
 years. Her husband died a Christian, leaving her 
 only this one son as an object of solicitude. 
 
 Augustine had been led away by the doctrine 
 of the Manichees, and still continuing his dissolute 
 life, she entreated a bishop to reason him out of 
 his errors. 
 
 "Your son," said he, "is too much elated at 
 present, and carried away by the pleasing novelty 
 of his error, to regard any arguments. Let him 
 alone ; only continue praying to the Lord for him ; 
 he will, in the course of his studies, discover his 
 error." 
 
 But Monica, with floods of tears, persisted in 
 her request. At last, a little out of temper, on 
 account of her importunity, he exclaimed, " Be- 
 gone, good woman ; it is impossible a child of such 
 tears should perish." And the result proved that 
 the bishop was correct, though not till after the 
 anxious mother had waited in mingled anxiety and 
 hope for many years. 
 
 She had followed her son to Rome, on hearing 
 of his illness, and remained there with him after- 
 wards. They were conversing one evening on 
 holy subjects : the world appeared of no value to 
 either. Monica said, " Son, what I should do 
 here, and why I am here, I know not ; the hope 
 of this life is now quite spent. One thing only, 
 your conversion, was an object for which I wished 
 to live. My God has given me this in a large 
 measure. What do I here?" Five days after 
 this she was seized with a fever. Some one la- 
 mented that she was about to die in a foreign 
 land — she had formerly been troubled about it. 
 " Nothing," said she, " is far from God ; and I do 
 not fear that he will not know where to find me 
 at the resurrection." She died on the ninth day 
 of her illness, in the fifty-sixth year of her age. 
 
 N. 
 NOGAROLA ISOTTA, 
 A LEARNED lady of Verona. She was well ac- 
 quainted with philosophy, theology, and the learn- 
 ed languages ; and her reputation was so great, 
 that cardinal Bessarien went to Verona to converse 
 with her. In a dialogue on the question whether 
 Adam or Eve were the greater sinner in eating the 
 forbidden fruit, she ably defended the cause of the 
 mother of mankind against Louis Foscaro. She 
 died, universally respected, in 1468, aged thirty- 
 eight. Five hundred and sixty-six of her letters 
 
 133 
 
NO 
 
 PA 
 
 ■were preserved in De Thou's library. Slie was 
 the daughter of Leonardo and of Bianoa Borro- 
 meo. She passed her life in the bosom of her 
 family, loved by all her friends, and honoured and 
 esteemed by the most illustrious literati of her 
 day. She has done much to render her name 
 celebrated, but would probably have accomplished 
 still more, had not a premature death removed 
 her from earthly glories. Her works are — "A 
 Dialogue on Original Sin ;" " An Elegy on a Beau- 
 tiful Villa;" "Epistles Preserved in the Ambro- 
 sian Library;" "Oration to the Bishop Ermolao, 
 written in Latin;" " An Eulogy on Girolano, Doc- 
 tor of Divinity;" and a "Latin Epistle to Ludo- 
 vico Foscarni." 
 
 NOGABOLA, 
 Arco d' Angela, of Verona, was very learned 
 in the Holy Scriptures, and made metrical trans- 
 lations of some of the poetical books. She was a 
 remarkably beautiful and virtuous woman. She 
 lived contemporary with the celebrated Isotta. 
 She has left some epistles, elegantly written. 
 
 NOVELLA, 
 
 Dacghtee, of John Andreas, a famous canonist 
 of the fourteenth century, was born in Bologna, 
 where her father was professor. He loved his 
 daughter Novella extremely, and instructed her so 
 well in all parts of learning, that when he was 
 engaged in any affair that hindered him from 
 reading lectures to his scholars, he sent his daugh- 
 ter in his stead ; but lest her beauty should pre- 
 vent the attention of her hearers, she had a little 
 curtain drawn before her. 
 
 She was married to John Caldesimus, a learned 
 canonist, and did not long survive her marriage. 
 To perpetuate her memory, her father, Andreas, 
 entitled his commentary on the Decretals of Gre- 
 gory X. " the Novelise." 
 
 OLGA, 
 Wife of Igor, the second monarch of Russia, 
 was born of the best family in Plescow. She bore 
 Igor one son, called Swetoslaw. Igor being mur- 
 dered by the Drewenses, Olga revenged his death. 
 She went afterwards to Constantinople, where she 
 was baptized by the name of Helen. The emperor, 
 John Zimisces, was her godfather, and fell in love 
 vrith her ; but she, alleging their spiritual affinity, 
 refused to marry him. Her example induced many 
 of her subjects to embrace Christianity, but had 
 no effect on her son. She died at Pereslaw, in the 
 eightieth year of her age, fourteen years after her 
 baptism. 
 
 OCTAVIA, 
 
 Daughter of Claudius, emperor of Rome, and 
 Messalina, was betrothed to Silanus ; but through 
 the intrigues of Agrippina, the niece and fourth 
 wife of Claudius, she was married, when only 
 fifteen, to the emperor Nero. This wretched tyrant 
 soon divorced her to marry Poppsea, who had her 
 banished to Campania. She was recalled by the 
 people ; but Poppsea, resolved on her ruin, caused 
 her to be again banished to an island. There she 
 
 was ordered to kill herself by opening her veins. 
 She died at the age of twenty. Her head was out 
 ofi' and carried to Poppsea. To great personal 
 charms, Octavia added modesty, sweetness, bene- 
 ficence, purity of manners, talents, and irreproach- 
 able conduct ; and the people in Rome mourned 
 her loss with the greatest grief. She died about 
 the year 56. 
 
 PACHECO, 
 
 Donna Maria, wife of Don John de Padilla, a 
 young nobleman, who was at the head of the con- 
 federacy in Castile, during the minority of Charles 
 v., called the Holy Junta, raised to recover those 
 laws and liberties the Castilians had always prized 
 so highly. During their hostile operations, they 
 were in much distress for money. Donna Maria, a 
 woman of great abilities and unbounded ambition, 
 proposed to seize all the magnificent ornaments in 
 the cathedral of Toledo ; but lest that action, ap- 
 parently sacrilegious, should offend the people, 
 she and her retinue went in a solemn procession 
 to the church, and implored pardon of the saints, 
 whose shrines she was about to violate. The po- 
 pulace thus appeased, they stripped the cathedral 
 and obtained the necessary funds. 
 
 In a subsequent engagement, in 1521, the young 
 and brave Padilla was taken prisoner, and con- 
 demned to death. He wrote an affectionate letter 
 to his wife, exhorting her to consider his death as 
 his deliverance. This blow was fatal to the con- 
 federacy. The city of Toledo alone, animated by 
 Donna Maria, who sought to revenge her husband's 
 death, held out. The prudence and vigour vrith 
 which she acted justified the confidence the people 
 reposed in her. She wrote to the French general, 
 encouraging him to invade Navarre ; she endea- 
 voured to arouse the other Castilian cities ; raised 
 soldiers ; and, by keeping the death of their be- 
 loved general fresh in the minds of the people, 
 she prevented them from being dispirited. Her 
 enemies in vain endeavoured to undermine her 
 
 134 
 
PA 
 
 PE 
 
 popularity; the city was invested, but she de- 
 fended it so vigorously that no progress was made 
 in reducing it, till the clergy, whose property she 
 had been forced to invade, openly deserted her, 
 and persuaded the credulous multitude that her 
 influence over them was the eifect of enchantment ; 
 and that she was assisted by a familiar spirit in 
 the form of a negro maid. Incensed at these 
 suggestions, they themselves took up arms against 
 her, drove her out of the city, and surrendered it 
 to the royalists. She then retired to the citadel, 
 which she defended with amazing fortitude, four 
 months longer; and, when reduced to the last 
 extremity, fled in disguise to Portugal, where she 
 had many relations, and where she passed the 
 remainder of her life. 
 
 PADILLA, 
 
 Maey he, a Spanish lady, mistress of Pedro the 
 Cruel, king of Castile in 1350. She possessed such 
 influence over him, that three days after his mar- 
 riage with the beautiful and virtuous Blanche de 
 Bourbon, he repudiated her for his guilty mistress. 
 After his divorce from Blanche, Pedro married 
 Jeanne de Castro ; and two days after was again 
 at the feet of the all-powerful Padilla, who dying 
 soon after, was buried with all the magnificence 
 due to a crowned head. 
 
 PAMPHILA, 
 
 A Geecian authoress, who flourished in Nero's 
 reign, and wrote a general history in thirty-three 
 books, much commended by the ancients, but not 
 extant. She died in the first century after Christ. 
 
 PAULA, ST., 
 A Roman lady of noble birth and great learning. 
 She embraced Christianity ; and when she became 
 a widow, she retired to Bethlehem, where she 
 built a monastery, and led a very devout and asce- 
 tic life. St. Jerome was the director of her cha- 
 ritable institutions, and he also taught her to read 
 the Scriptures in Hebrew. She died in 407, aged 
 sixty. It is said that she was descended from the 
 families of the Gracchi and Scipios. 
 
 PAULINA, 
 
 A Roman lady of exquisite beauty, and great 
 wealth and virtue, lived in the reign of Tiberius, 
 about the year 30. She was married to Saturni- 
 nus, a husband worthy of her. Decius Mundus, 
 a Roman knight, fell desperately in love with her, 
 and tried every means, in vain, to obtain her affec- 
 tions. He even offered her two hundred thousand 
 drachmse. At length Ide, a female domestic of 
 his father's, offered to enable him to accomplish 
 his object for fifty thousand drachmae, which he 
 gave her. This woman, knowing Paulina's great 
 veneration for Isis, bribed several of the priests 
 of this goddess, who went to Paulina, and told her 
 that the god Anubis was passionately enamoured 
 of her, and that she must visit him. Elated with 
 this honour, Paulina communicated the desire to 
 her husband, who, confiding in her virtue, cheer- 
 fully granted the request. She went to the tem- 
 ple, and, being shut up in the dark, Mundus was 
 
 introduced to her as Anubis. Upon the third day 
 after this, Mundus met Paulina, and, in a keen 
 and sarcastic speech, ridiculed her for her credu- 
 lity, and informed her of her mistake. Paulina, 
 in the greatest distress, hastened to her husband, 
 and urged him vehemently not to suffer such an 
 indignity to pass unpunished. Saturninus ap- 
 pealed to Tiberius, who caused Ide and the priests 
 of Isis to be crucified for sacrilege, the temple of 
 Isis to be thrown down, and her statue cast into 
 the Tiber. Mundus was simply banished. 
 
 PAULINA, 
 Wife of Seneca, the celebrated Roman philoso- 
 pher, insisted upon sharing her husband's fate, 
 who was condemned to die by the order of the 
 emperor Nero. Her veins were accordingly opened 
 at the same time ; but fainting from loss of blood, 
 Nero sent and commanded her wounds to be bound 
 up, and conjured her to live. She, however, sur- 
 vived her husband but a short time, looking wan 
 and miserable, and oppressed with the deepest 
 melancholy. She was much younger than her 
 husband. These events occurred about the year 
 68. 
 
 PERPETUA, 
 
 ViviA, a Carthaginian lady, about twenty-two 
 years of age, suffered for her faith during the per- 
 secution of the Christians by Severus, emperor of 
 Rome. Her father, a pagan, who loved her ten- 
 derly, went to console her in her imprisonment, 
 and attempted to persuade her to renounce Chris- 
 tianity. Perpetua, however, remained firm, which 
 so incensed him, that he beat her severely, and 
 did not visit her for some days. In the mean time 
 she was baptized, having only been a catechumen 
 before. On refusing to sacrifice to idols, she was 
 confined in a dark dungeon and deprived of her 
 infant. Her father again visited her, and in the 
 most tender and affectionate manner entreated her, 
 for his sake and that of her child, to renounce her 
 faith; but she said, "God's will must be done." 
 After her condemnation, Perpetua and Felicitas, 
 another Christian woman, were thrown to a mad 
 bull, who wounded them severely, but did not kill 
 them. Perpetua then caused her brother to be 
 called, and, addressing herself to him and another 
 Christian, she said, " Continue firm in the faith, 
 love one another, and be not offended at our suf- 
 ferings." 
 
 The people insisted on having the martyrs 
 brought into the amphitheatre, that they might 
 see them die. The beauty of Perpetua, and the 
 weak state of Felicitas, who had just been con- 
 fined, excited some compassion among the savage 
 beholders. Perpetua fell into the hands of an un- 
 skilful gladiator, but she guided his trembling 
 hand to her throat. She perished in 205. 
 
 PETRONILLA, 
 Dona, daughter of Ramiro the monk, was be- 
 trothed in her infancy to Raymond, count of Bar- 
 celona. The conditions of this marriage, that 
 united Catalonia to Arragon, in 1137, were, that 
 the count himself should never bear the title of 
 
 135 
 
PH 
 
 PI 
 
 " King," but merely that of "Prince" of Arragon, 
 and tliat the offspring of the queen should succeed 
 to thethrone and kingship ; that the arms of Cata- 
 lonia should be united with those of Arragon, but 
 that the standard-bearer should always be an Ar- 
 ragonian ; and that the Arragonians should invoke 
 the name of St. George, as that of their patron. 
 
 Petronilla gave birth, in 1150, to her eldest son, 
 Raymond, who succeeded to the throne under the 
 name of Alfonso ; and subsequently to Pedro, who 
 inherited Sardinia, Carcassone, and Narbonue. 
 She had also two daughters, Aldonza or Dulcis, 
 who, in 1181, married Sancho, prince of Portugal, 
 and another, whose name is not recorded, though 
 she is said to have married Ai'mengaul, count of 
 Urgel. 
 
 The queen, being extremely ill previous to the 
 birth of her eldest child, made a will, providing 
 that should the infant prove a son, he should suc- 
 ceed to the crown, but, if a daughter, the throne 
 should be inherited by her husband. This will, 
 excluding a female from inheriting the crown, was 
 ever after quoted as a precedent against the sove- 
 reigns of Arragon, when they attempted to bequeath 
 the crown to a daughter. 
 
 Eaymond dying in August of 1162, Petronilla 
 reigned one year, during the minority of her son, 
 but on his attaining his thirteenth year, in 1163, 
 by the advice of the nobles, resigned the crown to 
 him. The queen died on the 3d of October, 1173, 
 in Barcelona. She was a wise and good ruler 
 over her people. 
 
 PHEBE, 
 
 A DEACONESS of the port of Corinth called 
 Cenchrea. St. Paul had a particular esteem for 
 her, and Theodoret thinks he lodged at her house 
 while at Corinth. She brought to Rome the epistle 
 he wrote to the Romans, wherein she is so highly 
 commended. 
 
 In this epistle, the apostle names, with warm 
 approval, the faith and works of a number of wo- 
 men who appear to have been devoted and import- 
 ant servants of the chui'ch at Rome. Priscilla, 
 Mary, Junia, Tryphena and Tryphosa, Persis, Julia, 
 the sister of Nereus, and the ^* mother of Rufus," 
 whom the apostle calls "mine;" a touching tri- 
 bute to the virtues of this Christian woman. 
 There was no man among the Christian converts 
 ever saluted by Paul with the title of father ; and 
 that he found a woman worthy of the tender, holy 
 title of mother, shows how highly, in his estima- 
 tion, ranked the piety of the gentle sex. The im- 
 portant trust reposed in Phebe proves, also, the 
 efficient help he derived from woman's ministry in 
 the cause of Christ. See Romans, chap. xvi. A. 
 D. 60. 
 
 PHILIPPA OF HAINAULT, 
 Dacohteb of the earl of Hainault, married Ed- 
 ward III., king of England, in 1327. In 1346, 
 when, after the victorious battle of Cressy, Edward 
 lay before Calais, David Bruce, king of Scotland, 
 invaded the north of England, and ravaged the 
 country as far as Durham. He was there met by 
 queen Philippa, at the head of twelve thousand 
 
 men, commanded by Lord Percy; after a fierce 
 engagement, the Scots were entirely defeated, and 
 their king and many of the nobility taken pri- 
 soners. As soon as Philippa had secured her 
 royal captive, she crossed the sea at Dover, and 
 was received in the English camp, before Calais, 
 with all the eclat due to her rank and her victory. 
 Here her intercession is said to have saved the 
 lives of the six citizens of Calais, who were con- 
 demned to death by Edward. 
 
 Philippa's conduct was always marked by wis- 
 dom and generosity, and she was on all occasions 
 the confidant and adviser of her husband. She 
 died before Edward, leaving several children, the 
 eldest of whom was the celebrated Black Prince. 
 Philippa is said to have founded Queen's College, 
 Oxford ; but her agency in establishing a manu- 
 facturing colony of Flemings at Norwich, in the 
 year 1335, was of far greater importance to the 
 prosperity of the nation. " Blessed be the memory 
 of Edward III. and Philippa of Hainault, his 
 queen, who first invented clothes," says a monastic 
 chronicler. He meant that by the advice of the 
 queen, the English first manufactured cloth. 
 
 Philippa was also the friend and patroness of 
 Chaucer and Froissart. 
 
 PISE, or PISAN, CHRISTINE DE, 
 Was born in Venice, in 1363 ; and, at the age 
 of five years, was taken by her father to France, 
 where he emigrated upon the invitation of Charles 
 V. Thomas de Pise was one of the marked men 
 of his age ; possessing all the learning and all the 
 science that could then be attained, his ambitious 
 genius struggled for something beyond, and took 
 the path of astrology. Lamb makes the quaint 
 lament that, through our modern men of science, 
 the stars have become merely astronomical. It 
 was quite otherwise in the fourteenth century; 
 then the stars were really " the poetry of heaven," 
 and the scientific men, poets, through whose ima- 
 ginations the highest destinies passed, dignified 
 with an august feeling of preternatural skill, that, 
 however false, must have elevated their tone of 
 self-appreciation to something beyond the vanities 
 of our times. Charles V. honoured Thomas de 
 
 136 
 
PL 
 
 PO 
 
 Pise, and made him his astrologer. Thomas gave 
 his daughter a learned education. The child 
 having an hereditary brightness of mind, applied 
 herself with diligence, and hecame remarkable, 
 ere she reached womanhood, for her many acquire- 
 ments. She was well acquainted with history, 
 and equal to any of the scholars of the day in the 
 Greek and Latin languages. She married, early 
 in life, Stephen Castel, a gentleman of Picardy. 
 Shortly after this, her father died; and, at the 
 age of twenty-iive, having also lost her husband, 
 she was left destitute of all human support, having 
 no relations in France. To add to her distress, 
 the inheritance of her husband was litigated by 
 some members of his family, 'and she had great 
 difficulty to obtain a portion of it. Being a 
 foreigner, she was obliged to rely entirely on her 
 own energies ; and she applied herself to a 
 resource never before sought by a female. Chris- 
 tine de Pise was the first woman who used her 
 literary abilities to support her household, and 
 made her pen procure bread for her children. 
 Louis, duke of Orleans, brother of Charles VI., 
 was a prince of elegant tastes, and a patron of 
 letters ; he discerned the merit of Christine, and 
 invited her frequently to his court, where she met 
 with honourable attention. This unfortunate 
 young man was, as is well known, assassinated by 
 emissaries of the duke of Burgundy. After his 
 death, and the confusion of parties that ensued, 
 the insanity of the king, the invasion of France 
 by the English, all these national misfortunes 
 darkened the state of literature, and obstructed 
 farther progress in social improvement. 
 
 Christine lived to an advanced age in the privacy 
 of domestic life. She died in 1441. Some of her 
 poems, which are full of tenderness, were printed 
 in Paris, in 1529 ; others remain in manuscript, 
 in the royal library. " The Life of Charles V.," 
 written by desire of Philip the Good, duke of Bur- 
 gundy, is considered her best prose performance. 
 One of her first books was called, "A Hundred 
 Stories of Troyes." She also wrote several long 
 poems. She had three children, one of whom 
 retired to a convent, where Christine passed the 
 latter part of her life. 
 
 Henry IV. invited her to the English court; 
 and she was every where received with that 
 homage and veneration which her virtues and 
 talents deserved. True feminine purity and re- 
 finement prevail throughout her writings. All her 
 works are written in French. 
 
 PLACIDIA, 
 A DAUGHTER of Theodosius the Great, sister to 
 Honorius and Arcadius, was born about the year 
 388, and was brought up in the palace of Con- 
 stantinople. At the third siege and sack of Rome 
 by Alaric, in 410, Placidia was one of the captives 
 carried away by him ; she was treated with the 
 respect due her rank; and Ataulphus, Alaric's 
 successor, married her in 414. She bore him a 
 son who soon died. In 415, Ataulphus was mur- 
 dered by Singeric, who usurped the Gothic throne, 
 and treated the royal widow with great ignominy. 
 
 obliging her to walk twelve miles before his cha- 
 riot. Singeric was soon after assassinated, and 
 Placidia was ransomed by the Romans for 600,000 
 measures of wheat, and returned to Italy. 
 
 In 417, Honorius compelled Placidia to marry 
 his general, Constantius, as a reward for his ser- 
 vices. She became the mother of Valentinian III. 
 and. Honoria. By Placidia's instigation, Constan- 
 tius urged Honorius to admit him to a partnership 
 in the empire, by which elevation she obtained the 
 title of Augusta ; their titles, however, were not 
 acknowledged at the court of Constantinople. 
 Placidia again became a widow in 421. When her 
 son, Valentinian III., was declared emperor, in 
 425, Placidia assumed the reins of government, 
 during his minority. Her administration was 
 neither wise nor vigorous. She died at Rome, in 
 the year 450. 
 
 POLLA ARGENTARIA, 
 Wife of Lucan, the Latin poet, who wrote a 
 poem on her merits. This poem is now lost, but 
 her name is immortalized by two other poets of 
 that age. Martial and Statins. Lucan was con- 
 demned to death by Nero ; but the tyrant allowed 
 him to choose the way in which he would die. 
 He chose the warm bath and an open artery ; but 
 entreated his wife to live, and transcribe his great 
 poem, the "Pharsalia;" which she promised him 
 to do. It is said that, after his mournful death, 
 she shut herself up in a solitary retreat, with the 
 bust of Lucan beside her, and there carefully re- 
 vised the three first books of the " Pharsalia." 
 
 POMPEIA PLOTINA, 
 A Roman lady, who married Trajan while he 
 was a private individual. She entered Rome in 
 procession with her husband when he was saluted 
 emperor, in the year 99, and distinguished her- 
 self by her affability, humanity, and kindness to 
 the poor and friendless. It is recorded that on 
 approaching the threshold of the palace raised by 
 Nero, she gazed for a moment upon the vast and 
 splendid monument of so many crimes, and pol- 
 
 137 
 
PO 
 
 RA 
 
 luted by so many vices ; then turning to the 
 people, and raising her hands and eyes heaven- 
 ward, she exclaimed, " May the gods send me 
 forth from this august palace, whenever I may he 
 destined to leave it, even as I now enter it ; and 
 may the high destiny to which fortune now raises 
 me leave me in possession of the same qualities 
 with which I this day assume it." 
 
 The people applauded her speech and seem 
 always to have loved and revered her. And she 
 proved herself worthy of this warm esteem. She 
 was remarkable for the dignity of her deportment, 
 and for the influence which her chaste example 
 had on the morals of Roman society. Plotina 
 loved tranquillity, and sought to incline her hus- 
 band's heart to the arts of peace; but Trajan was 
 a soldier, and his passion for military glory super- 
 seded to the last his wisdom and his discretion. 
 As Plotina could not dissuade him from his last 
 expedition into Africa and Asia, she accompanied 
 him ; was by his side when he passed the Tigris 
 over a bridge of boats ; and when he died she 
 was beside him and received his last breath. 
 Then, after she had, by her energy and influence, 
 made her favourite Adrian emperor, she brought 
 back the ashes of her husband to Rome ; and still 
 enjoyed all the honours and titles of a Roman 
 empress under Adrian, who, by her means, had 
 succeeded to the vacant throne. At her death, 
 which occurred in the year 122, she was ranked 
 among the goddesses, and received divine honours. 
 
 PONTHIEU, 
 Adelaide, a French lady whose adventures 
 during the crusades under St. Louis, king of 
 France in the 13 th century, have furnished a 
 subject for a romance, a tragedy, and an opera. 
 
 PRISCA, 
 A Roman lady, a convert to Christianity, was 
 horribly tortured, and afterwards beheaded, for 
 refusing to abjure her religion and to sacrifice to 
 idols, under the emperor Claudius, about the 
 year 275. 
 
 PROBA, 
 
 Valebia Faloonia, was the wife of Adolphus, 
 the Roman proconsul, in the reigns of Honorius 
 and Theodosius the Younger. She composed a 
 Virgilian cento upon the books of the Old and 
 New Testaments, which was printed at Frankfort, 
 in 1541. She also wrote an epitaph on her hus- 
 band. 
 
 PULCHERIA, 
 A DAUGHTER of Thoodosius the Great, emperor 
 of Rome, in 379. She was eminent for her piety, 
 moderation, and virtue. 
 
 PULCHERIA iBLIA, 
 Born in 399, was the daughter of Arcadius, 
 emperor of the East. She reigned conjointly with 
 her brother, Theodosius, a mild and feeble prince. 
 The vigorous wisdom of Pulcheria, though only 
 two years the elder, compensated for his defects, 
 and she maintained, by meekness and discretion, 
 
 that ascendency over him which a superior capa- 
 city always gives. Adorned with all the graces 
 of beauty, at fifteen she took a vow of virginity, 
 and persuaded her two younger sisters to do the 
 same. She consecrated herself to the service of 
 God and the state, and divided her time between 
 prayer, charity, and the affairs of the empire. 
 At sixteen, she took the name of Augusta, and as 
 she had always the prudence to preserve her bro- 
 ther's honour, she governed in his name with great 
 success. She gave him the credit of completing 
 the destruction of idolatrous temples and worship, 
 which was due to the spirit, firmness, and wise 
 lenity of her measures. Pulcheria's great natural 
 sagacity enabled her to discover at once how she 
 ought to act, and she executed her purposes with 
 promptitude and vigour. 
 
 The empire was agitated by factions, when first 
 she stood at its helm ; but it soon enjoyed a per- 
 fect peace under her wise administration; she 
 taught her brother to respect the rights of pro- 
 .perty, saying, that " The more princes abstained 
 from touching the wealth of their people, the 
 greater would be their resources in the wants of 
 the state." 
 
 When Theodosius, weak and irresolute, neglected 
 her advice, and suffered himself to be guided by 
 his eunuchs, the empire soon felt and mourned 
 the change. On his death, in 450, as he left but 
 one child, a daughter, married to Talentinian IIL, 
 Pulcheria became sole mistress of the empire. 
 For political reasons she married Marcian, an old 
 ofScer in the army, whom she made emperor. 
 ,She lived four years after, till 454, maintaining 
 the same exemplary character. Her loss was 
 deeply regretted. She alone had sustained the 
 imperial dignity, under the reign of her imbecile 
 brother; and after his death, had placed the 
 crown on a head worthy to wear it. During her 
 life she was a mother to the poor, and she left 
 them her possessions at her death. 
 
 R. 
 
 RADEGONDE, ST., 
 Dacghter of Bertarius, king of Thuringia, was 
 taken prisoner in 529, when only eight years old, 
 by Clotaire, king of Normandy. Her childish 
 grace and beauty made such an impression on 
 Clotaire that he resolved to educate her for his 
 wife. She was carefully taught, and, at the age 
 of ten, she renounced paganism for Christianity, 
 in consequence of 'the instructions of those by 
 whom she was surrounded, and from that early 
 age conceived an ardent desire to _devote herself 
 wholly to religion. She was so much opposed to 
 the idea of becoming one of the wives of Clotaire, 
 that when the time approached for that event, she 
 fled, but was brought back to Soissons, and married 
 in spite of her reluctance. Radegonde, to avoid 
 as much as possible her new duties, became lite- 
 rally the servant of the poor and the sick. Having 
 received as a marriage present, the royal domain 
 of Atrfis, she converted it into a hospital for indi- 
 
 138 
 
EO 
 
 RO 
 
 gent women, for whom she performed the most 
 menial and repulsive services. She also passed a 
 great part of her time in reading, or conversing 
 with learneB and pious men. 
 
 Kadegonde spent six years in this way, during 
 all which time, Clotaire obstinately refused to let 
 her go into a convent. A brother of the young 
 queen's had been taken prisoner at the same time, 
 and as he grew up he showed so much of the pride 
 and temper of his race, that Clotaire had him put 
 to death. This was too much for Radegonde to 
 endure, and Clotaire, not wishing to be annoyed 
 by her grief, allowed her to go to Mfidard, bishop 
 of Noyon, whose reputation for sanctity had ex- 
 tended throughout all France, for consolation. 
 When she arrived at Noyon, she found M^dard in 
 his cathedral, and she immediately exclaimed, 
 " Priest of God ! I wish to l«ave the world, and 
 consecrate myself to the Lord." At these words 
 the guard who accompanied her crowded around 
 her, and protested against such an act. While 
 M^dard hesitated as to what course he should 
 take, Radegonde fled to the sacristy, threw the 
 dress of a nun over her royal apparel, and return- 
 ing, said to Mfidard, "If you refuse to receive 
 me, if you fear man more than God, you will have 
 to answer for it before the Shepherd of the flock." 
 
 These words put an end to the uncertainty of 
 the bishop. He annulled, on his own authority, 
 the forced marriage of the queen, consecrated her 
 to God, and sent away the soldiers, who had not 
 dared to ofi'er any farther opposition. Radegonde 
 went to Tours for greater safety, and when Clo- 
 taire, still ardently attached to her, sent to reclaim 
 her, she fled to Poitiers. Here the energetic re- 
 monstrances of Germain, bishop of Paris, obliged 
 him to leave her, and he allowed her to found a 
 convent there, which she did about 550, where 
 Bhe passed the rest of her life. She was at first 
 the abbess of this convent, but after it was firmly 
 established, she gave up her authority to a lady 
 younger than herself, whom she called Agnes, and 
 lived for the remainder of her life as a simple 
 nun. Her convent held a high reputation in that 
 age for the devotion of its members to religion, 
 and also for their cultivation of literature and the 
 arts. Radegonde died at Poitiers, August 13th, 
 590. She was afterwards canonized. 
 
 ROCHIER, 
 
 Agnes eu, was a very beautiful girl, the only 
 daughter of a rich tradesman of Paris. Her fa- 
 ther left her a handsome fortune, but at the age 
 of eighteen she turned recluse, in the parish of 
 St. Opertune, in 1403. Recluses built themselves 
 a little chamber adjoining the walls of some 
 church. The door of the cell was sealed with 
 great pomp by the bishop, and never again opened. 
 A little window was left, from whence the recluse 
 heard the oflioes of the church, and received the 
 necessaries of life. Agnes du Roohier lived to 
 the age of ninety-eight. 
 
 RODHIA, 
 A Moorish Spaniard of Cordova, the freedwo- 
 man of king Abdelrahman, who wrote many vol- 
 
 umes on rhetoric. She is said to have lived one 
 hundred and seven years, and died in 1044. 
 
 ROSAMOND 
 Was the wife of Alboin of Albovinus, king of 
 Lombardy, in the sixth century. Alboin slew her 
 father, Gunimond, king of a neighbouring horde, 
 in battle, and married his daughter by force. 
 And, in order to retain a monument of his victory, 
 he converted the skull of Gunimond into a drink- 
 ing-cup, which he sent full of wine to Rosamond. 
 In revenge, she had him assassinated. 
 
 ROSAMOND, 
 Dauqhteu of Walter de CliflFord, lord Hereford, 
 was the favourite mistress of Henry II., of Eng- 
 land. To conceal this amour from his jealous 
 queen, Eleanor, Henry is said to have removed 
 Rosamond to a labyrinth in Woodstock park, 
 where, however, his wife discovered her and 
 obliged her to take poison. Some authors declare 
 that the fair Rosamond died at Godstow nunnery, 
 near Oxford. She had two sons by Henry, Wil- 
 liam, surnamed Longsword, and Jeffrey, arch- 
 bishop of York. 
 
 ROSARES, 
 
 Isabella de, preached in the great church of 
 Barcelona, in Spain. In the reign of Paul III., 
 pope of Rome, she went to that city, and by her 
 eloquence, she converted many of the Jews to 
 Christianity. 
 
 ROSSI, 
 
 Blanche de, the wife of Battista de la Porta 
 of Padua, was a noble, brave, and faithful woman, 
 In 1237, during the war between the Ghibelliues 
 and Guelfs, she went with her husband, who was 
 sent as commander of the forces to Bassano, to 
 defend the city against the tyrant Ezzelino. 
 
 Blanche fought by the side of her husband in 
 various skirmishes and upon the walls of the city, 
 and often took the place of his aid-de-camp, when 
 the man was exhausted by his duty. When the 
 city fell into the hands of the enemy by treachery, 
 Battista was killed at the head of his soldiers, 
 fighting to the last. Blanche, tied with cords, 
 was dragged before the conqueror. The tyrant, 
 inflamed by her beauty, offered her liberty and 
 wealth if she would consent to make his house her 
 home. She refused indignantly, and threw her- 
 self out of the window — but, contrary to her ex- 
 pectation, she escaped unharmed, and was again 
 brought before her enemy. She now had recourse 
 to stratagem. She pretended to accept the ty- 
 rant's proposals, and made only one condition, that 
 of seeing once more the body of her husband. 
 The tyrant consented, and ordered his guards to 
 accompany her to the grave. When they had ar- 
 rived at it, and after the heavy stone had been 
 removed, she jumped into the grave and caused 
 the stone to fall upon and crush her. Thus died 
 the noble wife of Battista. 
 
 ROSSI, 
 Peopekzia de. It is uncertain when this illus- 
 trious artist was born, but various reasons in- 
 
 139 
 
RU, 
 
 SA 
 
 duce us to fix the date towards 1495. The cities 
 of Bologna and Modena still dispute the honour 
 of having produced her ; and such is the cloud 
 that rests upon her early days, that it has never 
 been ascertained who were her parents — and some 
 have even been uncertain whether she was a mar- 
 ried or single woman — whether the name of Rossi 
 descended to her from a father, or was given by a 
 husband. The latter doubt is entirely set to rest 
 by Georgio Vasari, who, in his biography of cele- 
 brated artists, calls Properzia " a virtuous maiden, 
 possessing every merit of her sex, together with 
 science and learning all men may envy." 
 
 She began her progress in the arts by learning 
 to draw of Raimondi — but as the predilection of 
 the age was for sculpture, she soon turned all her 
 attention to that art. Many of her works are still 
 extant and admired. In possession of the Grassi 
 family, at Bologna, is a sculptured representation 
 of our Saviour's passion, where eleven figures are 
 introduced as spectators, each with a character- 
 istic expression, and the whole carved on a peach- 
 stone. She also assisted in the sculptures that 
 adorn the three gates of the fa9ade of St. Petro- 
 neus. There is also a very fine figure, in marble, 
 of count Guido di Pepoli, unquestionably her pro- 
 duction. She died February 24th, 1530, and 
 George Vasari thus writes : " The lovely maiden 
 was this day made perfect." All the Bolognese 
 mourned her death, for she was considered a mi- 
 racle of nature. The following epitaph was writ- 
 ten by Vincenzo of Bonaccorso Pitti : 
 
 Fero splendor di due begli occhi accrebbe 
 Gia marmi a marmi ; e stupor nuovo e strano 
 Ruvidi marmi de'.icla mano 
 Fea dianzi vivi, ahi ! morte invidja n' cbbe. 
 
 RUFINA, 
 
 Claudia, a noble British lady, who lived about 
 the year 100, wife of Aulus Rufus Pudens, a Bo- 
 nonian philosopher, and one of the Roman eques- 
 trian order. She is said to have been an intimate 
 associate of the poet Martial, who, in many places, 
 highly extols her for beauty, learning, and virtue. 
 Of her poetic writings, Balseus mentions a. book 
 
 of Epigrams, an " Elegy on her Husband's Death," 
 and other poems ; besides which she wrote many 
 things in prose. 
 
 s. 
 
 SABINA, 
 
 Julia, grand-niece and heiress of Trajan, and 
 wife of Adrian, emperor of Rome, is celebrated 
 for her private as well as her public virtues. 
 Adrian had married Sabina chiefly through the 
 favour of the empress Plotina ; he never loved 
 her, and treated her with the greatest asperity ; 
 and the empress was so irritated by his unkind- 
 ness, that she boasted in his presence that she had 
 disdained to mate Jiim a father, lest his children 
 should be more odious and tyrannical than he him- 
 self was. The behaviour of Sabina at last so ex- 
 asperated Adrian, that he poisoned her, or, accord- 
 ing to some, obliged her to destroy herself. Divine 
 honours were paid to her memory. She died 
 about 138, after she had been married to Adrian 
 thirty-eight years. It is difficult to assign any 
 motive less unworthy than the base passion of 
 envy for the cruel treatment Sabina endured from 
 her husband. Adrian did not feel flattered by the 
 means which had placed him on the greatest throne 
 in the world. He owed it to Plotina — a woman ; 
 and though he was never ungrateful to her, yet 
 Sabina, the niece of Trajan, was really, in birth, 
 above him ; and he never forgave her for this su- 
 periority. To implicate her in some plot or crime, 
 seemed his first desire. He set spies about her to 
 watch her conduct, and even had the meanness to 
 intercept and read all her letters. After the 
 death of her aunt Plotina, he overwhelmed Sabina 
 with his contempt and calumny. One of the his- 
 torians of his reign says that he engaged "les 
 personnes de sa cour i, lui faire eprouver les plus 
 sanglantes mortifications, et la maltraita tellement 
 qu'elle finit par se douner la mort." And this 
 
 wretch was one of the best emperors who governed 
 Rome ! That the soul of the woman had not .thus 
 lost its love of the good and the true, is proven in 
 
 140 
 
SA 
 
 SA 
 
 this sad history of Sabina ; — with all his scrutiny, 
 the vindictive Adrian could never find cause of 
 accusation against her. She was murdered, not 
 executed. 
 
 SABINA, 
 Popp^A, -was a daughter of Titus OUius. She 
 married a Roman knight, Rufus Crjspinus, by 
 whom she had a son. Her beauty captivated 
 Otho, one of Nero's favourites, and afterwards the 
 eighth emperor of Rome. He took her from her 
 husband, and married her ; but Nero, who had 
 seen her, and heard her accomplishments extolled, 
 soon took possession of her, and sent Otho to pre- 
 side over one of the Roman provinces. Nero then 
 repudiated his wife, Ootavia, on pretence of bar- 
 renness, and married Poppsea, who had Octavia 
 banished and put to death. Nero soon began to 
 treat Poppsea with barbarity, and she died of a 
 kick she received from him during her pregnancy, 
 about the year 65. Her funeral was performed 
 with great pomp, and statues were raised to her 
 memory. She left one son by Nero. She was so 
 anxious to preserve her beauty, that five hundred 
 asses were kept to afford her milk, in which she 
 bathed daily ; and from their milk she invented a 
 kind of pomatum, called Poppseanum. 
 
 ST. CECILIA, 
 The patroness of music, is said to have been a 
 Roman lady, born of noble j)arents, about the 
 year 235. Her story, as related by the Roman 
 Catholics, is, that her parents married her to a 
 young pagan nobleman, Valerianus. Cecilia told 
 him, on her wedding-night, that she was visited 
 nightly by an angel. Valerianus desired to see 
 the angel ; and his bride told him that it would be 
 impossible, unless he would become a. Christian. 
 This he consented to, and was baptized by pope 
 Urban I. ; after which, returning to his wife, he 
 found her at prayer, and by her side a beautiful 
 young man, clothed with brightness. Valerianus 
 conversed with the angel, who foretold his mar- 
 tyrdom, and that of his brother, Tiburtius. In 
 a few years, Valerianus and Tiburtius were be- 
 headed. CecUia was offered her life, if she would 
 sacrifice to the idols ; but she refused, and was 
 thrown into a caldron of boiling water. St. Ce- 
 cilia is said to have excelled so greatly in music, 
 as to have drawn the angel from the celestial re- 
 gions by her melody. 
 
 SAINTE DES PREZ, 
 A PUPIL of Agnes de Bragelongne de Planey, 
 lived in the thirteenth century. She was a French 
 poetess. At the age of twelve, she fell in love 
 with Seymour, an English gentleman, who was 
 then thirty, and who did not reciprocate her affec- 
 tion till ten years after, when he married her ; 
 but she died soon. Guillebert d'Erneville, a cele- 
 brated troubadour, was one of her suitors. 
 
 SALOME, 
 Only daughter of Antipater, a man of eminence 
 in Idumea, and of Cypron, an Arabian lady of il- 
 lustrious descent, was sister to Herod, afterwards 
 
 Herod the Great of Judea. She was an ambitious 
 and intriguing woman, and conceived a strong dis- 
 like to Mariamne, Herod's wife, because Mariamne 
 reproached her with the meanness of her family, 
 in comparison with the royal race of the Asmo- 
 neans, from whom she herself was descended. 
 She therefore accused Mariamne to Herod of too 
 great, intimacy with Joseph, who was both the 
 uncle and husband of Salome, but whom she was 
 willing to sacrifice, to revenge herself on her inno- 
 cent sister-in-law. Herod, enraged, had Joseph 
 immediately put to death ; but his great love for 
 Mariamne induced him to spare her. Some time 
 after, Salome again accused Mariamne of infi- 
 delity, and an attempt to poison Herod, which so 
 exasperated him, that he ordered his wife to be 
 executed. When the two sons of Mariamne, Aris- 
 tobulus and Alexander, were grown up, Salome, 
 envious of their popularity, and fearing lest they 
 should revenge their mother's death, resolved on 
 their destruction, notwithstanding that Aristo- 
 bulus had married her daughter, Berenice. She 
 succeeded so well in embittering Herod against 
 them, that he accused them before Caesar of con- 
 spiring against him. But they were acquitted. 
 She made two or three other attempts to effect 
 the same object ; but failing in them, and losing 
 the confidence of Herod, she resolved to marry 
 SylljBus, prime minister to Obodas, king of Arabia. 
 But when Syllffius found that he would have to 
 conform to the Jewish faith, he declined the pro- 
 posal, Salome still continued in love with Syl- 
 Iseus ; but Herod compelled her to marry Alexas, 
 a friend of his. She afterwards used her influ- 
 ence against Antipater, Herod's eldest son and 
 heir, who had procured the death of his half-bro- 
 thers, Aristobulus and Alexander ; and Antipater 
 was executed. After Herod's death, Salome, by 
 her intrigues, caused dissensions between his two 
 remaining sons, Archelaus and Antipas ; but these 
 were settled by Caesar, who gave to Salome the 
 royal palace at Askelon, besides the cities of 
 Jamnia, Azotus, and Phasaelis, and a large sum 
 of money, which was left her by her brother. 
 She seems to have passed the rest of her life in 
 tranquillity. 
 
 SALOME, 
 The daughter of Herodias and Herod Philip. 
 She so delighted her uncle and mother's husband, 
 Herod Antipas, by her dancing, that he promised 
 her whatever she asked. At her mother's instiga- 
 tion, she requested the head of John the Baptist. 
 Salome married her uncle, Herod the Great ; and 
 afterwards Aristobulus, son of Herod, king of 
 Chalcis, by whom she had several children. 
 
 SALOME, 
 Wife of Zebedee, and mother of James the 
 Greater, and John the Evangelist. She was one 
 of those holy women who attended and adminis- 
 tered to our Saviour in his journeys. She re- 
 quested of Jesus that her two sons might sit one 
 on his right, and the other on his left hand. 
 Mark xv. 40. She followed Christ to Calvary, 
 and did not forsake him at the cross. She was one 
 
 141 
 
SA 
 
 SE 
 
 of those women who came early on Sunday morn- 
 ing with perfumes to embalm the hody of Christ. 
 
 SAPPHIKA, 
 
 The wife of Ananias, who, with her husband, 
 made pretence of becoming conTcrts to the reli- 
 gion of Jesus, soon after the apostles commenced 
 their mission. We only hear of this couple, be- 
 cause of one wicked act. The disciples of the 
 new faith then shared their property in common. 
 Ananias sold his possessions, pretending to bring 
 all the money to the apostles, while "he kept 
 back part of the price, his wife also being privy." 
 
 For this lie, Ananias and Sapphira were struck 
 down dead. The record is remarkable in another 
 respect ; it is the only example given in the New 
 Testament of an evil deed, or act of apostasy, 
 done by any woman who professed to follow the 
 Saviour. See Acts, chap. v. 
 
 SAPPHIRA, 
 The wife of a rich merchant in Gueldres, equally 
 distinguished for her beauty and virtue. Rhins- 
 auld, a German oflScer, and governor of the town 
 of Gueldres, became enamoured of her, and finding 
 promises and presents ineffectual, imprisoned her 
 husband, pretending that he kept up a traitorous 
 correspondence with the enemies of the state. 
 Sapphira yielded to the passion of the governor, 
 to obtain the promised release of her husband; 
 but Rhinsauld had given private orders for his 
 execution. Sapphira complained to Charles, duke 
 of Burgundy, who ordered Rhinsauld to marry 
 her, and make over to her all his possessions. As 
 soon as this ■^'as done, Charles ordered him to be 
 put to death. Thus the children of a wife whom 
 he had seduced, and a husband whom he had 
 murdered, inherited his wealth. This happened 
 in the fifteenth century. 
 
 SCALA, 
 Alexandka, was daughter of Bartholemi Scala, 
 an Italian, eminent as a statesman and man of 
 letters in the fifteenth century, and was a very 
 accomplished woman. She became the wife of 
 the celebrated MaruUus, whose avowed reason for 
 marrying her was to become perfect in the Latin 
 tongue. Nevertheless, she was not only a learned, 
 but an excellent and a beautiful woman. She was 
 often praised by Politian in Greek. She died in 
 1506. Marullus wrote several poems in her praise. 
 
 SELVAGGIA, RICCIARDA, 
 Was of a noble family of Pistoia, and beloved 
 byCino, a famous scholar and poet of the four- 
 teenth century. The parents of Ricciarda were 
 haughty, and though she returned the love of the 
 young poet, it was unknown to her family. At 
 length her father, who belonged to the faction of 
 the Bianchi, was banished, with his family, from 
 Pistoia, by the faction of the Neri. They took 
 refuge in a little fortress among the Apennines, 
 where they suffered severe privations. Cino hast> 
 ened to comfort them, and the parents now re- 
 ceived him gladly ; but Ricciarda drooped xmder 
 the pressure of anxiety and want, and died in a 
 
 few months. Her parents and her lover buried 
 her in a nook among the mountains ; and many 
 years afterwards, when Cino had been crowned 
 with wreaths and honours, he made a pilgrimage 
 to her tomb. Ricciarda, or Selvaggia, as she is 
 usually called, possessed poetical talents which 
 were then considered of a high order. Some of her 
 " Madrigals" are now extant; but her chief fame 
 rests on being the beloved of Cino. In the history 
 of Italian poetry, Selvaggia is distinguished as the 
 "bel numero una," the fair number one of the 
 four celebrated women of the fourteenth century. 
 The others were Dante's Beatrice, Petrarch's 
 Laura, and Boccaccio's Fiammetta. 
 
 SENENA, or SINA, 
 Wife of Gryfifydh, son of Llewellyn, prince of 
 North Wales. Gryffydh having been supplanted 
 and imprisoned by his younger brother, David, 
 Senena, a woman of spirit and address, in concert 
 with the bishop of Bangor, and many of the Welsh 
 nobility, entered into a treaty with Henry III. of 
 England, hoping to interest him in her husband's 
 cause. She managed the business so well that she 
 induced Henry to demand Grylfydh of his brother, 
 who gave him up, but, at the same time, infused 
 such suspicions of Gryffydh into the breast of 
 Henry, that he confined him in the Tower of Lon- 
 don. After two years' imprisonment, Gryffydh 
 was killed, by a fall, while attempting to escape, 
 in the presence of his wife and son, who shared 
 his captivity, 1244. This son afterwards became 
 joiot sovereign of Wales, with his brother. 
 
 SETON, 
 
 Lady, was the wife of Sir Alexander Seton, 
 who was acting-governor of Berwick-upon-Tweed, 
 at the time that important fortress was besieged 
 by Edward III. The garrison, being reduced to 
 a scarcity of provisions, proposed to surrender 
 upon the terms that there should be an armistice 
 of five days, and if in that interval the town and 
 castle should not be relieved by two hundred men- 
 at-arms, or by battle, they should be given up to 
 Edward ; the lives and property of the inhabitants 
 to be protected. The eldest son of Sir Alexander 
 Seton was one of the hostages delivered by the 
 Soots for the performance of the conditions : the 
 younger son of Seton was also a prisoner in Ed- 
 ward's hands, having been taken in a sally. 
 
 No sooner had Edward obtained the hostages, 
 than he insisted on the immediate surrender of 
 the town, threatening Sir Alexander, that if he 
 refused, his two sons should immediately be hung 
 in front of the ramparts. The governor was thun- 
 derstruck, and, in his agony, was on the point of 
 sacrificing his country's honour to his paternal 
 tenderness, when he was roused and supported in 
 his duty by his wife, the mother of these two sons. 
 Lady Seton came suddenly forward, and called 
 upon her husband to stand firm to his honour and 
 his country. She represented, that if the savage 
 monarch did really put his threat into execution, 
 they should become the most wretched of parents, 
 but their sons -wovld have died nobly for their 
 country, and they themselves could wear out life 
 
 142 
 
SP 
 
 su 
 
 in sorrow for their loss ; tut, that if he abandoned 
 his honour, their king, their country, their con- 
 sciences, nay, their sons themselves, would regard 
 them -with contempt; and that they should not 
 only be miserable, but entail lasting disgrace on 
 those they sought to save. Never did Spartan or 
 Boman matron plead with the eloquence of the 
 most exalted virtue, more forcibly against the 
 weakness of her own and her husband's mind. 
 And when she saw, across the water, preparations 
 actually making for the death of her sons, and 
 beheld her husband, at the dreadful spectacle, 
 again giving way, she drew him from the horrid 
 scene, and thus saved his honour, though at the 
 sacrifice of their children. The tyrant put them 
 to death. This was in July, 1332. 
 
 SFORZA, 
 
 BiANOA Maeia Visconti, was the natural child 
 of Filippo Visconti ; and, being his only daughter, 
 ahe was legitimated, and apportioned with the 
 dowry of a princess; and, in 1441, she was mar- 
 ried to Francesco Sforza, duke of Milan. She 
 was then fifteen years of age, and distinguished 
 among all the ladies of the court for beauty and 
 elegance. The duchess, though not of a race emi- 
 nent for piety, had always an inclination for pro- 
 moting religious institutions ; by her influence 
 over her husband, who loved her passionately, she 
 was now in a situation to gratify her pious wishes. 
 She placed the first stone in the temple of St. Ag- 
 nes, in Milan ; and, nine years afterwards, erected 
 the church of St. Nicolas, and founded the monas- 
 tery of Corpo Cristo, in Cremona. But her most 
 useful and greatest establishment was the grand 
 hospital of Milan, a magnificent edifice, which she 
 caused to be begun in 1456, but which was not 
 completed until 1797. After the death of her 
 husband, she was regent for her son, Galeazzo. 
 In her administration she exhibited the utmost 
 strictness, good sense, and political ability. Her 
 son, when arrived at manhood, ungratefully for- 
 getting all he owed to her care and prudence, ren- 
 dered his conduct so distasteful to her, by his ar- 
 rogance and rudeness, that she retired to an estate 
 
 she possessed at Marignard, where she began a 
 plan of life to be pursued in good works and pious 
 duties ; when a sudden death terminated her ex- 
 istence, at the age of forty-two, in the year 
 1468. 
 
 SFOEZA, 
 
 Ipolita, wife of Alphonso II., king of Naples. 
 Born at Milan, 1445 ; died, 1488. She understood 
 the classical languages; and Lascari wrote a 
 grammar for her, in Greek. Argelatti declares 
 that she wrote Latin with consummate elegance. 
 
 In the Ambrosian Library, at Milan, are pre- 
 served two orations, in Latin, spoken by her in 
 Mantua, to pope Pius II. In the monastery of 
 Santa Croce is to be seen an autograph manuscript 
 of a codex to Cicero's treatise De Senectute, in 
 which she has produced striking thoughts in a 
 finished style of expression. 
 
 SHORE, 
 
 Jane, the celebrated mistress of Edward IV., 
 king of England, was the wife of Matthew Shore, 
 a goldsmith in Lombard-street, London. She is 
 represented as extremely beautiful, cheerful, and 
 very generous. She never used her great influ- 
 ence over the king to the prejudice of any one, 
 but in favour of the unfortunate. After his death, 
 she attached herself to Lord Hastings ; and when 
 he was executed by Richard III., Jane Shore was 
 also arrested on the accusation of witchcraft; 
 however, she was only condemned to a public 
 penance as an adulteress, and the loss of her pro- 
 perty. Sir Thomas More saw her in the reign of 
 Henry VIII., poor, old, and shrivelled, without 
 the least trace of her former beauty. The popu- 
 lar tradition of her dying of hunger in a ditch, is 
 untrue. 
 
 SOPHIA, 
 
 Op Hispali, was a Spanish-Arabian lady, cele- 
 brated for her poetry and oratory. She died in 
 1039. None of her writings are now extant. She 
 had a sister, Maria, who was also a poet and a 
 learned lady. 
 
 SULPITIA, 
 
 A Roman poetess, who lived in the reign of 
 Domitian, in the first century after Christ. She 
 has been called the Roman Sappho. There are 
 none of her writings left but a fragment of a satire 
 against Domitian, who published a decree for the 
 banishment of the philosophers from Rome. This 
 satire has usually been printed at the end of the 
 Satires of Juvenal, to whom it has been sometimes 
 falsely attributed. From the invocation, it would 
 seem that she was the author of many other 
 poems, and the first Roman lady who taught her 
 sex to vie with the Greeks in poetry. Her lan- 
 guage is easy and elegant, and she appears to 
 have had a ready talent for satire. She is men- 
 tioned by Martial and Sidonius ApoUinaris, and 
 is said to have addressed to her husband Calenus, 
 who was a Roman knight, " A Poem on Conjugal 
 Love." The thirty-fifth epigram in Martial's 
 
 143 
 
su 
 
 SY 
 
 tenth book refers to her poem on conjugal 
 
 love : 
 
 " Omnea Sulpiciam legant puelliB, 
 CJrli quEe cupiant viro placere. 
 Omnes Sulpiciam legant mariti, 
 Uni qui cupianl placere nuptaj." 
 
 SURVILLE, 
 
 Margueeite Eleonoee Clotilde de, of the 
 noble family of Vallon Chalya, was the wife of 
 Berenger de Surville, and lived in those disastrous 
 times which immediately succeeded the battle of 
 Agiucourt. She was born in 1405, and educated 
 in the court of the count de Foix, where she gave 
 an early proof of literary and poetical talent, by 
 translating, when eleven years old, one of Pe- 
 trarch's Canzoni, with a harmony of style wonder- 
 ful, not only for her age, but for the time in which 
 she lived. At the age of sixteen, she married the 
 Chevalier de Surville, then, like herself, in the 
 bloom of youth, and to whom she was passionately 
 attached. In those days no man of high standing, 
 who had a feeling for the misery of his country, 
 or a hearth and home to defend, could avoid taking 
 an active part in the scenes of barbarous strife 
 around him ; and De Surville, shortly after his 
 marriage, followed his heroic sovereign, Charles 
 Vn., to the field. During his absence, his wife 
 addressed to him the most beautiful effusions of 
 conjugal tenderness to be found in the compass 
 of poetry. 
 
 Clotilda has entitled her first epistle " Heroide 
 a mon ^poux Berenger;" and as it is dated in 1422, 
 she could not have been more than seventeen when 
 it was written. The commencement recalls the 
 superscription of the first letter of Heloise to 
 Abelard. 
 
 ^'Clotilde, au sien ami, douce mande accolade! 
 
 A Bon epouK, salut, respect, amour ! 
 Ah, tandis qu'eploriSe et de ccour si maladc, 
 
 'J'e quier la nuit, te redemande au jour — 
 Que deviens ? oil cours tu ? Lion de ta bien-aimee, 
 
 Oil les destins, entrainent done tea pas ? 
 'Faut que le dise, helas ! s'en crois la renommfee 
 
 De bien long temps ne te reverrai pas?" 
 
 'Among some other little poems, which place the 
 conjugal and maternal character of Clotilde in a 
 most charming light, one deserves notice for its 
 tender and heartfelt beauty. • It is entitled "Bal- 
 lade a mon premier n^," and is addressed to her 
 child, apparently in the absence of its father. 
 
 *' O clier enfantelet, vrai portrait de ton p6re ! 
 
 Dors sur le sein que ta boucbe a press6 ! 
 Dors petit !— clos, ami, sur le sein de ta mere, 
 
 Tien doux jEillet, par le_ somme oppress6. 
 Bel ami — ch6r petit ! que ta pupille tendre, 
 
 Gome un sommcil que plus n'est fait pour moi ; 
 Je veille pour te voir, te nourrir, te defendre, 
 
 Ainz qu'il est doux ne veiller que pour toi !" 
 
 Contemplating him asleep, she says, 
 
 " N'etait ce teint fleuri des couleurs de la pomme, 
 Ne le diriez vous dans les bras de la mort ?" 
 
 Then, shuddering at the idea she had conjured up, 
 she breaks forth into a passionate apostrophe to 
 her sleeping child. 
 
 " Arr^te, clier enfant ! j'en ti6mis totite entidre — 
 Reveille toi ! cbassed un fatal propos! 
 
 Mon fila pour un moment— ah revois la luniiSre ! 
 
 Au prix du tien, rends-moi tout mon r^pos! 
 
 Douce erreur ! il dormait .... c'est, assez, je respire. 
 
 Songes legers, flattez son doux sommeil 
 Ah ! quand verrai celui pour qui mon cceur soupire, 
 
 Au miens cot6s jouir de son r6veil ? 
 ***** 
 duand reverrai eelul dont as recu la vie? 
 
 Mon jeune gpoux, le plus beau des humains 
 Oui — d6ja crois voir ta mere, aux cieux ravie, 
 
 (^ue tends vers lui tes innocentes mains. 
 Comme jra se duisant a ta premiere caresse! 
 
 Au miens baisers com' t'ira disputant! 
 Ainz ne compte, a toi seul, d'6pujser sa tendresae, — 
 
 A sa Clotilde en garde bien autant !" 
 
 Her husband, count de Surville, closed his brief 
 career of happiness and glory (and what more 
 than these could he have asked of heaven ?) at the 
 siege of Orleans, where he fought under the ban- 
 ner of Joan of Arc. He was a gallant and a loyal 
 knight ; so were hundreds of others who then 
 strewed the desolated fields of France: and De 
 Surville had fallen undistinguished amid the gen- 
 eral havoc of all that was noble and brave, if the 
 love and genius of his wife had not immortalized 
 him. 
 
 Clotilde, after her loss, resided in the ch§,teau 
 of her husband, in the Lyonnois, devoting herself 
 to literature and the education of her son ; and it 
 is very remarkable, considering the times in which 
 she lived, that she neither married again, nor 
 entered a religious house. The fame of her poe- 
 tical talents, which she continued to cultivate in 
 her retirement, rendered her at length an object 
 of celebrity and interest. The duke of Orleans 
 happened one day to repeat some of her verses to 
 Margaret of Scotland, the first wife of Louis XI. ; 
 and that accomplished patroness of poetry and 
 poets wrote her an invitation to attend her at 
 court; which Clotilde modestly declined. The 
 queen then sent her, as a token of her admiration 
 and friendship, a wreath of laurel, surmounted 
 with a bouquet, of daisies, (Marguerites, in allusion 
 to the name of both,) the leaves of which were 
 wrought in silver and the flowers in gold, with 
 this inscription : " Marguirite d'Ecosse d, Marguirite 
 d'JSelicon." We are told that Alain Chartier, en- 
 vious, perhaps, of these distinctions, wrote a sati- 
 rical quatrain, in which he accused Clotilde of 
 being deficient in I'air de cour; and that she 
 replied to him, and defended herself, in a very 
 spirited rondeau. Nothing more is known of the 
 life of this interesting woman, but that she, had 
 the misfortune to survive her son as well as her 
 husband ; and dying at the advanced age of ninety, 
 in 1495, she was buried with them in the same 
 tomb. 
 
 SYBELLA, 
 Wife of Robert of Normandy, son of William 
 the Conqueror, lived in the twelfth century. Her 
 husband was wounded by a poisoned arrow, and, 
 while he slept, Sybella applied her lips to the 
 wound, and drew forth the venom, which soon 
 caused her death. 
 
 SYMPHOROSA, 
 A Rohan matron, living in the reign of Trajan, 
 embraced the Christian faith with her seven sons. 
 During Trajan's persecution of the Christians, about 
 
 144 
 
TE 
 
 TE 
 
 the j'ear 108, Symphrosa was ordered to sacrifice 
 to the heathen deities. Refusing to comply with 
 this command, she and her sons were cruelly put 
 to death. Many other women suffered death in 
 this persecution for the same cause. 
 
 TENDA, 
 Beatrice, was horn in 1370, in a castle erected 
 in a valley which opens to the north of the cele- 
 brated Col di Tenda. Her progenitors were counts 
 Lascari di Ventimiglia, sovereigns of a large pro- 
 vince in the maritime region of the Alps, and 
 more properly were called counts di Tenda. How 
 or why Beatrice was given in marriage to the 
 celebrated condottier, Facino Cane, cannot now be 
 ascertained. Probably her family constrained her 
 to this union. By him she was, however, always 
 treated with the greatest consideration and re- 
 spect ; his glories and treasures were divided with 
 her ; and while his wife, she received sovereign 
 honours, and by her gentle influence she miti- 
 gated the natural cruelty of his disposition. The 
 elevation of Facino Cane was owing to these cir- 
 cumstances. The viscount's family had rendered 
 their sovereignty odious throughout Lombardy by 
 a course of crimes and oppressions beyond endu- 
 rance. In their domestic relations assassinations 
 and poisonings were frequent ; towards their sub- 
 jects they were cruel and unjust ; and towards 
 other princes their outrageous violations of the 
 most solemn treaties seemed to render an alliance 
 with them impossible. Things had arrived at such 
 a point, that at the death of duke Giovanni, all 
 classes were determined to put an end to their 
 dominion. The principal captains of the provinces 
 assembled, and elected the most distinguished of 
 their leaders, Facino Cane, to be at the head of a 
 new government. He, a very warlilse and unscru- 
 pulous man, soon rendered himself master of the 
 state of Milan ; and to the power he would doubt- 
 less soon have added the title of duke, had not 
 
 death taken him off in the midst of his glory and 
 conquests. 
 
 He left every possession in the hands of his 
 widow ; and from this state of things the viscount's 
 faction evolved a plan for re-obtaining their former 
 dignities. The heir of that house, Filippo Visconti, 
 lived in seclusion ; he was brought forward, and 
 by various manoeuvres familiar to politicians, ii 
 marriage was effected between him and Beatrice di 
 Tenda. By this connection she resigned the trea- 
 sures, the fortresses, the army of Facino Cane, and 
 by these means he obtained an easy conquest over 
 the various little rulers of the neighbourhood ; 
 and, building on the foundation erected by Facino, 
 achieved a state more extended and powerful than 
 had been enjoyed by his predecessors. A curious 
 result of perverse sentiments arose from this ; the 
 more he felt that the valour and conduct of Facino 
 had contributed to his grandeur, the plainer he 
 perceived that these qualities eclipsed all that the 
 Visoonts could boast of, the more he hated anj' 
 allusion to the brave condottier; and he felt a 
 growing aversion to Beatrice as the widow of this 
 man, and as the person to whom his own elevation 
 was owing. Besides, she was twenty years older 
 than he ; and though she was still handsome, and 
 eminently endowed with accomplishments and 
 mental charms, his inclinations were fixed upon a 
 young girl named Agnes de Maino. At first his 
 hate manifested itself in neglect and contumelious 
 treatment. Beatrice, who had been in the time 
 of Facino the adored object of every attention, 
 the cynosure of all eyes, was now exposed to jeers, 
 and left to solitude. To amuse her dreary hours, 
 she sought to draw around her the society of some 
 persons of letters and talents, and among whom was 
 Orombello, a young gentleman quite remarkable 
 for his sprightly conversation, his many acquire- 
 ments, and especially his skill in music. This in- 
 timacy with the duchess, though perfectly innocent 
 and harmless, was seized upon by Filippo as a 
 pretext for the destruction of his guiltless wife. 
 Calumnies and aspersions were followed by impri- 
 sonment ; next came the rack. Under its tortures,- 
 Orombello avowed whatever they proposed; but 
 on the firmer spirit of Beatrice torture had no 
 effect to oblige her to distort the truth. With a 
 despot and a Visconti, judgment was pronounced 
 as he ordered; and the unhappy victims were 
 condemned to be executed. Beatrice was so much 
 beloved by the people, that Filippo ordered her 
 judgment and decapitation to take place at night, 
 and in the secret dungeons of the castle, as open 
 measures might have caused a revolt. Before the 
 blow of the executioner was allowed to fall, they 
 were again cruelly submitted to the torture, an* 
 Orombello again weakly gave way. Beatrice, still 
 superior to bodily suffering, addressed him in a 
 very noble speech, which has been transmitted' 
 from an ear-witness. After reproaching him for 
 basely uttering falsehoods in that tremendous hour,. 
 she pathetically turned to Gtod, and addressed hint 
 in a solemn prayer, as the being who knew her 
 innocence, and as the sole support left to her> 
 They were buried in the court-yard without any 
 memorial. The purity and excellence of Beatric* 
 
 145 
 
TH 
 
 TH 
 
 were disputed by nobody ; and her violent death 
 was in fact a judicial murder. Her melancholy 
 story has been the theme of poets and romance 
 writers, and has been sung by the plaintive genius 
 of Bellini. 
 
 THECLA, 
 A NOBLE lady of Alexandria, in Egypt, who 
 transcribed the whole of the Bible into the Greek, 
 from the original Septuagint copy then in the Alex- 
 andrian library ; and this ancient copy is'stiU pre- 
 served, and is the celebrated Alexandrian manu- 
 .script, so often appealed to by commentators. It 
 was presented to Charles I. of England, by the 
 patriarch of Constantinople, in 1628. 
 
 THEODELTNDA, 
 Queen of the Lombards, was the daughter of 
 Garibaldo, duke of Bavaria. She was betrothed 
 to Childebert, but rejected by his mother, the 
 haughty Brunechild. She afterwards, in 589, 
 married Antari, king of the Lombards, with whom 
 she lived in great affection ; when in 590 he died, 
 not without suspicion of poison. The people were 
 very much attached to her ; but that turbulent 
 age seemed to require a stronger hand than that 
 of a young girl, to sway the rod of empire. She 
 therefore found it expedient to contract a second 
 marriage with Flavius Agilulphus, who, as her 
 husband, was invested with the ensigns of royalty 
 before a general congress at Milan. She was des- 
 tined to be a second time a widow. Agilulphus 
 died in 615. From that time she assumed the 
 government as regent, which she maintained witli 
 vigour and prosperity ; she encouraged and im- 
 proved agriculture ; endowed charitable founda- 
 tions ; and, in accordance with what the piety of 
 that age required, built monasteries. "What was 
 more extraordinary, and seems to have been rarely 
 thought of by the men sovereigns of that day, 
 she reduced the taxes, and tried to soften the 
 miseries of the inferior classes. She died in 628, 
 Ijitterly lamented by her subjects. Few men have 
 ■sxhibited powers of mind so well balanced as were 
 those of Theodelinda; and this natural sense of the 
 j ust and true fitted her for the duties of government. 
 
 THEODORA, 
 Empress of the East, the wife of Justinian, 
 famous for her beauty, intrigues, ambition, and 
 talents, and for the part she acted in the direction 
 of affairs, both in church and state, in the reign 
 of her husband. Her father was the keeper of 
 the beasts for public spectacles at Constantinople, 
 and she herself was a dancer at the theatre, and 
 a courtezan notorious for her contempt of decency, 
 before her elevation to the throne. Justinian saw 
 her on the stage, and made her his mistress during 
 the reign of his uncle Justin, whose consent he at 
 length obtained for his marriage with Theodora ; 
 and a Roman law, which prohibited the marriage 
 of the great officers of the empire with actresses, 
 was repealed in her favour. She was crowned, 
 together with Justinian, in 527 ; and the death of 
 Justin, shortly after, left her in possession of sove- 
 reign authority, through the blind partiality and 
 weakness of her imperial consort. She made use 
 of the power she had attained to raise froin obscu- 
 rity her friends and favourites, and to avenge her- 
 self of her enemies. According to Procopius, she 
 continued to indulge herself in the most degrading 
 sensuality after she became empress ; and, if the 
 disgusting detail which he gives of her crimes is 
 to be believed, seldom indeed has a brothel been 
 disgraced by scenes of more infamous profligacy 
 than those exhibited in the palace of Theodora. 
 With all her faults, however, this woman displayed 
 courage and presence of mind in circumstances of 
 difficulty and danger ; for in the alarming sedition 
 at Constantinople, in 532, her counsels animated 
 the drooping spirits of Justinian, and induced him 
 to forego his inglorious design of fleeing before 
 the rebels, who were subsequently reduced to sub- 
 jection by Belisarius. Theodora died of a cancer 
 in 548, much to the regret of her surviving hus- 
 band. 
 
 THOMA, 
 
 A Moorish Spaniard, also called Habeba of Va- 
 lencia. She wrote celebrated books on grammar 
 and jiirisprudence. She died in 1127. 
 
 THUSNELDA, 
 
 The wife of Herman, or Armin, the prince of 
 the Cherusky and conqueror of Voro. She was 
 born in the year 7 of the new era. A daughter 
 of Segest, a prince of the Cherusky, she married 
 Herman contrary to the wish of her father, who 
 was the ally and friend of the Romans. When 
 Herman took up arms in behalf of his people, she 
 did everything in her power to sustain him in his 
 arduous undertaking. One day, while Herman 
 was pursuing the enemy, Segest attacked his cas- 
 tle, where Thusnelda had been left under the care 
 of Herman's mother, and carried her off, before 
 her husband could hasten to her assistance. 
 Thusnelda remained for a while a prisoner in the 
 hands of her cruel father, who finally delivered 
 her over to the Romans, as a victim for her hus- 
 band's attempt to liberate his people. Herman 
 made several desperate attempts to rescue her, but 
 in vain ; she was carried to Rome with her little 
 
 146 
 
TO 
 
 VA 
 
 son, and nothing further was discovered of her 
 fate. 
 
 TORNABUONI, 
 LucEEZiA, of Florence, was the wife of Pietro 
 de Medici, and mother of Lorenzo the Magnificent. 
 She was a zealous promoter of literature. Under 
 her patronage, and by her encouragement, Pulci 
 published his Morgante. She wrote in Spenserian 
 stanza, or, as the Italians term it, octave rhyme — 
 " The Life of St. John," " The History of Judith," 
 of " Susanna," and of " Tobit," besides the " Life 
 of the Blessed Virgin Mary." She died, 1482. 
 
 U. 
 URRACA, or PATERNA, 
 
 Was the wife of Don Ramiro, a king of Oviedo 
 and Leon, who succeeded Don Alphonso on the 
 throne of Spain. Urraca was a very pious Catho- 
 lid, and celebrated for her zeal in contributing to 
 endow churches. She lavished rich gifts on the 
 church of St. James (Santiago,) in gratitude to 
 that saint for the assistance he rendered the Chris- 
 tians against the Moors at the battle of Clavjo, 
 where he is said to have appeared, armed cap-a- 
 pie, mounted on a white charger, and bearing a 
 white banner, with a red cross embroidered in the 
 centre. This is the origin of invoking this patron 
 saint on the eve of battle, and of the war-cry, of 
 " Santiago y cierra Espaila" — St. James and close 
 Spain! Dona Urraca died in 861, and was buried 
 by the side of her husband, who had died in 831, 
 in the church of St. Mary, in Oviedo. 
 
 URGULANIA, 
 A RoM.\N lady, was a favourite of the empress 
 Livia, mother of Tiberius. So insolent did she 
 grow upon this, that she refused to go to the Se- 
 nate to give in her evidence, and therefore the 
 prsetor was obliged to repair to her house to exa- 
 mine her. Lucius Piso sued her for a debt, and 
 Urgulania withdrew to the emperor's palace, re- 
 fusing to appear ; but Piso proceeded in his suit ; 
 and, although Tiberius promised his mother that 
 he would solicit the judges in favour of Urgulania, 
 Livia was at length obliged to have the sum which 
 Piso claimed paid to him. 
 
 URGULANILLA, 
 GE.4ND-DAUGHTER of Urgulania, was married to 
 the emperor Claudius, before he was raised to the 
 empire. He had by her a son and daughter. 
 Claudius repudiated Urgulanilla on account of her 
 bad reputation, and her being suspected of mur- 
 der. In that age of crime, it was a mark of her 
 discretion or innocence when no murder was proven 
 against her. 
 
 V. 
 
 VALADA, 
 A Moorish Spaniard, daughter of king Almos- 
 takeph, of Corduba, was greatly skilled in polite 
 learning. She more than once contended with 
 
 scholars noted for their learning, and always liore 
 away the palm. She died in 1091. 
 
 VALENTINE, 
 
 Or Milan, daughter of John Galeas, duke of 
 Milan, and of Isabelle, the youngest of the ten 
 children of John II. of France, married, in 1389, 
 Louis, duke of Orleans, brother of Charles VI. of 
 France. She was a beautiful and accomplished 
 woman, and appears, in the midst of that disas- 
 trous epoch in French history, like an angel of 
 goodness and beauty. The first few years that 
 Valentine passed in France, were spent in the 
 midst of festivals, and all kinds of amusements. 
 Although her husband was unfaithful to her, he 
 surrounded her with all splendour and luxury 
 suited to her rank and station. She occupied her- 
 self principally in taking care of her children, 
 and in literary pursuits, for which she, as well as 
 her husband, had a decided taste. 
 
 The insanity of her brother-in-law, Charles VI., 
 affected Valentine deeply, and she exerted herself 
 to the utmost to calm his paroxysms, and console 
 him for the negligence of his wife. Charles, in 
 his turn, became very much attached to her ; he 
 called her his well-beloved sister, went every day 
 to see her, and in the midst of his ravings could 
 always be controlled by her. Her power over the 
 unhappy monarch seemed to the ignorant populace 
 so supernatural, that she was accused of using 
 sorcery, and, to prevent disagreeable consequences, 
 her husband sent her, in 1895, to the duchy of 
 Orleans. 
 
 This exile, so painful to Valentine, terminated 
 in 1898, when she was recalled to Paris ; after 
 this time she lived principally at Blois, superin- 
 tending the education of her sons, till the death 
 of Louis d'Orleans, who was assassinated by the 
 duke of Burgundy, in 1407. Unable to avenge 
 his death, she died of a broken heart, in 1408, 
 aged thirty-eight, recommending to her children, 
 and to John, count of Dunois, the natural son of 
 her husband, the vindication of their father's 
 reputation and glory. 
 
 VALERIA, 
 Daughtek of the emperor Dioclesian, who had 
 abdicated the throne in 305, was married to Ga- 
 lerius, on his being created Coesar, about 292. 
 Galerius became emperor of Rome in 305, and 
 died in 311. He recommended Valeria, and his 
 natural son Candidien, whom he had caused Va- 
 leria to adopt, as he had no other, to Licinius, his 
 friend, whom he had raised to be emperor. Va- 
 leria was rich and beautiful, and Licinius wished 
 to marry her ; but Valeria, to avoid this, fled from 
 the court of Licinius, with her mother Prisca and 
 Candidien, and took refuge with Maximin, one of 
 the other emperors. He had already a wife and 
 children, and as the adopted son of Galerius, had 
 been accustomed to regard Valeria as his mother. 
 But her beauty and wealth tempted him, and he 
 offered to divorce his present wife if she would 
 take her place. Valeria replied, " That still wear- 
 ing the garb of mourning, she could not think of 
 marriage ; that Maximin should remember his 
 
 147 
 
VA 
 
 WO 
 
 father, the husband of Valeria, Tifhose ashes were 
 not yet cold ; that he could not commit a greater 
 injustice than to diToroe a wife by whom he was 
 beloved; and that she could not flatter herself 
 with better treatment ; in fine, that it would be 
 an unprecedented thing for a woman of her rank 
 to engage in a second marriage." 
 
 This reply roused Maximin's fury. He pro- 
 scribed Valeria, seized upon her possessions, tor- 
 tured some of her ofiicers to death, and took the 
 rest away from her, banished her and her mother, 
 and caused several ladies of the court, friends of 
 theirs, to be executed on a false accusation of adul- 
 tery. Valeria, exiled to the deserts of Syria, found 
 means to inform Dioclesian of her misery ; and he 
 Bent to Maximin, desiring the surrender of his 
 daughter, but in vain : the unhappy father died of 
 grief. At length Prisca and Valeria went disguised 
 to Nicomedia, where Licinius was, and mingled 
 unknown among the domestics of Candidieu. Li- 
 cinius soon became jealous of him, and had him 
 assassinated at the age of sixteen. Valeria and 
 Prisca again fled, and for fifteen months wandered 
 in disguise through different provinces. At length 
 they were discovered and arrested in Thessalonica, 
 in 315, and were condemned to death by Licinius, 
 for no other crime than their rank and chastity. 
 They were beheaded, amidst the tears of the peo- 
 ple, and their bodies were thrown into the sea. 
 Some authors assert that they were Christians. 
 
 VARANO DI COSTANZA, 
 
 BoEN at Camerino, 1428. She had a learned 
 and literary education. Her family having lost 
 the signory of Camerino, she made a Latin ha- 
 rangue to Bianca Visconti, in order to obtain its 
 restitution. Having failed in her eloquence, she 
 wrote to the principal sovereigns of Italy to pro- 
 cure assistance, and this time her efforts re- 
 sulted successfully. At the restoration of her 
 father she addressed a large assembly in a Latin 
 oration. This erudite lady became the wife of 
 Alexander Sforza, sovereign of Pesaro. She died 
 in 1447, at the age of nineteen, leaving a son, Cos- 
 tanzo. She has left several orations and some 
 epistles. 
 
 VELEDA, or VELLEDA, 
 Was a German prophetess, who lived in the 
 country of the Bructeri in the first century. She 
 exercised a powerful influence over her own coun- 
 trymen, and the Romans regarded her with great 
 awe and dread. She was venerated as a goddess, 
 and to increase the respect with which she was 
 regarded, she lived in a high tower, allowing no 
 one to see her, and communicating her directions, 
 on the important affairs of her nation, to the peo- 
 ple, through one of her relations. She instigated 
 her countrymen to rebel against the Romans. 
 
 VICTORINA, 
 A OELEBKATED Romau matron, who placed her- 
 self at the head of the Roman armies, and made 
 wfir against the emperor Gallienus. Her son Vic- 
 torinus, and her grand-son of the same name, 
 were declared emperors, but when they were as- 
 
 sassinated, Victorina invested with the imperial 
 purple one of her favourites, called Petrioius. 
 She was some time after poisoned, in 269, and 
 according to some by Petricius himself. 
 
 VON DER WART, 
 
 Geetkude, was the wife of baron Von der Wart, 
 who was accused, in the fourteenth century, of 
 being an accomplice in the murder of Albert, em- 
 peror of Germany. There is every reason to be- 
 lieve that Von der Wart was innocent, but he was 
 condemned to be broken on the wheel ; and during 
 the whole of his sufferings, which lasted for two 
 days and nights, his wife braved the queen's anger 
 and the inclemency of the weather to watch by his 
 scafi'old, and soften, as much as possible, the 
 tortures of that agonizing death. During one of 
 the days, she saw the queen, who, in male attire, 
 and surrounded by her courtiers, rode up to see 
 how Von der Wart was bearing his sufferings. 
 The queen ordered Gertrude to be sent away, but 
 some more compassionate persons interfering, she 
 was allowed to remain. 
 
 Her own sufferings, with those of her unfortu- 
 nate husband, are most touchingly described in 
 a letter which she afterwards wrote to a female 
 friend, and which was published some years ago, 
 at Haarlam, in a book entitled, " Gertrude Von der 
 Wart, or Fidelity unto Death." Mrs. Hemans 
 wrote a poem of great pathos and beauty, com- 
 memorating this sad story. 
 
 w. 
 
 WALPURGA, or WALPURGIS, 
 A SAINT in the Roman Catholic Church, was 
 born in England, and was the sister of St. Willi- 
 bald, first bishop of Eichstadt, in Germany, and 
 niece of St. Boniface, the apostle to the Germans. 
 She went to Germany as a missionary, and was 
 made abbess of a convent at Heidenheim, in Fran- 
 conia. She was a learned woman, and wrote a 
 work in Latin, entitled, " The Travels of St. Wil- 
 libald." She died in 778, and was canonized after 
 her death by the pope. From some accidental 
 association, the night previous to the first of May 
 is called, in many parts of Germany, Walpurgis 
 night. 
 
 WOODVILLE, 
 Elizabeth, was the widow of Sir John Grey, 
 who lost his life in the battle of Bernard's Heath. 
 Edward IV. king of England, married her, though 
 he had before demanded Bona of Savoy, sister to 
 the queen of France, in marriage. The story of 
 the courtship and marriage of this beautiful wo- 
 man is like a romance ; how king Edward first 
 saw her, when, clad in the deepest weeds of widow- 
 hood, she threw herself at his feet and pleaded for 
 the restoration of the inheritance of her fatherless 
 sons ; how the king fell desperately in love with 
 her ; how she resisted his passion, till he offered 
 her honourable marriage ; the secresy of the es- 
 pousals ; and the grandeur of her queenly life, 
 
 148 
 
ZA 
 
 ZE 
 
 with the wretchedness of her lot after the death 
 of Edward, are all like scenes in a highly-wrought 
 fiction. The effect of the ill-assorted marriage 
 was soon apparent on the fortunes of Edward. It 
 made the French king, and also the earl of War- 
 wick, his enemy. The queen's happiness was 
 embittered by Edward's infidelity. After the 
 death of Edward, in 1483, her two sons were 
 murdered by their uncle Richard III., who had 
 usurped the crown. After the battle of Bosworth, 
 where Kiohard was defeated and killed by Henry, 
 earl of Richmond, afterwards Henry VII., the 
 conqueror married Elizabeth, the daughter of 
 Edward IV. and Elizabeth, thus uniting the 
 houses of York and Lancaster. 
 
 Elizabeth took a third husband, Lord Stanley. 
 She died in the convent of Bermondsey, where her 
 son-in-law, Henry VII., had provided an asylum 
 for her years and misfortunes. The daughter of 
 Elizabeth, then queen of England, attended her 
 death-bed, and paid her grand-mother every at- 
 tention. 
 
 ZAIDA, 
 A Moorish princess, daughter of Benabet, king 
 of Seville, married Alfonso VI., king of Castile 
 and Leon. Zaida is said to have been induced to 
 adopt the Christian faith by a dream, in which St. 
 Isodorus appeared to her and persuaded her to 
 become a convert. Her father, when she ac- 
 quainted him with the resolution she had formed, 
 made no objections ; but fearful it might cause 
 discontent among his subjects, he allowed her to 
 escape to Leon. Thither she fled ; the Christian 
 sovereigns instructed her in the new creed, and 
 had her baptized Isabel ; or, as some assert, Mary. 
 Zaida subsequently became the third wife of Al- 
 fonso, the king; though Pelagius, the bishop of 
 Oviedo, denies that she was married to that sove- 
 reign, asserting she was only his mistress. She 
 bore the king one son, Don Sancho, and died soon 
 afterwards, near the close of the eleventh century. 
 
 ZENOBIA SEPTIMIA, 
 Queen of Palmyra, was a native of Syria, and 
 a descendant of the Ptolemies. She was cele- 
 
 brated for her beauty, the melody of her voice, 
 her mental talents, literary acquirements, and her 
 distinguished heroism and valour, as well as her 
 modesty and chastity. " Her manly understand- 
 ing," says Gibbon, " was strengthened and adorned 
 by study. She was not ignorant of the Latin 
 tongue, and possessed in equal excellence the 
 Greek, the Syriac, and the Egyptian languages ; 
 she had drawn up, for her own use, an epitome 
 of Oriental history, and familiarly compared the 
 beauties of Homer and Plato, under the tuition of 
 the sublime Longinus." 
 
 She married Odenatus, a Saracen prince, who 
 had raised himself from a private station to the 
 dominion of the East ; and she delighted in those 
 exercises of war and the chase to which he was 
 devoted. She often accompanied her husband on 
 long and toilsome marches, on horseback or on 
 foot, at the head of his troops; and many of his 
 victories have been ascribed to her skill and 
 valour. 
 
 Odenatus was assassinated, with his son Herod, 
 by his nephew Maronius, about the year 267, in 
 revenge for a punishment Odenatus had inflicted 
 on him. Maronius then- seized upon the throne ; 
 but he had hardly assumed the sovereign title, 
 when Zenobia, assisted by the friends of her hus- 
 band, wrested the government from him, and put 
 him to death. For five years she governed Pal- 
 myra and the East with vigour and ability; so 
 that by her success in warlike expeditions, as well 
 as by the wisdom and firmness of her administra- 
 tion, she aggrandized herself in Asia, and her 
 authority was recognized in Cappadocia, Bithynia, 
 and Egypt. She united with the popular manners 
 of a Roman princess, the stately pomp of the 
 Oriental courts, and styled herself " Queen of the 
 East." She attended, herself, to the education of 
 her three sons, and frequently showed them to her 
 troops, adorned with the imperial purple. 
 
 When Aurelian succeeded to the Roman empire, 
 dreading the power of such a rival, and deter- 
 mined to dispossess her of some of the rich pro- 
 vinces under her dominion, he marched, at the 
 head of a powerful army, into Asia ; and, having 
 defeated the queen's general, Zabdas, near An- 
 tioch, Zenobia retreated to Emessa, whither she 
 was pursued by Aurelian. Under the walls of 
 that city, another engagement, commanded and 
 animated by Zenobia herself, took place, in which 
 the emperor was again victorious. The unfor- 
 tunate queen withdrew the relics of her forces to 
 Palmyra, her capital, where she was pursued by 
 Aurelian. Having closely invested the city, he 
 found the besieged made a most spirited resistance. 
 
 It was after he had been wounded by an arrow, 
 that he wrote his memorable letter to the senate 
 of Rome, defending himself from the charge of 
 protracting the siege unnecessarily. 
 
 "The Roman people," says Aurelian, "speak 
 with contempt of the war I am waging against a 
 woman. They are ignorant both of the character 
 and of the power of Zenobia. It is impossible to 
 enumerate her warlike preparations of stones, of 
 arrows, and every species of missile weapons. 
 Every part of the walls is provided with two or 
 
 149 
 
ZE 
 
 ZO 
 
 three baliatse, and artificial fires are throTfn from 
 her military engines. The fear of punishment 
 has armed her with a desperate courage. Yet 
 still I trust in the protecting deities of Eome, who 
 have hitherto been favourable to all my under- 
 takings." 
 
 But though Aurelian appeared confident of final 
 success, yet he found the conquest of Palmyra so 
 difficult that he proposed very advantageous offers 
 to Zenobia, if she would submit and surrender the 
 the city. She rejected his terms, in the following 
 haughty letter, addressed to the emperor himself: 
 
 "It is not by writing, but by arms, that the 
 submission you require from me can be obtained. 
 You have dared to propose my surrender to your 
 prowess. You forget that Cleopatra preferred 
 death to servitude. The Saracens, the Persians, 
 the Armenians, are marching to my aid ; and how 
 are you to resist our united forces, who have been 
 more than once scared by the plundering Arabs 
 of the desert ? When you shall see me march at 
 the head of my allies, you will not repeat an inso- 
 lent proposition, as though you were already my 
 conqueror and master." 
 
 Whatever may be thought of the prudence of 
 this reply, the courage and patriotism of the queen 
 are shown to be of the highest order. She super- 
 scribed this daring epistle, " Zenobia, Queen of 
 the East, to Aurelian Augustus." 
 
 It was her last triumph. She held out a long 
 time, expecting aid from her allies ; but the dis- 
 turbed state of the country, and the bribes of Au- 
 relian, prevented their arrival. After protracting 
 the siege as long as possible, Zenobia, determined 
 not to surrender, mounted one of the swiftest of 
 her dromedaries, and hastened towards the Eu- 
 phrates, with a view of seeking an asylum in the 
 Persian territories. But being overtaken in her 
 fiight, she was brought back to Aurelian, who 
 sternly demanded of her, how she dared to resist 
 the emperors of Rome. She replied, "Because I 
 could not recognise as such, Gallienus and others 
 like him ; you, alone, I acknowledge as my con- 
 queror and my sovereign." 
 
 At Emessa, the fate of Zenobia was submitted 
 to the judgment of a tribunal, at which Aurelian 
 presided. Hearing the soldiers clamouring for 
 her death, Zenobia, according to Zosimus, weakly 
 purchased her life, with the sacrifice of her well- 
 earned fame, by attributing the obstinacy of her 
 resistance to the advice of her ministers. It is 
 certain that these men were put to death ; and as 
 Zenobia was spared, it was conjectured her accu- 
 sations drew down the vengeance of the emperor 
 on the heads of her counsellors ; but the fact has 
 never been proven. One of the victims of this 
 moment of cowardice, was the celebrated Lon- 
 ginus, who calmly resigned himself to his fate, 
 pitying his unhappy mistress, and comforting his 
 aiilicted friends. He was put to death in 273. 
 
 Zenobia, reserved to grace the triumph of Aure- 
 lian, was taken to Eome, which she entered on 
 foot, preceding a magnificent chariot, designed by 
 her, in the days of her prosperity, for a triumphal 
 entry into Eome She was bound by chains of 
 
 gold, supported by a slave, and so loaded with 
 jewels, that she almost fainted under their weight. 
 
 She was afterwards treated more humanely by 
 the victor, who presented her an elegant residence 
 near the Tiber, about twenty miles from Eome, 
 where she passed the rest of her life as a Eoman 
 matron, emulating the virtues of Cornelia. Whether 
 she contracted a second marriage, with a Eoman 
 senator, as some have asserted, is uncertain. Her 
 surviving son, Vhaballat, withdrew into Armenia, 
 where he possessed a small principality, granted 
 him by the emperor ; her daughters contracted 
 noble alliances, and her family was not extinct 
 in the fifth century. She died about the year 
 300. 
 
 Zenobia had written a "History of Egypt;" 
 and, previous to her defeat by Aurelian, she inte- 
 rested herself in the theological controversies of 
 the times ; and, either from policy or principle, 
 protected Paul of Samosata, the celebrated unita- 
 tarian philosopher, whom the council of Antioch 
 had condemned. In estimating her character, it 
 may well be said that she was one of the most 
 illustrious women who have swayed the sceptre 
 of royalty; in every virtue which adorns high 
 station, as far superior to Aurelian, as soul is 
 superior to sense. But moral energy was then 
 overborne by physical force ; the era was unpro- 
 pitious for the gentle sex ; yet her triumphs and 
 her misfortunes alike display the wonderful power 
 of woman's spirit. 
 
 ZOBEIDE, or ZOEBD-EL-KHEMATIN, 
 That is, the flower of women, was the cousin 
 and wife of the celebrated caliph Haroun al Eas- 
 chid. She was a beautiful, pious, and benevolent 
 woman, and is said to have founded the city of 
 Tauris, in Persia. She is frequently mentioned 
 in the " Arabian Nights." She died in 831. 
 
 ZOE, 
 Fouhth wife of Leo VI., emperor of Constanti- 
 nople, was mother of Constantino Porphyrogeni- 
 tus, during whose minority, 912, she governed 
 with great wisdom and firmness. She crushed 
 the rebellion of Constantino Ducas, made peace 
 with the Saracens, and obEged the Bulgarians to 
 return to their own country. Though thus enti- 
 tled to the gratitude of her son and the people, 
 she was obliged, by the intrigues of the courtiers, 
 to retire to a private station, and she died in exile. 
 
 ZOE, 
 Daughtee of Constantino IX., was born in 978. 
 She married Argyrua, who succeeded her father ; 
 but she soon caused her husband to be strangled, 
 and married Michael the Paphlagonian, whom she 
 placed on the throne. She was afterwards con- 
 fined in a monastery ; but on Michael's death, in 
 her sixty-fourth year, she married Constantine 
 Monomachus. She died eight years after this 
 third marriage, in 1050. Another Zoe, daughter 
 of the Stylian, married the emperor Leo, the phi- 
 losopher, and died in less than two years after, 
 in 893. 
 
 150 
 
REMARKS ON THE THIRD ERA. 
 
 This portion of time, comprising- three hundred and fifty years, commencing with the year 1500 
 and closing in 1850, though very brief compared with the first era, and short even when measured with 
 the second, yet contains a wonderfully increased number of remembered names among the female sex. 
 Many of these have by their writings contributed greatly to the improvement of morals in literature 
 and society, and also to the progress of popular education: some have become celebrated for their 
 attainments in science arid art ; and a considerable number have " put on the whole armour of God," 
 and gone forth as messengers of good tidings to their heathen sisters, or as teachers of little children 
 in the way of righteousness. These have been the loveliest examples of true piety, manifested 
 by deeds of disinterested benevolence and Christian love, which have blest the world and uplifted 
 the heart of humanity. 
 
 We have now reached the point where woman has gained a sure foundation on which to build 
 her house, if she is wise, (see Proverbs xiv. 1st verse) : that foundation is a knowledge of the Word 
 of God. 
 
 The declaration of Jehovah to the tempter or spirit of Evil, — "7 will put enmity between thee 
 and the woman," — (which is explained at length in the Preface) may be traced in its fulfilment 
 throughout the whole course of history, profane as well as sacred. The tempter has assailed men 
 in their sensuous nature, changing what should have been the pure, protecting love, sanctified by 
 the true marriage of one man with one woman, into unholy lust, which degrades, pollutes, and destroys 
 all hope for the female sex. Licentiousness, polygamy, divorce — these are sins against woman as 
 well as against God's law, established at the Creation, reiterated in the four-fold example of those 
 saved from the "Flood ;" but which law, wicked men, instigated by the devil, have in every age of 
 the world disregarded, annulled, or broken. Therefore it is that the progress of human nature, in 
 regaining the path of righteousness, has been so slow. God helped the physical weakness of the 
 first woman by giving to her keeping, the moral destiny of her husband and children, in the hope 
 of the promised seed; thus God sanctified, by a spiritual or moral providence* the honour of the 
 mother's ofiice and the glory of the true wife. 
 
 Woman was again aided by the special providence which shortened human life, thus rendering 
 the male sex dependent on female care and training for, comparatively, a very large portion of their 
 lives. And, lastly, at the close of the first era, when the moral sense or instinct of woman was 
 nearly darkened, God sent forth his true light, constrained men to see, and thus saved the race. 
 
 Rome's last patriot was a woman, the noble-minded Agrippina. When she was starved to death, 
 by order of the brutal Tiberius, the last gleam of hope for humanity seemed fading from the world. 
 The enmity of the spirit of Evil had nearly destroyed the purity, and with it the power for good, of 
 the female. And it is worthy of note that the year when Agrippina was murdered was the very 
 year in which Jesus Christ was crucified ! But His death was followed by His glorious resurrec- 
 tion, bringing life and immortality to the knowledge of the world, and exalting woman by making 
 the virtues consonant with her nature, the rule for man also. Thus God proclaimed anew, as it 
 were, that the moral power of the world was confided to the female sex. 
 
 * I term that a moral providence, where divine interposition has evidently been exerted to advance the moral condition 
 of an individual or a people : giving the succession to Jacob : saving and training Moses ; and preserving the Jews under 
 Ahasuerus, were each and all moral providences 
 
 (151) 
 
152 REMARKS ON THE THIRD ERA. 
 
 Jesus Christ, whose life and lessons were a stern rebuke of the selfishness, licentiousness, and 
 unbelief of men, and the true witness and tender encouragement of the disinterestedness, the purity 
 or penitence, and faith of woman, Jesus Christ gave the first mission of his Gospel to his female 
 disciples. These were sent to make known to the apostles the great doctrine they were to preach 
 to all the world — that Christ was risen from the dead. (See St. Mat. xxviii. 9, 10. — St. John, xx. 
 17.) Does it not seem impossible that men, the appointed teachers of this Gospel, should ever have 
 sought to disparage and degrade the sex whose faithfulness and devotion the Saviour had thus 
 publicly honoured '} But so it has been. The Roman Catholic church degraded women, when it 
 degraded marriage by making the celibacy of the priests a condition of greater holiness than married 
 life. From this falsehood against the Word of God, came those corrupting sins which, at the close 
 of our Second Era, seemed about to dissolve the whole fabric of civilized society, and spread the 
 most polluting crimes of heathen nations over the Christian world.* How the powers of darkness 
 must have triumphed, when their machinations had drawn on their poor, deluded servants to destroy 
 the then most noble and wonderful exemplar of female purity, patriotism, and piety, the world con- 
 tained ! The fire that consumed Joan of Arc seemed to have reduced to ashes the hopes of that 
 progress in morality, which regard for its development in the female character can, humanly speaking, 
 only ensure. But God's good providence again baffled the powers of evil. In the same year, per- 
 chance at the very moment this meek martyr patriot laid down her life, there was a poor, persecuted 
 exile in Strasburg, carving those little wooden blocks, destined to open an Art which would ensure, 
 to the end of lime, the means of improvement and moral influence to the female mind. 
 
 The art of printing holds the next place to the Gospel, in the emancipation of women from the 
 power of wicked men. 
 
 When the great Reformer threw his ink-stand at the demon on the wall, he used the most potent 
 weapon of exorcism against the powers of darkness which divine Providence had then put into his 
 hands. It was by reading the Word of God that the nine nuns of Nimptsch discerned the contrast 
 between tlie Christian life, and the daily routine of the cloister. They left their superstitions and 
 returned to the duties God imposes on the sex. Among these nuns was Catharine Bora; and when 
 Luther made his declaration of uniting himself with her in the true and holy marriage ordained by 
 the Creator as the state good for man, then the Reformer gave a surety for the moral progress of 
 humanity, which the enemy of good has never been able to overcome. But this improvement is 
 only where the Bible is read, and its authority acknowledged. The Chinese nation cannot advance 
 in moral culture while their women are consigned to ignorance and imbecility : the nations of the 
 East are slaves to sensuality and sin, as well as to foreign masters ; and thus they must remain till 
 Christianity, breaking the fetters of polygamy from the female sex, shall give to. the mothers of 
 men freedom, education, and influence. 
 
 The last fifteen hundred years hardly add a leaf to our record from the life of heathendom ; 
 but the Era is remarkable for the development of genius and talent in a new race of women — 
 the Anglo-Saxon. Hitherto, the great nations of antiquity, with those of Southern and Western 
 Europe, have furnished nearly all the names recorded. Now the sceptre of female power, always 
 founded in morals, has passed to the British Island, and from thence to our United American nation. 
 The reasons are obvious. No other nations have the Bible in their homes; or the preached Gospel 
 on every Sabbath ; or a free press ; and no other nations have guaranteed the personal freedom 
 of subject and citizen. As men reach a higher standard of Christian civilization, their minds 
 are lifted up to understand the moral nature of woman ; then their estimate of her fitness to aid in 
 the great movements of humanity and religion is exalted, and the wife goes forth to help her husband 
 in the most lofty and holy mission human beings can bold, — that of conveying the light of the 
 Gospel to the world that is still in darkness. 
 
 This Third Era bears the names of illustrious queens, who have ruled their people with a wisdom 
 above that of kings ; of good and gifted women who have won the high places of genius, and per- 
 formed noble deeds of philanthropy. But the name which, concentrating the attributes of genius 
 with the excellencies of female character, brought out in the heroism of acting or sufiering in the 
 "■reatest cause, is that of Ann H. Judson. 
 
 * " Such was the almost universal corruption of the clergy during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, that the priestly 
 office had fallen into almost general disrepute: the isolated virtue of a few faithful servants of God had not sufficed to 
 redeem it from contempt. The Reformation, by abolishing the celibacy of the ecclesiastics, restored the sanctity of wed- 
 k)Ck. The marriage of the clergy put an end to an untold amount of secret profligacy. The Reformers became examples 
 to their flocks in the most endearing and important of human relationship,— and it was not long before the people rejoiced 
 to see the ministers of religion in the character of husbands and fathers."— Z)',4ii6if no's History qf the Rtformation. 
 
THIRD ERA. 
 
 FROM THE YEAR 1500 TO 1850.* 
 
 A. 
 
 ABARCA, MABIA DE, 
 
 A Spanish lady, distinguished herself, in the 
 middle of the seventeenth century, by the peculiar 
 excellence of the portraits she painted. She was 
 contemporary with Rubens and Velasquez, by whom 
 she was much esteemed. The time of her death 
 is unknown. 
 
 ABINGTON, FRANCES, 
 An eminent English actress, whose maiden name 
 was Barton, was born in 1735. Some part of her 
 earlier life she is said to have spent in great 
 poverty, and when about fifteen, she joined a com- 
 pany of strolling players. In 1752, she was en- 
 gaged at the Haymarket, London, where she was 
 received with great applause. In 1755, she mar- 
 ried Mr. James Abington, and in 1759, she left 
 London for Dublin, where she was long the chief 
 theatrical favourite. Her forte was in comedy ; 
 and as the finished lady, or romping chambermaid, 
 she was equally at home. In 1761, Mrs. Abington 
 left her husband to reside with Mr. Needham, who 
 bequeathed her part of his fortune at his death. 
 In 1799 she quitted the stage, and died at London 
 in 1815. 
 
 ACCIAIOLI, MAGDALEN, 
 A NATIVE of Florence, celebrated for her beauty 
 and genius. She was a great favourite of Chris- 
 tina, duchess of Tuscany, and wrote poems in a 
 very pleasing and elegant style. She died in 1610. 
 
 ACCORAMBONI, VITTORIA, 
 Was born in 1585, of a noble family, in Agudio, 
 a little town of the duchy of Urbino. From her in- 
 fancy, she was remarked for extraordinary beauty 
 and loveliness. Her father established his resi- 
 dence at Rome during her early youth ; there she 
 became the "cynosure" of the neighbouring no- 
 bility, as well as that of Rome. Her father mar- 
 ried her to Felice Peretti, nephew and adopted 
 son of the cardinal Montalto, afterwards Pope 
 Sixtus V. In the family of her husband she was 
 adored, and all her desires anticipated ; when, in 
 
 * Including the names of all the distinguished women 
 who are deceased. 
 
 the midst of seeming prosperity and delight, Pe- 
 retti was entrapped into a solitary situation, and 
 murdered. Rumour attributed this assassination 
 to the prince Paolo Orsini, who was madly ena- 
 moured of Vittoria; nor was she free from sus- 
 picion of having consented to this crime. She 
 certahily justified her accusers, by speedily uniting 
 herself in marriage to the prince. From this step, 
 sprang her melancholy catastrophe. Orsini was 
 not young ; he had grown enormously stout, and 
 was afilicted with complaints that menaced him 
 with sudden death. In order to provide for the 
 possible widowhood of his young wife, he made a 
 will, which, by endowing her largely, awakened 
 the cupidity and animosity of his natural heirs. 
 After his death, which happened as had been 
 anticipated, at the conclusion of an inordinate 
 feast, the duchess took possession of her inherit- 
 ance. She was not allowed to enjoy it long ; her 
 palace was entered by forty masked assassins, 
 who cruelly plunged a dagger in her heart, and 
 besides, murdered her brother, who resided with 
 her. 
 
 She takes a place among the literary women of 
 Italy, having been admired for her poetical talents 
 during her life. And there exists in the Ambro- 
 sian library at Milan, a volume of her sonnets, full 
 of grace and sentiment. 
 
 153 
 
AC 
 
 AD 
 
 ACKLAND, LADY HARRIET, 
 
 Wife of Major Ackland, an officer in that por- 
 tion of the British army in America under the com- 
 mand of General Burgoyne, accompanied her hus- 
 band to America in 1776, and was with him during 
 the disastrous campaign of 1777, which terminated 
 in Burgoyne's surrender at Saratoga. Accustomed 
 as she was to every luxury, she shrank from no 
 hardship or danger, while allowed to remain with 
 her husband ; and her gentleness and conciliatory 
 manners often softened the bitterness of political 
 animosity. 
 
 Major Ackland being taken prisoner at the 
 battle of Saratoga, Lady Harriet determined to 
 join him ; and obtaining from Burgoyne a note, 
 commending her to the protection of General 
 Gates, she set out in an open boat, during a vio- 
 lent storm, accompanied by the Rev. Mr. Brude- 
 nell, a chaplain in the British army, her own maid 
 and her husband's valet, to the American camp. 
 Here she was kindly received, and allowed to join 
 her husband. After Major Ackland's return to Eng- 
 land, he was killed in a duel, caused by his resent- 
 ing some aspersions cast on the bravery of the Bri- 
 tish soldiers in America ; and the shock of his death 
 deprived Lady Harriet of her reason for two years. 
 She afterwards married the same Mr. Brudenell 
 who had accompanied her to the camp of General 
 Gates. Lady Harriet outlived her second husband 
 many years, and died at a very advanced age. 
 
 In a work by Madame de Biedesel, who was 
 also at the battle of Saratoga, (her husband, Major 
 de Riedesel, was one of the German officers em- 
 ployed by the English government in the war 
 against the American colonies,) she makes this 
 mention of the subject of our memoir : 
 
 " Lady Ackland's tent was near ours. She 
 slept there, and spent the day in the camp. On 
 a sudden, she received the news that her husband 
 was mortally wounded, and taken prisoner. She 
 was greatly distressed ; for she was much attached 
 to him, though he was rude and intemperate ; yet 
 a good officer. She was a very lovely woman. 
 And lovely in mind, as in person." 
 
 ADAMS, ABIGAIL, 
 Wife of John Adams, second President of the 
 United States, was daughter of the Rev. William 
 Smith, minister of a Congregational church at Wey- 
 mouth, Massachusetts, and of Elizabeth Quincy. 
 She was born Nov. 22d, 1744, and, in Oct. 1767, 
 married John Adams, then a lawyer, residing at 
 Weymouth. Mr. Adams was appointed minister 
 plenipotentiary to the court of Great Britain, and, 
 in 1784, Mrs. Adams sailed from Boston to join 
 him. She returned in 1788, having passed one year 
 in France and three in England. On her husband's 
 being appointed Vice President, in 1789, she went 
 to reside at Philadelphia, then the seat of govern- 
 ment, with him; as she also did when he was 
 chosen President, in 1797. After Mr. Adams' de- 
 feat, in 1800, they retired to Quincy, where Mrs. 
 Adams died, Oct. 28th, 1818. Her letters to her 
 son, John Quincy Adams, were very much admired. 
 She was a woman of true greatness and elevation 
 
 of mind, and, whether in public or private life, 
 she always preserved the same dignified and tran- 
 quil demeanour. As the mistress of a household, 
 she united the prudence of a rigid economist with 
 the generous spirit of a liberal hospitality ; faith- 
 ful and affectionate in her friendships, bountiful 
 to the poor, kind and courteous to her dependants, 
 cheerful, and charitable in the intercourse of social 
 life with her neighbours and acquaintances, she 
 lived in the habitual practice of benevolence, and 
 sincere, unaffected piety. In her family relations, 
 few women have left a pattern more worthy of 
 imitation by her sex. 
 
 Her letters have been collected, and, with a Bi- 
 ographical Sketch by her grand-son, Charles F. 
 Adams, were published some years since. We will 
 give a few extracts, first, from a letter to her son, 
 John Quincy Adams, the sixth President of the 
 United States. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 "Your father's letters came to Salem, yours to 
 Newburyport, and soon gave ease to my anxiety, 
 at the same time that it excited gratitude and 
 thankfulness to Heaven, for the preservation you 
 all experienced in the imminent dangers which 
 threatened you. You express, in both your let- 
 ters, a degree of thankfulness. I hope it amounts 
 to more than words, and that you will never be 
 insensible to the particular preservation you have 
 experienced in both your voyages. You have seen 
 how inadequate the aid of man would have been, 
 if the winds and the seas had not been under 
 the particular government of that Being, who 
 ' stretched out the heavens as a span,' who 'hold- 
 eth the ocean in the hollow of his hand,' and 
 'rideth upon the wings of the wind.' 
 
 " If you have a due sense of your preservation, 
 your next consideration will be, for what purpose 
 you are continued in life. It is not to rove from 
 clime to clime, to gratify an idle curiosity ; but 
 every new mercy you receive is a new debt upon 
 you, a new obligation to a diligent discharge of 
 the various relations in which you stand connected ; 
 in the first place, to your great Preserver ; in the 
 next, to society in general ; in particular, to your 
 country, to your parents, and to yourself. 
 
 154 
 
AD 
 
 AD 
 
 " The only sure and permanent foundation of vir- 
 tue is religion. Let this important truth be en- 
 graven upon your heart. And also, that the foun- 
 dation of religion is the belief of the one only 
 God, and a just sense of his attributes, as a being 
 iniinitely -wise, just, and good, to whom you owe 
 the highest reverence, gratitude, and adoration; 
 who superintends and governs all nature, even to 
 clothing the lilies of the field, and hearing the 
 young ravens when they cry ; but more particu- 
 larly regards man, whom he created after his own 
 image, and breathed into him an immortal spirit, 
 capable of a happiness beyond the grave ; for the 
 attainment of which he is bound to the perform- 
 ance of certain duties, which all tend to the hap- 
 piness and welfare of society, and are comprised 
 in one short sentence, expressive of universal be- 
 nevolence, ' Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thy- 
 self.' This is elegantly defined by Mr. Pope, in 
 Ids 'Essay on Man.' 
 
 'Remember, man, the universal cause 
 Acts not by partial, but by general laws, 
 And makes what happiness we justly call, 
 Subsist not in the good of one, but all. 
 There's not a blessing individuals find. 
 But some way leans and hearkens to the kind.' 
 
 " Thus has the Supreme Being made the good will 
 of man towards his fellow-creatures an evidence 
 of his regard to Him, and for this purpose has 
 constituted him a dependent being and made his 
 happiness to consist in society. Man early disco- 
 vered this propensity of his nature, and found 
 
 ' Eden was tasteless till an Eve was tliere.' 
 
 " Justice, humanity, and benevolence are the du- 
 ties you owe to society in general. To your coun- 
 try the same duties are incumbent upon you, with 
 the additional obligation of sacrificing ease, plea- 
 sure, wealth, and life itself for its defence and 
 security. To your parents you owe love, reve- 
 rence, and obedience to all just and equitable 
 commands. To yourself, — here, indeed, is a wide 
 field to expatiate upon. To become what you 
 ought to be, and what a fond mother wishes to 
 see you, attend to some precepts and instructions 
 from the pen of one, who can have no motive but 
 your welfare and happiness, and who wishes, in 
 this way, to supply to you the personal watchful- 
 ness and care, which a separation from you de- 
 prived you of at a period of life, when habits are 
 easiest acquired and fixed; and, though the ad- 
 vice may not be new, yet suffer it to obtain a place 
 in your memory, for occasions may offer, and per- 
 haps some concurring circumstances unite, to give 
 it weight and force. 
 
 " Suffer me to recommend to you one of the 
 most useful lessons of life, the knowledge and 
 study of yourself. There you run the greatest 
 hazard of being deceived. Self-love and partiality 
 cast a mist before the eyes, and there is no know- 
 ledge so hard to be acquired, nor of more benefit 
 when once thoroughly understood. Ungoverned 
 passions have aptly been compared to the boister- 
 ous ocean, which is known to produce the most 
 terrible effects. ' Passions , are the elements of 
 life,' but elements which are subject to the control 
 
 of reason. Whoever will candidly examine them- 
 selves, will find some degree of passion, peevish- 
 ness, or obstinacy in their natural tempers. You 
 will seldom find these disagreeable ingredients all 
 united in one ; but the uncontrolled indulgence 
 of either is sufiBcient to render the possessor un- 
 happy in himself, and disagreeable to all who are 
 so unhappy as to be witnesses of it, or suffer from 
 its effects. 
 
 " You, my dear son, are formed with a consti- 
 tution feelingly alive ; your passions are strong 
 and impetuous ; and, though I have sometimes 
 seen them hurry you into excesses, yet with plea- 
 sure I have observed a frankness and generosity 
 accompany your efforts to govern and subdue them. 
 Few persons are so subject to passion, but that 
 they can command themselves, when they have a 
 motive sufficiently strong ; and those who are 
 most apt to transgress will restrain themselves 
 through respect and reverence to superiors, and 
 even, where they wish to recommend themselves, 
 to their equals. The due government of the pas- 
 sions, has been considered in all ages as a most 
 valuable acquisition. Hence an inspired writer 
 observes, ' He that is slow to anger, is better than 
 the mighty ; and he that ruleth his spirit, than he 
 that taketh a city.' This passion, co-operating 
 with power, and unrestrained by reason, has pro- 
 duced the subversion of cities, the desolation of 
 countries, the massacre of nations, and filled the 
 world with injustice and oppression. Behold your 
 own country, your native land, suffering from the 
 effects of lawless power and malignant passions, 
 and learn betimes, from your own observation and 
 experience, to govern and control yourself. Hav- 
 ing once obtained this self-government, you will 
 find a foundation laid for happiness to yourself 
 and usefulness to mankind. ' Virtue alone is 
 happiness below ;' and consists in cultivating and 
 improving every good inclination, and in checking 
 and subduing every propensity to evil. I have 
 been particular upon the passion of anger, as it is 
 generally the most predominant passion at your 
 age, the soonest excited, and the least pains are 
 taken to subdue it ; 
 
 — ' what composes man, can man destroy.' 
 
 "I do not mean, however, to have you insensi- 
 ble to real injuries. He who will not turn when 
 he is trodden upon is deficient in point of spirit ; 
 yet, if you can preserve good-breeding and decency 
 of manners, you will have an advantage over the 
 aggressor, and will maintain a dignity of charac- 
 ter which will always insure you respect, even 
 from the offender. 
 
 " I will not overburden your mind at this time. 
 I mean to pursue the subject of self-knowledge in 
 some future letter, and give you my sentiments 
 upon your future conduct in life, when I feel dis- 
 posed to resume my pen. 
 
 " In the mean time, be assured, no one is more 
 sincerely interested in your happiness, than your 
 ever affectionate mother." 
 
 From another letter to this her favourite son, 
 of a later date, we will add a few sentences which 
 breathe the true mother's heart. 
 
 155 
 
AD 
 
 AD 
 
 "After two years' silence, and a journey of 
 which I can scarcely form an idea, to find you 
 safely returned to your parent, to hear of your 
 health and to see your improTements ! You can- 
 not know, should I describe to you, the feelings 
 of a parent. Through your father, I sometimes 
 heard from you, but one letter only ever reached 
 me after you arrived in Russia. Your excuses, 
 however, have weight and are accepted ; but you 
 must give them further energy by a ready atten- 
 tion to your pen in future. Four years have 
 already passed away since you left your native 
 land and this rural cottage ; humble indeed when 
 compared to the palaces you have visited, and the 
 pomp you have been witness to ; but I dare say, 
 you have not been so inattentive an observer as to 
 suppose, that sweet peace and contentment can- 
 not inhabit the lowly roof and bless the tranquil 
 inhabitants, equally guarded and protected in per- 
 son and property in this happy country as those 
 who reside in the moat elegant and costly dwell- 
 ings. If you live to return, I can form to myself 
 an idea of the pleasure you will take in treading 
 over the ground and visiting every place your 
 early years were accustomed wantonly to gambol 
 in ; even the rocky common and lowly whortle- 
 berry bush will not be without their beauties. 
 
 " My anxieties have been and still are great, 
 lest the numerous temptations and snares of vice 
 should vitiate your early habits of virtue, and de- 
 stroy those principles, which you are now capable 
 of reasoning upon, and discerning the beauty and 
 utility of, as the only rational source of happiness 
 here, or foundation of felicity hereafter. Placed 
 as we are in a transitory scene of probation, draw- 
 ing nigher and still nigher day after day to that 
 important crisis which must introduce us into a 
 new system of things, it ought certainly to be our 
 principal concern to become qualified for our ex- 
 pected dignity. 
 
 "What is it, that affectionate parents require 
 of their children, for all their care, anxiety, and 
 toil on their account ? Only that they would be 
 wise and virtuous, benevolent and kind. 
 
 " Ever keep in mind, my son, that your parents 
 are your disinterested friends, and that if, at any 
 time, their advice militates with your own opinion 
 or the advice of others, you ought always to be 
 diffident of your own judgment ; because you may 
 rest assured, that their opinion is founded on ex- 
 perience and long observation, and that they would 
 not direct you but to promote your happiness. 
 Be thankful to a kind Providence, who has hither- 
 to preserved the lives of your parents, the natural 
 guardians of your youthful years. With gratitude 
 I look up to Heaven, blessing the hand which 
 continued to me my dear and honoured parents 
 until I was settled in life ; and, though now I 
 regret the loss of them, and daily feel the want of 
 their advice and assistance, I cannot suffer as I 
 should have done, if I had been early deprived of 
 them." 
 
 » * * * * 
 
 We will now give a few extracts from the letters 
 to her husband ; — and first, from one dated Oc- 
 tober 25th, 1782. 
 
 " My dearest Fbiemd, 
 
 "The family are all retired to rest; the busy 
 scenes of the day are over ; a day which I wished 
 to have devoted in a particular manner to my 
 dearest friend ; but company falling in prevented 
 it, nor could I claim a moment until this silent 
 watch of the night. 
 
 "Look, (is there a dearer name than friend? 
 Think of it for me,) look to the date of this letter, 
 and tell me, what are the thoughts which arise in 
 your mind ! Do you not recollect that eighteen 
 years have run their circuit since we pledged our 
 mutual faith to each other, and the hymeneal 
 torch was lighted at the altar of love ? Yet, yet 
 it burns with unabating fervour. Old Ocean has 
 not quenched it, nor old Time smothered it in this 
 bosom. It cheers me in the lonely hour ; it com- 
 forts me even in the gloom which sometimes pos- 
 sesses my mind. 
 
 " It is, my friend, from the remembrance of the 
 joys I have lost, that the arrow of affliction is 
 pointed. I recollect the untitled man to whom I 
 gave my heart, and, in the agony of recollection, 
 when time and distance present themselves to- 
 gether, wish he had never been any other. Who 
 shall give me back time ? Who shall compensate 
 to me those years I cannot recall ? How dearly 
 have I paid for a titled husband? Should I wish 
 you less wise, that I might enjoy more happiness? 
 I cannot find that in my heart. Yet Providence 
 has wisely placed the real blessings of life vrithin 
 the reach of moderate abilities ; and he who is 
 wiser than his neighbour sees so much more to 
 pity and lament, that I doubt whether the balance 
 of happiness is in his scale. 
 
 " I feel a disposition to quarrel with a race of 
 beings who have cut me off, in the midst of my 
 days, from the Only society I delighted in. ' Yet 
 no man liveth for himself,' says an authority I will 
 not dispute. Let me draw satisfaction from this 
 source, and, instead of murmuring and repining at 
 my lot, consider it in a more pleasing view. Let 
 me suppose, that the same gracious Being, who 
 first smiled upon our union and blessed us in each 
 other, endowed my friend with powers and talents 
 for the benefit of mankind, and gave him a willing 
 mind to improve them for the service of his coun- 
 try. You have obtained honour and reputation 
 at home and abroad. Oh ! may not an inglorious 
 peace wither the laurels you have won. 
 
 " I wrote you by Captain Grinnell. The Firebrand 
 is in great haste to return, and I fear will not give 
 me time to say half I wish. I want you to say 
 many more things to me than you do ; but you 
 wi'ite so wise, so like a minister of state. I know 
 your embarrassments. Thus again I pay for titles. 
 Life takes its complexion from inferior things. It 
 is little attentions and assiduities that sweeten the 
 bitter draught and smooth the rugged road. 
 
 "I have repeatedly expressed my desire to make 
 a part of your family. But ' Will you come and 
 see me?' cannot be taken in that serious light I 
 should choose to consider an invitation from those 
 I love. I do not doubt but that you would be glad 
 to see me, but I know you are apprehensive of 
 dangers and fatigues. I know your situation may 
 
 156 
 
AB 
 
 AD 
 
 be unsettled, and it may he more permanent than 
 I wish it. Only think how the words, 'three, 
 four, and five years' absence ' sound ! They sink 
 into my heart with a weight I cannot express. 
 Do you look like the miniature you sent ? I can- 
 not think so. But you have a better likeness, I 
 am told. Is that designed for me ? Gracious 
 Heaven ! restore to me the original, and I care 
 not who has the shadow." 
 
 ***** 
 
 From another letter of November, the same 
 year : — 
 " My dearest Friend, 
 
 " I have lived to see the close of the third year 
 of our separation. This is a melancholy anniver- 
 sary to me, and many tender scenes arise in my 
 mind upon the recollection. I feel unable to sus- 
 tain even the idea that it will be half that period 
 ere we meet again. Life is too short to have the 
 dearest of its enjoyments curtailed; the social 
 feelings grow callous by disuse, and lose that 
 pliancy of affection which sweetens the cup of life 
 as we drink it. The rational pleasures of friend- 
 ship and society, and the still more refined sensa- 
 tions of which delicate minds only are susceptible, 
 like the tender blossom, when the rude northern 
 blasts assail them, shrink within and collect them- 
 selves together, deprived of the all-cheering and 
 beamy influence of the sun. The blossom falls, 
 and the fruit withers and decays ; but here the 
 similitude fails, for, though lost for the present, 
 the season returns, the tree vegetates anew, and 
 the blossom again puts forth. 
 
 "But, alas ! with me those days which are past 
 are gone for ever, and time is hastening on that 
 period when I must fall to rise no more, until 
 mortality shall put on immortality, and we shall 
 meet again, pure and disembodied spirits. Could 
 we live to the age of the antediluvians, we might 
 better support this separation ; but, when three- 
 score years and ten circumscribe the life of man, 
 how painful is the idea, that, of that short space, 
 only a few years of social happiness are our al- 
 lotted portion ! 
 
 ' Should at my feet the world's great master fall, 
 Himself, his world, his throne, I 'd scorn them all.* 
 
 "No. Give me the man I love ; you are neither 
 of an age or temper to be allured by the splendour 
 of a court, or the smiles of princesses. I never 
 suffered an uneasy sensation on that account. I 
 know I have a right to your whole heart, because 
 my own never knew another lord ; and such is my 
 confidence in you, that, if you were not withheld 
 by the strongest of all obligations, those of a mo- 
 ral nature, your honour would not suffer you to 
 abuse my confidence." 
 
 Here is the description of a scene in London, 
 when Mrs. Adams was there, in 1786. 
 
 " London, 2 April, 1786. 
 
 " Your kind letter, my dear niece, was received 
 with much pleasure. These tokens of love and 
 regard, which I know flow from the heart, always 
 find their way to mine, and give me a satisfaction 
 and pleasure beyond anything which the ceremony 
 and pomp of courts and kingdoms can afford. 
 
 The social affections are and may be made the 
 truest channels for our pleasures and com.forts to 
 flow through. Heaven formed us not for our- 
 selves but others, 
 
 ' And bade self-love and social be the same.' 
 
 "Perhaps there is no country where there is a 
 fuller exercise of those virtues than ours at pre- 
 sent exhibits, which is, in a great measure, owing 
 to the equal distribution of property, the small 
 number of inhabitants in proportion to its terri- 
 tory, the equal distribution of justice to the poor 
 as well as the rich, to a government founded in 
 justice and exercised with impartiality, and to a 
 religion which teaches peace and good-will to man ; 
 to knowledge and learning being so easily acquired 
 and so universally distributed ; and to that sense 
 of moral obligation which generally inclines our 
 countrymen to do to others as they would that 
 others should do to them. Perhaps you will 
 think that I allow to them more than they deserve, 
 but you will consider that I am only speaking 
 comparatively. Human nature is much the same 
 in all countries, but it is the government, the 
 laws, and religion, which form the character of a 
 nation. Wherever luxury abounds, there you will 
 find corruption and degeneracy of manners. 
 Wretches that we are, thus to misuse the bounties 
 of Providence, to forget the hand that blesses us, 
 and even deny the source from whence we derived 
 our being. 
 
 " But I grow too serious. To amuse yoii, ,then, 
 my dear niece, I will give you an account of the 
 dress of the ladies at the ball of the Comte d'Ad- 
 h^mar ; as your cousin tells me that she some time 
 ago gave you a history of the birth-day and ball 
 at court, this may serve as a counterpart. Though, 
 should I attempt to compare the apartments, St. 
 James's would fall as much short of the French 
 Ambassador's, as the court of his Britannic Ma- 
 jesty does of the splendour and magnificence of 
 that of his Most Christian Majesty. I am sure I 
 never saw an assembly room in America, which 
 did not exceed that at St. James's in point of ele- 
 gance and decoration ; and, as to its fair visitors, 
 not all their blaze of diamonds set off with Pari- 
 sian rouge, can match the blooming health, the 
 sparkling eye, and modest deportment of the dear 
 girls of my native land. As to the dancing, the 
 space they had to move in gave them no opportu- 
 nity to display the grace of a minuet, and the full 
 dress of long court-trains and enormous hoops, 
 you well know were not favourable for country 
 dances, so that I saw them at every disadvantage ; 
 not so the other evening. They were much more 
 properly clad; — silk waists, gauze, or white or 
 painted tiffany coats, decorated with ribbon, beads, 
 or fiowers, as fancy directed, were chiefly worn 
 by the young ladies. Hats turned up at the sides 
 with diamond loops and buttons of steel, large 
 bows of ribbons and wreaths of flowers, displayed 
 themselves to much advantage upon the heads of 
 some of the prettiest girls England can boast. 
 The light from the lustres is more favourable to 
 beauty than daylight, and the colour acquired by 
 dancing, more becoming than rouge, as fancy 
 
 157 
 
AD 
 
 AD 
 
 dresses are more favourable to youtli than the for- 
 mality of a uniform. There was as great a variety 
 of pretty dresses, borroived wholly from France, 
 as I have ever seen ; and amongst the rest, some 
 with sapphire-blue satin waists, spangled with sil- 
 ver, and laced down the back and seams with silver 
 stripes ; white satin petticoats trimmed with black 
 and blue velvet ribbon ; an odd kind of head-dress, 
 which they term the ' helmet of Minerva.' I did 
 not observe the bird of wisdom, however, nor do 
 I know whether those who wore the dress had 
 suitable pretensions to it. 'And pray,' say you, 
 * how were my aunt and cousin dressed ?' If it 
 will gratify you to know, you shall hear. Your 
 aunt, then, wore a full-dress court cap without the 
 lappets, in which was a wreath of white flowers, 
 and blue sheafs, two black and blue flat feathers 
 (which cost her half a guinea a-piece, but that 
 you need not tell of), three pearl pins, bought for 
 court, and a pair of pearl ear-rings, the cost of 
 them — no matter what ; less than diamonds, how- 
 ever. A sapphire blue demi-saison vrith a satin 
 stripe, sack and petticoat trimmed with a broad 
 black lace ; crape flounce, &c. ; leaves made of 
 blue ribbon, and trimmed with white floss ; 
 wreaths of black velvet ribbon spotted with steel 
 beads, which are much in fashion, and brought to 
 such perfection as to resemble diamonds ; white 
 ribbon also, in the Vandyke style, made up of the 
 trimming, which looked very elegant ; a full dress 
 handkerchief, and a bouquet of roses. ' Full 
 gay, I think, for my aunt.' That is true, Lucy, 
 but nobody is old in Europe. I was seated next 
 the duchess of Bedford, who had a scarlet satin 
 sack and coat, with a cushion full of diamonds, 
 for hair she has none, and is but seventy-six, nei- 
 ther. Well, now for your cousin ; a small, white 
 Leghorn hat, bound with pink satin ribbon ; a 
 steel buckle and band which turned up at the 
 side, and confined a large pink bow ; large bow 
 of the same kind of ribbon behind ; a wreath of 
 full-blown roses round the crown, and another of 
 buds and roses withinside the hat, which, being 
 placed at the back of the hair,' brought the roses 
 to the edge ; you see it clearly ; one red and black 
 feather, with two white ones, completed the head- 
 dress. A gown and coat of Chamb^ri gauze, with 
 a red satin stripe over a pink waist, and coat 
 flounced with crape, trimmed with broad point 
 and pink ribbon; wreaths of roses across the 
 coat ; gauze sleeves and ruffles. But the poor girl 
 was so aick with a cold, that she could not enjoy 
 herself, and we retired about one o'clock, without 
 waiting supper, by which you have lost half a 
 sheet of paper, I dare say ; but I cannot close 
 
 without describing to you Lady N and her 
 
 daughter. She is as large as Captain C 's 
 
 wife, and much such a made woman, with a much 
 fuller face, of the colour and complexion of Mrs. 
 C , who formerly lived with your uncle Pal- 
 mer, and looks as if porter and beef stood no 
 chance before her ; add to this, that it is covered 
 with large red pimples, over which, to help the 
 niitural redness, a coat of rouge is spread ; and, 
 to assist her shape, she was dressed in white satin, 
 trimmed with scarlet ribbon. Miss N is not 
 
 so large, nor quite so red, but has a very small 
 eye, with the most impudent face you can possibly 
 form an idea of, joined to manners so masculine, 
 that I was obliged frequently to recollect that line 
 of Dr. Young's, 
 
 ' Believe her dress ; she 'a not a grenadier ;' 
 to persuade myself that I was not mistaken." 
 
 Extract from a letter to a female friend, written 
 in 1809, when Mrs. Adams was about 65 years of 
 age:— 
 
 "Ossiansays, 'Age is dark and unlovely.' When 
 I look in my glass, I do not much wonder at the 
 story related of a very celebrated painter, Zeuxis, 
 who, it is said, died of laughing at a comical pic- 
 ture he had made of an old woman. If our glass 
 flatters us in youth, it tells us truths in age. The 
 cold hand of death has frozen up some of the 
 streams of our early friendships ; the congelation 
 is gaining upon our vital powers, and marking us 
 for the tomb. ' May we bo number our days as to 
 apply our hearts unto wisdom.' 
 
 ' The man is yet unborn, who duly weighs an hour.' 
 
 " When my family was young around me, I used 
 to find more leisur?, and think I could leave it 
 with less anxiety than I can now. There is not 
 any occasion for detailing the whys and the where- 
 fores. It is said, if riches increase, those increase 
 that eat them ; but what shall we say, when the 
 eaters increase without the wealth ? You know, 
 my dear sister, if there be bread enough, and to 
 spare, unless a prudent attention manage that 
 sufBciency, the fruits of diligence will be scattered 
 by the hand of dissipation. No man ever prosper- 
 ed in the world without the consent and co-opera- 
 tion of his wife. It behoves us, who are parents 
 or grand-parents, to give our daughters and grand- 
 daughters, when their education devolves upon us, 
 such an education as shall qualify them for the 
 useful and domestic duties of life, that they should 
 learn the proper use and improvement of time, 
 since 'time was given for use, not waste.' The 
 finer accomplishments, such as music, dancing, 
 and painting, serve to set off and embellish the 
 picture ; but the groundwork must be formed of 
 more durable colours. 
 
 "I consider it as an indispensable requisite, 
 that every American wife should herself know how 
 to order and regulate her family ; how to govern 
 her domestics, and train up her children. For 
 this purpose, the all-wise Creator made woman an 
 help-meet for man ; and she who fails in these 
 duties does not answer the end of her creation. 
 
 'Life's cares are comforts; such by Heaven designed ; 
 They that have none must make them, or be wretched. 
 Cares are employments; and, without employ, 
 The soul is on a rack, the rack of rest.' 
 
 I have frequently said to my friendg, when they 
 have thought me overburdened with care, I would 
 rather have too much than too little. Life stag- 
 nates without action. I could never bear merely 
 to vegetate ; 
 
 'Waters stagnate when they cease to flow.' 
 
 158 
 
AD 
 
 AD 
 
 These letters have an air of romantic sentiment ; 
 and yet it was only the expression of true feeling 
 which Mrs. Adams always exhibited in her daily 
 conduct. Her grand-son, Charles F. Adams, thus 
 accounts for the style which characterizes her cor- 
 respondence : 
 
 " In her neighbourhood, there were not many 
 advantages of instruction to be found ; and even 
 in Boston, the small metropolis nearest at hand, 
 for reasons already stated, the list of accomplish- 
 ments within the reach of females was, probably, 
 very short. She did not enjoy an opportunity to 
 acquire even such as there might have been, for 
 the delicate state of her health forbade the idea 
 of sending her away from home to obtain them. 
 In a letter, written in 1817, the year before her 
 death, speaking of her own deficiencies, she says : 
 ' My early education did not partake of the abun- 
 dant opportunities which the present days offer, 
 and which even our common country schools now 
 afford. / never was sent to any school. I was al- 
 ways sick. Female education, in the best families, 
 went no further than writing and arithmetic ; in 
 some few and rare instances, music and dancing.' 
 Hence it is not unreasonable to suppose that the 
 knowledge gained by her was rather the result of 
 the society into which she was thrown, than of 
 any elaborate instruction. 
 
 " This fact, that the author of the letters in the 
 present volume never went to any school, is a very 
 important one to a proper estimate of her charac- 
 ter. For, whatever may be the decision of the 
 long-vexed question between the advantages of 
 public and those of private education, few persons 
 will deny, that they produce marked differences in 
 the formation of character. Seclusion from com- 
 panions of the same age, at any time of life, is 
 calculated to develope the imaginative faculty, at 
 the expense of the judgment; but especially in 
 youth, when the most durable impressions are 
 making. The ordinary consequence, in females 
 of a meditative turn of mind, is the indulgence of 
 romantic and exaggerated sentiments drawn from 
 books, which, if subjected to the ordinary routine 
 of large schools, are worn down by the attrition 
 of social intercourse. These ideas, formed in 
 solitude, in early life, often, though not always, 
 remain in the mind, even after the realities of the 
 world surround those who hold them, and coun- 
 teract the tendency of their conclusions. They 
 are constantly visible in the letters of these vol- 
 umes, even in the midst of the severest trials. 
 They form what may be considered the romantic 
 turn of the author's mind ; but, in her case, they 
 were so far modified by a great admixture of reli- 
 gious principle and by natural good sense, as to 
 be of eminent service in sustaining her through 
 the painful situations in which she was placed, 
 instead of nursing that species of sickly sensi- 
 bility, which too frequently, in similar circum- 
 stancesj impairs, if it does not destroy, the power 
 of practical usefulness." 
 
 Many women fill important stations with the 
 most splendid display of virtues; but few are 
 equally great in retirement ; there they want the 
 animating influence of a thovisand eyes, and the 
 
 inspiration of homage and flattery. This is hu- 
 man nature in its common form ; and though fe- 
 male nature is often beautifully displayed in retire- 
 ment, yet to change high station for a quiet home 
 is a trial few women would have borne with such 
 sweet serenity as did Mrs. Adams. She was, in 
 retirement at Quincy, the same dignified, sensible, 
 and happy woman, as when at the capitol, sur- 
 rounded by fashion, wit, and intellect. This sere- 
 nity arose from a settled and perfect, but philoso- 
 phical and Christian contentment, which great 
 minds only can feel. Such purity and elevation 
 of soul preserve the faculties of the mind, and 
 keep them vigorous even in old age. Thus lived 
 this genuine daughter of America, leaving at her 
 peaceful death, a rich legacy of the loftiest vir- 
 tues, made manifest by her example, as the inhe- 
 ritance of the women of her beloved country. 
 
 ADAMS, HANNAH, 
 A OELEBKATED American writer, was born in 
 Medfield, Massachusetts, in 175-5. Her father was 
 a respectable farmer in that place, rather better 
 educated than persons of his class usually were 
 at that time ; and his daughter, who was a very 
 delicate child, profited by his fondness for books. 
 So great was her love for reading and study, that 
 when very young she had committed to memory 
 nearly all of Milton, Pope, Thomson, Young, and 
 several other poets. 
 
 When she was about seventeen her father failed 
 in business, and Miss Adams was obliged to exert 
 herself for her own maintenance. This she did at 
 first by making lace, a very profitable employment 
 during the revolutionary war, as very little lace 
 was then imported. But after the termination of 
 the conflict she was obliged to resort to some other 
 means of support ; and having acquired from the 
 students who had boarded with her father, a com- 
 petent knowledge of Latin and Greek, she under- 
 took to prepare young men for college ; and suc- 
 ceeded so well, that her reputation was spread 
 throughout the state. 
 
 Her first work, entitled, " The View of Reli- 
 gions," which she commenced when she was about 
 
 159 
 
AD 
 
 AG 
 
 tliirty, is a history of the different sects in reli- 
 gion. It caused her so much hard study and close 
 reflection, that she was attacked before the close 
 of her labours by a severe fit of illness, and 
 threatened with derangement. Her next work was 
 a carefully written "History of New England;" 
 and her third was on " The Evidences of the Chris- 
 tian Religion." Though all these works showed 
 great candour and liberality of mind and profound 
 research, and though they were popular, yet they 
 brought her but little besides fame ; which, how- 
 ever, had extended to Europe, and she reckoned 
 among her correspondents many of the learned 
 men of all countries. Among these was the cele- 
 brated abb^ Gregoire, who was then struggling for 
 the emancipation of the Jews in France. He sent 
 Miss Adams several volumes, which she acknow- 
 ledged were of much use to her in preparing her 
 own work, a " History of the Jews," now consi- 
 dered one of the most valuable of her productions. 
 Still, as far as pecuniary matters went, she was 
 singularly unsuccessful, probably from her want 
 of knowledge of business, and ignorance in worldly 
 matters ; and, to relieve her from her embarrass- 
 ments, three wealthy gentlemen of Boston, with 
 great liberality, settled an annuity upon her, of 
 which she was kept in entire ignorance till the 
 whole affair was completed. 
 
 The latter part of her life passed in Boston, in 
 the midst of a large circle of friends, by whom 
 she was warmly cherished and esteemed for the 
 singular excellence, purity, and simplicity of her 
 character. She died, November 15th, 1832, at the 
 age of seventy-six, and was buried at Mount Au- 
 burn ; the first one whose body was placed in that 
 cemetery. Through life, the gentleness of her man- 
 ners, and the sweetness of her temper were child- 
 like ; she trusted all her cares to the control of her 
 heavenly Father ; and she did not trust in vain. 
 
 ADORNI, CATHARINE FIESCHI, 
 
 A Genoese lady, married a dissipated young 
 man, Julian Adorni, whom, by her modest and 
 virtuous conduct, she reclaimed. After his death 
 she retired to Geneva, where she devoted herself 
 to acts of piety and benevolence. She wrote se- 
 veral works on divinity ; and died in 1610, aged 
 sixty-three. 
 
 ADRICHOMIA, CORNELIA, 
 
 A DESCENDANT of the noblc family of Adrictem, 
 and a nun in Holland of the St. Augustine order, 
 who lived in the sixteenth century, published a 
 poetical version of the psalms, with several other 
 religious poems. Her excellent understanding and 
 erudition are commended by writers of her own 
 time. She composed for herself the following 
 epitaph ; 
 
 Corpus hnmo, animam superis Cornelia mando ; 
 Pulve rulerta caro vermibua esca datur. 
 Xoii ac lacrymas, non singultus, tristesque querelas, 
 Sed Christo oblatus nunc precor umbra preces. 
 
 AGNESI, MARIA GAETANA, 
 A NATIVE of Milan, born March 16th, 1718, 
 gave early indications of extraordinary abilities. 
 
 devoted herself to the abstract sciences, and at 
 the age of nineteen supported a hundred and 
 ninety-one theses, which were afterwards pub- 
 lished. She attained such consummate skill in 
 mathematics, that the pope allowed her to suc- 
 ceed her father as professor at Bologna. Her 
 knowledge of ancient and modern languages was 
 also extensive. She died in 1799, at Milan, where 
 several years before she had taken the veil. Her 
 great work is "Analytical Institutions," and has 
 been translated by the Rev. John Colson, of the 
 University of Cambridge. This able mathemati- 
 cian considered "The Analytical Institutions" of 
 Agnesi such an excellent work, that he studied 
 Italian in order to translate it into English. At 
 his death he left the manuscript ready for publi- 
 cation. The commentators of Newton were ac- 
 quainted with her mathematical works, while they 
 were in manuscript. In 1801, the works were 
 published in two volumes, at the expense of Baron 
 Maseres, to do honour to her memory, and also to 
 prove that women have minds capable of compre- 
 hending the most abstruse studies. Her eulogy 
 was pronounced in Italian by Fris^, and translated 
 into French by Boulard. In her genius she re- 
 sembled Mrs. Somerville. 
 
 AGREDA, MARIE D', 
 SnPEBiOR of a convent at Agreda, in Spain, 
 founded by her parents, wrote a fanatical book on 
 the life of the Virgin Mary, which she said had 
 been revealed to her from heaven. A translation 
 of this extravagant book, which was prohibited at 
 Rome, was published at Brussels in 1717. Not- 
 withstanding the absurdities of this work, it was 
 deemed so fascinating and dangerous by the theo- 
 logical faculty at Paris, that it was thought proper 
 to censure it. A violent opposition was made to 
 the censure by some of the doctors of the Sor- 
 bonne, which, on this important occasion, were 
 divided into two fierce parties, to one of whom the 
 name of Agredians was given, which they long 
 retained. One of the propositions of this singular 
 work was — " That God gave to the holy virgin all 
 that he would, and would give her all that he 
 could, and could give her all that was not of the 
 essence of God." 
 
 Marie d' Agreda died in 1665, aged sixty-three. 
 Great efforts were ijiade at Rome to procure her 
 canonization, but without effect. 
 
 AGOSTINA, THE MAID OF SARAGOSSA. 
 
 Spain can boast of having produced heroines 
 from the earliest records of history. The glorious 
 memory of the women of Saguntum and Numan- 
 tia, in the time of the Romans, and of Maria 
 Pacheoo, widow of the celebrated Padilla, may be 
 paralleled in our days by the fame of Agostina of 
 Saragossa. 
 
 This illustrious maiden exposed her life for her 
 king and country at the memorable siege of Sara- 
 gossa in 1808. General Le Fevre had been des- 
 patched in the June of that year to reduce Sara- 
 gossa, where the royal standard of the Bourbons 
 had been unfurled. This city was not fortified ; 
 it was surrounded by an ill-constructed wall, twelve 
 
 160 
 
AG 
 
 AG 
 
 feet high by three broad, intersected by houses ; 
 these houses, the neighbouring churches and con- 
 vents, Tfere in so dilapidated a state, that from the 
 roof to the foundation were to be seen in each im- 
 mense breaches ; apertures begun by time and in- 
 creased by neglect. A large hill, called II Torero, 
 commanded the town at the distance of a mile, 
 and offered a situation for most destructive bom- 
 bardment. Among the sixty thousand inhabitants 
 there were but two hundred and twenty regular 
 troops, and the artillery consisted of ten old 
 cannon. 
 
 The French began the siege in a rather slothful 
 style ; they deemed much exertion unnecessary ; 
 Saragossa, they said, was only inhabited by monks 
 and cowards. But their opinions and their efforts 
 were destined to an entire revolution. Very sel- 
 dom in the annals of war has greater heroism, 
 greater bravery, greater horror and misery been 
 concentrated, than during the two months that 
 these desperate patriots repelled their invaders. 
 No sacriiices were too great to be offered, no ex- 
 tremities too oppressive to be endured by the 
 besieged ; but, as it often occurs among the no- 
 blest bodies of men, that one sordid soul may be 
 found open to the far-reaching hand of corruption, 
 such a wretch happened to be entrusted with a 
 powder-magazine at Saragossa. Under the influ- 
 ence of French gold, he fired the magazine on the 
 night of the 2d of June. To describe the horrors 
 that ensued would be impossible. The French, to 
 whom the noise of the explosion had been a signal, 
 advanced their troops to the gates. The popula- 
 tion, shocked, amazed, hardly knowing what had 
 occurred, entirely ignorant of the cause, bewil- 
 dered by conflagration, ruins, and the noise of the 
 enemy's artillery unexpectedly thundering in their 
 ears, were paralyzed, powerless ; the overthrow, 
 the slaughter of those who stood at the ramparts, 
 seemed more like a massacre than a battle ; in a 
 short time the trenches presented nothing but a 
 heap of dead bodies. There was no longer a com- 
 batant to be seen ; nobody felt the courage to 
 stand to the defence. 
 L 
 
 At this desperate moment an unknown maiden 
 issued from the church of Nostra Donna del Pillas, 
 habited in white raiment, a cross suspended from 
 her neck, her dark hair dishevelled, and her eyes 
 sparkling with supernatural lustre ! She traversed 
 the city with a bold and firm step ; she passed to 
 the ramparts, to the very spot where the enemy 
 was pouring on to the assault ; she mounted to 
 the breach, seized a lighted match from the hand 
 of a dying engineer, and fired the piece of artil- 
 lery he had failed to manage ; then kissing her 
 cross, she cried with the accent of inspiration — 
 " Death or victory !" and reloaded her cannon. 
 Such a cry, such a vision, could not fail of calling 
 up enthusiasm ; it seemed that heaven had brought 
 aid to the just cause ; her cry was answered — 
 " Long live Agostina !" 
 
 "Forward, forward, we will conquer!" re- 
 sounded on every side. Nerved by such emotions, 
 the force of every man was doubled, and the 
 French were repulsed on all sides. 
 
 General Lefevre, mortified at this unexpected 
 result, determined to reduce the place by famine, 
 as well as to distress it by bombardment from II 
 Torero. The horrors that followed his measures 
 would be too painful to detail, but they afi'orded 
 Agostina an opportuuity of displaying her intre- 
 pidity. She threw herself in the most perilous 
 positions, to rescue the unhappy beings wounded 
 by the bombs or by the falling of timbers. She 
 went from house to house, visiting the wounded, 
 binding up their hurts, or supplying aid to the 
 sick and starving. The French, by their indoml 
 table perseverance, had, from step to step, ren- 
 dered themselves masters of nearly half the city. 
 Lefevre thought his hour of triumph had now cer- 
 tainly arrived — he sent to the commandant, Pala- 
 fox, to demand a capitulation. Palafox received 
 this in public ; he turned to Agostina, who stood 
 near him, completely armed — "What shall I an- 
 swer?" 
 
 The girl indignantly replied, "War to the knife !" 
 
 Her exclamation was echoed by the populace, 
 and Palafox made her words his reply to Lefevre. 
 
 Nothing in the history of war has ever been re- 
 corded, to resemble the consequence of this refu- 
 sal to capitulate. One row of houses in a street 
 would be occupied by the Spanish, the opposite 
 row by the French. A continual tempest of balls 
 passed through the air ; the town was a volcano ; 
 the most revolting butchery was carried on for 
 eleven days and eleven nights. Every street, 
 every house, was disputed with musket and 
 poignard. Agostina ran from rank to rank, every- 
 where taking the most active part. The French 
 were gradually driven back ; and the dawn of the 
 17th of August, saw them relinquish this long- 
 disputed prey, and take the road to Pampeluna. 
 The triumph of the patriots — their joy, was un- 
 speakable. Palafox rendered due honours to the 
 brave men who had perished, and endeavoured to 
 remunerate the few intrepid warriors who sur- 
 vived — among them was Agostina. But what 
 could be off'ered commensurate with the services 
 of one who had saved the city ? Palafox told hei' 
 to select what honours she pleased — any thing 
 
AG 
 
 AI 
 
 would be granted her. She modestly answered 
 that, she begged to be allowed to retain the rank 
 of engineer, and to have the privilege of wearing 
 the arms of Saragossa. The rest of her life was 
 passed in honourable poverty, until the year 1826, 
 when she died, 
 
 " By all her country's wishes blest !" 
 
 AGUILAE, GRACE, 
 
 Was born at Hackney, England, June, 1816. 
 Her father was Emanuel Aguilar, a merchant de- 
 scended from the Jews of Spain. Grace was the 
 eldest child ; and her delicate health, during in- 
 fancy and early youth, was a source of great soli- 
 citude to her parents. She was educated almost 
 entirely at home, her mother being her instructor 
 till she attained the age of fourteen, when her 
 father commenced a regular course of reading to 
 her, while she was employed in drawing or needle- 
 work. At the age of seven she began keeping a 
 regular journal ; when she was about fifteen she 
 wrote her first poetry; but she never permitted 
 herself the pleasure of original composition until 
 all her duties and her studies were performed. 
 
 Grace Aguilar was extremely fond of music ; 
 she had been taught the piano from infancy ; and, 
 in 1831, commenced the harp. She sang plea- 
 singly, preferred English songs, invariably select- 
 ing them for the beauty or sentiment of the words. 
 She was also passionately fond of dancing ; and 
 her cheerful, lively manners, in the society of her 
 young friends, would scarcely have led any to 
 imagine how deeply she felt and pondered the 
 serious and solemn subjects which afterwards 
 formed the labour of her life. She enjoyed all 
 that was innocent ; but the sacred feeling of duty 
 always regulated her conduct. Her mother once 
 expressed the wish that Grace would not waltz ; 
 and no solicitation could afterwards tempt her. 
 Her mother also required her to read sermons, 
 and study religion and the Bible regularly ; this 
 was done by Grace cheerfully, at first as a task, 
 but finally with much delight; for evidence of 
 which we will quote her own words in one of her 
 works, "Women of Israel." 
 
 " This (reading the Bible and studying religion) 
 formed into a habit, and persevered in for life, 
 would in time, and without labour or weariness, 
 give the comfort and the knowledge that we seek; 
 each year would become brighter and more blest ; 
 each year we should discover something we knew 
 not before ; and, in the valley of the shadow of 
 death, feel to our heart's core that the Lord our 
 God is Truth." 
 
 The first published work of Miss Aguilar was 
 " The Magic Wreath," a little poetical work. Soon 
 afterwards, "Home Influences" appeared; and 
 then, the "Women of Israel." All of these 
 works are highly creditable to the literary taste 
 and talents of the writer ; and they have a value 
 beyond what the highest genius could give — the 
 stamp of truth, piety, and love, and an earnest 
 desire to do good to her fellow-beings. The death 
 of her father, and the cares she took on herself in 
 comforting her mother, and sustaining the exer- 
 tions of her brothers, undermined, by degrees, her 
 
 delicate constitution. She went abroad for her 
 health, and died in Frankfort, in 1847. She was 
 buried there in the cemetery, one side of which is 
 set apart for the Jews, the people of her faith. 
 The stone which marks the spot bears upon it a 
 buttei-fly and five stars, emblematic of the soul in 
 heaven ; and beneath appears the inscription — 
 "Give her of the fruit of her hands, and let her 
 own works praise her in the gates." 
 
 Her works do indeed praise her. She died at 
 the early age of thirty-one, and was never at lei- 
 sure to pursue literature as her genius would have 
 prompted, had not her spirit been so thoroughly 
 subjected to her womanly duties. She seems al- 
 ways to have striven to make her life useful. She 
 shows this in writing chiefly for her own sex ; and 
 her productions will now be stamped with the 
 value which her lovely character, perfected and 
 crowned by a happy death, imparts. She could 
 not speak for some time before her decease ; but 
 having learned to use her fingers, in the manner 
 of the deaf and dumb, almost the last time they 
 moved, it was to spell upon them feebly — " Though 
 He slay me, yet will I trust in Him." 
 
 Since her decease, a work which she left in 
 manuscript has been published, entitled "Woman's 
 Friendship." The following poem is from her 
 "Magic Wreath." Its subject will -be found in 
 the biography of Ingeborge. 
 
 " He clasp'd that slight and faded form, 
 
 Unto a heart that bled; 
 The monarch's tears fell thick and warm 
 
 Upon that drooping head. 
 Her long fair hair, long as a veil 
 
 Of faint and shadowy gold, 
 Around a face, which a wild tale 
 
 Of hitter anguish told. 
 ' Oh ! what avail my crown and state 
 
 When thou art from me flown 1 
 Tliy Philip's heart is desolate. 
 
 My beautiful, my own ! 
 1 cannot, cannot bid thee go; 
 
 My curse on Gregory's head ! 
 1 will proclaim him as my foe. 
 
 Though princes strike me dead.' 
 
 " ' My liege, my husband, heed me not, 
 
 But peace to Prance restore. 
 Oh ! be this broken heart forgot. 
 
 And thou' — she could no more. 
 She rais'd her head, that soft blue eye 
 
 Could scarce the monarch meet ; 
 She grasped his robe — with one low sigh 
 
 Sunk fainting at his feet. 
 And on that pale and beauteous face 
 
 Th' imperial Philip gaz'd ; 
 Then to a wild and strain'd embrace 
 
 That death-like form he rais'd. 
 One kiss, impassion'd, on her brow — 
 
 Ah! 'twill not break that sleep; 
 And he to whom e'en princes bow 
 
 Now tnrn'd aside to weep. 
 Oh ! 'twas of power a cruel stroke 
 
 Such loving hearts to sever; 
 Ere Agnes from that long trance woke. 
 
 They parted — and forever." 
 
 AIGUILLON, DUCHESS D', 
 
 Niece of the Cardinal de Richelieu, was the 
 first lady of high rank whose house was opened to 
 all men of letters. There men of talent were re- 
 ceived, together with the greatest noblemen of the 
 
 162 
 
A I 
 
 AI 
 
 court. These assemblies had much influence on 
 the manners of the French. The duchess was a 
 woman of intelligence, piety, and the greatest 
 generosity. After the death of Richelieu, under 
 the direction of the devout Vincent de Paul, she 
 united in all benevolent works. She endowed 
 hospitals, bought slaves to set them free, liberated 
 prisoners, and maintained missionaries in France 
 and distant countries. She died in 1675. 
 
 AIKIN, LUCY, 
 
 An English writer, was the only daughter of 
 Dr. Aikin, the brother of Mrs. Barbauld. Like 
 her father and aunt, she devoted herself to litera- 
 ture. Her principal works are, "Epistles on the 
 Character of Women," "Juvenile Correspond- 
 ence," " The Life of Zuinglius, the Reformer," 
 and a " History of the Court of Queen Elizabeth." 
 She lived in the latter part of the eighteenth and 
 the early part of the present century. Her " Me- 
 moir" of her father, Dr. John Aikin, is a beautiful 
 tribute of filial affection. She was enabled, by the 
 careful education he had given her, to enjoy the 
 pleasures of mental intercourse with him ; and 
 how well she repaid his care, this monument she 
 has constructed to the memory of his genius and 
 goodness is a touching and enduring proof. At 
 the close of the Memoir, she describes the feeble- 
 ness which oppressed his body, while yet his mind 
 could enjoy, in a degree, the pleasures of intellect; 
 and in such a way as necessarily made him entirely 
 dependent on female care and society. 
 
 Thus it invariably is at the close of man's life, 
 as well as at its beginning, that he must rely for 
 his enjoyment, comfort, life even, on the love, the 
 care, and the sympathy of woman. The more 
 faithfully he cherishes his wife, and educates his 
 daughters, the happier and better will he be 
 through life, and at his dying hour. 
 
 The following are the remarks to which we al- 
 luded : — 
 
 " That life may not be prolonged beyond the 
 power of usefulness, is one of the most natural, 
 and apparently of the most reasonable wishes man 
 can form for the future ; — it was almost the only 
 one which my father expressed or indulged, and 
 I doubt not that every reader wiU be affected with 
 some emotions of sympathetic regret on learning 
 that it was in his case lamentably disappointed. 
 To those whose daily and hourly happiness chiefly 
 consisted in the activity and enjoyment diffused 
 over his domestic circle by his talents and virtues, 
 the gradual extinction of this mental light was a 
 privation afflictive and humiliating beyond expres- 
 sion. But in all the trials and sorrows of life, 
 however severe, enough of alleviation is blended 
 to show from what quarter they proceed ; and 
 there were still circumstances which called for 
 grateful acknowledgment. The naturally sweet 
 and affectionate disposition of my dear father ; his 
 strictly temperate and simple habits of living, and 
 the mastery over his passions which he had so 
 constantly exercised, were all highly favourable 
 cirourastanoes ; and their influence long and 
 powerfully counteracted the irritability of disease, 
 and caused many instructive, and many soothing 
 
 and tender impressions to mingle with the anxieties 
 and fatigues of our long and melancholy attend- 
 ance. 
 
 " His literary tastes were another invaluable 
 source of comfort ; long after he was incapacitated 
 from reading himself, he would listen with sa- 
 tisfaction during many hours in the day to the 
 reading of others ; poetry, in particular, exercised 
 a kind of spell over him ; Virgil and Horace he 
 heard with delight for a considerable period, and 
 the English poets, occasionally, to the very last. 
 The love of children, which had alwaj'S been an 
 amiable feature in his character, likewise re- 
 mained ; and the sight of his young grand-children 
 sporting around him, and courting his attention 
 by their affectionate caresses, had often the happy 
 effect of rousing him from a state of melancholy 
 languor, and carrying at least a transient emotion 
 of pleasure to his heart." 
 
 The writings of Miss Aikin are attractive from 
 the quiet, good sense, refined taste, and kind spirit 
 always exhibited. Her last work, " The Life of 
 Addison," was somewhat severely criticised in re- 
 gard to the accuracy of dates, and some other 
 matters, of minor importance when compared with 
 the value of this contribution to the memory of a 
 good man and an accomplished scholar. The 
 character of Mr. Addison was never before set in 
 so favourable a light ; and Miss Aikin deserves to 
 have her memory revered by all who love to see 
 the works which genius has left made themes of 
 affectionate study, by one who could sympathize 
 with the literary tastes, and benevolent feelings of 
 the philanthropist and the author. 
 
 AISSE, DEMOIS, 
 Was born in Circassia, 1689, and was purchased 
 by the count de Ferriol, the French ambassador 
 at Constantinople, when a child of four years, for 
 1500 livres. The seller declared her to be a Cir- 
 cassian princess. She was of great beauty. The 
 count took her with him to France, and had her 
 taught all the accomplishments of the day. She 
 sacrificed her innocence to her benefactor, but she 
 resisted the splendid offers of the duke of Orleans. 
 Of her numerous suitors she favoured only the 
 chevalier Aidy, who had taken the vows at Malta. 
 Aidy wished to obtain a release from them, but 
 his mistress herself opposed the attempt. The 
 fruit of this love was a daughter, born in England. 
 Ai'ss^ became afterwards a prey to the bitterest 
 remorse ; she tried in vain to resist her passion, 
 and sank under the struggle between her love and 
 her conscience. She died 1727, at the age of 
 thirty-eight. Her letters were published, first 
 with notes by Voltaire, and afterwards, in 1806, 
 with the letters of Mesdames de Villars, Lafayette, 
 and de Tencin. They are written in a pleasant, 
 fluent strain, and contain many anecdotes of the 
 prominent persons of her time. 
 
 AIROLA, ANOELICA VERONICA, 
 
 A Geonese lady of high rank, who lived in the 
 
 seventeenth century. She learned the art of 
 
 painting from Dominico Fiasella ; after which she 
 
 executed some good pictures on religious subjects, 
 
 16.^ 
 
AL 
 
 AL 
 
 most of them for the churches and convents of her 
 native city. At the close of her life she became 
 a nvm of the' order of St. Bartholomew della Oli- 
 vella, at Genoa. 
 
 ALACOQUE, MARIE, 
 
 A NUN in the convent of the Visitation, at Parai- 
 le-monial, in the province of Burgundy, who was 
 born about the middle of the seventeenth century, 
 was celebrated for her sanctity throughout all 
 France. She, in conjunction with Claude de la 
 Colombi^re, a famous Jesuit, and confessor to the 
 duchess of York, wife of James, afterwards James 
 II. of England, gave a form to the celebration of 
 the solemnity of the heart of Christ, and composed 
 an office for the occasion. The renowned defender 
 of the bull Unigenitus, John Joseph Languet, 
 afterwards archbishop of Sens, was an ardent ad- 
 mirer of this holy fanatic, and published, in 1729, 
 a circumstantial account of her life. She imagined 
 that Christ appeared to her in a vision, and de- 
 manded her heart, which, when she gave him, he 
 returned enclosed in his own, saying, " Hence- 
 forth thou shalt be the beloved of my heart." 
 With such wild imaginings the book of the visions 
 of Marie Alaooque is filled, but at the time they 
 were written they had an astonishing effect. In 
 1674, she declared that her divine bridegroom had 
 showed to her his heart, and told her that he was 
 determined, in these last days, to pour out all the 
 treasures of his love on those faithful souls who 
 would devote themselves to an especial adoration 
 of it ; and commanded her to acquaint father la 
 Colombi^re, his servant, that he should institute a 
 yearly festival to his heart, and promise, to such 
 as should dedicate themselves to it, eternal hap- 
 piness. The Jesuits immediately complied with 
 this celestial mandate, and in all parts of the 
 world, fraternities were formed, and passion- 
 masses, and nine-day devotions, were instituted 
 to the honour of the heart of Jesus. In all Spain 
 there was not a nun who had not a present from 
 the Jesuits of a heart, cut out of red cloth, to be 
 worn next the skin. The display of a burning 
 zeal for making proselytes was regarded as the 
 peculiar characteristic of the true worshipper of 
 the heart. 
 
 ALBANY, or ALBANI, LOUISA, 
 Countess of, daughter of prince Stolberg-Gedern, 
 in Germany, was born in 1753, and married in 
 1772 to Charles James Edward, called the young 
 Pretender, grandson of James II. They resided 
 at Rome, and had a little court, by which they 
 were addressed as king and queen. In 1780, 
 Louisa left her husband, who was much older than 
 herself, and with whom she did not agree, and 
 retired to a convent. She afterwards went to 
 France ; but on her husband's death in 1788, she 
 returned to Italy, and settled in Florence. She 
 was then privately married to count Victor Alfieri, 
 the Italian poet, who died at her house in 1803. 
 She, however, still went by the name of countess 
 of Albany, widow of the last of the Stuarts, up to 
 the time of her death. She was fond of literature 
 and the arts, and her house was the resort of all 
 
 distinguished persons in Florence. She died there 
 January 29th, 1824, aged seventy-two. 
 
 Her name and her misfortunes have been trans- 
 mitted to posterity in the works and the autobio- 
 graphy of Alfieri. This famous poet called her 
 mia donna, and confessed that to her he owed his 
 inspiration. Without the friendship of the countess 
 of Albany, he has said that he never should have 
 achieved anything exceUent: " Senza laquella mon 
 aura, maifatta nulla di buono." The sketch of his 
 first meeting wiWi her is full of sentiment and 
 genuine poetry. Their love for each other was 
 true, delicate and faithful ; and their ashes now 
 repose under a common monument, in the church 
 of Santa Croce, at Florence, between the tombs 
 of Machiavelli and Michael Angelo. 
 
 ALBEDYHL, 
 
 Baeoness d', a Swedish writer, authoress of 
 Gefion, an epic poem, published at Upsala, in 
 1814, has been called the Swedish S^vign^, from 
 the elegance of her epistolary style. 
 
 ALBEMARLE, ANNE CLARGES, 
 
 Duchess of, was the daughter of a blacksmith ; 
 who gave her an education suitable to the employ- 
 ment she was bred to, which was that of a milli- 
 ner. As the manners are generally formed early 
 in life, she retained something of the smith's 
 daughter, even at her highest elevation. She was 
 first the mistress, and afterwards the wife of gen- 
 eral Monk. He had such an opinion of her under- 
 standing, that he often consulted her in the 
 greatest emergencies. As she was a thorough 
 royalist, it is probable she had no inconsiderable 
 share in the restoration of Charles II. She is 
 supposed to have recommended several of the 
 privy-counciUors in the list which the general pre- 
 sented to the king soon after his landing. It is 
 more than probable that she carried on a very 
 lucrative trade in selling offices, which were gen- 
 erally filled by such as gave her most money. She 
 was an implacable enemy to Lord Clarendon ; and 
 had so great an influence over her husband, as to 
 prevail upon him to assist in the ruin of that great 
 man, though he was one of his best friends. In- 
 deed, the general was afraid to offend her, as her 
 anger knew no bounds. Nothing is more certain 
 than that the intrepid commander, who was never 
 afraid of bullets, was often terrified by the fury 
 of his wife. 
 
 ALBRET, CHARLOTTE D', 
 Duchess de Valentinois, sister of John D'Albret, 
 king of Navarre, and wife of Csesar Borgia, son 
 of Pope Alexander VI., whose misfortunes she 
 shared, without reproaching him for his vices, 
 was pious, sensible, and witty, and had much ge- 
 nius for poetry. She died in 1514. 
 
 ALBRET, JEANNE D', 
 Daughter of Henry d'Albret, king of Navarre, 
 and his wife, the illustrious Margaret of Navarre, 
 sister of Francis I. of France, ranks high among 
 women distinguished for their great qualities. Id 
 1500, when Jeanne was only eleven, she was mar- 
 
AL 
 
 AL 
 
 ried, against her own and her parents' wishes, to 
 the duke of Cleves, hy her uncle Francis, who 
 feared lest her father should give her in marriage 
 to Philip, son of the emperor of Germany, Charles 
 V. The nuptials were never completed, and were 
 soon declared null and void by the pope, through 
 the intercession of the king of Navarre. 
 
 In October, 1548, Jeanne was again married, at 
 Moulins, to Antoine de Bourbon, duke de Ven- 
 dome, to whom she bore two sons, who died in 
 their infancy. Her third son, afterwards Henry 
 IV. of France, was born at Pau, in Navarre, De- 
 cember 15th, 1553. The king of Navarre, from 
 some whimsical ideas respecting the future char- 
 acter of the child, had promised his daughter to 
 show her his will, which she was anxious to see, 
 if, during the pangs of childbirth, she would sing 
 a Bearnaise song. This Jeanne promised to do, 
 and she performed her engagement, singing, in the 
 language of Beam, a song commencing 
 
 "Notre Dame du bout du pont, aidez raoi en cette heure," 
 
 On the death of her father, May 25th, 1555, 
 Jeanne became queen of Navarre. Like her mo- 
 ther, she was the protectress of the reformed reli- 
 gion, of which, it is believed, she would, with her 
 husband, have made a public profession, but for 
 the menaces of Henry II. of France, and the pope. 
 In 1558, in consequence of the dangers that threat- 
 ened them, they were compelled to make a visit to 
 the court of France, leaving their son and their 
 kingdom under the joint care of Susanne de Bour- 
 bon, wife to Jean d'Albret, and Louis d'Albret, 
 bishop of Lescar. About this time, Jeanne, young, 
 gay, and lovely, began to display less zeal than 
 her husband in the cause of the reformers. Fond 
 of amusements, and weary of preaching and pray- 
 ing, she remonstrated with her husband respecting 
 the consequences of his zeal, which might prove 
 the ruin of his estates. Eventually, however, 
 Jeanne became the protectress of Calvinism, which 
 her husband not merely renounced, but persecuted 
 the reformers, gained over by the stratagems of 
 Catharine de Medicis, and by advantages proposed 
 to him by Philip II. and the court of Home. 
 Jeanne resisted the entreaties of her husband, 
 and, resenting his ill-treatment of the reformers, 
 she retired from France. 
 
 In Nov. 1562, the king of Navarre died of a 
 wound he received at the siege of Rouen, regret- 
 ting, on his death-bed, his change of religion, and 
 declaring his resolution, if he lived, of espousing 
 more zealously than ever the cause of the Reforma- 
 tion. On the following Christmas, the queen made 
 a public proclamation of her faith, and abolished 
 popery throughout her dominions. At the same 
 time, she fortified Beam against the Spaniards, 
 who, it was reported, were plotting to surprise the 
 city. The offices of the Roman Catholic church 
 were prohibited throughout Beam, its altars over- 
 thrown, and its images destroyed. Twenty minis- 
 ters were recalled to instruct the people in their 
 own language, academies were established, and 
 the affairs of the state, both civil and ecclesiastical, 
 were regulated by the queen. 
 
 In 1563, Jeanne had been cited to Rome by the 
 
 pope ; the Inquisition, in case of her non-appear- 
 ance, declared her lands and lordships confiscated, 
 and her person subjected to the penalties ap- 
 pointed for heresy. But the court of France re- 
 voked the citation, conceiving it militated against 
 the liberties of the Galilean church. By the in- 
 surrections of her Roman Catholic subjects, Jeanne 
 was kept in continual alarm ; but, holding the 
 reins of government with a vigorous hand, she 
 rendered all their projects abortive. 
 
 In 1568, she left her dominions to join the chiefs 
 of the Protestant party. She mortgaged her jew- 
 els to raise money for the troops, and going, with 
 her young son, Henry, devoted from his birth to 
 the cause of the Reformation, to Rochelle, she 
 assembled and harangued the troops ; and ad- 
 dressed letters to the foreign princes, and particu- 
 larly to the queen of England, imploring their 
 pity and assistance. 
 
 In the meantime, the Roman Catholics of Beam, 
 assisted by Charles IX., taking advantage of the 
 absence of the queen, seized on the greater part 
 of the country, of which, however, the count de 
 Montgomery dispossessed them, and violated the 
 articles of capitulation, by causing several of the 
 leaders of the insurrection to be put to death. 
 This breach of honour and humanity admits of no 
 excuse. 
 
 An alliance was proposed, by the court of 
 France, between Henry of Navarre and Margaret 
 of Valois, sister of Charles IX., to which, by spe- 
 cious offers and pretences, Jeanne was induced to 
 lend an ear; having taken a journey to Paris for 
 the preparation of these inauspicious nuptials, she 
 was seized with a sudden illness, and, not without 
 suspicions of poison, expired soon after, June 10th, 
 1572, in the forty-fourth year of her age. 
 
 She was accustomed to say, " that arms once 
 taken up should never be laid down, but upon one 
 of three conditions — a safe peace, a complete vic- 
 tory, or an honourable death." Her daughter, 
 Catharine, wife of the duke de Bar, continued a 
 Protestant all her life. 
 
 Jeanne possessed a strong and vigorous under- 
 standing, a cultivated mind, and an acquaintance 
 with the languages. She left several compositions 
 in prose and verse. The following extemporary 
 stanzas was made by her, on visiting the printing- 
 press of Robert Stephens, May 21st, 1566 : 
 
 "Art singulier, d'ici aux derniers ans, 
 Representez atix enfants de ma race 
 tiue j'ai suivi des craignants Dieu la trace, 
 A fin qu'ils soient les memes pas suivantg." 
 
 The second is her reply to M. Ballay, who had 
 complimented her "Impromptu" very highly 
 due m6riter on ne puisse Thonneur 
 (iu'avez escript, je n'en suis ignorante ; 
 Gt si ne suis pour cela moins contente, 
 due ce n'est moy a qui appartient I'heur 
 Je cognois bien le pris et la valeiir 
 De ma louange, et cela ne me lente 
 D'en croire plus que ce qui se pr6sente, 
 Et n'en sera de gloire enfl6 men coeur; 
 Mais qu'un Bellay ait dalgne de Tescrire, 
 Honte je n'ay a vous et chacun dire, 
 due je me tiens plus contente du tiers, 
 Plus satisfaile, et encor glorieuse, 
 Sans m6riter me trouver si heureuse, 
 Uu'on puisse voir mon nom en vos papiers. 
 
 166 
 
AL 
 
 AM 
 
 De Jeurs grands fails les rares anciens 
 
 Sont inainteiiant contens et glorleux, 
 
 Ayant trouv6 poetes curieux 
 
 Les faire vivre, et poiir tels je les tiens 
 
 Mais j'osR dire (et cela je maintiens) 
 
 Q-u'encor ils ont un regret ennuieux, 
 
 Dont ils seront sur moymesme envieux, 
 
 En ggmissant aux Champs-Elysiens: 
 
 C'est qu'ils voudroient (pour certain je le scay) 
 
 Revivre ici et avoir un Bellay, 
 
 Ou qu'un Bellay de leur temps eust 6t6. 
 
 Cur ce qui n'est savez si dextremenl 
 
 Feindre et parer, que trop plus ais6ment 
 
 Le bien du bien seroit par vous cliant6. 
 
 Le papier gros et Tencre trop espesse, 
 La plume lourde et la main bien pesante; 
 Stile qui point I'oreille ne contente. 
 Foible argument et mots pleins de rudesse 
 Monstrent assez nion ignorance expresse ; 
 Et si n'en suis moins bardie et ardente, 
 Mea vers semer, si subjet se pr6sente : 
 Et qui pis est, en cela je m'adresse 
 A vous, qui pour plus aigres les gouster, 
 I En les meslant avecques des meilleurs, 
 Faictes les miens et vostres escouler. 
 Telle se voit difference aux couleurs ; 
 Le blanc an gris scait bien son lustre oster. 
 C'est riieur de vous, et ce sont mes malheurs. 
 
 Le temps, les ans, d'armes mc serviront 
 Pour pouvoir vaincre ma jeune ignorance, 
 El dessus moy i moymesme puissance 
 A I'advenir, peut-estre, donneront. 
 Mais quand cent ans sur mon chef doubleront 
 Si le hault ciel un tel age m'advance, 
 Gloire J'auray d'heureuse recompense. 
 Si puis attaindre a celles qui seront 
 Par leur chef-d'ceuvre en los toujours vivantes. 
 Mais tel cuider seroit trop plein d'audace, 
 Bien suffira si prSs leurs excellentes 
 Vertua je puis trouver une petite place ; 
 Encor je sens mes forces languissantes. 
 Pour esperer du ciel tel heur et grace." 
 
 ALBRIZZI, TEOTOCHI ISABELLA. 
 
 This lady, of much celebrity for her talents, was 
 born on the island of Corfu, of one of the most 
 illustrious families of that island. Her father, 
 count Spindosi Teotochi, was for many years pre- 
 sident of the senate of the Ionian islands. At a 
 very early age, Isabella was married to Carlo 
 Marino, a Venetian nobleman, whom she accom- 
 panied to Italy, which she never left again during 
 her life. 
 
 Marino was a man of letters, and the atithor of 
 
 a history of Venetian commerce ; it was his society 
 and guidance which determined the literary bent 
 of her mind, and gave the first impetus to her 
 studious habits ; but his existence was prema- 
 turely terminated, and her subsequent union with 
 the count Albrizzi placed her in a situation where 
 her talents and tastes obtained complete develop- 
 ment. Her house at Venice became the resort of 
 all the noted characters resident in Italy, or visit- 
 ing its storied land. Lord Byron, Cuvier, Canova, 
 Denon, Fosoolo and Humboldt, were the habitues 
 of her saloon. Byron called her the Venetian 
 De Stael. She possessed that fine tact that be- 
 longs to a feeling heart, combined with the cour- 
 tesy which a life passed in good society bestows. 
 It was observed, that amid the concourse of stran- 
 gers, artists, authors, and notable persons of every 
 sort and nation — and even Chinese have been seen 
 at her conversazione — nobody, however obscure, 
 was ever neglected ; nobody left her house with- 
 out an agreeable impression. She has written one 
 very interesting work, " Life of Vittoria Colonna," 
 in which simplicity and elegance are remarkably 
 combined. A little work, in which she has de- 
 fended the " Mirza of Alfieri" against the attacks 
 of a celebrated critic, has been highly praised. 
 The "Portraits of Celebrated Contemporaries," 
 from the subject, the author, and its intrinsic 
 merits, became justly popular. " The Observa- 
 tions upon the Works of Canova," a book inspired 
 by friendship, manifests a judicious taste for the 
 arts ; is full of instruction for strangers, and in- 
 terest for philosophic and poetic minds. 
 
 As a mother, her devotion was complete and 
 her intelligence admirable. She gave unwearied 
 pains to the moral and inteDectual education of 
 her children, and administered their property with 
 consummate ability. Nor did these loving cares 
 go unrewarded ; she had the happiness of possess- 
 ing in her sons, tender and congenial friends, in 
 seeing them partake with her, the general esteem, 
 and in her last painful malady, their assiduity 
 and filial affection softened the pangs of death, 
 and smoothed her passage to the tomb. 
 
 ALOYSIA, SIGEA, 
 
 Of Toledo, a Spanish lady, and celebrated for 
 her learning, who wrote a letter to Paul III., the 
 pope of Kome, in 1540, in Latin, Greek, Hebrew, 
 Arabic, and Syriac. She was afterwards called 
 to the court of Portugal, where she composed 
 several works, and died young. 
 
 ALTOVITI, MARSEILLE D', 
 A Flokentine lady, who settled at Marseilles, 
 and devoted herself to writing Italian poetry. 
 She died in 1609. 
 
 AMELIA, ANNA, 
 DnOHESs of Weimar, was a German princess, 
 highly distinguished for her talents and virtues, 
 whose patronage was powerfully exerted for the 
 improvement of taste and learning among her 
 countrymen. She was the daughter of the duke 
 of Brunswick, and the niece of Frederick II. of 
 Prussia. Her birth took place October 24th, 
 
 166 
 
AM 
 
 AN 
 
 1739. At the age of seventeen, she was married 
 to the duke of Weimar, who left her a widow, 
 after a union of about two years. The commence- 
 ment of the seven years' war, which then took 
 place, rendered her situation peculiarly embar- 
 rassing, as, while herself a minor, she was called 
 to the guardianship of her infant son, the sove- 
 reign of the little state over which she presided. 
 To add to her difficulties, she found herself obliged, 
 as a princess of the empire, to take part against 
 her uncle, the great Frederick. But he treated 
 her personally with great respect, and though her 
 provinces suffered severely, they were preserved 
 from absolute ruin. When peace was established, 
 she directed her cares to the education of her 
 sons, and the public affairs of the duchy. Her 
 regency was attended with great advantages to 
 the country. In the administration of justice, the 
 management of the revenue, in public establish- 
 ments, she was alike sedulous ; and under her fos- 
 tering patronage a new spirit sprang up among 
 her people, and diffused its influence over the 
 north of Germany. Foreigners of distinction, 
 artists, and men of learning, were attracted to her 
 court, either as visitors or fixed residents. The 
 use of a large library was given to the public ; 
 a new theatre erected, and provision was made 
 for the improved education of youth. The uni- 
 versity of Jena underwent a revision, and the 
 liberality of the princess was exerted in modifying 
 and extending the establishment. She delighted 
 in the society of men of talents and literature, and 
 succeeded in drawing within the circle of her in- 
 fluence many individuals of high celebrity. The 
 city of Weimar became the resort of the most dis- 
 tinguished literary men of Germany, whom the 
 duchess- encouraged, by her liberal patronage, to 
 come and reside at her court. Wieland, Herder, 
 Schiller, and Goethe, formed a constellation of 
 genius of which any city might be proud. They 
 all held some distinguished office about her court.' 
 The duchess witlidrew, in 1775, from public life, 
 having given up the sovereign authority to her 
 eldest son, then of age. Her health, which had 
 suffered from a recent severe attack of illness, 
 made this retirement desirable ; and she also anti- 
 cipated great gratification from the study of those 
 arts to which she had always been attached, espe- 
 cially music, with which she was intimately ac- 
 quainted. The conclusion of her life was clouded 
 by misfortune ; and the deaths of several of her 
 relatives, the ruin of royal houses with which she 
 was connected, and the miseries occasioned by 
 the French invasion of Germany, contributed to 
 embitter the last moments of her existence. She 
 died in April, 1807, and was interred on the 19th 
 of that month at Weimar. 
 
 AMMANATI, LAURA BATTIFERRI, 
 Wife of Bartholemew Ammanati, a Florentine 
 sculptor and architect, was daughter of John An- 
 thony Battiferri, and bom at Urbino, in 1513. 
 She became celebrated for her genius and learning. 
 Her poems are highly esteemed. She was one of 
 the members of the Introvati Academy at Sienna ; 
 and died at Florence, in 1589, aged seventy-six. 
 
 She is considered one of the best Italian poets of 
 the sixteenth century. 
 
 ANDREINI, ISABELLA, 
 Was bom at Padua, in 1653. She became an 
 actress of great fame, and was flattered by the ap- 
 plauses of men of wit and learning of her time. 
 The Italian theatre was considered, in that day, a 
 literary institution. She is described as a woman 
 of elegant figure, beautiful countenance, and me- 
 lodious voice ; of taste in her profession, and con- 
 versant with the French and Spanish languages ; 
 nor was she unacquainted with philosophy and the 
 sciences. She was a votary of the muses, and 
 cultivated poetry with ardour and success. The 
 Intenti academicians of Pavia, conferred upon her 
 the honours of their society, and the title of Isa- 
 bella Andreini, Comica Gelosa, Academica Intenta, 
 detta I'Accesa. She dedicated her works to car- 
 dinal Aldobrandini, (nephew to pope Clement 
 VIII.) by whom she was greatly esteemed, and 
 for whom many of her poems were composed. In 
 France, whither she made a tour, she met with a 
 most flattering reception from the king, the queen, 
 and the court. She died in 1604, at Lyons, in the 
 forty-second year of her age. Her husband was 
 overwhelmed with affliction at her loss, and erected 
 a monument to her memory, in the city in which 
 she expired, inscribed with an epitaph commemo- 
 rative of her virtues. The learned strove to outdo 
 each other in pronouncing panegyrics on her cha- 
 racter. Even a medal was struck, with this in- 
 scription, ".sterna Fama." 
 
 Her works are numerous, and stiU much ad- 
 mired by the lovers of Italian literature ; they are 
 readily found in print. She left a son, born in 
 1578, who was also a poet; he wrote, among other 
 things, "Adamo," a sacred drama, in five acts, 
 with chorusses, &c., Milan, 1613, and 1617, with 
 prints, designed by Carlo Antonio Proccachini, a 
 celebrated landscape painter of his time, and of 
 the school of the Carracci; but in a wretched 
 style. Paradise being represented as fuU of dipt 
 hedges, squares, parterres, straight walks, &c. 
 But what is more interesting, Voltaire, in his visit 
 to England, in 1727, suggested that Milton took 
 his hint of his Paradise Lost from this drama. 
 This obtained little credit at the time, and was 
 contemptuously rejected by Dr. Johnson, in his. 
 Life of Milton. Mr. Hayley, however, has revived 
 the question, and with considerable advantage to 
 Voltaire's supposition ; and it seems now to be the 
 opinion, that the coincidence between Andreini's 
 plan and Milton's, is too great to be the effect of 
 chance. But the "Adamo" is here only of im- 
 portance as showing the influence of the talents of 
 the mother in forming the mind of her son. Her 
 ".sterna Fama" was his inspiration. 
 
 ANGUSCIOLA, SOPHONISBA, 
 
 Better known by the name of Sophonisba, an 
 Italian painter of great eminence, both in portrait 
 and historical painting, was born at Cremona in 
 1533, and died at Genoa in 1626. She was twice 
 married. She was of a very distinguished family, 
 and was first taught by Bernardino Campo of Ore- 
 
 167 
 
AN 
 
 AN 
 
 mona, and afterwards learned perspective and 
 colouring from Bernardo Gatti, called Soraio. 
 Her principal works are portraits, yet she executed 
 several historical subjects with great spirit ; the 
 attitudes of her figures are easy, natural, and 
 graceful. She hecame blind through over-appli- 
 cation to her profession, but she enjoyed the 
 friendship of some of the greatest characters of 
 the day. Vandyck acknowledged himself more 
 benefited by her than by all his other studies. 
 Some of the principal works by this artist are the 
 " Marriage of St. Catharine," and a portrait of 
 herself, playing on the harpsichord with an old 
 female attendant in waiting. 
 
 ANGUSCIOLA, LUCIA, 
 SiSTEK of the above-mentioned, was an artist of 
 considerable skill. She obtained a reputation 
 equal to Sophonisba's, by her portraits, as well 
 for truth and delicacy of colouring, as for ease of 
 attitude and correctness of resemblance. 
 
 ANNA IWANOWNA, 
 Empress of Russia, was the second daughter of 
 tie czar Iwan, or John, the elder brother, and for 
 some time the associate of Peter the Great. She 
 was born February 8th, 1694. In 1710 she mar- 
 ried Frederic William, duke of Courland, who died 
 in 1711. On the death of the emperor Peter II., 
 in 1730, she was declared empress by the council 
 of state, the senate, and the principal military 
 officers at Moscow. They passed over her elder 
 sister, the duchess of Mecklenburg, and the prin- 
 cess Elizabeth, daughter of Peter the Great, and 
 afterwards empress, thinking that, with Anna for 
 an empress, they might reduce the government to 
 a limited monarchy ; but they were unsuccessful 
 in their intrigues, for though she consented to all 
 the required conditions, yet when she felt her po- 
 sition secure, she annulled her promises, and de- 
 clared herself empress and autocrat of all the 
 Rnssias. 
 
 The empress Anna had a good share of the 
 ability which has long distinguished the imperial 
 family of Russia ; and managed the affairs of the 
 empire with superior judgment. She was not, 
 however, a very popular sovereign, owing to the 
 many oppressive acts of her favourite Biron, a 
 minion whom she had raised from a low condition 
 to be duke of Courland. She discountenanced the 
 drunkenness in which both sexes used to indulge ; 
 only one nobleman was allowed, as a special fa- 
 vour, to drink as much as he pleased ; and she 
 also discouraged gaming. Her favourite amuse- 
 ments were music and the theatre. The first 
 Italian opera was played at St. Petersburg, in her 
 reign. She also directed the famous palace of ice 
 to be built. She died in 1740. 
 
 ANN AMELIA, 
 
 Peinoess of Prussia, sister to Frederick the 
 Great, born in 1723, died 1787. She distinguish- 
 ed herself by her taste for the arts. She set to 
 music " The Death of the Messiah" by Romler. 
 She was a decided friend to the far-famed baron 
 Trenck ; and there can be no doubt, that this 
 
 attachment for the princess, was the cause of 
 Trenck's misfortunes. Frederick was incensed 
 that a subject should aspire to the hand of his 
 sister. She continued her attachment to Trenck 
 when both had grown old, and Frederick was in his 
 grave, but death prevented her from providing for 
 Trenck's children as she intended. 
 
 ANNE OF AUSTRIA, 
 
 Qdeen of Louis XIII. of France, and regent 
 during the minority of Louis XIV., was daughter of 
 Philip II. of Spain, and was married to Louis XIII. 
 in 1615. Anne found a powerful enemy in cardi- 
 nal Richelieu, who had great influence over the 
 king, and she was compelled to yield, as long as 
 he lived, to the great minister. 
 
 Had Anne possessed greater talents, or been 
 more agreeable, the case might have been differ- 
 ent ; but her coldness and gravity of demeauoiu', 
 which only covered frivolity, alienated Louis XIII. 
 Her attachment to her native country was also 
 represented as a crime by the cardinal, and his 
 whispers as to her betraying intelligence, brought 
 upon Anne the ignominy of having her person 
 searched, and her papers seized. 
 
 When it was known that the queen was in dis- 
 grace, the malcontent nobles, with Gaston, the 
 king's brother, at their head, rallied around her, 
 and she was implicated in a conspiracy against 
 Louis XIII. Richelieu took advantage of this, to 
 represent her as wishing to get rid of Louis to 
 marry Gaston ; and Anne was compelled to appear 
 before the king's counsel to answer this grave 
 charge. Her dignity here came to her aid, and, 
 scorning to make a direct reply, she merely ob- 
 served, contemptuously, " That too little was to 
 be gained by the change, to render such a design 
 on her part probable." The duke of Bucking- 
 ham's open court to the neglected queen, also gave 
 rise to malicious reports. 
 
 On the death of Louis XIII., Anne, as mother 
 of the infant king, held the undisputed reins ; and 
 she gave one great proof of wisdom in her choice 
 of cardinal Mazarin as a minister. However, 
 some oppressive acts of Mazarin gave birth to a 
 popular insurrection, which terminated in a civil 
 
 168 
 
AN 
 
 AN 
 
 war, called the war of the Fronde, in -which Anne, 
 her minister, and their adherents, were opposed 
 to the nobility, the citizens, and the people of 
 Paris. But Anne and Mazarin came off triumph- 
 ant. The result of this rebellion, and of Anne 
 of Austria's administration, was, that the nobles 
 and middle classes, vanquished in the field, were 
 never afterwards able to resist the royal power, 
 up to the great revolution. Anne's influence over 
 the court of France continued a long time ; her 
 Spanish haughtiness, her love of ceremonial, and 
 of power, were impressed on the mind of her son, 
 Louis XIV. Some modern French writers have 
 pretended to find reasons for believing this proud 
 queen was secretly married to cardinal Mazarin, 
 her favourite adviser and friend. But no suffi- 
 cient testimony, to establish the fact of such a 
 strange union, has been adduced. The queen died 
 in 1666, aged sixty-four. She was a very hand- 
 some woman, and celebrated for the beauty of her 
 hands and arms. 
 
 Anne of Austria appears to have been estimable 
 for the goodness and kindness of her heart, rather 
 than for extraordinary capacity; for the attrac- 
 tions of the woman rather than the virtues of the 
 queen ; a propensity to personal attachments, and 
 an amiable and forgiving temper, were her distin- 
 guishing characteristics. A woman who procured 
 her subsistence by singing infamous songs, ex- 
 posed to sale one grossly reflecting on the queen. 
 This woman, after having exercised her odious 
 profession for some time, was committed to prison. 
 Anne, hearing of the miserable situation to which 
 the wretch who had defamed her was abandoned, 
 secretly sent to her abundant relief. The last 
 favour which the queen-mother exacted from her 
 son, was to recal a gentleman by whom she had 
 been libelled. 
 
 In a history of the press of Caille, an anecdote 
 appears, by which it may be seen that Anne of 
 Austria loved literature, and sustained its freedom 
 and dignity. Antoine Berthier, librarian of Paris, 
 having formed a design to add to the life of Car- 
 dinal Richelieu two volumes of letters and me- 
 moirs, which he had carefully collected, addressed 
 himself to the regent, to whom he intimated that, 
 without a powerful protection, he dared not hazard 
 the publication, as many persons still living and 
 received with favour at court, were freely treated 
 in this collection. " Proceed without fear," re- 
 plied she, " and make so many blush for vice, that, 
 for the future, virtue only may find repose in 
 France." 
 
 The life of this queen had been marked with 
 vicissitude, and clouded by disquiet. At one pe- 
 riod, subjected by an imperious minister, whose 
 yoke she had not the resolution to throw off, she 
 became an object of compassion even to those who 
 caballed and revolted against her ; yet her affec- 
 tions were never alienated from France, in favour 
 of which she interested herself, with spirit and 
 zeal, in the war against her native country. The 
 French, at length, relinquished their prejudices, 
 and did her justice. The latter years of her life 
 were passed in tranquillity, in retirement, and in 
 the exercise of benevolence. 
 
 The following curious portrait, in which, with 
 an affectation of antithesis, some malice and pre- 
 judice seem manifested, is drawn of her by Car- 
 dinal de Retz: — "The queen had, beyond any 
 person I have ever seen, that kind of wit which is 
 necessary not to appear a fool to those unac- 
 quainted with her. She possessed more sharpness 
 than pride, more pride than grandeur, more of 
 manner than solidity, more avidity for money than 
 liberality, more liberality than selfishness, more 
 attachment than passion, more of hardness than 
 fierceness, a memory more retentive of injuries 
 than benefits, more desire of being pious than 
 piety, more obstinacy than firmness, and more of 
 incapacity than of any of the foregoing qualities." 
 
 Anne of Austria was interred at St. Denis ; 
 her heart was carried to Le Val de Grace, of which 
 she had been the foundress ; and the following 
 epitaph was made on her : 
 
 " Sister, wife, mother, daughter of kings ! Ne- 
 ver was any more worthy of these illustrious 
 titles." 
 
 ANNE 
 
 Queen of England, second daughter of James II. 
 by his first wife Anne Hyde, was born at Twicken- 
 ham on the 6th of February, 1664. She was edu- 
 cated in the religion of the church of England ; 
 and, in 1683, married prince George, brother of 
 Christian V., king of Denmark. At the revolution 
 in 1688, Anne and her husband adhered to the 
 dominant party of her brother-in-law William III. ; 
 and, by act of settlement, the English crown was 
 guaranteed to her and her children in default of 
 issue to William and Mary. But all her children 
 died in infancy or early youth. 
 
 Anne ascended the throne on the death of Wil- 
 liam in 1702 ; and twc months afterwards, Eng- 
 land, the Empire, and Holland, declared war 
 against France and Spain ; in which Marlborough 
 and Peterborough, the English generals, and 
 Leake, Rooke, Shovel, and Stanhope, the English 
 admirals, greatly distinguished themselves. Dur- 
 ing the brilliant course of Marlborough's con- 
 quests, the spirit of political intrigue, which was 
 
 169 
 
AN 
 
 AN 
 
 perhaps never more fully developed than in the 
 latter years of the reign of Anne, was stifled by 
 the enthusiasm of the people. But as the war of 
 the succession proceeded with few indications of 
 its being brought to an end, the great commander 
 of the English forces gradually lost his popularity, 
 from the belief that his own avarice and ambition 
 were the principal causes of the burdens which 
 the war necessarily entailed upon the nation. A 
 formidable party, too, had arisen, who asserted 
 the supremacy of the church and the doctrine of 
 the right divine of kings and the passive obedience 
 of subjects — opinions which had expelled James 
 II. from his kingdom, and had placed his childless 
 daughter upon the throne. These opinions, how- 
 ever, were supposed to be indirectly encouraged by 
 the queen, and were exceedingly popular amongst 
 a passionate and unreasoning people. 
 
 In July, 1706, the legislative union of Scotland 
 and England was completed, which was mainly 
 owing to the earnest and steady efi'orts of the 
 queen in favour of the union. Anne was all her 
 life under the control of her favourites, first of the 
 duchess of Marlborough, and afterwards of Mrs. 
 Masham. The duchess of Marlborough, a woman 
 of the most imperious, ambitious, avaricious, and 
 disagreeable character, kept the queen in a state 
 of subjection or terror for more than twenty years. 
 The detail of the scenes occurring between them 
 would hardly be believed, were it not authenti- 
 cated by careful writers. Miss Strickland, in her 
 "History of the Queens of England," has given 
 this curious subject a thorough examination. 
 
 Anne was mother of seventeen children, all of 
 whom died young. When left a widow, she would 
 not listen to the entreaties of the parliament (al- 
 though but forty-four years old at the time) to 
 conclude another marriage, which might throw new 
 obstacles in the way of the restoration of her own 
 family. She now intended to put all power into the 
 hands of the tories, who were then the majority in 
 the three kingdoms. The duchess of Marlborough 
 lost her influence ; Godolphin, Sunderland, So- 
 mers, Devonshire, Walpole, Cowper, were super- 
 seded by Harley, earl of Oxford ; Bolingbroke, 
 Rochester, Buckingham, George Grenville, and 
 Sir Simon Harcourt ; and the parliament was dis- 
 solved. Peace was resolved upon. Marlborough 
 was accused, suspended and banished. Meanwhile 
 Anne, notwithstanding the measures which she 
 publicly took against her brother, seems not to 
 have given up the hope of securing to him the 
 succession ; but the irreconcileable enmity of Ox- 
 ford and Bolingbroke, the former of whom accused 
 the latter of favouring the Pretender, was an in- 
 surmountable obstacle. 
 
 Grieved at the disappointment of her secret 
 wishes, the queen fell into a state of weakness 
 and lethargy, and died July 20th, 1714. The 
 words, "0, my dear brother, how I pity thee!" 
 which she pronounced on her death-bed, unveiled 
 the secret of her whole life. The reign of Anne 
 was distinguished not only by the brilliant suc- 
 cesses of the British arms, but also as the golden 
 age of English literature, on account of the num- 
 ber of admirable and excellent writers who flou- 
 
 rished at this time ; among whom were Pope and 
 Addison. It may be considered the triumph of 
 the English high-church party, owing to her strong 
 predilection for the principles by which it has 
 always been actuated. Her private character was 
 amiable ; but her good sense was rendered ineffec- 
 tual from the want of energy. The kindness of 
 her disposition obtained for her the title of the 
 good queen Anne. She was an excellent wife and 
 mother, and a kind mistress. 
 
 The common people loved her well, a sure proof 
 of her real worth as a woman and a sovereign. 
 So strong was this feeling of veneration for her 
 character and memory, that for many years after 
 her death her name had power to agitate or excite 
 them. In the reign of George I., Edmund Curl 
 was set in the pillory for some of his libellous 
 publications, and told the mob, who surrounded 
 him, " that he was put there for speaking well of 
 the memory of good queen Anne." Upon hearing 
 this, the people (mo6 in English parlance) not only 
 laid aside the missiles with which they had come 
 prepared to pelt him, but they waited patiently 
 till he had stood his appointed time, and then 
 " escorted him to his own house with great re- 
 spect." Anne deserved this love of her people, 
 because in aU her conduct she showed that her 
 wish was to do them good. Unhappily for them, 
 she had not the energy to do what she would will- 
 ingly have had done. The education of the poor 
 was at that time utterly neglected. The queen 
 endeavoured to have the abuses of the " charity 
 schools" rectified ; but her appeal to the arch- 
 bishop of Canterbury, though she wrote a letter 
 to him herself, was unavailing. 
 
 One remarkable feature in the literary progress 
 of that age must not be forgotten. Miss Strick- 
 land thus describes it : 
 
 "In the first year of the reign of Anne, an 
 annual was established called the Ladies' Diary, 
 or Women's almanack ; according to its prospec- 
 tus ' containing directions for love, marriage, pre- 
 serving (not hearts, but plums and gooseberries), 
 cookery, perfumery, bUls of fare, and many other 
 concerns peculiar to the fair sex.' The editor's 
 description of this unique performance throws 
 some light on the domestic customs of an age little 
 known though very near. There was a copy of 
 verses in praise of queen Anne, which were actu- 
 ally spoken ' in the lord-mayor's parlor by one of 
 the blue-coat boys (at the last thanksgiving-day, 
 about the Vigo business), with universal applause.' 
 Then the calendar, with the common notes of the 
 year, the times when marriage comes in and out, 
 and the eclipses all in one page. A ' picture of 
 the queen in copper' (that is, a copperplate en- 
 graving), very well performed. The rest of the 
 literature consisted of 'delightful tales.' The 
 preface was a dissertation on the happiness of 
 England, enjoyed under the reign of queen Eliza- 
 beth and the present queen (Anne). Many ardent 
 aspirations the worthy editor made to obtain the 
 lives of celebrated queens, more particularly 
 queens of England, and he even names Margaret 
 of Anjou on his list, but gives up the undertaking 
 on the most solemn conviction ' that no dates of 
 
 170 
 
AN 
 
 AR 
 
 birth or death can be found for any queen except- 
 ing queen Elizabeth and queen Anne.' ' This 
 being the first almanac printed for the use of the 
 fair sex, and under the reign of a glorious woman,' 
 saith Mr. Tipper, ' some would advise me to dedi- 
 cate it to the queen, with some such dedication 
 as this : 
 
 " ' To the queen's most excellent majesty. This 
 Ladies' Biary, or Woman's Almanack, being the 
 first ever published for the peculiar use of the fair 
 sex, is, with all humility, dedicated to your most 
 sacred majesty.' " 
 
 The work was successful ; the oldest of all Eng- 
 lish annuals by at least a hundred years, it is the 
 survivor of most of them. The " Ladies' Diary" 
 is published to this day — the only mathematical 
 periodical in Great Britain. Thus the " good 
 queen Anne" deserves that her memoi'y be kindly 
 regarded by her own sex, for the encouragement 
 she gave to female talent, when so little estimation 
 was awarded it. Two celebrated women flourished 
 in her reign, Mary Astell, and Elizabeth Elstob. 
 
 ANNE OF FEREARA, 
 
 Daughter of Hercules II., duke of Ferrara, 
 married, in 1549, Francis duke of Guise, and be- 
 haved with great spirit and courage during the 
 wars of the League. She was imprisoned for some 
 time at Blois. 
 
 ANNE DE GONZAGUE, 
 
 Wife of Edward count Palatine, died at Paris, 
 in 1684, aged sixty-eight ; and was honoured with 
 an eulogium by the celebrated Bossuet. 
 
 ARBLAY, MADAME D', 
 Better known to the world as Frances Burney, 
 was the second daughter of Dr. Burney, author 
 of a " History of Music." She was born at Lynn- 
 Regis, in the county of Norfolk, England, on the 
 13th of June, 1752. Her father was organist at 
 Lynn, but in 1760 he removed to London, his for- 
 mer residence ; where he numbered among his 
 familiar friends Garrick, Barry the artist, the 
 poets Mason and Armstrong, and other celebrated 
 characters. 
 
 Fanny, though at the age of eight she did not 
 know her letters, yet was shrewd and observant ; 
 and as soon as she could read, commenced to 
 scribble. At fifteen she had written several tales, 
 unknown to any one but her sister. 
 
 The only regular instruction she ever received, 
 was when she was, together with her sister Susanna, 
 placed for a short period at a boarding-school in 
 Queen Square, that they might be out of the way 
 during their mother's last illness ; and when the 
 melancholy tidings of this lady's death were com- 
 municated to them, the agony of Frances, though 
 then but nine years of age, was so great that the 
 governess declared she had never met with a child 
 of such intense feelings. 
 
 But though she received little regular education, 
 there was no want of industry and application on 
 her part ; for, at an early age, she became ac- 
 quainted with the best authors in her father's 
 library, of which she had the uncontrolled range ; 
 and she was accustomed to write extracts from, 
 and remarks upon, the books she read, some of 
 which it is said would not have disgraced her 
 maturer judgment. 
 
 She had also the advantage of the example of 
 her father's own industry and perseverance, to sti- 
 mulate her to exertion ; for Dr. Burney, notwith- 
 standing his numerous professional engagements 
 as a teacher of music, studied and acquired the 
 French and Italian languages on horseback, from 
 pocket grammars and vocabularies he had written 
 out for the purpose. 
 
 In the French language his daughter Frances 
 received some instructions from her sister Susanna, 
 who was educated in France ; and in Latin, at a 
 later period, she had some lessons from Dr. John- 
 son himself, though it must be confessed, she does 
 not seem to have taken much delight in this study 
 — applying to that learned language rather to 
 please her tutor than herself. 
 
 Dr. Burney had, at the period of her youth, a 
 large circle of intellectual and even literary ac- 
 quaintance, and at his house often congregated an 
 agreeable but miscellaneous society, including, 
 besides many eminent for literature, several accom- 
 plished foreigners, together with native artists and 
 scientific men ; and his children, emancipated from 
 the restraints of a school-room, were allowed to 
 be present at, and often to take a share in, the 
 conversation of their father's guests ; by which 
 their minds were opened, their judgments enlight- 
 ened, and their attention turned to intellectual 
 pursuits ; perhaps in a far greater degree than 
 if they had regularly undergone all the drudgery 
 of the usual routine of what is termed " edu- 
 cation." 
 
 The following is a comparative sketch of the 
 character of Miss Frances Burney, drawn about 
 this period by her younger sister, Susanna, after- 
 wards Mrs. Phillips, — to whom her diary was sub- 
 sequently addressed. 
 
 " Sister Fanny is unlike her [Hester Burney, 
 the eldest daughter] in almost everything, yet 
 both are very amiable, and love each other as sin- 
 cerely as ever sisters did. The characteristics of 
 Hetty seem to be wit, generosity, and openness of 
 
 171 
 
AB. 
 
 AR 
 
 heart ; Fanny's, sense, sensibility, and bashful- 
 ness, and even a degree of prudery. Her under- 
 standing is superior, but her diffidence gives her a 
 bashfulness before company with whom she is not 
 intimate, which is a disadvantage to her. My 
 eldest sister shines in conversation, because, though 
 very modest, she is totally free from any mauvaise 
 honie ; were Fanny equally so, I am persuaded she 
 would shine no less. I am afraid my eldest sister 
 is too communicative, and that my sister Fanny is 
 too reserved. They are both charming girls — des 
 fiUes comme ily en apeu," 
 
 Dr. Burney was at this period accustomed to 
 employ his daughters in copying out his manu- 
 scripts for the press, tracing over and over again 
 the same page, with the endless alterations his cri- 
 tical judgment suggested. Upon these occasions 
 Frances was his principal amanuensis, and thus 
 she became early initiated in all the mysteries of 
 publication, which was of much advantage to her 
 when she began to write for the press. 
 
 At seventeen. Miss Burney wrote " Evelina," 
 her first published novel, and now considered by 
 good judges her best work; though "Cecilia" is 
 the more highly finished. ' ' Evelina" was pub- 
 lished in 1778, and soon became popular in London. 
 Its author did not long remain unknown, and Miss 
 Burney attained a celebrity few young novel-wri- 
 ters have ever enjoyed. She was introduced to 
 Dr. Johnson, and speedily gained an enviable place 
 in his favour. He appreciated very justly, both 
 the abilities and moral excellence of Miss Burney. 
 On one occasion, speaking of her work, he ob- 
 serves, " Evelina seems a work that should result 
 from long experience, and deep and intimate 
 knowledge of the world ; yet it has been written 
 without either. Miss Burney is a real wonder. 
 What she is, she is intuitively. Dr. Burney told 
 me she had the fewest advantages of any of his 
 daughters, from some peculiar circumstances. 
 ^Vnd such has been her timidity, that he himself 
 had not any suspicion of her powers. * * * Mo- 
 desty with her is neither pretence nor decorum ; 
 it is an ingredient in her nature ; for she who 
 could part with such a work for twenty pounds, 
 could know so little of its worth or of her own, as 
 to leave no possible doubt of her humility." 
 
 Miss Burney's next publication was " Cecilia," 
 which work called forth an eulogium from the 
 celebrated Mr. Burke. In a letter to Miss Bur- 
 ney he says, " There are few — I believe I may say 
 fairly there are none at all — that will not find 
 themselves better informed concerning human na- 
 ture, and their stock of observations enriched, by 
 reading your ' Cecilia.'" * * * " J might trespass 
 on your delicacy if I should fill my letter to you 
 with what I fill my conversation to others ; I 
 should be troublesome to you alone if I should tell 
 you all I feel and think on the natural vein of 
 humour, the tender pathetic, the comprehensive 
 and noble moral, and the sagacious observation, 
 that appear quite throughout this extraordinary 
 performance." 
 
 In a few years after this. Miss Burney, through 
 the favourable representations made concerning 
 her by her venerable friend Mrs. Delany, was in- 
 
 vited to accept a place in the household of queen 
 Charlotte. A popular writer thus sketches the 
 result, and the subsequent events of her chequered 
 life: 
 
 " The result was, that in 1786 our authoress 
 was appointed second keeper of the robes to queen 
 Charlotte, with a salary of £200 a-year, a foot- 
 man, apartments in the palace, and a coach be- 
 tween her and her colleague. The situation was 
 only a sort of splendid slavery. ' I was averse to 
 the union,' said Miss Burney, ' and I endeavoured 
 to escape it ; but my friends interfered — they pre- 
 vailed — and the knot is tied.' The queen appears 
 to have been a kind and considerate mistress ; but 
 the stiff etiquette and formality of the court, and 
 the unremitting attention which its irksome duties 
 required, rendered the situation peculiarly dis- 
 agreeable to one who had been so long flattered 
 and courted by the brilliant society of her day. 
 Her colleague, Mrs. Schwellenberg, a coarse- 
 minded, jealous, disagreeable German favourite, 
 was also a perpetual source of annoyance to her ; 
 and poor Fanny at court was worse off than her 
 heroine Cecilia was in choosing among her guar- 
 dians. Her first official duty was to mix the 
 queen's snuff, and keep her box always replen- 
 ished, after which she was promoted to the great 
 business of the toilet, helping her majesty off and 
 on with her dresses, and being in strict attendance 
 from six or seven in the morning till twelve at 
 night! From this grinding and intolerable des- 
 tiny Miss Burney was emancipated by her mar- 
 riage, in 1793, with a French refugee officer, the 
 Count D'Arblay. She then resumed her pen, and 
 in 1795 produced a tragedy, entitled 'Edwin and 
 Elgitha,' which was brought out at Drury Lane, 
 and possessed at least one novelty — there were 
 three bishops among the dramatis personce. Mrs. 
 Siddons personated the heroine, but in the dying 
 scene, where the lady is brought from behind a 
 hedge to expire before the audience, and is after- 
 wards carried once more to the back of the hedge, 
 the house was convulsed with laughter ! Her next 
 effort was her novel of ' Camilla,' which she pub- 
 lished by subscription, and realized by it no less 
 than three thousand guineas. In 1802 Madame 
 D'Arblay accompanied her husband to Paris. The 
 count joined the army of Napoleon, and his wife 
 was forced to remain in France till 1812, when 
 she returned and purchased, from the proceeds of 
 her novel, a small but handsome villa, named Ca- 
 milla Cottage. Her success in prose fiction urged 
 her to another trial, and in 1814 she produced 
 ' The Wanderer,' a tedious tale in five volumes, 
 which had no other merit than that of bringing 
 the authoress the large sum of £1500. The only 
 other literary labour of Madame D'Arblay was a 
 memoir of her father. Dr. Burney, published in 
 1832. Her husband and her son (the Rev. A. 
 D'Arblay of Camden Town chapel, near London) 
 both predeceased her — the former in 1818, and 
 the latter in 1837. Three years after this last 
 melancholy bereavement, Madame D'Arblay her- 
 self paid the debt of nature, dying at Bath, in 
 January, 1840, at the great age of eighty-eight. 
 Her ' Diary and Letters ' edited by her niece, 
 
 172 
 
AR 
 
 AE 
 
 were published in 1842, in five Tolumea. If judi- 
 ciously condensed, this work would have been 
 both entertaining and valuable ; but at least one 
 half of it is filled with small unimportant details 
 and private gossip, and the self-admiring weakness 
 of the authoress shines out in almost every page. 
 The early novels of Miss Burney form the most 
 pleasing memorials of her name and history. In 
 them we see her quick in discernment, lively in 
 invention, and inimitable, in her own way, in por- 
 traying the humours and oddities of English so- 
 ciety. Her good sense and correct feeling are 
 more remarkable than her passion. Her love 
 scenes are prosaic enough, but in ' showing up' a 
 party of ' vulgarly genteel' persons, painting the 
 characters in a drawing-room, or catching the fol- 
 lies and absurdities that float on the surface of 
 fashionable society, she has rarely been equalled. 
 She deals with the palpable and familiar; and 
 though society has changed since the time of 
 'Evelina,' and the glory of Ranelagh and Mary- 
 le-bone Gardens has departed, there is enough of 
 real life in her personages, and real morality in 
 her lessons, to interest, amuse, and instruct. Her 
 sarcasm, drollery, and broad humour, must always 
 be relished." 
 
 We will now give a few extracts from the first 
 and the last works of this interesting writer. 
 
 From " Evelina." 
 
 A PRETENDED HIGHWAY ROBBEET. 
 
 " When we had been out near two hours, and 
 expected every moment to stop at the place of our 
 destination, I observed that Lady Howard's ser- 
 vant, who attended us on horseback, rode on for- 
 ward till he was out of sight, and soon after re- 
 turning, came up to the chariot window, and deli- 
 vering a note to Madame Duval, said he had met 
 a boy who was just coming with it to Howard 
 Grove, from the clerk of Mr. Tyrell. 
 
 "While she was reading it, he rode round to 
 the other window, and, making a sign for secresy, 
 put into my hand a slip of paper, on which was 
 written, 'Whatever happens, be not alarmed, for 
 yon are safe, though you endanger all mankind!' 
 
 " I really imagined that Sir Clement must be 
 the author of this note, which prepared me to ex- 
 pect some disagreeable adventure : but I had no 
 time to ponder upon it, for Madame Duval had no 
 sooner read her own letter, than, in an angry tone 
 of voice, she exclaimed, ' Why, now, what a thing 
 is this; here we're come all this way for nothing!' 
 
 "She then gave me the note, which informed 
 her that she need not trouble herself to go to Mr. 
 Tyrell's, as the prisoner had had the address to 
 escape. I congratulated her upon this fortunate 
 incident ; but she was so much concerned at hav- 
 ing rode so far in vain, that she seemed less pleased 
 than provoked. However, she ordered the man 
 to make what haste he could home, as she hoped 
 at least to return before the captain should suspect 
 what had passed. 
 
 " The carriage turned about, and we journeyed 
 so quietly for near an hour that I began to flatter 
 myself we should be suilered to proceed to Howard 
 Grove without further molestation, when, sudden- 
 
 ly, the footman called out, 'John, are we going 
 right ?' 
 
 " 'Why, I ain't sure,' said the coachman ; ' but 
 I'm afraid we turned wrong.' 
 
 '"What do you mean by that, sirrah?' said 
 Madame Duval ; ' why, if you lose your way, we 
 shall be all in the dark.' 
 
 " ' I think we should turn to the left,' said the 
 footman. 
 
 " ' To the left !' answered the other ; ' No, no ; 
 I'm pretty sure we should turn to the right.' 
 
 " ' You had better make some inquiry,' said I. 
 
 '" Ma foi," cried Madame Duval, 'we're in a 
 fine hole here ; they neither of them know no more 
 than the post. However, I 'U teU my lady as sure 
 as you 're born, so you 'd better find the way.' 
 
 " ' Let's try this road,' said the footman. 
 
 " 'No,' said the coachman, 'that's the road to 
 Canterbury ; we had best go straight on.' 
 
 "'Why, that's the direct London road,' re- 
 turned the footman, ' and will lead us twenty miles 
 about.' 
 
 "'Pardie,' cried Madame Duval; 'why, they 
 won't go one way nor t'other; and, now we're 
 come all this jaunt for nothing, I suppose we shan't 
 get home to night.' 
 
 " ' Let's go back to the public-house,' said the 
 footman, ' and ask for a guide.' 
 
 " 'No, no,' said the other; 'if we stay here a 
 few minutes, somebody or other will pass by ; and 
 the horses are almost knocked up already.' 
 
 "'Well, I protest,' cried Madame Duval, 'I'd 
 give a guinea to see them sots horse-whipped. As 
 sure as I 'm alive they 're drunk. Ten to one but 
 they'll overturn us next.' 
 
 "After much debating, they at length agreed to 
 go on till we came to some inn, or met with a pas- 
 senger who could direct us. We soon arrived at 
 a small farm-house, and the footman alighted and 
 went into it. 
 
 " In a few minutes he returned, and told us we 
 might proceed, for that he had procured a direc- 
 tion. 'But,' added he, 'it seems there are some 
 thieves hereabouts, and so the best way will be for 
 you to leave your watches and purses with the 
 farmer, whom I know very well, and who is an 
 honest man, and a tenant of my lady's.' 
 
 "'Thieves!' cried Madame Duval, looking 
 aghast ; ' the Lord help us ! I 've no doubt but we 
 shall be all murdered !' 
 
 " The farmer came to us, and we gave him all 
 we were worth, and the servants followed our ex- 
 ample. We then proceeded, and Madame Duval's 
 anger so entirely subsided, that, in the mildest 
 manner imaginable, she entreated them to make 
 haste, and promised to tell their lady how diligent 
 and obliging they had been. She perpetually 
 stopped them to ask if they apprehended any dan- 
 ger, and was at length so much overpowered by 
 her fears, that she made the footman fasten his 
 horse to the back of the carriage, and then come 
 and seat himself within it. My endeavours to en- 
 courage her were fruitless ; she sat in the middle, 
 held the man by the arm, and protested that if he 
 did but save her life, she would make his fortune. 
 Her uneasiness gave me much concern, and it was 
 
AB, 
 
 AR 
 
 ■with the utmost difficulty I forhore to acquaint 
 her that she waa imposed upon ; but the mutual 
 fear of the captain's resentment to me, and of her 
 own to him, neither of -which would have any 
 moderation, deterred me. As to the footman, he 
 was evidently in torture from restraining his 
 laughter, and I observed that he was frequently 
 obliged to make most horrid grimaces from pre- 
 tended fear, in order to conceal his risibility. 
 
 "Very soon after, 'The robbers are coming!' 
 cried the coachman. 
 
 " The footman opened the door, and jumped out 
 of the chariot. 
 
 " Madame Duval gave a loud scream. 
 
 " I could no longer preserve my silence. ' For 
 heaven's sake, my dear madam,' said I, ' don't be 
 alarmed ; you are in no danger ; you are quite 
 safe ; there is nothing but ' 
 
 " Here the chariot was stopped by two men in 
 masks, who, at each side, put in their hands, as if 
 for our purses. Madame Duval sunk to the bot- 
 tom of the chariot, and implored their mercy. I 
 shrieked involuntarily, although prepared for the 
 attack : one of them held me fast, while the other 
 tore poor Madame Duval out of the carriage, in 
 spite of her cries, threats, and resistance. 
 
 " I waa really frightened, and trembled exceed- 
 ingly. ' My angel !' cried the man who held me, 
 ' you cannot surely be alarmed. Do you not know 
 me ? I shall hold myself in eternal abhorrence 
 if I have really terrified you.' 
 
 " ' Indeed, Sir Clement, you have,' cried I ; ' but, 
 for heaven's sake, where is Madame Duval ? — why 
 is she forced away ?' 
 
 " 'She is perfectly safe; the captain has her in 
 charge ; but suffer me now, my adored Miss An- 
 ville, to take the only opportunity that is allowed 
 me to speak upon another, a much dearer, much 
 sweeter subject.' 
 
 " And then he hastily came into the chariot, and 
 seated himself next to me. I would fain have 
 disengaged myself from him, but he would not let 
 me. ' Deny me not, most charming of women,' 
 cried he — ' deny me not this only moment lent me 
 to pour forth my soul into your gentle ears, to tell 
 you how much I suffer from your absence, how 
 much I dread your displeasure, and how cruelly I 
 am affected by your coldness !' 
 
 "'Oh, sir, this is no time for such language; 
 pray, leave me ; pray, go to the relief of Madame 
 Duval ; I cannot bear that she should be treated 
 with such indignity.' 
 
 "'And wiU you — can you command my ab- 
 sence ? When may I speak to you, if not now ? — 
 does the captain suffer me to breathe a moment 
 out of his sight ? — and are not a thousand imper- 
 tinent people for ever at your elbow ?' 
 
 " 'Indeed, Sir Clement, you must change your 
 style, or I will not hear you. The impertinent 
 people you mean are among my best friends, and 
 you would not, if you really wished me well, speak 
 of them so disrespectfully.' 
 
 " 'Wish you well! Oh, Miss Anville, point but 
 out to me how in what manner I may convince you 
 of the fervour of my passion — tell me but what 
 services you will accept from me, and you shall 
 
 find my life, my fortune, my whole soul at your 
 devotion.' 
 
 " ' I want nothing, sir, that you can offer. 1 
 beg you not to talk to me so — so strangely. Pray, 
 leave me ; and pray, assure yourself you cannot 
 take any method so successless to show any regard 
 for me, as entering into schemes so frightful to 
 Madame Duval, and so disagreeable to myself.' 
 
 "'The scheme was the captain's; I even op- 
 posed it ; though I own I could not refuse myself 
 the so long wished-for happiness of speaking to 
 you once more without so many of — your friends 
 to watch me. And I had flattered myself that the 
 note I charged the footman to give you would 
 have prevented the alarm you have received.' 
 
 " ' Well, sir, you have now, I hope, said enough; 
 and if you will not go yourself to seek for Ma- 
 dame Duval, at least suffer me to inquire what is 
 become of her.' 
 
 " ' And when may I speak to you again V 
 
 " ' No matter when ; I don't know ; perhaps — ' 
 
 " ' Perhaps what, my angel ?' 
 
 " ' Perhaps never, sir, if you torment me thus.' 
 
 "'Never! Oh, Miss AnviUe, how cruel, how 
 piercing to my soul is that icy word ! Indeed I 
 cannot endure such displeasure.' 
 
 " ' Then, sir, you must not provoke it. Pray, 
 leave me directly.' 
 
 " ' I will, madam ; but let me at least make a 
 merit of my obedience — allow me to hope that 
 you will in future be less averse to trusting youi'- 
 self for a few moments alone with me.' 
 
 " I was surprised at the freedom of this request; 
 but while I hesitated how to answer it, the qther 
 mask came up to the chariot door, and, in a voice 
 almost stifled with laughter, said, ' I 've done for 
 her ! The old buck is safe ; but we must sheer 
 off directly, or we shall be all a-ground.' 
 
 "Sir Clement instantly left me, mounted his 
 horse, and rode off. The captain, having given 
 some directions to his servants, followed him. 
 
 " I was both uneasy and impatient to know the 
 fate of Madame Duval, and immediately got out 
 of the chariot to seek her. I desired the footman 
 to show me which way she was gone ; he pointed 
 with his finger, by way of answer, and I saw that 
 he dared not trust his voice to make any other. I 
 walked on at a very quick pace, and soon, to my 
 great consternation, perceived the poor lady seated 
 upright in a ditch. I flew to her, with unfeigned 
 concern at her situation. She was sobbing, nay, 
 almost roaring, and in the utmost agony of rage 
 and terror. As soon as she saw me, she redoubled 
 her cries, but her voice was so broken, I could not 
 understand a word she said. I was so much 
 shocked, that it was with difficulty I forbore ex- 
 claiming against the cruelty of the captain for 
 thus wantonly ill-treating her, and I could not for- 
 give myself for having passively suffered the de- 
 ception. I used my utmost endeavours to comfort 
 her, assuring her of our present safety, and beg- 
 ging her to rise and return to the chariot. 
 
 "Almost bursting with passion, she pointed to 
 her feet, and with frightful violence she actually 
 beat the ground with her hands. 
 
 " I then saw that her feet were tied together 
 
 174 
 
AR 
 
 AR 
 
 with a strong rope, ■which was fastened to the 
 upper hranch of a tree, even with a hedge which 
 ran along the ditch where she sat. I endeavoured 
 to untie the knot, but soon found it was infinitely 
 beyond my strength. I was therefore obliged to 
 apply to the footman ; but being very unwilling to 
 add to his mirth by the sight of Madame Duval's 
 situation, I desired him to lend me a knife. I 
 returned with it, and cut the rope. Her feet were 
 soon disentangled, and then, though with great 
 difSoulty, I assisted her to rise. But what was 
 my astonishment when, the moment she was up, 
 she hit me a violent slap on the face ! I retreated 
 from her with precipitation and dread, and she 
 then loaded me with reproaches which, though 
 almost unintelligible, convinced me that she ima- 
 gined I had voluntarily deserted her; but she 
 seemed not to have the slightest suspicion that she 
 had not been attacked by real robbers. 
 
 " I was so much surprised and confounded at 
 the blow, that for some time I suffered her to rave 
 without making any answer ; but her extreme agi- 
 tation and real suffering soon dispelled my anger, 
 which all turned into compassion. I then told her 
 that I had been forcibly detained from following 
 her, and assured her of my real sorrow at her ill- 
 usage. 
 
 " She began to be somewhat appeased, and I 
 again entreated her to return to the carriage, or 
 give me leave to order that it should draw up to 
 the place where we stood. She made no answer, 
 till I told her that the longer we remained still, 
 the greater would be the danger of our ride home. 
 Struck with this hint, she suddenly, and with 
 hasty steps, moved forward. 
 
 " Her dress was in such disorder that I was 
 quite sorry to have her figure exposed to the ser- 
 vants, who, all of them, in imitation of their mas- 
 ter, hold her in derision ; however, the disgrace 
 was unavoidable. 
 
 " The ditch, happily, was almost dry, or she 
 must have suffered still more seriously; yet so 
 forlorn, so miserable a figure, I never before saw. 
 Her head-dress had fallen off ; her linen was torn ; 
 her negligee had not a pin left in it ; her petticoats 
 she was obliged to hold on ; and her shoes were 
 perpetually slipping off. She was covered with 
 dirt, weeds, and filth, and her face was really hor- 
 rible, for the pomatum and powder from her head, 
 and the dust from the road, were quite pasted on 
 her skin by her tears, which, with her rouge, 
 made so frightful a mixture that she hardly looked 
 human. 
 
 " The servants were ready to die with laughter 
 the moment they saw her ; but not all my remon- 
 strances could prevail on her to get into the car- 
 riage till she had most vehemently reproached 
 them both for not rescuing her. The footman, 
 fixing his eyes on the ground, as if fearful of again 
 trusting himself to look at her, protested that the 
 robbers avowed they would shoot him if he moved 
 an inch, and that one of them had stayed to watch 
 the chariot, while the other carried her off; add- 
 ing, that the reason of their behaving so barba- 
 rously, was to revenge our having secured our 
 purses. Notwithstanding her, anger, she gave im- 
 
 mediate credit to what he said, and really ima- 
 gined that her want of money had irritated the 
 pretended robbers to treat her with such cruelty. 
 I determined, therefore, to be carefully on my 
 guard, not to betray the imposition, which could 
 now answer no other purpose than occasioning an 
 irreparable breach between her and the captain. 
 
 " Just as we were seated in the chariot, she dis- 
 covered the loss which her head had sustained, 
 and called out, ' My God ! what is become of my 
 hair? Why, the villain has stole all my curls!' 
 
 " She then ordered the man to run and see if 
 he could find any of them in the ditch. He went, 
 and presently returning, produced a great quan- 
 tity of hair in such a nasty condition, that I was 
 amazed she would take it ; and the man, as he 
 delivered it to her, found it impossible to keep his 
 countenance ; which she no sooner observed, than 
 all her stormy passions were again raised. She 
 flung the battered curls in his face, saying, ' Sir- 
 rah, what do you grin for? I wish you'd been 
 served so yourself, and you wouldn't have found 
 it no such joke ; you are the impudentest fellow 
 ever I see, and if I find you dare grin at me any 
 more, I shall make no ceremony of boxing youi- 
 ears.' 
 
 " Satisfied with the threat, the man hastily re- 
 tired, and we drove on." 
 
 From " The Diary." 
 A DAY OP HAPPINESS IN A PALACE. 
 
 " Tuesday, March 10th, 1789. — This was a day 
 of happiness indeed 1 — a day of such heartfelt 
 public delight as could not but suppress all private 
 disturbance. 
 
 " The king sent to open the house of lords by 
 commission. 
 
 " The general illumination of all London proved 
 the universal joy of a thankful and most affection- 
 ate people, who have shown so largely, on this 
 trying occasion, how well they merited the monarch 
 thus benignantly preserved. 
 
 " The queen, from her privy purse, gave private 
 orders for a splendid illumination at this palace : 
 Rebecca painted a beautiful transparency; and 
 Mr. Smelt had the regulation of the whole. 
 
 "The King — Providence — Health — and Bri- 
 tannia, were displayed with elegant devices : the 
 queen and princesses, all but the youngest, went 
 to town to see the illumination there ; and Mr. 
 Smelt was to conduct the surprise. It was magni- 
 ficently beautiful. 
 
 "When it was lighted and prepared, the princess 
 Amelia went to lead her papa to the front window : 
 but first she dropped on her knees, and presented 
 him a paper with these lines — which, at the queen's 
 desire, I had scribbled in her name, for the happy 
 occasion : — 
 
 TO THE KING. 
 
 ' Amid a raplVoug nation's praise 
 
 That sees tiiee to tlieir prayers restor'd, 
 Turn gently from the gen'ra] blaze, — 
 Thy Charlotte woos her bosom's lord. 
 
 Turn and behold whore, bright and clear, 
 
 Depictur'd with transparent art, 
 The emblems of her thought appear, 
 
 The tribute of a grateful heart. 
 
 175 
 
AR 
 
 AB 
 
 O! small the tribute, were it weigh'd 
 With all she feels — or half she owes! 
 
 But noble tniiids are best repaid 
 From the pure spring whence bounty flows. 
 
 P. S. The little bearer begs a kiss 
 
 From dear papa, for bringing this. 
 
 " I need not, I tliink, tell you, the little bearer 
 begged not in vain. The king was extremely 
 pleased. He came into a room belonging to the 
 princesses, in which wc had a party to look at the 
 illuminations, and there he stayed above an hour ; 
 cheerful, composed, and gracious 1 all that could 
 merit the great national testimony to his worth 
 this day paid him." 
 
 A ROYAL READING PARTY. 
 
 " In one of our Windsor excursions at this time, 
 while I was in her majesty's dressing-room, with 
 only Mr. De Luc present, she suddenly said, ' Pre- 
 pare yourself, Miss Burney, with all your spirits, 
 for to-night you must be reader.' 
 
 " She then added that she recollected what she 
 had been told by my honoured Mrs. Delany, of my 
 reading Shakspeare to her, and was desirous that 
 I should read a play to herself and the princesses ; 
 and she had lately heard, from Mrs. Schwellen- 
 berg, ' nobody could do it better, when I would.' 
 
 "I assured her majesty it was rather when I 
 could, as any reading Mrs. Sohwellenberg had 
 heard must wholly have been better or worse ac- 
 cording to my spirits, as she had justly seemed to 
 suggest. 
 
 " The moment coffee was over the princess Eli- 
 zabeth came for me. I found her majesty knot- 
 ting, the princess royal drawing, princess Augusta 
 spinning, and lady Courtown I believe in the same 
 employment ; but I saw none of them perfectly 
 well. 
 
 " 'Come, Miss Burney,' cried the queen, 'how 
 are your spirits? — How is your voice ?' 
 
 " ' She says, ma'am,' cried the kind princess 
 Elizabeth, ' she shall do her best !' 
 
 " This had been said in attending her royal 
 highness back. I could only confirm it, and that 
 cheerfully, — to hide fearfullj/. 
 
 " i had not the advantage of choosing my play, 
 nor do I know what would have been my decision 
 had it fallen to my lot. Her majesty had just be- 
 gun Colman's works, and ' Polly Honeycomb' was 
 to open my campaign. 
 
 "'I think,' cried the queen most graciously, 
 ' Miss Burney will read the better for drawing a 
 chair and sitting down.' 
 
 " ' yes, mamma ! I dare say so !' cried prin- 
 cess Augusta and princess Elizabeth, both in a 
 moment. 
 
 " The queen then told me to draw my chair 
 close to her side. I made no scruples. Heaven 
 luiows I needed not the addition of standing ! but 
 most glad I felt in being placed thus near, as it 
 saved a constant painful effort of loud reading. , 
 
 "' Lady Courtown,' cried the queen, 'you had 
 better draw nearer, for Miss Burney has the mis- 
 fortune of reading rather low at first.' 
 
 " Nothing could be more amiable than this open- 
 ing. Accordingly, I did, as I had promised, my 
 
 best ; and, indifferent as that was, it would rather 
 have surprised you, all things considered, that it 
 was not yet worse. But I exerted all the courage 
 I possess, and, having often read to the queen, I 
 felt how much it behooved mo not to let her sur- 
 mise I had any greater awe to surmount. 
 
 "It is but a vulgar performance; and I was 
 obliged to omit, as well as I could at sight, several 
 circumstances very unpleasant for reading, and ill 
 enough fitted for such hearers. 
 
 " It went off pretty flat. Nobody is to comment, 
 nobody is to uiterrupt ; and even between one act 
 and another not a moment's pause is expected to 
 be made. 
 
 " I had been already informed of this etiquette 
 by Mr. Turbulent and Miss Planta ; nevertheless, 
 it is not only oppressive to the reader, but loses to 
 the hearers so much spirit and satisfaction, that I 
 determined to endeavour, should I again be called 
 upon, to introduce a little break into this tiresome 
 and unnatural profundity of respectful solemnity. 
 My own embarrassment, however, made it agree 
 with me for the present uncommonly well. 
 
 " Lady Courtown never uttered one single word 
 the whole time ; yet is she one of the most loqua- 
 cious of our establishment. But such is the set- 
 tled etiquette. 
 
 " The queen has a taste for conversation, and 
 the princesses a good-humoured love for it, that 
 doubles the regret of such an annihilation of all 
 nature and all pleasantry. But what will not 
 prejudice and education inculcate ? They have 
 been brought up to annex silence to respect and 
 decorum : to talk, therefore, unbid, or to differ 
 from any given opinion even when called upon, 
 are regarded as high improprieties, if not pre- 
 sumptions. 
 
 " They none of them do justice to their own 
 minds, while they enforce this subjection upon the 
 minds of others. I had not experienced it before ; 
 for when reading alone with the queen, or listen- 
 ing to her reading to me, I have always frankly 
 spoken almost whatever has occurred to me. But 
 there I had no other examples before mo, and 
 therefore I might inoffensively be guided by my- 
 self; and her majesty's continuance of the same 
 honour has shown no disapprobation of my pro- 
 ceeding. But here it was not easy to make any 
 decision for myself : to have done what lady Cour- 
 town forbore doing would have been undoubtedly 
 a liberty. 
 
 " So we all behaved alike ; and easily can I now 
 conceive the disappointment and mortification of 
 poor Mr. Garrick when he read ' Lethe' to a royal 
 audience. Its tameness must have tamed even 
 him, and I doubt not he never acquitted himself 
 so ill. 
 
 " The next evening I had the same summons; 
 but ' The English Merchant' was the play, which 
 did far better. It is an elegant and serious piece, 
 which I read with far greater ease, and into which 
 they all entered with far greater interest. 
 
 " The princess royal was so gracious when the 
 queen left the room, upon our next coming to 
 town, to pay me very kind compliments upon my 
 own part of the entertainment, though her brother 
 
 ITfl 
 
AE 
 
 AE, 
 
 the duke of Clarence happened to be present. And 
 the two other princesses were full of the charac- 
 ters of the comedy, and called upon me to say 
 which were my faTourites, while they told me 
 their own, at all our subsequent meetings for 
 some time. 
 
 This is all I have been able to recollect of 
 March in which my dearest readers might not 
 themselves be wi-iters. Chiefly I rejoice they wit- 
 nessed the long-wished, long-dreaded interview 
 with my formerly most dearly loved Mrs. Thrale — 
 not writing it saves me much pang." 
 
 POETRY IN A PALACE. 
 
 " You may suppose my recovery was not much 
 forwarded by a ball given at the Castle on Twelfth- 
 Day. The queen condescended to say that I might 
 go to bed, and she would content herself with the 
 wardrobe-woman, in consideration of my weak 
 state ; but then she exhorted me not to make it 
 known to the Schwelleuberg, who would be quite 
 wretched at such a thing. 
 
 I returned my proper thanks, but declined the 
 proposal, so circumstanced, assuring her majesty 
 that it would make me wretched to have an indul- 
 gence that could produce an impropriety which 
 would make Mrs. Schwellenberg so through my 
 means. 
 
 And now to enliven a little : what will you 
 give me, fair ladies, for a copy of verses written 
 between the queen of Great Britain and your most 
 small little joiu'nalist ? 
 
 The morning of the ball the queen sent for 
 me, and said she had a fine pair of old-fashioned 
 gloves, white, with stiff tops and a deep gold 
 fringe, which she meant to send to her new master 
 of the Horse, lord Hai'court, who was to be at the 
 dance. She wished to convey them in a copy of 
 verses, of which she had composed three lines, but 
 could not get on. She told me her ideas, and I 
 had the honour to help her in the metre ; and now 
 I have the honour to copy them from her own 
 royal hand: — 
 
 TO THE EAKL OF HARCOCKT. 
 
 Go, happy gloves, bedeck earl Harcourt's hand. 
 And let him know ihey come from fairy-land, 
 Where ancient customs still retain their reign ; 
 To modernize them all attempts were vain. 
 Go, cries queen Mab, some noble owner seek. 
 Who has a proper taste for the antique. 
 
 Now, no criticising, fair ladies ! — the assistant 
 was allowed neither a pen nor a moment, but 
 called upon to help finish, as she might have been 
 to hand a fan. The earl, you may suppose, was 
 sufficiently enchanted. 
 
 How, or by whom, or by what instigated, I 
 know not, but I heard that the newspapers, this 
 winter, had taken up the cause of my apparent 
 seclusion from the world, and dealt round com- 
 ments and lamentations profusely. I heard of 
 this with much concern." 
 
 LETTER TO A FRIEND IN AFFLICTION. 
 
 " The sad turn of your thoughts softens without 
 surprising me, the misfortune was so unexpected ; 
 M 
 
 nevertheless, the religious view in which your 
 melancholy places it convinces me your grief will 
 give way, when it can, and not be nourished re- 
 piningly or without effort. How, how shall I wish 
 and pray, my dearest M., that a scene of new 
 and permanent maternal comfort may repay, in 
 some measure, your past afflictions, and awaken 
 and enliven you to new happiness ! I only fear 
 the terror you will conceive from every possible 
 alarm may lessen the coming consolation, by in- 
 creasing its anxiety. Endeavour, my dear friend, 
 endeavour, d'avance, to prepare your mind for a 
 confidence without which you can enjoy nothing, 
 and which, without exertion, will now surely fly 
 you. 
 
 A singular instance of the unhappiness of 
 wanting this confidence has lately fallen under 
 my eyes. The mother of a very fine child felt and 
 indulged a solicitude so great that, by degrees, it 
 became a part of her existence ; she was never 
 without it, — in presence, in absence, in sickness, 
 in health, — no matter which, — prosperity and ad- 
 versity made no difference ; and the anxiety grew 
 to such a height that she is now threatened with 
 a consumption herself, from no other cause. You 
 know, and may perhaps divine her. She used to 
 walk out by the side of the nurse with a watch in 
 her hand, to measure, to a minute, the exact time 
 it spent in the air. She started forward to meet 
 every passenger, and examine their appearance, 
 before she suffered the child to proceed in its 
 walk ; and turned it to the right to avoid one face, 
 and presently back to the left that it might not 
 see another. She rose in the dead of night to go 
 and look at it ; she quitted all society two or three 
 times in a visit, to examine it ; and, in short, she 
 made herself, her husband, and all her friends 
 miserable by this constant distrust and apprehen- 
 sion, and is now, in a languishing and declining 
 state, sent southward to try the change of air for 
 herself, while all the time the child is one of the 
 most healthy, beautiful, and robust I ever saw in 
 my life. 
 
 What a world is this ! can one help to exclaim, 
 when the first of blessings can thus be rendered 
 a scourge to our friends and an infelicity to our- 
 selves ? For this lady, who, happy in her conju- 
 gal fate, had no wish but for a cliild, has never 
 known a tranquil day since her boon has been 
 granted." 
 
 THE king's RIRTHDAT. 
 
 "June 4th, 1791. — Let me now come to the 
 4th, the last birthday of the good, gracious, be- 
 nevolent king I shall ever, in all human proba- 
 bility, pass under his royal roof. 
 
 The thought was affecting to me, in defiance of 
 my volunteer conduct, and I could scarce speak to 
 the queen when I first went to her, and wished to 
 say something upon a day so interesting. The 
 king was most gracious and kind when he came 
 into the state dressing-room at St. James's, and 
 particularly inquired about my health and strength, 
 and if they wotild befriend me for the day. I 
 longed again to tell him how hard I would work 
 them, rather than let them, on such a day, drive 
 
 177 
 
AR 
 
 AK 
 
 me from my office ; but I found it better suited 
 me to be quiet ; it was safer not to trust to any 
 expression of loyalty, with a mind so full, and on 
 a day so critical. 
 
 With regard to health, my side is all that is 
 attended with any uneasiness, and that is some- 
 times a serious business. Certainly there is 
 nothing premature in what has been done. 
 
 And — picquet! — life hardly hangs on eartibi 
 during its compulsion, in these months succeeding 
 months, and years creeping, crawling, after years. 
 
 At dinner Mrs. Schwellenberg presided, attired 
 magnificently. Miss Goldsworthy, Mrs. Stainforth, 
 Messrs. De Luc and Stanhope dined with us ; and 
 while we were still eating fruit, the duke of Cla- 
 rence entered. 
 
 He was just risen from the king's table, and 
 waiting for his equipage to go home and prepare 
 for the ball. To give you an idea of the energy 
 of his royal highness's language, I ought to set 
 apart a; general objection to wi-iting, or rather in- 
 timating, certain forcible words, and beg leave to 
 show you, in genuine colours, a royal sailor. 
 
 We all rose, of course, upon his entrance, and 
 the two gentlemen placed themselves behind their 
 chairs, while the footman left the room ; but he 
 ordered us all to sit down, and called the men 
 back to hand about some wine. He was in ex- 
 ceeding high spirits and in the utmost good 
 humour. He placed himself at the head of the 
 table, next Mrs. Schwellenberg, and looked re- 
 markably well, gay, and full of sport and mischief, 
 yet clever withal, as well as comical. 
 
 "Well, this is the first day I have ever dined 
 with the king, at St. James's on his birthday. 
 Pray, have you all drunk his majesty's health ?" 
 
 ' ' No, your roy '1 highness : your roy'l highness 
 might make dem do dat," said Mrs. Schwellen- 
 berg. 
 
 "0, by will I! Here, you (to the foot- 
 man) ; bring champagne ! I '11 drink the king's 
 health again, if I die for it ! Yet, I have done 
 pretty well already : so has the king, yet I pro- 
 mise you ! I believe his majesty was never taken 
 such good care of before. We have kept his spirits 
 up, I promise you ; we have enabled him to go 
 through his fatigues ; and I should have done 
 more still, but for the ball and Mary — I have 
 promised to dance with Mary!" 
 
 Princess Mary made her first appearance at 
 court to-day : she looked most interesting and un- 
 affectedly lovely : she is a sweet creature, and 
 perhaps, in point of beauty, the first of this truly 
 beautiful race, of which princess Mary may be 
 called pendant to the prince of Wales. 
 
 Champagne being now brought for the duke, 
 he ordered it all round. When it came to me I 
 whispered to Westerhaulta to carry it on : the 
 duke slapped his hand violently on the table, and 
 called out, "0, by , you shall drink it !" 
 
 There was no resisting this. We all stood up, 
 the duke sonorously gave the royal toast. 
 
 " And now," cried he, making us sit down 
 again, "where are my rascals of servants? I 
 sha'nt be in time for the ball ; besides, I 've got a 
 deuced tailor waiting to fix on my epaulette ! 
 
 Here, you, go and see for my servants! d'ye 
 hear? Scamper off!" 
 
 Off ran William. 
 
 " Come, let 's have the king's health again. 
 De Luc, drink it. Here, champagne to De Luc!" 
 
 I wish you could have seen Mr. De Luc's 
 mixed simper — half pleased, half alarmed. How- 
 ever, the wine came and he drank it, the duke 
 taking a bumper for himself at the same time. 
 
 " Poor Stanhope!" cried he; "Stanhope shall 
 have a glass too ! Here, champagne ! what are 
 you all about ? Why don't you give champagne 
 to poor Stanhope ?" 
 
 Mr. Stanhope, with great pleasure, complied, 
 and the duke again accompanied him. 
 
 "Come hither, do you hear?" cried the duke 
 to the servants ; and on, the approach, slow and 
 submissive, of Mrs. Stainforth's man, he ' hit him 
 a violent slap on the back, calling out, " Hang 
 you ! why don't you see for my rascals ?" 
 
 Away flew the man, and then he called out to 
 Westerhaults, "Hark'ee! bring another glass of 
 champagne to Mr. De Luc !" 
 
 Mr. De Luc knows these royal youths too well 
 to venture at so vain an experiment as disputing 
 with them ; so he only shrugged his shoulders 
 and drank the wine. The duke did the same. 
 
 "And now, poor Stanhope," cried the duke; 
 " give another glass to poor Stanhope, d'ye hear?" 
 
 " Is not your royal highness afraid," cried Mr. 
 Stanhope, displaying the full circle of his borrowed 
 teeth, " I shall be apt to be rather up in the world, 
 as the folks say, if I tope on at this rate ?" 
 
 " Not at all ! you can't get drunk in a better 
 cause. I 'd get drunk myself if it was not for the 
 ball. Here, champagne ! another glass for the 
 philosopher ! I keep sober for Mary." 
 
 " 0, your royal highness!" cried Mr. De Luc, 
 gaining courage as he drank, " you will make me 
 quite droU of it if you make me go on, — quite 
 droU!" 
 
 " So much the better I so much the ^better ! it 
 will do you a monstrous deal of good. Here, 
 another of champagne for the queen's philoso- 
 pher !" 
 
 Mr. De Luc obeyed, and the duke then ad- 
 dressed Mrs. Schwellenberg's George. "Here! 
 you I you ! why, where is my carriage ? run and 
 see, do you hear ?" 
 
 Off hurried George, grinning irrepressibly. 
 
 "If it was not for that deuced tailor, I would 
 not stir. I shall dine at the Queen's house on 
 Monday, Miss Goldsworthy ; I shall come to dine 
 with princess royal. I find she does not go to 
 Windsor with the queen." 
 
 The queen meant to spend one day at Windsor, 
 on account of a review which carried the king 
 that way. 
 
 Some talk then ensued upon the duke's new 
 carriage, which they all agreed to be the most 
 beautiful that day at court. I had not seen it, 
 which, to me, was some impediment against prais- 
 ing it. 
 
 He then said it was necessary to drink the 
 queen's health. 
 
 The gentlemen here made no demur, though 
 
 178 
 
AR 
 
 AR 
 
 Mr. De Luc arched his eyebrows in expressive fear 
 of consequences. 
 
 " A humper," cried the duke, " to the queen's 
 gentleman-usher." 
 
 They all stood up and drank the queen's 
 health. 
 
 "Here are three of us," cried the duke, "all 
 belonging to the queen ; the queen's philosopher, 
 the queen's gentleman-usher, and the queen's son ; 
 but, thank Heaven, I'm nearest!" 
 
 " Sir," cried 'Sir. Stanhope, a little affronted, 
 "I am not now the queen's gentleman-usher; I 
 am the queen's equerry, sir." 
 
 " A glass more of champagne here 1 What are 
 you all so slow for ? Where are all my rascals 
 gone? They've put me in one passion already 
 this morning. Come, a glass of champagne for 
 the queen's gentleman-usher !" laughing heartily. 
 
 " No, sir," repeated Mr. Stanhope ; " I am 
 equerry now, sir." 
 
 "And another glass to the queen's philoso- 
 pher !"' 
 
 Xeither gentleman objected ; but ilrs. Schwel- 
 lenberg, who had sat laughing and happy all this 
 time, now grew alarmed, and said, "Tour royal 
 highness, I am afraid for the ball!" 
 
 " Hold you your potato-jaw, my dear," cried 
 the duke, patting her : but, recollecting himself, 
 he took her hand and pretty abruptly kissed it, 
 and then, flinging it hastily away, laughed aloud, 
 and called out, " There ! that will make amends 
 for anything, so now I may say what I win. So 
 here ! a glass of champagne for the queen's phi- 
 losopher and the queen's gentleman-usher ! Hang 
 me if it will not do them a monstrous deal of 
 good ?" 
 
 Here news was brought that the equipage was 
 in order. He started up, calling out, " Now, then, 
 for my deuced tailor." 
 
 "0, your royal highness!" cried Mr. De Luc, 
 in a tone of expostulation, "now you have made 
 us droll, you go !" 
 
 Off, however, he went. And is it not a curi- 
 ous scene ? All my amaze is, how any of their 
 heads bore such libations. 
 
 In the "evening, I had by no means strength to 
 encounter the ball-room. I gave my tickets to 
 Mrs. and Miss Douglass. 
 
 Mrs. Stainforth was dying to see the princess 
 Mary in her court dress. Sir. Stanhope offered 
 to conduct her to a place of prospect. She went 
 with him. I thought this preferable to an un- 
 broken evening with my fair companion, and, Sir. 
 De Luc thinking the same, we both left Mrs. 
 Schwellenberg to unattire, and fallowed. But we 
 were rather in a scrape by trusting to Mr. Stan- 
 hope after all this champagne ; he had carried 
 Mrs. Stainforth to the very door of the ball-room, 
 and there fixed her — in a place which the king, 
 queen, and suite, must brush past in order to enter 
 tlie ball-room. I had followed, however, and the 
 croffds of beef-eaters, officers, and guards, that 
 lined all the state-rooms through which we exhi- 
 bited ourselves, prevented my retreating alone. I 
 stood, therefore, next to ilrs. Stainforth, and saw 
 the ceremony. 
 
 The passage was made so narrow by attend- 
 ants, that they were all forced to go one by one. 
 First, all the king's great state-officers, amongst 
 whom I recognized lord Courtown, Treasurer of 
 the Household ; lord Salisbury carried a candle ! 
 — 'tis an odd etiquette. These being passed, 
 came the king — he saw us and laughed ; then the 
 queen's Master of the Horse, lord Harcourt, who 
 did ditto ; then some more. 
 
 The Vice-Chamberlain carries the queen's can- 
 dle, that she may have the arm of the Lord Cham- 
 berlain to lean on ; accordingly, lord Aylesbury, 
 receiving that honour, now preceded the queen : 
 she looked amazed at sight of u^. The kind prin- 
 cesses one by one acknowledged us. I spoke to 
 sweet princess Mary, wishing her royal highness 
 joy ; she looked in a delight and an alarm nearly 
 equal. She was to dance her first minuet. Then 
 followed the Ladies of the Bedchamber, and lady 
 Harcourt was particularly civil. Then the Maids 
 of Honour, every one of whom knew and spoke to 
 us. I peered vainly for the Duke of Clarence, but 
 none of the princes passed us. What a crowd 
 brought up the rear ! I was vexed not to see the 
 Prince of Wales. 
 
 Well, God bless the king ! and many and many 
 such days may he know ! 
 
 I was now so tired as to be eager to go back ; 
 but the queen's philosopher, the good and most 
 sober and temperate of men, was really a little 
 giddy with all his bumpers, and his eyes, which 
 were quit* lustrous, could not fix any object stea- 
 dily : while the poor gentleman-usher — equerry, I 
 mean — ^kept his mouth so wide open with one con- 
 tinued grin, — I suppose from the sparkling beve- 
 rage, — that I was every minute afraid its pearly 
 ornaments, which never fit their case, would have 
 fallen at our feet. Mrs. Stainforth gave me a sig- 
 nificant look of making the same observation, and, 
 catching me fast by the arm, said, " Come, Miss 
 Bumey, let's you and I take care of one another ;" 
 and then she safely toddled me back to Sirs. 
 Schwellenberg, who greeted us with saying, " Vel I 
 bin you much amused? Dat prince VUliam — 
 oders de duke de Clarence — ^bin raelly ver merry 
 — oders vat you call tipsy." 
 
 ARCHINTA, MARGHERITA, 
 
 Was bom in Milan towards the beginning of the 
 sixteenth century. She was of noble birth, but 
 more distinguished for her talent than for this ac- 
 cident of nature. She composed many lyric poems, 
 and pieces of music, according to the taste of 
 that age. 
 
 ARMTNE, LADT MART, 
 
 Daughtek of Henry Talbot, fourth son of 
 George, earl of Shrewsbury, married Sir William 
 Armyne, and distinguished herself by her know- 
 ledge of history, divinity, and of the languages. 
 She was very liberal to the poor, and contributed 
 largely to the support of the missionaries sent to 
 North America. She endowed three hospitals; 
 and died in 1675. 
 
 179 
 
AR 
 
 AR 
 
 ARNAUDE DE ROCAS, 
 
 One of the daughters of Chypriotes, who, after 
 the taking of Nicosie, in 1570, was carried away 
 by the Turks and held in captivity. Arnaude, 
 destined by her beauty for the seraglio of the sul- 
 tan, was, with several of her companions, put into 
 a vessel about to sail for Constantinople. But, 
 preferring death to dishonour, the heroic maiden 
 contrived, in the dead of night, to convey fire to 
 the powder-room, and perished, amidst the wreck 
 of the vessel, with the victims of her desperation. 
 
 ARNAULD, MARIE ANGELIQUE, 
 Sister of Robert, Antoine, and Henri Amauld, 
 was abbess of the Port-Royal convent, and distin- 
 guished herself by the reformation and sanctity 
 she introduced there, and also at the convent of 
 Maubuisson, where she presided five years. She 
 returned to Port-Royal, and died in 1661, aged 
 seventy. Her mother and six of her sisters passed 
 the evening of their life in her convent. 
 
 She was early distinguished for her capacity 
 and her virtues. While at Maubuisson, she be- 
 came acquainted with St. Francis de Sales, bishop 
 of Geneva, who continued through his whole life 
 to correspond with her. She displayed peculiar 
 skill and sagacity in the changes she introduced 
 into the convents under her control. Careful to 
 exact nothing of the nuns of which she had not set 
 the example, she found, in the respect and emula- 
 tion she inspired, an engine to which constraint 
 is powerless. Self-denial, humility, and charity, 
 were among the most prominent of her virtues. 
 
 ARNAULD, ANGELIQUE, 
 Niece to the celebrated Marie Angelique Ar- 
 nauld, abbess of Port-Royal, entered the cloister 
 at six years of age, and formed herself upon the 
 model of her aunts, by whom she was educated. 
 She inherited their virtues and endowments, and 
 was at length elevated to the same station, which 
 she filled with equal dignity and capacity. She 
 was distinguished for her taste and penetration, 
 and for her eloquence and facility in speaking and 
 composition. She died January 29th, 1684, at 
 the age of fifty-nine. 
 
 ARNAULD, CATHARINE AGNES, 
 Was chosen, while yet in her noviciate, by her 
 elder sister, Marie Angelique, to be the mistress 
 of the novices at the convent of Port-Royal. 
 During the five years that Marie Angelique passed 
 in the abbey at Maubuisson, Catharine was en- 
 trusted with the government of Port-Royal, and 
 appointed coadjutrix with her sister, who was de- 
 sirous of resigning it wholly to her management. 
 Agnes, respected and beloved by the nuns, in- 
 structed them no less by her example than by her 
 eloquent discourses. She was equally celebrated 
 for her talents and her piety. She was the author 
 of two small treatises, entitled "Le Chapelet Se- 
 cret du Saint Sacrament," and " L'Image de la 
 Rgligeuse, parfaite et imparfaite." The former 
 was censured by some members of the Sorbonne, 
 and it was suppressed. 
 
 Catharine Agnes Arnauld died February 19th, 
 1671, at the age of seventy-seven. 
 
 ARNOULT, SOPHIE, 
 A Pakisian actress, born at Paris, February 
 17th, 1740. Her father kept a hStel garni, and 
 gave her a good education. Nature endowed her 
 with wit, sensibility, a charming voice, and great 
 personal attractions. Chance brought her upon 
 the stage, where she delighted the public from 
 1757 to 1778. The princess of Modena happened 
 to be in retirement at the Val de Gr&ce, and was 
 struck with a very fine voice that sang at evening 
 mass. Sophie Arnoult was the songstress ; and 
 on the princess speaking of her discovery, she was 
 obliged, against her mother's wish, to join the 
 royal choir. This paved the way for Sophie to 
 the Parisian opera, where she soon became queen. 
 All persons of rank, and all the literati, sought 
 her society ; among the latter, were D'Alembert, 
 Diderot, Helv^tius, Duclos, and Rousseau. She 
 was compared to Aspasia and Ninon de I'Enclos. 
 Her wit was so successful, that her bom mots were 
 collected. It was sometimes severe, yet it made 
 her no enemies. She died in 1802. In the be- 
 ginning of the revolution, she bought the par- 
 sonage at Luzarche, and transformed it into a 
 country-house, with this inscription over the door, 
 Ite missa est. Her third son. Constant Dioville de 
 Brancas, colonel of cuirassiers, was killed at the 
 battle of Wagram. 
 
 AKltAUON, JOAN OF, 
 Was, the wife of Ascanio Colonna, prince of 
 Tagliacozza, who was made grand constable of the 
 kingdom of Naples by Charles V., in 1520. He 
 assisted the imperial forces when Rome was be- 
 sieged, under the command of Bourbon, in 1527, 
 and obtained a great reputation for bravery and 
 military skill. Like all the petty sovereigns of 
 that age of war and violence, his life was one of 
 vicissitude and agitation. He died in the state 
 prison of Castel Nuovo, at Naples, in 1557. He 
 has been accused of traitorous practices with the 
 French, at that time at war with his country ; 
 other authorities say that he was incarcerated by 
 orders of the Inquisition. His son, Marc Antonio 
 
 180 
 
AR 
 
 AS 
 
 Colonna, appears to have been one of those heroes, 
 "Impiger iracundus, inexorabilis acer," born to 
 give and take blows all his life. His gallantry at 
 the battle of Lepanto, and daring actions while 
 viceroy of Sicily, merit the praise of a good soldier. 
 He died, it is supposed, by poison; no nnusual 
 close of the stormy existences of the leaders of 
 that time. 
 
 Of Joan herself, there are no anecdotes recorded. 
 Nothing is known of the events of her life ; but a 
 more widely-spread contemporary celebrity is at- 
 tached to few women. AU the writers of her 
 epoch, speak of her in terms that appear hyper- 
 bolical, so very extravagant are their epithets — 
 divine, perfect, adorable, are the least of these. 
 She is very much commended for her good judg- 
 ment, practical sense, courage, and fortitude ; but 
 we are no where told how or where she exerted 
 these qualities. Agostine Ninfo, a physician and 
 philosophic writer, in speaking of perfect beauty, 
 proposes Joan of Arragon as an example. Eulogies 
 were composed to her honour by the greatest wits 
 of her time ; and in most languages, as Greek, 
 Latin, Italian, French, Spanish, Sclavonic, Polo- 
 nese, Hungarian, and even Hebrew and Chaldean ; 
 one of the most singular monuments, undoubtedly, 
 that gallantry ever raised to female merit. This 
 homage was decreed her in 1555, at Venice, in 
 the Academy of Dnbbiosi, and a volume was pub- 
 lished there in 1558, a few years before her death, 
 with this magniiicent title, "Temple to the divine 
 Lady Signora Joan of Arragon — constructed by 
 ., all the most elegant minds, in all the polite lan- 
 guages of the world." She died in 1577. 
 
 ARRAGON, TULLIA D', 
 
 An Italian poetess, who lived about the middle 
 of the sixteenth century, was the natural daughter 
 of Peter Tagliava d' Arragon, archbishop of Pa- 
 lermo and a cardinal, himself an illegitimate de- 
 scendant of the royal house of Arragon. She was 
 a woman of great beauty, genius, and education, 
 so that the first scholars of the age celebrated her 
 praises with enthusiastic admiration. Girolamo 
 Muzio, by whom she was passionately beloved, 
 expatiates, in the third book of his letters, on her 
 talents and virtues ; her perfections are the con- 
 stant theme of his poems, in which she is some- 
 times spoken of under the name of Thalia and 
 Syrrhenie. '' 
 
 One of her most celebrated productions was a 
 poem, entitled "Dell 'Infinita d'Amor." She also 
 wrote "II Meschino," or "The Unfortunate One," 
 a poetical romance. In her early years, she re- 
 sided at Ferrara, Rome and Venice; but the latter 
 'part of her life she spent at Florence, where she 
 died. 
 
 ARUNDEL, LADY BLANCHE, 
 
 A DATiGHTEK of the earl of Worcester, and wife 
 of lord Arundel of Wardour, is celebrated for her 
 heroic defence of Wardour Castle, in Wiltshire, 
 England. She was summoned to surrender. May 
 2d, 1643, by Sir Edward Hungerford, commander- 
 in-chief of the parliamentary forces in Wiltshire, 
 at the head of about thirteen hundred men ; but 
 
 lady Arundel, whose husband was then at Oxford, 
 replied, that she had the orders of her lord to 
 keep the castle, and those orders she was deter- 
 mined to obey. On this reply the battery com- 
 menced, and continued without intermission for 
 nearly six days. The castle contained but twenty- 
 five fighting-men ; and wearied with exertion their 
 strength began to fail, when the ladies and their 
 maid-servants took their place in keeping watch, 
 and loading their muskets. The women and chil- 
 dren were repeatedly offered safety if the besieged 
 would surrender, but they chose rather to perish 
 than to buy their own lives at the expense of those 
 of their brave soldiers. 
 
 At length, reduced to extremity, lady Arundel 
 was forced to surrender, after making stipulations 
 that the lives of all in the fortress should be 
 spared, &c. The conditions were agreed to, but 
 all excepting that relating to their personal safety 
 were violated. Lady Arundel, and her children, 
 were carried prisoners to Shaftesbury, where her 
 two sons, children of seven and nine, were taken 
 from her. She died October 29th, 1649, at the 
 age of sixty-six. Her husband had died at Oxford, 
 in 1643, of wounds he received in the battle of 
 Lansdown, in the service of Charles I. 
 
 Lady Arvmdel is bui-ied with her husband, near 
 the altar of an elegant chapel, at Wardour Castle. 
 On the monument is an inscription, which, after 
 giving their titles and ancestry, thus concludes : 
 " This lady, as distinguished for her courage as 
 for the splendour of her birth, bravely defended, 
 in the absence of her husband, the castle of War- 
 dour, with a spirit above her sex, for nine days, 
 with a few men, against Sir Edward Hungerford, 
 Edmund Ludlow, and their army, and then deliv- 
 ered it up on honourable terms. Obit. 28 October, 
 1649, Etat. 66. Requiescat in pace. ' Who shall 
 find a valiant woman? The price of her is as 
 things brought from afar off, and from the utter^ 
 most coast. The heart of her husband trusteth 
 in her.' — Prov. 31." 
 
 ARUNDEL, MARY, 
 
 Was the daughter of sir Thomas Arundel, knight. 
 She was married, first to Robert Ratcliff, who died 
 without issue, 1566; secondly, to Henry Howard, 
 earl of Arundel. 
 
 She translated from English into Latin " The 
 Wise Sayings and Eminent Deeds of the Emperor 
 Alexander Severus." This translation is dedicated 
 to her father ; the manuscript is in the royal 
 library at Westminster. She translated also from 
 Greek into Latin, select " Sentences of the seven 
 wise Grecian Philosophers." In the same library 
 are preserved, of her writing, " Similies collected 
 from the books of Plato, Aristotle, Seneca, and 
 other philosophers," which she also dedicated to 
 her father. 
 
 ASCHAM, MARGARET, 
 Was married in 1554 to Roger Ascham, the 
 celebrated preceptor of queen Elizabeth. Mar- 
 garet brought a considerable fortune to her hus- 
 band, and what was of more worth, a heart and 
 mind willing and qualified to aid him. To her 
 
 181 
 
AS 
 
 AS 
 
 ,oare the world is indebted for Mr. Ascham's book, 
 entitled "The Schoolmaster;" to which she pre- 
 fixed an epistle dedicatory, to the honourable Sir 
 William Cecill, knight. The work was published 
 in 4to, 1570, London, and reprinted in 1589. Mrs. 
 Ascham is supposed to lie interred with her hus- 
 band, in the church of St. Sepulchre, London. 
 
 ASKEW, ANNE, 
 
 Dauohtek of Sir William Askew, of Kelsay, in 
 Lincolnshire, England, was born in 1529. She 
 received a liberal and learned education, and early 
 manifested a predilection for theological studies. 
 Her eldest sister, who was engaged to Mr. Kyme 
 of Lincolnshire, died before the nuptials were com- 
 pleted. Sir William Askew, unwilling to lose a 
 connexion which promised pecuniary advantages, 
 compelled his second daughter, Anne, notwith- 
 standing her remonstrances and resistance, to fulfil 
 the engagement entered into by her sister. But, 
 however reluctantly she gave her hand to Mr. 
 Kyme, to whom she bore two children, she rigidly 
 fulfilled the duties of a wife and mother. 
 
 Though educated in the Roman Catholic religion, 
 Anne became interested in the Keforraation, which 
 was causing great excitement in the minds of all 
 persons of thought and education at that time; 
 and devoted herself to the examination of the 
 Bible and other works from which both parties 
 affected to derive their faith. She was at length 
 donvinoed of the truth of the doctrine of the re- 
 formers, and declared herself a convert to their 
 principles. Her presumption in daring to exer- 
 cise her own judgment so incensed her husband, 
 that, at the suggestion of the priest, he drove her 
 with ignominy from his house. Anne, conceiving 
 herself released by this treatment from the obliga- 
 tions that had been imposed on her, determined 
 to sue for a separation, and for this purpose she 
 went to London. 
 
 Here she met with a favourable reception at 
 court, and was particularly distinguished by the 
 queen, Catharine Parr, who favoured in secret the 
 doctrines of the reformation. But her husband 
 and the priest accused her to Henry VIII., ren- 
 dered more than usually irritable, vindictive, and 
 tyrannical by declining health, of dogmatising on 
 the subject of the real presence, a doctrine of 
 which he was particularly tenacious. The sex 
 and youth of the heretic aggravated the bitterness 
 of her adversaries, who could not forgive a woman 
 the presumption of opposing argument and reason 
 to their dogmas. 
 
 Anne was seized, in March, 1545, and taken 
 into custody. She was repeatedly examined re- 
 specting her faith, transubstantiation, masses for 
 departed souls, &c. &o. Her answers to the 
 questions proposed to her were more clear and 
 sensible than satisfactory to her inquisitors. The 
 substance and particulars of this examination were 
 written by herself and published after her death. 
 
 On the twenty-third of March, a relation suc- 
 ceeded, after several ineffectual attempts, in bail- 
 ing her. But she was soon apprehended again, 
 and summoned before the king's council at Green- 
 wich. She replied to their inquiries with firmness. 
 
 and without prevarication. She was remanded to 
 Newgate, and not allowed to receive visits from 
 any one, even from Dr. Latimer. She wrote her- 
 self to the king and chancellor, explaining her 
 opinions ; but her letter served only to aggravate 
 her crime. She was then taken to the Tower, and 
 interrogated respecting her patrons at court, but 
 she heroically refused to betray them. Her mag- 
 nanimity served but to incense her persecutors, 
 who endeavoured to extort a confession from her/ 
 by the rack ; but she sustained the torture with 
 fortitude and resignation. The chancellor, Wrio- 
 thesely, commanded the lieutenant of the Tower 
 to strain the instrument of his vengeance; on 
 receiving a refusal, he threw off his gown, and 
 exercised himself the oflice of executioner. When 
 Anne was released from the rack, every limb was 
 dislocated and she fainted with anguish. After 
 she recovered, she remained sitting on the groimd 
 for two hours, calmly reasoning with her tor- 
 mentors. She was carried back to her confine- 
 ment, and pardon and life were offered to her if 
 she would recant ; but she refused, and was con- 
 demned to the stake. 
 
 A report having been circulated, that the pri- 
 soner had yielded, Anne wrote a letter to John 
 Lascelles, her former tutor, and to the public, 
 justifying herself of the charge. She also drew 
 up a confession of her faith, and an attestation of 
 her innocence, which she concluded by a prayer 
 for fortitude and perseverance. A gentleman who 
 saw her the day previous to her execution, ob- 
 serves, that amidst all her pains and weakness, 
 (being unable to rise or stand without assistance) 
 her expression of mingled enthusiasm and resig- 
 nation showed a sweetness and serenity inexpress- 
 ibly affecting. 
 
 At the stake, letters were brought to her from 
 the chancellor, exhorting her to recant, and pro- 
 mising her pardon. Averting her eyes from the 
 paper, she replied, that " She came not thither to 
 deny her Lord and Master." The same proposi- 
 tion was made to her four fellcw-sufferers, but 
 without success. While Shaxton, an apostate from 
 his principles, harangued the prisoners, she lis- 
 tened attentively, nicely distinguishing, even at 
 that terrible moment, between what she thought 
 true and what erroneous. She was burnt at 
 Smithfield, July 16th, 1546, in the twenty-fifth 
 year of her age. 
 
 ASTELL, MARY, 
 An ornament of her sex and country, was the 
 daughter of Mr. Astell, a merchant at Newcastle- 
 upon-Tyne, where she was born, about 1668. She 
 was well educated, and amongst other accomplish- 
 ments was mistress of the French, and had some 
 knowledge of the Latin tongue. Her uncle, a 
 clergyman, observing her uncommon genius, took 
 her under his tuition, and taught her mathematics, 
 logic, and philosophy. She left the place of her 
 nativity when she was about twenty years of age, 
 and spent the remaining part of her life at London 
 and Chelsea. Here she pursued her studies with 
 assiduity, made great proficiency in the above 
 sciences, and acquired a more complete knowledge 
 
 182 
 
AS 
 
 of the classic authors. Among these, Seneca, 
 Epictetus, Hierocles, Antoninus, Tully, Plato, and 
 Xenophon, were her favourites. 
 
 Her life was spent in writing for the advance- 
 ment of learning, religion, and virtue ; and in the 
 practice of those devotional duties which she so 
 zealously and pathetically recommended to others, 
 and in which, perhaps, no one was ever more sin- 
 cere and devout. Her sentiments of piety, cha- 
 rity, humility, friendship, and other Christian 
 graces, were very refined and sublime ; and she 
 possessed them in such a distinguished degree, as 
 would have done her honour even in primitive 
 times. But religion sat very gracefully upon her, 
 unattended with any forbidding airs of sourness 
 and bigotry. Her mind was generally calm and 
 serene ; and her conversation was not only inte- 
 resting, but highly entertaining. She would say, 
 " The good Christian alone has reason, and he 
 always ought to be cheerful ;" and, " That de- 
 jected looks and melancholy airs were very un- 
 seemly in a Christian." But these subjects she 
 has treated at large in her excellent writings. 
 Some very great men bear testimony to the merit 
 of her works ; such as Atterbury, Hickes, Walker, 
 Norris, Dodwell, and Evelyn. 
 
 She was remarkably abstemious, and seemed to 
 enjoy an uninterrupted state of health, till a few 
 years before her death ; when, having a severe 
 operation performed on her, for a cancer in the 
 breast, it so much impaired her constitution, that 
 she did not survive it. When she was confined to 
 her bed by a gradual decay, and the time of her 
 dissolution drew nearer, she ordered her shroud 
 and coffin to be made, and brought to her bed-side, 
 and there to remain in her view, as a constant 
 memento of her approaching fate, and to keep her 
 mind fixed on proper contemplations. She died 
 in 1731, in the sixty-third year of her age, and 
 was buried at Chelsea. 
 
 Her writings are as follow : " Letters Concern- 
 ing the Love of God," published 1695 ; " An Essay 
 in Defence of the Female Sex, in a Letter to a 
 Lady, written by a Lady," 1696 ; " A Serious 
 Proposal to the Ladies, for the Advancement of 
 their true and greatest Interest," &c. ; and a 
 second part to the same, 1697; "An Impartial 
 Enquiry into the Causes of Kebellion and Civil 
 War in this kingdom, in an Examination of Dr. 
 Rennet's Sermon," 1703-4; "Moderation Truly 
 Stated ; or, a Review of a late Pamphlet intituled 
 Moderation a Virtue, or the Occasional Conformist 
 Justified from the Imputation of Hypocrisy," 1704. 
 The prefatory discourse is addressed to Dr. Dave- 
 nant, author of the pamphlet, and of essays on 
 peace and war, &c. " A Fair Way with the Dis- 
 senters and their Patrons, not writ by Mr. Lind- 
 say, or any other furious Jacobite, whether a Cler- 
 gyman or Layman ; but by a very Moderate Per- 
 son, and a Dutiful Subject to the Queen," 1704. 
 While this treatise was in press, Dr. Davenant 
 published a new edition of his " Moderation still 
 1 Virtue ;" to which she immediately returned an 
 answer, in a postscript in this book. Her next 
 work was " Reflections upon Mnrringe," to which 
 is added a preface in answer to some objections. 
 
 AV 
 
 1705. She next published " The Christian Reli- 
 gion as Professed by a Daughter of the Church of 
 England," &c., 1705. This pamphlet was attri- 
 buted to Bishop Atterbury. Her next work was 
 " Six Familiar Essays on Marriage, Crosses in 
 Love and Friendship, written by a Lady," 1706. 
 " Bartlemy Fair ; or, an Enquiry after it," was 
 her last, published in 1709, and occasioned by 
 Colonel Hunter's celebrated Letter on Enthusiasm. 
 It was republished in 1722, without the words 
 "Bartlemy Fair." 
 
 ASTORGAS, MARCHIONESS OF, 
 A LADY who lived in the latter part of the seven- 
 teenth century, in Spain, during the reign of 
 Charles II., killed with her own hands a beauti- 
 ful woman, the mistress of her husband, and hav- 
 ing prepared the heart of her victim, placed it at 
 dinner before her husband. When he had eaten 
 it, she rolled the head of the woman to him on the 
 table. She then took refuge in a convent, where 
 she became insane through rage and jealousy. 
 
 AUBESPINE, MAGDALEN DE L', 
 A Feenoh lady, celebrated for her wit and 
 beauty ; was the wife of Nicholas de Neuville, 
 seignieur de Villeroi. She composed several works 
 in verse and prose, and died on her own demesne, 
 in 1596. Ronsard held her in high estimation. 
 She is also complimented by Francis Grud(S, by 
 whom we are informed, that she translated, in 
 verse, the epistles of Ovid. 
 
 AUNOY, MARIE CATHARINE JUNELLE DE 
 BARNEVILLE, COMTESSE D', 
 Widow of the Count D'Aunoy, and niece of the 
 celebrated Madame Destoges, died in 1705. She 
 wrote with ease, though negligently, in the de- 
 partment of romance. People of a frivolous taste 
 still read with pleasure her " Tales of the Fairies," 
 four volumes in duodecimo, and especially her 
 "Adventures of Hippolytus, Earl of Douglas," a 
 story natural and interesting in the style, witli 
 abundance of the marvellous in the adventures. 
 Her " Memoires Historiques de ce qui c'est pass6 
 de plus Remarquable en Europe depuis 1672 jus 
 qu'en, 1679," are a medley of truth and falsehood. 
 She wrote also " Memoirs of the Court of Spain," 
 where she had lived with her mother, a work which 
 presents us with no favourable idea of the Spanish 
 nation. Her " Memoirs of the Court of England" 
 was rather better arranged ; and a " History of 
 John de Bourbon, Prince de Karency," in three 
 volumes duodecimo, which is one of those histori- 
 cal romances that are the offspring of slender abi- 
 lities joined to a warm imagination. Her hus- 
 band, the Count D'Aunoy, being accused of high 
 treason, by three Normans, verj' narrowly escaped 
 with his head. One of his accusers, struck witli 
 remorse of conscience, declared the whole charge 
 to be groundless. The countess left four daugh- 
 ters. 
 
 AVOGADRO, LUCIA, 
 An Italian poetess, displayed early poetical ta- 
 lents, and won the praise even of Tasso. Only a 
 
AU 
 
 AU 
 
 few of her lyrics still remain, but they justify the 
 praise that was bestowed upon her. She died in 
 1568. 
 
 AUSTEN, JANE, 
 
 An English novelist, was born at Steventon, in 
 Hampshire, on the 16th of December, 1775, her 
 father being the rector of that parish. He died 
 while Miss Austen was still young, and his widow 
 and two daughters retired to Southampton, and 
 subsequently to the village of Chawton, in the 
 same county, where the novels of Jane Austen 
 were written. "Sense and Sensibility ;" "Pride 
 and Prejudice;" "Mansfield Park;" and "Em- 
 ma," were published anonymously during the au- 
 thor's life. Her other two works, "Northanger 
 Abbey" and "Persuasion," were published after 
 her death. In May, 1817, Miss Austen's health 
 rendered it necessary that she should remove to 
 some place where constant medical aid could be 
 procured, and she went to Winchester, where she 
 died on the 24th of July, aged forty-two. Her 
 beauty, worth, and genius, made her death deeply 
 lamented. The consumption, of which she died, 
 seemed only to increase her mental powers. She 
 wrote while she could hold a pen, and the day be- 
 fore her death composed some stanzas replete 
 with fancy and vigour. The great charm of Miss 
 Austen's works lie in their truth and simplicity, 
 and in their high finish and naturalness. Sir Wal- 
 ter Scott speaks of her in the highest terms. An- 
 other writer, who appears to have known her well, 
 thus describes her : 
 
 " Of personal attractions, she possessed a con- 
 siderable share. Her stature was that of true 
 elegance. It could not have been increased with- 
 out exceeding the middle height. Her carriage 
 and deportment were quiet, yet graceful. Her 
 features were separately good. Their assemblage 
 produced an unrivalled expression of that cheer- 
 fulness, sensibility, and benevolence, which were 
 her real characteristics. Her complexion was of 
 the finest texture. It might with truth be said, 
 that her eloquent blood spoke through her modest 
 cheek. Her voice was extremely sweet. She de- 
 livered herself with fluency and precision. In- 
 deed, she was formed for elegant and rational 
 society, excelling in conversation as much as in 
 composition. In the present age, it is hazardous 
 to mention accomplishments. Our authoress 
 would, probably, have been inferior to few in such 
 acquirements, had she not been so superior to 
 most in higher things. She had not only an ex- 
 cellent taste for drawing, but, in her earlier days, 
 evinced great power of hand in the management 
 of the pencil. Her own musical attainments she 
 held very cheap. Twenty years ago, they would 
 have been thought more of, and twenty years 
 hence, many a parent will expect her daughter to 
 be applauded for meaner performances. She was 
 fond of dancing, and excelled in it. It remains 
 now to add a few observations on that which her 
 friends deemed more important ; on those endow- 
 ments, which sweetened every hour of their lives. 
 If there be an opinion current in the world, 
 that perfect placidity of temper is not reconcilable 
 
 to the most lively imagination, and the keenest 
 relish for wit, such an opinion will be rejected for 
 ever by those who have had the happiness of 
 knowing the authoress of the following works. 
 Though the frailties, foibles, and follies of others 
 could not escape her immediate detection, yet even 
 in their vices did she never trust herself to com- 
 ment with unkindness. The affectation of candour 
 is not uncommon ; but she had no affectation. 
 Faultless herself, as nearly as human nature can 
 be, she always sought, in the faults of others, 
 something to excuse, to forgiVe, or forget. Where 
 extenuation was impossible, she had a sure refuge 
 in silence. She never uttered either a hasty, a 
 silly, or a severe expression. In short, her tem- 
 per was as polished as her wit. Nor were her 
 manners inferior to her temper. They were of 
 the happiest kind. No one could be often in her 
 company without feeling a strong desire of obtain- 
 ing her friendship, and cherishing a hope of hav- 
 ing obtained it. She was tranquil without reserve 
 or stiffness ; and communicative without intrusion 
 or self-sufficiency. She became an authoress en- 
 tirely from taste and inclination. Neither the 
 hope of fame nor profit mixed with her early mo- 
 tives. Most of her works, as before observed, 
 were composed many years previous to their pub- 
 lication. It was with extreme diflSculty that her 
 friends, whose partiality she suspected, whilst she 
 honoured their judgment, could prevail on her to 
 publish her first work. Nay, so persuaded was 
 she that its sale would not repay the expense of 
 publication, that she actually made a reserve from 
 her very moderate income to meet the expected 
 loss. She could scarcely believe what she termed 
 her great good fortune when ' Sense and Sensi- 
 bility' produced a clear profit of about £150. 
 Few so gifted were so truly unpretending. She 
 regarded the above sum as a prodigious recom- 
 pense for that which had cost her nothing. Her 
 readers, perhaps, will wonder that such a work 
 produced so little at a time when some other au- 
 thors have received more guineas than they have 
 written lines. The works of our authoress, how- 
 ever, may live as long as those which have burst 
 on the world with more eclat. But the public has 
 not been unjust ; and our authoress was far from 
 thinking it so. Most gratifying to her was the 
 applause which, from time to time, reached her 
 ears from those who were competent to discrimi- 
 nate. Still, in spite of such applause, so much 
 did she shrink from notoriety, that no accumula- 
 tion of fame would have induced her, had she 
 lived, to afBx her name to any productions of her 
 pen. In the bosom of her own family she talked 
 of them freely, thankful for praise, open to re- 
 mark, and submissive to criticism. But in public 
 she turned away from any allusion to the character 
 of an authoress. She read aloud with very great 
 taste and eff'ect. Her own works, probably, were 
 never heard to so much advantage as from her own 
 mouth ; for she partook largely in aU the best 
 gifts of the comic muse. She was a warm and 
 judicious admirer of landscape, both in nature 
 and on canvass. At a very early age, she was 
 enamoured of Gilpin on the Picturesque : and she 
 
 184 
 
AU ■ • 
 
 AU 
 
 seldom changed her opinions either on hooks or 
 men. 
 
 " Her reading was very extensive in history and 
 belles lettres ; and her memory extremely tena- 
 cious. Her favourite moral writers were Johnson, 
 in prose, and Cowper, in verse. It is dif&oult to 
 say at what age she was not intimately acquainted 
 with the merits and defects of the best essays and 
 novels in the English language. Richardson's 
 power of creating, and preserving the consistency 
 of his characters, as particularly exemplified in 
 ' Sir Charles Grandisou,' gratified the natural dis- 
 crimination of her mind, whilst her taste secured 
 her from the errors of his prolix style and tedious 
 narrative. She did not rank any work of Fielding 
 quite so high. Without the slightest affectation, 
 she recoiled from everything gross. Neither na- 
 ture, wit, nor humour, could make her amends 
 for so very low a scale of morals. 
 
 " Her powers of inventing characters seems to 
 have been intuitive, and almost unlimited. She 
 drew from nature ; but, whatever may have been 
 surmised to the contrary, never from individuals. 
 The style of her familiar correspondence was in 
 all respects the same as that of her novels. Eve- 
 rything came finished from her pen ; for, on all 
 subjects, she had ideas as clear as her expressions 
 were well chosen. It is not hazarding too much 
 to say, that she never despatched a note or letter 
 unworthy of publication. 
 
 " One trait only remains to be touched on. It 
 makes all others unimportant. She was thoroiighly 
 religious and devout ; fearful of giving offence to 
 God, and incapable of feeling it towards any fel- 
 low-creature. 
 
 " She retained her faculties, her memory, her 
 fancy, her temper, and her affections, warm, clear, 
 and unimpaired, to the last. Neither her love of 
 God, nor of her fellow-creatures, flagged for a mo- 
 ment. She made a point of receiving the sacra- 
 ment before excessive bodily weakness might have 
 rendered her perception unequal to her wishes. 
 She wrote whilst she could hold a pen, and with a 
 pencil when a pen was become too laborious. Her 
 last voluntary speech conveyed thanks to her medi- 
 cal attendant ; and to the final question asked of 
 her, purporting to know her wants, she replied, 
 ' I want nothing but death.' " 
 
 In our selection from the writings of this esti- 
 mable lady, we quote from " Northanger Abbey ;" 
 it is simple in plot, and the heroine may be found 
 in every-day life. She is nevertheless an exquisite 
 creation of fancy, but her naturalness makes her 
 loveliest charm ; and first, we have her manner of 
 training at home, or rather how she was permitted 
 to grow up, like a wild flower, in her own sweet 
 way: 
 
 THE HEKOINe's childhood. 
 
 "No one who had ever seen Catherine Morland 
 in her infancy would have supposed her born to 
 be a heroine. Her situation in life, the character 
 of her father and mother, her own person and dis- 
 position, were all equally against her. Her father 
 was a clergyman, without being neglected, or poor, 
 and a very respectable man, though his name was 
 
 Richard — and he had never been handsome. He 
 had a considerable independence, besides two good 
 livings — and he was not in the least addicted to 
 locking up his daughters. Her mother was a wo- 
 man of useful plain sense, with a good temper, 
 and, what is more remarkable, with a good consti- 
 tution. She had three sons before Catherine was 
 born ; and instead of dying in bringing the latter 
 into the world, as any body might expect, she still 
 lived on — lived to have six children more — to see 
 them growing up around her, and to enjoy excel- 
 lent health herself. A family of ten children will 
 be always called a fine family, where there are 
 heads and arms and legs enough for the number ; 
 but the Morlands had little other right to the 
 word, for they were in general very plain, and 
 Catherine, for many years of her life, as plain as 
 any. She had a thin awkward figure, a sallow 
 skin, without colour, dark lank hair, and strong 
 features ; — so much for her person ; — and not less 
 unpropitious for heroism seemed her mind. She 
 was fond of all boys' plays, and gi-eatly preferred 
 cricket, not merely to dolls, but to the more he- 
 roic enjoyments of infancy, nursing a dormouse, 
 feeding a canary-bird, or watering a rose-bush. 
 Indeed she had no taste for a garden ; and if she 
 gathered flowers at all, it was chiefly for the plea- 
 sure of mischief — at least, so it was conjectured 
 from her always preferring those which she was 
 forbidden to take. Such were her propensities — 
 her abilities were quite as extraordinary. She 
 never could learn or understand anything before 
 she was taught ; and sometimes not even then, for 
 she was often inattentive, and occasionally stupid. 
 Her mother was three months in teaching her only 
 to repeat tlie ' Beggar's Petition ;' and, after all, 
 her next sister, Sally, could say it better than she 
 did. Not that Catherine was always stupid — by 
 no means ; she learned the fable of ' The Hare 
 and many Friends,' as quickly as any girl in Eng- 
 land. Her mother wished her to learn music ; and 
 Catherine was sure she should like it, for she was 
 very fond of tinkling the keys of the old forlorn 
 spinuet ; so, at eight years old, she began. She 
 learned a year, and could not bear it ; — and Mrs. 
 Morland, who did not insist on her daughters be- 
 ing accomplished in spite of incapacity or distaste, 
 allowed her to leave off. The day which dismissed 
 the music-master was one of the happiest of Ca- 
 therine's life. Her taste for drawing was not 
 superior ; though whenever she could obtain the 
 outside of a letter from her mother, or seize upon 
 any other odd piece of paper, she did what she 
 could in that way, by drawing houses and trees, 
 hens and chickens, all very much like one another 
 Writing and accounts she was taught by her father ; 
 French by her mother : her proficiency in either 
 was not remarkable, and she shirked her lessons 
 in both whenever she could. What a strange, un- 
 accountable character! for with all these symp- 
 toms of profligacy at ten years old, she had neither 
 a bad disposition nor a bad temper ; was seldom 
 stubborn, scarcely ever quarrelsome, and very kind 
 to the little ones, with few interruptions of tyranny; 
 she was moreover noisy and wild, hated confine- 
 ment and cleanliness, and loved notliing so well in 
 
 185 
 
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 the world as rolling down the green slope at the 
 back of the house. 
 
 Such was Catherine Morland at ten. At fifteen, 
 appearances were mending ; she began to curl her 
 hair and long for balls ; her complexion improved, 
 her features were softened by plumpness and co- 
 lour, her eyes gained more animation, and her 
 figure more consequence. Her love of dirt gave 
 way to an inclination for finery, and she grew 
 clean as she grew smart ; she had now the plea- 
 sure of sometimes hearing her father and mother 
 remark on her personal improvement. ' Catherine 
 grows quite a good-looking girl — she is almost 
 pretty to-day,' were words which caught her ears 
 now and then ; and how welcome were the sounds ! 
 To look almost pretty, is an acquisition of higher 
 delight to a girl who has been looking plain the 
 first fifteen years of her life, than a beauty from 
 her cradle can ever receive. 
 
 Mrs. Morland was a very good woman, and 
 wished to see her children everything they ought 
 to be ; but her time was so much occupied in 
 lying-in and teaching the little ones, that her elder 
 daughters were inevitably left to shift for them- 
 selves ; and it was not very wonderful that Cathe- 
 rine, who had by nature nothing heroic about her, 
 should prefer cricket, base-ball, riding on horse- 
 back, and running about the country at the age 
 of fourteen, to books — or at least books of infor- 
 mation — for, provided that nothing like, useful 
 knowledge could be gained from them, provided 
 they were all story and no reflection, she had never 
 any objection to books at all, but from fifteen to 
 seventeen she was in train for a heroine ; she read 
 all such works as heroines must read to supply 
 their memories with those quotations which are so 
 serviceable and so soothing in the vicissitudes of 
 their eventful lives. 
 
 From Pope, she learnt to censure those who 
 ' bear about the mockery of wo.' 
 
 From Gray, that 
 
 ' Many a flower is born to blush unseen. 
 And waste its fragrance on the desert air.' 
 
 From Thomson, that 
 
 -* It is a delightful tasic 
 
 To teach the young idea how to shoot.' 
 
 And from Shakspeare, she gained a great store 
 of information — among the rest, that 
 
 ■' Trifles, light as air, 
 
 Are, to the jealous, confirmation strong. 
 As proofs of Holy Writ.' 
 
 That 
 
 'The poor beetle, which we tread upon, 
 In corporal sufferance, feels a pang as great 
 As when a giant dies.' 
 
 And that a young woman in love always looks 
 
 ' like Patience on a monument 
 
 Smiling at Grief.' 
 
 So far, her improvement was sufiicient — and 
 in many other points, she came on exceedingly 
 well ; for though she could not write sonnets, she 
 brought herself to read them ; and though there 
 seemed no chance of her throwing a whole party 
 into raptures by a prelude on the pianoforte of 
 her own composition, she could listen to other 
 
 people's performance with very little fatigue.v Her 
 greatest deficiency was in the pencil — she had no 
 notion of drawing — not enough even to attempt a 
 sketch of her lover's profile, that she might be 
 detected in the design. There she fell miserably 
 short of the true heroic height. At present, she 
 did not know her own poverty, for she had no lover 
 to pourtray. She had reached the age of seventeen 
 without having seen one amiable youth who could 
 call forth her sensibility ; without having inspired 
 one real passion, and without having exerted even 
 any admiration but what was very moderate and 
 very transient. This was strange indeed ! But 
 strange things may generally be accounted for if 
 their cause be fairly searched out. There was not 
 one lord in the neighbourhood ; no, not even a 
 baronet. There was not one family among their 
 acquaintance who had reared and supported a boy 
 accidentally found at their door — not one young 
 man whose origin was unknown. Her father had 
 no ward, and the 'squire of the parish no children. 
 But when a young lady is to be a heroine, the 
 perverseness of forty surrounding families cannot 
 prevent her. Something must and will happen to 
 throw a hero in her way." 
 
 Mr. Allen, who owned the chief of the pro- 
 perty about Fullerton, the village in Wiltshire 
 where the Morlands lived, was ordered to Bath 
 for the benefit of a gouty constitution ; and his 
 lady, a good-humoured woman, fond of Miss Mor- 
 land, and probably aware that if adventures will 
 not befall a young lady in her own village, she 
 must seek them abroad, invited her to go with 
 them. Mr. and Mrs. Morland were all compliance, 
 and Catherine all happiness. 
 
 THE HEKOINE AT A BALL. 
 
 " So they went to Bath, and Catherine made her 
 first appearance in the ball-room, anticipating a 
 most delightful evening ; for she had come to be 
 happy. But the party was late, and poor Miss 
 Morland never had the offer of a partner. But 
 there was good fortune in store for her ; and this 
 is the history of the second ball. 
 
 " They made their appearance in the lower 
 rooms ; and here fortune was more favourable to 
 our heroine. The master of the ceremonies intro- 
 duced to her a very gentleman-like young man as 
 a partner. His name was Tilney. He seemed to 
 be about four or five-and-twenty, was rather tall, 
 had a pleasing countenance, a very intelligent and 
 lively eye, and, if not quite handsome, was very 
 near it. His address was good, and Catherine, felt 
 herself in high luck. There was little leisure for 
 speaking while they danced ; but when they were 
 seated at tea, she found him as agreeable as she 
 had already given him credit for being. He talked 
 with fluency and spirit — and there was an archness 
 and pleasantry in his manner which interested, 
 though it was hardly understood by her. After 
 chatting some time on such matters as naturally 
 arose from the objects around them, he suddenly 
 addressed her with — ' I have hitherto been very 
 remiss, madam, in the proper attentions of a part- 
 ner here; I have not yet asked you how long you 
 
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 have been in Bath ; whether you were ever here be- 
 fore ; whether you have been at the Upper Rooms, 
 the theatre, and the concert ; and how you like 
 the place altogether. I have been very negligent 
 — ^but are you now at leisure to satisfy me in these 
 particulars? If you are, I will begin directly." 
 
 " You need not give yourself that trouble, sir." 
 
 "No trouble, I assure you, madam." Then 
 forming his features into a set smile, and affect- 
 edly softening his voice, he added, with a simper- 
 ing air, " Have you been long in Bath, madam ?" 
 
 "About a week, sir," replied Catherine, trying 
 not to laugh. 
 
 "Really!" with affected astonishment. 
 
 " Why should you be surprised, sir?" 
 
 "Why, indeed!" said he, in his natural tone — 
 "but some emotion must appear to be raised by 
 your reply, and surprise is more easily assumed, 
 and not less reasonable than any other. Now let 
 ua go on. Were you never here before, madam ?" 
 
 " Never, sir." 
 
 " Indeed ! Have you yet honoured the Upper 
 Rooms?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, I was there last Monday." 
 
 " Have you been to the theatre?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, I was at the play on Tuesday." 
 
 " To the concert ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, on Wednesday." 
 
 " And are you altogether pleased with Bath ?" 
 
 " Yes, I like it very well." 
 
 " Now I must give one smirk, and then we may 
 be rational again." 
 
 Catherine turned away her head, not knowing 
 whether she might venture to laugh. 
 
 " I see what you think of me," said he gravely 
 — " I shall make but a poor figure in your journal 
 to-morrow." 
 
 "My journal!" ' 
 
 " Yes, I know exactly what you will say ; Fri- 
 day, went to the Lower Rooms ; wore my sprigged 
 muslin robe with blue trimmings — plain black 
 shoes — appeared to much advantage ; but was 
 strangely harassed by a queer, half-witted man, 
 who would make me dance with him, and distress- 
 ed me by his nonsense." 
 
 "Indeed, I shall say no such thing." 
 
 " Shall I tell you what you ought to say ?" 
 
 "If you please." 
 
 "I* danced with a very agreeable young man, 
 introduced by Mr. King — had a great deal of con- 
 versation with him — seems a most extraordinary 
 genius ; hope I may know more of him. That, 
 madam, is what I wish you to say." 
 
 " But, perhaps, I keep no journal." 
 
 " Perhaps you are not sitting in this room, and 
 I am not sitting by you. These are points in 
 which a doubt is equally possible. Not keep a 
 journal ! How are your absent cousins to under- 
 stand the tenor of your life in Bath without one ? 
 How are the civilities and compliments of every 
 day to be related as tliey ought to be, unless noted 
 down every evening in a journal ? How are your 
 various dresses to be remembered, and the parti- 
 cular state of your complexion, and curl of your 
 hair to be described in all their diversities, with- 
 out having constant recourse to a journnl ? My 
 
 dear madam, I am not so ignorant of young ladies' 
 ways as you wish to believe me ; it is this delight- 
 ful habit of journalising which largely contributes 
 to form the easy style of writing for which ladies 
 are so generally celebrated. Everybody allows 
 that the talent of writing agreeable letters is pecu- 
 liarly female. Nature may have done something, 
 but I am sure it must be essentially assisted by 
 the practice of keeping a journal." 
 
 " I have sometimes thought," said Catherine, 
 doubtingly, " whether ladies do write so much 
 better letters than gentlemen ! That is — I should 
 not think the superiority was always on our 
 side." 
 
 " As far as I have had opportunity of judging, 
 it appears to me that the usual style of letter- 
 writing among women is faultless, except in three 
 particulars." 
 
 " And what are they ?" 
 
 "A general deficiency of subject, a total inat- 
 tention to stops, and a very frequent ignorance of 
 grammar." 
 
 " Upon my word I I need not have been afraid 
 of disclaiming the compliment. You do not think 
 too highly of us in that way." 
 
 " I should no more lay it down as a general rule 
 that women write better letters than men, than 
 that they sing better duets, or draw better land- 
 scapes. In every power, of which taste is the 
 foundation, excellence is pretty fairly divided be- 
 tween the sexes." 
 
 They were interrupted by Mrs. Allen : " My dear 
 Catherine," said she, " do take this pin out of my 
 sleeve ; I am afraid it has torn a hole already ; I 
 shall be quite sorry if it has, for this is a favourite 
 gown, though it cost but nine shillings a yard." 
 
 " That is exactly what I should have guessed 
 it, madam," said Mr. Tilney, looking at the 
 muslin. 
 
 " Do you understand muslins, sir?" 
 
 ' ' Particularly well ; I always buy my own cra- 
 vats, and am allowed to be an excellent judge ; 
 and my sister has often trusted me in the choice 
 of a gown. I bought one for her the other day, 
 and it was pronounced to be a prodigious bargain 
 by every lady who saw it. I gave but five shillings 
 a yard for it, and a true Indian muslin." 
 
 Mrs. Allen was quite struck by his genius. " Men 
 commonly take so little notice of those things," 
 said she : "I can never get Mr. Allen to know one 
 of my gowns from another. You must be a great 
 comfort to your sister, sir." 
 
 " I hope I am, madam." 
 
 " And pray, sir, what do you think of Miss Mor- 
 land's gown!" 
 
 " It is very pretty, madam," said he, gravely, 
 examining it ; " but I do not think it will wash 
 well ; I am afraid it will fray." 
 
 "How can you," said Catherine, laughing, "be 
 so " she had almost said strange. 
 
 " I am quite of your opinion, sir," replied Mrs. 
 Allen ; " and so I told Miss Morland when she 
 bought it." 
 
 "But then, you know, madam, muslin always 
 turns to some account or other; Miss Morland 
 will get enough out of it for a handkerchief, or a 
 
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 cap, or a cloak. Muslin can never be said to be 
 wasted. I have heard my sister say so forty times, 
 when she has been extravagant in buying more 
 than she wanted, or careless in cutting it to 
 pieces.' 
 
 "Bath is a charming place, sir; there are so 
 many good shops here. We are sadly off in the 
 country ; not but what we have very good shops 
 in Salisbury, but it is so far to go ; eight miles is 
 a long way ; Mr. Allen says it is nine, measured 
 nine ; but I am sure it cannot be more than eight; 
 and it is such a fag — I come back tired to death. 
 Now here one can step out of doors and get a thing 
 in five minutes." 
 
 Mr. Tilney was polite enough to seem inter- 
 ested in what she said ; and she kept him on the 
 subject of muslins till the dancing recommenced. 
 Catherine feared, as she listened to their discourse, 
 that he indulged himself a little too much with the 
 foible of others. — " What are you thinking of so 
 earnestly ?" said he, as they walked back to the 
 ball-room ; " not of your partner, I hope ; for by 
 that shake of the head, your meditations are not 
 satisfactory." 
 
 Catherine coloured, and said, "I was not think- 
 ing of any thing." 
 
 " That is artful and deep, to be sure; but I had 
 rather be told at once that you will not tell me." 
 
 " Well then, I will not." 
 
 " Thank you ; for now we shall soon be ac- 
 quainted, as I am authorised to tease you on this 
 subject whenever we meet; and nothing in the 
 world advances intimacy so much." 
 
 They danced again; and, when the assembly 
 closed, parted, on the lady's side at least, with a 
 strong inclination for continuing the acquaintance. 
 Whether she thought of him so much while she 
 drank her warm wine and water, and prepared 
 herself for bed, as to dream of him when there, 
 cannot be ascertained ; but I hope it was no more 
 than in a slight slumber, or a morning doze at 
 most ; for if it be true, as a celebrated writer has 
 maintained, that no young lady can be justified in 
 faDing in love before the gentleman's love is de- 
 clared, it must be very improper that a young 
 lady should dream of a gentleman before the gen- 
 tleman is first known to have dreamed of her." 
 
 Mr. Tilney proved to be a young clergyman, 
 with a very lovely sister, Eleanor, and a very sel- 
 fish, proud father. General Tilney. After several 
 disappointments, which, to the romantic fancy of 
 our little heroine, appeared like the scenes in a 
 novel, Mr. Tilney and his sister took the happy 
 Catherine out for a walk. 
 
 A WALK AND C0NVEK3ATI0N. 
 
 " The next morning was fair, and Catherine 
 almost expected another attack from the assem- 
 bled party. With Mr. Allen to support her, she 
 felt no dread of the event ; but she would gladly 
 be spared a contest, where victory itself was pain- 
 ful; and was heartily rejoiced, therefore, at neither 
 seeing nor hearing any thing of them. The Til- 
 neys called for her at the appointed time ; and no 
 new difficulty arising, no sudden recollection, no 
 
 unexpected summons, no impertinent intrusion to 
 disconcert their measures, my heroine was most 
 unnaturally able to fulfil her engagement, though 
 it was made with the hero himself. They deter- 
 mined on walking round Beechen Cliff, that noble 
 hill, whose beautiful verdure and hanging coppice 
 render it so striking an object from almost every 
 opening in Bath. 
 
 " I never look at it," said Catherine, as they 
 walked along the side of the river, "without think- 
 ing of the south of France." 
 
 "You have been abroad, then?" said Henry, a 
 little surprised. 
 
 " Oh ! no, I only mean what I have read about. 
 It always puts me in mind of the country that 
 Emily and her father travelled through, in the 
 ' Mysteries of Udolpho.' But you never read no- 
 vels, I dare say ?" 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Because they are not clever enough for you 
 — gentlemen read better books." 
 
 " The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has 
 not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably 
 stupid. I have read all Mrs. KadcUffe's works, 
 and most of them with great pleasure. The Mys- 
 teries of Udolpho, when I had once begun it, I 
 could not lay down again ; I remember finishing it 
 in two days — my hair standing on end the whole 
 time." 
 
 "Yes," added Miss Tilney, "and I remember 
 that you undertook to read it aloud to me, and 
 that when I was called away for only five minutes, 
 to answer a note, instead of waiting for me, you 
 took the volume in the Hermitage-walk, and I was 
 obliged to stay till you had finished it." 
 
 "Thank you, Eleanor; — a most honourable 
 testimony. You see. Miss Morland, the injustice 
 of your suspicions. Here was I, in my eagerness 
 to get on, refusing to wait only five minutes for 
 my sister ; breaking the promise I had made of 
 reading it aloud, and keeping her in suspense at 
 a most interesting part, by running away with the 
 volume, which, you are to observe, was her own, 
 particularly her own. I am proud when I reflect 
 on it, and I think it must establish me in your 
 good opinion." 
 
 " I am very glad to hear it, indeed, and now I 
 shall never be ashamed of liking Udolpho myself. 
 But I really thought, before, young men despised 
 novels amazingly." 
 
 "It is amazingly; it may well suggest amaze- 
 ment, if they do — for they read nearly as many as 
 women. I myself have read hundreds and hun- 
 dreds. Do not imagine that you can cope with 
 me in a knowledge of Julias and Louisas. If we 
 proceed to particulars, and engage in the never- 
 ceasing inquiry of ' Have you read this ? ' and 
 ' Have you read that ? ' I shall soon leave you as 
 far behind me as — what shall I say ? — I want an 
 appropriate simile ; — as far as your friend Emily 
 herself left poor Valancourt when she went with 
 her aunt into Italy. Consider how many years I 
 have had the start of you. I had entered on my 
 studies at Oxford, while you were a good little 
 girl, working your sampler at home !" 
 
 " Not very good, I am afraid. But now, really, 
 
 188 
 
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 do not you think TJdolpho the nicest book in the 
 world ?" 
 
 " The nicest; — by which, I suppose, you mean 
 the neatest. That must depend upon the binding." 
 "Henry," said Miss Tilney, "you are very im- 
 pertinent^ Miss Morland, he is treating you ex- 
 actly as he does his sister. He is for ever finding 
 fault with me, for some incorrectness of language, 
 and now he is taking the same liberty with you. 
 . The word 'nicest,' as you used it, did not suit 
 him ; and you had better change it as soon as you 
 can, or we shall be OTOrpowered with Johnson and 
 Blair all the rest of the way." 
 
 " I am sure," cried Catherine, " I did not mean 
 to say any thing wrong ; but it ia a nice book, and 
 why should not I call it so ?" 
 
 " Very true," said Henry, " and this is a very 
 nice day, and we are taking a very nice walk, and 
 you are two very nice young ladies. Oh ! it is a 
 very nice word, indeed ! — ^it does for every thing. 
 Originally, perhaps, it was applied only to express 
 neatness, propriety, delicacy, or refinement ; — 
 people were nice in their dress, in their senti- 
 ments, or their choice. But now every commen- 
 dation on every subject is comprised in that one 
 word." 
 
 " While, in fact," cried his sister, "it ought only 
 to be applied to you, without any commendation 
 at all. You are more nice than wise. Come, 
 Miss Morland, let us leave him to meditate over 
 our faults in the utmost propriety of diction, while 
 we praise Udolpho in whatever terms we like best. 
 It is a most interesting work. You are fond of 
 that kind of reading ?" 
 
 "To say the truth, I do not much like any 
 other." 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 " That is, I can read poetry and plays, and 
 things of that sort, and do not dislike travels. 
 But history, real solemn history, I cannot be in- 
 terested in. Can you?" 
 
 " Yes, I am fond of history." 
 " I wish I were, too. I read it a little as a 
 duty, but it tells me nothing that does not either 
 vex or weary me. The quarrels of popes and 
 kings, with wars or pestilences, in every page. 
 The men all so good for nothing, and hardly any 
 women at all — it is very tiresome: and yet I often 
 think it odd that it should be so dull, for a great 
 deal of it must be invention. The speeches that 
 are put into the heroes' mouths, their thoughts 
 and designs — the chief of all this must be inven- 
 tion, and invention is what delights me in other 
 books." 
 
 "Historians, you think," said Miss Tilney, "are 
 not happy in their flights of fancy. They display 
 imagination without raising interest. I am fond 
 of history — and am very well contented to take 
 the false with the true. In the principal facts, 
 they have sources of intelligence in former his- 
 tories and records, which may be as much de- 
 pended on, I conclude, as any thing that does not 
 actually pass under one's own observation ; and, 
 as for the little embellishments you speak of, they 
 are embellishments, and I like them as such. If 
 a speech be well drawn up, I read it with pleasure. 
 
 by whomsoever it may be made — and probably 
 with much greater, if the production of Mr. Hume 
 or Mr. Robertson, than if the genuine words of 
 Caractacus, Agrioola, or Alfred the Great." 
 
 "You are fond of history! and so are Mr. Allen 
 and my father ; and I have two brothers who do 
 not dislike it. So many instances within my small 
 circle of friends is remarkable ! At this rate, I 
 shall not pity the writers of history any longer. 
 If people like to read their books, it is all very 
 well ; but to be at so much trouble in filling great 
 volumes, which, as I used to think, nobody would 
 willingly ever look into, to be labouring only for 
 the torment of little boys and girls, always struck 
 me as a hard fate ; and though I know it is all 
 very right and necessary, I have often wondered 
 at the person's courage that could sit down on 
 purpose to do it." 
 
 " That little boys and girls should be tor- 
 mented," said Henry, "is what no one at all ac- 
 quainted with human nature in a civilized state 
 can deny ; but on behalf of our most distinguished 
 historians, I must observe that they might well 
 be offended at being supposed to have no higher 
 aim ; and that, by their method and style, they 
 are perfectly well qualified to torment readers of 
 the most advanced reason and mature time of life. 
 I use the verb, ' to torment,' as I observed to be 
 your own method, instead of ' to instruct,' sup- 
 posing them to be now admitted as synonymous." 
 
 " Yon think me foolish to call instruction a tor- 
 ment; but if you had been as much used as my- 
 self to hear poor little children first learning their 
 letters and then learning to spell, if you had ever 
 seen how stupid they can be for a whole morning 
 together, and how tired my poor mother is at the 
 end of it, as I am in the habit of seeing almost 
 every day of my life at home, you would allow 
 that to torment and to instruct, might sometimes 
 be used as synonymous words." 
 
 "Very probably. But historians are not ac- 
 countable for the difficulty of learning to read; 
 and even you yourself, who do not altogether seem 
 particularly friendly, to very severe, very intense 
 application, may perhaps be brought to acknow- 
 ledge that it is very well worth while to be tor- 
 mented for two or three years of one's life, for the 
 sake of being able to read all the rest of it. Con- 
 sider — if reading had not been taught, Mrs. Rad- 
 cliffe would have written in vain — or perhaps 
 might not have vrritten at all." 
 
 Catherine assented — and a very warm pane- 
 gyric from her on that lady's merits closed the 
 subject. The Tilneys were soon engaged in 
 another, on which she had nothing to say. They 
 were viewing the country with the eyes of persons 
 accustomed to drawing, and decided on its capa- 
 bility of being formed into pictures, with all the 
 eagerness of real taste. Here Catherine was quite 
 lost. She knew nothing of drawing — nothing of 
 taste — and she listened to them with an attention 
 which brought her little profit, for they talked in 
 phrases which conveyed scarcely any idea to her. 
 The little which she could understand, however, 
 appeared to contradict the very few notions she 
 had entertained on the matter before. It seemed 
 
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 as if a good view were no longer to be taken from 
 the top of a higli liill, and tliat a clear blue sky 
 was no longer a proof of a fine day. She was 
 heartily ashamed of her ignorance. A misplaced 
 shame. Where people wish to attach, they should 
 always be ignorant. To come with a well-informed 
 mind, is to come with an inability of administer- 
 ing to the vanity of others, which a sensible per- 
 son would always wish to avoid. A woman, 
 especially if she have the misfortune of know- 
 ing any thing, should conceal it as well as she 
 can. 
 
 The advantages of natural folly in a beautiful 
 girl have been already set forth by the capital pen 
 of a sister author ; — and to her treatment of the 
 subject I will only add, in justice to men, that 
 though to the larger and more trifling part of the 
 sex, imbecility in females is a great enhancement 
 of their personal charms, there is a portion of 
 them too reasonable and too well-informed them- 
 selves to desire any thing more in woman than 
 ignorance. But Catherine did not know her own 
 advantages — did not know that a good-looking 
 girl, with an affectionate heart and a very ignorant 
 mind, cannot fail of attracting a clever young 
 man, unless circumstances are particularly unto- 
 ward. In the present instance, she confessed and 
 lamented her want of knowledge ; declared that 
 she would give any thing in the world to be able 
 to draw ; and a lecture on the picturesque imme- 
 diately followed, in which his instructions were so 
 clear that she soon began to see beauty in every 
 thing admired by him, and her attention was so 
 earnest, that he became perfectly satisfied of her 
 having a great deal of natural taste. He talked 
 of fore-grounds, distances, and second distances — 
 side-screens, and perspectives — lights and shades ; 
 . — and Catherine was so hopeful a scholar, that 
 when they gained the top of Beechen Cliff, she 
 voluntarily rejected the whole city of Bath, as 
 unworthy to make part of a landscape. Delighted 
 with her progress, and fearful of wearying her 
 with too much wisdom at once, Henry suffered the 
 subject to decline, and by an easy transition from 
 a piece of rocky fragment and the withered oak 
 which he had placed near its summit, to oaks in 
 general, to forests, the enclosure of them, waste- 
 lands, crown-lands and government, he shortly 
 found himself arrived at politics ; and from poli- 
 tics, it was an easy step to silence. The general 
 pause which succeeded his short disquisition on 
 the state of the nation, was put an end to by Ca- 
 therine, who, in rather a solemn tone of voice, 
 uttered these words: — "I have heard that some- 
 thing very shocking, indeed, will soon come out in 
 London." 
 
 Miss Tilney, to whom this was chiefly addressed, 
 was startled, and hastily replied, "Indeed! — and 
 of what nature ?" 
 
 " That I do not know, nor who is the author. 
 I have only heard that it is to be more horrible 
 than any thing we have met with yet." 
 
 " Good heaven ! — Where could you hear of such 
 a thing?" 
 
 " A particular friend of mine had an account 
 of it in a letter from London yesterday. It is to 
 
 be uncommonly dreadful. I shall expect murder 
 and every thing of the kind." 
 
 " You speak with astonishing composure! But 
 I hope your friend's accounts have been exagge- 
 rated ; — and if such a design is known beforehand, 
 proper measures will undoubtedly be taken by 
 government to prevent its coming to effect." 
 
 "Government," said Henry, endeavouring not 
 to smile, " neither desires nor dares to interfere 
 in such matters. There must be murder; and 
 government cares not how much." 
 
 The ladies stared. He laughed, and added, 
 " Come, shall I make you understand each other, 
 or leave you to puzzle out an explanation as you 
 can ? No — ^ I will be noble. I will prove myself 
 a man, no less by the generosity of my soul than 
 the clearness of my head. I have no patience 
 with such of my sex as disdain to let themselves 
 sometimes down to the comprehension of yours. 
 Perhaps the abilities of women are neither sound 
 nor acute — neither vigorous nor keen. Perhaps 
 they may want observation, discernment, judg- 
 ment, fire, genius, and wit." 
 
 " Miss Morland, do not mind what he says ; 
 but have the goodness to satisfy me as to thir 
 dreadful riot?" 
 
 "Riot!— what riot?" 
 
 " My dear Eleanor, the riot is only in your 
 own brain. The confusion there is scandalous. 
 Miss Morland has been talking of nothing more 
 dreadful than a new publication which is shortly 
 to come out, in three duodecimo volumes, two 
 hundred and seventy-six pages in each, with a 
 frontispiece to the first, of two tombstones and a 
 lantern — do you understand ? — And yoii. Miss 
 Morland — my stupid sister has mistaken all your 
 clearest expressions. You talked of expected 
 horrors in London — and instead of instantly con- 
 ceiving, as any rational creature would have done, 
 that such words could relate only to a circulating 
 library, she immediately pictured to herself a mob 
 of three thousand men assembling in St. George's 
 Fields ; the bank attacked, the Tower threatened, 
 streets of London flowing with blood, a detachment 
 of the 12th Light Dragoons, (the hopes of the na- 
 tion,) called up from Northampton to quell the 
 insurgents, and the gallant captain Frederick 
 Tilney, in the moment of charging at the head of 
 his troop, knocked off his horse by a brickbat 
 from an upper window. Forgive her stupidity. 
 The fears of the sister have added to the weakness 
 of the woman ; but she is by no means a simpleton 
 in general." 
 
 Catherine looked grave. "And now, Henry," 
 said Miss Tilney, ' ' that you have made us under- 
 stand each other, you may as well make Miss 
 Morland understand yourself — -unless you mean 
 to have her think you intolerably rude to your 
 sister, and a great brute in your opinion of women 
 in general. Miss Morland is not used to your 
 odd ways." 
 
 "I shall be most happy to make her better 
 acquainted with them." 
 
 "No doubt; — but that is no explanation of 
 the present." 
 
 " What am I to do V 
 
 190 
 
A0 
 
 AU 
 
 "You know what you ought to do. Clear 
 your character handsomely before her. Tell her 
 that you think yery highly of the understanding 
 of women." 
 
 " Miss Morland, I think very highly of the 
 understanding of all the women in the world — 
 especially of those — whoever they may be — with 
 whom I happen to be in company." 
 
 " That is not enough. Be more serious.' ' 
 
 " Miss Morland, no one can think more highly 
 of the understanding of women than I do. In my 
 opinion, nature has given them so much, that they 
 never find it necessary to use more than half." 
 
 "We shall get nothing more serious from him 
 now, Miss Morland. He is not in a sober mood. 
 But I do assure you that he must be entirely mis- 
 understood, if he can ever appear to say an unjust 
 thing of any woman at all, or an unkind one of 
 me." 
 
 It was no effort to Catherine, to believe that 
 Henry Tilney could never be wrong. His manner 
 might sometimes surprise, but his meaning must 
 always be just ; — and what she did not understand, 
 she was almost as ready to admire, as what she 
 did. The whole walk was delightful, and though 
 it ended too soon, its conclusion was delightful 
 too ; — -her friends attended her into the house, 
 and Miss Tilney, before they parted, addressing 
 herself with respectful form, as much to Mrs. 
 Allen as to Catherine, petitioned for the pleasure 
 of her company to dinner on the day after the 
 next. No difficulty was made on Mrs. Allen's 
 side — and the only difficulty on Catherine's was 
 in concealing the excess of her pleasure." 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF MYSTERY. 
 
 The tendency to exaggerate every occurrence, 
 so common with enthusiastic and undisciplined 
 minds, and to invest commonplace occurrences 
 with the rainbow tints of fancy, is well depicted 
 in the scene we shall now give. 
 
 General Tilney, who had been informed Cathe- 
 rine was a great heiress, wished to obtain her 
 wealth, and for that purpose planned a marriage 
 between his son Henry and her. To make this 
 sure, he invited her to go with the family to North- 
 anger Abbey, and pass a few weeks. The idea 
 was delightful to Catherine, who longed to see an 
 old abbey or castle, where, she was sure, strange 
 things must have occurred. She found, in the 
 room appropriated to her use, an old chest — 
 
 "She advanced and examined it closely; it was 
 of cedar, curiously inlaid with some darker wood, 
 and raised about a foot from the ground, on a 
 carved stand of the same. The lock was silver, 
 though tarnished from age ; at each end were the 
 imperfect remains of handles, also of silver, broken, 
 perhaps, prematurely, by some strange violence ; 
 and, on the centre of the lid, was a mysterious 
 cipher in the same metal. Catherine bent over it 
 intently, but without being able to distinguish any 
 thing with certainty. She could not, in whatever 
 direction she took it, believe the last letter to be 
 a T: and that it should be any thing else in that 
 house was a circumstance to raise no common de- 
 
 gree of astonishment. If not originally theirs, by 
 what strange events could it have fallen into the 
 Tilney family ? 
 
 Her fearful curiosity was every moment grow- 
 ing greater; and seizing, with trembling Jiands, 
 the hasp of the lock, she resolved at all hazards 
 to satisfy herself at least as to its contents. With 
 difficulty, for something seemed to resist her ef- 
 forts, she raised the lid a few inches ; but at that 
 moment a sudden knocking at the door of the 
 room made her, starting, quit her hold, and the 
 lid closed with alarming violence. This ill-timed 
 intruder was Miss Tilney's maid, sent by her mis- 
 tress to be of use to Miss Morland ; and though 
 Catherine immediately dismissed her, it recalled 
 her to the sense of what she ought to be doing, 
 and forced her, in spite of her anxious desire to 
 penetrate this mystery, to proceed in her dressing 
 without farther delay. Her progress was not 
 quick, for her thouf^hts and her eyes were still 
 bent on the object so well calculated to interest 
 and alarm ; and though she dared not waste a 
 moment upon a second attempt, she could not re- 
 main many paces from the chest. At length, how- 
 ever, having slipped one arm in her gown, her 
 toilette seemed so nearly finished, that the impa- 
 tience of her curiosity might safely be indulged. 
 One moment surely might be spared ; and, so des- 
 perate should be the exertion of her strength, that, 
 unless secured by supernatural means, the lid in 
 one moment should be thrown back. With this 
 spirit she sprang forward, and her confidence did 
 not deceive her. Her resolute effort threw back 
 the lid, and gave to her astonished eyes the view 
 of a white cotton counterpane, properly folded, 
 reposing at one end of the chest in undisputed 
 possession! - 
 
 She was gazing on it with the first blush of 
 surprise, when Miss Tilney, anxious for her friend's 
 being ready, entered the room, and to the rising 
 shame of having harboured for some minutes an 
 absurd expectation, was then added the shame of 
 being caught in so idle a search. " That is a cu- 
 rious old chest, is not it?" said Miss Tilney, as 
 Catherine hastily closed it, and turned away to 
 the glass. "It is impossible to say how many 
 generations it has been here. How it came to be 
 first put in this room I know not, but I have not 
 had it moved, because I thought it might some- 
 times be of use in holding hats and bonnets. The 
 worst of it is that its weight makes it difficult to 
 open. In that corner, however, it is at least out 
 of the way." 
 
 Catherine had no leisure for speech, being at 
 once blushing, tying her gown, and forming wise 
 resolutions with the most violent despatch. Miss 
 Tilney gently hinted her fear of being late ; and 
 in half a minute they ran down stairs together, in 
 an alarm not wholly unfounded, for General Til- 
 ney was pacing the drawing-room, his watch in 
 his hand, and having, on the very instant of their 
 entering, pulled the bell with violence, ordered 
 " dinner to be on the table directly t" 
 
 Catherine trembled at the emphasis with which 
 he spoke, and sat pale and breathless, in a most 
 humble mood, concerned for his children, and de- 
 
 191 
 
AU 
 
 AU 
 
 testing old chests ; and the general, recovering 
 his politeness as he looked at her, spent the rest 
 of his time in scolding his daughter, for so fool- 
 ishly hurrying her fair friend, who was absolutely 
 out of hreath from haste, when there was not the 
 least occasion for hurry in the world : but Cathe- 
 rine could not at all get over the double distress 
 of having involved her friend in a lecture and been 
 a great simpleton herself, till they were happily 
 seated at the dinner table, when the general's 
 complacent smiles, and a good appetite of her 
 own, restored her to peace. The dining-parlour 
 was a noble room, suitable in its dimensions to a 
 much larger drawing-room than the one in com- 
 mon use, and fitted up in a style of luxury and 
 expense which was almost lost on the unpractised 
 eye of Catherine, who saw little more than its 
 spaciousness and the number of their attendants. 
 Of the former, she spoke aloud her admiration ; 
 and the general, with a very gracious countenance, 
 acknowledged that it was by no means an ill-sized 
 room ; and farther confessed, that, though as care- 
 less on such subjects as most people, he did look 
 upon a tolerably large eating-room as one of the 
 necessaries of life; he supposed^ however, " that 
 she must have been used to much better sized 
 apartments at Mr. Allen's ?" 
 
 "No, indeed," was Catherine's honest assu- 
 rance ; " Mr. Allen's dining-parlour was not more 
 than half as large:" and she had never seen so 
 large a room as this in her life. The general's 
 good humour increased. Why, as he had such 
 rooms, he thought it would be simple not to make 
 use of them; but, upon his honour, he believed 
 there might be more comfort in rooms of only 
 half their size. Mr. Allen's house, he was sure, 
 was exactly of the true size for rational happiness. 
 
 The evening passed without any farther disturb- 
 ance, and, in the occasional absence of General 
 Tilney, with much positive cheerfulness. It was 
 only in his presence that Catherine felt the small- 
 est fatigue from her journey ; and even then, even 
 in moments of languor or restraint, a sense of 
 general happiness preponderated, and she could 
 think of her friends in Bath without one wish of 
 being with them. 
 
 The night was stormy ; the wind had been rising 
 at intervals the whole afternoon ; and by the time 
 the party broke up, it blew and rained violently. 
 Catherine, as she crossed the hall, listened to the 
 tempest with sensations of awe, and, when she 
 heard it rage round a corner of the ancient build- 
 ing and close with sudden fury a distant door, felt 
 for the first time that she was really in an Abbey. 
 Yes, these were characteristic sounds ; — they 
 brought to her recollection a countless variety of 
 dreadful situations and horrid scenes, which such 
 buildings had witnessed, and such storms ushered 
 in ; and most heartily did she rejoice in the hap- 
 pier circumstances attending her entrance within 
 walls so solemn ! — She had nothing to dread from 
 midnight assassins or drunken gallants. Henry 
 had certainly been only in jest in what he had told 
 her that morning. In a house so furnished, and 
 so guarded, she could have nothing to explore or 
 to suffer ; and might go to her bed-room as se- 
 
 curely as if it had been her own chamber at Ful- 
 lerton. Thus wisely fortifying her mind, as she 
 proceeded up stairs, she was enabled, especially, 
 on perceiving that Miss Tilney slept only two 
 doors from her, to enter her room with a tolerably 
 stout heart ; and her spirits were immediately as- 
 sisted by the cheerful blaze of a wood fire. " How 
 much better is this," said she, as she walked to 
 the fender, " how much better to find a fire ready 
 lit, than to have to wait shivering in the cold till 
 all the family are in bed, as so many poor girls 
 have been obliged to do, and then to have a faith- 
 ful old servant frightening one by coming in with 
 a fagot ! How glad I am'that Northanger is what 
 it is ! If it had been like some other places, I do 
 not know that, in such a night as this, I could 
 have answered for my courage ; — ^but now, to be 
 sure, there is nothing to alarm one." 
 
 She looked around the room. The window cur- 
 tains seemed in motion. It could be nothing but 
 the violence of the wind penetrating through the 
 divisions of the shutters ; and she stepped boldly 
 forward, carelessly humming a tune, to assure 
 herself of its being so, peeped courageously behind 
 each curtain, saw nothing on either low window- 
 seat to scare her, and on placing a hand against 
 the shutter, felt the strongest conviction of the 
 wind's force. A glance at the old chest, as she 
 turned away from this examination, was not with- 
 out its use ; she scorned the causeless fears of an 
 idle fancy, and began with a most happy indiffer- 
 ence to prepare herself for bed. " She should 
 take her time ; she should not hurry herself ; she 
 did not care if she were the last person up in the 
 house. But she would not make up her fire ; that 
 would seem cowardly, as if she wished for the 
 protection of light after she was in bed." The 
 fire, therefore, died away, and Catherine, having 
 spent the best part of an hour in her arrangements, 
 was beginning to think of stepping into bed, when, 
 on giving a parting glance round the room, she 
 was struck by the appearance of a high, old-fa- 
 shioned black cabinet, which, though in a situa- 
 tion conspicuous enough, had never caught her 
 notice before. Henry's words, his description of 
 the ebony cabinet which was to escape her obser- 
 vation at first, immediately rushed across her ; 
 and though there could be nothing really in it, 
 there was something whimsical ; it was certainly 
 a very remarkable coincidence! She took her 
 candle and looked closely at the cabinet. It was 
 not absolutely ebony and gold ; but it was Japan, 
 black and yellow Japan of the handsomest kind ; 
 and as she held her candle, the yellow had very 
 much the effect of gold. The key was in the door, 
 and she had a strange fancy to look into it ; not, 
 however, with the smallest expectation of finding 
 any thing, but it was so very odd, after what Henry 
 had said. In short, she could not sleep till she 
 had examined it. So, placing the candle with 
 great caution on a chair, she seized the key with 
 a very tremulous hand, and tried to turn it ; but 
 it resisted her utmost strength. Alarmed, but not 
 discouraged, she tried it another way ; a bolt flew, 
 and she believed herself successful ; but how 
 strangely mysterious ! — the door was still immove- 
 
 192 
 
AU 
 
 AU 
 
 able. She paused a moment in breathless wonder. 
 The wind roared down the chimney, the rain beat 
 in torrents against the windows, and every thing 
 seemed to speak the awfulness of her situation. 
 To retire to bed, however, unsatisfied on such a 
 point, would be vain, since sleep must be impossi- 
 ble with the consciousness of a cabinet so myste- 
 riously closed in her immediate vicinity. Again, 
 therefore, she applied herself to the key, and after 
 moving it every possible way for some instants 
 with the determined celerity of hope's last effort, 
 the door suddenly yielded to her hand : her heart 
 leaped with exultation at such a victory, and hav- 
 ing thrown open each folding door, the second 
 being secured only by bolts of less wonderful con- 
 struction than the lock, though in that her eye 
 could not discern any thing unusual, a double 
 range of small drawers appeared in view, with 
 some larger drawers above and below them ; and 
 in the centre, a small door, closed also with a lock 
 and key, secured in all probability a cavity of im- 
 portance. 
 
 Catherine's heart beat quickly, but her courage 
 did not fail her. With a cheek flushed by hope, 
 and an eye straining with curiosity, her fingers 
 grasped the handle of a drawer and drew it forth. 
 It was entirely empty. With less alarm and 
 greater eagerness she seized a second, a third, a 
 fourth ; each was equally empty. Not one was left 
 unsearched, and in not one was any thing found. 
 Well read in the art of concealing a treasure, the 
 possibility of false linings to the drawers did not 
 escape her, and she felt round each with anxious 
 acuteness in vain. The place in the middle alone 
 remained now unexplored ; and though she had 
 "never from the first had the smallest idea of 
 finding any thing in any part of the cabinet, and 
 was not in the least disappointed at her ill success 
 thus far, it would be foolish not to examine it tho- 
 roughly while she was about it." It was some 
 time, however, before she could unfasten the door, 
 the same difiiculty occurring in the management 
 of this inner lock as of the outer ; but at length it 
 did open; and not in vain, as hitherto, was her 
 search ; her quick eyes directly fell on a roll of 
 paper pushed back into the farther part of the 
 cavity, apparently for concealment, and her feel- 
 ings at that moment were indescribable. Her 
 heart fluttered, her knees trembled, and her cheeks 
 grew pale. She seized, vrith an unsteady hand, 
 the precious manuscript, for half a glance suflSced 
 to ascertain written characters ; and while she 
 acknowledged with awful sensations this striking 
 exemplification of what Henry had foretold, re- 
 solved instantly to peruse every line before she 
 attempted to rest. 
 
 The dimness of the light her candle emitted 
 made her turn to it with alarm ; but there was no 
 danger of its sudden extinction, it had yet some 
 hours to bum ; and that she might not have any 
 greater difficulty in distinguishing the writing 
 than what its ancient date might occasion, she 
 hastily snuffed it. Alas ! it was snufi'ed and ex- 
 tinguished in one. A lamp could not have expired 
 with more awful effect. Catherine, for a few 
 moments, was motionless with horror. It was 
 N 
 
 done completely; not a remnant of light in the 
 wick could give hope to the rekindling breath. 
 Darkness impenetrable and immoveable filled the 
 room. A violent gust of wind, rising with sudden 
 fury, added fresh horror to the moment. Cathe- 
 rine trembled from head to foot. In the pause 
 which succeeded, a sound like receding foot-steps 
 and the closing of a distant door struck on her 
 affrighted ear. Human nature could support no 
 more. A cold sweat stood on her forehead, the 
 manuscript fell from her hand, and groping her 
 way to the bed, she jumped hastily in, and sought 
 some suspension of agony by creeping far under- 
 neath the clothes. To close her eyes in sleep that 
 night, she felt must be entirely out of the ques- 
 tion. With a curiosity so justly awakened, and 
 feeling in every way so agitated, repose must be 
 absolutely impossible. The storm, too, abroad, so 
 dreadful ! She had not been used to feel alarm 
 from wind, but now every blast seemed fraught 
 with awful intelligence. The manuscript so won- 
 derfully found, so wonderfully accomplishing the 
 morning's prediction, how was it to be accounted 
 for ? What could it contain ? — to whom could it 
 relate ? — by what means could it have been so 
 long concealed ? — and how singularly strange that 
 it should fall to her lot to discover it ! Till she 
 had made herself mistress of its contents, how- 
 ever, she could have neither repose nor comfort ; 
 and with the sun's first rays she was determined 
 to peruse it. But many were the tedious hours 
 which must yet intervene. She shuddered, tossed 
 about in her bed, and envied every quiet sleeper. 
 The storm still raged, and various were the noises, 
 more terrific even than the wind, which struck at 
 intervals on her startled ear. The very curtains 
 of her bed seemed at one moment in motion, and 
 at another the lock of her door was agitated, as 
 if by the attempt of somebody to enter. Hollow 
 murmurs seemed to creep along the gallery, and 
 more than once her blood was chilled by the 
 sound of distant moans. Hour after hour passed 
 away, and the wearied Catherine had heard three 
 proclaimed by all the clocks in the house, before 
 the tempest subsided, or she unknowingly fell fast 
 asleep. 
 
 The housemaid's folding back her window-shut- 
 ters at eight o'clock the next day, was the sound 
 which first roused Catherine ; and she opened her 
 eyes, wondering that they could ever have been 
 closed on objects of cheerfulness; her fire was 
 already burning, and a bright morning had suc- 
 ceeded the tempest of the night. Instantaneously, 
 with the consciousness of existence, returned her 
 recollection of the manuscript; and, springing 
 from the bed in the very moment of the maid's 
 going away, she eagerly collected every scattered 
 sheet which had burst from the roll on its falling 
 to the ground, and flew back to enjoy the luxury 
 of their perusal on her pillow. She now plainly 
 saw that she must not expect a manuscript of 
 equal length with the generality of what she had 
 shuddered over in books ; for the roll, seeming to 
 consist entirely of small disjointed sheets, was 
 altogether but of trifling size, and much less than 
 she had supposed it to be at first. 
 
 193 
 
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 BA 
 
 Her greedy eye glanced rapidly over a page. 
 She started at its import. Could it be possible, 
 or did not her senses play her false ? An inven- 
 tory of linen, in coarse and modern characters, 
 seemed all that was before her. If the evidence 
 of sight might be trusted, she held a washing-bill 
 in her hand. She seized another sheet, and saw 
 the same articles with little variation ; a third, a 
 fourth, and a fifth presented nothing new. Shirts, 
 stockings, cravats, and waistcoats faced her in 
 each. Two others, penned by the same hand, 
 marked an expenditure scarcely more interesting, 
 in letters, hair-powder, shoe-string, and breeches- 
 ball. And the larger sheet, which had enclosed 
 the rest, seemed by its first cramp line, "To 
 poultice chesnut mare," — a farrier's bill ! Such 
 was the collection of papers, (left, perhaps, as she 
 could then suppose, by the negligence of a servant 
 in the place whence she had taken them,) which 
 had filled her with expectation and alarm, and 
 robbed her of half her night's rest. She felt hum- 
 bled to the dust. Could not the adventure of the 
 chest have taught her wisdom ? A corner of it 
 catching her eye as she lay, seemed to rise up in 
 judgment against her. Nothing could now be 
 clearer than the absurdity of her recent fancies. 
 To suppose that a manuscript of many genera- 
 tions back could have remained undiscovered in a 
 room such as that, so modern, so habitable ; or 
 that she should be the first to possess the skill of 
 unlocking a cabinet, the key of which was open to 
 all! 
 
 How could she have so imposed upon herself ? 
 Heaven forbid that Henry Tilney should ever 
 know her folly ! And it was, in a great measure, 
 his own doing, for had not the cabinet appeared 
 BO exactly to agree with his description of her ad- 
 ventures, she should never have felt the smallest 
 curiosity about it. This was the only comfort 
 that occurred. Impatient to get rid of those hate- 
 ful evidences of her folly, those detestable paj)ers 
 then scattered over the bed, she rose directly, and 
 folding them up as nearly as possible in the same 
 shape as before, returned them to the same spot 
 vrithin the cabinet, with a very hearty wish that 
 no untoward accident might ever bring them for- 
 ward again to disgrace her even with herself. 
 
 Why the locks should have been so difBcult to 
 open, however, was still something remarkable, 
 for she could now manage them with perfect ease. 
 In this there was surely something mysterious, 
 and she indulged in the flattering suggestion for 
 half a minute, till the possibility of the door's 
 having been at first unlocked, and of being herself 
 its fastener, darted into her head, and cost her 
 another blush. 
 
 She got away as soon as she could from a room 
 in which her conduct produced such unpleasant 
 reflections, and found her way with all speed to 
 the breakfast parlour, as it had been pointed out 
 to her by Miss Tilney the evening before. Henry 
 was alone in it ; and his immediate hope of her 
 having been undisturbed by the tempest, with an 
 arch reference to the character of the building 
 they inhabited, was rather distressing. For the 
 world would she not have her weakness suspected ; 
 
 and yet, unequal to an absolute falsehood, was 
 constrained to acknowledge that the wind had 
 kept her awake a little. " But we have a charm- 
 ing morning after it," she added, desiring to get 
 rid of the subject, " and storms and sleeplessness 
 are nothing when they are over. What beautiful 
 hyacinths ! I have just learned to love a hya- 
 cinth." 
 
 "And how might you learn? By accident or 
 argument ?" 
 
 " Your sister taught me ; I cannot tell how. 
 Mrs. Allen used to take pains, year after year, to 
 make me like them ; but I never could tiU I saw 
 them the other day in Milsom-street ; I am natu- 
 rally indifferent about flowers." 
 
 " But now you love a hyacinth. So much the 
 better. You have gained a new source of enjoy- 
 ment, and it is well to have as many holds upon 
 happiness as possible. Besides, a taste for flowers 
 is always desirable in your sex, as a means of 
 getting you out of doors and tempting you to more 
 frequent exercise than you would otherwise take. 
 And though the love of a hyacinth may be rather 
 domestic, who can tell, the sentiment once raised, 
 but you may in time come to love a rose ?" 
 
 " But I do not want any such pursuit to get me 
 out of doors. The pleasure of walking and breath- 
 ing fresh air is enough for me, and in fine weather 
 I am out more than half my time. Mamma says, 
 I am never within." 
 
 " At any rate, however, I am pleased that you 
 have learnt to love a hyacinth. The mere habit 
 of learning to love is the thing ; and a teachable- 
 ness of disposition in a young lady is a great 
 blessing." 
 
 AYSA, 
 A MooHisH female, taken prisoner by the Span- 
 iards under Charles V., at the siege of Tunis, 
 lived in the sixteentjj century. She rejected with 
 indignation the offer of Muley-Haseen, who wished 
 to redeem her from captivity, saying that she dis- 
 dained to owe her liberty to so great a coward. 
 
 AZZI DE FORTI, FAUSTINA, 
 A NATIVE of Arezzo, distinguished for her poeti- 
 cal talents, and admitted into the academy of 
 Arcadia under the name of Euriuomia. She pub- 
 lished a volume of Italian poems, and died in 
 1724. 
 
 BABOIS, MADAME VICTOIEE, 
 A French poetess, was born in 1759 or 1760, 
 and died in 1839. She was the niece of Duels, 
 the celebrated French dramatist and translator 
 of Shakespeare. This lady spent her whole life 
 at Versailles, in the midst of her family and 
 friends; and having but a slight acquaintance 
 with men of letters, she was never taught the 
 rules of style and composition, but wrote as nature 
 dictated. Her poetry is very popular in France, 
 and she is also the author of several little prose 
 works. Her elegies were particularly appropriate, 
 
 194 
 
BA 
 
 for she had much true feeling, and always sym- 
 pathized with the sorrows she described. The 
 following was written the evening of her own de- 
 cease, addressed to her friend Madame Waldon : 
 
 " La mort en(in m'ordonne de la suivre, 
 Et dans sa froide nuit je me sens enfermer ; 
 Mais mon cceur sernble me survivre; 
 Vos chants si doux savent le raiiimer; 
 Je n'ai plus le pouvoir de vivre ; 
 Je sens encor celiii d'aimer. 
 
 BACCIOCCHI, MARIE ANNE ELISE, 
 
 Sister of Napoleon Bonaparte, formerly prin- 
 cess of Lucca and Piombino, was born at Ajaccio, 
 January 8th, 1777, and educated at the royal in- 
 stitution for noble ladies at St. Cyr. She lived at 
 Marseilles, with her mother, during the revolution. 
 In 1797, with her mother's consent, but against 
 her brother's wish, she married Felix Pascal Bac- 
 ciocchi, a captain in Napoleon's army in Italy. In 
 1799, she went to Paris, and resided with her 
 brother Lucien, where she collected around her 
 the most accomplished men of the capital. Ge- 
 nerous, as she ever was towards distinguished 
 talents, she conferred particular favours on Cha- 
 teaubriand and Fontaues. Conscious of her intel- 
 lectual superiority, she kept her husband in a very 
 subordinate position. It was she, in fact, who go- 
 verned the principalities of Lucca and Piombino. 
 When she reviewed the troops of the duchy of 
 Tuscany, her husband acted as aide-de-camp. 
 She introduced many improvements. 
 
 In 1817 she retired to Bologna, but the follow- 
 ing year she was obliged to go to Austria. Here 
 she lived, at first, with her sister Caroline ; after- 
 wards with her own family at Trieste, where she 
 called herself the countess Compignano. She died 
 August 7th, 1820, at her country-seat. Villa Vi- 
 centina, near Trieste. In that city she was dis- 
 tinguished for her benevolence. She left a daugh- 
 ter, Napoleona Elise, born June 3d, 1806, and a 
 son, who remained under the guardianship of their 
 father, although she requested that her brother 
 Jerome might have the charge of them. 
 
 This princess was endowed with superior abili- 
 ties, but she sullied them by great faults. Subju- 
 gated by imperious passions, and surrounded by 
 
 BA 
 
 unworthy flatterers, she has been accused of many 
 immoralities, and her conduct was certainly de- 
 serving of great censure. But had she belonged 
 to the old regime her character would have suf- 
 fered less from public scandal. The family of Na- 
 poleon had to share with him in the obloquy of 
 being parvenues. 
 
 BACHE, SARAH, 
 
 The only daughter of Benjamin Franklin, was 
 born at Philadelphia, September 1744. But little 
 is known of her early years, yet as her father 
 knew well the advantages of education, it is pro- 
 bable that hers was not neglected. In 1767, Miss 
 Franklin was married to Richard Bache, a mer- 
 chant of Philadelphia, but a native of Yorkshire, 
 England. In the troublous times which preceded 
 the American Revolutionary War, Dr. Franklin 
 had acted a conspicuous part ; his only daughter 
 was thus trained in the duty of patriotism, and 
 she was prepared to do or to suffer in the cause 
 of her country. Mrs. Bache took an active part 
 in providing clothing for the American soldiers, 
 during the severe winter of 1780. The marquis 
 de Chastellux thus notices a, visit he made to her 
 about this time. After detailing the prelimina- 
 ries of the visit, he goes on : — " Mrs. Bache me- 
 rited all the anxiety we had to see her, for she is 
 the daughter of Mr. Franklin. Simple in her 
 manners, like her respected father, she possesses 
 his benevolence. She conducted us into a room 
 filled with work, lately finished by the ladies of 
 Philadelphia. This work consisted neither of em- 
 broidered tambour waistcoats, nor of net-work 
 edging, nor of gold and silver brocade. It was a 
 quantity of shirts for the soldiers of Pennsylvania. 
 The ladies bought the linen from their own private 
 purses, and took a pleasure in cutting them out 
 and sewing themselves. On each shirt was the 
 name of the lady who made it, and they amounted 
 to twenty-two hundred." 
 
 A letter of M. de Marbois to Dr. Franklin, the 
 succeeding year — thus speaks of his daughter: 
 "If there are in Europe any women who need a 
 model of attachment to domestic duties and love 
 for their country, Mrs. Bache may be pointed out 
 to them as such. She passed a part of the last 
 year in exertions to rouse the zeal of the Penn- 
 sylvania ladies, and she made on this occasion 
 such a happy use of the eloquence which you 
 know she possesses, that a large part of the Ame- 
 rican army was provided with shirts, bought with 
 their money, or made by their hands. In her ap- 
 plications for this purpose, she showed the most 
 indefatigable zeal, the most unwearied perseve- 
 rance, and a courage in asking, which surpassed 
 even the obstinate reluctance of the Quakers in 
 refusing." 
 
 Such were the women of America during the 
 long and fearful struggle which preceded the In- 
 dependence of the United States. Few, indeed, 
 had the talents and opportunities to perform so 
 many benevolent deeds as Mrs. Bache ; her pa- 
 triotism has made her an example for her coun- 
 trywomen. She died in 1808, aged sixty-four 
 years. 
 
 195 
 
BA 
 
 BA 
 
 ' BACON, ANNE, 
 A LADY distinguished by her piety, virtue, and 
 learning, was the second daughter of Sir Anthony 
 Cook, preceptor to king Edward VI., and was born 
 about the year 1528. She had a very liberal edu- 
 cation, and became eminent for her skill in the 
 Greek, Latin, and Italian languages. She was 
 married to Sir Nicholas Bacon, by whom she had 
 two sons, Anthony and Francis, whose distin- 
 guished abilities were greatly improved by the 
 tender care of so accomplished a mother. Her task 
 was, however, rendered very easy, because her 
 daughter, Lady Bacon, displayed, at an early age, 
 her capacity, application, and industry, by translat- 
 ing from the Italian of Bernardine Octine, twenty- 
 five sermons, on the abstruse doctrines of predesti- 
 nation and election. This performance was pub- 
 lished about the year 1550. A circumstance took 
 place soon after her marriage, which again called 
 forth her talents and zeal. The Catholics of that 
 period, alarmed at the progress of the Reforma- 
 tion, exerted, in attacking it and throwing an 
 odium upon the Reformers, all their learning and 
 activity. The Council of Trent was called by 
 pope Pius IV., to which queen Elizabeth was in- 
 vited. The princes of Christendom pressed her, 
 by their letters, to receive and entertain the nun- 
 cio, urging her, at the same time, to submit to the 
 Council. Bishop Jewell was employed, on this oc- 
 casion, to give an account of the measures taken 
 in the preceding parliament, and to retort upon 
 the Romanists, in ' An Apology for the Church of 
 England,' the charges brought against the reform- 
 ers. The work of the bishop obtained great repu- 
 tation, but, being written in Latin, was confined 
 to the learned. A translation was loudly called 
 for by the common people, who justly considered 
 their own rights and interests in the controversy. 
 Lady Bacon undertook to translate the bishop's 
 'Apology,' a task which she accomplished with 
 fidelity and elegance. She sent a copy of her 
 work to the primate, whom she considered as most 
 interested in the safety of the church ; a second 
 copy she presented to the author, lest, inadver- 
 tently, she had in any respect done injustice to his 
 sentiments. Her copy was accompanied by an 
 epistle in Greek, to which the bishop replied in 
 the same language. The translation was carefully 
 examined, both by the primate and author, who 
 found it so chastely and correctly given, as to 
 stand in no need of the slightest emendation. 
 The translator received, on this occasion, a letter 
 from the primate, full of high and just compli- 
 ments to her talents and erudition. 
 
 Lady Bacon survived her husband, and died 
 about the beginning of the reign of James I., at 
 Gerhamburg, near St. Albans, in Hertfordshire. 
 
 BANDETTINI, THERESA, 
 
 An improvisatrice, was bom at Lucca, about 
 1756 ; she was carefully educated, but was obliged, 
 from loss of property, to go on the stage. She 
 made her first appearance in Florence, and was 
 unsuccessful. Some time after this, while listen- 
 ing to an improvisatore of Verona, she broke forth 
 
 into a splendid poetical panegyric on the poet. 
 Encouraged by him, she devoted herself entirely 
 to this art. Her originality, fervid imagination, 
 and the truth and harmony of her expressions, 
 soon gained for her great celebrity. In 1789, she 
 married Pietro Landucci, upon whose persuasions 
 she abandoned the stage, travelled through Italy, 
 and was chosen a member of several academies. 
 One of her most celebrated poems was an im- 
 promptu, delivered in 1794, before prince Lam- 
 bertini, at Bologna, on the death of Marie Antoi- 
 nette of France. In 1813, she returned to Lucca, 
 where she lived retired on her small property. 
 She published Ode ire, or Three Odes ; of which 
 the first celebrates Nelson's victory at Aboukir, 
 the second, SuwarrofF's victories in Italy, and the 
 third, the victories of the arch-duke Charles in 
 Germany. She also published, under the name 
 of Cimarilli Etrusca, Saggio di Versi Eatemporanci, 
 among which the poem on Petrarch's interview 
 with Laura, in the church, is especially celebrated. 
 She also wrote a tragedy called "Polidoro," which 
 obtained great success at Milan, and an epic poem, 
 " La Deseide." She was an excellent classic scholar, 
 and made many translations from the Latin and 
 Greek. Nor were the qualities of her heart sur- 
 passed by these mental advantages. She was be- 
 loved by all around her for her amiable, benevo- 
 lent character, and a piety sincere and cheerful 
 while it regulated her in the most brilliant part 
 of her career — brought comfort, resignation, and 
 tranquillity to her death-bed. She expired in 1837. 
 
 BARBAULD, ANNA LETITIA, 
 
 To whom the cause of rational education is 
 much indebted, was the eldest child, and only 
 daughter, of the Rev. John Aiken, D. D. She was 
 born on the 20th of June, 1743, at Kibworth Har- 
 court, in Leicestershire, England, where her father 
 was at that time master of a boys' school. From 
 her childhood, she manifested great quickness of 
 intellect, and her education was conducted witJi 
 much care by her parents. In 1773, she was in- 
 duced to publish a volume of her poems, and 
 within the year four editions of the work were 
 called for. And in the same year she published, 
 
 196 
 
BA 
 
 BA 
 
 in conjunction witli her brother, Dr. Aiken, a toI- 
 urae called " Miscellaneous Pieces in Prose." In 
 1774, Miss Aiken married the Rev. Eochcmont 
 Barbauld, a dissenting minister, descended from a 
 family of French Protestants. He had charge, at 
 that time, of a congregation at Palgrave, in Suf- 
 folk, where he also opened a hoarding-school for 
 boys, the success of which is, in a great measure, 
 to be attributed to Mrs. Barbauld's exertions. 
 She also took several very young boys as her own 
 entire charge, among whom were, lord Denman, af- 
 terwards Chief Justice of England, and Sir William 
 Gell. It was for these boys that she composed her 
 " Hymns in Prose for Children." In 1775, she pub- 
 lished a volume entitled " Devotional Pieces, com- 
 piled from the Psalms of David," with " Thoughts 
 on the Devotional Taste, and on Sects and Es- 
 tablishments ;" and also her "Early Lessons," 
 which still stands unrivalled among children's 
 books. 
 
 In 1786, after a tour to the continent, Mr. and 
 Mrs. Barbauld established themselves at Hamp- 
 stead, and there several tracts proceeded from the 
 pen of our authoress on the topics of the day, in 
 all which she espoused the principles of the Whigs. 
 She also assisted her father in preparing a series 
 of tales for children, entitled ' Evenings at Home,' 
 and she wrote critical essays on Akenside and 
 Collins, prefixed to editions of their works. In 
 1802, Mr. Barbauld became pastor of the congre- 
 gation (formerly Dr. Price's) at Newington Green, 
 also in the vicinity of London ; and, quitting 
 Hampstead, they took up their abode in the vil- 
 lage of Stoke Newington. In 1803, Mrs. Barbauld 
 compiled a selection of essays from the ' Specta- 
 tor,' 'Tatler,' and 'Guardian,' to which she pre- 
 fixed a preliminary essay ; and, in the following 
 year, she edited the correspondence of Richardson, 
 and wrote an interesting and elegant life of the 
 novelist. Her husband died in 1808, and Mrs. 
 Barbauld has recorded her feelings on this melan- 
 choly event in a poetical dirge to his memory, and 
 also in her poem of " Eighteen Hundred and Ele- 
 ven." Seeking relief in literary occupation, she 
 also edited a collection of the British novelists, 
 published in 1810, with an introductory essay, and 
 biographical and critical notices. After a gradual 
 decay, this accomplished and excellent woman 
 died on the 9th of March, 1825. Some of the 
 lyrical pieces of Mrs. Barbauld are flowing and 
 harmonious, and her " Ode to Spring" is a happy 
 imitation of Collins. She wrote also several poems 
 in blank verse, characterized by a serious tender- 
 ness and elevation of thought. " Her earliest 
 pieces," says her niece. Miss Lucy Aiken, " as well 
 as her more recent ones, exhibit, in their imagery 
 and allusions, the fruits of extensive and varied 
 reading. In youth, the power of her imagination 
 was counterbalanced by the activity of her intel- 
 lect, which exercised itself in rapid but not un- 
 profitable excursions over almost every field of 
 knowledge. In age, when this activity abated, 
 imagination appeared to exert over her an undi- 
 minished sway." Charles James Fox is said to 
 have been a great admirer of Mrs. Barbauld's 
 songs, but they are by no means the best of her 
 
 compositions, being generally artificial, and unim- 
 passioned in their character. 
 
 Her works show great powers of mind, an ar- 
 dent love of civil and religious liberty, and that 
 genuine and practical piety which ever distin- 
 guished her character. 
 
 In many a bosom has Mrs. Barbauld, "by deep, 
 strong, and permanent association, laid a founda- 
 tion for practical devotion" in after life. In her 
 highly poetical language, only inferior to that of 
 Holy Writ, when " the winter is over and gone, 
 and buds come out on the trees, the crimson blos- 
 soms of the peach and the nectarine are seen, and 
 the green leaves sprout," what heart can be so 
 insensible as not to join in the grand chorus of 
 nature, and " on every hill, and in every green 
 field, to offer the sacrifice of thanksgiving and the 
 incense of praise." 
 
 With each revolving year, the simple lessons of 
 infancy are recalled to our minds, when we watch 
 the beautifiU succession of nature, and think, 
 " How doth every plant know its season to put 
 forth ? They are marshalled in order ; each one 
 knoweth his place, and standeth up in his own rank." 
 
 " The snowdrop and the primrose make haste to 
 lift their heads above the ground. When the spring 
 Cometh they say, here we are ! The carnation 
 waiteth for the full strength of the year ; and the 
 hardy laurustinus cheereth the winter months." 
 
 Who can observe all this, and not exclaim with 
 her, "Every field is like an open book; every 
 painted flower hath a lesson written on its leaves. 
 
 "Every murmuring brook hath a tongue; a 
 voice is in every whispering wind. 
 
 " They all speak of him who made them ; they 
 all tell us he is very good." 
 
 Such sentiments, instilled into the hearts of 
 children, have power, with the blessing of God, to 
 preserve the moral feelings pure and holy ; and also 
 to keep the love of nature and the memories of early 
 life among the sweetest pleasures of mature life. 
 
 In a memoir written by Miss Lucy Aiken, the 
 niece of Mrs. Barbauld, and kindred in genius as 
 well as in blood, we find this beautiful and just 
 description of the subject of our sketch : 
 
 " To claim for Mrs. Barbauld the praise of 
 purity and elevation of mind may well appear 
 superfluous. Her education and connections, the 
 course of her life, the whole tenour of her writings, 
 bear abundant testimony to this part of her cha- 
 racter. It is a higher, or at least a rarer com- 
 mendation to add, that no one ever better loved 
 " a sister's praise," even that of such sisters as 
 might have been peculiarly regarded in the light 
 of rivals. She was acquainted with almost all the 
 principal female writers of her time ; and there 
 was not one of the number whom she failed fre- 
 quently to mention in terms of admiration, esteem 
 or affection, whether in conversation, in letters to 
 her friends, or in print. To humbler aspirants in 
 the career of letters, who often applied to her for 
 advice or assistance, she was invariably courteous, 
 and in many instances essentially serviceable. The 
 sight of youth and beauty was peculiarly gratify- 
 ing tc her fancy and her feelings ; and children 
 and young persons, especially females, were ac- 
 
 197 
 
BA 
 
 BA 
 
 oordingly large sharers in her benevolence : she 
 loved their society, and would often invite them 
 to pass weeks or months in her house, when she 
 spared no pains to amuse and instruct them ; and 
 she seldom failed, after they had quitted her, to 
 recall herself from time to time to their recollec- 
 tion, by affectionate and playful letters, or wel- 
 come presents. 
 
 In the conjugal relation, her conduct was guided 
 by the highest principles of love and duty. As a 
 sister, the uninterrupted flow of her affection, 
 manifested by numberless tokens of love, — not 
 alone to her brother, but to every member of his 
 family, — will ever be recalled by them with emo- 
 tions of tenderness, respect, and gratitude. She 
 passed through a long life without having dropped, 
 it is said, a single friend.'-' 
 
 Since the decease of Mrs. Barbauld, her pro- 
 ductions have been collected, published in three 
 volumes, and circulated widely both in England 
 and the United States. Some of the prose articles 
 are of extraordinary merit; the one which we 
 here insert, has rarely been excelled for originality 
 of thought and vigour of expression. Its senti- 
 ments will never become obsolete, nor its truths 
 lose their value. 
 
 ON EDUCATION. 
 
 " The other day I paid a visit to a gentleman 
 with whom, though greatly my superior in fortune, 
 I have long been in habits of an easy intimacy. 
 He rose in the world by honourable industry, and 
 married, rather late in life, a lady to whom he had 
 been long attached, and in whom centered the 
 wealth of several expiring families. Their earnest 
 wish for children was not immediately gratified. 
 At length they were made happy by a son, who, 
 from the moment he was born, engrossed all their 
 care and attention. My friend received me in his 
 library, where I found him busied in turning over 
 books of education, of which he had collected all 
 that were worthy notice, from Xenophon to Locke, 
 and from Locke to Catharine Macauley. As he 
 knows I have been engaged in the business of in- 
 struction, he did me the honour to consult me on 
 the subject of his researches, hoping, he said, that, 
 out of all the systems before him, we should be 
 able to form a plan equally complete and compre- 
 hensive ; it being the determination of both him- 
 self and his lady to' choose the best that could be 
 had, and to spare neither pains nor expense in 
 making their child all that was great and good. I 
 gave him my thoughts with the utmost freedom, 
 and after I returned home, threw upon paper the 
 observations which had occurred to me. 
 
 The first thing to be considered, with respect to 
 education, is the object of it. This appears to me 
 to have been generally misunderstood. Education, 
 in its largest sense, is a thing of great scope and 
 extent. It includes the whole process by which a 
 human being is formed to be what he is, in habits, 
 principles, and cultivation of every kind. But of 
 this, a very small part is in the power even of the 
 parent himself ; a smaller still can be directed by 
 purchased tuition of any kind. You engage for 
 your child masters and tutors at large salaries; 
 
 and you do well, for they are competent to instruct 
 him : they will give him the means, at least, of 
 acquiring science and accomplishments ; but in 
 the business of education, properly so called, they 
 can do little for you. Do you ask, then, what will 
 educate your son ? Your example will educate 
 him; your conversation with your friends; the 
 business he sees you transact ; the likings and 
 dislikings you express ; these will educate him ; — 
 the society you live in will educate him ; your do- 
 mestics will educate him ; above all, your rank 
 and situation in life, your house, yo<ir table, your 
 pleasure-grounds, your hounds and your stables 
 will educate him. It is not in your power to 
 withdraw him from the continual influence of these 
 things, except you were to withdraw yourself from 
 them also. You speak of beginning the education 
 of your son. The moment he was able to form an 
 idea his education was already begun ; the educa- 
 tion of circumstances — insensible education — 
 which, like insensible perspiration, is of more 
 constant and powerful effect, and of infinitely more 
 consequence to the habit, than that which is direct 
 and apparent. This education goes on at every 
 instant of time ; it goes on like time ; you can 
 neither stop it nor turn its course. What these 
 have a tendency to make your child, that he will 
 be. Maxims and documents are good precisely 
 till they are tried, and no longer ; they will teach 
 him to talk, and nothing more. The circumstances 
 in which your son is placed will be even more pre- 
 valent than your example ; and you have no right 
 to expect him to become what you yourself are, 
 but by the same means. You, that have toiled 
 during youth, to set your son upon higher ground, 
 and to enable him to begin where you left off, do 
 not expect that son to be what you were, — dili- 
 gent, modest, active, simple in his tastes, fertile 
 in resources. You have put him under quite a 
 different master. Poverty educated you ; wealth 
 will educate him. You cannot suppose the result 
 will be the same. You must not even expect that 
 he will be what you now are ; for though relaxed 
 perhaps from the severity of your frugal habits, 
 you still derive advantage from having formed 
 them ; and, in your heart, you like plain dinners, 
 and early hours, and old friends, whenever your 
 fortune will permit you to enjoy them. But it 
 will not be so with your son : his tastes will be 
 formed by your present situation, and in no de- 
 gree by your former one. But I take great care, 
 you will say, to counteract these tendencies, and 
 to bring him up in hardy and simple manners ; I 
 know their value, and am resolved that he shall 
 acquire no other. Yes, you make him hardy ; that 
 is to say, you take a counting-house in a good air, 
 and make him run, well clothed and carefully at- 
 tended, for, it may be, an hour in a clear frosty 
 winter's day upon your gravelled terrace ; or per- 
 haps you take the puny shivering infant from his 
 warm bed, and dip him in an icy cold bath, — and 
 you think you have done great matters. And so 
 you have ; you have done all you can. But you 
 were suffered to run abroad half the day on a 
 bleak heath, in weather fit and unfit, wading bare- 
 foot through dirty ponds, sometimes losing your 
 
 198 
 
BA 
 
 BA 
 
 way benighted, scrambling oyer hedges, climbing 
 trees, in perils every hour both of life and limb. 
 Your life was of very little consequence to any 
 one ; even your parents, encumbered with a numer- 
 ous family, had little time to indulge the softnesses 
 of affection, or the solicitude of anxiety ; and to 
 every one else it was of no consequence at all. It 
 is not possible for you, it would not even be right 
 for you, in your present situation, to pay no more 
 attention to your child than was paid to you. In 
 these mimic experiments of education, there is 
 always something which distinguishes them from 
 reality ; some weak"part left unfortified, for the ar- 
 rows of misfortune to find their way into. Achilles 
 was a young nobleman, dios Acfiilleus, and there- 
 fore, though he had Chiron for his tutor, there 
 was one foot left undipped. Tou may throw by 
 Rousseau ; your parents practised without having 
 read it; you may read, but imperious circum- 
 stances forbid you the practice of it. 
 
 Tou are sensible of the advantages of simplicity 
 of diet ; and you make a point of restricting that 
 of your child to the plainest food, for you are re- 
 solved that he shall not be nice. But this plain 
 food is of the choicest quality, prepared by your 
 own cook ; his fruit is ripened from your walls ; 
 his cloth, his glasses, all the accompaniments of 
 the table, are such as are only met with in fami- 
 lies of opulence : the very servants who attend 
 him are neat, "well dressed, and have a certain air 
 of fashion. Tou may caU this simplicity ; but I 
 sav he will be nice, — for it is a kind of simplicity 
 which only wealth can attain to, and which will 
 subject him to be disgusted at all common tables. 
 Besides, he will from time to time partake of those 
 delicacies which your table abounds with ; you 
 yourself will give him of them occasionally ; you 
 would be unkind if you did not : your servants, 
 if good-natured, wiU do the same. Do you think 
 you can keep the full stream of luxury running by 
 his lips, and he not taste of it ? Vain imagination ! 
 I would not be understood to inveigh against 
 wealth, or against the enjoyments of it; they are 
 real enjoyments, and allied to many elegancies in 
 manners and in taste ; — I only wish to prevent 
 unprofitable pains and inconsistent expectations. 
 
 Tou are sensible of the benefit of early rising ; 
 and you may, if you please, make it a point that 
 your daughter shall retire with her governess, and 
 your son with his tutor, at the hour when you are 
 preparing to see company. But their sleep, in the 
 first place, will not be so sweet and undisturbed 
 amidst the rattle of carriages, and the glare of 
 tapers glancing through the rooms, as that of the 
 village child in his quiet cottage, protected by 
 silence and darkness ; and moreover, you may de- 
 pend upon it, that as the coercive power of educa- 
 tion is laid aside, they will in a few months slide 
 into the habitudes of the rest of the family, whose 
 hours are determined by their company and situa- 
 tion in life. Tou have, however, done good, as far 
 as it goes ; it is something gained, to defer perni- 
 cious habits, if we cannot prevent them. 
 
 There is nothing which has so little share in 
 education as direct precept. To be convinced of 
 this, we need only reflect that there is no one point 
 
 we labour more to establish with children, than 
 that of their speaking truth ; and there is not any 
 in which we succeed worse. And why ? Because 
 children readily see we have an interest in it. 
 Their speaking truth is used by us as an engine 
 of government — "Tell me, my dear cMld, when 
 you have broken anything, and I will not be angry 
 with you." " Thank you for nothing," says the 
 child; "if I prevent you from finding it out, I 
 am sure you will not be angry:" and nine times 
 out of ten he can prevent it. He knows that, in 
 the common intercourses of life, you teU a thou- 
 sand falsehoods. But these are necessary lies on 
 important occasions. 
 
 Tour child is the best judge how much occasion 
 he has to tell a lie : he may have as great occasion 
 for it, as you have to conceal a bad piece of news 
 from a sick friend, or to hide your vexation from 
 an unwelcome visitor. That authority which ex- 
 tends its claims over every action, and even every 
 thought, which insists jipon an answer to every 
 interrogation, however indiscreet or oppressive to 
 the feelings, will, in young or old, produce false- 
 hood ; or, if in some few instances the deeply im- 
 bibed fear of future and unknown punishment 
 should restrain from direct falsehood, it will pro- 
 duce a habit of dissimulation, which is still worse. 
 The child, the slave, or the subject, who, on proper 
 occasions, may not say, " I do not choose to teU," 
 will certainly, by the circumstances in which you 
 place him, be driven to have recourse to deceit, even 
 should he not be countenanced by your example. 
 
 I do not mean to assert, that sentiments incul- 
 cated in education have no influence ; — they have 
 much, though not the most : but it is the senti- 
 ments we let drop occasionally, the conversation 
 they overhear when playing unnoticed in a comer 
 of the room, which has an effect upon children ; 
 and not what is addressed directly to them in the 
 tone of exhortation. K you would know pre- 
 cisely the effect these set discourses have upon 
 your chUd, be pleased to reflect upon that which 
 a discourse from the pulpit, which you have rea- 
 son to think merely professional, has upon you. 
 Children have almost an intuitive discernment be- 
 tween the maxims you bring forward for their use, 
 and those by which you direct your own conduct. 
 Be as cunning as you wiU, they are always more 
 cunning than you. Every child knows whom his 
 father and mother love and see with pleasure, and 
 whom they dislike; for whom they think them- 
 selves obliged to set out their best plate and china : 
 whom they think it an honour to visit, and upon 
 whom they confer honour by admitting them to 
 their company. " Respect nothing so much as 
 virtue," says Eugenio to his son; "virtue and 
 talents are the only grounds of distinction." The 
 child presently has occasion to inquire why his 
 father pulls off his hat to some people and not to 
 others ; he is told, that outward respect must be 
 proportioned to different stations in life. This is 
 a little difScult of comprehension : however, by 
 dint of explanation, he gets over it tolerably well. 
 But he sees his father's house in the bustle and 
 hurry of preparation ; common business laid aside, 
 everybody in movement, an unusual anxiety to 
 
BA 
 
 please and to shine. Nobody is at leisure to re- 
 ceive his caresses or attend to his questions ; his 
 lessons are interrupted, his hours deranged. At 
 
 length a guest arrives : it is my Lord , whom 
 
 he has heard you speak of twenty times as one of 
 the most worthless characters upon earth. Your 
 chUd, Eugenic, has received a lesson of education. 
 Resume, if you will, your systems of morality on 
 the morrow, you will in vain attempt to eradicate 
 it. "You expect company, mamma: must I be 
 dressed to-day?" "No, it is only good Mrs. 
 Such-a-one." Your child has received a lesson of 
 education, one which he well understands, and 
 will long remember. You have sent your child to 
 a public school ; but to secure his morals against 
 the vice which you too justly apprehend abounds 
 there, you have given him a private tutor, a man 
 of strict morals and religion. He may help him 
 to prepare his tasks ; but do you imagine it will 
 be in his power to form his mind ? His schoolfel- 
 lows, the allowance you give him, the manners of 
 the age and of the place, will do that ; and not 
 the lectures which he is obliged to hear. If these 
 are different from what you yourself experienced, 
 you must not be surprised to see him gradually 
 recede from the principles, civil and religious, 
 which you hold, and break off from your con- 
 nexions, and adopt manners different from your 
 own. This is remarkably exemplified amongst 
 those of the Dissenters who have risen' to wealth 
 and consequence. I believe it would be difficult 
 to find an instance of families, who for three gene- 
 rations have kept their carriage and continued 
 Dissenters. 
 
 Education, it is often observed, is an expensive 
 thing. It is so ; but the paying for lessons is the 
 smallest part of the cost. If you would go to the 
 price of having your son a worthy man, you must 
 be so yourself; your friends, your servants, your 
 company must be all of that stamp. Suppose 
 this to be the case, much is done : but there wDl 
 remaiu circumstances which perhaps you cannot 
 alter, that will still have their effect. Do you 
 wish him to love simplicity ? Would you be con- 
 tent to lay down your coach, to drop your title ? 
 Where is the parent who would do this to educate 
 his son ? You carry him to the workshops of arti- 
 zans, and show him different machines and fabrics, 
 to awaken his ingenuity. The necessity of get- 
 t^g his bread would awaken it much more effec- 
 tually. The single circumstance of having a for- 
 tune to get, or a fortune to spend, will probably 
 operate more strongly upon his mind, not only 
 than your precepts, but even than your example. 
 You wish your child to be modest and unassum- 
 ing ; you are so, perhaps, yourself, — and you pay 
 liberally a preceptor for giving him lessons of hu- 
 mility. You do not perceive, that the very cir- 
 cumstance of having a man of letters and accom- 
 plishments retained about his person, for his sole 
 advantage, tends more forcibly to inspire him with 
 an idea of self-consequence, than all the lessons 
 he can give him to repress it. " Why do not you 
 look sad, you rascal ?" says the undertaker to his 
 man in the play of The Funeral ; "I give you I 
 Know not how much money for looking sad, and 
 
 BA 
 
 the more I give you, the gladder I think you are." 
 So will it be with the wealthy heir. The lectures 
 that are given him on condescension and affability, 
 only prove to him upon how much higher ground 
 he stands than those about him; and the very 
 pains that are taken with his moral character will 
 make him proud, by showing him how much he is 
 the object of attention. You cannot help these 
 things. Your servants, out of respect to you, will 
 bear with his petulance ; your company, out of 
 respect to you, will forbear to check his impa- 
 tience ; and you yourself, if he is clever, wUl re- 
 peat his observations. 
 
 In the exploded doctrine of sympathies, you are 
 directed, if you have cut your finger, to let that 
 alone, and put your plaster upon the knife. This 
 is very bad doctrine, I must confess, in philosophy ; 
 but very good in morals. Is a man luxijrious, 
 self-indulgent ? do not apply your phi/sic of the soul 
 to him, but cure his fortune. Is he haughty? 
 cure his rank, his title. Is he vulgar ? cure his 
 company. Is he difBdent or mean-spirited ? cure 
 his poverty, give him consequence — but these pre- 
 scriptions go far beyond the family recipes of 
 education. 
 
 What then is the result ? In the first place, that 
 we should contract our ideas of education, and 
 expect no more from it than it is able to perform. 
 It can give instruction. There will always be an 
 essential difference between a human being culti- 
 vated and uncultivated. Education can provide 
 proper instructors in the various arts and sciences, 
 and portion out to the best advantage those pre- 
 cious hours of youth which never will return. It 
 can likewise give, in a great degree, personal hab- 
 its ; and even if these should afterwards give way 
 under the influence of contrary circumstances, 
 your child will feel the good effects of them, for 
 the later and the less will he go into what is wrong. 
 Let us also be assured, that the business of edu- 
 cation, properly so called, is not transferable. 
 You may engage masters to instruct your child in 
 this or the other accomplishment, but you must 
 educate him yourself. You not only ought to do 
 it, but you must do it, whether you intend it or 
 no. As education is a thing necessary for all; 
 for the poor and for the rich, for the illiterate as 
 well as for the learned ; Providence has not made 
 it dependent upon systems uncertain, operose, and 
 difficult of investigation. It is not necessary, 
 with Rousseau or Madame Genlis, to devote to the 
 education of one child the talents and the time of 
 a number of grown men ; to surround him with 
 an artificial world ; and to counteract, by maxims, 
 the natural tendencies of the situation he is placed 
 in in society. Every one has time to educate his 
 child : the poor man educates him while working 
 in his cottage — the man of business, while em- 
 ployed in his counting-house. 
 
 Do we see a father who is diligent in his pro- 
 fession, domestic in his habits, whose house is the 
 resort of well-informed intelligent people — a mo- 
 ther whose time is usefully filled, whose attention 
 to her duties secures esteem, and whose amiable 
 manners attract affection ? Do not be solicitous, 
 respectable couple, about the moral education of 
 
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 your offspring ! do not tie uneasy tecause you 
 cannot surround them with the apparatus of books 
 and systems ; or fancy that you must retire from 
 the world to devote yourselves to their improve- 
 ment. In your world, they are brought up much 
 better than they could be under any plan of facti- 
 tious education which you could provide for them : 
 they will imbibe affection from your caresses ; 
 taste from your conversation ; urbanity from the 
 commerce of your society ; and mutual love from 
 your example. Do not regret that you are not 
 rich enough to provide tutors and governors, to 
 watch his steps with sedulous and servile anxiety, 
 and furnish him with maxims it is morally impos- 
 sible he should act upon when grown up. Do not 
 you see how seldom this over-culture produces its 
 effect, and how many shining and excellent charac- 
 ters start up every day, from the bosom of ob- 
 scurity, with scarcely any care at all ? 
 
 Are children then to be neglected ? Surely not : 
 but having given them the instruction and accom- 
 plishments which their situation in life requires, 
 let us reject superfluous solicitude, and trust that 
 their characters will form themselves from the 
 spontaneous influence of good examples, and cir- 
 cumstances which impel them to useful action. 
 
 But the education of your house, important as 
 it ia, is only a part of a more comprehensive sys- 
 tem. Providence takes your child where you leave 
 him. Providence continues his education upon a 
 larger scale, and by a process which includes means 
 far more efficacious. Has your son entered the 
 world at eighteen, opinionated, haughty, rash, in- 
 clined to dissipation? Do not despair; he may yet 
 be cured of these faults, if it pleases Heaven. 
 There are remedies which you could not persuade 
 yourself to use, if they were in your power, and 
 which are specific in cases of this kind. How 
 often do we see the presumptuous, giddy youth, 
 changed into the wise counsellor, the considerate, 
 steady friend ! How often the thoughtless, gay 
 girl, into the sober wife, the affectionate mother ! 
 Faded beauty, humbled self-consequence, disap- 
 pointed ambition, loss of fortune, — this is the 
 rough physic provided by Providence to meliorate 
 the temper, to correct the offensive petulancies of 
 youth, and bring out all the energies of the finished 
 character. Afiiictions soften the proud ; difficulties 
 push forward the ingenious ; successful industry 
 gives consequence and credit, and developes a 
 thousand latent good qualities. There is no ma- 
 lady of the mind so inveterate, which this educa- 
 tion of events is not calculated to cure, if life were 
 long enough ; and shall we not hope, that He, in 
 whose hand are all the remedial processes of na- 
 ture, will renew the discipline in another state, 
 and finish the imperfect man ? 
 
 States are educated as individuals — by circum- 
 stances : the prophet may cry aloud, and spare not ; 
 the philosopher may descant on morals ; eloquence 
 may exhaust itself in invective against the vices of 
 the age : these vices will certainly follow certain 
 states of poverty or riches, ignorance or high civi- 
 lization. But what these gentle alteratives fail 
 of doing, may be accomplished by an unsuccessful 
 war, a loss of trade, or any of those great calami- 
 
 ties by which it pleases Providence to speak to a 
 nation in such language as will be heard. If, as 
 a nation, we would be cured of pride, it must be 
 by mortification ; if of luxury, by a national bank- 
 ruptcy, perhaps ; if of injustice, or the spirit of 
 domination, by a loss of national consequence. 
 In comparison of these strong remedies, a fast, or 
 a sermon, are prescriptions of very little efficacy." 
 A short extract from another excellent Essay 
 we will here introduce, for its good sense, and 
 striking application to the present times. 
 
 ON INCONSISTENCY IN OUK EXPECTATIONS. 
 
 " But is it not some reproach upon the economy 
 of Providence that such a one, who is a mean dirty 
 fellow, should have amassed wealth enough to buy 
 half a nation ?" Not in the least. He made him- 
 self a mean dirty fellow for that very end. He 
 has paid his health, his conscience, his liberty, for 
 it ; and will you envy him his bargain ? Will you 
 hang your head and blush in his presence, because 
 he outshines you in equipage and show ? Lift up 
 your brow with a noble confidence, and say to 
 yourself, I have not these things, it is true ; but 
 it is because I have not sought, because I have 
 not desired them ; it is because I possess some- 
 thing better. I have chosen my lot. I am con- 
 tent and satisfied. 
 
 You are a modest man — You love quiet and in- 
 dependence, and have a delicacy and reserve in 
 your temper whieh renders it impossible for you 
 to elbow your way in the world, and be the herald 
 of your own merits. Be content then with a mo- 
 dest retirement, with the esteem of your intimate 
 friends, with the praises of a blameless heart, and 
 a delicate, ingenuous spirit ; but resign the splen- 
 did distinctions of the world to those who can bet- 
 ter scramble for them. 
 
 The man whose tender sensibility of conscience 
 and strict regard to the rules of morality makes 
 him scrupulous and fearful of offending, is often 
 heard to complain of the disadvantages he lies 
 under in every path of honour and profit. ' ' Could 
 I but get over some nice points, and conform to 
 the practice and opinion of those about me, I 
 might stand as fair a chance as others for dignities 
 and preferment." And why can you not ? What 
 hinders you from discarding this troublesome 
 scrupulosity of yours, which stands so grievously 
 in your way ? If it be a small thing to enjoy a 
 healthful mind, sound at the very core, that does 
 not shrink from the keenest inspection ; inward 
 freedom from remorse and perturbation ; unsullied 
 whiteness and simplicity of manners ; a genuine 
 integrity 
 
 " Pure in the last recesses of the mind ;" 
 
 if you think these advantages an inadequate re- 
 compense for what you resign, dismiss your scru- 
 ples this instant, and be a slave-merchant, a para- 
 site, or — what you please. 
 
 "If these be motives weak, break offbetimes;" 
 
 and as you have not spirit to assert the dignity of 
 virtue, be wise enough not to forego the emolu- 
 ments of "\'ice. 
 
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 I much admire the spirit of the ancient philo- 
 sophers, in that they never attempted, as our mo- 
 ralists often do, to lower the tone of philosophy, 
 and make it consistent with all the indulgences of 
 indolence and sensuality. They never thought of 
 having the bulk of mankind for their disciples ; 
 but kept themselves as distinct as possible from a 
 worldly life. They plainly told men what sacri- 
 fices were required, and what advantages they 
 were which might be expected. 
 
 * Si virtus hoc una potest dare, fortis omisses 
 Hoc age deliciia ' 
 
 If you would be a philosopher, these are the terms. 
 You must do thus and thus : there is no other way. 
 If not, go and be one of the vulgar. 
 
 There is no one quality gives so much dignity 
 to a character as consistency of conduct. Even 
 if a man's pursuits be wrong and unjustifiable, 
 yet if they are prosecuted with steadiness and 
 vigour, we cannot withhold our admiration. The 
 most characteristic mark of a great mind is to 
 choose some one important object, and pursue it 
 through life. It was this made Csesar a great 
 man. His object was ambition ; he pursued it 
 steadily, and was always ready to sacrifice to it 
 every interfering passion or inclination. 
 
 ***** 
 
 There is a different air and complexion in cha- 
 racters as well as in faces, though perhaps each 
 equally beautiful ; and the excellencies of one 
 cannot be transferred to the other. Thus if one 
 man possesses a stoical apathy of soul, acts inde- 
 pendent of the opinion of the world, and fulfils 
 every duty with mathematical exactness, you must 
 not expect that man to be greatly influenced by 
 the weakness of pity, or the partialities of friend- 
 ship : you must not be offended that he does not 
 fly to meet you after a short -absence ; or require 
 from him the convivial spirit and honest effusions 
 of a warm, open, susceptible heart. If another is 
 remarkable for a lively active zeal, inflexible in- 
 tegrity, a strong indignation against vice, and 
 freedom in reproving it, he will probably have 
 some little bluntness in his address not altogether 
 suitable to polished life ; he will want the winning 
 arts of conversation ; he will disgust by a kind of 
 haughtiness and negligence in his manner, and 
 often hurt the delicacy of his acquaintance with 
 harsh and disagreeable truths." 
 
 We do not consider the poetry of Mrs. Barbauld 
 equal to her prose writings; — but there is a be- 
 nignity, mingled with vivacity, in some of her po- 
 etical productions which make them always plea- 
 sant, as the face of a cheerful friend. 
 
 WASHING-DAY. 
 
 The Masea are turn'd gossips; they have lost 
 The buskin'd step, and clear liigh-sounding phrase, 
 Language of gods. Come then, domestic Muse, 
 In slipshod measure loosely prattling on 
 Of farm or orchard, pleasant curds and cream, 
 Or drowning flies, or shoe lost in the mire 
 By little whimpering boy, with rueful face ; 
 Comp, Muse, and sing the dreaded Washing Day. 
 ye who beneath the yoke of wedlock bend. 
 With bownd soul, ftill well ye ken the day 
 
 Which week, smooth sliding after week, brings on 
 Too soon ; — for to that day nor peace belongs 
 Nor comfort ; — ere the first grey streak of dawn. 
 The red-arm'd washers come and chase repose. 
 Nor pleasant smile, nor quaint device of mirth, 
 E'er visited that day : the very cat, 
 From the wet kitchen scared and reeking hearth, 
 Visits the parlour,— an unwonted guest. 
 The silent breakfast-meal is soon despatched; 
 Uninterrupted, save by anxious looks 
 Cast at the lowering sky, if sky should lower. 
 From that last evil, O preserve us, heavens I 
 For should the skies pour down, adieu to all 
 Remains of quiet: then expect to hear 
 Of sad disasters,— dirt and gravel stains 
 Hard to efface, and loaded lines at once 
 Snapped short,— and linen-horse by dog thrown down, 
 And all the petty miseries of life* 
 Saints have been calm while stretch'd upon the rack, 
 And Guatimozin smiled on burning coals; 
 But never yet did housewife notable 
 Greet with a smile a rainy washing-day. 
 —But grant the welkin fair, require not thou 
 Who cairst thyself perchance the master there. 
 Or study swept, or nicely dusted coat. 
 Or usual 'tendance;— ask not, indiscreet, 
 Thy stockings mended, though the yawning rents 
 Gape wide as Erebus; nor hope to find 
 Soine snug recess impervious : should'st thou try 
 The 'customed garden walks, thine eye shall rue 
 The budding fragrance of thy tender shrubs. 
 Myrtle or rose, all crushed beneath the weight 
 Of coarse check'd apron,— with impatient hand 
 Twitch'd off when showers impend : or crossing lineb 
 Shall mar thy musings, as the wet cold sheet 
 Flaps in thy face abrupt. Woe to the friend 
 Whose evil stars have urged him forth to claim 
 On such a day the hospitable rites ! 
 Looks, blank at best, and stinted courtesy. 
 Shall he receive. Vainly he feeds his hopes 
 With dinner of roast chicken, savoury pie. 
 Or tart or pudding: — pudding he nor tart 
 That day shall eat ; nor, though the husband try. 
 Mending what can't be help'd, to kindle mirth 
 From cheer deficient, shall his consort's brow 
 Clear up propitious: — the unlucky guest 
 In silence dines, and early slinks away. 
 I well remember, when a child, the awe 
 This day struck into me ; for then the maids 
 I scarce knew why, look'd cross, and drove me from theui 
 Nor soft caress could 1 obtain, nor hope 
 Usual indulgences ; jelly or creams, 
 Relic of costly suppers, and set by 
 For me their petted one ; or butter'd toast. 
 When butter was forbid ; or thrilling tale 
 Of ghost or wilch, or murder— so I went 
 And shelter'd me beside the parlour fire : 
 There my dear grandmother, eldest of forms, 
 Tended the little ones, and watch'd from harm. 
 Anxiously fond, though oft her spectacles 
 With elfin cunning hid, and oft the pins 
 Drawn from her raveU'd stocking, might have sour'd 
 One less indulgent. — 
 
 At intervals, my mother's voice was heard. 
 Urging despatch: briskly the work went on. 
 All hands employ'd to wash, to rinse, to wring. 
 To fold, and starch, and clap, and iron, and plait- 
 Then would I sit me down, and ponder much 
 Why washings were. Sometimes through hollow bowl 
 Of pipe amused we blew, and sent aloft 
 The floating bubbles; little dreaAiing then 
 To see, Mongolfier, thy silken ball 
 Ride buoyant through the clouds— so near approach 
 The sports of children and the toils of men. 
 Earth, air, and sky, and ocean, hath its bubbles, 
 And verse is one of them— this most of all. 
 
 PAINTED FLOWEUS. 
 
 Flowers to the fair; To you these flowers I bring, 
 And strive to greet you with an earlier spring, 
 Flowers, sweet and gay and delicate like you, 
 Emblems of innocence and beauty too. 
 
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 With flowers the Graces bind their yellow hair, 
 And flowery wreaths consenting lovers wear. 
 Flowers, the sole luxury which Nature knew, 
 In Eden's pure and guiltless garden grew. 
 To loftier forms are rougher tasks assign'd ; 
 The sheltering oak resists the stormy wind, 
 The tougher yew repels invading foes. 
 And the tall pine for future navies grows ; 
 But this soft family, to cares unknown. 
 Were born for pleasure and delight alone : 
 Gay without toil, and lovely without art, 
 They spring to cheer the sense, and glad the heart. 
 Nor blush, my fair, to own you copy these. 
 Your best, your sweetest empire is— to please. 
 
 BARBIER, MARY ANN, 
 
 Born at Orleans, cultivated literature and 
 poetry with much success. She settled at Paris, 
 where she published several tragedies and some 
 operas. It has been said that her name was only 
 borrowed by the Abb^ Pellegrin ; but it is a mis- 
 take. Mademoiselle Barbier had talents and 
 learning ; and the Abb6 Pellegrin was never any- 
 thing more to her than her friend and adviser. 
 She died in 1745. The conduct of the tragedies 
 of Mademoiselle Barbier is tolerably regular, and 
 the scenes well connected. The subjects are in 
 general judiciously chosen ; but nothing can be 
 more commonplace than the manner in which she 
 treats them. In endeavouring to render the hero- 
 ines of her plays generous and noble, she degrades 
 all her heroes. We perceive the weakness of a 
 timid pencil, which, incapable of painting objects 
 in large, strives to exaggerate the virtues of her 
 sex; and these monstrous pictui-es produce an 
 interest that never rises above mediocrity. Never- 
 theless, we meet with some affecting situations, 
 and a natural and easy versification ; but too 
 much facility renders it negligent, diffuse and 
 prosaic. Her tragedies are entitled, "Arria and 
 Foetus;" "Cornelia, Mother of the Gracchi;" 
 " Tomyris, Queen of the Mussagetes;" "The 
 Death of Csesar;" and a comedy, called "The 
 Falcon." She also wrote three operas, which 
 were successful. 
 
 BARNARD, LADY ANNE, 
 
 DAuonTEB. of James Lindsay, fifth earl of Bal- 
 carres, of Fifeshire, Scotland, was born December 
 8th, 1750; and married in 1793 to Sir Andrew 
 Barnard, librarian to George III. She died with- 
 out children in 1825. She wrote "Auld Robin 
 Gray," one of the most perfect, tender, and affect- 
 ing of all the ballads of humble life. The author- 
 ship of this song was unknown for a long time. 
 Lady Anne Barnard wrote very little, and never 
 anything equal in true pathos or poetry to this 
 first ballad. 
 
 ATJLD ROBIN GRAY. 
 When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame, 
 And a' the warld to sleep are gane ; 
 The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my ee, 
 When my gudeman lies sound by me. 
 
 Voung Jamie loo'd me weel, and socht me for his bride; 
 But saving a croun, he had naething else beside : 
 To male that croun a pund, young Jamie gaed to sea ; 
 And the croun and the pund were baith for me. 
 
 He hadna been awa a week but only twa, 
 
 When my mother she fell sick, and the cow was stown awa ; 
 
 My father brak his arm, and young Jamie at the pea, 
 And auld Robin Gray cam' a courtin' me. 
 
 My father couldna work, and my mother couldna spin ; 
 I toiled day and nicht, but their bread I couldna win ; 
 Auld Rob maintained them haith, and, wi' tears in his ee, 
 Said, Jeanie, for their sakes, Oh, marry me I 
 
 My heart it said nay, for I looked for Jamie back ; 
 But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wreck: 
 The ship it was a wrdck—why didna Jamie dee? 
 Or why do I live to say, Wae's me ? 
 
 My father argued sair ; my mother didna speak ; 
 But she lookit in my face till my hpart was like to break: 
 Sae they gied him my hand, though my heart was in the sea. 
 And auld Robin Gray was gudeman to me. 
 
 I hadna been a wife a week but only four, 
 When, sitting sae mournfully at the door, 
 I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I couldna think it he, 
 Till he said, I'm come back for to marry thee. 
 
 Oh, sair did we greet, and muckle did we say ; 
 We took but ae kiss, and we tore ourselves away: 
 I wish I were dead! but I'm no like to dee; 
 And why do I live to say, Wae's me? 
 
 I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin ; 
 I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin ; 
 But I'll do my best a gude wife to be. 
 For auld Robin Gray is kind unto me. 
 
 BAEONI, ADRIANNE BASILE, 
 A NATIVE of Mantua, Italy, sister of the poet 
 Basile. She was so much admired for her beauty, 
 wit, and accomplishments, that volumes were 
 written in her praise. Her daughter Leonora 
 possessed equal charms, and met with equal admi- 
 ration ; and in 1639 a collection of poems in Latin, 
 Greek, Spanish, Italian, and French, was pub- 
 lished, in which her beauty and perfections were 
 portrayed. She resided long at Rome, where she 
 appeared occasionally as a singer. She also wrote 
 some poetical trifles. She was celebrated for her 
 vocal powers. 
 
 BARRY, MARIE JEANNE VAUBENIER, 
 CopNTESS du, was born at Vancouleurs, near 
 the native place of Joan d'Arc, in 1744. Her 
 reputed father was an exciseman of the name of 
 Vaubenier. After his death her mother went with 
 her to Paris, where she was placed in a convent, 
 but soon left it to work at a fashionable milliner's. 
 When she was about sixteen she became mistress 
 to Count Jean du Barry ; and soon after was pre- 
 sented to Louis XV. of France, who was imme- 
 diately fascinated by her beauty. In order that 
 she might appear at court, Guillaume du Barry, 
 brother of Count Jean, consented to the king's 
 desire, and married her, after which she was in- 
 troduced to the court as Countess du Barry. Her 
 influence over the king was excessive and of long 
 duration, and she often used it to lead him to 
 colnmit acts of injustice and imprudence. After 
 the death of Louis XV., Madame du Barry was 
 shut up in a convent; but Louis XVI. allowed 
 her to come out, and restored to her the pension 
 and residence left her by the late king. She 
 showed herself grateful for this kindness when 
 Louis XVI. and his family were imprisoned ; for 
 she went, regardless of her own danger, to Eng- 
 land to sell her jewels for the use of the queen 
 and her children. On her return she was imprl 
 
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 5oned and condemned, on the charge of " being a 
 conspirator, and of having worn mourning in Lon- 
 don for the death of the tyrant." She was guil- 
 lotined on the 6th of November, 1793. She wept 
 much when going to the scaffold. 
 
 BARTON, ELIZABETH, 
 A RELIGIOUS fanatic, who lived in the reign of 
 Henry VIII. of England. She was generally called 
 the Holy Maid of Kent, and was originally a ser- 
 vant at AUington ; but was taught by designing 
 persons to throw her face and limbs into contor- 
 tions, to pretend to prophetical powers, and to 
 denounce divine vengeance upon heretics. Ven- 
 turing, however, to aim her predictions against 
 the liing, by announcing that if he should proceed 
 in his attempt to obtain a divorce from Catharine 
 of Arragon, and marry another woman, he would 
 not be king seven months after ; she was appre- 
 hended and tried, together with her accomplices, 
 for high treason, and executed at Tyburn, in 1534. 
 John Fisher, bishop of Rochester, a man of 
 great learning and piety, was so deceive(^ by her 
 pretended sanctity and visions, as to become im- 
 plicated with her, and to suffer the following year 
 the same fate. 
 
 BASSEPOKTE, JIADELEINE FRANCES, 
 A Feench lady, celebrated for her talent in 
 painting plants and animals, especially birds, in 
 water-colours. She was born in 1701, and received 
 instructions from the celebrated Robert. In 1732, 
 she succeeded Obriette, the painter of natural his- 
 tory in the royal gardens, with a salary of one 
 hundred pistoles a year. She died in 1780. 
 Madame Basseporte also produced some good 
 engravings. 
 
 BASSI, LAURA MARIA CATHERINE, 
 
 By marriage Veratti, a learned Italian lady, 
 was born at Bologna, in 1711. She was placed 
 in that happy mediocrity of condition equally re- 
 moved from poverty and riches, -jvhere neither 
 the sordid cares of living, nor the futile toys of 
 grandeur absorb the leisure for intellectual im- 
 
 prjvement. The first person who noticed Laura's 
 extraordinary talents, was the priest Don Lorenzo 
 Stregani, who visited familiarly at the house. He 
 amused himself with teaching the little girl Latin 
 and French. He did not confine himself to what 
 is usual, — simply the power of translating and 
 understanding the Latin authors, — but he urged 
 her to so thorough a knowledge of the language, 
 that she spoke and wrote it with the utmost 
 fluency. 
 
 Another man of learning, a professor in the 
 college of medicine. Dr. Gaetano Tacconi, was a 
 friend of the Bassi family ; he was so struck with 
 the amazing progress of Laura in the languages, 
 that he prevailed upon her parents, though not 
 without much discussion and delay, to let her 
 abandon household and feminine occupations, and 
 devote herself to a learned education. After 
 having exercised her in logic, he carried her on 
 to metaphysics and natural philosophy. The 
 master's knowledge on these subjects was limited 
 to what was taught in the schools ; but the pene- 
 trating genius of the pupil was not to be confined 
 to these limits ; her scientific studies, and even 
 discoveries, left the faculty of Bologna far behind 
 her in the career of knowledge. The gentlemen 
 who had taken pleasure in cultivating this rare 
 mind, began to feel desirous of surprising the 
 public by a display ; but they determined that, as 
 a preparation, some unprejudiced and nice-judging 
 scholars should examine the little damsel, certain 
 of their sanction for presenting her to any trial. 
 For this purpose the abbe Giovanni Trombelli and 
 Dr. Zanotti, were selected. They termed the 
 young person a prodigy ; urgently advised her 
 appearing in public, to manifest to the world her 
 wonderful acquirements. 
 
 Her natural modesty was great, and she felt 
 very averse to such a step ; but when she found 
 the self-love of her masters was most eager, gra- 
 titude to them put aside all personal feelings, and 
 it was determined that on the 17th of April, of 
 that year, (1732,) she would, according to the 
 customs of those days, hold a public dispute on 
 philosophy. The palace of Anziani was select- 
 ed for the assembly. The singularity of the 
 case brought a great concourse : all the learned 
 men, and dignified ecclesiastics from distant 
 towns, besides the noblemen and ladies of rank, 
 crowded to listen to so unusual an orator. For- 
 tunately her powers were equal to the occasion. 
 Her knowledge seemed vast and various, and the 
 elegance and delicacy of her Latin speech was 
 truly wonderful. The applause, the admiration, 
 was unbounded. The cardinal archbishop Lam- 
 bertini waited upon her the next day, with the 
 warmest congratulations upon her success. At 
 that period, and particularly at Bologna, nobody 
 was recognised truly learned without the degree 
 of doctor. To reach this goal it was necessary 
 that the young girl should enter the lists again, 
 and submit herself to the trial before the college 
 of philosophy. This examination took place the 
 12th of the following May. The candidate was ac- 
 companied by many ladies of distinguished r^nk. 
 She acquitted herself admirably, and obtained the 
 
 204 
 
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 BA 
 
 most complete success. Her brow was encircled 
 by a silver crown, ornamented with laurel leaves, 
 which was offered by Dr. Bazzani in the name of 
 the faculty. In investing her with the gown which 
 was the ensign of her degree, he addressed her 
 with a Latin oration ; to which she made a most 
 elegant extemporaneous reply in the same lan- 
 guage. A dinner was given the next day, at the 
 request of the cardinal de Polignac, when all the 
 men of eminent ability were confronted with 
 Laura, and every effort was made to sound her 
 depths ; but it was found that not one of these il- 
 lustrious personages could compete with, or meet 
 her at all points, so various were her acquirements, 
 so subtle her wit, and so solid her understanding. 
 The highest honours were, after {his, bestowed 
 upon her; and the senate, considering that she 
 reflected honours upon the city, settled a pen- 
 sion on her, to enable her to continue her studies 
 without anxiety. The attentions she received 
 brought her into the world, and obliged her to 
 make many visits, and go to assemblies. Mingling 
 in society, she was destined to give up her life of 
 solitary study. She formed an attachment for 
 Dr. Veratti, a celebrated physician, and professor 
 of the institute ; this ended in a marriage, when 
 she shone as a wife and mother with admirable 
 domestic qualities, equalling her scholastic ones. 
 
 It may here be remarked, that women, who 
 possess some trivial accomplishments, some little 
 skill in music, or futile propensity to write ephe- 
 meral verses, assume that these occupations place 
 them above household duties, which are therefore 
 neglected ; and that, on the other hand, which is 
 perhaps a more general error, many women de- 
 clare that the attention due to their families' phy- 
 sical comforts, condemns their own minds to in- 
 tellectual barrenness, and so clips the wings of 
 their immortal souls that they can reach no flight 
 beyond the consideration of domestic matters. 
 They trust the education and training of their 
 children to hired teachers ; while the higher duty 
 of stitching seams, and superintending joints of 
 meats, must be reserved for their own superior 
 intelligence and personal vigilance. 
 
 The life of Laura Bassi offers a lesson to both 
 of these classes. She was mother of a numerous 
 offspring, all of whom were most carefully attended 
 to ; as a wife, she was a model of tenderness. 
 Mistress of a household, her frugality, and, at the 
 same time, generous hospitality were remarkable ; 
 in fine, her abode was a scene of domestic comfort 
 and happiness. But these essential occupations 
 did by no means interfere with her scientific pur- 
 suits. Not only did she keep up with the other 
 professors, but it was conceded that not a man in 
 the university could read and speculate to the ex- 
 tent she manifested, by her experiments in natural 
 philosophy, and her treatises on logical subjects. 
 Besides this, for twenty-eight years, she carried 
 on in her own house a course of experimental 
 philosophy ; until the senate selected her to give 
 public lectures on the subject, in the university, 
 as professor of this science. It is a great pity 
 that the pedantic custom of using the Latin lan- 
 guage for scientific and literary purposes still held 
 
 sway, in Bologna. Had Laura written in Italian, 
 her writings would have been more extensively 
 known, and would not be buried, as they now are, 
 in classic dust. Her Latin style is peculiarly ex- 
 cellent. 
 
 She was modest and unaffected; her memory 
 was very great, her understanding strong, and her 
 conversation enlivened by sallies of wit. She died 
 in 1778, of a disease of the lungs. 
 
 Her mortal remains were interred with solemn 
 obsequies. She was buried with the doctor's 
 gown, and silver laurel. Her works remaining 
 are : — An epic poem in manuscript ; some poems 
 published by Gobbi ; " De problemate quodam Hy- 
 drometico, De problemate quodam Mecanico, pub- 
 lished by the institute ;" some experiments and 
 discoveries on the compression of the air. 
 
 BAYNARD, ANNE, 
 
 Only daughter of Edward Baynard, an eminent 
 physician, was born at Preston, Lancashire, Eng- 
 land, 1672. She was well instructed in the clas- 
 sics and sciences, and wrote Latin with ease and 
 correctness. At the age of twenty-three, she had 
 the knowledge of a profound philosopher. She 
 often said " that it was a sin to be content with a 
 little knowledge." 
 
 To the endowments of mind, she added the vir- 
 tues of the heart ; she was pious, benevolent, and 
 simple in her manners ; retired, and perhaps too 
 rigid in her habits. She always put aside a por- 
 tion of her small income for charitable purposes ; 
 and to this she added an ardent desire and strenu- 
 ous efforts for the mental and moral improvement 
 of all within her influence. 
 
 About two years previous to her death, her spi- 
 rits seem to have been impressed with an idea of 
 her early dissolution ; a sentiment which first sug- 
 gested itself to her mind while walking alone, 
 among the tombs, in a church-yard; and which 
 she indulged with a kind of superstitious compla- 
 cency. On her death-bed, she earnestly entreated 
 the minister who attended her, that he would ex- 
 hort all the young people of his congregation to 
 the study of wisdom and knowledge, as the means 
 of moral improvement, and real happiness. "I 
 could wish," says she, "that all young persons 
 might be exhorted to the practice of virtue, and 
 to increase their knowledge by the study of phi- 
 losophy; and more especially to read the great 
 book of nature, wherein they may see the wisdom 
 and power of the Creator, in the order of the uni- 
 verse, and in the production and preservation of 
 all things." " That women are capable of such 
 improvements, which will better their judgments 
 and understandings, is past all doubt, would they 
 but set about it in earnest, and spend but half of 
 that time in study and thinking, which they do in 
 visits, vanity, and folly. It would introduce a 
 composure of mind, and lay a solid basis for wis- 
 dom and knowledge, by which they would be better 
 enabled to serve God, and to help their neigh- 
 bours." 
 
 The following character is given of this lady in 
 Mr. Collier's Historical Dictionary. "Anne Bay- 
 nard, for her prudence, piety, and learning, de- 
 
 205 
 
BE 
 
 serves to have her memory perpetuated : she was 
 not only skilled in the learned languages, but in 
 all manner of literature and philosophy, without 
 vanity or affectation. Her words were few, well 
 chosen and expressive. She was seldom seen to 
 smile, being rather of a reserved and stoical dis- 
 position; their doctrine, in most parts, seeming 
 agreeable to her natural temper, for she never 
 read or spake of the stoics but with a kind of de- 
 light. She had a contempt of the world, espe- 
 cially of the finery and gaiety of life. She had a 
 great regard and veneration of the sacred name 
 of Crod, and made it the whole business of her 
 life to promote his honour and glory ; and the 
 great end of her study was to encounter atheists 
 and libertines, as may appear from some severe 
 satires written in the Latin tongue, in which lan- 
 guage she had great readiness and fluency of ex- 
 pression ; which made a gentleman of no small 
 parts and learning say of her, 
 
 " ^nnam gens Solymaa, Annam. gens BeZ^icu jactat, 
 At superas Amias^ Anna Baynarda, duas." 
 
 ' Fam'd Solyma her Anna boasts, 
 
 In sacred writ renown'd; 
 Another Annans high deserts, 
 
 Tlirough Belffia's coasts resound : 
 But Britain can an Anna show. 
 
 That shines more bright than they. 
 Wisdom and piety in her 
 
 Sheds each its noblest ray.' 
 
 Anne Baynard died at Barnes, in the county of 
 Surrey, in 1697. 
 
 BEALE, MART, 
 
 An English portrait-painter, was bom in Suf- 
 folk, in 1632, and died in 1697. She was the 
 daughter of the Rev. Mr. Cradock, minister of 
 Walton-npon-Thames, and was instructed in her 
 art by Sir Peter Lely, whose works, and those of 
 Vandyck, she studied with the greatest care. Her 
 style was formed on the best models of the Italian 
 school, and her colouring was clear, strong and 
 natural. 
 
 She also paraphrased some of the Psalms of 
 David. 
 
 BEATJHARNAIS, FANNY, COUNTESS 
 DE, 
 
 The aunt of Josephine's first husband, was born 
 at Paris, in 1738. Her father was receiver-general 
 of finances, and he gave her a brilliant education. 
 From her earliest youth, she showed a great taste 
 for poetry. At the age of seventeen, she was 
 married to count de Beauharnais, whom she did 
 not love, and she soon separated from him by tak- 
 ing up her residence in the convent of the Visita- 
 tion. Here she assembled around her the most 
 distinguished literary and scientific men ; but she 
 was criticised as well as flattered ; and though 
 Buffon called her his daughter, Le Brun wrote 
 epigrams against her. 
 
 In 1773, Madame de Beauharnais published a 
 little work entitled "A Tous les penseurs Salut," 
 in which she undertook the defence of female au- 
 thorship. But this was considered a strange in- 
 stance of audacity, though the women of France 
 
 BE 
 
 then ruled everything from state affairs down to 
 fashionable trifles. Le Brun, a bitter and satirical 
 poet, answered Madame de Beauharnais in a strain 
 of keen invective. " Ink," said he, " ill becomes 
 rosy fingers." 
 
 Madame de Beauharnais published a volume of 
 fugitive poems ; also " Lettres de Stephanie," an 
 historical romance, several other romances, and a 
 comedy entitled " La Fausse inconstance ou le 
 triomphe de I'honn^tet^. She died in 1813. We 
 insert a specimen of her poetry. 
 
 EPITEE AUX FEMMES. 
 I^Writtenin 1773.) 
 Mon sexe parfois est injuste : 
 Mais j'al)Sous ce sexe charmant ; 
 II flit ainsi du temps d'Auguste, 
 C'est tenir 4 son sentiment. 
 Je vondrois le flechir, sans doute ; 
 Pour des titres, j'en ai plus d'un ; 
 Mes traits n'ont rien que de commun ; 
 Je me tais, et meme j'6coute...- 
 N'importe, il nie faut renoncer 
 A I'espoir tlatteur du lui plaire ; 
 AuprSs de lui j'aurois beau faire . 
 Tout en moi paroit roffenser, 
 Et mes juges, dans leur colgre, 
 M'otent jusqu'au droit de penser. 
 Un jour que j'6tois bien sincere, 
 J'exercai ma plume 4 tracer 
 Les charmes de leur caract§re 
 Par-la, j'ai su les courroucer. 
 Cependant j'exalte ces dames , 
 J'encourage leurs defenseurs ; 
 Je leur donne a toutes des ames; 
 Je chante leurs graces. leurs mffiurs, 
 Et leurs combats, et leur viotoire ; 
 Je les compare aux belles fleurs 
 (Xui des campagnes font la gloire; 
 Elles rejettent mon encens, 
 Et, ce qu'on aura peine d croire. 
 Me traitent, dans leur humeur noire, 
 Fresque aussi mal que leurs amans. 
 Mes vers sont pill6s, disent-elles; 
 Non. Chlo6 n'en est pas I'auteur; 
 Elle fut d'une pesanteur... 
 Le temps ne donne pas des ailes. 
 Mon Dieu ! reprend avec aigreur, 
 A coup sur rune des moins belles, 
 Jadis je la voyois le soir ; 
 Alors elle 6crivoit en prose ; 
 Peut-^tre, h61as ! sans le savoir, 
 Et hasardoit fort peu de chose. 
 Mesdames, k nc point mentir, 
 Je prise fort de tels suffrages : 
 Mais craignez de m'enorgueillir 
 En me disputant mes ouvrages ; 
 Ne me donn<«z point le plaisir 
 De me croire un objet d'envie; 
 Je triomphe quand vous doutez; 
 Rendez-moi vite vos bont^s, 
 Et je reprends ma modestie. 
 
 BEAUMONT,MADAME LE PRINCE DE, 
 An able and lively French writer, whose works, 
 in the form of romances, letters, memoirs, &c., 
 were written for the* improvement of youth in 
 morals and religion. She was born at Rouen, 
 April 26th, 1711, and died at Anneci, 1780. 
 
 BECTOR, CLAUDE DE, 
 Descended from an illustrious house in Dau- 
 phiny, abbess of St. Honor^ de Tarascon, was 
 eminent for her knowledge of Latin, and her fine 
 style of writing. She was honoured by her ad- 
 mirers with the name of Scholastica. She gave 
 
 206 
 
BE 
 
 BE 
 
 early such indications of genius, that a monk, 
 Denis Fauchier, undertook the care of her educa- 
 tion. In a little time she made so great a progress, 
 that she equalled the most learned men of the age. 
 Her Latin and French poems, letters, and treatises, 
 for acuteness and solidity, have been classed ■with 
 the ancient philosophers. She maintained a cor- 
 respondence with many learned men in France and 
 Italy. Francis I. of France was so charmed with 
 the letters of this abbess, that he carried them 
 about him, and showed them as models worthy of 
 imitation. He went with his sister, Margaret of 
 Navarre, to Tarascon on purpose to see this cele- 
 brated lady. She died in 1547. 
 
 BEEN, APHBA, 
 
 A CBLEBKATBD English poetess, was descended 
 from a good family in the city of Canterbury. She 
 was born in the reign of Charles I., but in what 
 year is uncertain. Her father's name was John- 
 son. He was related to lord 'Willoughby, and by 
 his interest was appointed lieutenant-general of 
 Surinam and thirty-six islands, and embarked for 
 the West Indies when Aphra was very young. Mr. 
 Johnson died on the passage, but his family arrived 
 at Surinam, where Aphra became acquainted with 
 the American prince Oroonoko, whose story she 
 has given in her celebrated novel of that name. 
 She relates that " she had often seen and con- 
 versed with that great man, and been a witness to 
 many of his mighty actions ; and that at one time, 
 he and Imoinda his lyife, were scarce an hour in a 
 day from her lodgings." The intimacy between 
 Oroonoko and the poetess occasioned some reflec- 
 tions on her conduct, from which she was subse- 
 quently cleared. 
 
 The afflictions she met with at Surinam, in the 
 death of her parents and relations, obliged her to 
 return to England, where, soon after her arrival, 
 she married Mr. Behn, an eminent merchant in 
 London, of Dutch extraction. King Charles II., 
 whom she highly pleased by the entertaining and 
 accurate account she gave him of the colony of 
 Surinam, thought her a proper person to be en- 
 trusted with the management of some affairs dur- 
 ing the Dutch war, which was the cause of her 
 going to Antwerp. Here she discovered the d«sign 
 formed by the Dutch, of sailing up the Thames, 
 in order to bum the English ships ; she made this 
 discovery through her lover, Vander Albert, a 
 Dutchman. This man, who had been in love with 
 her in England, no sooner heard of her arrival at 
 Antwerp, than he paid her a visit ; and after a 
 repetition of all his former professions, pressed 
 her extremely to allow him by some signal means 
 to give undeniable proofs of his passion. She 
 accepted this proposal, and employed him in such 
 a manner as made her very serviceable to king 
 Charles I. 
 
 The latter end of the year 1666, Albert sent her 
 word by a special messenger that he would be with 
 her at an appointed time, when he revealed to her 
 that Cornelius de Witt and De Ruyter had pro- 
 posed the abovementioned expedition. Mrs. Behn 
 could not doubt the truth of this communication, 
 and sent information of it immediately by express 
 
 to England. But her intelligence (though well 
 grounded, as the event showed) being disregarded 
 and ridiculed, she renounced all state affairs, and 
 amused herself during her stay at Antwerp, with 
 the pleasures of the city. 
 
 After some time she embarked at Dunkirk for 
 England, and in the passage was near being lost ; 
 the ship was driven on the coast for four days, 
 but by the assistance of boats the crew were all 
 saved. 
 
 Mrs. Behn published three volumes of poems ; 
 the first in 1684, the second in 1685, the third in 
 1688. They consist of songs and other little 
 pieces, by the earl of Rochester, sir George Eth- 
 erage, Mr. Henry Crisp, and others, .with some 
 pieces of her own. To the second volume is an- 
 nexed a translation of the duke de Rochefoucanlt's 
 moral reflections, under the title of " Seneca Un- 
 masked." She wrote also seventeen plays, some 
 histories and novels. She translated Fontenelle's 
 History of Oracles, and Plurality of Worlds, to 
 which last she annexed an essay on translation 
 and translated prose. The Paraphrase of .SSnone's 
 Epistle to Paris, in the English translation of 
 Ovid's Epistles, is Mrs. Behn's; and Mr. Dryden, 
 in the preface to that work, pays her the following 
 compliment : — "I was desired to say, that the 
 author, who is of the fair sex, understood not 
 Latin; but if she do not, I am afraid she has 
 given us who do, occasion to be ashamed." She 
 was also the authoress of the celebrated Letters 
 between " A Nobleman and his Sister," printed in 
 1684 ; and of eight love-letters to a gentleman 
 whom she passionately loved, and with whom she 
 corresponded under the name of Lycidas. She 
 died, after a long indisposition, April 16th, 1689, 
 and was buried in the cloisters of Westminster 
 Abbey. 
 
 BEKKER, ELIZABETH, 
 
 An ornament .of Dutch literature, was born at 
 Flushing, in 1738, and died at the Hague, in 1804. 
 Few female authors have united to so great talents 
 such dignity and purity of morals. Several of her 
 numerous works are considered classics in Dutch 
 literature; especially her romances of "William 
 Leevend;" "Letters of A. Blankhart to C. Wild- 
 schut;" and the " History of Sara Biirgerhart." 
 She wrote her most important works in conjunc- 
 tion with her friend Agatha Deken, and the share 
 of each of them in the composition is unknown. 
 Agatha Deken survived her friend only nine 
 days. 
 
 BELLAMY, GEOBGIANA, 
 An actress of some celebrity, was born in 1733. 
 Her mother was a Miss Searle, the mistress of 
 lord Trelawny, who afterwards married captain 
 Bellamy. He separated from her on discovering 
 her infidelity. Miss Bellamy was brought out by 
 Mr. Garrick at the Covent-Garden theatre at the 
 age of fourteen, and met with much success for 
 some years. She died at Edinburgh, in deep dis- 
 tress, in 1788. Her life was a series of errors and 
 misfortunes. She wrote her own memoirs in six 
 volumes. 
 
 207 
 
BE 
 
 BE 
 
 BELLINI, GUISEPA, COUNTESS, 
 
 Was born at Novara in 1776, of one of the most 
 noble families of Italy. She was endowed with a 
 good understanding and great benevolence of cha- 
 racter, which a strong sentiment of piety guided 
 and maintained. She was married in the bloom 
 
 of youth to the count Marco Bellini, whose cha- 
 racter and disposition entirely assimilated with 
 hers. Crowned with all worldly advantages, they 
 were doomed to the affliction of losing their only 
 sou. This blow was sensibly felt by the bereaved 
 parents, who thenceforth, unable to enjoy the plea- 
 sures of society and idle diversions, resolved to 
 seek alleviation by devoting themselves to works 
 of beneficent utility. Already extremely opulent, 
 a large accession of fortune enabled them to 
 mature an idea they had planned for the public 
 utility; when, in 1831, death removed from the 
 poor their friend and benefactor, the count Bellini. 
 
 The widowed countess, remembering her hus- 
 band's maxim that the "best way of assisting the 
 poor population was by giving them the abilities 
 to maintain themselves," took counsel with the 
 most intelligent and experienced of her fellow- 
 citizens, and, with the assistance of able and prac- 
 tical heads, planned and founded a gratuitous 
 school for arts and trades, for the benefit of the 
 children of both sexes of the Novarese poor. This 
 foundation she endowed with the sum of 100,000 
 francs. This good work was regularly established 
 by royal permission and concurrence of the muni- 
 cipal authorities, February 9th, 1833. 
 
 The countess Bellini died in 1837. 
 
 BENDISH, BBIDGET, 
 Wife of Thomas Bendish, Esq., was the daugh- 
 ter of General Ireton, and grand-daughter of Oli- 
 ver Cromwell ; whom she resembled in piety, 
 dissimulation, personal arrogance, and love of dis- 
 play. After managing her salt-works at South- 
 town, in Norfolk, with all the labour and exertion 
 of the most menial servant, she would sometimes 
 spend an evening at the public assembly at Yar- 
 mouth, where her princely behaviour and dignified 
 
 manners ensured her the respect of her neigh- 
 bours. This remarkable woman, who, in public 
 life, would have become famous by her great men- 
 tal powers and self-command, died in retirement 
 in 1727. 
 
 BENGER, ELIZABETH OGILVY, 
 
 Was born at Welles in England, in 1778, and 
 had to struggle with many difficulties in early life. 
 So few books could she procure, that she used to 
 read the open pages of the new publications in. 
 the window of the only bookseller's shop in the 
 little town in Wiltshire in which she lived, and 
 return, day after day, in the hope of finding 
 another page turned over. She, nevertheless, 
 acquired a respectable portion of learning. On 
 her removal to London, she obtained kind literary 
 friends and patronage, and was generally esteemed 
 for her virtues, manners, and talents. She died 
 January the 9th, 1827. Besides a drama, two 
 novels, and poems, she wrote " Memoirs of Mrs. 
 Hamilton;" " Lobin and Klopstook;" and "Lives 
 of Anne Boleyn ; Mary, Queen of Scots ; the 
 Queen of Bohemia ; and Henry IV. of France." 
 
 BENWELL, MAEY, 
 Was an English portrait-painter. Her princi- 
 pal works were in crayons, oil, and miniature, 
 and were exhibited to the public in the Artists' 
 and Royal Academy Exhibitions from 1622 till 
 1783. 
 
 BERNARD, CATHARINE, 
 Or the academy of the Rioovrate of Padua, was 
 born at Rouen, and died at Paris in 1712. Her 
 works were several times crowned by the French 
 academy, and by that of the Jeux-Floraux. Two 
 of her tragedies were represented at the French 
 theatre, "Brutus," in 1691, and "Laodamia." It 
 is thought she composed these pieces conjointly 
 with Fontenelle, her friend and countryman. She 
 vrrote several other works in verse, showing ease 
 and sometimes delicacy. She acquired some cele- 
 brity by her placet to Louis XIV., to petition for 
 the two hundred crowns given to her annually by 
 that prince ; it is to be seen in the " Recueil de 
 vers Choisis du pfere Bonhors." She discontinued 
 writing for the theatre at the advice of Madame 
 la Chanceli^re de Pont-Chartrain, who gave her a 
 pension ; even suppressing several little pieces, 
 which might have given wrong impressions of her 
 manners and religion. Two romances are like- 
 wise ascribed to her; "The Count d'Amboise," 
 and " Ines of Cordova." Some of the journalists 
 attributed to her, others to Fontenelle, the account 
 of the " Island of Borneo." 
 
 BETHMANN, FREDERICA, 
 One of the first ornaments of the Berlin National 
 Theatre, was born in 1760, at Gotha, where her 
 father, whose name was Flittner, had an income 
 by a respectable office. After his death, her 
 mother married the well-known director Gross- 
 mann. He visited, with his family, the cities on 
 the Rhine, Cologne, Bonn, Mentz, &c., where 
 Frederica was married to Mr. Unsclmann, who 
 
 208 
 
BE 
 
 BL 
 
 enjoyed great popularity for his ricli comic talent, 
 and she then made her first appearance on the 
 stage. Her agreeable voice induced her to appear 
 first at the opera. She soon acquired by her 
 singing and acting, in naif as well as in senti- 
 mental parts, the undivided approbation of the 
 public ; and was called, with her husband, to Ber- 
 lin, -where she became one of the first actresses 
 that Germany has produced, both in tragedy and 
 comedy. In 1803 she was divorced from her hus- 
 band to marry the renowned Mr. Bethmann. She 
 died in 1814. A truly creative fancy, deep and 
 tender feeling, and an acute understanding, were 
 united in her with a graceful, slender figure, an 
 expressive countenance, and a voice, which, from 
 its flexibility and melodiousness, was fit to touch 
 the deepest chords of the heart, and to mark with 
 rare perfection the nicest shades of thought and 
 feeling. 
 
 BERTANA, LUCIA. 
 In the sixteenth century the literary annals of 
 Italy shone with illustrious names, and among 
 these may be found many women assiduously cul- 
 tivating poetry and science, and attaining no mean 
 proficiency in these elevated pursuits. Naples 
 boasted Vittoria Colonna, and a few years after- 
 wards, Laura Terracini. Padua possessed Gas- 
 para Stampa ; Brescia, Veronica Gambara ; and 
 Modena, Tarquenia Molza. At Bologna, among 
 many poetesses at that time, we find Ippolita 
 Paleotti writing elegant verses in Greek and in 
 Latin ; the nun Febronia Pannolini, remarkable 
 for her choice prose, and flowing hymns, as well 
 in Latin as in Italian; and Valeria Miani, who 
 achieved that difficulty some male sceptics arro- 
 gantly refuse to feminine capacity — a successful 
 tragedy. But among all the Bolognese women, 
 the crown must be yielded to Lucia Bertana. Not 
 only contemporary authorities award her this 
 praise, but Maffei, in his " History of Italian lite- 
 rature," gives her the third place among the most 
 admirable poetesses of the sixteenth century, pre- 
 ferring only Vittoria Colonna and Veronica Gam- 
 bara. She was born at Bologna, of the family 
 Dall'Oro, in 1521 ; and became the wife of Gerone 
 
 
 Bertana, a gentleman of Modena, where she re- 
 sided after her marriage. She was not only cele- 
 brated for her poetry, but possessed a vigorous 
 and polished prose style. She cultivated music 
 and painting, and turned her attention to what 
 was at that time a respectable and sensible object 
 of study, astrology. Besides these accomplish- 
 ments, Lucia was gifted with all the virtues of her 
 sex. She was amiable and gentle, and her excel- 
 lent disposition was manifested in an attempt she 
 most earnestly made to eff'ect a reconciliation be- 
 tween two rival men of letters, Caro and Castel- 
 vetro. She conducted the matter with the utmost 
 delicacy and good sense — appealed to the better 
 feelings of each — and tried to show how unworthy 
 of their superior abilities, and solid reputation, 
 was this unmeaning bickering. 
 
 She died in Rome in 1567. Her remains were 
 interred in the church of St. Sabina, where her 
 husbajid elevated a superb monument to her 
 memory. The estimation of various learned soci- 
 eties endeavoured to immortalize her by other 
 means — medals were struck to her fame, which 
 may yet be found in Italian Museums. The fol- 
 lowing from her pen has been much admired : 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Or musa mia lieta e sicura andrai 
 Per foiti boschi e per ameni colli, 
 Cogli occhi asciutti che gid furon molli 
 Al chiaco fonte ove merce trovai. 
 
 Quivi con 1e sorelle canterai 
 
 I miei pensieri per letizia folli, 
 Fioche i desiTi'iniei fatti ha satolli 
 Ciuesto Aristarco, e me tratta di guai. 
 
 Ed al gran Castelvetro in atto umile, 
 Dirai, se il ceil mi da tanto valore 
 Degno di vol, ed al gran merto eguale, 
 
 Che posta avrai mai sempre e lingua e stile 
 In celebrar questo chiaro splendore 
 Onde mi farai forse anche immortale. 
 
 BLAKE, KATHARINE, 
 Wife of William Blake, the artist, was born in 
 humble life, and first noticed by the young painter 
 for the whiteness of her hand and the sylph-like 
 beauty of her form. Her maiden name was Bout- 
 cher, not a pretty name to set in rhyme, but her 
 lover inscribed his lyrics to the "dark-eyed Kate." 
 He also drew her picture ; and finding she had 
 good domestic qualities, he married her. They 
 lived long and happily together. A writer, who 
 knew them intimately, thus describes her: — 
 
 " She seemed to have been created on purpose 
 for Blake : she believed him to be the finest genius 
 on earth ; she believed in his verse ; she believed 
 in his designs ; and to the wildest flights of his 
 imagination she bowed the knee, and was a wor- 
 shipper. She set his house in good order, pre- 
 pared his frugal meal, learned to think as he 
 thought, and, indulging him in his harmless ab- 
 surdities, became as it were bone of his bone and 
 flesh of his flesh. She learned — what a young and 
 handsome woman is seldom apt to learn — to des- 
 pise gaudy dresses, costly meals, pleasant com- 
 pany, and agreeable invitations — she found out 
 the way of being happy at home, living on the 
 simplest of food, and contented in the homeliest 
 
 209 
 
BL 
 
 BL 
 
 of clothing. It was no ordinary mind which could 
 do all this ; and she whom Blake emphatically 
 called his 'heloTed,' was no ordinary woman. 
 She wrought off in the press the impressions of 
 his plates — she coloured them with a light and 
 neat hand — made drawings much in the spirit of 
 his compositions, and almost rivalled him in all 
 things, save in the power which he possessed of 
 seeing visions of any individual living or dead, 
 whenever he chose to see them." 
 
 William Blake died in 1828, without any visible 
 pain, his faithful wife watching over him to the 
 last. She died a few years afterwards. 
 
 I 
 
 BLACK, MRS., 
 
 An English portrait-painter, flourished about the 
 year 1760, and was a member of the Academy in 
 St. Martin's-lane. 
 
 BLACK, , 
 
 Dauqhteb, of the preceding, was a portrait- 
 painter in oils and crayons. She acquired much 
 reputation in teaching painting. 
 
 BLACKWELL, ELIZABETH, 
 
 An English woman of considerable talent, who, 
 to provide subsistence for her husband, who was 
 in pi^isou for debt, published, in two folio volumes, 
 in 1737 and 1739, an Herbal, containing five hun- 
 dred plates, di-awn, engraved, and coloured by 
 herself. The first volume was published in 1737, 
 and the second appeared in 1739. The complete 
 work bore the following title: "A curious Herbal, 
 containing five hundred of the most useful plants 
 which are now used in the practice of physic, en- 
 graved on folio copper-plates, after drawings taken 
 from the life. To which is added a short descrip- 
 tion of the plants, and their common uses in 
 Physio." 
 
 While Mrs. Blackwell was completing this labo- 
 rious undertaking, she resided at Chelsea, near 
 the Garden of Medicinal Plants ; where she was 
 frequently visited, and much patronized, by people 
 of distinguished rank and learning. The College 
 of Physicians gave the book a public testimonial 
 of their approbation, and made the author a pre- 
 sent. Dr. Pulteney, speaking of this work, says, 
 " For the most complete set of drawings of medi- 
 cinal plants, we are indebted to the genius and 
 industry of a lady, exerted on an occasion that 
 redounded highly to her praise." 
 
 Her husband, Alexander, was born at Aberdeen, 
 brought up as a physician, and went to Sweden 
 about 1740, where he was beheaded, on a charge 
 of being concerned in count Tessin's plot. 
 
 BLAMIRE, SUSANNA, 
 
 Was born of a respectable family in Cumberland, 
 England, at Cardem Hall, near Carlisle, where she 
 resided till her twentieth year, when her sister 
 marrying a gentleman from Scotland, she accom- 
 panied them to that country, where she remained 
 some years. She was distinguished for the excel- 
 lence of her Scottish poetry. She died unmarried 
 
 at Carlisle, in 1794, at the age of forty-six. Her 
 lyrics have been greatly admired for their harmo- 
 nious versification, and their truth and tenderness 
 of feeling. Among these, "The Nabob," "The 
 Waefu' Heart," and "Auld Robin Forbes," are 
 selected as most beautiful. Her poetical works 
 were collected in 1842, and published in one 
 volume, with a memoir, by Patrick Maxwell. 
 
 THE NABOB. 
 
 When silent time, wi' lightly foot, 
 
 Had trod on thirty years, 
 I sought again my native land 
 
 Wi' mony hopes and fears. 
 Wha kens gin the dear friends 1 left 
 
 May still continue mine? 
 Or gin I e'er again shall taste 
 
 The joys I left langsyne ? 
 
 As I drew near my ancient pile, 
 
 My heart beat a' the way ; 
 Ilk place I passed seemed yet to speak 
 
 O' some dear former day ; 
 Those days that followed me afar, 
 
 Those happy days o' mine, 
 Whilk made me think the present joys 
 
 A' naething to langsyne! 
 
 The ivied tower now met my eye. 
 
 Where minstrels used to blaw; 
 Nae friend stepped forth wi' open hand, 
 
 Nae weel-kenned face I saw ; 
 Till Donald tottered to the door, 
 
 Wham I left in his prime, 
 And grat to see the lad return 
 
 He bore about langsyne. 
 
 I ran to ilka dear friend's room, 
 
 As if to find them there, 
 I knew where ilk ane used to sit, 
 
 And hang o'er mony a chair ; 
 Till soft remembrance threw a veil 
 
 Across these een o' mine, 
 I closed the door, and sobbed aloud, 
 
 To think on auld langsyne I 
 
 Some pensy chiels, a new sprung race, 
 
 Wad next their welcome pay, 
 Wha shuddered at my Gothic wa's. 
 
 And wished my groves away. 
 "Cut, cut," they cried, " those aged elms. 
 
 Lay low yon mournfu' pine." 
 Na ! na ! our fathers' names grow there. 
 
 Memorials o' langsyne. 
 
 To wean me frae these waefu* thoughts, 
 
 They took me to the town ; 
 But sair on ilka weel-kenned face 
 
 I missed the youthfu' bloom. 
 At balls they pointed to a nymph 
 
 Wham a' declared divine : 
 But sure her mother's blushing cheeks 
 
 Were fairer far langsyne ! 
 
 In vain I sought in music's sound 
 
 To find that magic art, 
 Which oft in Scotland's ancient lays 
 
 Has thrilled through a' my heart. 
 The sang had mony an artfu' turn ; 
 
 My ear confessed 'twas fine ; 
 But missed the simple melody 
 
 I listened to langsyne. 
 
 Ye sons to comrades o' my youth, 
 
 Forgie an auld man's spleen, 
 Wha 'midst your gayest scenes still mourns 
 
 The days he ance has seen. 
 When time has passed and seasons fled, 
 
 your hearts will feel like mine; 
 And aye the sang will maist delight 
 
 That minds ye o' langsyne! 
 
 210 
 
BL 
 
 BL 
 
 THE WAEFU' HEAKT. 
 
 Gin living worth could win my heart. 
 
 Ye would nae speak in vain; 
 But in the darksome grave it 's laid, 
 
 Never to rise again. 
 
 My waefu' heart lies low wi' his, 
 
 Whose heart was only mine ; 
 And O! what a heart was that to love! 
 
 But 1 maun na repine. 
 
 yet O! gin heaven in mercy soon 
 
 Would grant the boon I crave, 
 And take the life, now naething worth. 
 
 Since Jamie's in the grave. 
 
 And, see, his gentle spirit comes 
 
 To speed me on my way, 
 Surprised, nae doubt, I still am here — 
 
 Sair wondering at my stay. 
 
 I come, I come, my Jamie dear; 
 
 And 01 wi' what good will 
 I follow wheresoe'er ye lead ! 
 
 Ye canna lead to ill. 
 
 — She said ; and soon a deadly pale 
 
 Her faded check possessed : 
 Her waefu' heart forgot to beat, — 
 
 Her sorrows soon to rest. 
 
 AULD KOBIN FORBES. 
 
 (In the Cumberland dialect.) 
 
 And auld Robin Forbes hes glen tem a dance, 
 
 I pat on my speckets to see them aw prance ; 
 
 I thout o' tile days when I was but fifteen. 
 
 And skipp'd wi' the best upon Forbes's green. 
 
 Of aw things that is I think thout is meast queer. 
 
 It brings that that's by-past and sets it down here ; 
 
 I see Willy as plain aa I dui this bit leace, 
 
 When he tuik his cwoal lappet and deeghted his face. 
 
 The lasses aw wondered what Willy cud see 
 
 In yen that was dark and hard-featured leyke me; 
 
 And they wondered ay mair when they talked o' my wit. 
 
 And slily telt Willy that cud'nt be it. 
 
 But Willy he laughed, and he meade me his weyfe. 
 
 And whea was mair happy thro' aw his long leyfe ? 
 
 It 's e'en my great comfort, now Willy is geane. 
 
 That he offen said — nea pleace was leyke his awn heame ! 
 
 I mind when I carried my wark to yon steyle, 
 
 Where Willy was deyken, the time to beguile. 
 
 He wad fling me a daisy to put i' my breast, 
 
 And 1 hammered my noddle to mek out a jest. 
 
 But merry or grave, Willy often wad tell 
 
 There was none o' the leave that was leyke my awn sel ; 
 
 And he spak what he thout, for I 'd hardly a plack 
 
 When we married, and nobbet ae gown to my back. 
 
 When the clock had struck eight I expected him heame. 
 And wheyles went to meet him as far as Dumleane ; 
 Of aw hours it tclt, eight was dearest to me. 
 But now when it streykes there 's a tear i' my ee. 
 O Willy ! dear Willy I it never can be 
 That age, time, or death, can divide thee and me ! 
 For that spot on earth that 's aye dearest to me, 
 Is the turf that has covered my Willie frae me. 
 
 BLANCA, N. LE, 
 A TOUNO woman who was found wild at Ligny, 
 near Chalons, in France, in 1731, when about ten 
 years of age. She was placed in a, convent, and 
 died a nun, in 1760. 
 
 BLANCHARD, MADAME, 
 
 Was the wife of Franjois Blanchard, one of the 
 first aeronauts, a Frenchman by birth, who died 
 in 1809. After his death Madame Blanchard 
 continued to make aerial Toyages. In 1811, she 
 ascended in Rome, and after going sixty miles, 
 
 she rose again to proceed to Naples. In June, 
 1819, having ascended from Tivoli, in Paris, her 
 balloon took fire from some fireworks she had with 
 her, the gondola fell from a considerable height 
 into the street de Provence, and Madame Blan- 
 chard was instantly killed. 
 
 BLAND, ELIZABETH. 
 
 This lady was remarkable for her knowledge 
 of the Hebrew language, and for her peculiar skill 
 in writing it. 
 
 She was born about the period of the restora- 
 tion of Charles XL, and was daughter and heir of 
 Mr. Robert Fisher, of Long-Acre. She married 
 Mr. Nathaniel Bland, April 26th, 1681, who was 
 then a linen-draper in London, and afterwards 
 lord of the manor of Beeston, in Yorkshire. She 
 had six children, who all died in infancy, except- 
 ing one son, named Joseph, and a daughter, Mar- 
 tha, who was married to Mr. George Moore, of 
 Beeston. Mrs. Bland was taught Hebrew by 
 Lord Van Helmont, which she understood so tho- 
 roughly as to be competent to the instruction in 
 it of her son and daughter. 
 
 Among the curiosities of the Royal Society is 
 preserved a phylactery in Hebrew, written by her, 
 of which Dr. Grew has given a description in his 
 account of rarities preserved at Gresham college. 
 " It is a single scroll of parchment, fifteen inches 
 long, three quarters of an inch in breadth, with 
 four sentences of the law most curiously written 
 upon it in Hebrew ; viz. Exod. xiii. from verse 7 
 to 11, and from 13 to 17 ; Deut. vi. from verse 3 
 to 10, and xi. from 13 to 19. Serarius, from the 
 rabbles, saith, that they were written severally 
 upon so many scrolls, and that the Jews do to this 
 day wear them over their foreheads in their man- 
 ner. So that they are of several sorts or modes, 
 whereof this is one." Mrs. Bland having written 
 the phylactery described by Dr. Grew, at the re- 
 quest of Mr. Thoresby, presented it to the Royal 
 Society. 
 
 By the two pedigrees of the family, printed in 
 Mr. Thoresby's Ducatus Leodiensis, pages 209 
 and 587, it seems she was living in 1712. 
 
 BLEECKER, ANNE ELIZA, 
 
 One of the early poetesses of America, was born 
 in New York, in 1752. Her father was Brandt 
 Schuyler, of that city. In 1769, she married John 
 J. Bleecker, and .afterwards lived chiefly at Tom 
 hanick, a little village not far from .Albany. 1^ 
 was in this seclusion that most of her poems were 
 written. The death of one of her children, and 
 the capture of her husband, who was taken pri- 
 soner by a party of tories, in 1781, caused a de- 
 pression of spirits and melancholy from which she 
 never recovered. She died in 1783. Several years 
 after her death, her poems were collected by her 
 daughter, Mrs. Faugeres, and published in one 
 volume. There are no wonderful traces of genius 
 in these poems ; but they show a refined taste, 
 and talents which might have been cultivated to 
 higher eflforts, if the circumstances surrounding 
 the author had been propitious. There is a pure 
 current of conjugal and maternal feeling to be 
 
 211 
 
BL 
 
 BL 
 
 traced in all her eifusions. In her descriptive 
 poetry she seems to have observed nature vrith the 
 loving eye of a woman, rather than the searching 
 glance of the artist; and she appropriates the 
 scenery, so to speak, to her own affections. The 
 following was written to commemorate her return 
 to her home : 
 
 BETUEN TO TOMANICK. 
 
 Hail, happy shades ! though clad with heavy snows, 
 
 At sight of you with joy my bosom glows. 
 
 Ye arching pines, that bow with every breeze, 
 
 Ye poplars, elms, all hail my well known trees! 
 
 And now my peaceful mansion strikes my eye. 
 
 And now the tinkling rivulet I spy; 
 
 My little garden, Flora, hast thou kept. 
 
 And watch'd my pinks and lilies while I wept? 
 
 Or has the grubbing swine, by furies led, 
 
 The enclosure broke, and on my flowerets fed? 
 
 Ah me ! that spot with blooms so lately graced, 
 With storms and driving snows is now defaced ; 
 Sharp icicles from every bush depend, 
 And frosts all dazzling o'er the beds extend : 
 Yet soon fair spring shall give another scene, 
 And yellow cowslips gild the level green ; 
 My little orchard sprouting at each bough. 
 Fragrant with clustering blossoms deep shall glow; 
 Ahl then 't is sweet the tufted grass to tread, 
 But sweeter slumbering in the balmy shade ; 
 The rapid humming-bird, with ruby breast, 
 Seeks the parterre with early blue-bells drest, 
 Drinks deep the honeysuckle dew, or drives 
 The labouring bee to her domestic hives : 
 Then shines the lupine bright with morning gems, 
 And sleepy poppies nod upott their stems; 
 The humble violet and the dulcet rose. 
 The stately lily then, and tulip blows. 
 
 Farewell, my Plutarch ! farewell, pen and muse ! 
 Nature exults — shall I her call refuse? 
 Apollo fervid glitters in my face, 
 And threatens with his beam each feeble grace : 
 Yet still around the lovely plants I toil, 
 And draw obnoxious herbage from the soil ; 
 Or with the lime-twigs little birds surprise, 
 Or angle for the trout of many dyes. 
 
 But when the vernal breezes pass away, 
 And loftier Phoebus darts a fiercer ray. 
 The spiky corn then rattles all around, 
 And dashing cascades give a pleasing sound ; 
 Shrill sings the locust with prolonged note, 
 The cricket chirps familiar in each cot. 
 The village children rambling o'er yon hill, 
 With berries all their painted baskets fill. 
 They rob the squirrel's little walnut store, 
 And climb the half exhausted tree for more ; 
 Or else to fields of maize nocturnal hie. 
 Where hid, the elusive water-melons lie ; 
 Sportive, they make incisions in the rind. 
 The riper from the immature to find ; 
 Then load their tender shoulders with the prey, 
 And laughing bear the bulky fruit away. 
 
 BLESSINGTON, COUNTESS OF, 
 Was horn in Ireland, Sept. Ist, 1789. Her 
 maiden name was Marguerite Power ; she was the 
 second daughter of Edmund Power, Esq., of Car- 
 rabeen, in the county of Waterford. Marguerite 
 Power was very beautiful, and married, at the 
 early age of fifteen, Captain Farmer, of the forty- 
 seventh regiment. He died in 1817 ; and, in the 
 following year, Mrs. Farmer married her second 
 husband, Charles John Gardner, earl of Blessing- 
 ton. During the lifetime of the earl he resided 
 with Lady Blessington chiefly in Italy and France ; 
 and he died in Paris, in 1829. Lady Blessington 
 returned soon afterwards to London, and devoted 
 herself to literature. She was so prominent in 
 
 the circle her rank, talents, accomplishments and 
 beauty drew around her, that her biography is 
 famUiar to all. She resided in London, till the 
 troubles in Ireland had so embarrassed her estates 
 in that ill-governed country, that she was com- 
 pelled to dispose of her house and all her property 
 
 — her most cherished "household gods" — at pub- 
 lic sale. In the spring of 1849, she removed to 
 Paris, where she intended to fix her residence, 
 and died there, early in June, before she had fully 
 established herself in her new home. Among the 
 many testimonials to the natural generosity of her 
 disposition, and the truth of her zeal in the ser- 
 vice of her friends, we quote from a notice in the 
 Art-Journal : 
 
 " She was largely indebted to Nature for sur- 
 passing loveliness of person and graceful and 
 ready wit. Circumstances connected with the 
 earlier years of her life (to which it is needless to 
 refer) ' told' against her through the whole of her 
 career ; but we entirely believe that the Nature 
 which gave her beauty, gave her also those desires 
 to be good which constitute true virtue. Those 
 who speak lightly of this accomplished woman, 
 might have better means to do her justice if they 
 knew but a tithe of the cases that might be quoted 
 of her generous sympathy, her ready and liberal 
 aid, and her persevering sustenance whenever a 
 good cause was to be helped, or a virtuous prin- 
 ciple was to be promulgated." 
 
 She wrote with great facility and elegance of 
 language, but her style is too diffuse, particularly 
 in her novels. Her " Idler in Italy," and " Con- 
 versations with Lord Byron," are her best works ; 
 the last is very interesting, the subjects ovring, 
 probably, much to the spirit with which the hero 
 of the book discourses. The list of Lady Bless- 
 ington's works is large, comprising the following : 
 — " The Magic Lantern," " Sketches and Frag- 
 ments," " Tour in the Netherlands," " Conversa- 
 tions with Lord Byron," " The Repealers," " The 
 Two Friends," " The Victims of Society," " The 
 Idler Jn France," " The Idler in Italy," " The Go- 
 verness," " Confessions of an Elderly Lady," 
 "Confessions of an Elderly Gentleman," " Desul- 
 
 212 
 
BL 
 
 B L 
 
 tory Thoughts," "The Belle of a Season," "Lot- 
 tery of Life," " Meredith," " Strathern," " Me- 
 moirs of a Femme de Chambre." She wrote also 
 several illustrated books of poetry. The follow- 
 ing is from the " Conversations," &c. : 
 
 LOKD BTBON IN 1823. 
 
 " Saw Lord Byron for the first time. The im- 
 pression of the first few moments disappointed me, 
 as I had, both from the portraits and descriptions 
 given, conceived a different idea of him. I had 
 fancied him taller, with a mqre dignified and com- 
 manding air, and I looked in vain for the hero 
 looking sort of person with whom I had so long 
 identified him in imagination. His appearance is 
 highly prepossessing ; his head is finely shaped, 
 and the forehead open, high, and noble ; his eyes 
 are grey and full of expression, but one is visibly 
 larger than the other ; the nose is large and well 
 shaped, but, from being a little too thick, it looks 
 better in profile than in front face ; his mouth is 
 the most remarkable feature in his face, the upper 
 lip of Grecian shortness, the corners descending, 
 the lips full and finely cut. In speaking, he 
 shows his teeth very much, and they are white and 
 even, but I observed that even in his frequent 
 smiles there is a scornful expression, that is evi- 
 dently natural, and not, as many suppose, affected. 
 His chin is large and well shaped, and finishes well 
 the oval of his face. He is extremely thin, in- 
 deed so much so, that his figure has almost a boy- 
 ish air ; his face is pale, but not the paleness of 
 ill health, but the fairness of a dark-haired per- 
 son, and his hair, which is getting rapidly grey, 
 is of a dark brown and curls naturally ; he uses a 
 good deal of oil in it, which makes it look still 
 darker. His countenance is full of expression, it 
 gains on the beholder the more it is seen, and 
 leaves an agreeable impression. I should say that 
 melancholy was its prevailing character, as I ob- 
 served that when any observation elicited a smile, 
 it appeared to linger but for a moment on his lip, 
 which instantly resumed its former expression of 
 seriousness. His whole appearance is remarkably 
 gentlemanlike, and he owes nothing of this to his 
 toilet, as his coat appears to have been many years 
 made, is much too large — and all his garments 
 convey the idea of having been purchased ready- 
 made, BO ill do they fit him. There is a gaucherie 
 in his movements, which evidently proceeds from 
 the perpetual consciousness of his lameness, that 
 appears to haunt him, for he tries to conceal his 
 foot when seated, and when walking has a nervous 
 rapidity in his manner. He is very slightly lame, 
 and the deformity of his foot is so little remarka- 
 ble, that I am not now aware which foot it is. 
 His voice and accents are peculiarly agreeable, but 
 effeminate, clear, harmonious, and so distinct, that 
 though his general tone in speaking is rather low 
 than high, not a word is lost. His manners are 
 as unlike my preconceived notions of them aa his 
 appearance. I had expected to find him a digni- 
 fied, cold, reserved, and haughty person, resem- 
 bling those mysterious personages he so loves to 
 paint in his works, and with whom he has been so 
 often identified by the good-natured world : but 
 
 nothing can be more different ; for were I to point 
 out the prominent defect of Lord Byron, I should 
 say it was flippancy, and a total want of that na- 
 tural self-possession and dignity which ought to 
 characterize a man of birth and education. 
 
 lOED btkon's ili-tempbk. 
 
 Lord Byron dined with us to-day ; we all ob- 
 served that he was evidently discomposed : the 
 dinner and servants had no sooner disappeared, 
 than he quoted an attack against himself, in some 
 newspaper, as the cause. He was very much irri- 
 tated — much more so than the subject merited — 
 and showed how keenly alive he is to censure, 
 though he takes so little pains to avoid exciting it. 
 This is a strange anomaly that I have observed in 
 Byron — an extreme susceptibility to censorious 
 observations, and a want of tact in not knowing 
 how to steer clear of giving cause to them, that is 
 extraordinary. He winces under castigation, and 
 writhes in agony under the infliction of ridicule, 
 yet gives rise to attack every day. 
 
 Ridicule is, however, the weapon he most 
 dreads, perhaps because it is the one he wields 
 with most power ; and I observe he is sensitively 
 alive to its slightest approach. It is also the wea- 
 pon with which he assails all ; friend and foe alike 
 come under its cutting point ; and the laugh which 
 accompanies each sally, as a deadly incision is 
 made in some vulnerable quarter, so little accords 
 with the wound inflicted, that it is as though one 
 were struck down by summer lightning while ad- 
 miring its brilliant play. 
 
 Byron likes not contradiction : he waxed wroth 
 to-day, because I defended a friend of mine whom 
 he attacked, but ended by taking my hand and 
 saying he honoured me for the warmth with which 
 I defended an absent friend, adding with irony, 
 " Moreover, when he is not a poet, or even a prose 
 writer, by whom you can hope to be repaid by 
 being handed down to posterity as his defender." 
 
 "I often think," said Byron, "that I inherit 
 my violence and bad temper from my poor mother, 
 not that my father, from all I could ever learn, 
 had a much better ; so that it is no wonder I have 
 such a very bad one. As long as I can remember 
 anything, I recollect being subject to violent pa- 
 roxysms of rage, so disproportioned to the cause 
 as to surprise me when they were over ; and this 
 still continues. I cannot coolly view anything 
 that excites my feelings ; and once the lurking 
 devil within me is roused, I lose all command of 
 myself. I do not recover a good fit of rage for 
 days after : mind, I do not by this mean that the 
 ill humour continues, as, on the contrary, that 
 quickly subsides, exhausted by its own violence ; 
 but it shakes me terribly — and leaves me low and 
 nervous after. Depend on it, people's tempers 
 must be corrected while they are children; for 
 not all the good resolutions in the world can en- 
 able a man to conquer habits of ill humour or 
 rage, however he may regret having given way to 
 them. My poor mother was generally in a rage 
 every day, and used to render me sometimes al- 
 most frantic ; particularly, when, in her passion, 
 she reproached me with my personal deformity, I 
 
 213 
 
BL 
 
 BL 
 
 have left her presence to rush into solitude, when, 
 unseeu, I could vent the rage and mortification I 
 endured, and curse the deformity that I now he- 
 gan to consider as a signal mark of the injustice 
 of Providence. Those were bitter moments ; even 
 now, the impression of them is vivid in my mind ; 
 and they cankered a heart that I believe was na- 
 turally affectionate, and destroyed a temper always 
 disposed to be violent. It was my feelings at this 
 period that suggested the idea of ' The Deformed 
 Transformed.' I often look back on the days of 
 my childhood, and am astonished at the recollec- 
 tion of the intensity of my feelings at that period : 
 first impressions are indelible. My poor mother, 
 and after her my school-fellows, by their taunts, 
 led me to consider my lameness as the greatest 
 misfortune, and I have never been able to conquer 
 this feeling. It requires great natural goodness, 
 of disposition as well as reflection, to conquer the 
 corroding bitterness that deformity engenders in 
 the mind, and which, while preying on itself, sours 
 one towards all the world. I have read, that 
 where personal deformity exists, it may be always 
 traced in the face, however handsome the face 
 may be. I am sure that what is meant by this is, 
 that the consciousness of it gives to the counte- 
 nance an habitual expression of discontent, which 
 I believe is the case ; yet it is too bad (added By- 
 ron with bitterness,) that, because one has a de- 
 fective foot, one cannot have a perfect face." 
 
 LORD BTEOn'S KEGARD FOR HIS WIFE. 
 
 I do not recollect ever having met Byron that 
 he did not, in some way or other, introduce the 
 subject of lady Byron. The impression left on 
 my mind was, that she continually occupied his 
 thoughts, and that he most anxiously desired a 
 reconciliation with her. He declared that his 
 marriage was free from every interested motive ; 
 and if not founded on love, as love is generally 
 viewed, a wild, engrossing and ungovernable pas- 
 sion, there was quite suiBcient liking in it to have 
 insured happiness had his temper been better. 
 He said that lady Byron's appearance had pleased 
 him from the first moment, and had always con- 
 tinued to please him ; and that, had his pecuniary 
 affairs been in a less ruinous state, his temper 
 would not have been excited, as it daily, hourly 
 was, during the brief period of their union, by the 
 demands of insolent creditors, whom he was unable 
 to satisfy, and who drove him nearly out of his 
 senses, until he lost all command of himself, and 
 so forfeited lady Byron's affection. "I must ad- 
 mit," said he, " that I could not have left a very 
 agreeable impression on her mind. With my iras- 
 cible temper, worked upon by the constant attacks 
 of duns, no wonder that I became gloomy, violent, 
 and I fear often personally uncivil, if no worse, 
 and so disgusted her ; though, had she really 
 loved me, she would have borne with my infirm- 
 ities, and made allowance for my provocations. I 
 have written to her repeatedly, and am still in the 
 habit of writing long letters to her, many of which 
 I have sent, but without ever receiving an answer, 
 and others that I did not send, because I despaired 
 of their doing any good. I will show you some 
 
 of them, as they may serve to throw a light on my 
 feelings." The next day Byron sent me the letter 
 addressed to lady Byron, which has already ap- 
 peared in " Moore's Life." He never could divest 
 himself of the idea that she took a deep interest 
 in him ; he said that their child must always be a 
 bond of union between them, whatever lapse of 
 years or distance might separate them ; and this 
 idea seemed to comfort him. 
 
 From the '♦ Tour in Italy." 
 A BIRTHDAY. 
 
 I could be iriste, and sentimental, were I to give 
 way to the reflections which particular recollections 
 awaken. In England I should experience these 
 doleful feelings, but at Paris tristesse, and senti- 
 mentality would be misplaced ; so I must look 
 couleur de rose, and receive the congratulations of 
 my friends, on adding another year to my age ; a 
 subject far from meriting congratulations, when 
 one has passed thirty. Youth is like health, we 
 never value the possession of either, until we have 
 begun to decline. 
 
 A NEW TEAR. 
 
 There is something that excites grave and so- 
 lemn reflections in this new page, opened in the 
 book of life. I never could understand how people 
 can dance out the old year, and welcome in the 
 new with gaiety and rejoicings. If the departed 
 year has brought us sorrow, (and over how few 
 does it revolve without bringing it!) we look on 
 its departure with chastened feelings ; and if its 
 circle has been marked by bright days, how can 
 we see it die without indulging a tender melan- 
 choly ? I felt aU this last night, when the ghosts 
 of departed joys stood before my mind's eye ; and 
 I breathed a heartfelt aspiration that the coming 
 year may pass as free from heavy trials as the 
 last. What a merciful arrangement of Divine 
 Providence is the impenetrable veil which covers 
 our destinies ! And yet there are mortals who 
 have desired to pierce it ; who have thirsted for 
 that knowledge which, if obtained, might empoison 
 the present. How worse than vain is this desire 
 of prying into futurity ! Do we not know that our 
 lives, and those of all dear to us, hang on so frail 
 a thread, that a moment may see it cut by inexo- 
 rable fate ! — that it is the condition of our being 
 to behold our friends (the links that bind us to 
 existence,) snapt widely ! And yet we would wish 
 to lift the dread veil that hides the yawning graves, 
 to be filled, perhaps in a few days, by some one 
 whose death will render earth a desert. Far, far 
 from me be this unenviable prescience ; and let 
 me not tremble for the future by foreseeing what 
 it contains. 
 
 OP DANCING AND DRESS IN PRANCE. 
 
 All we have heard in praise of French dancing 
 is borne out by what I have seen even in this pro- 
 vincial town. Nothing can be more graceful, or 
 unaffected; no attempt at display is visible; no 
 entre-chats, that alarm people with tender feet for 
 their safety ; and no exhibition of vigour likely to 
 bring its practisers to the melting mood; a mood 
 
 214 
 
BI 
 
 BO 
 
 never sufficiently to be reprobated in refined so- 
 ciety. The waltz in France loses its objectionable 
 familiarity, by the manner in which it is perform- 
 ed. The gentleman does not clasp his fair partner 
 round the waist with a freedom repugnant to the 
 modesty and destructive to the ceiniure of the lady ; 
 but so arranges it, that he assists her movements, 
 without incommoding her delicacy or her drapery. 
 In short, they manage these matters better in France 
 than with us ; and though no advocate for this exo- 
 tic dance, I must admit that, executed as I have seen 
 " it, it could not offend the most fastidious eye. 
 The French toilette, too, even at this distance 
 from the capital, is successfully attended to ; an 
 elegant simplicity distinguishes that of the young 
 ladies, whose robes of organd^ or tulle, of a snowy 
 whiteness, well buckled ceinture, bouquet of flow- 
 ers, well-out shoes, and delicately white gloves, 
 defy criticism, and convey the impression of having 
 been selected by the Graces to be worn for that 
 night only. No robe of materials too expensive to 
 be quickly laid aside, or chiffonSc and fanie by use, 
 here meets the sight ; no ceinture that betrays the 
 pressure it inflicts ; and no gloves that indicate 
 the warmth of the wearer's feelings, or those of 
 her partner, are to be seen. The result is, that 
 the young ladies are simply and tastefully attired, 
 with an extreme attention to the freshness of their 
 toilette, and a total avoidance of finery. A much 
 greater degree of prudery, if it may be so called, 
 is exercised in France than in England, with re- 
 gard to dress ; the robes of ladies of all ages con- 
 ceal much more of the bust and shoulders. They 
 claim some merit for this delicacy, though ill-na- 
 tured people are not wanting who declare that 
 prudence has more to say to the concealment than 
 modesty; the French busts and shoulders being 
 very inferior to the English. Of the former 1 have 
 had no means of judging, because they are so 
 covered by the dress ; but of the latter, all must 
 pronounce that they are charming. Great reserve 
 is maintained by the French ladies in society; 
 shaking hands with gentlemen is deemed indecor- 
 ous ; but to touch a lady's hand with the lips, 
 while bowing over it, is considered respectful. 
 The conversation of young ladies with their part- 
 ners in the dance, is nearly confined to monosylla- 
 bles ; and when ended, they resume their seats by 
 the side of their respective mothers, or chaperons, 
 only speaking when spoken to, and always with an 
 air of reserve, which is never laid aside in public. 
 
 BLOMBERG, BARBAEA, 
 A YOUNG lady of noble birth in Eatisbon, mis- 
 tress of Charles V., emperor of Germany. She 
 was the reputed mother of the natural son of 
 Charles, Don John of Austria, who, dying in 1578, 
 recommended her, and her son, Pyramus Conrad, 
 whom she afterwards had by her husband, to the 
 protection of Philip II. Accordingly, Philip sent 
 for Barbara into Spain, and settled her with a 
 handsome equipage at Mazote. 
 
 BIBI JAND, 
 Queen of Dekan in Hindostan in the sixteenth 
 century, was a wise and able princess. She main- 
 
 tained her dominions in peace and prosperity, and 
 repulsed with success the attacks of the Moguls, 
 who wished to subjugate them. 
 
 BILDERJIK, KATHARINE WILHELMINA, 
 Wife of the celebrated poet of Holland, died at 
 Haarlaem, in 1831. She was herself distinguished 
 for her poetic abilities ; and, in 1816, obtained a 
 prize offered at Ghent for the best poem on the 
 battle of Waterloo. 
 
 BILLINGTON, ELIZABETH, 
 
 The most celebrated English singer of her day, 
 was born in England, in 1770. She was the daugh- 
 ter of Mr. Weichsell, a German. At the age of 
 fourteen she made her first appearance as a singer, 
 at Oxford ; and two years afterwards married Mr. 
 Billington, whom she accompanied to Dublin. 
 Here she made her dibui in the opera of " Orpheus 
 and Eurydice." On returning to London, she ap- 
 peared at Covent Garden with great success, and 
 rapidly acquired a high reputation. She after- 
 wards visited the continent to avail herself of the 
 instructions of the masters of the art in Paris and 
 Italy. In 1796, she appeared at Venice and at 
 Rome, receiving everywhere the loudest expres- 
 sions of applause. In 1801, she returned to the 
 London stage, and astonished the whole world by 
 her Mandane, a performance that has hardly ever 
 been equalled in English opera. The last exhibi- 
 tion of her powers was for the benefit of a charity 
 at Whitehall chapel ; the queen, the prince-regent, 
 and most of the branches of the royal family, be- 
 ing present. She left England in 1817, and died 
 soon after at an estate she had purchased in the 
 Venetian territories. Her character as a private 
 individual was very bad. 
 
 BILLIONI, N. BUSSA, 
 A CELEBRATED actrcss at the theatres of France 
 and Brussels, died in 1783. 
 
 BOCCAGE, MARIE ANNE DU, 
 
 A CELEBEATED French poetess, member of the 
 academies of Rome, Bologna, Padua, Lyons, and 
 Rouen, was born in Rouen in 1710, and died in 
 1802. She was educated in Paris in a nunnery, 
 where she evinced a love of poetry. She became 
 the wife of a receiver of taxes in Dieppe, who died 
 soon after the marriage, leaving her a youthful 
 widow. She concealed her talents, however, till 
 the charms of youth were past, and first published 
 her productions in 1746. The first was a poem 
 " On the Mutual Influence of the Fine Arts and 
 Sciences." This gained the prize from the academy 
 of Rouen. She next attempted an imitation of 
 Paradise Lost, in six cantos ; then of the " Death 
 of Abel ;" next a tragedy, the " Amazons ;" and a 
 poem in ten cantos, called " The Columbiad." 
 Madame du Boccage was praised by her contem- 
 poraries with an extravagance, for which only her 
 sex and the charms of her person can account. 
 Forma Venus arte Minerva, was the motto of her 
 admirers, among whom were Voltaire, FonteneUe, 
 and Clairaut. She was always surrounded by dis- 
 tinguished men, and extolled in a multitude of 
 
 215 
 
BO 
 
 BO 
 
 poems, which, if collected, would fill several vo- 
 lumes. There is a great deal of entertaining 
 matter in the letters which she wrote on her tra- 
 vels in England and Holland, and in which one 
 may plainly see the impression she made upon her 
 contemporaries. Her works have been translated 
 into English, Spanish, German and Italian. 
 
 The following is a specimen of the versification 
 of Madame Boocage. These effusions may well 
 he styled the poetry of polite life, and therefore 
 we insert them in the language of the writer. 
 The piquancy and grace, which give efifect to the 
 original, would be nearly lost in a translation of 
 these pretty, sparkling French compliments into 
 plain common sense, and unsentimental English 
 rhyme. 
 
 A. M. BAILLT, 
 
 De VAcademie des Sciences, 
 
 Sur son Histoire de I'Astronomie Ancienne et Moderue. 
 
 O toi (Jont le savoir etonne, 
 
 Mais qui sais, en I'ornant de fleurs, 
 
 Instruire et charmer tes lecteurs, 
 
 Baily, que la gloire environne; 
 
 Ton style enchanteur et profond, 
 
 Des lauriers qui couvrent ton front, 
 
 Te promet la triple couronne. 
 
 Le public d6ja te la donne. 
 
 Du Mus6e ou brillaient jadis 
 
 Mairan, Voltaire et les Corneilles, 
 
 La palme est due a les merveilles. 
 
 Le Lyc6e, oil nos ^rudits 
 
 Du vieux tenis vantent les Merits, 
 
 Garde un prix pour tes doctes veilles. 
 
 D6s long-terns tes noms sent inscrits 
 
 Dans la savants Academic. 
 
 La, ton OEil, que guide Uranie, 
 
 Des fastes primitifs instruit. 
 
 Lit dans t'oubli du tems qui fuit : 
 
 Et si ta sublime magie 
 
 A voir ravenir te conduit, 
 
 Sous tes crayons, malgre I'envie, 
 
 Les traits peints au regard sgduit, 
 
 Y prendront la forme et la vie ; 
 
 Une Sibylle le predit. 
 
 La prediction est accomplie. 
 
 Tout est possible a ton genie. 
 
 BOIS DE LA PIERRE, LOUISE MARIE, 
 A LADY of Normandy, who possessed some po- 
 etical merit, and wrote memoirs for the history 
 of Normandy, &c. She died Sept. 14^1, 1730, 
 aged sixty-seven. 
 
 BONAPARTE, RAMOLINA MARIE 
 LETITIA, 
 
 Was born at Ajaccio in the island of Corsica, in 
 1748. The family of Ramolini is of noble origin, 
 and is derived from the counts of Colatto. The 
 founder of the Corsican branch had married the 
 daughter of a doge of Genoa, and had received 
 from that republic great and honourable distinc- 
 tions. The motlier of Madame Letitia married a 
 second time a Swiss named Fesch, whose family 
 was from Basle. He was a Protestant, but was 
 proselyted by his wife, and entered the Catholic 
 church. From this second marriage was born the 
 cardinal Fesch, half-brother of Madame Bonaparte. 
 Letitia was one of the most beautiful girls of Cor- 
 sica. She married Charles Bonaparte in 1766 ; 
 ke was a friend of Paoli, and a man of untarnished 
 
 honour. It is idle to insist on the nobility of the 
 Bonaparte family, since nobody can deny that the 
 deeds of Napoleon were at least equal to those of 
 the founders of any of the most splendid genealo- 
 gies in Europe ; but as no less a person than 
 Chateaubriand has condescended to second the 
 useless falsehoods of those who represented the 
 emperor as springing from a low and vulgar race, 
 it may here be stated, that from Nicolao Bona- 
 parte, exiled as a Ghibellin from Florence, in 1268, 
 to Charles, the Bonapartes can count seven gene- 
 rations of nobility. 
 
 Letitia Ramolini espoused Charles Bonaparte in 
 the midst of civil discords and wars ; through 
 every vicissitude she followed her husband, and 
 as few persons have been placed in more difiScult 
 conjunctures, few have exhibited such strength of 
 mind, courage, fortitude, and equanimity. The 
 most unexampled prosperity, and most unlooked- 
 for adversity have found her equal to the difficul- 
 ties of each. Her eight children who lived to 
 maturity were the following : Joseph, king of 
 Naples, and afterwards of Spain ; Napoleon ; Eliza, 
 grand-duchess of Tuscany; Luoien; Pauline, 
 princess Borghese ; Louis, king of Holland ; Caro- 
 line, queen of Naples ; and Jerome, Idng of West- 
 phalia. 
 
 In 1785 Charles Bonaparte being sent to France 
 as a deputy from the Corsican nobility, was seized 
 with a cancer of the stomach, and died at Mont- 
 pelier in the arms of his son Joseph. He left a 
 widow with eight children, and no fortune. Two 
 of the family were educated at the expense of the 
 government — Napoleon at Brienne, and Eliza at 
 St. Cyr — while the others found their mother an 
 instructress capable and energetic. Hers was a 
 character that displayed its resources in difficul- 
 ties ; and she always managed to maintain her 
 children in the position to which they were natu- 
 rally entitled. She was fond of saying of Napo- 
 leon, " That he had never given her a moment's 
 pain, not even at the time which is almost univer- 
 sally woman's hour of suffering." The 16th of 
 August, Madame Bonaparte was coming out of 
 church, when she was attacked with symptoms of 
 
 216 
 
BO 
 
 BO 
 
 an approaching event; she had bai'ely time to 
 enter her own house — a piece of tapesti-y hang- 
 ings was hastily thrown on the marble pavement 
 of the hall, and there Napoleon was born. The 
 tapesti-y represented a scene from tlie Iliad. 
 
 Madame Bonaparte was always kind and gen- 
 erous ; in ti-ouble she was the advocate and pro- 
 tectress of the unfortunate. When Jerome incm-red 
 his brother's displeasure for his American mai"- 
 riage, his mother restored him to favoui- ; and 
 when Lucien, for a fault of the same sort, was 
 exiled to Rome, Madame Letitia accompanied him. 
 When Napoleon became sovereign, he allotted her 
 a suitable income, upon which she maintained a 
 decorous court. After the disasters of 1816, she 
 retired to Kome, where she lived in a quiet and 
 dignified manner, seeing nobody but her own con- 
 nections, and sometimes strangers of high rank, 
 who were very desirous of being presented to her. 
 She never laid aside her black, after the death of 
 Napoleon. She died February i!d, 1836, at the 
 age of eighty-six. For several of the last yeai-s 
 of her life she was deprived of her sight, and was 
 bedridden. Madame Letitia was always honoured 
 and respected by those who were able to appre- 
 ciate her rare qualities. 
 
 BONTEMS, MADAME, 
 BoBN at Poi-is in 1718, died in the same city, 
 April 18th, 1768; had received from nature a 
 good understanding, and an excellent taste, which 
 were cultivated by a careful education. She was 
 acquainted with the foreign languages, and it is 
 to her that the French are indebted for the accu- 
 rate and elegant b-anslation of " Thomson's Sea- 
 sons." She was the centre of an amiable and 
 select society tliat frequented her house. Though 
 she was naturally very witty, she only made use 
 of this talent for displaying that of others. She 
 was not less esteemed for the qualities of her 
 heart than of her mind. 
 
 BORGHESE, MARIE PAULINE, 
 
 Princess, originally Bonaparte, sister of Napo- 
 leon, bom at Ajaccio, October 20th, 1780; went 
 when the English occupied Corsica in 1793, to 
 
 Marseilles, where she was on the point of marry- 
 ing Fr^ron, a member of the Convention, and son 
 of that critic whom Voltaire made famous, when 
 another lady laid claim to his hand. The beauti- 
 ful Pauline was then intended for general Duphot, 
 who was afterwaa-ds murdered at Rome in Decem- 
 ber, 1797 ; but she bestowed her hand from choice 
 on General Leclerc, then at Milan, who had been 
 in 1795 chief of the general stafiF of a division at 
 Marseilles, and had then fallen in love with her. 
 When he was sent to St. Domingo with the rank 
 of captain-general. Napoleon ordered her to ac- 
 company her husband with her son. She embarked 
 in December, 1801, at Brest, and was called by 
 the poets of the fleet the Galatea of the Greeks, 
 the Venus marina. Her statue in marble has 
 since been made by Canova at Rome, a successful 
 image of the goddess of beauty. She was no less 
 courageous than beautiful, for when the negroes 
 under Christophe stormed Cape Franyois, where 
 she resided, and Leclerc, who could no longer 
 resist the assailants, ordered his lady and child 
 to be carried on shipboard, she yielded only to 
 force. 
 
 After the death of her husband, November 23d, 
 
 1802, she moi-ried at Morfontaine, November 6, 
 
 1803, the prince Camillo Borghese. Her son died 
 at Rome soon after. With Napoleon, who loved 
 her tenderly, she had many disputes and as many 
 reconciliations ; for she would not always follow 
 the caprices of his policy. Yet even the proud 
 style in which she demanded what her brothers 
 begged, made her the more atti-active to Na- 
 poleon. Once, however, when she forgot herself 
 towards the empress, whom she never liked, she 
 was obliged to leave the court. She was yet in 
 disgi'ace at Nice, when Napoleon resigned his 
 crown in 1814 ; upon which occasion she imme- 
 diately appeared a tender sister. Instead of re- 
 maining at her palace in Rome, she set out for 
 Elba to join her brother, and acted the part of 
 mediator between him and the other members of 
 his family. When Napoleon landed in France, 
 she went to Naples to see her sister Caroline, and 
 afterwards retui-ned to Rome. Before the battle 
 of Waterloo she placed all her diamonds, which 
 were of great value, at the disposal of her brother. 
 They were in his carriage, which was token in 
 that battle, and was shown publicly in Loudon. 
 He intended to have returned them to her. 
 
 She lived afterwards separated from her hus- 
 band at Rome, where she occupied part of the 
 palace Borghese, and where she possessed, from 
 1816, the villa Sciarra. Her house, in which taste 
 and love of the fine arts prevailed, was the centre 
 of the most splendid society at Rome. She often 
 saw her mother, her brothers Lucien and Louis, 
 and her uncle Fesch. When she heard of the 
 sickness of her brother Napoleon, she repeatedly 
 requested permission to go to him at St. Helena. 
 She finally obtained her request, but the news of 
 his death arrived immediately after. She died 
 June 9th, 1825, at Florence. She left many lega- 
 cies, and a donation, by the interest of which two 
 young men of Ajaccio will be enabled to study 
 medicine and surgery. The rest of her property 
 
 217 
 
BO 
 
 BO 
 
 she left to her brothers, the count of St. Leu and 
 the prince of Montfort. Her whole property 
 amounted to 2,000,000 francs. 
 
 Pauline was very fond of Italian poetry, and 
 took great pleasure in listening to the melancholy 
 verses of Petrarch. Among her accomplishments, 
 the most remarkable certainly was her dramatic 
 talent, which she displayed in private theatricals. 
 Her marriage with the prince Borghese had never 
 given anything like domestic happiness ; they had 
 long been separated, when, shortly before her 
 death, in 1825, a reconciliation was effected, and 
 they established their residence at Florence. She 
 was then forty-five years old, but already felt the 
 undermining effects of her fatal malady. Pauline 
 had led a life of pleasure and folly, but her death- 
 bed presented a scene that is sometimes wanting 
 at the close of better-ordered lives. She exhibited 
 the utmost tranquillity, resignation, and courage. 
 Calling her husband, she begged his pardon for 
 the' causes of displeasure she had given him. She 
 wrote, with her own hands, a will in which nobody 
 was forgotten — even mere acquaintances were 
 mentioned with appropriate bequests. She fulfilled 
 all those duties the Roman Catholic church enjoins 
 with every mark of the sincerest repentance, and 
 warmest devotion. She spoke with the tenderest 
 affection of her family, only one of whom, Jerome, 
 was with her ; she died clasping a picture of the 
 emperor, and her last worldly thought seemed to 
 be with him. Let us hope that this altered frame 
 of mind proceeded from real penitence for the 
 serious errors that stained her early days ; for the 
 truth of history compels the acknowledgment that 
 this princess, beautiful, accomplished, high-minded, 
 spirited, and generous, had deserved, by her ill 
 conduct, the repugnance with which prince Ca- 
 millo Borghese, for many years, regarded her. 
 He appears to have entirely forgiven her, as he 
 manifested a deep aiBiction at her death. 
 
 BOUGNET, MADAME, 
 
 Is celebrated for her humanity during the 
 French revolution of 1793, in concealing some of 
 the proscribed deputies, though death was the 
 consequence of this mark of friendship. After 
 supporting these unfortunate men for some time, 
 and seeing them escape from her abode only to 
 perish on the scaffold, she was herself dragged 
 before the tribunal of Bordeaux, and suffered 
 death with Christian resignation. 
 
 BOURETTE, CHARLOTTE, 
 Whose first husband was M. Cur^, was a French 
 poetess and lemonade-seller, called la Muse limona- 
 diire. She was born at Paris in 1714, and died 
 there in 1784. Madame Bourette kept the Gaf4 
 AlUmand, and was celebrated for her numerous 
 productions in prose and verse. Her writings in- 
 troduced her to the notice of several sovereigns, 
 princes and princesses of the blood royal, and 
 many of the most celebrated men of her time. 
 Her poetry is careless and prosaic, but her prose 
 compositions poetic and brilliant. She also wrote 
 a comedy, " The Coquette Punished," which was 
 acted with success in the TMatre Frangais. 
 
 M. de Fontenelle, visiting Madame Bourette, 
 addressed to her these two lines, 
 
 " Si les dames ont droit d'introducire des modes. 
 En prose disonnais on doit faire les odes." 
 
 To this, the lady replied as follows : — 
 
 TO M. HE rONTENELLE. 
 
 Clier Anacreon de Neustrie, 
 Dont la rare et sage folie 
 Joint Epicure avec Z6non, 
 Votre visite en ma maison, 
 Malgr6 le poison de I'Envie, 
 En tout terns, en toute saison, 
 Fera le plaisir de ma vie. 
 Mais en ce saint teins de pardon 
 Ciue nous accorde le Saint-Pere, 
 duel compliment puis-je vous faie 
 Qui n'ait un fumet d'oraison ? 
 L'on ne parle que de prigre, 
 De conftrence et de sermon. 
 Vous le B9avez, fils d'Apollon, 
 Je peux le dire sans myst§re, 
 Nous parlous tout autre jargon. 
 II faut done sagement me taire, 
 Ou vous dire avec onction : 
 Vous m'avez fait faveur insigne; 
 Ah ! seigneur, je n'6tois pas digne 
 Que vous vinssiez dans ma maison! 
 
 BOULLOUGNE, MAGDELAINE DE, 
 Was born at Paris in 1644. She painted histo- 
 rical pieces, but excelled in flowers and fruits 
 She died 1710. Her sister, Genevieve, painted in 
 the same style, and with equal merit. She died 
 1708, aged sixty-three. 
 
 BOURGAIN, THERESE, 
 Engaged at the Theatre Franjais, in Paris, 
 acted the parts of heroines in tragedy, and the 
 young artless girls in comedy. She was a native 
 of Paris. Palissot encouraged her, and the cele- 
 brated Dumesnil, then eighty years old, gave her 
 instructions. " Pamela," (by F. de Neufchateau), 
 " Melanie," (by la Harpe), and " Monime," (a 
 character in " Mithridat," by Voltaire), were her 
 most successful parts in tragedy ; but in comedy 
 she was greater. She avoided the common fault 
 of most actresses who wish to excel in both kinds, 
 namely, the transferring of the tragic diction to 
 that of comedy, which latter requires, in dialogue, 
 an easy, free, and well-supported style. If she 
 did not reach the accomplished Mile. Mars, her 
 graceful vivacity, sufficiently aided by study and 
 art, had peculiar charms. She acted also male 
 parts, and her triumph in this kind was the 
 "Page," in the " Marriage of Figaro." She was 
 one of the members of the Theatre Franjais, whom 
 Napoleon had selected to entertain the congress 
 of kings at Erfurt ; at the demand of Alexander 
 I., she went, 1809, to St. Petersburg, where she 
 was much applauded as Eugenia ; in Konigsberg, 
 she gave recitations before the late queen Louisa 
 of Prussia, who rewarded her liberally; and in 
 the same year she returned to Paris, where justice 
 has always been done to her eminent talents. 
 
 BOURGET, CLEMENCE DE, 
 A lAET born of respectable parents at Lyons. 
 She possessed so much merit as a writer, a musi- 
 cian, and a poetess, that she was presented to two 
 
 218 
 
BO 
 
 BR 
 
 monarohs, who passed through Lyons, as the 
 greatest ornament of her native city. She died 
 of a broken heart, in consequence of the loss of 
 her lover, John de Peyrat, who fell at the siege 
 of Beaurepaire, in 1561. She was the contempo- 
 rary of Louise LabbS, la belle CordUre, and was 
 very much attached to her, but the conduct of 
 Louise at length compelled her more exemplary 
 friend to withdraw her friendship. 
 
 BOURiaNON, ANTOINETTE, 
 Was a celebrated religious enthusiast, and 
 founder of a sect which acquired so much import- 
 ance that, under the name of the Bourignian doc- 
 trine, it is to this day one of the heresies renounced 
 by candidates for holy orders in the Church of 
 Scotland. She was the daughter of a LiUe mer- 
 chant, and was born in 1616 ; she was so singu- 
 larly deformed at her birth, that a family consul- 
 tation was held on the propriety of destroying the 
 infant, as a monster. This fate she escaped, but 
 remained an object of dislike to her mother, in 
 consequence of which her childhood was passed in 
 solitude and neglect ; and the first books she got 
 hold of chancing to be " Lives of the Early Chris- 
 tians" and mystical tracts, her ardent imagination 
 acquired the visionary turn that marked her life. 
 It has been asserted that her religious zeal dis- 
 played itself so early, that at four years of age 
 she entreated to be removed to a more Christian 
 country than Lille, where the unevangelical lives 
 of the towns-people shocked her. 
 
 As Antoinette grew up, her appearance im- 
 proved in a measure, and, being a considerable 
 heiress, her deformity did not prevent her from 
 being sought in marriage ; and when she reached 
 her twentieth year, one of her suitors was accepted 
 by her parents. But the enthusiast had made a 
 vow of virginity ; and on the day appointed for 
 celebrating her nuptials, Easter-day, in 1680, she 
 fled, disguised as a hermit. She soon after ob- 
 tained admittance into a convent, where she first 
 began to make proselytes, and gained over so many 
 of the nuns, that the confessor of the sisterhood 
 procured her expulsion not only from the convent 
 but from the town. Antoinette now wandered 
 about France, the Netherlands, Holland and Den- 
 mark, everywhere making converts, and support- 
 ing herself by the labour of her hands, till 1648, 
 when she inherited her father's property. She 
 was then appointed governess of an hospital at 
 LUle, but soon after was expelled the town by the 
 police, on account of the disorders that her doc- 
 trines occasioned. She then resumed her wander- 
 ings. About this time, she was ^gain persecuted 
 with suitors, two of whom were so violent, each 
 threatening to kill her if she would not marry him, 
 that she was forced to apply to the police for pro- 
 tection, and two men were sent to guard her house. 
 She died in 1680, and left all her property to the 
 Lille hospital of which she had been governess. 
 
 She believed that she had visions and ecstatic 
 trances, in which God commanded her to restore 
 the true evangelical church which was extinct. 
 She allowed no Liturgy, worship being properly 
 internal. Her doctrines were highly mystical, and 
 
 she required an impossible degree of perfection 
 from her disciples. She is said to have been ex- 
 traordinarily eloquent, and was at least equally 
 diligent, for she wrote twenty-two large volumes, 
 most of which were printed at a private press she 
 carried about with her for that purpose. After 
 her death, Poiret, a mystical, Protestant divine, 
 and a disciple of the Cartesian philosophy, wrote 
 her life, and reduced her doctrines into a regular 
 system. She made numerous proselytes, among 
 whom were many men of ability. 
 
 Though wealthy, she was by no means benevo- 
 lent, or even commonly charitable ; and she is said 
 to have exercised over her family and servants, 
 "a government as cruel as that of the Sicilian 
 court," and to have justified herself, by maintain- 
 ing that anger was the love of justice and true 
 virtue, and alleging the severities used by the 
 prophets and apostles. 
 
 BOVETTE DE BLEMUR, JACQUELINE, 
 
 Embbaced early a religious life, and died at 
 Chatillon, in 1696, aged seventy-eight. She wrote 
 several theological works. 
 
 BOVEY, CATHARINE, 
 Makried, at fifteen, William Bovey, an English 
 gentleman of opulence and respectability in Glou- 
 cestershire. To great beauty, she added the highest 
 degree of benevolence, and all the gentle virtues 
 of private life ; so that she is deservedly extolled 
 by Sir Richard Steele, in his dedication of the two 
 volumes of his "Ladies' Library." She was left 
 a widow at the age of twenty-two, and died at 
 Haxley, in 1728, aged fifty-seven. Her maiden 
 name was Riches. 
 
 BRACHMAN, LOUISE, 
 BoEN in 1778, at Rochlitz. She was an intimate 
 friend of Schiller and Novalis, and contributed, in 
 1799, over the signature of Louise, a number of 
 poems to the Musen-Almenach (Calendar of the 
 Muses), a periodical edited by those two authors. 
 She was of a very uneven temperament, and sub- 
 ject to long-continued fits of melancholy. Disap- 
 pointed in two different afi'airs of the heart, and 
 afterwards in some other expectations of minor 
 importance, she committed suicide, in 1822, while 
 on a visit to some friends in Italy, by drowning 
 herself in the river Saale. She has written, 
 "Poems," published in Dessau and Leipzig, 1800; 
 "Blossoms of Romance," Vienna, 1816; "The 
 Ordeal," "Novelettes," "Scenes from Reality," 
 and " Errors." 
 
 BRADSTREET, ANNE, 
 Datightee of Thomas Dudley, governor of Mas- 
 sachusetts from 1634 to 1650, and wife of Simon 
 Bradstreet, is entitled to remembrance as the 
 author of the first volume of poetry published in 
 America. Her work was dedicated to her father, 
 and published in 1642. The title is, "Several 
 Poems, compiled with great variety of wit and 
 learning, full of delight; wherein especially is 
 contained a complete discourse and description of 
 the four elements, constitutions, ages of man, sea- 
 
 219 
 
BR 
 
 BR 
 
 sons of the year, together Tvith an exact epitome 
 of the three first monarchies, viz: the Assyrian, 
 Persian, Grecian, and Roman Commonwealth, from 
 the beginning to the end of their last king, "with 
 divers other pleasant and serious poems. By a 
 Gentlewoman of New England." She received 
 for her poetical talents the title of the Tenth Muse, 
 and the most distinguished men of the day were 
 her friends, and the admirers of her genius. "When 
 we examine the poetry of that period, and see the 
 miserable attempts at rhyme, made by the male 
 writers, we must believe Mrs. Bradstreet was *' as 
 learned as her coadjutors, and vastly more poeti- 
 cal." The preface to the third edition, printed 
 in 1658, thus sketches her character : " It is the 
 work of a woman honoured and esteemed where 
 she lives for her gracious demeanour, her eminent 
 parts, her pious conversation, her courteous dis- 
 position, her exact diligence in her place, and dis- 
 creet management of her family occasions ; and 
 more so, these poems are the fruits of a few hours 
 curtailed from her sleep, and other refreshments." 
 When Mrs. Bradstreet wrote her poems, she 
 could have had no models, save Chaucer and 
 Spenser. Milton had not become known as a 
 writer when her work was published, and Shak- 
 speare was not read by the Puritans of New Eng- 
 land. On the whole, we think Anne Bradstreet 
 fairly entitled to the place assigned her by one of 
 her biographers, "at the head of the American 
 poets of that time." She died in 1672, aged 
 sixty. Mrs. Bradstreet was mother of eight child- 
 ren, whom she trained with great discretion. 
 
 EXTRACTS rilOM "LINES," ADDRESSED TO HER 
 HUSBAND. 
 
 If ever two were one, then surely we ; 
 If ever man were loved by wife, then thee; 
 If ever wife were happy in a man, 
 Compare with me, ye women, if ye can. 
 
 ******* 
 Phoebus, make haste— the day 's too long— begone! 
 The silent nigJit'g the fittest time for moan. 
 But stay, this once— unto my suit give ear — 
 And tell my griefs in eilher hemisphere; 
 If in thy swift career thou canst make stay, 
 I crave this boon, this errand by the way : 
 Commend me to the man, more loved than life ; 
 Shovi' him the sorrows of his widowed wife; 
 And if he love, how can he there abide? 
 My interest 's more than all the world beside. . . . 
 Tell him the countless steps that thou dost trace 
 That once a day thy spouse thou mayst embrace, 
 And when thou canst not meet by loving mouth. 
 Thy rays afar salute her from the south ; 
 But for one month, 1 see no day, poor soul! 
 Like those far situate beneath the pole, 
 Which day by day long wait for thy arise — 
 
 how they joy when thou dost light the skies! 
 Tell him I would say more, but can not well; 
 Oppressed minds abruptest tales do tell. 
 
 Now part with double speed, mark what I say, 
 By all our loves conjure him not to stay! 
 
 ******* 
 How soon, my dear, death may my steps attend, 
 How soon 't may be thy lot to lose thy friend, 
 We both are ignorant; yet love bids me 
 These farewell lines to recommend to thee, 
 That when that knot's untied that made us one, 
 
 1 may seem thine, who in effect am none. 
 And if I see not half my days that 's due. 
 
 What Nature would, God grant to yours and you ; 
 The many faults that well you know I have 
 Let be interred in my oblivious grave ; 
 
 If any worth or virtue is in me, 
 
 Let that live freshly in thy memory; 
 
 And when thou feel'st no grief, as 1 no harms. 
 
 Yet love thy dead, who long lay in thine arms: 
 
 And when thy loss shall be repaid, with gains, 
 
 Look to my little babes, my dear remains. 
 
 EXTRACTS FROM "CONTEMPLATIONS." 
 
 Then higher on the glistering sun I gaz'd, 
 Whose beams were shaded by the leavie tree. 
 The more I looked, the more I grew amaz'd. 
 And softly said, what glory's like to thee? 
 Soul of this world, this Universe's eye, 
 No wonder, some made thee a deity; 
 Had I not better known, (alas) the same had I. 
 
 Thou as a bridegroom from thy chamber rushest. 
 
 And as a strong man, joyes to run a race, 
 
 The morn doth usher thee, with smiles and blushes, 
 
 The earth reflects her glances in thy face. 
 
 Birds, insects, animals with vegetive. 
 
 Thy heart from death and dulness doth revive: 
 
 And in the darksome womb of fruitful nature dive. 
 
 Thy swift annual, and diurnal course. 
 
 Thy daily straight, and yearly oblique path. 
 
 Thy pleasing fervour, and thy scorching force, 
 
 All mortals here the feeling knowledge hath. 
 
 Thy presence makes it day, thy absence night, 
 
 Quaternal seasons caused by thy might: 
 
 Hail creature, full of sweetness, beauty and delight. 
 
 Art thou so full of glory, that no eye 
 
 Hath strength, thy shining rayes once to behold? 
 
 And is thy splendid throne erect so high? 
 
 As to approach it, can no earthly mould. 
 
 How full of glory then must thy Creator be, 
 
 Who gave this bright light lustre unto thee! 
 
 Admir'd, ador'd for ever, be that Majesty. 
 
 Silent alone, where none or saw, or heard. 
 
 In pathless paths I lead my wandering feet. 
 
 My humble eyes to lofty skyes I rear'd 
 
 To sing some song, my mazed Muse thought meet, 
 
 My great Creator I would magnifie. 
 
 That nature had, thus decked liberally: 
 
 But Ah, and Ah, again, my imbecility I 
 
 I heard the merry grasshopper then sing. 
 
 The black clad cricket, bear a second part, 
 
 They kept one tune and plaid on the same string. 
 
 Seeming to glory in their little art. 
 
 Shall creatures abject, thus their voices raise? 
 
 And in their kind resound their Maker's praise : 
 
 Whilst I as mute, can warble forth no higher layes. 
 
 When present times look hack to ages past. 
 
 And men in being fancy those are dead. 
 
 It makes things gone perpetually to last. 
 
 And calls back months and years that long since fled. 
 
 It makes a man more aged in conceit. 
 
 Than was Methuselah, or 's grand-sire great: 
 
 While of their persons and their acts his mind doth treat. 
 
 ******* 
 When I behold the heavens as in their prime. 
 And then the earth (though old) still clad in green, 
 The stones and trees, insensible of time, 
 Nor age nor wrinkle on their front are seen ; 
 If winter come, and greenness then do fade, 
 A Spring returns, and they more youthful made; 
 But man grows old, lies down, remains where once he 's laid. 
 
 By birth more noble than those creatures all, 
 
 Yet seems by nature and by custome cursed. 
 
 No sooner born, but grief and care make fall 
 
 That state obliterate he had at first. 
 
 Nor youth, nor strength, nor wisdom spring again. 
 
 Nor habitations long their names retain, 
 
 But in oblivion to the final day remain. 
 
 Shall I then praise the heavens, the trees, the earth. ^ 
 Because their beauty and their strength last longer ? 
 Shall I wish their, or never to had birth, 
 Because they're bigger, and their bodyes stronger? 
 
 220 
 
BR 
 
 BR 
 
 Nay, they shall darken, perish, fade and dye. 
 And when unmade, soever shall they lye. 
 But man was made for endless immortality. 
 
 "eleot" on the death op a gbandohild who 
 
 DIED IN 1665. 
 
 Farewell, dear child, my heart 's too much content, 
 
 Farewell, sweet babe, the pleasure of mine eye. 
 Farewell, fair flower, that for a space was lent. 
 
 Then ta'en away into eternity. 
 Blest babe, why should 1 once bewail thy fate. 
 Or sigh, the days so soon were terminate, 
 Sith thou art settled in an everlasting state? 
 
 By nature, trees do rot when they are grown. 
 
 And plums and apples thoroughly ripe do fall. 
 And corn and grass are in their season mown. 
 
 And time brings down what is both strong and tall. 
 But plants new set, to be eradicate. 
 And buds new blown, to have so short a date, 
 Is by His hand alone, that nature guides, and fate. 
 
 BRAMBATI, EMILIA, 
 
 Or Bergamo, was the wife of Ezechiello Solza, 
 distinguished for her poetic talent, and for her 
 eloquence. She heoame the pleader for the life 
 of her brother, condemned to death by the Tribu- 
 nal of Venice, and drew tears from the eyes of all 
 the bystanders. Some of her poems remain. 
 
 BRAMBATI, ISOTTA, 
 Oe Bergamo, was a good classical scholar, and 
 understood all the polite languages of Europe. 
 She wrote poetry with great elegance ; and is said 
 to have managed several law-suits, pleading them 
 herself, in the Senate of Milan, with consummate 
 ability, and, what is more extraordinary, without 
 being thought ridiculous. She was the wife of 
 Girolamo Grumelli. She died in 1586. Some of 
 her letters and poems were published by Comir 
 Ventura, in Bergamo, in 1587. 
 
 BRATTON, MARTHA, 
 A NATIVE of Rowan county, N. Carolina, mar- 
 ried William Bratton, of South Carolina, and, dur- 
 ing the Revolution, a colonel in the American 
 army. While her husband was engaged with his 
 troops away from home, Mrs. Bratton was often 
 left to defend herself and the stores entrusted to 
 her charge. At one time, she blew up the ammu- 
 nition left under her care, when she saw that 
 otherwise it would fall into the hands of the ene- 
 my, and boldly avowed the deed, that no one else 
 might suffer for her act. When threatened with 
 instant death by a British soldier, if she persisted 
 in refusing to give information concerning her hus- 
 band's retreat, she continued firm in her resolu- 
 tion. Being rescued by the intervention of an 
 ofScer, she repaid the obligation by saving him 
 from death, when taken prisoner by the American 
 party, and by entertaining him at her house till 
 he was exchanged. She died in 1816. 
 
 BREESE, MARY, 
 
 A siNOTJLAR character, was born at Lynn, in 
 Norfolk, England, in 1721. She regularly took 
 out a shooting license, kept hounds, and was a 
 sure shot. She died in 1799. By her desire, her 
 dogs and favourite mare were killed at her death 
 and buried in the grave with her. 
 
 BREGY, CHARLOTTE SAUMAISE DE 
 CHAZAN, COMTESSE DE, 
 
 Niece of the learned Saumaise (Salraasius), was 
 one of the ladies of honour to queen Anne of Aus- 
 tria. She was distinguished for her beauty and 
 wit, both of which she preserved to an advanced 
 age; she died at Paris, April 13th, 1693, aged 
 seventy-four. She wrote a collection of letters 
 and verses in 1688, in which we meet with many 
 ingenious thoughts ; her poems turn almost en- 
 tirely on metaphysical love, which employed her 
 mind more than her heart. But there are several 
 pieces on other subjects. In one of them, she 
 gives the following portrait of herself; " I am 
 fond of praise ; and therefore return it with inte- 
 rest to those from whom I receive it. I have a 
 proud and scornful heart ; but this does not pre- 
 vent me from being gentle and civil. I never op- 
 pose the opinions of any ; but I must own that I 
 never adopt them to the prejudice of my own. I 
 may say with truth that I am naturally modest 
 and discreet, and that pride always takes care to 
 preserve these qualities in me. I am indolent ; I 
 never seek pleasure and diversions, but when my 
 friends take more pains than I do to procure them 
 for me, I feel myself obliged to appear very gay 
 at them, though I am not so in fact. I am not 
 much given to, intrigue ; but if I were involved in 
 one, I think I should certainly conduct mj'self off 
 with prudence and discretioii. I am constant, 
 even to obstinacy, and secret to excess. In order 
 to form a friendship with me, all advances must 
 be made by the other party ; but I amply compen- 
 sate this trouble in the end ; for I serve my friends 
 with all the warmth usually employed in selfish 
 interests. I praise and defend them, without once 
 consenting to what I may hear against them. I 
 have not virtue enough to be free from all desire 
 of the goods of fortune and honours ; but I have 
 too much for pursuing any of the ways that com- 
 monly lead to them. I act in the world conform- 
 ably to what it ought to be, and too little accord- 
 ing to what it is." Her personal appearance she 
 also describes as attractive ; which all contempo- 
 rary writers confirm, and therefore she might 
 mention it without vanity. She corresponded with 
 Henrietta, queen of England ; with Christina of 
 Sweden ; and with most of the illustrious charac- 
 ters of Europe. 
 
 BRENTANO, SOPHIA, 
 (Heb maiden name was Schubart,) was born in 
 the year 1770, at Altenbnrg. She married, when 
 quite a young girl, F. E. K. Thereau, professor at 
 the University of Jena ; in 1804, she was divorced 
 from him, and married, in 1805, the author Clem. 
 Brentano, with whom she lived in Frankford, and 
 afterwards in Heidelberg, where she died in 1806. 
 As a poetess, she evinced a lively and highly cul- 
 tivated imagination, great harmony in versifica- 
 tion, combined with a high polish in her composi- 
 tions. She published two volumes of poetry, at 
 Berlin, 1800, "Amanda and Edward," at Frank- 
 fort, 1803, Spanish and Italian novellettes, in 
 1804, and various other minor tales. 
 
 221 
 
BR 
 
 BR 
 
 BRINVILLIERS, MARIE MARGUE- 
 RITE, MARCHIONESS DE, 
 Was a woman whose singular atrocity gives her 
 a species of infamous claim to notice in this col- 
 lection. She was born at Paris in 1651, being the 
 daughter of D'Aubrai, lieutenant-civil, of Paris, 
 who married her to N. Gobelin, marquis of Brin- 
 villiers. Although possessed of attractions to cap- 
 tivate lovers, she was for some time much attached 
 
 to her husband, but at length became madly in 
 love with a Gascon officer, named Godeu St. Croix. 
 This young man had been introduced to her by the 
 marquis himself, who was adjutant of the regi- 
 ment of Normandy. Her father, being informed 
 of the affair, imprisoned the officer, who was a 
 mere adventurer, in the Bastile, where he was de- 
 tained a year. This punishment of her lover 
 made the marchioness, apparently, more circum- 
 spect ; but she nourished in her heart the most 
 implacable hatred towards her father, and her 
 whole family. 
 
 While St. Croix was in the Bastile, he learned, 
 from an Italian named Exili, the art of composing 
 the most subtle and mortal poisons ; and the re- 
 sult, on his release, was the destruction, by this 
 means, in concurrence with the marchioness, of 
 her father, sister, and two brothers, all of whom 
 were poisoned in the same year, 1670. During 
 the whole time, the marchioness was visiting the 
 hospitals, outwardly as a devotee, but, as was af- 
 terwards strongly suspected, really in order to try 
 on the prisoners the effect of the poisons produced 
 by her paramour. 
 
 The discovery of these monstrous criminals 
 happened in a very extraordinary manner. St. 
 Croix, while at work distilling poison, accidentally 
 dropped the glass mask which he wore to prevent 
 inhaling the noxious vapour ; the consequence was 
 his instantaneous death. As no one appeared to 
 claim his effects, they fell into the hands of govern- 
 ment, and the marchioness imprudently laid claim 
 to a casket. She seemed so very anxious to obtain 
 it, that the authorities ordered it to be opened, 
 when it was found to be filled with packets of 
 
 poison, with ticketed descriptions of the effects 
 these would produce. 
 
 When this wicked woman was informed of the 
 opening of the casket, she fled to England ; from 
 thence she went to Liege, where she was arrested 
 and brought back to Paris. She was tried for the 
 murder of her father, sister, and brothers, con- 
 victed, and condemned to be beheaded and then 
 burned. In this dreadful condition she evinced 
 remarkable courage, or rather insensibility. When 
 she entered the chamber where she was to be put 
 to the question by the torture of swallowing water, 
 she observed three buckets-full provided, and ex- 
 claimed — ^"It is surely intended to drown me; 
 for it is absurd to suppose one of my size can 
 swallow all that." 
 
 She listened to her sentence without exhibiting 
 either weakness or alarm, and showed no other 
 emotion on her way to execution, than to request 
 that she might be so placed as to see the officer 
 who had apprehended her. She ascended the 
 ladder, unaided and barefoot, and stood boldly up 
 on the scaffold. What adds to the atrocity of this 
 wretched woman's character, she was proved to 
 have had connections with several persons suspected 
 of the same crimes, and to have provided poisons 
 for the use of others. Many persons of rank and 
 power died suddenly about this period ; and the 
 investigation appeared likely to unveil so much 
 guilt in high places, that it was from policy, 
 though most unjustly and disgracefully, aban- 
 doned. 
 
 The marchioness of Brinvilliers seems to have 
 been by nature inclined to wickedness. She ac- 
 knowledged in her last confession, that at the age 
 of seven she set fire to a house, urged by an inex- 
 plicable desire to commit a crime. Yet she made 
 pretension to religion, went regularly to confes- 
 sion, and when arrested at Leige, a sort of general 
 form was found in her possession, which suffi- 
 ciently alluded to her criminality to form a strong 
 presumption against her. She probably had more 
 respect for the ceremonies of her faith than for 
 the law of God. 
 
 BROOKE, FRANCES, 
 Whose maiden name was Moore, was the daugh- 
 ter of an English clergyman, and the wife of the 
 Rev. John Brooke, rector of Colny in Norfolk, of 
 St. Angustine in the city of Norwich, and chaplain 
 to the garrison of Quebec. She was as remarkable 
 for her gentleness and suavity of manners as for 
 her literary talents. Her husband died on the 
 21st of January, 1789, and she herself expired on 
 the 26th of the same month, at Sleaford, England, 
 where she had retired to the house of her son, 
 who had a rectorship in that country. Her first 
 literary performance was " The Old Staid," a pe- 
 riodical work, begun in November, 1755, and con- 
 tinued every Saturday until about the end of July, 
 1756. In the same year she published "Virginia," 
 a tragedy, with odes, pastorals, and translations. 
 In the preface to this publication she assigns as a 
 reason for its appearance, " that she was precluded 
 from all hopes of ever seeing the tragedy brought 
 upon the stage, by there having been two so lately 
 
 222 
 
BR 
 
 BR 
 
 on the same subject." Prefixed to this publication 
 were proposals for printing by subscription a 
 poetical translation, -with notes, of "II Pastor 
 Fielo," a work vrhich -was probably never com- 
 pleted. 
 
 In 1763, she published a novel called "The 
 History of Lady Julia Maudeville," concerning 
 the plan of which there were various opinions, 
 though there seems to have been but one of the 
 execution. It was read with much avidity and 
 approbation. In the same year she published 
 " Letters from Juliet, Lady Catesby, to her Friend 
 Lady Henrietta Campley, translated from the 
 French." She soon afterwards went to Canada 
 with her husband, who was chaplain to the garri- 
 son at Quebec ; and there saw those romantic 
 scenes, so admirably painted in her next work, 
 entitled "Emily Montague," a novel in four vo- 
 lumes, written in 1769. The next year she pub- 
 lished " Memoirs of the Marquis de St. Folaix," 
 in four volumes. On her return to England, acci- 
 dent brought her acquainted with Mrs. Yates, and 
 an intimacy was formed that lasted as long as that 
 lady lived ; and when she died, Mrs. Brooke pub- 
 lished an eulogy to her memory in the " Gentle- 
 man's Magazine." If we are not mistaken, Mrs. 
 Brooke had, with Mrs. Yates, some share in the 
 opera-house. She certainly had some share of the 
 libellous abuse which the management of that 
 theatre at that time produced. Her first play, 
 Virginia, was refused by Garrick. After several 
 years she tried her fortune once more at the 
 theatre ; but the tragedy she wrote had not the 
 good fortune to please Mr. Garrick, whose rejec- 
 tion of it excited the authoress's resentment so 
 much that she took a severe revenge on him, in a 
 novel published in 1777, in two volumes, called 
 " The Excursion." This invective she afterwards 
 regretted and retracted. In 1771, she translated 
 "Elements of the History of England, from the 
 invasion of the Romans to the reign of George II., 
 from the abb^ Millot," in four volumes. In 1781, 
 she wrote a tragedy called " The Siege of Sinope," 
 which was acted at Covent Garden, but added 
 little to her reputation ; it wanted energy and 
 originality. Her next and most popular piece was 
 " Rosina," acted at Covent Garden in 1782. Few 
 pieces have been equally successful. The simpli- 
 city of the story, the elegance of the language, 
 and the excellence of the music, caused it to be 
 admired for a long time. Her laSt work was 
 "Marian," acted in 1788, at Covent Garden, 
 with some success, but very much inferior to 
 Rosina. 
 
 BROOKS, MARIA, 
 Known as a poetess under the name (given to 
 her by Mr, Southey) of Maria del Occidente, was 
 descended from a Welsh family, settled at Medford, 
 in Massachusetts. Her maiden name was Gowen. 
 She was born about 1795, and early displayed un- 
 common powers of mind. She had rather favour- 
 able opportunities of education, yet her own genius 
 was her best teacher. When quite young, Maria 
 Gowen married Mr. Brooks, a merchant of Boston. 
 A few years after their marriage he lost the greater 
 
 part of his property, and Mrs. Brooks resorted to 
 poetry for occupation and amusement. In 1820, 
 she published " Judith, Esther, and other Poems," 
 which show considerable genius. Mr. Brooks 
 dying in 1823, his widow went to reside with her 
 relations in Cuba, where she wrote her principal 
 work, "Zophiel, or the Bride of Seven," which 
 was published by her at London, during a visit 
 that she made to England, in 1833. Part of the 
 time that she spent in England was passed by her 
 at the residence of Robert Southey, at Keswick, 
 who appreciated her genius very highly. In 1834 
 Mrs. Brooks returned to the United States. In 
 1843, she wrote for private circulation, " Idomea, 
 or the Vale of the Yumari," being simply her own 
 history under a different name. In the same year 
 Mrs. Brooks returned to Cuba, to take charge of 
 the estates left her by her uncle. She died at 
 Matanzas, in November, 1845. 
 
 The plot of "Zophiel, or the Bride of Seven," 
 was undoubtedly borrowed from the Book of To- 
 bit, in the Apocrypha, and may be fully under- 
 stood by reading that curious story. Sara, the 
 heroine in Tobit, is married to seven husbands, 
 successively, who all die on entering the bridal 
 chamber, each one "being killed by Asmodeus, 
 an evil spirit." At last Tobias, son of Tobit, is 
 taken under the care of " Raphael that was an 
 angel," and instructed how to overcome the evil 
 spirit. Tobias marries Sara, and drives off As- 
 modeus by means of " a smoke" made of the liver 
 and heart of a fish, — " The which smell when the 
 evil spirit had smelled, he fled into the utmost 
 parts of Egypt, and the angel bound him." 
 
 Mrs. Brooks has, however, displayed much ar- 
 tistic skill, as well as poetical talent, cultivated 
 taste, and literary research, in managing these 
 materials of her poem. " The Bride of Seven" 
 has many beautiful passages ; the descriptions are 
 gorgeous and glowing ; there is thrilling incident 
 and burning passion ; but it lacks nature, simpli- 
 city, and true feeling. It excites the fancy, leaving 
 the heart unmoved, comparatively ; therefore the 
 poem is deficient in that kind of interest which 
 insures popularity : though praised by critics, it 
 will never be read by the people. The minor 
 poems of Mrs. Brooks are finished with much care ; 
 some of these evince the deep affections of wo- 
 man's heart with great pathos and beauty. The 
 " Ode to the Departed" is one of the last of her 
 poems. 
 
 ODE TO THE DEPAKTED. 
 
 " Con Vistas del Cielo." 
 
 The dearth is sore ; the orange leaf is curled. 
 There's dust upon the marble o'er thy tomb, 
 My Edgar, fair and dear; 
 Though the fifth sorrowing year 
 Hath past, since first 1 knew thine early doom, 
 I see thee still, though death thy being hence hath hurled. 
 
 I could not bear my lot, now thou art goao — 
 With heart o'er.softened by the many tears 
 Remorse and grief have drawn — 
 Save that a gleam, a dawn, 
 (Haply, of that which lights thee now,) appears. 
 To unveil a few fair scenes of life's ne.xt coming morn. 
 
 223 
 
BR 
 
 BR 
 
 What— where is lieaven ? (earth's sweetest lips exclaim ;) 
 
 In all the holiest seers have writ or said, 
 
 Blurred are the pictures given ; 
 
 We know not what is heaven, 
 
 Save by those vie\vg, mysteriously spread, 
 
 When the soul looks afar by light of her own flame. 
 
 Yet all our spirits, while on earth so faint, 
 By glimpses dim, discern, conceive, or know, 
 The Eterual Power can mould 
 Real as fruits or gold — 
 Bid the celestial, roseate matter glow. 
 And forms more perfect smile than artists carve or paint. 
 
 To realize every creed, conceived 
 In mortal brain, by love and beauty charmed. 
 Even like the ivory maid 
 Who, as Pygmalion prayed. 
 Oped her white arms, to life and feeling warmed. 
 Would lightly task the power of life's great Chief believed. 
 
 If Grecian Phidias, in stone like this. 
 Thy tomb, could do so much, what can not he 
 Who from the cold, coarse clod, 
 By reckless labourer trod, 
 Can call such tints as meeting seraphs see, [kiss? 
 
 And give them breath and warmth like true love's soulfelt 
 
 Wild fears of dark annihilation, go ! 
 Be warm, ye veins, now blackening with despair ! 
 years o'er thee have revolved. 
 My first-born — thou 'rt dissolved — 
 AH —every tint — save a few ringlets fair — 
 Still, if thou didst not live, how could I love thee so? 
 
 Quick as the warmth which darts from breast to breast. 
 When lovers, from afar, each other see, 
 Flaply, thy spirit went, 
 Where mine would fain be sent. 
 To lake a heavenly form, designed to be 
 Meet dwelling for the soul thine azure eye exprest. 
 
 Thy deep-blue eye ! say, can heaven's bliss exceed 
 The joy of some brief moments tasted here ? 
 Ah! could I taste again — 
 Is there a mode of pain 
 Which, for such guerdon, could be deemed severe? 
 Be ours the forms of heaven, and let me bend and bleed ! 
 
 If one be lost, another serves as well; 
 Another mantle, or another fair, 
 As well may be his own 
 If one dies his — alone 
 He sighs not long; — enter his home, and there. 
 When past one little year, another fair will dwell. 
 
 Or see yon smiling Creole — her black hair 
 Braided and glittering, with one lover's gold : 
 Ere the quick flower has grown 
 O'er where he sleeps alone. 
 Already to some other lover sold, 
 Or given, what both call love, and he 's content to slrare. 
 
 Better for those who love this world, to be 
 Even as such; a pure, pure flame, intense, 
 Edgar, as thine, consumes 
 The cheek its light illumes; 
 And he whose heart enshrines such flame, must hence, 
 And join with it, betimes, its own eternity. 
 
 For masculine or feminine gave naught 
 Of fuel to the hallowed fire, that burned 
 And urged thee on, of life. 
 Reckless, amid the strife 
 For worldly wealth, that better had been spurned : 
 Thy happiness and love, alas ! were all I sought. 
 
 How could I kneel and kiss the hand of Fate, 
 Were it but mine to decorate some hall — 
 Here, where the soil I tread 
 Colours my feet with red — 
 Far down these isles, to hear your voices call, 
 Then haete to hear and tell what happ'd while sei)arate ! 
 
 Beautiful isles! beneath the sunset skies 
 Tall silver-shafled palm trees rise between 
 Full orange trees that shade 
 The living colonnade; 
 Alas! how sad, how sickening is the scene 
 That were ye at my side would be a paradise ! 
 
 E'en one of those cool caves which, light and dry. 
 In many a leafy hill-side, near this spot, 
 Seem as by Nature made 
 For shelter and for shade 
 To such as bear a homeless wanderer's lot. 
 Were home enough for me, could those I mourn be nigh. 
 
 Palace or cave (where 'neath the blossom and lime 
 Winter lies hid with wreaths) alike may be, 
 If love and taste unite, 
 A dwelling for delight, 
 And kings might leave their silken courts, to see 
 O'er such wild, garnished grot, the grandiflora climb. 
 
 Thus, thus, doth quick-eyed Fancy fondly wait 
 The pauses of my deep remorse between ; 
 Bnfore my anxious eyes 
 'Tis thus her pictures rise; 
 They show what is not, yet what might have been; 
 Angels, why came I not ? — why have I come too late ? 
 
 The cooling beverage — strengthening draught— as craved 
 The needs of both, could but these hands have given; 
 Could I have watched the glow — 
 The pulse, too quick, or slow — 
 My earnest, fond, reiterate prayers to Heaven, 
 Some angel might have come, besought, returned, and 
 saved. 
 
 To stay was imbecility — nay, more — 
 'T was crime — how yearned my panting heart to see. 
 When, by mere words delayed, 
 'Gainst the strong wish, I stayed, 
 (Trifling with that which inly spoke to me.) 
 And longed, and hoped, and feared, till all I feared was 
 
 Mild, pitying George, when maple-leaves were red 
 
 O'er Ladaiianna* in his much-loved north. 
 
 Breathed here his last farewell — 
 
 And when the tears that fell 
 
 From April, called Mohecan'sf violets forth, 
 
 Edgar, as following his, thy friendly spirit fled. 
 
 Now, side by side, 'neath cross and tablet white 
 Is laid, sweet brothers, all of you that's left; 
 Yet, all the tropic dew 
 Can damp, would seem not you: 
 Your finer particles from earth are reft, 
 Haply, (and so I 'II hope,) for lovelier forms of tight. 
 
 Myriads of beings, (for the whole that's known 
 In all this world's combined philosophy,) 
 The eternal will obeyed. 
 To finish what was made, 
 When, warm with new-breathed life, new earth and sea. 
 Returned the smile of him who blessed them from his 
 throne. 
 
 Such beings, haply, hovering near us now. 
 When flesh or flowers in beauty fade or fall. 
 Gather each precious tint 
 Once seen to glow and glint, 
 With fond economy to gladden all : 
 Heaven's hands, howe'er profuse, no atom's loss allow. 
 
 Yet, brothers, spirits, loiter if ye may 
 A little while, and look on all I do — 
 Oh! loiter for my sake. 
 Ere other tasks ye take. 
 Toward all I should do influence my viyw, 
 Then haste, to hear the spheres chime with heaven's fa- 
 vourite lay. 
 
 * Ladaiianna, the aboriginal name of the St. Lawrence. 
 t Mohecari, the aboriginal name of the Hudson. 
 
 224 
 
BR 
 
 BR 
 
 Go, hand in hand, to regions new and fair, 
 111 shapes and colours for the scene arrayed — 
 With looks as bland and dear 
 As charms, by glimpses, liere. 
 Receive divine commissions; follow — aid 
 Those legions formed in heaven for many a guardian care. 
 
 By every sigh, and throb, and painful throe, 
 Remembered but to heighten the delight 
 That crowns the advancing state 
 Of souls emancipate — 
 Oh! as I think of you, at lonely night. 
 Say to my heart, ye 're blest, and I can bear my wo. 
 
 Sire, Maker, Spirit, who alone canst know 
 My soul, and all the deep remorse that's there — 
 
 I ask no mitigation of my wo; 
 Yet pity me, and give me strength to bear I 
 
 Remorse ?— ah ! not for ill designedly done : 
 To look on pain, to me is pain severe ; 
 
 Yet, yet, dear forms which Death from me hath won. 
 Had Love been Wisdom, haply were ye here ! 
 
 Much have I suffered; yet this form, unscathed, 
 Declares thy kind protection, by its thrift : 
 
 With secret dews the wounded plant is bathed; 
 My ills are my desert, my good thy gift. 
 
 Three years are flown since my sore heart bereft 
 Hath mourned for two, ta'en by the powers on high, 
 
 Nor tint nor atom that is fair is left 
 Beneath the marble where their relics lie. 
 
 Yet no oblivious veil is o'er them cast : 
 Blent with my blood, the sympathetic glow 
 
 Burns brighter now their mortal lives are past, 
 Than when, on earth, I felt their joy and wo. 
 
 Oh ! may their spirits, disembodied, come. 
 And strong though secret influence dispense— 
 
 Pitying the sorrows of an earthly doom. 
 And smoothing pain with sweet beneficence. 
 
 Oh ! cover them with forms so made to meet 
 The models of their souls, that, when they see, 
 
 They cast themselves in beauty at thy feet. 
 In all the heaven of grateful ecstasy 
 
 Metbinks 1 see them, side by side, in love, 
 L'ke brothers of the zodiac, all around 
 
 Diftusing light and fragrance, as they move 
 Harmonious as the spheric music's sound. 
 
 And may these forms in warm and rosy sleep, 
 (In some fair dwelling for such forms assigned.) 
 
 Lie, while o'er air, earth, sea, their spirits sweep, 
 Q,uick as the changeful glance of thought and mind. 
 
 This fond ideal which my grief relieves, 
 Father, beneath thy throne may live, may be: 
 
 For more than all my feeble sense conceives, 
 Thy hand can give in blest reality. 
 
 Sire, Maker, Spirit ! source of all that's fair 1 
 Howe'er my poor words be unworthy thee. 
 
 Oh! be not weary of the imperfect prayer 
 Breathed from the fervor of a wretch like me I 
 
 THE MOON OF FLOWERS. 
 Oh, moon of flowers! sweet moon of flowers I* 
 Why dost thou mind me of the hours 
 Which flew so softly on that night 
 When last I saw and felt thy light? 
 
 Ob, moon of flowers! thou moon of flowers! 
 Would thou couldst give me back those hours 
 Since which a dull, cold year has fled. 
 Or show me those with whom they sped ! 
 
 Oh, moon of flowers! oh, moon of flowers ! 
 In scenes afar were passed those hours, 
 Which still with fond regret I see, 
 And wish my heart could change like thee ' 
 
 * The savages of the northern part of America sometimes 
 count by moons. May they call tlie moon of flowers. 
 P 
 
 TO niagaha. 
 
 Spirit of Homer I thou whose song has rung 
 From thine own Greece to this supreme abode 
 Of Nature—- this great fane of Nature's God — 
 
 Breathe on my brain 1 oh, touch the fervid tongue 
 Of a fond votaress kneeling on the sod! 
 
 Sublime and Beautiful ! your chapel's here— 
 
 Here, 'neath the azure dome of heaven, ye 're wed; 
 Here, on this rock, which trembles as I tread, 
 
 Your blended sorcery claims both pulse and tear, 
 Controls life's source, and reigns o'er heart and head. 
 
 Terrific, but, oh, beautiful abyss! 
 
 If I should trust my fascinated eye, 
 
 Or hearken to thy maddening melody, 
 Sense, form, would spring to meet thy white foam's kiss, 
 
 Be lapped in thy soft rainbows once, and die! 
 
 Colour, depth, height, extension — all unite 
 
 To chain the spirit by a look intense ! 
 
 The dolphin in his clearest seas, or thence 
 Ta'en, for some queen, to deck of ivory white. 
 
 Dies not in changeful tints more delicately bright. 
 
 Look, look ! there comes, o'er yon pale green expanse. 
 Beyond the curtain of this altar vast, 
 A glad young swan ; the smiling beams that cast 
 
 Light from her plumes, have lured her soft advance ; 
 She nears the fatal brink : her graceful life has past ! 
 
 Look up ! nor her fond, foolish fate disdain : 
 An eagle rests upon the wind's sweet breath ; 
 Feels he the charm ? woos he the scene beneath ? 
 
 He eyes the sun ; nerves his dark wing again ; 
 Remembers clouds and storms, yet flies the lovely death. 
 
 "Niagara! wonder of this western world, 
 And half the world beside I hail, beauteous queen 
 Of cataracts !" — an angel, who had been 
 
 O'er heaven and earth, spoke thus, his bright wings furled, 
 And knelt to Nature first, -on this wild cliff unseen. 
 
 SONG. 
 Day, in melting purple dying. 
 Blossoms, all around me sighing. 
 Fragrance, from the lilies straying. 
 Zephyr, with my ringlets playing. 
 
 Ye but waken my distress; 
 
 I am sick of loneliness. 
 
 Thou, to whom I love to hearken. 
 Come, ere night around me darken ; 
 Though thy softness but deceive me, 
 Say thou 'rt true, and I 'II believe thee ; 
 
 Veil, if ill, thy soul's intent — 
 
 Let me think it innocent! 
 
 Save thy toiling, spare thy treasure: 
 All I ask is friendship's pleasure ; 
 Let the shining ore lie darkling, 
 Bring no gem in lustre sparkling: 
 
 Gifts and gold are naught to me , 
 
 I would only look on thee! 
 
 Tell to thee the high-wrought feeling, 
 Ecstasy but in revealing; 
 Paint to thee the deep sensation, 
 Rapture in participation, 
 
 Yet but torture, if comprest 
 
 In a lone, unfriended breast. 
 
 Absent still ! Ah I come and bless me I 
 
 Let these eyes again caress thee ; 
 
 Once, in caution, I could fly thee; 
 
 Now, I nothing could deny thee; 
 In a look if death there be, 
 Come, and I will gaze on thee I 
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 
 To meet a friendship such as mine. 
 Such feelings must thy soul refine 
 As are not oft of mortal birth: 
 'Tis love without a stain of earth, 
 Fratello del mio cor. 
 
 225 
 
BR 
 
 BR 
 
 Lnoks are its food, its nectar sighs, 
 Its couch the lips, its throne the eyes, 
 The soul its breath: and so possest, 
 Heaven's raptures reign in mortal breast, 
 Fratello del mio cor. 
 
 Though Friendship be its earthly name, 
 Purely from highest heaven it came; 
 'Tis seldom felt for more than one. 
 And scorns to dwell with Venus' son, 
 Fratello del mio cor. 
 
 Him let it view not, or it dies 
 Like tender hues of morning skies. 
 Or morn's sweet flower of purple glow. 
 When sunny beams too ardent grow, 
 Fratello del mio cor. 
 
 A charm o'er every object plays ; 
 All looks so lovely, while it stays. 
 So softly forth in rosier tides 
 The vital flood extatic glides, 
 Fratello del mio cor. 
 
 That, wrung by grief to see it part 
 A very life-drop leaves the heart: 
 Biinh drop, I need not tell thee, fell, 
 While bidding it, for thee, farewell! 
 Fratello del mio cor. 
 
 PRATER. 
 
 Sire of the universe — and me — 
 
 Dost thou reject my midnight prayer ! 
 Dost thou withhold me even from thee, 
 
 Thus writhing, struggling 'gainst despair ! 
 Thou knowest the source of feeling's gush, 
 
 Thou knowest the end for which it flows : 
 Then, if thou bid'st the tempest rush, 
 
 Ah ! heed the fragile bark it throws • 
 
 Fain would my heaving heart be still- 
 But Pain and Tumult mock at rest ; 
 
 Fain would I meekly meet thy will, 
 And kiss the barb that tears my breast. 
 
 Weak I am formed, I can no more- 
 Weary I strive, but find not aid ; 
 
 Prone on thy threshold 1 deplore. 
 But ah ! thy succour is delayed. 
 
 The burning, beauteous orb of day, 
 
 Amid its circling host upborne, 
 Smiles, as life quickens in its ray ; 
 
 What would it, were thy hand withdrawn '— 
 Scorch — devastate the teeming whole 
 
 Now glowing with its warmth divine ; 
 Spirit, whose powers of peace control 
 
 Great Nature's heart, oh I pity mine ! 
 
 Extracts from Zophiel. 
 DESCRIPTION OF EGLA. 
 
 With unassured yet graceful step advancing. 
 
 The light vermilion of her cheek more warm 
 For doubtful modesty; while all were glancing 
 
 Over the strange attire that well became such form. 
 To lend her space, the admiring band gave way; 
 
 The sandals on her silvery feet were blue ; 
 Of saflTron tint her robe, as when young day 
 
 Spreads softly o'er the heavens, and tints the trembling 
 dew. 
 Light was that robe as mist; and not a gem 
 
 Or ornament impedes its wavy fold, 
 Ijong and profuse, save that, above its hem, 
 
 'Twas broider'd with pomegranate wreath, in gold. 
 And, by a silken cinctrire, broad and blue. 
 
 In shapely guise about the waist confined, 
 Blent with the curls thai, of a lighter hue, 
 
 Half floated, waving in their length behind; 
 
 The other half, in braided tresses twined, 
 Was deck'd with rows of pearls, and sapphire's azure too. 
 Arranged with curious skill to imitate 
 
 The sweet acacia's blossoms; just as live 
 And droop those tender flowers in natural stale; 
 
 And so the trembling gems suem'd sensitive. 
 
 And pendent, sometimes touch'd her neck ; and there 
 
 Seem'd shrinking from its softness as alive. 
 And round her arms, flour-white and round and fair. 
 
 Slight bandelets were twined of colours five, 
 Like little rainbows seemly on those arms; 
 
 None of that court had seen the like before, 
 Soft, fragrant, bright— so much like heaven her charms. 
 
 It scarce could seem idolatry to adore. 
 He who beheld her hand forgot her face ; 
 
 Yet in that face was all beside forgot; 
 And he who, as she went, beheld her pace, 
 
 And locks profuse, had said. " Nay, turn thee not," 
 Placed on a banquet couch beside the king, 
 
 'Mid many a sparkling guest no eye forbore; 
 But, like their darts, the warrior princes fling 
 
 Such looks as seem'd to pierce, and scan her o'er and o'er; 
 Nor met alone the glare of lip and eye — 
 
 Charms, but not rare : the gazer stern and cool, 
 Who sought but faults, nor fault or spot could spy; 
 
 In every limb, joint, vein, the maid was beautiful. 
 Save that her Jip, like some bud-bursting flower. 
 
 Just scorn'd the bounds of symmetry, perchance. 
 But by its rashness gain'd an added power, 
 
 Heightening perfection to luxuriance. 
 But that was only when she smiled, and when 
 
 Dissolved the intense expression of her eye ; 
 And had her spirit love first seen her then. 
 
 He had not doubted her mortality. 
 
 MELE9 AND EGLA CONTRASTED. 
 
 She meekly stood. He fasten'd round her arms 
 
 Rings of refulgent ore ; low and apart 
 Murmuring, " So, beauteous captive, shall thy charms 
 
 For ever thrall and clasp thy captive's heart." 
 The air's light touch seem'd softer as she moved. 
 
 In languid resignation; his quick eye 
 Spoke in black glances how she was approved, 
 
 Who shrank reluctant from its ardency. 
 'Twas sweet to look upon the goodly pair 
 
 In their contrasted loveliness: her height 
 Might almost vie with his, but heavenly fair, 
 Of soft proportion she, and sunny hair; 
 
 He, cast in manliest mould, with ringlets murk as night. 
 And oft her drooping and resigned blue eye 
 
 She'd wistful raise to read his radiant face'; 
 But then, why shrunk her heart? — a secret sigh 
 
 Told her it most required what there it could not trace. 
 
 ZOPHIEL LISTENING WHILE EGLA SINGS. 
 
 His wings were folded o'er his eyes; severe 
 
 As was the pain he'd borne from wave and wind, 
 The dubious warning of that being drear, 
 
 Who met him in the lightning, to his mind 
 Was torture worse; a dark presentiment 
 
 Came o'er his soul with paralyzing chill. 
 As when Fate vaguely whispers her intent 
 
 To poison mortal joy with sense of coming ill. 
 He search'd about the grove with all the care 
 
 Of trembling jealousy, as if to trace. 
 By track or wounded flower, some rival there ; 
 
 And scarcely dared to look upon the face 
 Of her he loved, lest it some tale might tell 
 
 To make the only hope that soothed him vain; 
 He hears her notes in numbers die and swell, 
 
 But almost fears to listen to the strain 
 Himself had taught her, lest some hated name 
 
 Had been with that dear gentle air enwreathed. 
 While he was far; she sighed— he nearer came — 
 
 Oh, transport ! Zophiel was the name she breathed, 
 
 MORNING. 
 
 How beauteous art thou, O thou morning sun !— 
 
 The old man, feebly tottering forth, admires 
 As much thy beauty, now life's dream is done, 
 
 As when he moved exulting in his fires. 
 The infant strains his little arms to catch 
 
 The rays that glance about his silken hair ; 
 And Luxury hangs her amber lamps, to match 
 
 Thy face, when turn'd away ft-om bower and palace fair 
 Sweet to the lip the draught, the blushing fruit : 
 
 Music and perfumes mingle with the soul ; 
 How thrills the kiss, when feeling's voice is mute ! 
 
 And light and beauty's lints enhance the whole. 
 
 226 
 
BR 
 
 BR 
 
 Yet each keen sense were dulness but for thee ; 
 
 Thy ray to joy, love, virtue, genius, warms ; 
 Thou never weariest; no inconstancy 
 
 But comes to pay new homage to thy charms. 
 How many lips have sung thy praise, how long ! 
 
 Vet, when his slumbering harp he feels thee woo, 
 The pleasured bard pours forth another song, 
 
 And finds in thee, like love, a theme for ever new. 
 Thy dark-eyed daughters come in beauty forth, 
 
 In thy near realms ; and, like their snow-wreaths fair, 
 The bright-hair'd youths and maidens of the north 
 
 Smile in thy colours when thou art not there. 
 'T is there thou bid'st a deeper ardor glow, 
 
 And higher, purer reveries completest; 
 As drops that farthest from the ocean flow, 
 
 Refining all the way, from springs the sweetest. 
 Haply, soraetinjes, spent with the sleepless night. 
 
 Some wretch, impassion'd, from sweet morning's breath. 
 Turns his hot brow, and sickens at thy light ; 
 
 But Nature, ever kind, soon heals or gives him death. 
 
 AMBITION. 
 
 Wo to thee, wild Ambition ! I employ 
 
 Despair's low notes thy dread effects to tell ; 
 Born in high heaven, her peace thou could'st destroy. 
 
 And, but for thee, there had not been a hell. 
 Through the celestial domes thy clarion peal'd ; 
 
 Angels, entranced, beneath thy banners ranged. 
 And straight were fiends ; huri'd from the shrinking field. 
 
 They waked in agony to wail the change. 
 Darting through all her veins, the subtle fire. 
 
 The world's fair mistress first inhaled thy breath ; 
 To lot of higher beings learn'd to aspire; 
 
 Dared to attempt, and doom'd the world to death. 
 The thousand wild desires, that still torment 
 
 Tile fiercely-struggling soul where peace once dwelt. 
 But perish'd ; feverish hope ; drear discontent, 
 
 Impoisoning all possess'tl — oh! I have felt 
 As spirits feel— yet not for man we moan : 
 Scarce o'er the silly bird in state were he, 
 That builds his nest, loves, sings the morn's return. 
 
 And sleeps at evening, save by aid of thee. 
 Fame ne'er had roused, nor Song her records kept. 
 
 The gem, the ore, the marble breathing life. 
 The pencil's colours, all in earth had slept, 
 
 Now see them mark with death his victim's strife. 
 Man found thee. Death : but Death and dull Decay 
 
 Bafiling, by aid of thee, his mastery proves ; 
 By mighty works he swells his narrow day. 
 
 And reigns, for ages, on the world he loves. 
 Vet what the price? With stings that never cease. 
 
 Thou goad'st him on ; and, when too keen the smart. 
 His highest dole he'd barter but for peace — 
 Food thou wilt have, or feast upon his heart. 
 
 Virtue! how many, as a lowly thing. 
 
 Born of weak folly, scorn thee ! but thy name 
 Alone they know ; upon thy soaring wing 
 
 They'd fear to mount ; nor could thy sacred flame 
 Burn in their baser hearts : the biting thorn, 
 
 The flinty crag, flowers hiding, strew thy field; 
 Vet blest is he whose daring bides the scorn 
 
 Of the frail, easy herd, and buckles on thy shield. 
 Who says thy ways are bliss, trolls but a lay 
 
 To lure the infant: if thy paths, to view, 
 Were always pleasant. Crime's worst sons would lay 
 
 Their daggers at thy feet, and, from mere sloth, pursue. 
 
 BROSSIER, MARTHA, 
 A VEKY remarkable woman, who pretended to 
 be possessed by the devil, and came near causing 
 great disorders in France, about the end of the 
 sixteenth century. Her father was a weaver at 
 Romozantin ; but as Martha had the art of making 
 a thousand distortions, he found it more profitable 
 to ramble about with her, than to stay at home 
 and mind his trade. Going from town to town, 
 and showing his daughter, as a woman possessed 
 
 by the devil, and needing the exorcism of the 
 church, a great number of people resorted to him. 
 The cheat was discovered at Orleans, in 1598, and 
 all the priests of that diocese were forbidden to 
 proceed to exorcisms on pain of excommunication. 
 Nor was the bishop of Anglers more easily imposed 
 on ; for, having invited Martha to dinner, he caused 
 holy water to be brought to her instead of common 
 water, and common water instead of holy water. 
 Martha was not at all affected when she drank 
 the holy water, but made a great many distortions 
 when the common water was handed to her. Upon 
 this the prelate called for the book of Exorcisms, 
 and read the beginning of the .lEneid. Martha, 
 supposing the Latin verses to be the exorcism, put 
 herself into violent postures, as though she were 
 tormented by the devil. The bishop, convinced 
 that she was an imposter, reproved her father in 
 private, and advised him to go back with her to 
 Romozantin. But Brossier, on the contrary, car- 
 ried Martha to Paris, as a better theatre for her 
 to act on, where he hoped to be supported by the 
 credulous, and those whom the edict of Nantes had 
 lately exasperated against the king. He pitched 
 upon the church of St. Genevieve to act his farce 
 in, and it succeeded wonderfully. The capuchins 
 took up the business, and the contortions she made 
 while the exorcists were performing their office, 
 easily persuaded the people that she was a real 
 demoniac. The thing was quickly noised all over 
 the city, and the bishop appointed five of the most 
 famous physicians in Paris to examine into it ; 
 who unanimously reported, "that the devil had 
 no hand in the matter, but that there was a great 
 deal of imposture and some distemper in it." 
 
 Two days after, two of the physicians seemed to 
 waver ; and before they answered the bishop, de- 
 sired that the three others might be sent for, and 
 time granted them till the next day. The trial 
 came on, on the first of April, 1599, when father 
 Seraphin renewed his exorcisms, and Martha her 
 convulsions. She rolled her eyes, lolled out her 
 tongue, and her whole body trembled ; and when 
 the priest uttered the words, "Et homo factus 
 est" (and was made man), she fell down, and 
 tossed herself from the altar to the door of the 
 chapel. Upon this, the exorcist cried out, "That 
 if any one persisted in his incredulity, he needed 
 only to fight that devil, and try to conquer him, if 
 he durst venture his life." Marescot, one of the 
 five physicians, accepted the challenge, took Mar- 
 tha by the throat, and bade her stop. She obeyed, 
 saying that the evil spirit had left her, which 
 father Seraphin confirmed ; but Marescot insisted 
 that he had frightened the devil away. People 
 were divided in their opinions about this woman, 
 many believing her to be really a demoniac. At 
 length, there being fears that she might cause a 
 sedition, under pretence of the edict granted to 
 the Protestants, Henry IV. enjoined the parlia- 
 ment of Paris to use their authority ; upon which 
 the parliament ordered her to be confined. She 
 was kept in prison for forty days ; during which 
 time the best physicians examined her, and as- 
 serted that there was nothing supernatural in her 
 case. In the mean time, the priests protested 
 
 ?27 
 
BE 
 
 BE 
 
 against this proceeding, saying that it was an en- 
 croachment on the privileges of the church, sug- 
 gested by the heretics, and they were not silenced 
 without much difficulty. On the 27th of May, 
 Brossier was sent with his daughter to Bomozantin, 
 and forbidden to allow her to go abroad, without 
 consent of the judge, under pain of corporal pun- 
 ishment. However, the father and daughter went, 
 under the sanction and protection of Alexander de 
 la Eochefoucauld, abbot of St. Martin's, into Au- 
 vergne, and to Avignon. The parliament of Paris 
 summoned the abbot twice, and at last ordered 
 that the revenues of his benefice should be seized 
 for contempt of court ; nevertheless, these people 
 went to Rome. The bishop of Clermont, brother 
 to the abbot, was suspected of having suggested 
 this foolish undertaking to his brother, and was 
 also deprived of his ecclesiastical revenues. 
 
 Henry IV. countermined them at Rome, so that 
 the pope did nothing contrary to the sentence 
 given by the parliament of Paris against the pre- 
 tended demoniac. Not long after, the abbot died, 
 it is said, of grief, for having undertaken so long 
 a journey to make himself despised ; and Martha 
 and her father, forsaken by everybody, took refuge 
 in the hospitals. 
 
 BROWN, CATHERINE, 
 Was a half-blooded Cherokee, born at Willis 
 Valley, in the state of Alabama, about the year 
 1800. Her father's name, in the Indian language, 
 was Yau-nu-gung-yah-ski, which is, " drowned by 
 a bear." His English name, from his father, was 
 John Brown. Her mother's name was Tsa-luh, 
 in the Cherokee. Her English name was Sarah. 
 They were people of property, and far above the 
 level of their race, but still had no education — 
 they could not speak a word of English. In 1816, 
 the American Board of Foreign Missions sent the 
 Rev. Cyrus Kingsbury to the Cherokee nation, for 
 permission to establish a school in their territory. 
 This was granted, and a school opened at Chicka- 
 maugah, within the territory of Tennessee. Cathe- 
 rine had heard of the school, although living at 
 the distance of a hundred miles. She had learned 
 to speak English, by residing at the house of a 
 Cherokee friend, and could read in words of one 
 syllable. She was now seventeen years of age, 
 possessing very fine features, and of roseate com- 
 plexion. She was decidedly the first of Cherokee 
 beauties. She was modest, gentle and virtuous, 
 with a sweet and affectionate disposition. From 
 her wealth and beauty, she had been indulged as 
 the pride of her parents ; but she was the most 
 docile of all the missionary pupils. Her progress 
 was wonderfully rapid. In three months, she 
 learned to read and write. This exceeds the pro- 
 gress of any one on record, in this or any other 
 country. She soon became serious, and then re- 
 ligious; and was baptized in January, 1818. In 
 .June, 1820, she undertook to teach a school at 
 Creek-path, near her father's house. She showed 
 the greatest zeal in the cause of enlightening her 
 countrywomen ; for those of all ages came to learn 
 something of her. She established religious ex- 
 ercises in her father's house, and brought many 
 
 to Christianity. She was not contented with the 
 measure of information she had acquired, but in- 
 tended to push her studies into higher branches 
 of knowledge, which she knew to exist ; but while 
 she was contemplating great things for herself and 
 her nation, her health began to decline. She had 
 probably injured herself by too close application 
 to her studies. The change from flying through 
 the groves and paddling the canoe to such a seden- 
 tary life, which she must have severely felt, and 
 with her anxiety for the conversion of her family, 
 particularly of a brother, who had died the pre- 
 ceding year, aggravated her disease. She bore 
 her sickness with great resignation, and her piety 
 made a deep impression on the hearts of all who 
 knew and loved her. She died July 18th, 1823, 
 and was buried at Creek-path, beside her dear 
 brother John, whom she had been instrumental in 
 converting to Christianity. 
 
 BEOWNE, MAEY ANNE, 
 Was born in 1812, at Maiden Head, Berkshire, 
 England. She began to publish at the age of 
 fifteen, and her poems even then showed great 
 genius. Her father removed to Liverpool in 1830; 
 and in 1842, Miss Browne was married to James 
 Gray, a Scotch gentleman, and a nephew of James 
 Hogg, the shepherd-poet. She died at Cork, in 
 1844. Her first work was "Mont-Blanc;" her 
 others were, "Ada," "Repentance," "The Coro- 
 nal," "Birth-Day Gift," "Ignatia," volume of 
 " Sacred Poetry," and a great number of fugitive 
 pieces, in prose as well as verse. She was as well 
 known by those among whom she lived for her 
 active benevolence, as for her poetical talents, 
 being eminently pious, gentle, and benevolent. 
 There is very little display of that sort of tender 
 and flowery description, which may be termed 
 sentimentalism, in the poetry of Miss Browne. She 
 is reflective, serious, and, at times, sublime. Hu- 
 man nature, as its passions and changes, hopes, 
 fears and joys, are displayed in books and in social 
 life, seems to have been her study, rather than 
 "running brooks" or " flowery meads." Hence, 
 her style is modelled on the manner of the old 
 bards ; and though her poetry never reaches the 
 height she evidently sought to attain, it is excel- 
 lent for its pure taste and just sentiment ; while a 
 few instances of bold imagination show vividly the 
 ardour of a fancy, which prudence and delicacy 
 always controlled. 
 
 THE HEART AND LTHE. 
 
 She left her lyre within tl^e hall, 
 
 When last she parted with her loved ; 
 And still it hangs upon the wall — 
 
 He will not let it be removed. 
 Around that lyre of sweetest tone 
 
 She twined a wreath of roses fair ; 
 And, though their lovely hue is gone, 
 
 The withered blossoms still are there. 
 
 No hand hath touched its silver string 
 
 Since last she waked a parting lay; 
 To sweep its chords would only bring 
 
 A tuneless tale of its decay. 
 And there it hangs, slow mouldering, 
 
 Its sweetness gone, its passion quelled ; 
 And round it those dead roses cling. 
 
 Like withered hopes still fondly held. 
 
 228 
 
BR 
 
 BR 
 
 And his sad mourning heart is such- 
 No happy feeling it affords; 
 
 It cannot bear the lightest touch 
 Of mirth upon its ruined chords. 
 
 Her name to him they ne'er repeat, 
 It would but waken thouglits of wo; 
 
 And though 't was once so very sweet, 
 He could not brook to hear it now. 
 
 He fixes on that lyre his eye 
 
 For hours, but never, never speaks ; 
 Unmoved he gazes, silently. 
 
 And only starts when some chord breaks. 
 It hath an echo in his heart, 
 
 Both mutely their bereavement bear : 
 In her affections both had part. 
 
 And both are left to perish there. 
 
 man's love. 
 
 When woman's eye grows dull, 
 
 And her cheek paleth, 
 When fades the beautiful, 
 
 Then man's love faileth; 
 He sits not beside her chair, 
 
 Clasps not her fingers, 
 Twines not the damp hair, 
 
 That o'er her brow lingers. 
 
 He comes but a moment in, 
 
 Though her eye lightens. 
 Though her cheek, pale and thin, 
 
 Feverishly brightens : 
 He stays l?ut a moment near, 
 
 When that flash fadeth, 
 Though true affection's tear 
 
 Her soft eyelid shadeth. 
 
 He goes from her chamber straight 
 
 Into life's jostle. 
 He meets at the very gate 
 
 Business and bustle ; 
 He thinks not of her within, 
 
 Silently sighing, 
 He forgets, in that noisy din, 
 
 That she is dying ! 
 
 And when her young heart is still. 
 
 What though he mourneth. 
 Soon from his sorrow chill 
 
 Wearied he turneth, 
 Soon o'er her buried head 
 
 Memory's light setteth. 
 And the true-hearted dead 
 
 Thus man forgetteth! 
 
 woman's love. 
 
 When man is waxing frail, 
 And his hand is thin and weak. 
 
 And his lips are parched and pale. 
 And wan and white his cheek, — 
 
 Oh, then doth woman prove 
 
 Her constancy and love ! 
 
 She sitteth by his chair, 
 And holds his feeble hand ; 
 
 She watcheth ever there, 
 His wants to understand; 
 
 His yet unspoken will ^ 
 
 She hasteneth to fulfil. 
 
 She leads him, when the noon 
 Is bright o'er dale or hill. 
 
 And alt things, save the tunc 
 Of the honey bees, are still, 
 
 Into the garden bowers, 
 
 To sit 'midst herbs and flowers. 
 
 And when he goes not there, 
 To feast on breath and bloom. 
 
 She brings the posy rare 
 Into his darkened room ; 
 
 And 'neath his weary head 
 
 The pillow smooth doth spread. 
 
 Until the hour when death 
 
 His lamp of life doth dim, 
 She never wearieth. 
 
 She never Jeaveth him; 
 Still near him night and day, 
 She meets his eye alway. 
 
 And when his trial 's o'er. 
 And the turf is on his breast. 
 
 Deep in her bosom's core 
 Lie sorrows unexpressed ; 
 
 Her tears, her sighs, are weak. 
 
 Her settled grief to speak. 
 
 And though there may arise 
 
 Balm for her spirit's pain. 
 And though her quiet eyes 
 
 May sometimes smile again; 
 Still, still she must regret,— 
 She never can forget ! 
 
 SHE "WAS NOT MADE FOR HAPPINESS. 
 
 She was not made for happiness ; her eyes 
 
 Were all too soft and deep. 
 Shade 'midst their radiance— as in lovely skies 
 
 Of April when they weep. 
 Yet when she spake with earnest eloquence. 
 
 The soul beneath them burned 
 As if her thoughts, concentred and intense. 
 
 Them into stars had turned. 
 
 She was not made for happiness; her brow 
 
 Had lines of early thought. 
 Traced e'en in childhood's sunny time, and now 
 
 Still daily deeper wrought. 
 And her sweet lips! they were not chiselled forms, 
 
 Such as the sculptor knows, 
 The quivering smile, that saddens while it warms, 
 
 Hung o'er their rose. 
 
 She was not made for happiness; too much 
 
 She felt for others' woe. 
 What to another's heart was but a touch. 
 
 Hers felt a cruel blow. 
 No tale of suffering, sorrow, or disease, 
 
 But found an echo there— 
 A wounded bird— a broken flower— e'en these 
 
 Tier sympathy might share. 
 
 She was not made for happiness ; and yet 
 
 Too much of ours she made. 
 With what unmingled anguish and regret 
 
 We saw her droop and fade ! 
 Suffering had seemed her birthright dower, 
 
 Years of sad pain went o'er, 
 And yet we loved our frail and feeble flower 
 
 Even for this the more. 
 
 But standing by her dying bed, we felt 
 
 A better prospect dawn ; 
 A mist around her spirit seemed to melt, 
 
 A curtain seemed withdrawn. 
 Bright happy glances from her eyes were sent 
 
 Up through the summer sky — 
 Ah! now she knew her own true element, 
 
 The better world on high. 
 
 And hopefully she spake, and happily 
 
 Of communings with God — 
 Of light and glory, that we could not see. 
 
 Upon the path she trod. 
 A setting sunbeam from her cloudy lot 
 
 At length broke brightly forth- 
 Oh! she was made for happiness— but not 
 
 The happiness of earth. 
 
 "Eather than have one bliss forgot, 
 Be all my pains remembered too." 
 
 Moore. 
 
 And wonldst thou advise me to mix with the crowd. 
 And strive to efface the remembrance of years: 
 
 When, though mists and misfortune too often might shroud. 
 One smile hath repaid me for long hours of tears? 
 
 229 
 
BR 
 
 BR 
 
 And say'sl thou that memory only can feed 
 The fever that preys on the desolate heart ? 
 
 Oh! thou knowest not, unless thou hast felt it indeed, 
 What joy the remembrance of joy can impart I 
 
 There are things that are past, which I would not forget 
 
 For the hrightest of pleasures that earth can now give; 
 Their bliss had a mixture of snrrow. and yet 
 
 Like stars in the night of my bosom they live. 
 As on scenes we have passed, when by distance made soft, 
 
 We gaze the more fondly the further we go, 
 So, when years of our prime have gone over, how oft 
 
 We turn with delight to past pleasure and wo. 
 
 1 once felt affections, more gentle and fond, 
 
 That shone o'er my soul, like the stars o'er the seas; 
 And think'st thou my spirit can ever despond. 
 
 While memory revives such emotions as these? 
 Oh! how many a smile and affectionate word 
 
 Remain through long years on the wo-blighted mind, 
 When joy hath shot over its wastes, like a bird 
 
 That hath left a bright gift from its plumage behind ! 
 
 And what though the vision of happiness flies 
 
 From the heart that had cherished it fondly before 7 
 Its flowers may be withered, but memory supplies 
 
 Their vigour, and fragrance, and beauty once more. 
 Oh! may my remembrances never depart! 
 
 May I still feel a bliss in beholding the past- 
 While memory over the gems of the heart 
 
 Shall, sentinel-like, keep her watch to the last. 
 
 KINDRED SPIRITS. 
 
 Drops from the ocean of eternity, 
 
 Rays from the centre of unfailing light, 
 Things that the human eye can never see, 
 
 Are spirits, — yet they dwell near human sight ! 
 But as the shattered magnet's fragments stilJ, 
 
 Though far apart, will to each other turn,— 
 So, in the breast imprisoned, spirits will 
 
 To meet their fellow spirits vainly burn;— 
 And yet not vainly. If the drop shall pass 
 
 Through streams of human soitow undefiled,— 
 If the eternal ray that heavenly was, 
 
 To no false earthly fire be reconciled, — 
 The drop shall mingle with its native main. 
 The ray shall meet its kindred ray again ! 
 
 JAQUES BALMOT. 
 
 (He was the first guide who ever reached the highest summit 
 of Mount Blanc.) 
 
 The mountain reared a lofty brow. 
 
 Where never footstep trod. 
 It stood supreme o'er all below, 
 
 And seemed alone with God. 
 The lightnings played around its crest, 
 
 Nor touched its stainless snow ; 
 The glaciers bound its mighty breast, 
 
 Seas where no currents flow 1 
 
 And ever and anon the blast 
 
 Blew sternly round its head. 
 The clouds across its bosom vast 
 
 A changeful curtain spread; 
 But, changeless in its majesty, 
 
 The mountain was alone, 
 No voice might tell what there might be, 
 
 Its secrets were its own. 
 
 He should have worshipped poetry 
 
 Who trod its summit first ; 
 He should have had a painter's eye. 
 
 On whom the vision burst ; 
 The vision of the lower world 
 
 Seen from that mountain's crown, 
 Where storms midst humbler rocks were curled, 
 
 To molehills dwindled down. 
 
 Yet 'twas a lowly peasant's lot 
 
 To find the upward road. 
 He earliest trod that lofty spot 
 
 Where solitude abode. 
 
 Methinks, if naught be felt beside, 
 
 There must have been delight. 
 And the strong gush of natural pride, 
 
 When he had gained that height. 
 
 Thus truth sits throned in lonely power 
 
 For ages long and lone. 
 Till opens in some happy hour 
 
 A pathway towards her throne. 
 And let this thought the humble sway, 
 
 And hope their bosoms fill, 
 "The lowly often lead the way 
 
 Up to her sacred hill !" 
 
 BKUN, FBEDEEIKE CHRISTIANA, 
 
 A Gekmax poetess, whose maiden name was 
 Miinter, was born at Graefentoma, in the princi- 
 pality of Gatha, June 3d, 1765, and died at Co- 
 penhagen, March 26th, 1835. She was sister to 
 the celebrated and learned bishop Miinter, of 
 Iceland, and wife of the Danish conference coun- 
 sellor Brun. Encouraged by the example of her 
 husband and her brother, she became an author, 
 and obtained considerable fame as a writer of 
 lyrics. Her prose writings, though not of the first 
 order, are yet far above mediocrity. She is best 
 known as the author of songs of liberty, written 
 when Philhellenic enthusiasm prevailed all over 
 Germany. Almost all her poetic productions are 
 tinctured with a sad and melancholy feeling. 
 
 BRUN, MADAME LE, 
 
 Was a French artiste or painter, who gained 
 considerable reputation at Paris. Her paintings, 
 historical pieces as well as portraits, were exhibit- 
 ed in the Louvre. Madame de Genlis speaks of 
 the talents of Madame le Brun with much warmth 
 of praise, and complains that the men sought to 
 depreciate her paintings because she was a woman. 
 
 BRUNTON, MARY, 
 AuTHOBESs of " Self-Control" and " Discipline," 
 two novels of superior merit, was born on the 1st 
 of November, 1778. She was a native of Burrey, 
 in Orkney, a small island of about five hundred 
 inhabitants, destitute of tree or shrub. Her father 
 was colonel Balfour, of Elwick, and her mother 
 was niece of field-marshal lord Ligonier, in whose 
 house she had resided before her marriage. Mary 
 was carefully educated, and taught French and 
 Italian by her mother. She was also sent to Edin- 
 burgh ; but when she was sixteen her mother died, 
 and the whole care of the family devolved on her. 
 At the age of twenty she married the Rev. Mr. 
 Brunton, minister of Bolton, in Haddingtonshire. 
 In 1803, Mr. Brunton was called to Edinburgh, 
 and there his wife had an opportunity of meeting 
 literary persons, and of cultivating her mind. 
 " Self-Control," her first novel, was published 
 anonymously in 1811. The first edition was sold 
 in a month, and a second and third called for. 
 Her next work was " Discipline," a novel of the 
 religious class, to which " Self-Control" belonged. 
 She died in 1818, leaving an unfinished novel 
 called "Emeline," afterwards published with a 
 memoir of the authoress, by her husband. 
 
 Her private character was in harmony with her 
 vrritings ; she taught all within the circle of her 
 influence, by her amiable deportment, how beauti- 
 
 230 
 
BR 
 
 BR 
 
 ful are the characteristics of the true Christian 
 lady, as she now teaches the readers of her ex- 
 cellent works the theory of the loveliness of virtue. 
 We give a few selections from her best novel — 
 "Self-Control." 
 
 SKETCH OF THE HEEOINE. 
 
 It is the fashion of the age to account for every 
 striking feature of a character, from education or 
 external circumstance. Those who are fond of 
 such speculations may trace, if they can, the self- 
 denying habits of Laura, to the eagerness with 
 which her enthusiastic mind imbibed the stories 
 of self-devoting patriots and martyrs, and may 
 find, in one lesson of her preceptress, the tint 
 which coloured her future days. The child had 
 been reading a narrative of the triumphant death 
 of one of the first reformers ; and, full of the 
 emulation which the tale of heroic virtue inspires, 
 exclaimed, her eyes flashing through their tears, 
 her little form erect with noble daring, — "Let 
 them persecute me, and I will be a martyr." 
 " You may be so now, to-day, every day," return- 
 ed Mrs. Douglas. "It was not at the stake that 
 these holy men began their self-denial. They had 
 before taken up their cross daily ; and whenever, 
 from a regard to duty, you resign anything that 
 is pleasing or valuable to you, you are for the 
 time a little martyr." 
 
 In a solitary village, remote from her equals in 
 age and rank, Laura necessarily lived much alone ; 
 and in solitude she acquired a grave and contem- 
 plative turn of mind. Far from the scenes of 
 dissipation and frivolity, conversant with the grand 
 and the sublime in nature, her sentiments assumed 
 a corresponding elevation. She had heard that 
 there was vice in the world ; she knew that there 
 was virtue in it ; and little acquainted with other 
 minds, deeply studious of her own, she concluded 
 that all mankind were like herself engaged in a 
 constant endeavour after excellence ; that success 
 in this struggle was at once virtue and happiness, 
 while failure included misery as well as guilt. 
 The habit of self-examination, early formed, and 
 steadily maintained, made even venial trespass 
 appear the worst of evils ; while, in the labours 
 of duty and the pleasures of devotion, she found 
 joys which sometimes rose to rapture. 
 
 IHB LOVER AND HIS DECLAKATION. 
 
 For the first time since her mother's funeral, 
 captain Montreville prevailed on his daughter to 
 take a solitary walk. Slowly she ascended the 
 hill that overlooked the village, and stopping near 
 its brow, looked back towards the church-yard, to 
 observe a brown hillock that marked the spot 
 where her mother slept. Tears filled her eyes, as 
 passing over long intervals of unkindness, she re- 
 collected some casual proof of love ; and they fell 
 fast as she remembered, that for that love she 
 could now make no return. She turned to pro- 
 ceed ; and the moist eye sparkled with pleasure, 
 the faded cheek glowed with more than the fiush 
 of health, when she beheld springing towards her 
 the elegant, the accomplished, colonel Hargrave. 
 Forgotten was languor, forgotten was sorrow ; for 
 
 Laura was just seventeen, and colonel Hargrave 
 was the most ardent, the most favoured of lovers. 
 His person was symmetry itself ; his manners had 
 all the fascination that vivacity and intelligence, 
 joined to the highest polish, can bestow. His love 
 for Laura suited with the impetuosity of his cha- 
 racter ; and for more than a year he had laboured 
 with assiduity and success to inspire a passion 
 corresponding to his own. Yet it was not Har- 
 grave whom Laura loved ; for the being on whom 
 she doted had no resemblance to him, except in 
 externals. It was a creature of her imagination, 
 pure as her own heart, yet impassioned as the 
 wildest dreams of fiction, intensely susceptible of 
 pleasure, and keenly alive to pain, yet ever ready 
 to sacrifice the one and to despise the other. This 
 ideal being, clothed with the fine form, and adorn- 
 ed with the insinuating manners, and animated 
 with the infectious love of Hargrave, what heart 
 of woman could resist? Laura's was completely 
 captivated. 
 
 Hargrave, charmed with her consummate love- 
 liness, pleased with her cheerful good sense, and 
 fascinated with her matchless simplicity, at first 
 sought her society without thought but of present 
 gratification, till he was no longer master of him- 
 self. He possessed an ample fortune, besides the 
 near prospect of a title ; and nothing was further 
 from his thoughts than to make the poor unknown 
 Laura a sharer in these advantages. But Har- 
 grave was not yet a villain, and he shuddered at 
 the thought of seduction. " I will see her only 
 once more," said he, " and then tear myself from 
 her forever." " Only this once," said he, while 
 day after day he continued to visit her, — to watch 
 with delight, and to cherish with eager solicitude 
 the tenderness which, amidst her daily increasing 
 reserve, his practised eye could distinguish. The 
 passion which we do not conquer will, in time, 
 reconcile us to any means that can aid its gratifi- 
 cation. " To leave her now would be dishonour- 
 able — it would be barbarous," was his answer to 
 his remonstrating conscience, as he marked the 
 glow of her complexion at his approach, the tre- 
 mor of her hand at his pressure. " I cannot in- 
 deed make her my wife. The woman whom I 
 marry must assist in supporting the rank which 
 she is to fill. But Laura is not made for high life. 
 Short commerce with the world would destroy half 
 her witchery. Love will compensate to us for 
 every privation — I will hide her and myself from 
 a censorious world : she loves solitude ; and, with 
 her, solitude will be delightful." He forgot that 
 solitude is delightful to the innocent alone. 
 
 Meantime the artless Laura saw, in his highly- 
 coloured pictures of happy love, only scenes of 
 domestic peace and literary leisure ; and, judging 
 of his feelings by her own, dreamed not of aught 
 that would have disgraced the love of angels. 
 Tedious weeks of absence had intervened since 
 their last meeting ; and Hargrave's resolution was 
 taken. To live without her was impossible, and 
 he was determined to try whether he had over- 
 rated the strength of her affection, when he ven- 
 tured to hope that to it she would sacrifice her all. 
 To meet her thus unexpectedly filled him with 
 
 231 
 
BR 
 
 BR 
 
 joy; and the heart of Laura throbbed quick as 
 he expressed his rapture. Never had his profes- 
 sions been so ardent ; and softened by .sorrow and 
 by absence, never had Laura felt such seducing 
 tenderness as now stole upon her. Unable to 
 speak, and unconscious of her path, she listened 
 ■with silent rapture to the glowing language of her 
 lover, till his entreaties wrung from her a reluc- 
 tant confession of her preference. Unmindful of 
 the feeling of humiliation that makes the moment 
 of such a confession, of all others, the least fa- 
 vourable to a lover's boldness, Hargrave poured 
 'forth the most vehement expressions of passion ; 
 while, shrinking into herself, Laura now first ob- 
 served that the shades of evening were closing 
 fast, while their lonely path led through a wood 
 that climbed the rocky hill. 
 
 She stopped. " I must return," said she ; "my 
 father will be anxious for me at this hour." 
 
 " Talk not now of returning," cried Hargrave 
 impetuously; "trust yourself to a heart that 
 adores you. Reward all my lingering pains, and 
 let this happy hour begin a life of love and rap- 
 ture." 
 
 Laura, wholly unconscious of his meaning, 
 looked up in his face with an innocent smile : " I 
 have often taxed you with raving, " said she ; ' ' now, 
 I am sure, you must admit the charge." 
 
 "Do not sport with me, loveliest," cried Har- 
 grave, " nor waste these precious moments in cold 
 delay. Leave forms to the frozen hearts that wait 
 them, and be from this hour mine, wholly and for- 
 ever." 
 
 Laura threw a tearful glance at her mourning 
 habit. "Is this like bridal attire?" said she: 
 " would you bring your nuptial festivities into the 
 house of death, and mingle the sound of your 
 marriage vow with my mother's dying groans ?" 
 
 "Can this simplicity be affected?" thought 
 Hargrave. "Is it that she will not understand 
 me ?" He examined her countenance. All there 
 was candor and unsuspecting love. Her arm 
 rested on his with confiding pressure ; and, for a 
 moment, Hargrave faltered in his purpose. The 
 next, he imagined that he had gone too far to re- 
 cede ; and, clasping her to his breast with all the 
 vehemence of passion, he urged his suit in lan- 
 guage yet more unequivocal. No words can ex- 
 press her feelings, when, the veil thus rudely torn 
 from her eyes, she saw her pure, her magnani- 
 mous Hargrave — the god of her idolatry — de- 
 graded to a sensualist, a seducer. Casting on him 
 a look of mingled horror, dismay, and anguish, 
 she exclaimed, "Are you so base?" and, freeing 
 herself, with convulsive struggle, from his grasp, 
 sunk without sense or motion to the ground. 
 
 LAUBA EEnjSES COLONEL HABGBAVE. 
 
 Though the understanding of Laura was above 
 her years, she had not escaped a mistake common 
 to the youth of both sexes, when smarting under 
 a recent disappointment in love — the mistake of 
 supposing that all the interest of life is, with re- 
 spect to them, at an end, and that their days must 
 thenceforth bring only a dull routine of duties 
 ■without excitement, and of toils without hope. 
 
 But the leading principle of Laura's life was ca- 
 pable of giving usefulness even to her errors ; and 
 the gloom of the wilderness through which her 
 path seemed to lie, only brightened, by contrast, 
 the splendour that lay beyond. " The world," 
 thought she, "has now nothing to offer that I 
 covet, and little to threaten that I fear. What 
 then remains but to do my duty, unawed by its 
 threatenings, unbribed by its joys? Ere this 
 cloud darkened all my earthly prospects, I was 
 not untaught, though I had too much forgotten 
 the lesson, that it was not for pastime I was sent 
 hither. I am here as a soldier who strives in an 
 enemy's land ; as one who must run — must wrestle 
 — must strain every nerve, exert every power, nor 
 once shrink from the struggle, till the prize is my 
 own. Nor do I live for myself alone. I have a 
 friend to gratify — the poor to relieve — the sorrow- 
 ful to console — a father's age to comfort — a God 
 to serve. And shall selfish feelings disincline me 
 to such duties as these ? No ; with more than 
 seeming cheerfulness, I ■will perform them all. I 
 will thank Heaven for exempting me from the far 
 heavier task of honouring and obeying a profli- 
 gate." 
 
 A profligate ! Must she apply such a name to 
 Hargrave! The enthusiasm of the moment ex- 
 pired at the word, and the glow of virtuous reso- 
 lution faded to the paleness of despondence and 
 pain. 
 
 From a long and melancholy reverie, Laura was 
 awakened by the sound of the garden gate ; and 
 she perceived that it was entered by Colonel Har- 
 grave. Instinctively she was retreating from the 
 window, when she saw him joined by her father ; 
 and, trembling lest candour was about to confess, 
 or inadvertence to betray, what she so much wished 
 to conceal, she continued with breathless anxiety 
 to watch their conference. 
 
 Though Colonel Hargrave was certainly one of 
 the best bred men in the kingdom, and, of conse- 
 quence, entirely free from the awkwardness of 
 mauvaise honte, it must "be confessed that he en- 
 tered the presence of the father of Laura with 
 rather less than his accustomed ease ; but the 
 cordial salutation of Captain Montreville banishing 
 all fear that the lady had been too communicative, 
 our lover proceeded, without any remaining em- 
 barrassment, to unfold the purpose of his ■visit. 
 
 Captain Montreville listened with undisguised 
 satisfaction to proposals apparently so advan- 
 tageous to his beloved child; but, while he ex- 
 pressed his entire approbation of the colonel's 
 suit, regard to feminine decorum made him add, 
 " that he was determined to put no constraint on 
 the inclinations of his daughter." The colonel 
 felt a strong conviction that no constraint would 
 be necessary ; nevertheless, turning a neat period, 
 importing his willingness to resign his love rather 
 than interfere with the happiness of Miss Montre- 
 ville, he closed the conference by entreating that 
 the captain would give him an immediate oppor- 
 tunity of learning his fate from the lips of the fair 
 Laura herself. 
 
 Laura had continued to follow them with her 
 eyes, till they entered the house together: and 
 
 232 
 
BE 
 
 BK 
 
 the next minute Captain Montreville knocked at 
 her door. 
 
 " If your headache is not quite gone," said he, 
 with a significant smile, " I -will venture to recom- 
 mend a physician. Colonel Hargrave is waiting 
 to prescribe for you ; and you may repay in kind, 
 for he tells me he has a case for your considera- 
 tion." 
 
 Laui-a was on the point of protesting against 
 any communication with Colonel Hargrave ; but, 
 instantly recollecting the explanation which would 
 be necessary, "I will go to him this instant," she 
 exclaimed, with an eagerness that astonislied her 
 father. 
 
 " Surely you will first smooth these reddish 
 locks of yours," said he, fondly stroking her dark 
 auburn hair. " I fear so much haste may make 
 the colonel vain." 
 
 Laura coloured violently ; for, amidst all her 
 fears of a discovery, she found place for a strong 
 feeling of resentment at the easy security of for- 
 giveness that seemed intimated by a visit so im- 
 mediately succeeding the offence. Having em- 
 ployed the few moments she passed at her toilet 
 in collecting her thoughts, she descended to the 
 parlour, fully resolved to give no countenance to 
 the hopes her lover might have built on her sup- 
 posed weakness. 
 
 The colonel was alone ; and as she opened the 
 door, eagerly advanced towards her. " My adored 
 Laura," cried he, "this condescension — " Had 
 he stayed to read the pale but resolute counte- 
 nance of his " adored" Laura, he would have 
 spared his thanks for her condescension. 
 
 She interrupted him. " Colonel Hargrave," 
 said she, with imposing seriousness, "I have a 
 request to make to you. Perhaps the peace of 
 my life depends upon your compliance." 
 
 " Ah, Laura ! what request can I refuse, >vhere 
 I have so much to ask ?" 
 
 " Promise me that you will never make known 
 to my father — that you will take every means to 
 conceal from him the — " she hesitated, "the — 
 our meeting last night," she added, rejoiced to 
 have found a palliative expression for her meaning. 
 
 " Oh ! dearest Laura ! forget it — think of it no 
 more." 
 
 "Promise — promise solemnly. If, indeed," 
 added she, shuddering, while an expression of 
 sudden anguish crossed her features, "if, indeed, 
 promises can weigh with such a one as you." 
 
 " For pity's sake, speak not such cutting words 
 as those." 
 
 " Colonel Hargrave, will you give me your pro- 
 mise ?" 
 
 "I do promise — solemnly promise. Say but 
 that you forgive me." 
 
 " I thank you, sir, for so far insuring the safety 
 of my dear father, since he might have risked his 
 life to avenge the wrongs of -his child. You can- 
 not be surprised if I now wish to close our ac- 
 quaintance as speedily as may be consistent with 
 the concealment so unfortunately necessary." 
 
 Impatient to close an interview which tasked 
 her fortitude to the utmost, Laura was about to 
 retire. Hargrave seized her hand. " Surely, 
 
 Laura, you will not leave me thus. You cannot 
 refuse forgiveness to a fault caused by intempe- 
 rate passion alone. The only atonement in my 
 power, I now come to offer ; my hand, my fortune 
 — my future rank." 
 
 The native spirit and wounded delicacy of Laura 
 flashed from lier eyes, wliile she replied, " I fear, 
 sir, I shall not be suitably gi-ateful for your gene- 
 rosity, while I recollect the alternative you would 
 have preferred." 
 
 This was the first time tliat Laura had ever ap- 
 peared to her lover other than the tender, the 
 timid girl. From this character she seemed to 
 have started at once into the high-spirited, the 
 dignified woman ; and, with a truly masculine 
 passion for variety, Hargrave thought he had 
 never seen her half so fascinating. " My angelic 
 Laura!" cried he, as he knelt before her, "love- 
 lier in your cruelty, suifer me to prove to you my 
 repentance — my reverence, my adoration ; — suffer 
 me to prove them to the world, by uniting our 
 fates for ever." 
 
 " It is fit the guilty should kneel," said Laura, 
 turning away, "but not to their fellow-mortals. 
 Rise, sir ; this homage to me is but mockery." 
 
 " Say, then, that you forgive me ; say that you 
 will accept the tenderness, the duty of my future 
 life." 
 
 " What ! rather than control your passions, will 
 you now stoop to receive, as your wife, her whom 
 so lately you thought vile enough for the lowest 
 degradation ? Impossible ! yours I can never be. 
 Our views, our principles are opposite as light 
 and darkness. How shall I call Heaven to wit- 
 ness the prostitution of its own ordinances ? How 
 shall I ask the blessing of my Maker on my union 
 with a being at enmity with him ?" 
 
 "Good heavens, Laura! will you sacrifice to a 
 punctilio — to a fit of Calvinistic enthusiasm, the 
 peace of my life, the peace of your own? You 
 have owned that you love me — I have seen it, de- 
 lighted seen it, a thousand times — and will you 
 now desert me for ever ?" 
 
 " I do not act upon punctilio," returned Laura, 
 calmly; "I believe I am no enthusiast. What 
 have been my sentiments is now of no importance ; 
 to unite myself with vice would be deliberate 
 wickedness — to hope for happiness from such a 
 union would be desperate folly." 
 
 " Dearest Laura, bound by your charms, allured 
 by your example, my reformation would be cer- 
 tain, my virtue secure." 
 
 " Oh, hope it not ! Familiar with my form, my 
 only hold on your regard, you would neglect, for- 
 sake, despise me ; and who should say that my 
 punishment was not just ?" 
 
 "And will you, then," cried Hargrave, in an 
 agony, "will you, then, cast me off for ever? 
 Will you drive me for ever from your heart ?" 
 
 "I have no choice — leave me — forget me — 
 seek some woman less fastidious ; or rather en- 
 deavour, by your virtue, to deserve one superior 
 far. Then honoured, beloved, as a husband, as a 
 father — ■' The fortitude of Laura failed before 
 the picture of her fancy, and she was unable to 
 proceed. Determined to conceal her weakness 
 
 233 
 
BU 
 
 BU 
 
 from Hargrave, she broke from him, and hurried 
 towards the door ; but, melting into tenderness at 
 the thought that this interview was perhaps the 
 last, she turned. "Oh Hargrave," she cried, 
 clasping her hands in supplication, "have pity on 
 yourself — have pity on me — forsake the fatal path 
 on which you have entered, that though for ever 
 torn from you here, I may meet you in a better 
 world !" 
 
 BUCHAN, ELSPETH, 
 
 Was the daughter of John Simpson, the keeper 
 of an inn at Fitmy Can, which is the half-way 
 house between Banff and Portsoy in the north of 
 Scotland ; where he was still living in 1787 at the 
 age of ninety. His daughter Elspeth or Elizabeth 
 was born in 1738 ; and when she was twenty-one 
 was sent to Glasgow to find herself a place. She 
 there entered into the service of Mr. Martin, one 
 of the principal proprietors of the delft-work man- 
 ufactory. She was not long in this situation before 
 she married Robert Buchan, one of the workmen 
 in the service of the same Mr. Martin. Robert 
 and Elspeth Buchan seem to have lived happily 
 together, and had many children, whom they edu- 
 cated in a manner suitable to their station. At 
 the time of her marriage Mrs. Buchan was an 
 episcopalian, but her husband being a burgher- 
 seceder, she adopted his principles. She had 
 always been a constant reader of the scriptures, 
 and taking many passages in a strictly literal 
 sense, she changed her opinions greatly, and, 
 about 1778, she became the promulgator of many 
 singular doctrines, and soon brought over to her 
 notions Mr. Hugh White, who was the settled re- 
 lief minister at Irvine. She continued to make 
 new converts till April, 1790, when the populace 
 in Irvine rose, assembled round Mr. White's house, 
 and broke the windows ; and Mrs. Buchan with 
 all her converts, to the number of forty-six per- 
 sons, left Irvine. The Buchanites (for so they 
 were called) went through Mauchlin, old and new 
 Cumnock, halted three days at Kirconnel, passed 
 through Sangahar and Thornhill, and then settled 
 at a farm-house, the out-houses of which they had 
 all along possessed, paying for them, and for what- 
 ever they wanted. This farm-house is two miles 
 south of Thornhill, and about thirteen miles from 
 Dumfries. 
 
 The Buchanites paid great attention to the 
 Bible, always reading it or carrying it about them. 
 They read, sang hymns, preached, and conversed 
 much about religion ; declaring the last day to be 
 near, and that no one of their company should 
 ever die or be buried, but soon should hear the 
 sound of the last trumpet, when all the wicked 
 would be struck dead, and remain so one thousand 
 years. At the same time the Buchanites would 
 undergo an agreeable change, be caught up to 
 meet the Lord in the air, from whence they should 
 return to this earth, and with the Lord Jesus 
 as their king, posseaa it one thousand years, 
 during which time the devil should be chained. 
 At the end of that period, the devil would be 
 loosed, the wicked restored to life, and both 
 would assail their camp, but be repulsed by the 
 
 Buchanites, fighting manfully with Christ for their 
 leader. 
 
 The Buchanites neither marry, nor consider 
 themselves bound by conjugal duties, nor care for 
 carnal enjoyments. But having one purse, they 
 live like brothers and sisters a holy life as the 
 angels of God. They follow no employment, being 
 commanded to take no thought of the morrow, 
 but, observing how the young ravens are fed, and 
 the lilies grow, they assure themselves God will 
 much more feed and clothe them. They, indeed, 
 sometimes worked for people in their neighbour- 
 hood, but they refused all kind of payment, and 
 declared that their whole object in working, was 
 to mix with the world and inculcate their impor- 
 tant doctrines. 
 
 Mr. Buchan remained in the burgher-secession 
 communion, and had no intercourse with his wife. 
 Mrs. Buchan died in May, 1791 ; and before her 
 death her followers were greatly reduced in 
 number. 
 
 BURE, CATHARINE, 
 
 A LEARNED Swedish lady, whose correspondence 
 with another Swedish lady, Vandela Skylte, has 
 been printed. It is characterized by elegance of 
 language, correctness of style, and delicacy of ex- 
 pression. She died in 1679, aged seventy-seven. 
 
 BUFFET, MARGARET, 
 
 A Parisian lady, who vfrote an interesting 
 eulogy on learned women, besides observations on 
 the French language. 
 
 BURLEIGH, LADY MILDRED, 
 
 Eldest daughter of Sir Anthony Cooke, and 
 sister of Anne Bacon, was born at Milton, Eng- 
 land, in 1526. Her education was carefully super- 
 intended by her father, and she learned to read 
 and write the Greek and Latin languages with 
 ease and elegance. On presenting the Bible, in 
 Hebrew and other languages, to the university of 
 Cambridge, she sent with it an epistle in Greek 
 of her own composition. 
 
 In 1546 she married Sir William Cecil, after- 
 wards Lord Burleigh, lord high-treasurer of Eng- 
 land, privy-counsellor to queen Elizabeth, and 
 Knight of the Garter. 
 
 Lady Burleigh was very happy in her long mar- 
 riage of forty-two years ; she died, April 4th, 
 1589, deeply regretted by her husband, who lost 
 in her not only an amiable wife, but a friend whom 
 he had been accustomed to consult on the most 
 important occasions, and whose judgment and 
 knowledge in state affairs was little inferior to his 
 own. She was buried in Westminster Abbey. 
 
 After her decease. Lord Burleigh diverted his 
 sorrow by composing "Meditations" on his irre- 
 parable loss, in which, after expressing his high 
 sense of the admirable virtues of his wife, he enu- 
 merates her acts of beneficence and liberality, 
 many of which had, during her life, been carefully 
 concealed from himself. In these " Meditations," 
 after describing many of her wise charities, such 
 as loans to poor mechanics, and gifts of meat and 
 bread to suffering families, he says : 
 
 234 
 
BU 
 
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 "Four times in the year she sent, secretly, to 
 all the prisons in London, money to buy bread, 
 cheese, and beer, for four hundred persons: she 
 also frequently distributed shirts and linen among 
 the poor, both at Cheshunt and in London. To 
 the master of St. John's College she gave a sum 
 of money, to have fires in the hall of the college 
 upon all Sundays and holidays, between the feasts 
 of All Saints and Candlemas, when there were no 
 fires at the charge of the college. She gave 
 money, secretly, towards a building, "for a new 
 waye at Cambridge to the common scoUes." She 
 procured a number of books, some of which she 
 bestowed on the university of Cambridge, the 
 Bible in Hebrew, &c. : she also gave to the college 
 of St. John many Greek books in divinity, physics, 
 and the sciences. She gave similar presents to 
 Christ Church and St. John's college, Oxford, and 
 to the college of Westminster. She provided an- 
 nually wool and flax, which were distributed to 
 women in Cheshunt parish, to work into yarn, 
 which was overlooked by their benefactress, and 
 frequently presented to them as a reward of their 
 labour. At other times she caused it to be 
 wrought into cloth, and gave it to the poor, paying 
 for the spinning an extraordinary price. A short 
 time before her death, she purchased, in secret, a 
 quantity of wheat and rye, to be given to the in- 
 digent in a time of scarcity : these stores remained 
 unexhausted at her death, but were afterwards 
 employed according to the original purpose." 
 
 BURNET, ELIZABETH, 
 Thieb wife of bishop Burnet, and daughter of 
 Sir Richard Blake, knight, was born in London, 
 in 1661. At the age of eighteen, she married 
 Robert Berkeley, Esq., of Spetchley, with whom 
 she went to Holland to reside till the revolution 
 in England, when they returned to Spetchley, 
 where her husband died. After being a widow 
 seven years, she, in 1700, married Gilbert Burnet, 
 bishop of Salisbury. She was benevolent, and 
 exemplary in her conduct. She published a book 
 of devotion, which showed great religious know- 
 ledge. It was called, "A Method of Devotion ; or. 
 Rules for Holy and Devout Living ; with Prayers 
 on several occasions, and Advices and Devotions 
 for the Holy Sacrament: written by Mrs. Burnet." 
 She died in 1709, and was buried at Spetchley, 
 near her first husband, according to a promise 
 made to him during his life. 
 
 A constant journal was kept by Mrs. Burnet of 
 her life ; every evening she devoted some time to 
 the recollection of the past day, with a view of 
 avoiding in future any errors into which she might 
 have fallen. Though without learning, she pos- 
 sessed an acute and active mind ; theology con- 
 tinued to be her favourite study, to which, by the 
 circumstances of the times and of her own situa- 
 tion, she had been more particularly led. She 
 also made some progress in geometry and philo- 
 sophy: but she valued knowledge as a means 
 rather than as an end, as it had a tendency to en- 
 large aad purify the mind. By the austerities of 
 her piety, which was exalted to enthusiasm, she 
 injured her constitution ; but, in her zeal for spe- 
 
 culative opinions, she never lost sight of candour 
 and benevolence ; she considered the regulation of 
 her conduct, and the purity of her life, as the best 
 evidence of the sincerity of her faith. Her general 
 manners were unaffected, cheei-ful, and conciliat- 
 ing ; severe to herself and candid to others. With- 
 out external pretence or ostentation, humility, 
 modesty, and kindness, were her peculiar charac- 
 teristics. In what was indifferent, she avoided 
 singularity, and conformed with moderation and 
 simplicity to the customs suited to her station and 
 rank. 
 
 BURY, ELIZABETH, 
 
 Daughter of Captain Lawrence, was born at 
 Linton, Cambridgeshire, England, and married Mr. 
 Lloyd, of Huntingdonshire ; and after his death, 
 Samuel Bury, a dissenting minister of Bristol. She 
 excelled in her knowledge of divinity, mathematics, 
 and the learned languages, and was noted for her 
 piety. She particularly applied herself to the 
 study of Hebrew, in which, by unwearied applica- 
 tion and practice, she became proficient. She 
 wrote critical remarks upon the idioms and pecu- 
 liarities of the Hebrew language, which were found 
 among her papers after her decease. She was a 
 good musician, and spoke French with ease and 
 fluency. She took great interest in the study of 
 anatomy and medicine, which she frequently made 
 useful among those by whom she was surrounded. 
 
 Her beneficence and generosity were habitual 
 and persevering, and often exerted on an exten- 
 sive scale, so that at one time she seriously im- 
 paired her fortune. She died at Bristol, in 1720, 
 aged seventy-six. 
 
 Mrs. Bury often regretted the disadvantages of 
 her sex, who, by their habits of education, and the 
 customs of society, were illiberally excluded from 
 the means of acquiring knowledge. She contended 
 that mind was of no sex, and that man was no less 
 an enemy to himself than to woman, in confining 
 her attention to frivolous attainments. She often 
 spoke with pleasure and gratitude of her own 
 obligations to her father and her preceptors, for 
 having risen superior to these unworthy preju- 
 dices, and opened to her the sources of intellectual 
 enjoyment. 
 
 c. 
 
 CALAGE, DE PECH DE, 
 
 Was a native of Toulouse, in France. She 
 seems to have lived in the reign of Louis XIII. 
 She obtained the prize for poetry, at the Floral 
 Games of Toulouse, several times. 
 
 CALAVRESE, MARIA, 
 Was born at Rome in 1486, and was thought a 
 good historical painter, as well in oil as in fresco. 
 She worked for some time at Naples, but died at 
 Rome in 1542. 
 
 CALLCETT, LADY, 
 Wife of Sir Augustus Callcett, R. A., was the 
 daughter of Rear-Admiral George Dundas. She 
 
 235 
 
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 was born in 1788, and in 1809 married Captain 
 Thomas Graham of the British navy, and went 
 with him to India. She returned to England, 
 after having travelled over a great part of India, 
 and published her travels in 1812. She went af- 
 terwards to Italy, and in 1820 published a work 
 called " Three Months in the Environs of Rome ;" 
 and also " The Memoirs of the Life of Poussin." 
 In 1822, Mrs. Graham accompanied her husband 
 to South America; during the voyage. Captain 
 Graham died and was buried at Valparaiso. While 
 in South America, Mrs. Graham became the in- 
 structress of Donna Maria, now queen of Portu- 
 gal. Some years after, she married Mr. Callcett. 
 She died in England, 1843. Her other published 
 works were "History of Spain;" "Essays to- 
 wards the History of Painting;" "Scripture 
 Herbal;" and some books for children. 
 
 CAMARGO, MARIE ANNE CUPI DE, 
 A CELEBRATED stagc-danccr, born at Brussels, 
 1710. She appeared on the theatres in Paris and 
 Brussels, and maintained a respectable character. 
 She died April 1770. 
 
 CAMPBELL, DOROTHEA PRIMROSE, 
 Was a native of Lenwiok, in the Shetland Isl- 
 ands. In 1816, she published a volume of 
 poems. 
 
 CAMPAN, JANE LOUISA HENRIETTA, 
 Was born at Paris, 1752. She was the daugh- 
 ter of M. Genet, first clerk in the ofRce of the 
 Minister of Foreign Ailairs. He was fond of 
 literature, and communicated a taste for it to his 
 daughter, who early displayed considerable talents. 
 She acquired a knowledge of foreign languages, 
 particularly the Italian and English, and was dis- 
 tingviished for her skill in reading and recitation. 
 These acquisitions procured for her the place of 
 reader to the French princesses, daughters of 
 Louis XV. On the maiTiage of Maria Antoinette 
 to the Dauphin, afterwards Louis XVI., Made- 
 moiselle Genet was attached to her suite, and con- 
 tinued, during twenty years, to occupy a situation 
 about her person. 
 
 Her general intelligence and talent for observa- 
 tion enabled Madame Campan, in the course of 
 her service, to collect the materials for her "Me- 
 moirs of the Private Life of the Queen of France," 
 first published in Paris, and translated and printed 
 in London, 1823, in two volumes. This work is 
 not only interesting for the information it affords, 
 but is also very creditable to the literary talents 
 of the authoress. Soon after the appointment at 
 court. Mademoiselle Genet was married to M. 
 Campan, son of the Secretary of the queen's clo- 
 set. When Maria Antoinette was made a pri- 
 soner, Madame Campan begged to be permitted to 
 accompany her royal mistress and share her im- 
 prisonment, which was refused. Madame Campan 
 was with the queen at the storming of the Tuille- 
 ries, on the 10th of August, when she narrowly 
 escaped with her life : and under the rule of Ro- 
 bespierre, she came near being sent to the guillo- 
 tine. After the fall of that tyrant, she retired to 
 the country and opened a private seminary for 
 young ladies, which she conducted with great suc- 
 cess. Josephine Beauhamais sent her daughter, 
 Hortense, to the seminary of Madame Campan. 
 She had also the sisters of the Emperor under her 
 care. In 1806, Napoleon fotinded the school of 
 Ecouen, for the daughters and sisters of the offi- 
 cers of the Legion of Honour, and appointed Ma- 
 dame Campan to superintend it. This institution 
 was suppressed at the restoration of the Bourbons, 
 and Madame Campan retired to Nantes, where she 
 partly prepared her " Memoirs," and other works. 
 She died in 1822, aged seventy. After her de- 
 cease, her " Private Journal" was published ; also, 
 " Familiar Letters to her Friends," and a work, 
 which she considered her most important one, en- 
 titled " Thoughts on Education." We will give 
 extracts from these works. 
 
 From the " Private Journal." 
 MESMEE AND HIS MAGNETISM. 
 
 At the time when Mesmer made so much noise 
 in Paris with his magnetism, M. Campan, my hus- 
 band, was his partizan, like almost every person 
 who moved in high life. To be magnetized was 
 then a fashion; nay, it was more, it was abso- 
 lutely a rage. In the drawing-rooms, nothing was 
 talked of but the brilliant discovery. There was 
 to be no more dying ; people's heads were turned, 
 and their imaginations heated in the highest de- 
 gree. To accomplish this object, it was necessary 
 to bewilder the understanding ; and Mesmer, with 
 his singular language, produced that effect. To 
 put a stop to the fit of public insanity was the 
 grand dif&culty; and it was proposed to have the 
 secret purchased by the court. Mesmer fixed his 
 claims at a very extravagant rate. However, he , 
 was offered fifty thousand crowns. By a singular 
 chance, I was one day led into the midst of the 
 somnambulists. Such was the enthusiasm of the 
 spectators, that, in most of them, I could observe 
 a wild rolling of the eye, and a convulsed move- 
 ment of the countenance. A stranger might have 
 fancied himself amidst the unfortunate patients 
 of Charenton. Surprised and shocked at seeing 
 so many people almost in a state of delirium, I 
 
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 withdrew, full of reflections on the scene which I 
 had just witnessed. 
 
 It happened that about this time my husband 
 was attacked with a pulmonary disorder, and he 
 desired that he might be conveyed to Mesmer's 
 house. Being introduced into the apartment oc- 
 cupied by M. Campan, I asked the worker of mi- 
 racles what treatment he proposed to adopt ; he 
 very coolly replied, that to ensure a speedy and 
 perfect cure, it would be necessary to lay in the 
 bed of the invalid, at his left side, one of three 
 things, namely, a young woman of brown com- 
 plexion ; a black hen ; or an empty bottle. 
 
 " Sir," said I, " if the choice be a matter of in- 
 difference, pray try the empty bottle." 
 
 M. Campan's side grew worse ; he experienced 
 a difficulty of breathing and a pain in his chest. 
 All magnetic remedies that were employed pro- 
 duced no effect. Perceiving his failure, Mesmer 
 took ac^vantage of the periods of my absence to 
 bleed and blister the patient. I was not informed 
 of what had been done until after M. Campan's 
 recovery. Mesmer was asked for a certificate, to 
 prove that the patient had been cured by means 
 of magnetism only ; and he gave it. Here was a 
 trait of enthusiasm ! Truth was no longer re- 
 spected. When I next presented myself to the 
 queen (Marie-Antoinette), their majesties asked 
 what I thought of Mesmer's discovery. I informed 
 them of what had taken place, earnestly express- 
 ing my indignation at the conduct of the bare- 
 faced quack. It was immediately determined to 
 have nothing more to do with him. 
 
 the emperor alexander's visit to madame 
 
 campan's school. 
 The emperor enquired into the most minute par- 
 ticulars respecting the establishment at Ecouen ; 
 and I felt great pleasure in answering his ques- 
 tions. I recollect having dwelt on several points 
 which appeared to me very important, and which 
 were in tlieir spirit hostile to aristocratical princi- 
 ples. For example, I informed his majesty that 
 the daughters of distinguished and wealthy indi- 
 viduals, and those of the humble and obscure, 
 were indiscriminately mingled together in the 
 establishment. If, said I, I were to observe the 
 least pretension on account of the rank or fortune 
 of parents, I should immediately put an end to it. 
 The most perfect equality is preserved ; distinc- 
 tion is awarded only to merit and industry. The 
 pupils are obliged to cut and make all their own 
 clothes. They are taught to clean and mend lace ; 
 and two at a time, they by turns, three times a 
 week, cook and distribute victuals to the poor of 
 the village. The young ladies who have been 
 brought up in my boarding-school are thoroughly 
 acquainted with everything relating to household 
 business ; and they are grateful to me for having 
 made it a part of their education. In my conver- 
 sations with them, I have always taught them that 
 on domestic management depends the preservation or 
 dissipation of their fortunes. I impress on their minds 
 the necessity of regulating with attention the most 
 trifling daily expenses ; but at the same time I 
 recommend them to avoid making domestic details 
 
 the subject of conversation in the drawing-room ; 
 for that is a most decided mark of ill-breeding. 
 It is proper that all should know how to do and to 
 direct; but it is only for ill-educated women to 
 talk about their carriages, servants, washing, and 
 cooking. 
 
 These are the reasons, sire, why my pupils are 
 generally superior to those brought up in other 
 establishments. All is conducted on the most sim- 
 ple plan ; the young ladies are taught everything 
 of which they can possibly stand in need ; and they 
 are consequently as much at their ease in the bril- 
 liant circles of fashion, as in the most humble 
 condition of life. Fortune confers rank, but edu- 
 cation teaches how to support it properly. 
 
 From the " Letters," &c. 
 TO HEK ONLY SON. 
 
 You are now, my dear Henry, removed from my 
 fond care and instruction ; and young as you are, 
 you have entered upon the vast theatre of the 
 world. Some years hence, when time shall have 
 matured your ideas, and enabled you to take a 
 clear, retrospective view of your steps in life, you 
 will be able to enter into my feelings, and to judge 
 of the anxiety which at this moment agitates my 
 heart. 
 
 When first a beloved child, releasing itself from 
 its nurse's arms, ventures its little tottering steps 
 on the soft carpet, or the smoothest grass-plot, the 
 poor mother scarcely breathes ; she imagines that 
 these first efforts of nature are attended with every 
 danger to the object most dear to her. Fond mo- 
 ther, calm your anxious fears ! Your infant sou 
 can, at the worst, only receive a slight hurt, which, 
 under your tender care, will speedily be healed. 
 Reserve your alarms, your heart-beatings, your 
 prayers to providence, for the moment when your 
 son enters upon the scene of the world to select a 
 character, which, if sustained with dignity, judg- 
 ment and feeling, will render him universally 
 esteemed and approved ; or to degrade himself by 
 filling one of those low, contemptible parts, fit 
 only for the vilest actors in the drama of life. 
 Tremble at the moment when your child has to 
 chooso between the rugged road of industry and 
 integrity, leading straight to honour and happi- 
 ness ; and the smooth and flowery path which de- 
 scends, through indolence and pleasure, to the 
 gulf of vice and misery. It is then that the voice 
 of a parent, or of some faithful friend, must direct 
 the right course. 
 
 * * -X- * » 
 Surrounded as you doubtless are, by thoughtless 
 
 and trifling companions, let your mother be the 
 rallying point of your mind and heart ; the confi- 
 dant of all your plans. 
 
 * * » * * 
 Learn to know the value of money. This is a 
 
 most essential point. The want of economy leads 
 to the decay of powerful empires, as well as pri- 
 vate families. Louis XVI. perished on the scaffold 
 for a deficit of fifty millions. There would have 
 been no debt, no assemblies of the people, no re- 
 volution, no loss of the sovereign authority, no 
 tragical death, but for this fatal deficit. States 
 
 237 
 
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 are ruined through the mismanagement of millions, 
 and private persons become bankrupts and end 
 their lives in misery through the mismanagement 
 of crowns worth six livres. It is very important, 
 my dear son, that I lay down to you these first 
 principles of right conduct, and impress upon your 
 mind the necessity of adhering to them. Render 
 me an account of the expenditure of your money, 
 not viewing me in the light of a rigid preceptress, 
 but as a friend who wishes to accustom you to the 
 habit of accounting to yourself. 
 
 * * * * * 
 Happy is the woman who, in old age, can say — 
 
 " I am the mother of a worthy man, a useful mem- 
 ber of society;" and he, in his turn, will be the 
 parent of a line of offspring who will never dis- 
 grace the honourable name they inherit. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 A man should seek to gain information by tra- 
 velling ; he must encounter and endure misfortune, 
 contend against danger and temptation, and finally 
 temper his mind so as to give it the strength and 
 solidity of the hardest metal. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Let me impress upon you the importance of at- 
 tentive application to business ; for that affords 
 certain consolation, and is a security against lassi- 
 tude, and the vices which idleness creates. 
 ***** 
 
 Be cautious how you form connexions; and 
 hesitate not to break them off on the first proposi- 
 tion to adopt any course which your affectionate 
 mother warns you to avoid, as fatal to your real 
 happiness, and to the attainment of that respect and 
 esteem which it should be your ambition to enjoy. 
 ***** 
 
 Never neglect to appropriate a certain portion 
 of your time to useful reading ; and do not imagine 
 that even half an hour a day, devoted to that ob- 
 ject, will be unprofitable. The best way of ar- 
 ranging and employing one's time is by calcula- 
 tion ; and I have often reflected that half an hour's 
 reading every day, will be one hundred and eighty 
 hours' reading in the course of the year. Great 
 fortunes are amassed by little savings ; and po- 
 verty as well as ignorance are occasioned by the 
 extravagant waste of money and time. 
 
 ***** 
 
 My affection for you, my dear Henry, is still as 
 actively alive as when, in your infancy, I removed, 
 patiently, every little stone from a certain space 
 in my garden, lest, when you first ran alone, you 
 might fall and hurt your face on the pebbles. 
 But the snares now spread beneath your steps are 
 far more dangerous. They are strengthened by 
 seductive appearances, and the ardour of youth 
 would hurry you forward to the allurement ; but 
 that my watchful care, and the confidence you re- 
 pose in me, serve to counteract the influence of 
 this twofold power. Your bark is gliding near a 
 rapid current; but your mother stands on the 
 shore, and with her eyes fixed on her dear navi- 
 gator, anxiously exclaims, in the moment of danger, 
 "Reef your sails; mind your helm." Oh! may 
 you never forget, or cease to be guided by these 
 warnings, which come from my inmost heart. 
 
 From " Thoughts on Education." 
 woman's influence. 
 
 As mothers, as wives, as sisters, women have 
 the greatest influence on the destiny of men. 
 The heroes of chivalry made the approbation of 
 women the stimulus and aim of their high feats 
 of arms. Under absolute monarchies their charms 
 even extended over the fate of empires ; and too 
 often the boudoir of a favourite became the coun- 
 cil-chamber of kings. In a constitutional govern- 
 ment, in which the wisdom of the sovereign, and 
 the understanding of the people, promulgate laws 
 and cause them to be executed, the education of 
 women should be directed to a useful and praise- 
 worthy object. The enlightened understanding of 
 the present age deprives them of the power of go- 
 verning by the sole attraction of beauty ; a solid 
 education must now render them capable of appre- 
 ciating the talents and virtues of their husbands, 
 of preserving their fortune by a wise economy, of 
 partaking of their elevation without ridiculous 
 ostentation, of consoling them in disgrace, of 
 bringing up their girls in all the virtues which 
 ought to be inseparable from their sex, and direct- 
 ing the early years of their boys. The names of 
 women will figure less in history : and, for their 
 happiness, they wiU supply still fewer subjects 
 for romances ! A sentiment truly national will 
 lead them to regard their own homes as the only 
 theatre of their glory, and public morals will then 
 soon show the immense steps made by social order 
 towards a better state of society. 
 
 THE OtlLTIVATION OP THE AETS. 
 
 For myself, I should make a powerful objection 
 to the cultivation of the arts in female education. 
 I have remarked, that they destroy the develop- 
 ment of thought; the prodigious length of time 
 which they demand to acquire is doubtless the 
 cause. The enthusiasm which they inspire, also, 
 often exalts a young imagination, and in females 
 this is very injurious. 
 
 CAMPIGLIA, MADDALENA, 
 
 Was a native of Vicenza, and born in 1550. She 
 was educated in a nunnery, and celebrated for her 
 literary talents. She dedicated one of her works 
 to Torquato Tasso, with whom she corresponded. 
 She wrote, among other works, ' 'Azione Dramatica," 
 published in 1588. Her death occurred in 1695. 
 
 CANTARINI, CHIABA, 
 Was bom in Lucca, where she always resided. 
 She was well versed in history and philosophy, and 
 held an extensive correspondence with the learned 
 men of her time. A collection of her " Poems," and 
 a volume of her " Letters," have been published. 
 She died in 1597. 
 
 CANTOFOLI, GENEVEA, 
 A FEMALE artist of Bologna, pupil of Elizabeth 
 Sirani. She practised historical painting with 
 success ; and in the church of St. Procolo, in Bo- 
 logna, is a picture by her of the Lord's Supper, 
 of which good judges speak favourably, as they 
 
 238 
 
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 do of some of her other altar-pieces ; particularly 
 of St. Tommaso di Villanuovo, in St. G-iacomo Mag- 
 giore. Her personal history is unknown. She 
 lived in the seventeenth century. 
 
 CAPBLLO, BIANCA, 
 Descended from the noble house of the Capelli 
 lit Venice, and daughter of Bartolomeo Capello, 
 was born about 1545. Opposite to her father's 
 house, the Salviati, a great mercantile family of 
 Florence, had established a bank, and entrusted 
 the care of it to Pietro Buonaventuri, a Florentine 
 youth of obscure extraction, whom they had en- 
 gaged as clerk. Buonaventuri, handsome, adven- 
 turous, and addicted to intrigue, gained the affec- 
 tions of Bianca, whom he deceived by representing 
 himself as one of the principals in the bank. 
 After their intercourse had been carried on for 
 some time in secresy, the effects of it became such 
 as could not be concealed, and to avoid the terrors 
 of a life-long imprisonment in a cloister, Bianca 
 resolved to elope with her lover. Taking a casket 
 9f jewels that belonged to her father, she left 
 Venice by night, and at length, safely arrived 
 with Buonaventuri at Florence, and was lodged in 
 his father's house, where she gave birth to a 
 daughter. She had been married to Buonaventuri 
 on the road, at a village near Bologna. She lived 
 for some time with her husband in obscurity, con- 
 tinually under apprehensions of being discovered 
 by emissaries from Venice, where her elopement 
 had excited great indignation, not only in her 
 family, but among all the aristocracy. The uncle 
 of her husband, who was accused of having been 
 aware of his nephew's presumption, was thrown 
 into a dungeon, where he died ; and Bianca's at- 
 tendant and confidant, whom they had neglected 
 to take with them, met with a fate equally severe. 
 At length accident, or contrivance, introduced 
 her to the notice of Francis, son of Francis, grand- 
 duke of Tuscany, on whom his father had devolved 
 all the powers and dignity of the sovereignty. The 
 wonderful beauty and engaging manners of Bianca 
 made such an impression on Francis, that he of- 
 fered to protect her, negotiated in her favour with 
 her friends at Venice, and on failure of success. 
 
 drew her from her obscure situation, settled her 
 in a splendid palace, and spent the greatest part 
 of his time in her company. He created Buona- 
 venturi his chamberlain, and consulted him on all 
 the affairs of the state. This greatly offended the 
 Florentines, whom he treated with the tyranny 
 and haughtiness usual in foreign favourites of low 
 origin. 
 
 In 1566, soon after the marriage of Francis to 
 Donna Joanna of Austria, a marriage of expe- 
 diency, Bianca was introduced at court, and be- 
 came the centre of general admiration ; and the 
 captivated Francis solemnly promised to make her 
 his wife, in case they should mutually be freed 
 from their present engagements. 
 
 Buonaventuri, having formed an intrigue with 
 a lady of high rank, which he openly proclaimed, 
 while he behaved with the greatest insolence to 
 her family, was assassinated in the streets one 
 night, in 1569. Francis, who had connived at his 
 fate, allowed the murderers to escape, notwith- 
 standing the entreaties of Bianca, who seems to 
 have retained through aU some affection for her 
 first husband. 
 
 Bianca was now openly proclaimed the mistress 
 of Francis, who could hardly separate himself 
 from her to perform the necessary duties imposed 
 on him by his station. She exerted all her art in 
 gaining over to her interest the principal persons 
 in the Medici family, particularly the cardinal 
 Ferdinand, Francis's next brother ; and she suc- 
 ceeded. As the want of a male heir by his duch- 
 ess, had been a great disappointment to Francis, 
 and even a natural son was passionately desired 
 by him, Bianca, who had borne no child since her 
 first daughter, determined to introduce a supposi- 
 titious child to him, as her own. This scheme she 
 effected in 1576, and presenting to her lover the 
 new-born male infant of a poor woman, he joyfully 
 received it as his own, and named it Antonio. 
 Bianca is charged with several secret assassina- 
 tions, perpetrated for the purpose of removing all 
 those who were privy to this fraudulent transac- 
 tion. Francis, however, had a legitimate son born 
 to him the ensuing year, and this event appeared 
 to reconcile the grand-duchess to him, who had 
 been greatly disturbed by Bianca's influence over 
 him. Bianca, for a time, retired from court, but 
 her intercourse with Francis was still carried on, 
 though more secretly. 
 
 At length the death of the grand-duchess, sup- 
 posed to have been caused by the grief she expe- 
 rienced at finding herself again neglected, placed 
 the ducal crown within Bianca's grasp ; and not- 
 withstanding the hatred of the Florentines, who 
 were attached to the memory of the grand-duchess, 
 and the opposition of his relations and counsellors, 
 she persuaded Francis to fulfil his promise of mar- 
 riage. On June 5th, 1579, the ceremony was per- 
 formed privately ; but her ambition was to share 
 publicly with him the ducal throne, and she per- 
 suaded him to comply with her wishes. 
 
 He sent a solemn embassy to Venice, to inform 
 the senate of his marriage with Bianca, and to 
 request them to confer on her the title of daughter 
 of the Republic, which would give her precedence 
 
 289 
 
CA 
 
 CA 
 
 of the other princesses of Italy. That crafty go- i 
 vernment gladly received the proposal, as a means 
 of extending the authority of the Republic ; and in 
 one of the most magnificent embassies ever sent 
 from Venice, Bianca was solemnly crowned daugh- 
 ter of the state which had banished and persecuted 
 her, proclaimed grand-duchess of Tuscany, and 
 installed in all the honours and dignity of sove- 
 reignty. This event occurred Oct. 13th, 1579. 
 
 Her conduct in this high station was directed 
 to securing herself by obtaining the good-will of 
 the different members of the Medici family, and 
 reconciling their differences ; in this her persua- 
 sive manners, and great prudence and judgment, 
 rendered her successful. But she never conciliated 
 the affections of her subjects, who had always 
 hated her as the seducer of their prince, and re- 
 garded her as an abandoned woman, capable of 
 every crime. A thousand absurd stories of her 
 cruelty and propensity to magical arts were pro- 
 pagated, some of which are still part of the popu- 
 lar traditions of Florence. In return, she em- 
 ployed a number of spies, who, by their informa- 
 tion, enabled her to defeat all machinations against 
 herself and the duke. 
 
 In 1582, the son of Francis by his former grand- 
 duchess died, and soon after the grand-duke de- 
 clared Antonio his lawful heir. Yet it is said Bi- 
 anca had confessed to Francis that he was only a 
 supposititious child, and this strange contradiction 
 throws a mystery upon the real parentage of An- 
 tonio. Ferdinand, brother, and next heir to 
 Francis, was rendered jealous of his brother by 
 this report ; but Bianca effected an apparent re- 
 conciliation between them, and Ferdinand came 
 to Florence, in October, 1587. He had been there 
 but a short time, when Francis fell ill at his hunt- 
 ing villa of Poggio de Cajano, whither he had been 
 accompanied by his brother and Bianca ; and two 
 days after, Bianca was seized with the same com- 
 plaint, a kind of fever. They both died after a 
 week's illness, Francis being forty and Bianca 
 forty-four years of age. Ferdinand has been ac- 
 cused, but in all probability unjustly, of having 
 poisoned them. Their remains were carried to 
 Florence, where Ferdinand would not allow the 
 body of Bianca to be interred in the family vault, 
 and treated her memory otherwise with indignity ; 
 he also had the illegitimacy of Antonio publicly 
 recognised. This behaviour was probably caused 
 by the accusations the enemies of Bianca poured 
 into his ear. His subsequent conduct proves the 
 different feelings that came when time for reflec- 
 tion had been allowed him. He solemnly adopted 
 Antonio as his nephew, gave him an establishment 
 suited to a prince of the house of Medici, settled 
 a liberal annuity on Bianca's father, and made 
 presents to the officers of her household. 
 
 On a survey of the life of Bianca Capello, what- 
 ever may be thought of the qualities of her heart, 
 which it must be confessed are doubtful, it is im- 
 possible not to be struck with the powers of her 
 mind, by which, amidst innumerable obstacles, 
 she maintained, undiminished, through life, that 
 ascendency which her personal charms had first 
 given her over the affections of a capricious prince. 
 
 The determination and perseverance with which 
 she prosecuted her plans, sufficiently testify her 
 energy and talents ; if, in effecting the end pro- 
 posed, she was little scrupulous respecting the 
 means, the Italian character, the circumstances- 
 of the times, the disadvantages attending her en- 
 trance into the world, subjected to artifice and 
 entangled in fraud, must not be forgotten. Brought 
 up in retirement and obscurity, thrown at once 
 into the most trying situations, her prudence, her 
 policy, her self-government, her knowledge of the 
 human mind, and the means of subjecting it, are 
 not less rare than admirable. She possessed sin- 
 gular penetration in discerning characters, and 
 the weaknesses of those with whom she conversed, 
 which she skilfully adapted to her purposes. By 
 an eloquence, soft, insinuating, and powerful, she 
 prevailed over her friends ; while, by ensnaring 
 them in their own devices, she made her enemies 
 subservient to her views. Such was the fascina- 
 tion of her manners, that the prejudices of those 
 by whom she was hated, yielded, in her presence, 
 to admiration and delight: nothing seemed too 
 arduous for her talents ; inexhaustible in resource, 
 whatever she undertook she found means to ac- 
 complish. 
 
 If she was an impassioned character, she was 
 uniformly animated by ambition. In her first 
 engagement with Buonaventuri, she seems to have 
 been influenced by a restless, enterprising temper, 
 disgusted with inactivity, rather than by love: 
 through every scene of her connection with the 
 duke, her motives are sufficiently obvious. With 
 a disposition like that of Bianca, sensibility and 
 tenderness, the appropriate virtues of the sex, are 
 not to be expected. Real greatness has in it a 
 character of simplicity, with which subtlety and 
 craft are wholly incompatible : the genius of Bi- 
 anca was such as fitted her to take a part in poli- 
 tical intrigues, to succeed in courts, and rise to 
 the pinnacle of power; but, stained with cruelty, 
 and debased by falsehood, if her talents excite 
 admiration, they produce no esteem ; and while 
 accomplishments dazzle the mind, they fail to in- 
 terest the heart. 
 
 Majestic, beautiful, animated, eloquent, and in- 
 sinuating, Bianca Capello commanded all hearts ; 
 a power of which the coldness and tranquillity of 
 her own enabled her to avail herself to the utmost. 
 Though she early lost that beauty which had 
 gained her the heart of the capricious Francis, 
 the powers of her mind enabled her to retain to 
 the last an undiminished ascendency over him. 
 
 We learn from this example of perverted female 
 influence the great need of judicious education 
 for the sex. Had Bianca Capello been, in early 
 youth, blessed with such opportunities of acquir- 
 ing knowledge, and receiving the appreciation her 
 genius deserved, as were the happy lot of Laura 
 Bassi, what a difference would have been wrought 
 in the character and history of the brilliant Vene- 
 tian lady ! 
 
 CARLEMIGELLI, ASPASIE, 
 Was born in Paris, in 1775, and was the daugh- 
 ter of one of the Prince de Conde's footmen. Her 
 
 240 . 
 
CA 
 
 CA 
 
 childhood was rendered so miserable, by the bad 
 treatment she received from her mother, that she 
 never spoke of it afterwards without the utmost 
 horror. Obliged very early to labour for her own 
 support, and left unprotected by her parents, she 
 fell so violently in love, that she became danger- 
 ously ill, was thought deranged, and was sent to 
 an asylum for the insane. But in her strongest 
 paroxysms she never lost her judgment ; and the 
 physicians were accustomed to entrust her with 
 the care of the other insane persons. She was 
 released, but imprisoned again in 1793, for having 
 spoken against the revolution. She was soon set 
 free again ; but they had taken from her all she 
 possessed, and, tired of her miserable life, she 
 cried aloud in the streets, " God save the king !" 
 But though she was again tried, she was acquitted. 
 Aspasie then endeavoured to obtain the condem- 
 nation of her mother, but in vain. She next turned 
 her fury against the deputies who had caused so 
 much bloodshed, and attempted the life of two. 
 She was tried for this, and boldly avowed her in- 
 tention. She would allow no one to defend her, 
 and heard her condemnation with the greatest im- 
 passibility. She was guillotined, in 1798, at the 
 age of twenty-three. 
 
 CARLISLE, ANNE, 
 An ingenious lady, who lived in the reign of 
 Charles II., and is said, by Walpole, to have ob- 
 tained great credit by her copies of the works of 
 eminent Italian masters, as well as by her por- 
 traits, taken from life. She died about the year 
 1680. 
 
 CAROLINE WILHELMINA DOROTHEA, 
 "Wife of George II. of England, was the daugh- 
 ter of John Frederic, marquis of Brandenburg-An- 
 spach, and was born March 1st, 1683. She was 
 sought in marriage by Charles III. of Spain, after- 
 wards emperor of Germany, whom the fame of her 
 beauty had attracted ; but she refused to change 
 her religion, which she would have to do if she ac- 
 cepted this splendid alliance ; and so the offer was 
 rejected. Her resolution on this occasion procured 
 her the esteem of the elector of Hanover, after- 
 wards George I., and induced him to select her as 
 the wife of his son, to whom she was married, at 
 Hanover, August 22d, 1705. 
 
 Caroline was crowned (with her husband) queen 
 consort of Great Britain, on the 11th of October, 
 1727. Four sons and five daughters were the fruit 
 of this union. She took a great interest in the 
 political affairs of the kingdom, and her interpo- 
 sition was often beneficial for the country. She 
 was well acquainted with the English constitution ; 
 and often prevailed upon the king to consent to 
 measures which he had at first opposed. Not- 
 withstanding the infidelity of the king towards 
 her, he seems to have loved her as much as he 
 was capable of loving any one ; a distinction she 
 well merited, for she united much feminine gentle- 
 ness with a masculine strength of understanding, 
 which often came in aid of the king's feebler intel- 
 lect, and quietly indicated the right course, with- 
 out assuming any merit for the service. She had 
 
 also the rare good sense to see and acknowledge 
 her errors, without feeling any irritation towards 
 those who opposed them. She once formed a de- 
 sign of shutting up St. James' Park, and asked 
 Sir Robert Walpole what it would cost to do it. 
 " Only a crown, madam," was the reply ; and she 
 instantly owned her imprudence with a smile. 
 When, during the king's absence on the continent, 
 she found her authority as regent insulted, by the 
 outrageous proceedings of the Edinburgh mob, 
 who had violently put Captain Porteus to death, 
 she expressed herself with great indignation. 
 "Sooner," said she to the duke of Argyle, "than 
 submit to such an insult, I would make Scotland 
 a hunting-field!" "In that case, madam," an- 
 swered the high-spirited nobleman, "I will take 
 leave of your majesty, and go down to my own 
 country to get my hounds ready." Such a reply 
 would have irritated a weak mind, but it calmed 
 that of the queen. She disclaimed the influence 
 she really possessed over her husband, always 
 affecting, if any one were present, to act the 
 humble and ignorant wife. Even when the prime 
 minister, Walpole, came on business which had 
 previously been settled between him and the 
 queen, she would rise and offer to retire. " There, 
 you see," the king would exclaim, "how much I 
 am governed by my wife, as they say I am." To 
 this the queen would reply, " Oh ! sir, I must be 
 vain indeed to pretend to govern your majesty." 
 
 She was not only the king's political adviser, 
 but his confidant in all his love affairs, of which 
 she openly approved ; and by thus consenting to 
 his ruling vice, she preserved her influence over 
 him undiminished, and made herself the mistress 
 of his mistresses. He always preferred her, how- 
 ever, to any other woman; and during his ab- 
 sences on the continent, though she often wrote 
 him letters of nineteen pages, yet he would com- 
 plain of their brevity. 
 
 Queen Caroline died November 20th, 1737, at 
 the age of fifty-five, of an illness brought on by 
 Imprudence and over-exertion. She made it an 
 Invariable rule never to refuse a desire of the 
 king, who was very fond of long walks ; so that 
 more than once, when she had the gout in her 
 foot, she would plunge her whole leg in cold water 
 to drive it away, so as to be ready to attend him. 
 The king showed the greatest sorrow at her death, 
 and often dwelt on the assistance he had found in 
 her noble and calm disposition, in governing so 
 inconstant a people as the English. 
 
 CAROLINE MATILDA, 
 BoEN 1751, daughter of Frederic Lewis, prince 
 of Wales, married, 1766, Christian VII., king of 
 Denmark, and became mother of Frederic, after- 
 wards Frederic VII. of Denmark, in 1768. Though 
 young, beautiful, and beloved by the nation, she 
 was treated with neglect and hatred by the grand- 
 mother and the step-mother of her husband, who 
 foi" some time influenced him against her. Stru- 
 ensee, a physician, and the favourite of the king, 
 became her friend, together with Brandt, and 
 they endeavoured to gain the king from the influ- 
 ence of the party opposed to the queen. The 
 
 241 
 
CA 
 
 CA 
 
 reins of goTernment came into the hands of Stru- 
 ensee ; but, in 1722, the party of the king's step- 
 mother, and her son, prince Frederic, procured 
 the imprisonment of the queen and all her friends. 
 Counts Stniensee and Brandt -were tried, and exe- 
 cuted for high treason. Even the queen was at 
 first in danger of death. She Tfas accused of too 
 great an intimacy with Struensee, was separated 
 from her husband, and confined in Alborg, but was 
 released by the interference of her brother, George 
 III. of England. She died May 10th, 1775, at 
 Zell, in HanoTCr, in consequence of her grief 
 The interesting letter in which she took leave of 
 her brother, George III., is to be found in a small 
 work, "Die lezten Stundeu der Koniginvon Dane- 
 mark." She was mild and gentle, and much 
 beloved ; and though not always prudent, yet 
 there is no doubt that she was perfectly inno- 
 cent. 
 
 CAROLINE MARIA, 
 
 Wife of Ferdinand I., king of the two Sicilies, 
 daughter of the emperor Francis I., and of Maria 
 Theresa, born 13th August, 1752 ; an ambitious 
 and intelligent woman, but, unfortunately, without 
 firmness of character. According to the terms of 
 her marriage contract, the young queen, after the 
 birth of a male heir, was to have a seat in the 
 council of state ; but her impatience to participate 
 in the government would not allow her to wait for 
 this event, previous to which she procured the 
 removal of the old minister, Sanucci, who pos- 
 sessed the confidence of the king and of the na- 
 tion, and raised a Frenchman named Acton to the 
 post of prime minister, who ruined the finances 
 of the state by his profusion, and excited the ha- 
 tred of all ranks by the introduction of a political 
 inquisition. The queen, too, drew upon herself 
 the dislike of the oppressed nation by co-operating 
 in the measures of the minister ; and banishment 
 and executions were found insufBcient to repress 
 the general excitement. The declaration by Na- 
 ples against France (1768) was intended to give 
 another turn to popular feeling ; but the sudden 
 invasion of the French drove the reigning family 
 to Sicily. The revolution of cardinal Rufi'o in 
 Calabria, and the republican party in the capital, 
 restored the former rulers in 1799. The famous 
 Lady Hamilton now exerted the greatest influence 
 on the unhappy queen, on her husband, on the 
 English ambassador and admiral Nelson, and sacri- 
 ficed more victims than Acton and Vanini had for- 
 merly done. After the battle of Marengo, 12,000 
 Russians could not prevent the conquest of Naples 
 by the French, and the formation of a kingdom 
 out of the Neapolitan dominions for Joseph (Bo- 
 naparte), who was afterwards succeeded in the 
 same by Joachino (Murat). The queen was not 
 satisfied with the efforts which the English made 
 for the restitution of the old dynasty, and there- 
 upon quarrelled with the lord Bentinck, the Brit- 
 ish general in Sicily, who wished to exclude her 
 from all influence in the government. She died 
 in 1814, without having seen the restoration of her 
 family to the throne of Naples. 
 
 CAROLINE AMELIA ELIZABETH, 
 
 Wife of George IV. of England, was the daugh- 
 ter of Charles William Ferdinand, prince of Bruns- 
 wick Wolfenbuttle, and was born May 17th, 1768. 
 She married the prince of Wales on the 8th of 
 April, 1795, and her daughter, the princess Char- 
 lotte, was bom on the 7th of January, 1796. Dis- 
 sensions soon arose between her and her husband, 
 
 and in the following May they were separated, 
 after which she resided at Blackheath. In 1806, 
 being accused of some Irregularities of conduct, 
 the king instituted an inquiry into the matter by 
 a ministerial committee. They examined a great 
 number of witnesses, and acquitted the princess 
 of the charge, declaring, at the same time, that 
 she was guilty of some imprudences, which had 
 given rise to unfounded suspicions. The king 
 confirmed this declaration of her innocence, and 
 paid her a visit of ceremony. She afterwards 
 received equal marks of esteem from the princes, 
 her brothers-in-law. The duke of Cumberland 
 attended the princess to court and to the opera. 
 The reports above-mentioned were caused by the 
 adherents of the prince of Wales and the court of 
 the reigning queen, who was very unfavourably 
 disposed towards her daughter-in-law. On this 
 occasion, as on many others, the nation manifested 
 the most enthusiastic attachment to the princess. 
 In 1813, the public contest was renewed between 
 the two parties ; the princess of Wales complain- 
 ing, as a mother, of the difiiculties opposed to her 
 seeing her daughter. The prince of Wales, then 
 regent, disregarded these complaints. Upon this, 
 in July, 1814, the princess obtained permission to 
 go to Brunswick, and, afterwards, to make the 
 tour of Italy and Greece. She now began her cele- 
 brated journey through Germany, Italy, Greece, 
 the Archipelago, and Syria, to Jerusalem, in which 
 the Italian Bergami was her confidant and attend- 
 ant. Many infamous reports were afterwards cir- 
 culated, relating to the connexion between the 
 princess and Bergami. On her journey, she re- 
 ceived grateful acknowledgments for her liberality, 
 her kindness, and her generous efforts for the 
 relief of the distressed. She afterwards lived in 
 
 242 
 
CA 
 
 CA 
 
 Italy a great part of the time, at a country-seat 
 on lake Como. When the prince of Wales as- 
 cended the British throne, Jan. 29th, 1820, lord 
 Hutchinson offered her an income of £50,000 ster- 
 ling, the name of queen of England, and every title 
 appertaining to that dignity, on the condition that 
 she would never return to England. She refused 
 the proposal, and asserted her claims more firmly 
 than ever to the rights of a British queen, com- 
 plained of the ill-treatment shown to her, and ex- 
 posed the conspiracies against her, which had 
 been continued by a secret agent, the baron de 
 Ompteda, of Milan. Attempts at a reconciliation 
 produced no favourable result. She at length 
 adopted the bold resolution to return to England, 
 where she was neither expected nor wished for by 
 the ministry, and, amidst the loudest expressions 
 of the public joy, arrived from Calais, June 5th, 
 and, the next day, entered London in triumph. 
 The minister, lord Liverpool, now accused the 
 queen, before the parliament, for the purpose of 
 exposing her to universal contempt as an adul- 
 teress. Whatever the investigation of the parlia- 
 ment may have brought to light, the public voice 
 was louder than ever in favour of the queen ; and, 
 after a protracted investigation, the bill of pains 
 and penalties was passed to a third reading, only 
 by a majority of 123 to 95 ; and the ministers 
 deemed it prudent to delay proceeding with the 
 bill for six months, which was equivalent to with- 
 drawing it. Thus ended this revolting process, 
 which was, throughout, a flagrant outrage on pub- 
 lic decency. In this trial, Mr. Brougham acted 
 as the queen's attorney-general, Mr. Denman as 
 her solicitor, and Drs. Lushington, Williams, and 
 Wilde, as her counsel. Though banished from the 
 court of the king, her husband, the queen still 
 lived at Brandenburg House, in a manner suitable 
 to her rank, under the protection of the nation. 
 In July, 1821, at the coronation of George IV., 
 she first requested to be crowned, then to be pre- 
 sent at the ceremony. But, by an order of the 
 privy-council, both requests were denied, and, 
 notwithstanding the assistance of the opposition, 
 she suffered the personal humiliation of being re- 
 peatedly refused admission into Westminster Ab- 
 bey. She then published, in the public papers, 
 her protest against the order of the privy-council. 
 Soon after her husband's departure to Ireland, 
 July 30th, in consequence of the violent agitation 
 of her mind, she was suddenly taken sick in Drury- 
 lane theatre. An inflammation of the bowels (en- 
 teritis) succeeded, and she foretold her own death 
 before the physicians apprehended such an event. 
 She died Aug. 7th, 1821. The corpse, according to 
 her last will, was removed to Brunswick, where it 
 rests among the remains of her anqestors. Her 
 tombstone has a very short inscription, in which 
 she is called the unhappy queen of England. The 
 removing and the entombing of her mortal remains 
 gave rise to many disturbances, first in London, 
 and afterwards in Brunswick. These were founded 
 more in opposition to the arbitrary measures of 
 the ministry than in respect for the memory of the 
 queen. Two causes operated much in favour of 
 the queen — the unpopularity of tite ministry, and 
 
 the general feeling that the king was perhaps the 
 last man in the whole kingdom who had a right to 
 complain of the incontinencies of his wife, which 
 many, even of her friends, undoubtedly believed. 
 
 CAREW, LADY ELIZABETH, 
 AuTHOE, of a dramatic piece entitled " Mariam, 
 the fair Queen of Jewry," which was published in 
 1613, lived in the reign of James I. of England. 
 Lady Carew is supposed to have been the wife of 
 Sir Henry Carew: and the works of several of 
 her contemporaries are dedicated to her. The 
 following chorus, in the tragedy of " Mariam," is 
 noble in sentiment, and possesses beautiful sim- 
 plicity. It is in Act the Fourth, 
 
 KEVENGE OP INJURIES. 
 
 The fairest action of our human life 
 Is scorning to revenge an injury ; 
 For who forgives without a further strife, 
 His adversary's l^eart to him doth tie. 
 And 'tis a firmer conquest truly said, 
 To win the heart, than overthrow the head. 
 
 If we a worthy enemy do find, 
 
 To yield to worth it must be nobly done ; 
 But if of baser metal be his mind, 
 In base revenge there is no honour won. 
 Who would a worthy courage overthrow. 
 And who would wrestle with a worthless foe ? 
 
 We say our hearts are great, and cannot yield ; 
 
 Because they cannot yield, it proves them poor : 
 Great hearts are task'd beyond their power, but sold 
 The weakest lion will the loudest roar. 
 Truth's school for certain doth this same allow, 
 High-heajtedness doth sometimes teach to bow. 
 
 A noble heart doth teach a virtuous scorn 
 
 To scorn to owe a duty over long; 
 To scorn to be for benefits forborne ; 
 To scorn to lie, to scorn to do a wrong. 
 To scorn to bear an injury in mind; 
 To scorn a free-born heart slave-like to bind. 
 
 But if for wrongs we needs revenge must have. 
 
 Then be our vengeance of the noblest kind; 
 Do we his body from our fury save. 
 And let our hate prevail against our mind? 
 What can 'gainst him a greater vengeance be. 
 Than make his foe more worthy far than he? 
 
 Had Mariam scorn'd to leave a due unpaid. 
 
 She would to Herod then have paid her love. 
 And not have been by sullen passion sway'd. 
 To fix her thoughts all injury above 
 Is virtuous pride. Had Mariam thus been proud. 
 Long famous life to her had been allow'd. 
 
 CARTER, ELIZABETH, 
 Was the daughter of Dr. Nicholas Carter, an 
 eminent Latin, Greek, and Hebrew scholar, one 
 of the six preachers in Canterbury cathedral, and 
 perpetual curate of Deal, in Kent, where Elizabeth 
 was born, December 16th, 1717. She was edu- 
 cated by her father, who made no distinction be- 
 tween her and her brothers. She became very 
 well acquainted with the learned languages, and 
 also Italian, German, Spanish, and French. She 
 was also a proficient in needle-work, music, and 
 other feminine accomplishments. Her first pro- 
 ductions appeared in the " Gentlemen's Magazine" 
 under the signature of Eliza. In 1738 she pub- 
 lished some poems, and a translation from the 
 Italian of Algarotti, " An Explanation of Newton's 
 Philosophy, for the use of Ladies, in Six Dialogues 
 
 243 
 
CA 
 
 CA 
 
 on Sight and Colours." These publications ap- 
 pearing when Miss Carter was only twenty-one, 
 gave her immediate celebrity, and brought her 
 into correspondence with most of the learned of 
 her day. Among others. Bishop Butler, author 
 of the " Analogy," Archbishop Locker, Dr. John- 
 son, Sir Joshua Reynolds, and Burke. Dr. John- 
 son said, when speaking of an eminent scholar, 
 that " he understood Greek better than any one 
 he had ever known except Elizabeth Carter." 
 
 Among the numerous friends who appreciated 
 the talents of this amiable lady, was one friend of 
 her own sex. Miss Catharine Talbot, who was 
 kindred in feeling, as well as gifted with genius 
 to sympathize in the pursuits of Miss Carter. A 
 correspondence by letter was soon established be- 
 tween these two ladies, which continued for nearly 
 thirty years, and was only terminated by the death 
 of Miss Talbot in 1770. A portion of these letters 
 has been published, in four volumes, forming a 
 work of much interest, and teaching by its spirit 
 of Christian philosophy many valuable lessons to 
 their own sex, especially to young ladies. In one 
 of her letters, Miss Carter thus pleasantly describes 
 her general mode of spending her time : 
 
 LETTER FROM MISS CARTER TO MISS TAIBOT. 
 
 "As you desire a full and particular account of 
 my whole life and conversation, it is necessary, in 
 the first place, you should be made acquainted 
 with the singular contrivance by which I am called 
 in the morning. There is a bell placed at the 
 head of my bed, and to this is fastened a pack- 
 thread and a piece of lead, which, when I am not 
 "Lulled by soft Zephyrs through the broken pane," 
 is conveyed through a crevice of my window into 
 a garden below, pertaining to the sexton, who 
 gets up between four and five, and pulls the said 
 packthread with as much heart and good will as 
 if he were ringing my knell. By this most curi- 
 ous contrivance, I make a shift to get up, which I 
 am too stupid to do without calling. Some evil- 
 minded people of my acquaintance have most 
 wickedly threatened to cut my bell-rope, which 
 would be the utter undoing of me ; for I should 
 infallibly sleep out the whole summer. 
 
 And now I am up, you may belike enquire to 
 what purpose. I sit down to my several lessons 
 as regularly as a school-boy, and lay in a stock 
 of learning to make a figure with at breakfast ; 
 but for this I am not ready. My general practice 
 about six is, take up my stick and walk, some- 
 times alone, and sometimes with a companion, 
 whom I call on in my way, and draw out half 
 asleep, and consequently incapable of reflecting 
 on the danger of such an undertaking ; for to be 
 sure she might just as well trust herself to the 
 guidance of a jack-a-lantern. However, she has 
 the extreme consolation of grumbling as much as 
 she pleases without the least interruption, which 
 she does with such a variety of comical phrases, 
 that I generally laugh from the beginning to the 
 end of my journey. 
 
 When I have made myself fit to appear among 
 human creatures, we go to breakfast, and are, as 
 you imagined, extremely chatty ; and this, and 
 
 tea in the afternoon, are the most sociable and 
 delightful parts of the day. * * » We 
 have a great variety of topics, in which everybody 
 bears a part, till we get insensibly to books ; and 
 whenever we get beyond Latin and French, my 
 sister and the rest walk off, and leave my father 
 and me to finish the discourse and the tea-kettle 
 by ourselves, which we should infallibly do, if it 
 held as much as Solomon's molten sea. I fancy 
 I have a privilege in talking a great deal over the 
 tea-table, as I am tolerably silent the rest of the 
 day. 
 
 After breakfast every one follows their several 
 employments. My first care is to water the pinks 
 and roses, which are stuck in above twenty parts 
 of my room, and when the task is finished, I sit 
 down to a spinnet, which, in its best state, might 
 have cost about twenty shillings, with as much 
 importance as if I knew how to play. After deaf- 
 ening myself for about half an hour with all man- 
 ner of noises, I proceed to some other amusement, 
 that employs me about the same time ; for longer 
 I seldom apply to any thing ; and thus, between 
 reading, working, writing, twirling the globes, and 
 running up and down stairs, to see where every- 
 body is, and how they do, which furnishes me 
 with little intervals of talk, I seldom want either 
 business or entertainment. 
 
 Of an afternoon I sometimes go out, not so often, 
 however, as in civility I ought to do, for it is 
 always some mortification to me not to drink tea 
 at home. It is the fashion here for people to make 
 such unreasonably long visits, that before they 
 are half over I grow so restless and corky, that I 
 am ready to fly out of the window. About eight 
 o'clock I visit a very agreeable family, where I 
 have spent every evening for these fourteen years. 
 I always return precisely at ten, beyond which 
 hour, I do not desire to see the face of any living 
 wight ; and thus I finish my day, and this tedious 
 description of it, which you have so unfortunately 
 drawn upon yourself." 
 
 The letter was dated in 1746, when Miss Carter 
 was not quite twenty-nine. She was never mar- 
 ried, and, after becoming matronly in years, she 
 assumed the title of a married lady, and was styled 
 Mrs. Elizabeth Carter. There are in her familiar 
 letters many particulars of her daily habits of life, 
 and also expressions of her opinion on subjects 
 connected with which every person is more or less 
 interested. Among other things she often re- 
 marked that varying her occupations prevented 
 her from ever being tired of them; and accord- 
 ingly she hardly ever read or worked for more 
 than half an hour at a time, and then she would 
 visit, for a few minutes, any of her relations who 
 were staying in her house, in their respective 
 apartments, or go into her garden to water her 
 flowers. Before this period she had, however, 
 studied very assiduously. 
 
 Her regular rule was, when in health, to read 
 two chapters in the Bible before breakfast, a ser- 
 mon, some Hebrew, Greek, and Latin, and after 
 breakfast something in every language with which 
 she was acquainted ; thus never allowing herself 
 to forget what «|he had once attained. These oo- 
 
 244 
 
CA 
 
 CA 
 
 oupations were of course varied according to oir- 
 oumstanees, and when she took exercise before 
 breakfast her course of reading was necessarily 
 deferred till later in the day. 
 
 Her constitution must have been strong to have 
 enabled her to take the very long walks to which 
 she accustomed herself ; but she suffered greatly 
 from headaches, not improbably arising from her 
 over-exertion of body and mind in early youth, 
 and the not allowing herself sufficient repose to 
 recruit her over-worked strength. At one time of 
 her life she was wont to sit up very late, and as 
 she soon became drowsy, and would sleep soundly 
 in her chair, many were the expedients she adopt- 
 ed to keep herself awake, such as pouring cold 
 water down her dress, tying a wet bandage round 
 her head, &c. She was a great snuff-taker, though 
 she endeavoured to break herself of the habit to 
 please her father. She suffered so much, however, 
 in the attempt, that he kindly withdrew his prohi- 
 bition. 
 
 Mrs. Carter was not much more than thirty 
 when she undertook to finish the education of her 
 youngest brother Henry, which had been com- 
 menced by her father. She completed her task so 
 well, that he entered Bennet College, Cambridge, 
 in 1756, and passed through the University with 
 reputation. He had afterwards the living of Little 
 Wittenham, in Berkshire. 
 
 In order to devote herself more exclusively to 
 this occupation, she, for some years previous to 
 the completion of his education, resisted all temp- 
 tations to leave Deal, and refused all invitations 
 to spend a portion of the winter vrith her friends 
 in town, as had been her general practice. Part 
 of this retirement was devoted to the translation 
 of "Epictetus," her greatest work, by which her 
 reputation was much increased, and her fame 
 spread among the literati of the day. This work 
 was commenced in the summer of 1749, at the 
 desire of Miss Talbot, enforced by the bishop of 
 Oxford, to whom the sheets were transmitted for 
 emendations as soon as finished. It was not origi- 
 nally intended for publication, and was therefore 
 not completed till 1756, when it was published 
 with notes and an introduction by herself, by sub- 
 scription, in 1758. Mrs. Carter, besides fame and 
 reputation, obtained for this performance more 
 than one thousand pounds. A poem, by her friend, 
 Mrs. Chapone, was prefixed to it. 
 
 After the publication of " Epictetus," Mrs. Car- 
 ter became, for one of her prudent habits, quite 
 easy in her circumstances, and usually passed her 
 winters in London. In 1767, lady Pulteney set- 
 tled an annuity of a hundred pounds on Mrs. 
 Carter ; and some years afterwards our authoress 
 visited Paris for a few days. 
 
 In 1762, she purchased a house in Deal, her 
 native town. Her father had always rented a 
 house ; but he removed to hers, and they resided 
 together till his death in 1774. They had each a 
 separate library and apartments, and meeting sel- 
 dom but at meals, though living together with 
 much comfort and affection. Her brothers and 
 sisters were married, and gone from their father's 
 house ; Elizabeth, the studious daughter, only re- 
 
 mained' to watch over and supply all the wants 
 of her aged father. She attended assiduously to 
 every household duty, and never complained of 
 the trouble or confinement. To a friend who 
 lamented that Mrs. Carter was thus obliged to be 
 careful and troubled about many things, she thus 
 answers : 
 
 " It is proper I should be rather more confined 
 at home, and I cannot be so much at the disposal 
 of my friends as when my sister supplied my place 
 at home. As to anything of this kind hurting the 
 dignity of my head, I have no idea of it, even if 
 the head were of much more consequence than I 
 feel it to be. The true post of honour consists in 
 the discharge of those duties, whatever they hap- 
 pen to be, which arise from that situation in which 
 Providence has fixed us, and which we may be 
 assured is the very situation best calculated for 
 our virtue and happiness." 
 
 About nine years before her death, she expe- 
 rienced an alarming illness, of which she never 
 recovered the effects in bodily strength ; but the 
 faculties of her mind remained unimpaired. In 
 the summer of 1805, her weakness evidently in- 
 creased. From that time until February, 1806, 
 her strength gradually ebbed away ; and on the 
 morning of the 19th, she expired without a groan. 
 
 The portrait of Mrs. Carter, which her nephew 
 and biographer, the Eev. Mr. Pennington, has 
 taken, is very captivating. The wisdom of age, 
 without its coldness ; the cool head, with the affec- 
 tionate heart ; a sobriety which chastened conver- 
 sation without destroying it ; a cheerfulness which 
 enlivened piety without wounding it; a steady 
 effort to maintain a conscience void of offence, 
 and to let religion suffer nothing in her exhibition 
 of it to the world. Nor is her religion to be search- 
 ed for only in the humility with which she received, 
 and the thankfulness with which she avowed, the 
 doctrines of the Bible, but in the sincerity with 
 which she followed out those principles to their 
 practical consequences, and lived as she believed. 
 Very wide, indeed, from the line which they have 
 taken, will the cold, formal, and speculative pro- 
 fessors of the present day, find the conduct of 
 Mrs. Carter. We hear her in one place charging 
 upon her friend Mrs. Montague, the necessity to 
 enlist her fine talents in the cause of religion, in- 
 stead of wasting them upon literary vanities. In 
 another, we hear her exposing the pretensions of 
 that religion, which does not follow men into the 
 circle in which they live ; and loudly questioning, 
 whether piety can at once be seated in the heart, 
 and yet seldom force its way to the lips. 
 
 We see her scrupulously intent on turning the 
 conversation of dinner-tables into such channels 
 as might, at least, benefit the servants in attend- 
 ance. This delicacy of moral sentiment, which 
 feels a stain in religion like a wound, which deems 
 nothing trifling that has to do with the soul, which 
 sets God at our right hand, not only in the temple 
 but in the drawing-room, is, doubtless, an indica- 
 tion of a heart visited of God, and consecrated to 
 his service. Among her studies there was one 
 which she never neglected ; one which was always 
 dear to her, from her earliest infancy to the latest 
 
 245 
 
CA 
 
 CA 
 
 period of her life, and in which she made a con- 
 tinual improvement. This was that of religion, 
 which was her constant care and greatest delight. 
 Her acquaintance with the Bible, some part of 
 which she never failed to read every day, was as 
 complete, as her belief in it was sincere. And 
 no person ever endeavoured more, and few with 
 greater success, to regulate the whole of their 
 conduct by that unerring guide. She assisted her 
 devotion also, by assiduously reading the best ser- 
 mons, and other works, upon that most interesting 
 subject. Her piety was never varying ; constant, 
 fervent, but not enthusiastic. 
 
 Mrs. Carter is an eminent example of what may 
 be done by industry and application. Endowed 
 by nature with no very brilliant talents, yet by 
 perseverance she acquired a degree of learning 
 which must be considered as surprising. The 
 daughter of a respectable country clergyman, 
 with a large family and limited income, by her 
 unaffected piety, moral excellence, and literary 
 attainments, she secured to herself the friendship 
 and esteem of the great and the wealthy, the 
 learned and the good. In early youth her society 
 was sought by many who were elevated above her 
 in a worldly point of view ; and instead of the 
 cheerless, neglected old maid, we view her in de- 
 clining life surrounded by 
 
 " That which should accompany old age. 
 As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends." 
 
 Her friends were numerous, distinguished for 
 wealth and rank, as well as talents and learning. 
 She was particularly happy in her female friends. 
 Mrs. Montague, Mrs. Vesey, Miss Talbot, the first 
 and dearest, and Mrs. Chapone, were among her 
 most intimate associates. We will give some ex- 
 tracts from the great work which was the making 
 of her fortune, namely, her translation of " Epic- 
 tetus." These will serve to show the sentiments 
 which were her study during the best years of her 
 life. Those ladies who wish to obtain fame will 
 see how severe was the task Mrs. Carter perform- 
 ed to secure it. 
 
 EXTKACTS FKOM " EPIOTETUS." 
 
 Thai we are not to be angry with Mankind. 
 1. 
 
 What is the cause of assent to any thing ? 
 
 Its appearing to be true. 
 
 It is not possible, therefore, to assent to what 
 appears to be not true. 
 
 Why? 
 
 Because it is the very nature of the understand- 
 ing to agree to truth ; to be dissatisfied with false- 
 hood ; and to suspend its belief in doubtful cases. 
 
 What is the proof of this ? 
 
 Persuade yourself, if you can, that it is now 
 night. 
 
 Impossible. 
 
 TJnpersuade yourself that it is day. 
 
 Impossible. 
 
 Persuade yourself that the stars are, or are not 
 even. 
 
 Impossible. 
 
 When any one, then, assents to what is false, 
 be assured that he doth not wilfully assent to it 
 
 as false, (for as Plato affirms, the soul is never 
 voluntarily deprived of truth) : but what is false 
 appears to him to be true. Well, then: Have 
 we, in actions, any thing correspondent to true 
 and false, in propositions ? 
 
 Duty, and contrary to duty ; advantageous, and 
 disadvantageous ; suitable, and unsuitable : and 
 the like. 
 
 A person then, cannot think a thing advantage- 
 ous to him, and not choose it. 
 
 He cannot. But how says Medea ? 
 "I know what evils wait my dreadful purpose; 
 But vanquish'd reason yields to powerful rage." 
 
 Because she thought that very indulgence of 
 her rage, and the punishing her husband, more 
 advantageous than the preservation of her chil- 
 dren. 
 
 Yes : but she is deceived. 
 
 Show clearly to her that she is deceived, and 
 she will forbear : but, till you have shown it, what 
 is she to follow but what appears to herself? 
 
 Nothing. 
 
 Why then are you angry with her, that the un- 
 happy woman is deceived in the most important 
 points ; and instead of a human creature, becomes 
 a viper ? Why do you not rather, as we pity the 
 blind and lame, so likewise pity those who are 
 blinded and lamed in their superior faculties ? 
 2. 
 
 Every habit and faculty is preserved and in- 
 creased by correspondent actions ; as the habit of 
 walking, by walking ; of running, by running. If 
 you would be a reader, read ; if a writer, write. 
 But if you do not read for a month together, but 
 do somewhat else, you vrill see what will be the 
 consequence. So, after sitting still for ten days, 
 get up and attempt to take a long walk ; and you 
 will find how your legs are weakened. Upon the 
 whole then, whatever you would make habitual, 
 practise it : and if you would not make a thing 
 habitual, do not practise it ; but habituate your- 
 self to something else. 
 
 It is the same with regard to the operations of 
 the soul. Whenever you are angry, be assured 
 that it is not only a present evil, but that you 
 have increased a habit, and added fuel to the fire. 
 
 From the " Enchiridion." 
 1. 
 
 Remember that you are an actor in a drama, 
 of such kind as the author pleases to make it. If 
 short, of a short one ; if long, of a long one. If 
 it be his pleasure you should act a poor man, a 
 cripple, a governor, or a private person, see that 
 you act it naturally. For this is your business, to 
 act well the character assigned you : to choose it, 
 is another's. 
 
 2. 
 
 If you have an earnest desire of attaining to 
 philosophy, prepare yourself from the very first, to 
 be laughed at ; to be sneered at by the multitude ;. 
 to hear them say, " He is returned to us a philo- 
 sopher all at once ;" and " whence this superciliouB 
 look ?" Now for your part, do not have a super- 
 cilious look indeed ; but keep steadily to those 
 things which appear best to you, as one appointed 
 
 246 
 
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 CA 
 
 by God to this station. For remember, tliat if 
 you adhere to the same point, those very persons 
 who at first ridiculed, -will afterwards admire you. 
 But if you are conquered by them, you will incur 
 a double ridicule. 
 
 3. 
 Women from fourteen years old are flattered 
 with the title of mistresses, by the men. There- 
 fore perceiving that they are regarded only as 
 qualified to give the men pleasure, they begin to 
 adorn themselves ; and in that to place all their 
 hopes. It is worth whUe, therefore, to fix our at- 
 tention on making them sensible that they are es- 
 teemed for nothing else but the appearance of a 
 decent, and modest, and discreet behaviour. 
 4. 
 No one who is a lover of money, a lover of plea- 
 sure, or a lover of glory, is likewise a lover of 
 mankind ; but only he who is a lover of virtue. 
 5. 
 As you would not wish to sail in a large, and 
 finely decorated, and gilded ship, and sink ; so 
 neither is it eligible to inhabit a grand and sump- 
 tuous house, and be in a storm [of passions and 
 cares.] 
 
 6. 
 When we are invited to an entertainment, we 
 take what we find : and if any one should bid the 
 master of the house to set fish, or tarts, before 
 him, he would be thought absurd. Yet, in the 
 world, we ask the gods for what they do not give 
 us ; and that though they have given U3 so many 
 things. 
 
 7. 
 Patients are displeased with a physician who 
 doth not prescribe for them ; and think he gives 
 them over. And why are none so affected towards 
 a philosopher, as to conclude he despairs of their 
 recovery to a right way of thinking, if he tells 
 them nothing which may be for their good ? 
 8. 
 Examine yourself, whether you had rather be 
 rich, or happy : and if rich, be assured that this 
 is neither a good, nor altogether in your own 
 power: but if happy, that this is both a good, 
 and in your own power : since the one is a tem- 
 porary loan of fortune, and the other depends on 
 choice. 
 
 9. 
 As it is better to lie straitened for room upon a 
 little couch in health, than to toss upon a wide 
 bed in sickness ; so it is better to contract your- 
 self within the compass of a small fortune, and be 
 happy, than to have a great one, and be wretched. 
 10. 
 It is better, by yielding to truth, to conquer 
 opinion; than by yielding to opinion, to be de- 
 feated by truth. 
 
 11. 
 If you seek truth, you will not seek to conquer 
 by all possible means ; and, when you have found 
 truth, you will have a security against being con- 
 quered. 
 
 12. 
 Truth conquers by itself; opinion, by foreign 
 aids. 
 
 13. 
 
 In prosperity, it is very easy to find a friend . 
 in adversity, nothing is so difficult. 
 14. 
 Time delivers fools from grief: and reason, vrise 
 men. 
 
 15. 
 He is a man of sense who doth not grieve for 
 what he hath not ; but rejoiceth in what he hath. 
 16. 
 Epictetus being asked, how a person might 
 grieve his enemy, answered, "By doing as well as 
 possible himself." 
 
 CASALINA, LUCIA, 
 Was a celebrated Italian portrait-painter, a dis- 
 ciple of Guiseppe dal Sole. 
 
 CASSANA, MAKIA VITTOEIA, 
 
 An Italian painter, was the sister of the two 
 Venetian artists, Nicolo and Giovanni Agostino 
 Cassana. She died in the beginning of the 18th 
 century. She painted chiefly devotional pieces 
 for private families. 
 
 CASTELNAU, HENBIETTE JULIE DE, 
 Daughter of the Marquis de Castelnau, gover- 
 nor of Brest, was born in 1670. She married 
 count de Murat, colonel of infantry, brigadier of 
 the armies of the king. Her levity and love of 
 pleasure injured her reputation. After her hus- 
 band's death, the king exiled her to Auch ; but 
 when the duke of Orleans became regent, she was 
 recalled. She died the following year, 1716. She 
 wrote several prose works; among others, "La 
 Comtesse de Chateaubriand, or the Effects of Jeal- 
 ousy," and " The Sprites of the Castle of Kemosi." 
 She also wrote fairy tales, and several poems. 
 
 CASTKO, ANNE DE, 
 A Spanish lady, author of many ingenious 
 works; amongst others, one entitled " Eterniel ad 
 del Rei Filippi III." printed at Madrid, 1629. 
 The famous Lopez de Vega has celebrated this 
 lady in his writings. 
 
 CATALANI, ANGELICA, 
 By marriage Valabrfeque, a celebrated singer, 
 was born in 1784, at Sinigaglia, in the Ecclesi- 
 astical States, and educated at the convent of St. 
 Lucia, near Rome. Angelica displayed, in her 
 seventh year, such wonderful musical talents, and 
 such multitudes came to hear her, that the magis- 
 trates prohibited her singing longer in the convent. 
 But the favour of a cardinal, and the love of the 
 celebrated Bosello, enabled her to cultivate her 
 talents. When fourteen, she appeared in the 
 theatres at Venice and other Italian cities. She 
 was afterwards for five years at Lisbon. Her first 
 concert at Madrid gained her more than 15,000 
 dollars ; and from her concerts in Paris her fame 
 spread all over Europe. In London, she received 
 the first year a salary of 72,000 francs, and the 
 next, 96,000 francs ; besides the immense sums 
 she obtained from her journeys through the coun- 
 try towns. In 1817, she undertook the direction 
 
 247 
 
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 of the Italian opera in Paris, but left it on the 
 return of Napoleon, and resumed it on the resto- 
 ration of the king. In 1816, she visited the chief 
 cities of Germany and Italy. She passed the most 
 of her time in travelling and singing throughout 
 Europe, till about 1830, when she retired to an 
 estate in Italy, where she lived very much se- 
 cluded. She was married to M. Valabrfeque, for- 
 merly a captain in the French service, by whom 
 she had several children. She was a handsome 
 woman, and a good actress. Her voice was won- 
 derful from its flexibility and brilliancy. She 
 died in June, 1849. 
 
 CATELLAN, MAEIE CLAIRE PKIS- 
 CILLE MARGUERITE DE, 
 
 A LADY of Narbonne, who died at Toulouse, 
 1745, aged eighty-three. Her odes were admired 
 by the French, and were crowned by the Toulouse 
 academicians. 
 
 CATHARINE DE MEDICIS, 
 
 QnEEN of Framce, was the only daughter of Lo- 
 renzo de Medicis, duke d'TJrbino, by Magdalen de 
 la Tour, and was bom at Florence in 1519. Being 
 early left an orphan, she was brought up by her 
 great-uncle cardinal Giulio de Medici, afterwards 
 Pope Clement VI. In 1534, she was married to 
 Henry, duke d'Orleans, son of Francis I. of France. 
 Catharine was one of the chief ornaments of the 
 splendid court of her father-in-law, where the 
 graces of her person and her mental accomplish- 
 ments shone with inimitable lustre. At the same 
 time, though so young, she practised all those arts 
 of dissimulation and complaisance which were ne- 
 cessary to ingratiate her with so many persons of 
 opposite characters and interests. She even lived 
 upon terms of intimacy with Diana de Poictiers, 
 her husband's mistress. In 1547, Henry became 
 king, under the title of Henry II. Though child- 
 less the first ten years of her marriage, Catharine 
 subsequently bore her husband ten children. 
 Three of her sons became kings of France, and 
 one daughter, Margaret, married Henry of Na- 
 varre. During her husband's life, she possessed 
 but little influence in public affairs, and was chiefly 
 
 employed in instructing her children, and acquir- 
 ing that ascendency over them, by which she so 
 long preserved the supreme authority. 
 
 She was left a widow in 1559, and her son, 
 Francis II., a weak youth of sixteen, succeeded 
 to the crown. He had married Mary, queen of 
 Scotland, and her uncles, the Guises, had the 
 chief management of affairs during this reign, 
 which was rendered turbulent and bloody by the 
 violent persecutions of the Huguenots. Catharine 
 could only preserve a degree of authority by acting 
 with the Guises ; yet, that their furious policy did 
 not agree with her inclinations, may be inferred 
 from her raising the virtuous Michael de I'Hospital 
 to the chancellorship. 
 
 Francis II. died in 1560, and was succeeded by 
 his brother, Charles IX., then eleven years of age. 
 Catharine possessed the authority, though not the 
 title, of regent ; and, in order to counterbalance 
 the power of the Guises, she inclined to the party 
 of the king of Navarre, a Protestant, and the asso- 
 ciated princes. A civil war ensued, which was 
 excited by the duke de Guise, who thereby became 
 the favourite of the Catholics ; but he being killed 
 in 1562, a peace was made between the two par- 
 ties. Catharine was now decidedly at the head 
 of affairs, and began to display all the extent of 
 her dark imd dissembling politics. She paid her 
 court to the Catholics, and, by repeated acts of 
 injustice and oppression, she forced the Hugue- 
 nots into another civil war. A truce succeeded, 
 and to this a third war, which terminated in a 
 peace favourable to the Huguenots, which was 
 thought sincere and lasting. But the queen had 
 resolved to destroy by treachery those whom she 
 could not subdue by force of arms. A series of 
 falsehoods and dissimulations, almost unparalleled 
 in history, was practised by Catharine and her 
 son, whom she had initiated in every art of dis- 
 guise, in order to lull the fears and suspicions of 
 the Protestants, and prepare the way for the mas- 
 sacre of St. Bartholomew's day, 1571. Many of 
 the leaders of the Protestants were attracted to 
 Paris by the kindness and attention shown them 
 by the king and his mother ; indeed, so far did 
 they carry their duplicity, that several of the Ca- 
 tholics were alarmed. When the fatal day drew 
 nigh, Charles, who had been constantly urged on 
 by his mother, appeared to recoil from the atrocity 
 of the plot, and hesitated ; Catharine exerted all 
 her powers to stifle his compunction, and at length 
 succeeded. 
 
 "Well," said he, "since it must be so, I wiU 
 not let one remain to reproach me ;" and immedi- 
 ately gave orders for the commencement of the 
 carnage. The destruction of the Calvinists was 
 everywhere decreed, and, though many escaped, 
 more than forty-five thousand persons are said to 
 have been massacred in Paris and the provinces. 
 
 Charles, recovering from the frenzy which his 
 mother had excited, fell into a profound melan- 
 choly, from which he never recovered. He died 
 in 1574, and Catharine was made regent till her 
 favourite sou, Henry III., returned from Poland, 
 of which country he had been elected king. At 
 this juncture, she displayed great vigour and abi- 
 
 248 
 
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 lity in preTenting those disturbances which the 
 violent state of parties was calculated to produce, 
 and she delivered the kingdom to her son in a 
 condition, which, had he been wise and virtuous, 
 might have secured him a happy reign. But a 
 son and pupil of Catharine could only have the 
 semblance of good qualities, and her own character 
 must have prevented any confidence iu measures 
 which she directed. 
 
 The party of the Guises rose again ; the league 
 was formed, war was renewed with the Protestants ; 
 and all things tended to greater disorder than be- 
 fore. The attachment of Henry to his minions, 
 and the popularity of the Guises, destroyed the 
 authority of Catharine, and she had henceforth 
 little more than the sad employment of looking 
 on and lamenting her son's misgovernment, and 
 the wretched conclusion of her system of crooked 
 and treacherous policy. She died in January, 
 1589, at the age of seventy, loaded with the hatred 
 of all parties. On her deathbed, she gave her son 
 some excellent advice, very different from her for- 
 mer precepts and example ; urging him to attach 
 to himself Henry of Navarre and the other princes 
 of the blood, by regard and kind usage, and to grant 
 liberty of conscience for the good of the state. 
 
 Catharine was affable, courteous, and magnifi- 
 cent; she liberally encouraged learning and the 
 polite arts ; she also possessed extraordinary cou- 
 rage and presence of mind, strength of judgment 
 and fertility of genius. But by her extreme dupli- 
 city, and by her alternately joining every party, 
 she lost the confidence of all. Scarcely preserving 
 the decorum of her sex, she was loose and volup- 
 tuous in her own conduct, and was constantly at- 
 tended by a train of beauties, whose complaisant 
 charms she employed in gaining over those whom 
 she could not influence by the common allui'ements 
 of interest. Nearly indiiferent to the modes of 
 religion, she was very superstitious, and believed 
 in magic and astrology. 
 
 The depth of her dissimulation, and the savage 
 pleasure or indifference with which she viewed 
 the cruelties she had dictated, have been shown 
 in this sketch of her life. Perhaps the heaviest 
 charge against her is, the detestable principles in 
 which she brought up her children, whom she 
 early inured to blood and perfidy, while she weak- 
 ened their minds by debauchery, that she might 
 the longer retain her power over them. She, how- 
 ever, lived long enough to witness the sorrowful 
 consequences of this conduct, and to learn that 
 the distrust and hatred of all parties attended 
 her. Catharine resembled no one so much as her 
 own countryman, Caesar Borgia, in her wonder- 
 ful powers of mind, and talents of gaining ascend- 
 ency over the minds of others. She resembled 
 him also in the detestable purposes to which she 
 applied her great genius. Had she been as good 
 as she was gifted, no other individual of her sex 
 eould have effected so much for the happiuess of 
 France. 
 
 CATHARINE PAER, 
 
 Sixth and last wife of Henry VIII., was the 
 eldest daughter of Sir Thomas Parr of Kendal, 
 
 and was at an early age distinguished for hei 
 learning and good sense. She was first married 
 to Edward Burghe, and secondly to John Neville 
 lord Latimer; and after his death attracted the 
 notice and admiration of Henry VIII., whose 
 queen she became in 1643. Her zealous encou- 
 ragement of the reformed religion excited the 
 anger and jealousy of Gardiner, bishop of Win- 
 chester, the chancellor Wriothesley, and others of 
 the popish faction, who conspired to ruin her with 
 the king. Taking advantage of one of his moments 
 of irritation, they accused her of heresy and trea- 
 son, and prevailed upon the king to sign a warrant 
 for her committal to the Tower. This being acci- 
 dentally discovered to her, she repaired to the 
 king, who purposely turned the conversation to 
 religious subjects, and began to sound her opinions. 
 Aware of his purpose, she humbly replied, "that 
 on such topics she always, as became her sex and 
 station, referred herself to his majesty; as he, 
 under God, was her only supreme head and go- 
 vernor here on earth." 
 
 "Not so, by St. Mary, Kate," replied Henry; 
 "you are, as we take it, become a doctor, to in- 
 struct, and not to be instructed by us." 
 
 Catharine judiciously replied, that she only ob- 
 jected in order to be benefited by his superior 
 learning and knowledge. 
 
 "Is it so, sweetheart?" said the king; "and 
 tended your arguments to no worse end ? Then 
 we are perfect friends again." 
 
 On the day appointed for sending her to the 
 Tower, while walking in the garden, and conversing 
 pleasantly together, the chancellor, who was igno- 
 rant of the reconciliation, advanced with the 
 guards. The king drew him aside, and after some 
 conversation, exclaimed in a rage : " Knave, aye ; 
 avaunt knave, a fool and a beast." 
 
 Catharine, ignorant of his errand, entreated his 
 pardon for her sake. 
 
 "Ah! poor soul!" said Henry, "thou little 
 knowest how ill he deserves this at thy hands. On 
 my word, sweetheart, he hath been toward thee 
 an arrant knave, so let him go." 
 
 On the death of the king, he left her a legacy 
 of four thousand pounds, besides her jointure, 
 " for her great love, obedience, chasteness of life, 
 and wisdom." 
 
 She afterwards espoused the lord admiral sir 
 Thomas Seymour, uncle to Edward VI. ; but these 
 nuptials proved unhappy, and involved her in 
 troubles and difSculties. She died in childbed in 
 1548, not without suspicion of poison. 
 
 She was a zealous promoter of the Reformation, 
 and with several other ladies of the court secretly 
 patronized Anne Askew, who was tortured, but in 
 vain, to discover the names of her court friends. 
 With the view of putting the Scriptures into the 
 hands of the people, Catharine employed persons 
 of learning to translate into English the para- 
 phrase of Erasmus on the New Testament, and 
 engaged the lady Mary, afterwards queen, to 
 translate the paraphrase on St. John, and wrote a 
 Latin epistle to her on the subject. Among her 
 papers after her death was found a composition, 
 entitled " Queen Catharine Park's Lamentations 
 
 249 
 
CA 
 
 CA 
 
 of a Sinner, bewailing the ignorance of her Wind 
 Life," and was a contrite meditation on the years 
 she had passed in popish fasts and pilgrimages. 
 It was published with a preface by the great lord 
 Burleigh in 1548. In her lifetime she published a 
 volume of " Prayers or Meditations, wherein the 
 mind is stirred patiently to suffer all afflictions 
 here, and to set at nought the vaine prosperitie 
 of this worlde, and also to long for the everlast- 
 ing felicitee." Many of her letters have been 
 printed. 
 
 CATHARINE OF BRAGANZA, 
 Wife of Charles II., king of England, and 
 daughter of John IV. of Portugal, was born in 
 1838. In 1661, she was married to Charles II., 
 in whose court she long endured all the neglect 
 and mortification his dissolute conduct was calcu- 
 lated to inflict on her. This endurance was ren- 
 dered more difficult by her having no children ; 
 but she supported her situation with great equa- 
 nimity. 
 
 Lord Clarendon says of Catharine — " The queen 
 had beauty and wit enough to make herself agi'ee- 
 able to the king ; yet she had been, according to 
 the mode and discipline of her country, bred in a 
 monastery, where she had seen only the women 
 who attended her, and conversed with the religious 
 who resided there ; and, without doubt, in her in- 
 clinations, was enough disposed to have been one 
 of the number. And from this restraint she was 
 called out to be a great queen, and to a free con- 
 versation in a court that was to be upon the matter 
 new formed, and reduced from the manners of a 
 licentious age, to the old rules and limits which 
 had been observed in better times ; to which re- 
 gular and decent conformity the present disposi- 
 tion of men and women was not enough inclined 
 to submit, nor the king to exact. After some 
 struggle she submitted to the king's licentious 
 conduct, and from that time lived on easy terms 
 vrith him till his death." After Charles died, 
 Catharine was treated with much respect. 
 
 In 1693, she returned to Portugal, where, in 
 1704, she was made regent by her brother, Don 
 Pedro, whose increasing infirmities rendered re- 
 tirement necessary. In this situation, Catharine 
 showed considerable abilities, carrying on the war 
 with Spain with great firmness and success. She 
 died in 1705. 
 
 CATHARINE ALEXIEONA, 
 A COUNTRY girl of the name of Martha, which 
 was changed to Catharine when she embraced the 
 Greek religion and became empress of Russia, 
 was born of very indigent parents, who lived at 
 Ringen, a small village not far from Dorpt, on 
 lake Vitcherve, in Livonia. When only three years 
 old she lost her father, who left her with no other 
 support than the scanty maintenance produced by 
 the labours of an infirm and sickly mother. She 
 grew up handsome, well formed, and possessed of 
 a good understanding. Her mother taught her to 
 read, and an old Lutheran clergyman, named 
 Gluck, instructed her in the principles of that 
 persuasion. Scarcely had she attained her fifteenth 
 
 year when she lost her mother, and the good 
 pastor took her home, and employed her in attend- 
 ing his children. Catharine availed herself of the 
 lessons in music and dancing given them by their 
 masters ; but the death of her benefactor, which 
 happened not long after her reception into his 
 family, plunged her once more into the extremity 
 of poverty ; and her country being now the seat 
 of the war between Sweden and Russia, she went 
 to seek an asylum at Marienburg. 
 
 In 1701, she married a dragoon of the Swedish 
 garrison of that fortress, and, if we may believe 
 some authors, the very day of their marriage, 
 Marienburg was besieged by the Russians, and 
 the lover, while assistiag to repel the attack, was 
 killed. Marienburg was at last carried by assault) 
 when General Bauer, seeing Catharine among the 
 prisoners, and being smitten with her youth and 
 beauty, took her to his house, where she superin- 
 tended his domestic affairs. Soon afterwards she 
 was removed into the family of Prince Menzhikoff, 
 who was no less struck with the attractions of the 
 fair captive, and she lived with him tiU 1704 ; 
 when, in the seventeenth year of her age, she 
 became the mistress of Peter the Great, and won 
 so much on his affections, that he married her on 
 the 29th of May, 1712. The ceremony was se- 
 cretly performed at Yaverhof, in Poland, in the 
 presence of General Brure ; and on the 20th of 
 February, 1724, it was publicly solemnized with 
 great pomp at St. Petersburgh, on which occasion 
 she received the diadem and sceptre from the 
 hands of her husband. Peter died the following 
 year, and she was proclaimed sovereign empress 
 of all the Russias. She showed herself worthy of 
 this high station by completing the grand designs 
 which the czar had begun. The first thing she 
 did on her accession was to cause every gallows 
 to be taken down, and all instruments of torture 
 destroyed. She instituted a new order of knight- 
 hood, in honour of St. Alexander Nefski; and 
 performed many actions worthy of a great mind. 
 She died the 17th of May, 1727, at the age of 
 thirty-eight. 
 
 260 
 
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 CA 
 
 She was a princess of excellent qualities of mind 
 and heart. She attended Peter the Great in his 
 expeditions, and rendered him essential services in 
 the unfortunate aifair of Pruth : it was she who 
 advised the czar to tempt the vizier with presents, 
 which he did with success. It cannot be denied, 
 however, that she had an attachment which excited 
 the jealousy of the czar. The favoured object was 
 M. de la Croix, a chamberlain of the court, origi- 
 nally from France. The czar caused him to be 
 decapitated on pretence of treason, and had his 
 head stuck on a pike and put in one of the public 
 places of St. Petersburg. In order that his em- 
 press might contemplate this at her leisure, he 
 drove her across the place in all directions, and 
 even to the foot of the scaffold, but she had address 
 or firmness enough to restrain her tears. Catha- 
 rine has been suspected of not being favourably 
 disposed towards the czarevitch Alexius, who died 
 under the displeasure of his father. As the eldest 
 born, and by a former marriage, he excluded the 
 children of Catharine from the succession; and 
 this is perhaps the sole foundation for that report. 
 She was much beloved for her great humanity ; 
 she saved the lives of many, whom Peter, in the 
 first impulse of his naturally cruel temper, had 
 resolved to have executed. When fully deter- 
 mined on the death of any one, he would give 
 orders for the execution during her absence. The 
 czar was also subject to depression and horror of 
 spirits sometimes amounting to frenzy. In these 
 moments, Catharine alone dared to approach him ; 
 her presence, the sound of her voice, had an im- 
 mediate eifect upon him, and calmed the agony of 
 his mind. Her temper was very gay and cheer- 
 ful, and her manners winning. Her habits were 
 somewhat intemperate, which is supposed to have 
 hastened her end ; but we must not forget in judg- 
 ing her for this gross appetite, that drunkenness 
 was then the common habit of the nobles of 
 Russia. 
 
 CATHARINE II., ALEXIEONA, 
 ' Empbbss of Russia, born May 2d, 1729, was 
 the daughter of the prince of Anhalt-Zerbst, go- 
 
 vernor of Stettin in Prussian Pomerania. Her 
 name was Sophia Augusta von Anhalt. She mar- 
 ried in 1745 her cousin Charles Frederic, duke of 
 Holstein Gottorp, whom his aunt, the Empress 
 Elizabeth of Russia, had chosen for her successor. 
 In adopting the Greek communion, the religion of 
 the Russians, he took the name of Peter, after- 
 wards Peter III., and his consort that of Catha- 
 rine Alexieona. It was an ill-assorted and un- 
 happy match. Catharine was handsome, fond of 
 pleasure, clever, ambitious, and bold. Her hus- 
 band, greatly her inferior in abilities, was irreso- 
 lute and imprudent. Catharine soon became dis- 
 gusted with his weakness, and bestowed her affec- 
 tions upon Soltikoff, chamberlain to the grand- 
 duke. This intrigue was discovered, but Catha- 
 rine contrived to blind the Empress Elizabeth to 
 her frailty. Soltikoff was, however, sent to Ham- 
 burg, as minister-plenipotentiary from Russia. 
 Stanislaus Poniatowski, afterwards king of Poland, 
 succeeded the chamberlain in the favour of the 
 grand-duchess ; and Elizabeth, who became daily 
 more openly devoted to pleasure herself, only in- 
 terfered when the scandal became so public that 
 she felt herself obliged to do so, and Catharine 
 was forbidden to see Poniatowski. Although jeal- 
 ously watched by Peter, the grand-duchess con- 
 trived to evade these orders, and Poniatowski often 
 visited her in disguise. 
 
 In consequence of the many disagreements be- 
 tween them, as soon as Peter ascended the throne, 
 rendered vacant by the death of Elizabeth on the 
 25th of December, 1761, he talked of repudiating 
 Catharine, then residing in retirement at Peterhof, 
 near St. Petersburg, and marrying his mistress, 
 the Countess Woronzoff. Catharine determined 
 to anticipate him by a bolder movement. 
 
 Although on his first accession Peter had shown, 
 in many of his acts, true greatness and generosity 
 of mind, yet he soon relapsed into his old habits 
 of idleness and dissipation. While he was shut up 
 with his favourites and mistress, the empress kept 
 her court with mingled dignity and sweetness, 
 studying especially to attract every man distin- 
 guished for his talents and courage. Hearing that 
 the emperor was about to declare her son illegiti- 
 mate, and adopt as his heir the unfortunate prince 
 Ivan, whom Elizabeth had supplanted and kept in 
 confinement since his infancy, she formed a con- 
 federacy, in which several noblemen, officers and 
 ladies, joined ; among others, her new favourite, 
 Gregory Orloff, and the princess Daschkoff, sister 
 to the countess Woronzoff, a young widow of 
 eighteen, celebrated for her abilities, courage, and 
 warlike disposition ; the regiments of the garrison 
 were gained by bribes and promises ; the emperor 
 was arrested, and Catharine was proclaimed sole 
 empress of all the Russias, under the title of Ca- 
 tharine II. In July, 1762, after having reigned 
 only six months, Peter signed an act of abdication. 
 Six days afterwards, the conspirators, fearing a 
 reaction in the army, went to Ropscha, where 
 Peter was confined, and while drinking with him, 
 fell suddenly upon him and strangled him. It 
 does not appear that Catharine actually ordered 
 the murder, but she showed no sorrow for it, and 
 
 251 
 
CA 
 
 continued her faTOur to the murderers. She Tfas 
 solemnly crowned at Moscow, in 1762. 
 
 The first effort of the new empress was to estab- 
 lish peace with the foreign powers ; her next was 
 to secure the internal tranquillity of the empire. 
 Although the nobles, incensed at the arrogance of 
 the favourite, Alexis Orloff, raised a very serious 
 rebellion, in which, but for Catharine's indomi- 
 table courage and presence of mind, she would 
 have shared the fate of her husband, yet she con- 
 trived to suppress it, without even summoning a 
 council. Combining policy with firmness, she 
 found means to soothe the clergy, whom her in- 
 gratitude had incensed, and to restore quiet to her 
 dominions. Though fond of pleasure, she never 
 suifered amusement to interfere with business, or 
 the pursuits of ambition. Her firmness was re- 
 markable. " We should be constant in our plans," 
 said she; "it is better to do amiss, than to change 
 our purposes. None but fools are irresolute." 
 Her fame was soon spread all over Europe. 
 
 Catharine abolished the secret-inquisition chan- 
 cery, a court which had exercised the most dread- 
 ful power, and the use of torture. And, during 
 her long reign, she avoided as much as possible 
 capital punishment. She also, by a manifesto, 
 published in August, 1763, declared that colonists 
 should find welcome and support in Eussia ; she 
 founded several hospitals, and a medical college 
 at St. Petersburg ; and though often harassed by 
 plots, that were incessantly formed against her, 
 she constantly occupied herself with the improve- 
 ment and aggrandizement of her empire. A reso- 
 lution she had taken to marry Orloff, nearly proved 
 fatal to them both, and she was obliged to re- 
 nounce it. 
 
 In 1764, Poniatowski, a former favourite of Ca- 
 tharine's, was, by her exertions and the army she 
 sent into Poland, elected king of that country, 
 under the name of Stanislaus Augustus. In the 
 same year, occurred the murder of Ivan, grandson 
 of Peter the Great, and rightful heir to the throne 
 of Russia. He was twenty-three years of age ; 
 and although his constant captivity is said to have 
 somewhat impaired his faculties, yet his existence 
 caused so many disturbances, that it was clearly 
 for Catharine's interest to have him assassinated. 
 Catharine's instrumentality in this murder was not 
 proved ; but the assassins were protected, and ad- 
 vanced in the Russian service. 
 
 The beneficial consequences of the regulations 
 of Catharine, became daily more apparent through 
 all the empire. The government, more simply 
 organized and animated with a new energy, dis- 
 played a spirit of independence worthy a great 
 nation. Mistress of her own passions, Catharine 
 knew how, by mingled mildness and firmness, to 
 control those of others ; and, whatever might be 
 her own irregularities, she strictly discountenanced 
 violations of decorum. 
 
 The perplexed and uncertain jurisprudence of 
 Russia more particularly engaged her attention ; 
 and she drew up herself a code of laws, founded 
 in truth and justice, which was submitted to depu- 
 ties from all the Russian provinces. But the clause 
 that proposed liberty to the boors, or serfs, met 
 
 CA 
 
 with so much opposition from the nobles, that the 
 assembly had to be dismissed. In 1767, the em- 
 press sent learned men throughout her immense 
 territories, to examine and report their soil, pro- 
 ductions and wealth, and the manners and habits 
 of the people. About the same time, the small- 
 pox was raging in St. Petersburg, and Catharine 
 submitted herself and her son to inoculation, as 
 an example to the people. 
 
 In 1768, she engaged in a war with Turkey, 
 which terminated successfully in 1774, and by 
 which several new provinces were added to the 
 Russian empire. But, during this period, the 
 plague raged throughout the eastern countries of 
 Europe to a great extent, and this disease is said 
 to have carried off more than 100,000 of Catha- 
 rine's subjects. While the war with Turkey was 
 going on, the empress concluded with the long of 
 Prussia and emperor of Austria, the infamous 
 partition treaty, by which the first blow was given 
 to the existence of Poland. 
 
 Orloff, who had been of the greatest assistance 
 to Catharine during the war with Turkey, and the 
 disturbances caused by the plague, again aspired 
 to share with her the throne. Catharine bore 
 with his caprices for some time, through her fond- 
 ness for their child, a boy, who was privately 
 reared in the suburbs of the city, but at length 
 resolved to subdue an attachment become so dan- 
 gerous to her peace ; and having proposed to Or- 
 loff a clandestine marriage, which he disdainfully 
 declined, she saw him leave her court without any 
 apparent grief, and raised Vassiltschkoff, a young 
 and handsome lieutenant, to his place in her affec- 
 tions. She loaded Orloff with magnificent presents 
 in money and lands, and sent him to travel in Europe. 
 
 In 1773, Catharine married her son to the eldest 
 daughter of the landgrave of Hesse-Darmstadt. 
 And in the following year, the advantageous peace 
 with Turkey, and the great reputation she had 
 acquired throughout Europe, placed her appa- 
 rently at the summit of prosperity. But she was, 
 nevertheless, kept in continual dread of losing her 
 throne and her life. Threats of assassination 
 were constantly thrown out against her ; but she 
 appeared in public, as usual, with a calm and 
 composed demeanour. 
 
 Vassiltschkoff had, for nearly two years, filled 
 the place of favourite with great success, but sud- 
 denly he was ordered to Moscow. He obeyed the 
 mandate, and costly presents rewarded his docility. 
 Orloff returned as suddenly, was received into 
 favour, and reinstated in his former posts. Catha- 
 rine, however, refused to banish, at the request of 
 Orloff, Panim, her minister of foreign affairs, in 
 whose ability and integrity she could entirely 
 confide. 
 
 In 1773, a man resembling Peter III. was per- 
 suaded to personate him ; the priests, opposed to 
 Catharine's liberal policy, circulated everywhere 
 the report that the murdered emperor was still 
 living. The spirit of rebellion spread over the 
 whole country, and it was only by the greatest 
 firmness and energy that it was quelled. Soon 
 after this, Orloff was superseded by Potemkin, an 
 oficer in the Russian army, who accompanied 
 
 252 
 
CA 
 
 CE 
 
 Catharine to Mosoo-w. Here he attempted, but in 
 vain, to induce her to marry him. She spent the 
 next few years in carrying on the internal im- 
 provements of her country, and perfecting the 
 government. The Poles, once conquered, she 
 treated -with a generosity and justice -which put 
 Austria and Prussia to shame. At this time Po- 
 temkin exercised an unlimited influence on the 
 empress. In 1784, he succeeded in conquering 
 the Crimea, to which he gave its ancient name of 
 Tauris, and extended the confines of Russia to the 
 Caucasus. Catharine, upon this, traversed the 
 provinces which had revolted under Pugatschefl', 
 and navigated the Wolga and Borysthenes, taking 
 great interest in the expedition, as it was con- 
 nected with some danger. She was desirous, like- 
 wise, of seeing Tauris ; and Potemkin turned this 
 journey into a triumphal march. Two sovereigns 
 visited Catharine on her journey — the king of 
 Poland, Stanislaus Augustus, and Joseph II., em- 
 peror of Austria. Throughout this royal progress 
 of nearly one thousand leagues, nothing but feasts 
 and spectacles of various kinds were to be seen. 
 
 Still pursuing her scheme of expelling the Turks 
 from Europe, and reigning at Constantinople, Ca- 
 tharine, in 1783, seized on the Crimea, and annexed 
 it to her empire. In 1787, the Porte declared 
 war against her, and hostilities were continued till 
 the treaty of Jassy was signed, January 9th, 1792, 
 which restored peace. She indemnified herself 
 by sharing in the dismemberment of Poland, which 
 kingdom became extinct in 1795. . She was on 
 the point of turning her arms against republican 
 France, when she died of apoplexy, November 9th, 
 1796. 
 
 Though as a woman the licentiousness of her 
 character is inexcusable, yet as a sovereign she is 
 well entitled to the appellation of great. After 
 Peter I., she was the chief regenerator of Russia, 
 but with a more enlightened mind, and under 
 more favourable circumstances. She established 
 schools, ameliorated the condition of the serfs, 
 promoted commerce, founded towns, arsenals, 
 banks, and manufactories, and encouraged art and 
 literature. She corresponded with learned men 
 in all countries, and wrote, herself, "Instructions 
 for a Code of Laws," besides several dramatic 
 pieces, and " Moral Tales," for her grandchildren. 
 Her son Paul succeeded her. 
 
 She was very handsome and dignified in her 
 person. Her eyes were blue and piercing, her 
 hair auburn, and though not tall, her manner of 
 carrying her head made her appear so. She seems 
 to have obtained the love as well as reverence of 
 her subjects, which, setting aside her mode of ac- 
 quiring the throne, is not wonderful, seeing that 
 her vices as a ruler were those deemed conven- 
 tional among sovereigns, namely, ambition and a 
 thirst for aggrandizement, unshackled by humanity 
 or principle. 
 
 CATHARINE PAULOWNA, 
 Queen of Wiirtemburg, grand-princess of Rus- 
 sia, was born May 21st, 1788. She was the 
 younger sister of Alexander, emperor of Russia, 
 and married, in 1809, George, prince of Holstein- 
 
 Oldenburg, and thus avoided compliance with a 
 proposal of marriage made her by Napoleon. She 
 had two sons by this marriage ; her husband died 
 in Russia, in 1812. Catharine was distinguished 
 for her beauty, talents, resolution, and her attach- 
 ment to her brother Alexander. After 1812, she 
 was frequently his companion in his campaigns, 
 as well as during his residence in France and 
 Vienna, and evidently had an important influence 
 on several of his measures. January 24th, 1816, 
 Catharine married, from motives of affection, Wil- 
 liam, crown-prince of Wiirtemburg ; and after the 
 death of his father, in October, 1816, they ascended 
 the throne of Wurtemburg. She was a generous 
 benefactor to her subjects during the famine of 
 1816. She formed female associations, established 
 an agricultural society, laboured to promote the 
 education of the people, and founded valuable in- 
 stitutions for the poor. She instituted a school for 
 females of the higher classes, and savings banks 
 for the lower classes. She was inclined to be ar- 
 bitrary, and had but little taste for the fine arts. 
 She had two daughters by her second marriage ; 
 and she died January 9th, 1819. 
 
 CENCI, BEATRICE 
 Count Nicola Cenci was the chief of one of the 
 most ancient patrician families of the Roman 
 States. In early life he embraced the ecclesiastic 
 vocation, but finding himself the last of his noble 
 race, he obtained a dispensation, and married. 
 Being treasurer of the apostolic chamber under 
 the pontificate of Pius V., he became immensely 
 rich, and at his death left his only son in posses- 
 sion of a most splendid fortune. This son, to 
 whom he left his titles and estates — this son, the 
 only hope of his old age — stained his name with a 
 foul blot of incest and murder; — this son was 
 Francesco Cenci, the father of Beatrice. Stamped 
 from his birth with a mark of reprobation, he 
 seemed to bring death and disgrace upon all who 
 approached him. He married, when he was 
 scarcely twenty, a beautiful and noble lady, who 
 bore him seven children, and, while yet young, 
 perished by a violent and mysterious death. He 
 speedily formed a second marriage with Lucrezia 
 
 253 
 
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 CB 
 
 Strozzi, by whom he had no children. Francesco, 
 who appears to have been devoid of even the in- 
 stinctive good feelings that actuate the brute cre- 
 ation, and whose life, according to Musatori, was 
 a tissue of low and disgusting profligacy, detested 
 all his children. He sent his sons to a distant 
 college ; but leaving them in want of the common 
 necessaries of life, they were obliged to return to 
 Rome. Here they threw themselves at the feet 
 of the pope, who constrained Cenci to make them 
 an allowance suitable to their birth and their 
 wants. The eldest daughter also appealed to the 
 holy father, and was permitted to retire into a 
 convent. Francesco became terribly enraged to 
 see his victims escape him ; there, however, re- 
 mained his daughter Beatrice, and Bernardino, his 
 youngest child. To prevent Beatrice from follow- 
 ing the example of her sister, he imprisoned her 
 in a remote apartment of his palace, where her 
 mournful solitude was only broken by the noise 
 of his impure orgies. While Beatrice was a child 
 he treated her with the utmost cruelty ; beat her 
 frequently, and delighted in hearing her ask tear- 
 fully why she received such brutal chastisement ? 
 But as she advanced towards womanhood in grow- 
 ing beauty, his passion towards her underwent a 
 fatal change. 
 
 In the mean time, two of the sons of Cenci — 
 Cristoforo and Vocio — were assassinated by ban- 
 dits in the neighbourhood of Rome. Nobody 
 doubted as to who had employed the murderers. 
 Very soon the cause of the count's perfidious ten- 
 derness towards his daughter manifested itself — 
 an abominable passion, accompanied by every ex- 
 tremity of cruelty and violence ! The unhappy 
 girl appears to have been naturally gentle, pious, 
 and amiable, till she was goaded to a horrible 
 crime by her wish to escape from the vilest con- 
 tamination. Her step-mother, who entirely sym- 
 pathized with her, imparted the state of things 
 to her elder brother, Giajsomo. The family had 
 borne so much of cruelty and oppression from 
 their tyrant, that it seemed as if the last outrage 
 absolved them in their own eyes from all ordinary 
 laws of duty. 
 
 " He must die," said Beatrice, and not one 
 oifered an objection. Two assassins were intro- 
 duced into the sleeping apartment of Francesco 
 by these miserable women, who, after the fatal 
 deed was accomplished, themselves undertook to 
 efface its traces. But a short time elapsed, how- 
 ever, before one of the bravoes, being taken for 
 some other crime, confessed the plot by which 
 count Cenci had died. The whole family were at 
 once imprisoned, and, though the most distin- 
 guished persons of Rome solicited their pardon, 
 they were put to death, after tortures the most 
 unnecessary and shocking. This happened in the 
 year 1599, under the Pontificate of Clement VIIL, 
 whose treasury had been at different times en- 
 riched by the old Cenci, who had frequently pur- 
 chased his pardon for capital crimes of the most 
 enormous kind, by sums as large as 100,000 crowns. 
 We see by this, that it was no abstract love of 
 justice which rendered Clement inexorable towards 
 these unfortunate criminals. The little boy Ber- 
 
 nadino — being supposed, from his tender years, 
 incapable of an active part in the parricide — had 
 his life granted, but upon what terms ! He was 
 carried to the scaffold, and made to witness the 
 agonies and bloody death of his brothers and sis- 
 ters, to whom he was fervently attached. When 
 they brought him back to his prison, he was a 
 maniac. 
 
 There is a portrait of Beatrice in the Colonna 
 palace, painted by Guido, while she was in prison. 
 The extreme loveliness of the face has caused it 
 to be copied in every form of art, and few, it is 
 supposed, have not seen some representation of 
 this most wretched of women. Shelley has chosen 
 this story for a tragedy, which, though full of 
 power and poetry, is, from its subject, precluded 
 from ever becoming a favourite. 
 
 CENTLIVRE, SUSANNAH, 
 
 A CELEBRATED comic Writer, was the daughter 
 of a Mr. Freeman, of Holbeach, in Lincolnshire. 
 Being left an orphan, she went, when about four- 
 teen, to London, where she took much pains to 
 cultivate her mind and person. She is the author 
 of fifteen plays, and several little poems, for some 
 of which she received considerable presents from 
 very great personages ; among others, a handsome 
 gold snuff-box from prince Eugene, for a poem 
 inscribed to him, and another from the duke d'Au- 
 mont, the French ambassador, for a masquerade 
 she addressed to him. Her talent was comedy ; 
 especially the contrivance of plots and incidents. 
 She corresponded, for many years, with gentlemen 
 of wit and eminence, particularly with Steele, 
 Rowe, Budgell, Sewell, and others. Mrs. Cent- 
 livre lived in a very careful and economical man- 
 ner, and died in Spring-garden, December 1st, 
 1723, at the house of her husband, Joseph Cent- 
 livre, who had been one of queen Anne's cooks ; 
 she was buried at the church of St. Martin in the 
 fields. She was three times married ; the first 
 time, when she was about sixteen, to Mr. Fox, ne- 
 phew of Sir Stephen Fox. He dying two years 
 afterwards, she married an ofScer, named Carrol, 
 who was killed in a duel not long after. It was 
 during this second widowhood that, compelled by 
 necessity, she began to write, and also appeared 
 on the stage. After her marriage with her third 
 husband, she lived a more retired life. She was 
 handsome in person, very agreeable and sprightly 
 in conversation, and seems to have been also kind 
 and benevolent in her disposition. Her faults 
 were those of the age in which she lived. 
 
 CEZELLI, CONSTANCE, 
 A HEROINE of the 16th century, was a native 
 of Montpellier. In 1590, her husband, Barri de 
 St. Annez, who was governor of Leucate, for 
 Henry IV. of France, fell into the hands of the 
 Spaniards. They threatened Constance tbat they 
 would put him to death, if she did not surrender 
 the fortress. She refused, but offered all her pro- 
 perty to ransom him. After having been foiled in " 
 two assaults, the Spaniards raised the siege, but 
 barbarously murdered their prisoner. Constance 
 magnanimously prevented her garrison from reta- 
 
 254 
 
CH 
 
 CH 
 
 Hating on a Spanish officer of rank. As a reward 
 for her patriotism, Henry IV. allowed her to retain 
 the government of Leucate till her son came of age. 
 
 CHAMBERS, MARY, 
 
 Op Nottingham, England, who died in 1848, in 
 her seventy-first year, is an instance of the power 
 of perseverance to overcome great natural disad- 
 vantages. Deprived of sight from the age of two 
 years, she, nevertheless, acquired a thorough 
 knowledge of the Hebrew, Greek, and Latin lan- 
 guages, and was very familiar with classical lite- 
 rature. 
 
 CHAMPMESLE, MARIE DESMARES DE, 
 A Fkenoh actress, born at Rouen. From the 
 obscurity of a strolling company, she rose to be a 
 popular actress at Paris, and gained the friendship 
 of Racine. She married an actor, and died greatly 
 regretted in 1698, aged fifty-four. 
 
 CHANDLER, MARY, 
 An English lady, who distinguished herself by 
 her poetical talent, was born at Malmesbury, in 
 Wiltshire, in 1689. Her father was a dissenting 
 minister at Bath, whose circumstances made it 
 necessary that she should be brought up to busi- 
 ness, and she became a milliner. 
 
 She was observed from childhood to have a turn 
 for poetry, often entertaining her companions with 
 riddles in verse ; and she was, at that time of 
 life, very fond of Herbert's poems. In her riper 
 years she studied the best modern poets, and the 
 ancient ones too as far as translations could assist 
 her. Her poem upon the Bath was very popular, 
 and she was particularly complimented for it by 
 Pope, with whom she was acquainted. She had 
 the misfortune to be deformed, which determined 
 her to live single ; though she had a sweet coun- 
 tenance, and was solicited to marry. She died 
 Sept. 11th, 1745, aged 57. We can find nothing 
 worth quoting in her poetry. 
 
 CHANDLER, ELIZABETH MARGARET, 
 Was born near Wilmington, Delaware, in 1807. 
 She was of Quaker extraction. Miss Chandler 
 was first brought into notice by a poem entitled 
 " The Slave Ship," written when she was eighteen, 
 and for which she obtained a prize. She resided 
 then, and till 1830, in Philadelphia. At that time 
 she went to Lenawee county, Michigan, where she 
 died in 1834. Her memoirs and writings have 
 been published since her death. One poem we 
 will give : — 
 
 THE DEVOTED. 
 
 Stern faces were around her bent, 
 
 And eyes of vengeful ire, 
 And fearful were the words they spake, 
 
 Of torture, stake, and fire : 
 Yet calmly in the midst she stood. 
 
 With eye undimm'd and clear, 
 And though her lip and cheek were white. 
 
 She wore no signs of fear. 
 
 " Where is thy traitor spouse ?" they said ;— 
 
 A half-form'd smile of scorn. 
 That curl'd upon her haughty lip, 
 
 Was back for answer borne ; — 
 
 "Where is thy traitor spouse?" again, 
 
 In fiercer tones, they said. 
 And sternly pointed to the rack. 
 
 All rusted o'er with red I 
 
 Her heart and pulse beat firm and free- 
 But in a crimson flood. 
 
 O'er pallid lip, and cheek, and brow, 
 Rush'd up the burning blood ; 
 
 She spake, but proudly rose her tones, 
 As when in hall or bower. 
 
 The haughtiest chief that round her stood 
 Had meekly own'd their power. 
 
 "My noble lord is placed within 
 
 A safe and sure retreat" — 
 "Now tell us where, thou lady bright, 
 
 As thou wouldst mercy meet. 
 Nor deem thy life can purchase his; 
 
 He cannot 'scape our wrath. 
 For many a warrior's watchful eye 
 
 Is placed o'er every path. 
 
 "But thou mayst win his broad estates, 
 
 To grace thine infant heir. 
 And life and honour to thyself. 
 
 So thou his haunts declare." 
 She laid her hand upon her heart ; 
 
 Her eye flash'd proud and clear. 
 And firmer grew her haughty tread— 
 
 " My lord is hidden here ! 
 
 "And if ye seek to view his form. 
 
 Ye first must tear away. 
 From round his secret dwelling-place. 
 
 These walls of living clay !" 
 They quail'd beneath her haughty glance. 
 
 They silent turn'd aside. 
 And left her all unharm'd amidst 
 
 Her loveliness and pride! 
 
 CHAPONE, HESTER, 
 
 Was the daughter of a Mr. Mulso, of Twywell, 
 in Northamptonshire, and was born at that place 
 in 1727. When only nine years old, she is said to 
 have written a romance. Her mother, who seems 
 to have been jealous of her daughter's talents, en- 
 deavoured to obstruct her studies. Hester Mulso, 
 nevertheless, succeeded in making herself mistress 
 of Italian and French. The story of "Fidelia" 
 in the Adventurer, an "Ode to Peace," and some 
 verses prefixed to her friend Miss Carter's Epicte- 
 tus, were among her earliest printed efforts. In 
 1760 she married Mr. Chapone, who died in less 
 than ten months afterwards. In 1770 she accom- 
 panied Mrs. Montague on a tour in Scotland ; in 
 1773 she published her " Letters on the Improve- 
 ment of the Mind," and in 1775 her "Miscellanies 
 in Prose and Verse." After having lived tran- 
 quilly for many years, in the society of her devoted 
 friends, her latter days were clouded by the loss 
 of those friends and nearly all her relations ; she 
 was also a sufferer from impaired intellect and 
 bodily debility. She died at Hadley, near Barnet, 
 December 25th, 1801. Her verses are elegant, 
 and her prose writings pure in style, and fraught 
 with good sense and sound morality. With neither 
 beauty, rank, nor fortune, this excellent lady, 
 nevertheless, secured to herself the love and 
 esteem of all with whom she became acquainted, 
 and also the general admiration of those who read 
 her works. Mrs. Elwood thus closes an interest- 
 ing tribute to the memory of Mrs. Chapone : — 
 " The solitary widow, living at one time in obscure 
 and humble lodgings, was an object of interest 
 
 255 
 
CH 
 
 CH 
 
 even to royalty itself; and from her friends and 
 connexions she constantly met with the disinte- 
 rested affection and courteous attention due to her 
 merits. By application and exertion in early life, 
 she improved the abilities bestowed upon her by 
 Providence, and she had the satisfaction of gaining 
 for herself, through their influence, a respectable 
 station among the pious and moral' writers of 
 England, and of transmitting to posterity a stand- 
 ard work on female education. Although more 
 than sixty years have elapsed since this worlc was 
 first published, its advice does not even yet ap- 
 pear antiquated, and is as well calculated to im- 
 prove the rising generation, as it was to instruct 
 the youth of their grandmothers." 
 
 Of the selections we make, the first three are 
 from the "Miscellanies" of Mrs. Chapone, the 
 last from her " Letters on the Improvement of the 
 Mind." 
 
 AFFECTATION. 
 
 Affectation is so universally acknowledged to be 
 disgusting, that it is among the faults which the 
 most intimate friends cannot venture gravely to 
 reprove in each other ; for to tell your friends 
 that they are habitually affected, is to tell them 
 that they are habitually disagreeable ; which no- 
 body can bear to hear. I beg leave, therefore, 
 as a general friend, without offending any one, to 
 whisper to all those whose hearts confess that 
 vanity has inspired them with any sort of affecta- 
 tion, thai it never does, nor ever can succeed as a 
 means of pleasing. 
 
 I have a thousand times wished to tell FUrtilla, 
 that the efforts she makes to be constantly in mo- 
 tion, and perpetually giggling, do not pass upon 
 me for the vivacity of youth : I see they cost her 
 a great deal of trouble, and it gives me an irrita- 
 tion of nerves to look at her ; so that it would 
 have been much for her ease and mine, could I 
 have ventured to beg that she would always in my 
 presence give way to her natural languor and dull- 
 ness, which would be far more agreeable to me. 
 
 Gloriosa, whenever a remarkable instance of 
 generosity or goodness is mentioned, takes infinite 
 pains, with the most pompous eloquence, to con- 
 vince me that the action seems poor to the great- 
 ness of her soul — that «Ae would think half her 
 fortune a trifling gift to a worthy friend — that she 
 would rather suffer the most exquisite pain her- 
 self, than see a fellow-creature, though a stranger, 
 endure it — and that it is a nobler effort in her to 
 refrain from the most generous actions, than it 
 would be in the greatest miser to perform them. 
 I long to let her know, that the only effect these 
 declarations produce in my mind is a doubt, which 
 I should otherwise never have entertained, whether 
 she really possesses even the common portion of 
 good-nature and benevolence. 
 
 Nothing to me is more disgusting than that air 
 of mildness and benevolence with which some ill- 
 natured observation on the person or dress of our 
 absent acquaintance, or some sly sarcasm, designed 
 to obscure the brightest pai't of their character, is 
 
 usually introduced. If the defects of a lady's 
 person are to be held forth to ridicule, it is first 
 remarked, that " she is certainly the best kind of 
 woman in the world." If one of distinguished 
 talents is to be the victim, those talents are mag- 
 nified and exalted in the strongest terms, and then 
 in a lower voice you are called upon to take notice 
 of the conscious superiority of her manner, the 
 ostentatious display of her knowledge, or the 
 pointed affectation of her wit. Some absurd say- 
 ing, which envy had invented for her, is produced 
 as a sample of her bans mots, and some trait of 
 impertinence, though perhaps the most contrary 
 to her character, related as a specimen of her be- 
 haviour. When the lady * * * s have been ex- 
 tolled for their charity and goodness, I have heard 
 it added, "that it is impossible to pass through 
 their hall without terrible consequences, 'tis so 
 full of company from Broad St. Giles's." — "Mrs. 
 * * * * is confessedly the most pious creature 
 upon earth ! — poor soul ! she was carried to church 
 in an ague-fit last Sunday ; for she thinks there 
 is no getting to heaven without hearing Mr. Such- 
 a-one preach once a week." Thus by the help of 
 exaggeration, you may possibly succeed in raising 
 a sneer against a plain person, or a bright under- 
 standing — against Christian beneficence, or ra- 
 tional piety ; but as you profess the highest esteem 
 for the characters you ridicule, nobody must say 
 that you are censorious or unfriendly. 
 
 A TIMEIT WORD. 
 
 A young gentleman of my acquaintance has as- 
 sured me, that he never received so much benefit 
 from any sermon he ever heard, as from a reproof 
 which he once received from a lady, who, when 
 he had been talking on some subject rather licen- 
 tiously, said, " It is a sign that you did not over- 
 hear what Lord L said of you yesterday, or 
 
 you would never utter such sentiments." The 
 gentleman, when he told it to me, added, "Who- 
 ever could be insensible to the keenness of this 
 reproof, and the flattering politeness with which 
 it was tempered, must be flayed (as they say of a 
 Russian) before he could be made to feel." Its 
 influence on him has probably continued to this 
 day ; for I have never known him to give occasion 
 for another reproof of the same nature. 
 
 The great and irresistible influence which the 
 choice of our company, as well as the mode of our 
 own conversation, has on our habits of thinking 
 and acting, and on the whole form and colour of 
 our minds, is a subject too common to be much 
 enlarged upon ; it cannot, however, be too deeply 
 considered, as it seems the leading circumstance 
 of our lives, and that which may chiefly determine 
 our character and condition to all eternity. 
 
 THE TWO COMMANDMENTS. 
 
 Every word that fell from our Saviour's lips is 
 more precious than all the treasures of the earth ; 
 for his "are the words of eternal life!" They 
 must therefore be laid up in your heart, and con- 
 stantly referred to, on all occasions, as the rule 
 and direction of all your actions ; particularly 
 those very comprehensive moral precepts he has 
 
 256 
 
CH 
 
 CH 
 
 graciously left with us, wMcli can never fail to 
 direct us aright, if fairly and honestly applied : 
 such as, " Whatsoever ye would that men should do 
 unto you, even so do unto them." There is no occa- 
 sion, great or small, on which you may not safely 
 apply this rule for the direction of your conduct ; 
 and whilst your heart honestly adheres to it, you 
 can never be guilty of any sort of injustice or un- 
 kindness. The two great commandments which 
 contain the summary of our duty to God and man, 
 are no less easily retained, and made a standard 
 by which to judge our own hearts. "To love the 
 Lord our God with all our hearts, tvith all our minds, 
 with all our strength ; and our neighbour (or fellow- 
 creature) as ourselves." "Love worketh no ill to 
 his neighbour;" therefore, if you have true bene- 
 volence, you will never do any thing injurious to 
 individuals, or to society. Now, all crimes what- 
 ever are (in their remoter consequences at least, 
 if not immediately and apparently) injurious to 
 the society in which we live. It is impossible to 
 love God, without desiring to please him, and, as 
 far as we are able, to resemble him; therefore the 
 love of God must lead to every virtue in the highest 
 degree ; and we may be sure we do not truly love 
 him, if we content ourselves with avoiding flagrant 
 sins, and do not strive, in good earnest, to reach 
 the greatest degree of perfection we are capable of. 
 Thus do those few words direct us to the highest 
 Christian virtue. Indeed, the whole tenor of the 
 gospel is to ofi^er us every help, direction and mo- 
 tive, that can enable us to attain that degree of 
 perfection on which depends our eternal good. 
 
 CHARKE, CHAELOTTE, 
 
 Was youngest daughter of CoUey Gibber, the 
 player, and afterwards poet-laureate. Her educa- 
 tion was more suited to a boy than a girl, she being 
 more frequently in the stable than the parlour, 
 and mistress of the curry-comb, though ignorant 
 of the needle. Shooting, hunting, riding races, 
 and digging in a garden, were her favourite exer- 
 cises. She relates an act of her prowess when a 
 mere child, in protecting the house from thieves 
 by tiring pistols and blunderbusses out of the 
 window. She married, when very young, Mr. 
 Richard Charke, an eminent performer on the 
 violin, who soon gave her such cause for jealousy 
 as to occasion a separation. 
 
 She then went on the stage, apparently as much 
 from inclination as necessity, and met with such 
 success as to be engaged at a good salary, and for 
 very considerable parts, at the Haymarket, and 
 afterwards at Drury-Lane. But her ungovernable 
 impetuosity induced her to quarrel with the mana- 
 ger, whom she left suddenly, and ridiculed in a 
 farce, called " The Art of Management." 
 
 iShe became a member of a strolling company of 
 actors, and the remainder of her life is only one 
 variegated scene of distress. In 1755, she came 
 to London, where she published the "Narrative 
 of her own Life." She died in 1759. 
 
 CHAELOTTE, PRINCESS OF WALES, 
 Daughter of George IV. of England, and heir- 
 apparent to the throne of Great Britain and Ire- 
 R 
 
 land, was born in 1795, and died November 6th, 
 1817, aged twenty-two. She was married to Leo- 
 pold, prince of Saxe-Cobourg. The untimely death 
 of the princess and her infant, clothed the nation 
 in mourning, and changed the succession of the 
 throne. When informed of her child's death, 
 shortly before her own, she said, " I feel it as a 
 mother naturally should"— adding, "It is the will 
 of God! praise to him in all things !" She was a 
 pious, intelligent, energetic, and benevolent prin- 
 cess, often visiting and relieving, herself, the poor ; 
 and her loss was deeply felt. Robert Hall preached 
 a most eloquent sermon on her death. 
 
 CHATEAUBRIAND, FEANCES DE FOIX, 
 Wife of the count of Chateaubriand, became 
 mistress of Francis I. of France, who left her for 
 the duchess d'Etampes. She was a woman of 
 great courage and commanding aspect. She died 
 in 1537, aged sixty-two. 
 
 CHATE AUROUX, MARIE ANNE, DUCHESS DE, 
 
 Was one of four sisters, daughters of the Mar- 
 quis de Nesle, who became successively mistresses 
 of Louis XV. She was married at the age of se- 
 venteen to the Marquis de la Tournelle, who left 
 her a widow at twenty-three. She far surpassed 
 all her sisters in personal charms, and was an ac- 
 complished musician. 
 
 Madame de Chateauroux displayed a character 
 of great energy and ambition. Her sense of virtue 
 always remained sufficiently strong to cause her 
 to feel humbled by the splendid degradation she 
 had sought and won ; but though she had not 
 sufficient principle to recede from the path she 
 had taken, she resolved as an atonement to arouse 
 her royal lover from his disgraceful lethargy. 
 Madame de Tencin spared no efforts to make her 
 her tool ; her aim being to govern the king through 
 his mistress, by means of her brother, cardinal 
 Tencin. But Madame de Chateauroux had not 
 acquired her power to yield it up to a woman, and 
 especially to so clever and intriguing a woman. 
 Far seeing, like Madame de Tencin, she was con- 
 vinced of the necessity for some radical change in 
 the government. Of the confusion by which it 
 was characterized, she said, "I could not have 
 believed all that I now see ; if no remedy is ad- 
 ministered to this state of things, there will sooner 
 or later be a great bouleversement." 
 
 Though the aim of Madame de Chateauroux was 
 good, the means she took to effect it were not 
 equally praiseworthy. Reckless of the real in- 
 terests of the country, and looking only to the 
 personal glory of the king, she partly precipitated 
 France into a fatal war. While absent with the 
 army, the king was seized with a dangerous ill- 
 ness. Urged by the religious party attached to 
 the queen, Louis, through fear of dying without 
 the last sacraments of the church, was induced 
 publicly to discard his mistress. Scarcely had this 
 been done when he recovered. His repentance 
 had never been heartfelt, and he soon was morti- 
 fied and humiliated at the part he had acted. 
 Grieved at the loss of Mad. de Chateauroux, he 
 sought an interview with her, and she consented 
 
 257 
 
CH 
 
 CH 
 
 to receive his apology, provided it was made in a 
 public manner, which, by her arrangement, was 
 done by Maurepas, whom she wished to humble, 
 in the presence of a large assembly. He requested 
 forgiveness in the name of the king, and begged 
 her return to court. But to that station which she 
 had purchased at the cost of peace and honour, 
 she was never destined to return. She became 
 alarmingly iD, and died a few days after this pub- 
 lic atonement. It would be unjust to deny to Ma- 
 dame de Chateauroux the merit of having sought 
 to rouse Louis XV. from the state of apathetic 
 indolence into which he had fallen. The means 
 she took were injudicious, but they were noble. 
 Experience would have taught her better ; and, 
 had her power continued, Louis XV. might have 
 been a different man. 
 
 Madame de Chateauroux was one of those far- 
 seeing women, who, with that instinctive foresight 
 which arises from keenness of perception, had 
 predicted the breaking out of the storm already 
 gathering over France. 
 
 CHATELET, GABRIELLE EMILIE DE BRE- 
 TRUEIL MARQUISE DU, 
 
 One of the most remarkable women of her time, 
 is chiefly known through her connexion with Vol- 
 taire. Her parents married her in her nineteenth 
 year to the Marquis du Chatelet, an honest but 
 common-place man considerably her senior. The 
 young marchioness made her appearance in the 
 world with great ficlat. She was graceful, hand- 
 some, and fond of pleasure ; and her great talents 
 long remained unsuspected. Madame du Chatelet's 
 ideas of morality were those of her time, and she 
 early exhibited them by an intrigue with the duke 
 of Richelieu, then celebrated for his gallantry. 
 This connexion, however, was brief, and resulted 
 in a sincere and lasting friendship. Madame du 
 Chatelet's mind was superior to a life of mere 
 worldly pleasure. Wearied of dissipation, she 
 entered with ardour into the study of the exact 
 sciences. Maupertius was her instructor in geo- 
 metry, and the works of Newton and Leibnitz be- 
 came her constant study. Geometry was then the 
 rage, but Madame du Chatelet brought to the study 
 of this science a mind strikingly adapted to its pur- 
 suit ; and it was while thus devoting herself that 
 she became acquainted with Voltaire. Madame 
 du Chatelet was in her twenty-eighth year, and 
 Voltaire twelve years her senior, when their liason 
 commenced. The loose maxims of the period jus- 
 tified this connexion in the opinion of the world 
 and in their own ; and the husband either did not 
 suspect the truth, or if he did, felt indifferent to 
 it. As he passed the greater part of his time with 
 his regiment, he proved little or no restraint to the 
 lovers, raising no objection to the sojourn of Vol- 
 taire beneath his roof, but rather appearing flat- 
 tered at being considered the host and patron of a 
 man already enjoying European fame. Voltaire 
 passed fifteen years at Cizey, the splendid chateau 
 of M. du Chatelet, in Lorraine. His life in this 
 delightful retreat was one of study, varied by 
 elegant pleasures, embellished and exalted by the 
 devotion of this gifted woman. 
 
 With Madame' du Chatelet study was a passion. 
 She slept but three hours in the twenty-four, and 
 her whole time was devoted to her beloved pur- 
 suits. During the day she remained closeted in 
 her apartments, seldom appearing till the hour of 
 supper. Every year they visited Paris, where 
 Madame du Chatelet entered into the pursuit of 
 pleasure with the same passionate eagerness with 
 which she studied Newton's " Principia" in her 
 learned retirement ; losing large sums at play, 
 and committing many extravagances in her love 
 of dress. 
 
 Madame du Chatelet was remarkable for great 
 simplicity of manner, as well as for the solidity 
 of her judgment. Few women of her time were so 
 free from that intriguing spirit and thirst for dis- 
 tinction which almost all then possessed. Science 
 she loved for its own sake ; for the pure and ex- 
 quisite delight it yielded her enquiring mind, and 
 not for the paltry gratification of being considered 
 learned. On the other hand, she was deficient in 
 gentleness, and in many of the most winning quali- 
 ties of woman. Proud of her rank and birth, 
 haughty to her inferiors, and violent and imperious 
 in her temper, she ruled despotically over her 
 lover, and left him very little personal freedom. 
 
 Long as the love of Voltaire and Madame du 
 Chatelet had lasted, it was not destined to resist 
 time and habit. The change first came from Vol- 
 taire, whose declining years he made the excuse 
 for increasing coldness. After many stormy ex- 
 planations, Madame du Chatelet submitted to this 
 change in his feelings, which caused none in their 
 mode of life, and accepted friendship for love. 
 
 Soon after this change in their relations, Ma- 
 dame du Chatelet became acquainted with St. 
 Lambert, known then merely as a handsome young 
 nobleman of elegant address. Vanity induced St. 
 Lambert to pay her attentions which Madame du 
 Chatelet attributed to a deeper feeling, and which 
 she was frail enough to return by a very sincere 
 affection. Voltaire was both grieved and indignant 
 on discovering that he had a rival, but Madame 
 du Chatelet's assurances of unabated friendship, 
 though she concealed nothing from him, reconciled 
 and induced him to remain near her. 
 
 There is little to excuse this part of Madame du 
 Chatelet's life. Her age and self-respect ought to 
 have preserved her from this last error, with 
 which were connected many disgraceful circum- 
 stances, and which was destined to prove fatal to 
 her. She died in childbed on the 10th of August, 
 1749, her last days being devoted to the transla- 
 tion of Newton's Principia, her great work. 
 
 CHEMIN, CATHARINE DU, 
 Was a French artist, who died at Paris, 1698. 
 She principally excelled in painting flowers. Her 
 husband erected a noble monument to her memory 
 in the church of St. Landry. 
 
 CHERON, ELIZABETH SOPHIA, 
 
 Daughter of a painter in enamel, of the tovm 
 
 of Meaux, was born at Paris in 1678, and studied 
 
 under her father. At the age of fourteen, her 
 
 name was already famous. The celebrated Le 
 
 258 
 
CH 
 
 CH 
 
 Brun, in 1672, presented her to the academy of 
 painting and sculpture, which complimented her 
 hy admitting her to the title of academician. She 
 apportioned her time between painting, the learned 
 languages, poetry, and music. She drew, on a 
 large scale, a great number of gems, which were 
 remarkable for showing taste, a singular command 
 of pencil, a fine style of colouring, and a superior 
 judgment in the ohiaro-oscuro. The various styles 
 of painting were familiar to her. She excelled in 
 historical painting, oil-colours, miniature enamels, 
 portrait-painting, and especially those of females. 
 It is said that she frequently executed, from me- 
 mory, the portraits of absent friends, to which 
 she gave as strong a likeness as if they had sat to 
 her. The academy of Kicovrati, at Padua, ho- 
 noured her with the surname of Erato, and gave 
 her a place in their society. She died at Paris, 
 September 3d, 1711, at the age of 63. 
 
 CHEZY, WILHELMINE CHRISTINE VON, 
 A GrEBMAN poetess, whose maiden name was 
 Von Klenke, was bom at Berlin, Jan. 26th, 1783. 
 She married Mr. Von Haslfker, but they had lived 
 only a short time together, when they applied for 
 and obtained a divorce. She was afterwards mar- 
 ried to the celebrated French orientalist, Von 
 Chezy ; but this second marriage proved no more 
 happy in its results than the first ; and, according 
 to a mutual agreement between her and her hus- 
 band, she wa^ a second time divorced. She then 
 devoted herself to the education of her two sons 
 by her second husband ; and they did honour to 
 their instructor, and have since obtained consider- 
 able literary fame. 
 
 Frau Von Chezy lived alternately in Munich, 
 Vienna, and Paris. She was, on her mother's 
 side, a grandchild of the celebrated poetess Frau 
 Karsch, whose talents seem to have descended to 
 her. As a writer, she is best known by the name 
 of Helmina, under which she has written tales 
 and romances in verse. Her writings are charac- 
 terized by a fertile imagination, a pleasing style, 
 and warm feeling; though they cannot always 
 bear the test of a critical examination. She has 
 also written a few spirited prose works, and the 
 opera Euryanthe, which was set to music by Von 
 Weber. The best of her works are " The Martin- 
 man Birds," the " Six noble Employments," and 
 " Recollections of Vienna." She died in 1849. 
 A writer, supposed to be Sapin, made the follow- 
 ing epigram on her : — 
 
 *' Helmine Von Chezy, 
 
 Geborne Klenke, 
 Ich bitte Si' geh' Sie, 
 Mit Ihrer poesie 
 Sonst kriegt sie die Krjinke! 
 
 The meaning of the wit and pun is, that the lady 
 must not write poetry if she wishes to be thought 
 agreeable. A true German idea. 
 
 CHOIN, MAEIE EMILIE JOLY DE, 
 A lADT descended from a noble Savoy family. 
 She was employed about the person of the duchess 
 of Conti, where she was sought by the dauphin of 
 France ; but no solicitations could induce her to 
 
 forfeit her honour ; and it is said that the prince 
 at last married her privately, and, by her influ- 
 ence, was reformed and regained the affections of 
 the king. After his death, in 1711, she retired to 
 obscurity, and died in 1744, universally respected. 
 
 CHRISTINA, QUEEN OF SWEDEN, 
 Dacghter of the great Gtustavus Adolphus, 
 king of Sweden, and of Maria Eleonora of Bran- 
 denburg, was born December 18th, 1626. Her 
 father was very fond of her, and carried her about 
 with him iu all his journeys. When she was about 
 two years old, she was taken to Calmar, the gover- 
 nor of which hesitated, on her account, whether 
 to give the king the usual salute, but Gustavus ex^ 
 claimed, "Fire! the girl is a soldier's daughter, 
 and should be accustomed to it betimes." The 
 noise delighted the princess, who clapped her 
 hands, and, in her infantile language, cried, 
 " More, more !" showing thus early her peculiarly 
 bold and masculine turn of mind. 
 
 Her father died in 1633, and Christina, a girl 
 of seven years old, was placed upon the throne, 
 and even at that early age she appeared to be con- 
 scious of her high destiny, and in all trying cir- 
 cumstances conducted herself with great firmness 
 and dignity. 
 
 The queen-mother was a woman of weak judg- 
 ment and capricious temper, and her injudicious 
 management of the young Christina was doubtless 
 the first cause of her dislike for her own sex, 
 which was farther increased by the manner of her 
 education. She early displayed an " antipathy," 
 to use her own words, " to all that women do and 
 say ;" but she was an excellent classical scholar, 
 admired the Greeks and Romans and all the heroes 
 of antiquity, particularly Homer and Alexander 
 the Great. At the age of fourteen, she read Thu- 
 cydides in the original ; she rode and hunted, and 
 harangued the senate, and dictated to her minis- 
 ters. But in the gentler graces and virtues of her 
 own sex she was deficient. She grew up self- 
 willed, arrogant, and impatient ; and yet was flat- 
 tered because she was a queen. She understood 
 this, and observes that " Princes are flattered even 
 in their cradles ; men fear their memory as weiJ 
 
 251 
 
CH 
 
 CH 
 
 as tlieir power ; they handle them timidly, as they 
 do young lions, who can only scratch now, but 
 may hereafter bite and devour." 
 
 Her character, at the time she assumed the 
 reins of government, promised extraordinary ex- 
 cellence. Mrs. Jameson, in her elegant work, 
 " Memoirs of Celebrated Female Sovereigns," thus 
 sketches, with singular felicity, the portrait of this 
 youthful sovereign : 
 
 " Christina had been born to the throne, cradled, 
 as she says, amid laurels and trophies of victory, 
 assumed a sceptre which was hers by the double 
 right of hereditary claims and the free consent of 
 the states-general. She was in the bloom of youth, 
 full of health, vigour, and activity ; the natural 
 cheerfulness of her spirits had been preserved, by 
 constant exercise of body and mind ; and although 
 she was proud, passionate, and capricious, she 
 was also gay, frank, and generous. She enter- 
 tained, at this time, a lofty and even sublime idea 
 of the high destiny to which she was called, and 
 of the multiplied duties and tremendous responsi- 
 bility it imposed on her. All her resolutions and 
 intentions appear to have been right and just ; and 
 to put the intentions into practice, she had youth- 
 ful enthusiasm, surpassing talents, a strong con- 
 stitution, and the prospect of a long life and reign 
 before her. Though learned beyond most of her 
 sex, the vanity of learning had not yet seized her, 
 and literature was to her what it ought always to 
 have been, an amusement, not a pursuit. She 
 understood most of the languages of Europe ; La- 
 tin, French, German, Italian, she wrote and spoke 
 as fluently as her native tongue ; her proficiency 
 in Greek has already been mentioned. At this 
 time she seems to have preferred the French lan- 
 guage, and it was spoken almost habitually in her 
 court. She would have no prime minister, and 
 from the very commencement of her reign, (dating 
 it from the dissolution of the regency), she re- 
 ceived and read all the despatches, dictated the 
 replies to her secretaries, which she afterwards 
 looked over and corrected herself; and while the 
 regal power had all the gloss of novelty, she cer- 
 tainly wore it with dignity and grace. Her inde- 
 fatigable attention to the business of state excited 
 the astonishment of the foreign ministers, and the 
 admiration of her people ; she constantly attended 
 all the deliberations of her council, and by the 
 force of her character and her resolute temper she 
 exercised the most unbounded influence over the 
 senate, who yielded to her more than they would 
 have accorded to a monarch of their own sex. It 
 is asserted that she was at this time more despotic 
 than any Swedish sovereign from the time of Eric 
 XIV. to the change of the constitution under Gus- 
 tavus III. 
 
 "In person she was not handsome; her figure 
 was below the middle size, but well formed, with 
 the exception of a slight deformity in one of her 
 shoulders, caused by a fall in her infancy ; it was, 
 however, scarcely perceptible, and her deportment 
 and all her movements were remarkable for dig- 
 nity, ease, and freedom. Her features were rather 
 large and striking in proportion to her figure, and 
 her whole countenance, imless controlled for espe- 
 
 cial purposes, was singular for its mobility and 
 vivacity. Her eyes were of a brilliant hazel, quick 
 and penetrating ; her nose aquiline, her mouth too 
 wide, and when at rest, not agreeable in its ex- 
 pression ; her smile, however, was bright and 
 pleasing, and her teeth fine, though she took little 
 care of them. She had a profusion of light brown 
 hair, which she seldom combed ; and a man's fur 
 cap or a knot of riband was in general her only 
 coiffure, till later in life she exchanged these for 
 a periwig. She was extremely negligent in her 
 dress, and never allowed herself more than a 
 quarter of an hour at her morning toilet. Except 
 upon state occasions, her attire was very simple 
 and uniform ; it consisted of a suit of plain grey 
 stuff or cloth, shorter than was usually worn, for 
 the convenience of walking and riding, with a 
 black scarf round her neck, and rarely a single 
 ornament. She was temperate, and even abste- 
 mious in eating, apparently quite indifferent as to 
 what was placed before her, and was never heard 
 to praise or dispraise any dish at table." 
 
 When Christina had assumed the reins of go- 
 vernment, in 1644, many of the most distinguished 
 kings and princes of Europe aspired to her hand ; 
 but she uniformly rejected all their proposals, and 
 caused one of her suitors, her cousin Charles Gus- 
 tavus, to be appointed her successor. Her love 
 of independence and impatience of control had 
 exhibited themselves from childhood in a distaste 
 to marriage. "Do not," said she te the states, 
 "compel me to make a choice: should I bear a 
 son, it is equally probable that he might prove a 
 Nero as an Augustus." 
 
 Christina had an opportunity to display her 
 magnanimity in the early part of her reign. TPhile 
 she was engaged in her devotions in the chapel of 
 the castle at Stockholm, a lunatic rushed through 
 the crowd, and attempted to stab her with a knife. 
 He was seized, and Christina calmly continued 
 her devotions. Learning that the man was in- 
 sane, she merely had him put under restraint. 
 
 One of the most important events of Christina's 
 reign was the peace of Westphalia, to which her 
 influence greatly contributed. It was settled Oc- 
 tober, 1648, and by this treaty Sweden was con- 
 firmed in the possession of many important coun- 
 tries. The services of Salvius, one of her pleni- 
 potentiaries on this occasion, were rewarded by 
 the dignity of senator ; a prerogative which had 
 till then belonged to birth, but to which the queen 
 thought merit had a better claim. 
 
 During the remainder of her reign, a wise ad- 
 ministration and a profound peace, reflect upon 
 Christina a higher praise than can be derived from 
 subtle negotiations or successful wars; she en- 
 joyed the entire confidence and love of her people. 
 All persons distinguished for their genius or ta- 
 lents, were attracted by her liberality to the Swe- 
 dish court; and although her favour was some- 
 times controlled by her partialities or prejudices, 
 and withheld from the deserving while it was la- 
 vished on those who flattered her foibles, yet she 
 soon discovered and repaired such mistakes. 
 
 She, at length, began to feel her rank, and the 
 duties it devolved upon her, a burden, and to sigh 
 
 260 
 
CH 
 
 CH 
 
 for freedom and leisure. In 1652, she communi- 
 cated to the senate her resolution of abdicating 
 the throne ; but the remonstrances of the whole 
 people, in which Charles Gustavus, her successor, 
 joined, induced her to wear the crown for two 
 years longer ; when she resumed her purpose and 
 carried it into effect, to the great grief of the 
 whole nation. 
 
 In leaving the scene of her regal power, she 
 appeared to rejoice as though she had escaped 
 from imprisonment. Having arrived at a small 
 brook which separated Sweden from Denmark, 
 she alighted from her carriage, and leaping over 
 it, exclaimed, " At length I am free, and out of 
 Sweden, whither I hope never to return." Dis- 
 missing with her women the habit of her sex, 
 she assumed male attire. "I would become a 
 man," said she ; " but it is not that I love men 
 - because they are men, but merely that they are 
 not women." 
 
 On her arrival at Brussels she publicly and 
 solemnly abjured the Lutheran faith, in which she 
 was educated, and joined the Roman Catholic 
 communion. From Brussels she went to Rome, 
 . which she entered with gi-eat pomp. She was 
 received with splendid hospitality by the pope, 
 . and the Jesuits affirmed that she ought to be 
 placed by the church among the saints: " I had 
 rather," said Christina, "be placed among the 
 
 She then went to France, where she was re- 
 ceived with royal honours, which she never forgot 
 to claim, by Louis XIV. But she disturbed the 
 quiet of all the places which she visited, by her 
 passion for interfering and controlling, not only 
 political affairs, but the petty cabals of the court. 
 She also disgusted the people by her violation of 
 all the decencies "and proprieties of life, by her 
 continuing to wear the dress of the other sex, and 
 by her open contempt for her own. But the act 
 that roused the horror and indignation of Louis 
 XIV. and his whole court, and obliged Christina 
 to leave France, was the murder of Monaldeschi, 
 an Italian, and her master of the horse, who is 
 supposed to have been her lover, and to have be- 
 trayed the intrigue, though the fault for which he 
 suffered was never disclosed by Christina. This 
 event occurred in November, 16S7, while she was 
 residing in the royal palace of Fontainebleau. 
 Monaldeschi, after having been allowed only about 
 two hours from the time when the queen had made 
 known to him her discovery of his perfidy, was 
 put to death, by her orders, in the gallery auz 
 Cerfs of the palace, by three men. 
 
 Louis XIV. was highly indignant at this viola- 
 tion of justice in his dominions ; but Christina sus- 
 tained her act, and stated that she had reserved 
 supreme power over her suite, and that wherever 
 she went she was still a queen. She was, how- 
 ever, obliged to return to Rome, where she soon 
 involved herself in a quarrel with the pope, Alex- 
 ander VII. She then went to Sweden ; but she 
 was not well received there, and soon left for 
 Hamburg, and from thence to Rome. She again 
 returned to Sweden, but met with a still colder 
 reception than before. It is said that her jour- 
 
 neys to Sweden were undertaken for the purpose 
 of resuming the crown, as Charles Gustavus had 
 died in 1660. But this can hardly be true, as her 
 adopted religion, to which she always remained 
 constant, would be an insuperable obstacle, by the 
 laws and constitution of Sweden, to her reassuming 
 the government. 
 
 After many wanderings, Christina died at Rome, 
 April 15th, 1689, aged sixty-three. She was in- 
 terred in the church of St. Peter, ,and the pope 
 erected a monument to her, with a long inscrip- 
 tion, although she had requested that these words, 
 Vixit Christina annos LXIIL, should be the only 
 inscription on her tomb. Her principal heir was 
 her intendant, Cardinal Azzolini. Her library was 
 bought by the pope, who placed nine hundred 
 manuscripts of this collection in the Vatican, and 
 gave the rest of the books to his family. 
 
 A traveller, who saw her at Rome, when she was 
 about sixty, thus describes her dress and appear- 
 ance : — " She was usually habited in a coat, or 
 vest, of black satin, reaching almost to the knees, 
 and buttoned down the front ; under this, a very 
 short petticoat. Her own light brown hair, once 
 so beautiful and luxuriant, was cut short, and 
 combed up so as to stand on end without covering 
 or ornament. She was very short, fat, and round ; 
 her voice, her features and complexion, were com- 
 pletely masculine, and had ceased to be in any 
 respect agreeable. Her eyes, however, retained 
 their brilliancy, and her tongue bewitched as oddly 
 as her eyes. Her manners, whenever she chose, 
 were winning." Such was the disagreeable, un- 
 honoured age of a woman who despised the man- 
 ners, duties, and decorums of her sex. Yet in a 
 letter, written about this time to Mademoiselle de 
 Scuderi, the poor, mistaken Christina shows that 
 she could not divest herself of all feminine feelings. 
 "You must know," she writes, "that since you 
 saw me some years ago, I am not grown hand- 
 somer; far from it; and, to confess the truth, I 
 am still, in spite of flattery, as ill satisfied with my 
 own person as ever I was. I envy not those who 
 possess fortune, dominions, treasures ; I raise my- 
 self above all mortals by wisdom and virtue ; and 
 that is what makes me discontented. Au rests, 
 I am in good health, which will last as long as it 
 pleases God. I have naturally an extreme aver- 
 sion to grow old, and I hardly know how I can get 
 used to the idea. If I had had my choice between 
 old age and death, I think I should have chosen 
 the latter without hesitation. But since we are 
 not consulted on this point, I shall resign myself 
 to live on with as much pleasure as I can. Death, 
 which I see approaching step by step, does not 
 alarm me. I await it without a wish and without 
 a fear." 
 
 Christina wrote a great deal; but her "Maxims 
 and Sentences," and " Reflections on the Life and 
 Actions of Alexander the Great," are all that have 
 been preserved. She had good business talents, 
 and a wonderful firmness of purpose. The great 
 defects of her character, and the errors of her 
 life, may be traced to her injudicious education, 
 including the dislike she felt for women, and heT 
 contempt of feminine virtues and pursuits. She 
 
 261 
 
CH 
 
 CI 
 
 should be a warning to all those aspiring females, 
 ■who would put off the dignity, delicacy, and dress 
 of their own sex, in the vain hope that, hy mascu- 
 line freedom of deportment and attire, they should 
 gain strength, wisdom, and enjoyment. We give 
 a few fragments from her works : 
 
 Fools are more to be feared than the wicked. 
 
 Whatever is false, is ridiculous. 
 
 There is a species of pleasure in suffering from 
 the ingratitude of others, which is reserved for 
 great minds alone. 
 
 We should never speak of ourselves, either good 
 or evil. (This was a maxim which she was con- 
 tinually violating in her own person : she appears to 
 have been the greatest egotist extant, for a female.) 
 
 To suffer for having acted well, is itself a species 
 of recompense. 
 
 We read for instruction, for correction, and for 
 consolation. 
 
 There is a star above us which unites souls of the 
 first order, though worlds and ages separate them. 
 
 Life becomes useless and insipid, when we have 
 no longer either friends or enemies. 
 
 We grow old more through indolence, than 
 through age. 
 
 The Salique law, which excludes women from 
 the throne, is a just and a wise law. 
 
 Cruelty is the result of baseness and of cow- 
 ardice. 
 
 To speak truth, and to do good, is to resemble, 
 in some sort, the Deity we worship. 
 
 This life is like an inn, in which the soul spends 
 a few moments on its journey. 
 
 CHUDLEIGH, LADY MARY, 
 Was born in 1656, and was the daughter of 
 Eichard Lee, Esq., of Winslade in Devonshire, 
 England. She married Sir George Chudleigh, 
 bart., by whom she had several children; among 
 the rest Eliza Maria, who dying in the bloom of 
 life, her mother poured out her grief in a poem, 
 called "A Dialogue between Lucinda and Ma- 
 rissa." She wrote another poem called "The 
 Ladies' Defence," occasioned by a sermon preached 
 against women. These, with many others, were 
 collected into a volume and printed, for the third 
 time, in 1722. She published also a volume of 
 essays, in prose and verse, in 1710, which have 
 been much admired for a delicacy of style. 
 
 This lady is said to have written several trage- 
 dies, operas, masques, &c., which were not printed. 
 She died in 1710, in her 55th year. She was a 
 woman of great virtue as well as understanding, 
 and made the latter subservient to the former. 
 She was only taught her native language, but her 
 great application and uncommon abilities, enabled 
 her to figure among the literati of her time. She 
 wrote essays upon knowledge, pride, humility, 
 life, death, fear, grief, riches, self-love, justice, 
 anger, calumny, friendship, love, avarice, and so- 
 litude, in which she showed an uncommon degree 
 of knowledge and piety. 
 
 GIBBER, SUSANNA MARIA, 
 
 Who for several years was considered not only 
 the best actress in England, but thought by many 
 
 superior to the celebrated Mdlle. Clairon of Paris, 
 was the daughter of an upholsterer of Covent-Gar- 
 den, and sister to Dr. Thomas Augustin Ame, ce- 
 lebrated for his taste in musical composition. Her 
 first appearance on the stage was as a singer, but 
 either her judgment or ear was not equal to 
 her sweetness of voice. She married, in April, 
 1734, Theophilus Gibber, who was then a widower. 
 This marriage was not pleasing to CoUey Gibber, 
 the father, but he was induced to forgive them. 
 He was then manager of Dmry-Lane theatre, and 
 one day at rehearsal, his son happening to say he 
 hoped young Mrs. Gibber might be brought on in 
 speaking parts, CoUey desired her to declaim be- 
 fore him, and was surprised to find such a variety 
 of powers of voice, face, figure, and expression 
 united. She appeared on the stage in 1736, in the 
 character of Zara, in the first representation of 
 Aaron Hill's tragedy. The audience were aston- 
 ished and delighted, and her reputation as an 
 actress was established. 
 
 But her domestic tranquillity did not equal her 
 public success. Her husband was luxurious, prodi- 
 gal, rapacious, and unscrupulous and dishonourable 
 in his means of obtaining money. She soon dis- 
 continued living with him, and resided entirely with 
 a man on whom Mr. Gibber bestowed the appella- 
 tion of Mr. Benefit. She retained her beauty and 
 her power of pleasing, as an actress, for a long 
 time. She died January 30th, 1766, and was 
 buried at Westminster ; leaving one child by the 
 gentleman with whom she lived. 
 
 CICGI, MARIE LOUISA, 
 Was born at Pisa, in 1760. When she was 
 seven years old her father placed her in a convent, 
 ordered her to be instructed merely in domestic 
 duties, and forbade her to be taught even to write. 
 By stealth, however, she read some of the best 
 poets, and acquired the rudiments of writing, sup- 
 plying the want of pen and ink by grape-juice and 
 bits of wood. With these rude materials she wrote 
 her first verses in her tenth year. At a more ma- 
 ture age, she made herself mistress of natural 
 philosophy, of the English and French languages, 
 and studied the works of Locke and Newton. Her 
 Anacreontic verses are distinguished by their 
 graceful ease and spirit. In private life she was 
 virtuous and amiable. She died in 1794. 
 
 GINCHON, COUNTESS OF, 
 
 The wife of the viceroy of Peru, was the first 
 person who brought the Peruvian bark to Europe, 
 and made known its virtues. This took place in 
 1632. In honour of her, Linnaeus gave the name 
 of Cinchona to the genus of plants by which the 
 bark is produced. 
 
 GIRANI, ELIZABETH, 
 A NATIVE of Bologna, was eminently distin- 
 guished as a painter. Though she was happy in 
 tender and delicate subjects, she excelled also in 
 the great and terrible. Her genius gained her 
 many friends, whom her excellent qualities re- 
 tained. She died near the close of the eighteenth 
 century. 
 
 262 
 
CL 
 
 CL 
 
 CLAIRON, CLAKA JOSEPHA DE LA TUDE, 
 
 One of the most celebrated actresses of France, 
 was Iborn in 1723, near Cond^, and went upon the 
 stage when only twelve years old. Phgdre was 
 the first character in which she displayed all her 
 theatrical talents. In 1765 she left the stage, and 
 was for many years the mistress of the margrave 
 of Anspaoh. She died in 1803. She published 
 " Memoirs and Reflections upon the Declamation 
 Theatrical." 
 
 CLAYPOLE, ELIZABETH, 
 
 Was the second and favourite daughter of the 
 protector, Oliver Cromwell. She was born at 
 Huntingdon in 1629, and in 1646 married John 
 Clay pole, Esq., of a respectable family in North- 
 amptonshire ; who afterwards became master of 
 the horse both to Oliver and his son Richard. 
 Mrs. Claypole was invariably the friend of the 
 oppressed, and exercised her gentle but powerful 
 influence over her father in favour of the suifering 
 royalists. She died at Hampton Court, August 
 6th, 1658, in the twenty-ninth year of her age. 
 
 CLEMENTS, MARGARET, 
 Born in 1508, niece to Sir Thomas More, in 
 whose house she was brought up, was carefully 
 educated, and made great progress in all the liberal 
 sciences. She corresponded with the celebrated 
 Erasmus, who commends her epistles for their 
 good sense and chaste Latin. About 1531 she 
 married her tutor. Dr. John Clements. They had 
 one daughter, Winifred, on whose education they 
 bestowed the greatest care, and who married a 
 nephew of Sir Thomas More, William Rastell, the 
 greatest lawyer of his time. 
 
 Dr. Clements and his wife left England to avoid 
 a religious persecution, and settled at Mechlin, in 
 Brabant, where Mrs. Clement died, July 6th, 
 1570. 
 
 CLERMONT, CLAUDE CATHERINE DE, 
 Daughter of Clermont, lord of Dampierre, wife, 
 first of M. d'Aunbaut, who perished in the civil 
 wars of France, and afterwards of Albert, duke de 
 Metz, was lady of honour to Catharine de Medicis, 
 and governess to the royal children. She was an 
 only daughter, and carefully educated. In all 
 foreign affairs she was consulted as the only per- 
 son at court who understood the languages. When 
 her husband was in Italy, her son, the marquis 
 of Belleisle, attempted to seize his father's estate ; 
 but she assembled soldiers, put herself at their 
 head, defeated her son's project, and retained her 
 vassals in obedience to their king, Henry IV., who 
 loaded the duchess with honours. She survived 
 her husband but a few months, dying in the latter 
 part of the sixteenth century. 
 
 CLEVELAND, BARBARA VILLIERS, 
 DUCHESS OF, 
 Mistress of Charles II. of England, was the 
 only daughter of William, second Viscount Grandi- 
 son, who died in 1648, of wounds he received at 
 Bristol, while fighting for the royal cause. Bar- 
 
 bara Villiers was bom in 1640, and in 1658 mar- 
 ried Roger Palmer, Esq., a student at one of the 
 Inns of Court, and heir to a large fortune. The 
 following year they joined the court of Charles in 
 the Low Countries, where Mrs. Palmer completely 
 captivated that susceptible prince. At the Restora- 
 tion they accompanied Charles to England, where 
 for ten years her influence over the king was su- 
 preme. He even appointed her lady of the bed- 
 chamber to his wife ; and, in order to do this, he 
 raised her husband to a peerage in 1662, as earl of 
 Castlemaine. She was afterwards created duchess 
 of Cleveland. She was beautiful, but haughty, 
 imperious, extravagant, and unfaithful to the king 
 as well as to her husband. Her jealous temper at 
 length caused a quarrel between Charles and her- 
 self; and, in 1670, the duchess retired to France. 
 In 1705, when sixty-five years old, she married 
 Robert Fielding, a very handsome man, generally 
 called Beau Fielding, who treated her brutally. 
 She afterwards discovered that he had been pre- 
 viously married to another woman. The duchess 
 died in England, October 9th, 1709. Her infamy 
 renders the court, in which she so long ruled the 
 profligate monarch, still a word of loathing and 
 contempt ; and the peerage is disgraced by such 
 instances of high rank conferred on the vilest 
 creatures who minister to the corrupt passions of 
 men in power. 
 
 CLIFFORD, ANNE, 
 Countess of Pembroke, Dorset, and Montgo- 
 mery, was sole daughter and heiress to George, 
 earl of Cumberland. She was born at Skipton- 
 castle in Craven,. January 30th, 1589. Her father 
 died when she was only ten years old ; but her 
 mother, a daughter of the earl of Bedford, edu- 
 cated her with care and discretion; She married,, 
 first, Richard,, lord Buckhurst, afterwards earl of 
 Dorset, by whom she had three sons who diied 
 young, and two daughters. After his death, she 
 married Philip Herbert, earl of Pembroke and 
 Montgomery, by whom she had no children, and 
 with whom she lived very unhappily. She erected 
 a monument to her tutor, Daniel the poet, and an- 
 
 263 
 
CL 
 
 CL 
 
 other to Spenser ; tesides which she founded two 
 hospitals, and repaired or built seven churches. 
 But the most singular act of her life is the letter 
 she wrote to the secretary of state, after the re- 
 storation of Charles II., who had recommended a 
 candidate for one of her boroughs. The countess 
 replied, " I have been bullied by an usurper, I 
 have been neglected by a court, but I will not be 
 dictated to by a subject; your man shan't stand. 
 Anne, Dorset, Pembroke, and Montgomery." This 
 letter excited great admiration. 
 
 The countess of Pembroke was considered one 
 of the most eminent women of her time for intel- 
 lectual accomplishments, spirit, magnificence, and 
 benevolence. She died in her castle at Brougham, 
 March 28d, 1675, at the age of eighty-six. She 
 was buried at Appleby, in Westmoreland, under 
 the monument she had erected. Her funeral ser- 
 mon was preached by the bishop of Carlisle, from 
 a verse in the proverbs of Solomon — "Every wise 
 woman buildeth her house." In her ended the 
 Clifford family. 
 
 Although the countess expended more than forty 
 thousand pounds in building, and was truly royal 
 in her acts of generosity and benevolence, yet she 
 was prudent, economical, and exact to the last de- 
 gree in her accounts. Bishop Rainbow calls her 
 "a perfect mistress of forecast and aftercast." 
 Her information was so extensive, that it was 
 said of her " that she knew how to converse on 
 all subjects, from predestination to slea-silk." 
 Her manner of living was simple, abstemious, and 
 even parsimonious ; and she was accustomed to 
 boast that she had hardly ever tasted wine or 
 physic. 
 
 A narrative, or rather journal, of her own life, 
 was left by the countess, consisting principally of 
 minute details, which are not interesting, except- 
 ing in the description she gives of herself, her own 
 mental and personal endowments. 
 
 "I was very happy," says she, "in my first 
 constitution, both of mind and body. I resem- 
 bled equally both father and mother : the colour 
 of my eyes was black like my father's ; the form 
 and aspect of them quick and lively, like my mo- 
 thers ; my hair brown and thick, and so long that 
 it reached the calf of my legs, with a peak of hair 
 on my forehead, 'and a dimple on my chin ; full 
 cheeks, like my father, and a round face like my 
 mother's ; an exquisite shape of body resembling 
 my father. But now time and age have ended all 
 these beauties, to be compared to the grass of the 
 field. I have passed the sixty-third year of my 
 age. The perfections of my mind surpassed those 
 of my body. I had a strong and copious memory, 
 a sound judgment, a discerning spirit, and an ima- 
 gination so strong, that many times even my 
 dreams and apprehensions beforehand proved to 
 be true ; so that old Mr. John Denham, a great 
 astronomer, who lived in my father's house, would 
 often say that I had much in me in nature to 
 show, that the sweet influence of the Pleiades and 
 the bands of Orion, mentioned in Job, were power- 
 ful both at my conception and nativity." She goes 
 on to speak of "sucking from her dear mother 
 the milk of goodness, which made her mind grow 
 
 strong against the storms of fortune." She in- 
 forms us that in her childhood, by means of her 
 aunt Warwick, she was much beloved by queen 
 Elizabeth. 
 
 Her escape from various perils is thus recorded : 
 " In my infancy and youth, and a great part of 
 my life, I have escaped many dangers, both by 
 fire and water, by passage in coaches, and falls 
 from horses, by burning fevers, and excessive 
 extremity of bleeding, many times to the great 
 hazard of my life. All which, and many wicked 
 devices of my enemies, I have passed through 
 miraculously, and much the better by the help of 
 the prayers of my dear mother, who incessantly 
 begged of God for my safety and preservation." 
 
 The following account of her marriage life may 
 not be unacceptable to the reader : " I was bom 
 a happy creature in mind, body, and fortune ; and 
 those two lords, to whom I was afterwards by the 
 Divine Providence married, were worthy noble- 
 men as any then in this kingdom ; yet it was my 
 misfortune to have contradictions and crosses with 
 both. With my first lord about the desire he had 
 to make me sell my rights in the lands of my an- 
 cient inheritance, which I never would consent to, 
 insomuch as this was the cause of long contention ; 
 as also for his profuseness in consuming his estate, 
 and some other extravagances. With my second 
 lord, because my youngest daughter, the lady Eli- 
 zabeth Sackville, would not be brought to marry 
 one of his youngest sons ; and that I would not 
 relinquish my interest in five thousand poimds 
 (being part of her portion) out of my lands in 
 Craven : nor did there want divers malicious iU- 
 willers to blow and foment the coals of dissension 
 between us : so as, in both their lifetimes, the 
 marble pillars of Knowle in Kent, and Wilton in 
 Wiltshire, were to me oftentimes but the gay ar- 
 bour of anguish. A wise man, that knew the 
 insides of my fortune, would often say, that I lived 
 in both these my lords' great families as the river 
 Rhone runs through the lake of Geneva, without 
 rdingling its streams with the lake; for I gave 
 myself up to retiredness as much as I could, and 
 made good books and virtuous thoughts my com- 
 panions, which can never discern afilietion, nor be 
 daunted when it unjustly happens. And by a 
 happy genius I overcame all these troubles, the 
 prayers of my blessed mother helping me therein." 
 
 CLIVE, CATHARINE, 
 Daughter of William Rafton, of Ireland, an 
 actress of great merit, was born in 1711. She 
 was quite young when she made her first appear- 
 ance before the public, and for more than thirty 
 years was considered the best performer, in high 
 or low comedy, on the stage. In 1732, she mar- 
 ried George Clive, a lawyer, and brother to baron 
 Clive ; but this union was not a happy one, and 
 they soon agreed to separate, and for the rest of 
 their lives had no intercourse whatever. 
 
 Mrs. Clive left the stage in 1768, and retired 
 to a small but elegant house near Strawberry- 
 hill, in Twickenham, where she resided in ease 
 and independence, respected by the world, and 
 surrounded by friends. She died Deo. 6th, 1785. 
 
 264 
 
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 COCHEANE, GRIZEL, 
 Was the daughter of Sir John Cochrane, of 
 Ochiltree, Scotland, second son of the first Earl 
 of Dundonald. Her father, being taken prisoner 
 in July, 1685, and confined in the Tolbooth at 
 Edinburgh, was, in consequence of participating 
 in the rebellion against James II. , condemned to 
 death for high treason, and his execution was only 
 delayed till the death-warrant should arrive from 
 London. In the mean time the earl of Dundonald 
 was making every exertion to obtain his pardon 
 by interesting the king's confessor in his son's 
 favour. But this required some time, and the 
 death-warrant was daily expected. Grizel Coch- 
 rane, though only eighteen at the time, deter- 
 mined to prevent its arrival. Disguising herself 
 as a servant-girl, and mounting her own horse, on 
 whose speed she could rely, she, by riding two 
 days, reached the abode of her nurse, who lived 
 on the English side of the Tweed. Here attiring 
 herself in her foster-brother's clothes, and arming 
 herself with pistols, she proceeded to a small 
 public-house near Belford, where the postman was 
 accustomed to stop for a few hours to rest. Send- 
 ing the landlady out on some errand, Grizel stepped 
 to the room where the postman was sleeping, but 
 his mail-bags were under his head, and could not 
 be touched without awaking him. However, she 
 succeeded in drawing the load out of the pistols, 
 which lay near him, before the woman returned, 
 and then overtaking him about half-way between 
 Belford and Berwick, she succeeded in obtaining 
 the mail-bags, in which she discovered her father's 
 death-warrant. Destroying this, and several other 
 obnoxious papers, she reassumed her female dress, 
 and returned to Edinburgh. As it then took eight 
 days for communications to pass from London to 
 Edinburgh, the sixteen days Grizel thus gained 
 for her father were sufficient to allow the earl of 
 Dundonald to obtain his son's pardon. Miss Coch- 
 rane afterwards married Mr. Ker, of Morriston, 
 in the county of Berwick. 
 
 COCKBUllN, CATHARINE, 
 The daughter of captain David Trotter, a Scotch 
 gentleman in the navy, was born in 1679. She 
 gave early proofs of a poetic imagination by the 
 production of three tragedies and a comedy, which 
 were all acted ; the first of them in her seven- 
 teenth year. She had also a turn for philosophy ; 
 and she engaged in controversy, defending Mr. 
 Locke's opinions against Dr. Burnet of the Char- 
 ter-House, and Dr. Holdsworth. She was induced 
 to turn Roman Catholic when very young, but 
 renounced that faith in her riper years. 
 
 In 1708, she married Mr. Cockburn, the son of 
 an eminent Scotch divine, and was precluded for 
 twenty years from pursuing her studies, by the 
 oares of a family, which she nevertheless resumed 
 with ardour. Mrs. Cockburn died in 1749 ; her 
 works are collected in two octavo volumes. 
 
 She wrote, among her plays, "Agnes de Cas- 
 tro ;" " The Fatal Friendship ;" " Love at a Loss, 
 or Most Votes carry it ;" and " The Unhappy Pen- 
 itent." She also wrote several poems and contro- 
 
 versial essays. In a poem addressed to queen 
 Caroline, wife of George II., Mrs. Cockburn thus 
 alludes to the disadvantages under which a woman 
 then pursued the path of literature : — 
 
 *' Learning denied us, we at r-lndom tread 
 Unbeaten patlis, that late to knowledge lead; 
 By secret steps break through th' obstructed way, 
 Nor dare acquirements gain'd by stealth display. 
 If some advent'rous genius should arise, 
 Who on exalted themes her talents tries, 
 She fears to give the work, Iho' prais'd, a name, 
 And flies not more from infamy than fame." 
 
 That she was scrupulous never to neglect any 
 womanly duty, gives added importance to her ex- 
 ample of improvement. Her familiar letters show 
 this happy talent of biding her time. In one to 
 her niece, dated October 6th, 1732, she wrifes, 
 " Sundays being privileged from the needle, I 
 have found time of late to read three short pamph- 
 lets, in answer to " Christianity as old as the Cre- 
 ation," by Dr. Burnet ; which, they say, are the 
 best that have been written on a subject that has 
 for some time employed all pens and heads." In , 
 another letter, in the year 1740, she speaks of 
 finding more time for reading and writing during 
 the long winter's evenings, than in the summer 
 months, since she could not work by candle-light. 
 " In the summer," says she, " I am so much em- 
 ployed with my needle, that I read little, and 
 write less." In a letter, intended to be sent to 
 Mr. Pope, she writes, "You had but just begun 
 to dawn upon the world, when I retired from it. 
 Being married in 1708, I bade adieu to the muses, 
 and so wholly gave myself up to the cares of a 
 family, and the education of my children, that I 
 scarcely knew whether there were such things as 
 books, plays, or poems, stirring in Great Britain. 
 However, after some years, your ' Essay on Criti- 
 cism,' and ' Rape of the Lock,' broke in upon me. 
 I rejoiced that so bright a genius was rising on 
 our isle ; but thought no more about you, till my 
 young family was grown up to have less need of 
 my assistance ; and, beginning to have some taste 
 for polite literature, my inclination revived with 
 my leisure to inquire after what had been most 
 celebrated in that kind. I then read your Homer, 
 &c." This is the true way for a woman to live con- 
 tentedly, to grow old gracefully, and to die happily. 
 
 COLIGNI, HENRIETTA, COUNTESS 
 DE LA LUZE, 
 
 Famous for her poetry, which was printed with 
 the works of Pellison and others, in 1695 and 
 1725, in two duodecimo volumes, was the daughter 
 of Caspar de Coligni, marshal of France, and 
 colonel-general of infantry. She married, when 
 very young, Thomas Hamilton, a Scotch nobleman, 
 and, after his death, the count de la Luze, of an 
 illustrious house in Champagne. 
 
 The jealousy of her second husband embittered 
 her life, and his severities towards her induced her 
 to abjure Protestantism and embrace the Roman 
 Catholic faith, which caused queen Christina of 
 Sweden to say " That the countess had changed 
 her religion, that she might not see her husband, 
 neither in this world nor the next." Their anti-' 
 pathy at last became so great that the countess 
 
 265 
 
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 offered her husband 25,000 crowns to disannul the 
 marriage, which he accepted, and it was dissolved 
 by parliament. 
 
 She then devoted herself to the study of poetry ; 
 and her writings, which were principally in the 
 elegiac strain, were much admired. Her other 
 works were songs, madrigals, and odes. The wits 
 of her time ascribed to her the majesty of Juno, 
 with Minerva's wit and Venus' beauty. She died 
 at Paris, March 10th, 1673. 
 
 CONTAT, LOUISE, 
 (By marriage, Madame de Pamy, but known on 
 the stage by her maiden name), was born at Paris 
 in 1760, made her d(5but as Atalide, in Bajazet, at 
 the Theatre Pran9ais, in 1776, but afterwards de- 
 voted her brilliant endowments entirely to comedy. 
 She possessed great versatility of talent, and 
 united beauty, grace, ease, and archness, with 
 dignity, tenderness, delicacy, and judgment. She 
 restored to the stage the masterpieces of Moliere, 
 which had long been neglected by the public. 
 After a theatrical career of thirty-two years, most 
 of which were a continual series of triumphs, Ma- 
 dame de Parny retired from the stage in 1808, and 
 became the centre of a brilliant circle of friends, 
 in which she was remarkable for her powers of 
 conversation. A few weeks before her death, she 
 threw into the fire a large collection of anecdotes 
 and other of her writings, in prose and verse, be- 
 cause they contained some strokes of personal 
 satire. She died in 1813. M. Arnault owed his 
 liberty and life, in 1792, to her interference in his 
 favour, at the risk of her own life. 
 
 CONTI, MARGARET LOUISA, 
 Or Lorraine, princess de, daughter of Henry, 
 duke de Guise, surnamed the Balafre, or The 
 Scarred, was bom in 1577, and died in 1631. In 
 1605 she married, by the request of Henry IV., 
 who was in love with her and wished her to remain 
 at court, Francis de Bourbon, prince de Conti. 
 They, however, left Henry's court secretly, on 
 their wedding night, and went to Brussels. The 
 prince de Conti dying in 1614, Louisa devoted her- 
 self to literature, patronised the learned, and em- 
 ployed her time in studying their works, and in 
 writing. She was one of cardinal Richelieu's ene- 
 mies, and he banished her to Eu, where she died. 
 She wrote the loves of Henry IV., under the title 
 of "Les Amoures du Grande Alexandre." She 
 was suspected of having married the marshal de 
 Bassompierre for her second husband. 
 
 CONTI, PRINCESS DE, 
 Whose maiden name was Mademoiselle de Blois, 
 was the daughter of Louis XIV. and Louise de la 
 ValliSre. She married Louis Armaud de Bourbon, 
 prince de Conti, brother of the prince who was 
 chosen king of Poland. Louis Armand died of 
 the small-pox. The princess was equally cele- 
 brated for her wit and wonderful beauty. Muley 
 Ismael, king of Morocco, happening to see her 
 portrait, fell in love with her, and sent an ambas- 
 sador to demand her hand. Another likeness of 
 this princess inspired the son of the viceroy of 
 
 Lima with a violent passion; and one of these 
 pictures having been lost in India, was found by 
 the natives, who worshipped it as the image of the 
 goddess Monas. The princess was a protectress 
 of literary men. She died at the commencement 
 of the eighteenth century. 
 
 CORDAY D'ARMONT, MARIA-ANNE 
 CHARLOTTE, 
 
 Was one of the last descendants of a noble 
 Norman family ; she numbered among her ances- 
 tors the great tragedian CorneiUe, and Fontenelle 
 was a near relation. 
 
 Her father, Jacques of Corday and of Armont, 
 was a younger son of this noble line. He was, 
 however, poorer than many of the peasants amongst 
 whom he lived, cultivating with his own hands his 
 narrow inheritance. He married in early life a 
 lady of gentle blood, but as poor as himself. They 
 had five children and a noble name to support, in 
 a vain show of dignity, on their insufficient income. 
 It thus happened that Charlotte, their fourth child 
 and second daughter, was born in a thatched 
 dwelling, in the village of Saint Saturnin des 
 Lignerets ; and that in the register of the parish 
 church where she was baptized, on the 28th of 
 July, 1768, the day after her birth, she is described 
 as " born in lawful wedlock of Jacques Fran9ois of 
 Corday, esquire, sieur of Armont, and of the noble 
 dame Marie Charlotte-Jacqueline, of Gauthier des 
 Authieux, his wife." It was under these difficiilt 
 circumstances, which embittered his temper, and 
 often caused him to inveigh, in energetic terms, 
 against the injustice of the law of primogeniture, 
 that M. d' Armont reared his family. As soon as 
 they were of age, his sons entered the army ; one 
 of his daughters died young; and he became a 
 widower when the other two were emerging from 
 childhood into youth. They remained for some 
 time with their father, but at length entered the Ab- 
 baye aux Dames, in the neighbouring town of Caen. 
 The greatest portion of the youth of Charlotte 
 Corday — to give her the name by which she is 
 generally known — was spent in the calm obscurity 
 of her convent solitude. 
 
 266 
 
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 When tlie Abbaye aux Dames was closed, in 
 consequence ef the revolution, Charlotte was in 
 her twentieth year, in the prime of life and of her 
 wonderful beauty ; and never, perhaps, did a vision 
 of more dazzling loveliness step forth from beneath 
 the dark convent portal into the light of the free 
 and open world. She was rather tall, but admi- 
 rably proportioned, with a figure full of native 
 grace and dignity; her hands, arms, and shoul- 
 ders, were models of pure sculptural beauty. An 
 expression of singular gentleness and serenity 
 characterized her fair, oval countenance and re- 
 gular features. Her open forehead, dark and 
 well-arched eyebrows, and eyes of a grey so deep 
 that it was often mistaken for blue, added to her 
 naturally grave and meditative appearance; her 
 nose was straight and well formed, her mouth 
 serious but exquisitely beautiful. Like most of 
 the women of the Norman race, she had a com- 
 plexion of transparent purity ; enhanced by the 
 rich brown hair which fell in thick curls around 
 her neck, according to the fashion of the period. 
 A simple severity characterized her dress of sombre 
 hue, and the low and becoming lace cap which she 
 habitually wore, is still known by her name in 
 France. Her whole aspect was fraught with so 
 much modest grace and dignity, that, notwith- 
 standing her youth, the first feeling she invariably 
 inspired was one of respect ; blended with invo- 
 luntary admiration, for a being of such pure and 
 touching loveliness. 
 
 On leaving the convent in which she had been 
 educated, Charlotte Corday went to reside with 
 her aunt, Madame Coutellier de Bretteville Gou- 
 ville; an old royalist lady, who inhabited an 
 ancient-looking house in one of the principal 
 streets of Caen. There the young girl, who had 
 inherited a little property, spent several years, 
 chiefly engaged in watching the progress of the 
 revolution. The feelings of her father were simi- 
 larly engrossed : he wrote several pamphlets in 
 favour of the revolutionary principles ; and one in 
 which he attacked the right of primogeniture. 
 His republican tendencies confirmed Charlotte in 
 her opinions ; but of the deep, overpowering 
 strength which those opinions acquired in her 
 soul, during the long hours she daily devoted to 
 meditation, no one ever knew, until a stern and 
 fearful deed — more stern and fearful in one so 
 gentle — had revealed it to all France. A silent 
 reserve characterized this epoch of, Charlotte Cor- 
 day's life : her enthusiasm was not external, but 
 inward: she listened to the discussions which 
 were carried on around her, without taking a part 
 in them herself. She seemed to feel, instinctively, 
 that great thoughts are always better nursed in 
 the heart's solitude : that they can only lose their 
 native depth and intensity by being revealed too 
 freely before the indifferent gaze of the world. 
 Those with whom she then occasionally conversed 
 took little heed of the substance of her discourse, 
 and could remember nothing of it when she after- 
 wards became celebrated ; but all recollected well 
 her voice, and spoke with strange enthusiasm of 
 its pure, silvery sound. Like Madame Eoland, 
 , whom she resembled in eo many respects, Char- 
 
 lotte possessed this rare and great attraction ; and 
 there was something so touching in her youthful 
 and almost childlike utterance of heroic thoughts, 
 that it affected even to tears those who heard her, 
 on her trial, calmly defending herself from the 
 infamous accusations of her judges, and glorying, 
 with the same low, sweet tones, in the deadly deed 
 which had brought her before them. 
 
 The fall of the Girondists, on the 31st of May, 
 first suggested to Charlotte Corday the possibility 
 of giving an active shape to her hitherto passive 
 feelings. She watched with intense, though still 
 silent, interest the progress of events, concealing 
 her secret indignation, and thoughts of vengeance, 
 under her habitually calm aspect. Those feelings 
 were heightened in her soul by the presence of 
 the fugitive Girondists, who had found a refuge in 
 Caen, and were urging the Normans to raise an 
 army to march on Paris. She found a pretence 
 to call upon Barbaroux, then with his friends at 
 the Intendance. She came twice, accompanied by 
 an old servant, and protected by her own modest 
 dignity. P^thion saw her in the hall, where she 
 was waiting for the handsome Girondist, and ob- 
 served, with a smile, "So the beautiful aristocrat 
 is come to see republicans." "Citizen P^thion," 
 she replied, " you now judge me without knowing 
 me, but a time will come when you shall learn 
 who I am." With Barbaroux, Charlotte chiefly 
 conversed of the imprisoned Girondists ; of Ma- 
 dame Roland and Marat. The name of this man 
 had long haunted her with a mingled feeling of 
 dread and horror. To Marat she ascribed the 
 proscription of the Girondists, the woes of the 
 Republic, and on him she resolved to avenge her 
 ill-fated country. Charlotte was not aware that 
 Marat was but the tool of Danton and Robespierre. 
 " If such actions could be counselled," afterwards 
 said Barbaroux, "it is not Marat whom we would 
 have advised her to strike." 
 
 Whilst this deadly thought was daily strength- 
 ening itself in Charlotte's mind, she received 
 several offers of marriage. She declined them, 
 on the plea of wishing to remain free : but strange 
 indeed must have seemed to her, at that moment, 
 those proposals of earthly love. One of those 
 whom her beauty had enamoured, M. de Franque- 
 lin, a young volunteer in the cause of the Girond- 
 ists, died of grief on learning her fate ; his last 
 request was, that her portrait, and a few letters 
 he had formerly received from her, might be 
 buried with him in his grave. 
 
 For several days after her last interview with 
 Barbaroux, Charlotte brooded silently over her 
 great thought, often meditating on the history of 
 Judith. Her aunt subsequently remembered that, 
 on entering her room one morning, she found an 
 old Bible open on her bed : the verse in which it 
 is recorded that " the Lord had gifted Judith with 
 a special beauty and fairness," for the deliverance 
 of Israel, was underlined with a pencil. 
 
 On another occasion Madame de Bretteville 
 found her niece weeping alone ; she inquired into 
 the cause of her tears. " They flow," replied 
 Charlotte, " for the misfortunes of my country." 
 Heroic and devoted as she was, she then also 
 
 267 
 
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 wept, perchance, over her own youth and beauty, 
 so soon to he sacrificed for ever. No personal 
 considerations altered her resolve ; she procured 
 a passport, provided herself with money, and paid 
 a farewell visit to her father, to inform him that, 
 considering the unsettled condition of France, she 
 thought it best to retire to England. He approved 
 of her intention, and bade her adieu. On return- 
 ing to Caen, Charlotte told the same tale to Ma- 
 dame de Bretteville, left a secret provision for an 
 old nurse, and distributed the little property she 
 possessed amongst her friends. 
 
 It was on the morning of the 9th of July, 1793, 
 that she left the house of her aunt, without trust- 
 ing herself with a last farewell. Her most earnest 
 wish was, when her deed should have been accom- 
 plished, to perish, wholly unknown, by the hands 
 of an infuriated multitude. The woman who could 
 contemplate such a fate, and calmly devote her- 
 self to it, without one selfish thought of future 
 renown, had indeed the heroic soul of a martyr. 
 
 Her journey to Paris was marked by no other 
 event than the unwelcome attentions of some Ja- 
 cobins with whom she travelled. One of them, 
 struck by her modest and gentle beauty, made her 
 a very serious proposal of marriage : she playfully 
 evaded his request, but promised that he should 
 learn who and what she was at some future period. 
 Op entering Paris she proceeded immediately to 
 the Hotel de la Providence, Rue des Vieux Au- 
 gustins, not far from Marat's dwelling. Here she 
 rested for two days, before calling on her intended 
 victim. Nothing can mark more forcibly the sin- 
 gular calmness of her mind : she felt no hurry to 
 accomplish the deed for which she had journeyed 
 so far, and over which she had meditated so 
 deeply : her soul remained serene and undaunted 
 to the last. The room which she occupied, and 
 which has often been pointed out to inquiring 
 strangers, was a dark and wretched attic, into 
 which light scarcely ever penetrated. There she 
 read again the volume of Plutarch she had brought 
 with her, — unwilling to part with her favourite 
 author, even in her last hours, — and probably 
 composed that energetic address to the people 
 which was found upon her after her apprehension. 
 One of the first acts of Charlotte was to call on 
 the Girondist, Duperret, for whom she was pro- 
 vided with a letter from Barbarous, relative to 
 the supposed business she had in Paris : her real 
 motive was to learn how she could see Marat. 
 She had first intended to strike him in the Champ 
 de Mars, on the 14th of July, the anniversary of 
 the fall of the Bastille, when a great and imposing 
 ceremony was to take place. The festival being 
 delayed, she resolved to seek him in the Conven- 
 tion, and immolate him on the very summit of the 
 Mountain ; but Marat was too ill to attend the 
 meetings of the National Assembly : this Charlotte 
 learned from Duperret. She resolved, nevertheless, 
 to go to the Convention, in order to fortify herself 
 in her resolve. Mingling with the horde of Ja- 
 cobins who crowded the galleries, she watched 
 with deep attention the scene below. Saint Just 
 was then urging the Convention to proscribe Lan- 
 juinais, the heroic defender of the Girondists. A 
 
 young foreigner, a friend of Lanjuinais, and who 
 stood at a short distance from Charlotte, noticed 
 the expression of stern indignation which gathered 
 over her features ; until, like one overpowered by 
 her feelings, and apprehensive of displaying them 
 too openly, she abruptly left the place. Struck 
 with her whole appearance, he followed her out ; 
 a sudden shower of rain, which compelled them to 
 seek shelter under the same archway, afforded 
 him an opportunity of entering into conversation 
 with her. When she learned that he was a friend 
 of Lanjuinais, she waived her reserve, and ques- 
 tioned him with much interest concerning Madame 
 Roland and the Girondists. She also asked him 
 about Marat, with whom she said she had busi- 
 ness. "Marat is ill; it would be better for you 
 to apply to the public accuser, Fouquier Tinville," 
 said the stranger. "I do not want him now, but 
 I may have to deal with him yet," she significantly 
 replied. 
 
 Perceiving that the rain did not cease, she re- 
 quested her companion to procure her a convey- 
 ance ; he complied ; and, before parting from her, 
 begged to be favoured with her name. She re- 
 fused; adding, however, " You will know it before 
 long." With Italian courtesy, he kissed her hand 
 as he assisted her into the fiacre. She smiled, 
 and bade him farewell. 
 
 Charlotte perceived that to call on Marat was 
 the only means by which she might accomplish 
 her purpose. She did so on the morning of the 
 13th of July, having first purchased a knife in the 
 Palais Royal, and wi'itten him a note, in which 
 she requested an interview. She was refused ad- 
 mittance. She then wrote him a second note, 
 more pressing than the first, and in which she 
 represented herself as persecuted for the cause of 
 freedom. Without waiting to see what effect this 
 note might produce, she called again at half-past 
 seven the same evening. 
 
 Marat then resided in the Rue des Cordeliers, 
 in a gloomy-looking house, which has since been 
 demolished. His constant fears of assassination 
 were shared by those around him ; the porter, 
 seeing a strange woman pass by his lodge without 
 pausing to make any inquiry, ran out and called 
 her back. She did not heed his remonstrance, but 
 swiftly ascended the old stone staircase, until she 
 had reached the door of Marat's apartment. It 
 was cautiously opened by Albertine, a woman with 
 whom Marat cohabited, and who passed for his 
 wife. Recognising the same young and handsome 
 girl who had already called on her husband, and 
 animated, perhaps, by a feeling of jealous mis- 
 trust, Albertine refused to admit her; Charlotte 
 insisted with great earnestness. The sound of 
 their altercation reached Marat ; he immediately 
 ordered his wife to admit the stranger, whom he 
 recognised as the author of the two letters he had 
 received in the course of the day. Albertine 
 obeyed reluctantly ; she allowed Charlotte to en- 
 ter ; and, after crossing with her an antechamber, 
 where she had been occupied with a man named 
 Laurent Basse in folding some numbers of the 
 "Ami du People," she ushered her through two 
 other rooms, until they came to a narrow closet, 
 
 268 
 
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 where Marat was then in a bath. He gave a look 
 at Charlotte, and ordered his wife to leave them 
 alone : she complied, but allowed the door of the 
 closet to remain half open, and kept within call. 
 
 According to his usual custom, Marat wore a 
 soiled handkerchief bound round his head, in- 
 creasing his natural hideousness. A coarse cover- 
 ing was thrown across the bath ; a board, likewise 
 placed transversely, supported his papers. Laying 
 down his pen, he asked Charlotte the purport of 
 her visit. The closet was so narrow that she 
 toiiched the bath near which she stood. She gazed 
 on him with ill-disguised horror and disgust, but 
 answered, as composedly as she could, that she 
 had come from Caen, in order to give him correct 
 intelligence concerning the proceedings of the Gi- 
 rondists there. He listened, questioned her ea- 
 gerly, wrote down the names of the Girondists, 
 then added, with a smile of triumph: "Before a 
 week they shall have perished on the guillotine." 
 " These words," afterwards said Charlotte, " sealed 
 his fate." Drawing from beneath the handker- 
 chief which covered her bosom the knife she had 
 kept there all along, she plunged it to the hilt in 
 Marat's heart. He gave one loud expiring cry for 
 help, and sank back dead, in the bath. By an 
 instinctive impulse, Charlotte had instantly drawn 
 out the knife from the breast of her victim, but 
 she did not strike again ; casting it down at his 
 feet, she left the closet, and sat down in the neigh- 
 bouring room, thoughtfully passing her hand across 
 her brow : her task was done. 
 
 The wife of Marat had rushed to his aid on 
 hearing his cry for help. Laurent Basse, seeing 
 that all was over, turned round towards Charlotte, 
 and, with a blow of a chair, felled her to the floor ; 
 whilst the infuriated Albertine trampled her under 
 her feet. The tumult aroused the other tenants 
 of the house ; the alarm spread, and a crowd ga- 
 thered in the apartment, who learned with stupor 
 that Marat, the Friend of the People, had been 
 murdered. Deeper still was their wonder when 
 they gazed on the murderess. She stood there 
 before them with still disordered garments, and 
 her dishevelled hair, loosely bound by a broad 
 green riband, falling around her ; but so calm, so 
 serenely lovely, that those who most abhorred her 
 crime gazed on her with involuntary admiration. 
 " Was she then so beautiful ?" was the question 
 addressed, many years afterwards, to an old man, 
 one of the few remaining witnesses of this scene. 
 "Beautiful!" he echoed, enthusiastically; adding, 
 with the wonted regrets of old age: "Ay, there 
 are none such now !" 
 
 The commissary of police began his interroga- 
 tory in the saloon of Marat's apartment. She 
 told him her name, how long she had been in Pa- 
 ris, confessed her crime, and recognised the knife 
 with which it had been perpetrated. The sheath 
 was found in her pocket, with a thimble, some 
 thread, money, and her watch. 
 
 "What was your motive in assassinating Ma- 
 rat ?" asked the commissary. 
 
 " To prevent a civil war," she answered. 
 
 " Who are your accomplices ?" 
 
 "I have none." 
 
 She was ordered to be transferred to the Ab- 
 baye, the nearest prison. An immense and infu- 
 riated crowd had gathered around the door of 
 Marat's house ; one of the witnesses perceived 
 that she would have liked to be delivered to this 
 maddened multitude, and thus perish at once. 
 She was not saved from their hands without diffi- 
 culty ; her courage failed her at the sight of the 
 peril she ran, and she fainted away on being con- 
 veyed to the fiacre. On reaching the Abbaye, she 
 was questioned until midnight by Chabot and 
 Drouet, two Jacobin members of the Convention. 
 She answered their interrogatories with singular 
 firmness; observing, in conclusion : " I have done 
 my task, let others do theirs." Chabot threatened 
 her with the scaifold ; she answered him with a 
 smile of disdain. Per behaviour until the 17th, 
 the day of her trial, was marked by the same firm- 
 ness. She wrote to Bivrbaroux a charming letter, 
 full of graceful wit and heroic feeling. Her play- 
 fulness never degenerated into levity : like that 
 of the illustrious Thomas More, it was the sere- 
 nity of a mind whom death had no power to daunt. 
 Speaking of her action, she observes, " I consi- 
 dered that so many brave men need not come to 
 Paris for the head of one man. He deserved not 
 so much honour : the hand of a woman was 
 
 enough I have never hated but one being, 
 
 and him with what intensity I have sufficiently 
 shown ; but there are a thousand whom I love still 
 more than I hated him I confess that I em- 
 ployed a perfidious artifice in order that he might 
 receive me. In leaving Caen, I thought to sacri- 
 fice him on the pinnacle of ' the Mountain,' but he 
 no longer went to it. In Paris they cannot under- 
 stand how a useless woman, whose longest life 
 could have been of no good, could sacrifice her- 
 self to save her country May peace be as 
 
 soon established as I desire ! A great criminal 
 has been laid low .... the happiness of my coun- 
 try makes mine. A lively imagipation and a feel- 
 ing heart promise but a stormy life ; I beseech 
 those who might regret me to consider this : they 
 will then rejoice at my fate." A tenderer tone 
 marks the brief letter she addressed to her father 
 on the eve of her trial and death : "Forgive me, 
 my dear father," she observed, "for having dis- 
 posed of my existence without your permission. 
 I have avenged many innocent victims. I have 
 warded away many disasters. The people, unde- 
 ceived, will one day rejoice at being delivered from 
 a tyrant. If I endeavoured to persuade you that 
 I was going to England, it was because I hoped to 
 remain unknown : I recognised that this was im- 
 possible. I hope you will not be subjected to an- 
 noyance : you have at least defenders at Cften ; I 
 have chosen Gustave Doulcet de Pont^coulant for 
 mine : it is a mere matter of form. Such a deed 
 allows of no defence. Farewell, my dear father. 
 I beseech of you to forget me ; or, rather, to re- 
 joice at my fate. I die for a good cause. I em- 
 brace my sister, whom I love with my whole heart. 
 Do not forget the line of Corneille : 
 
 'Le crime faite la honte, et non pas r6chafaud.' 
 To-morrow at eight I am to be tried." 
 On the morning of the 17th, she was led before 
 
 269 
 
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 her judges. She was dressed with care, and had 
 never looked more lovely. Her bearing was so 
 imposing and dignified, that the spectators and the 
 judges seemed to stand arraigned before her. She 
 interrupted the first witness, by declaring that it 
 was she who had killed Marat. " Who inspired 
 you with so much hatred against him ?" asked the 
 President. 
 
 "I needed not the hatred of others, I had 
 enough of my own," she energetically replied; 
 "besides, we do not execute well that which we 
 have not ourselves conceived." 
 
 "What, then, did you hate in Marat?" 
 
 "His crimes." 
 
 " Do you think that you have assassinated aU 
 the Marats ?" 
 
 "No; but now that he is dead, the rest may 
 fear." 
 
 She answered other questions with equal firm- 
 ness and laconism. Her project, she declared, had 
 been formed since the 31st of May. " She had 
 killed one man to save a hundred thousand. She 
 was a republican long before the Kevolution, and 
 had never failed in energy." 
 
 " What do you understand by energy ?" asked 
 the President. 
 
 " That feeling," she replied, " which induces us 
 to cast aside selfish considerations, and sacrifice 
 ourselves for our country." 
 
 Fouquier Tinville here observed, alluding to the 
 sure blow she had given, that she must be well 
 practised in crime. " The monster takes me for 
 an assassin !" she exclaimed, in a tone thrilling 
 with indignation. This closed the debates, and 
 her defender rose. It was not Douloet de Pont^- 
 conlant — who had not received her letter — but 
 Chauveau de la Garde, chosen by the President. 
 Charlotte gave him an anxious look, as though she 
 feared he might seek to save her at the expense 
 of honour. He spoke, and she perceived that her 
 apprehensions were unfounded. Without excusing 
 her crime or attributing it to insanity, he pleaded 
 for the fervour of her conviction ; which he had 
 the courage to call sublime. The appeal proved 
 unavailing. Charlotte Corday was condemned. 
 Without deigning to answer the President, who 
 asked her if she had aught to object to the pen- 
 alty of death being carried out against her, she 
 rose, and walking up to her defender, thanked him 
 gracefully. " These gentlemen," said she, point- 
 ing to the judges, " have just informed me that 
 the whole of my property is confiscated. I owe 
 something in the prison : as a proof of my friend- 
 ship and esteem, I request you to pay this little 
 debt." 
 
 On returning to the Conciergerie, she found an 
 artist, named Hauer, waiting for her, to finish her 
 portrait, which he had begun at the Tribunal. 
 They conversed freely together, until the execu- 
 tioner, carrying the red chemise destined for 
 assassins, and the scissors with which he was to 
 cut her hair off, made his appearance. "What, 
 so soon!" exclaimed Charlotte Corday, slightly 
 turning pale ; but rallying her courage, she re- 
 sumed her composure, and presented a lock of her 
 hair to M. Hauer, as the only reward in her power 
 
 to give. A priest came to offer her his ministry. 
 She thanked him and the persons by whom he had 
 been sent, but declined his spiritual aid. The 
 executioner cut her hair, bound her hands, and 
 threw the red chemise over her. M. Hauer was 
 struck with the almost unearthly loveliness which 
 the crimson hue of this garment imparted to the 
 ill-fated maiden. " This toilet of death, though 
 performed by rude hands, leads to immortality," 
 said Charlotte, with a smile. 
 
 A heavy storm broke forth as the car of the 
 condemned left the Conciergerie for the Place de 
 la Revolution. An immense crowd lined every 
 street through which Charlotte Corday passed. 
 Hootings and execrations at first rose on her path ; 
 but as her pure and serene beauty dawned on the 
 multitude, as the exquisite loveliness of her coun- 
 tenance and the sculptured beauty of her figure 
 became more fully revealed, pity and admiration 
 superseded every other feeling. Her bearing was 
 so admirably calm and dignified, as to rouse sym- 
 pathy in the breasts of those who detested not 
 only her crime, but the cause for which it had 
 been committed. Many men of every party took 
 off their hats and bowed as the cart passed before 
 them. Amongst those who waited its approach, 
 was a young German, named Adam Luz, who stood 
 at the entrance of the Kue Sainte Honors, and 
 followed Charlotte to the scaffold. He gazed on 
 the lovely and heroic maiden with all the enthu- 
 siasm of his imaginative race. A love, unexam- 
 pled perhaps in the history of the human heart, 
 took possession of his soul. Not one wandering 
 look of " those beautiful eyes, which revealed a 
 soul as intrepid as it was tender," escaped him. 
 Every earthly grace so soon to perish in death, 
 every trace of the lofty and immortal spirit, filled 
 him with bitter and intoxicating emotions unknown 
 till then. " To die for her ; to be struck by the 
 same hand ; to feel in death the same cold axe 
 which had severed the angelic head of Charlotte ; 
 to be united to her in heroism, freedom, love, and 
 death, was now the only hope and desire of his 
 heart." 
 
 Unconscious of the passionate love she had 
 awakened, Charlotte now stood near the guillotine. 
 She turned pale on first beholding it, but soon re- 
 sumed her serenity. A deep blush suffused her 
 face when the executioner removed the handker- 
 chief that covered her neck and shoulders ; but 
 she calmly laid her head upon the block. The 
 executioner touched a spring, and the axe came 
 down. One of the assistants immediately stepped 
 forward, and holding up the lifeless head to the 
 gaze of the crowd, struck it on either cheek. The 
 brutal act only excited a feeling of horror ; and 
 it is said that — as though even in death her in- 
 dignant spirit protested against this outrage — an 
 angry and crimson flush passed over the features 
 of Charlotte Corday. 
 
 A few days after her execution, Adam Luz pub- 
 lished a pamphlet, in which he enthusiastically 
 praised her deed, and proposed that a statue with 
 the inscription, " Greater than Brutw," should be 
 erected to her memory on the spot where she had 
 perished. He was arrested and thrown into pri- 
 
 270 
 
CO 
 
 CO 
 
 son. On entering the Abbaye, he passionately 
 exclaimed, " I am going to die for her !" His 
 wish was fulfilled ere long. 
 
 Strange feverish times were those which could 
 rouse a gentle and lovely maiden to avenge free- 
 dom by such a deadly deed ; which could waken 
 in a human heart a love whose thoughts were not 
 of life or earthly bliss, but of the grave and the 
 scaffold. Let the times, then, explain those na- 
 tures, where so much evil and heroism are blended 
 that man cannot mark the limits between both. 
 Whatever judgment may be passed upon her, 
 the character of Charlotte Corday was certainly 
 not cast in an ordinary mould. It is a striking 
 and noble trait, that to the last she did not re- 
 pent : never was error more sincere. If she could 
 have repente4, she would never have become 
 guilty. 
 
 Her deed created an extraordinary impression 
 throughout France. On hearing of it, a beautiful 
 royalist lady fell down on her knees and invoked 
 " Saint Charlotte Corday." The republican Ma- 
 dame Roland calls her a heroine worthy of a better 
 age. The poet, Andr^ Ch^nier — -who, before a 
 year had elapsed, followed her on the scaffold — 
 sang her heroism in a soul-stirring strain. 
 
 The political influence of that deed may be 
 estimated by the exclamation of Vergniaud : " She 
 kills us, but she teaches us how to die !" It was 
 so. The assassination of Marat exasperated all 
 his fanatic partisans against the Girondists. Al- 
 most divine honours were paid to his memory; 
 forms of prayer were addressed to him ; altars 
 were erected to his honour, and numberless vic- 
 tims sent to the scaffold as a peace-offering to his 
 manes. On the wreck of his popularity rose the 
 far more dangerous power of Robespierre : a new 
 impulse was given to the Reign of Terror. Such 
 was the " peace" which the erring and heroic 
 Charlotte Corday won for France. 
 
 The author of " The Women in France," from 
 whose interesting book we have selected this me- 
 moir, thus remarks on the character of this extra- 
 ordinary woman: "To judge her absolutely lies 
 not in the province of man. Beautiful, pure, gen- 
 tle, and — a murderess!" It may be added, that, 
 compared with the men of her time, Charlotte 
 Corday was like a bright star shining through 
 noxious and dark exhalations of selfishness and 
 wickedness. She was not a Christian, for true 
 Christianity had lost its power over the people of 
 France ; but she displayed, with the stern strength 
 of a Roman soul, the highest principle of our uu- 
 regenerate nature — patriotism. 
 
 CORTESI, GIOVANNA MARMOCCHINI, 
 
 A CELEBEATED Florentine artist, was born in 
 1670, and instructed by Livio Mechus, and Pietro 
 Dandini ; but, by order of the grand-duchess, she 
 was afterwards taught to paint in miniature by 
 Hippolito Galantini. In that style she became 
 very eminent for her colouring, drawing, and the 
 striking likenesses she produced. She usually 
 worked in oil, but also painted equally well with 
 crayons. She died in 1736. 
 
 COBNARO, HELENA LUCRETIA, 
 
 A LEAKNED Venetian lady, was the daughter of 
 Gio Baptista Cornaro, and educated in a very dif- 
 ferent manner from her sex generally: she was 
 taught languages, sciences, and the philosophy of 
 the schools, difficult as it then was. She took her 
 degrees at Padua, and was perhaps the first lady 
 who was made a doctor. She was also admitted 
 to the university at Rome, where she had the title 
 of Humble given her, as she had that of Unalterable 
 at Padua. She deserved both these appellations, 
 since all her learning had not inspired her with 
 vanity, nor could any thing disturb her calmness 
 and tranquillity of mind. She made a vow of vir- 
 ginity, and though all means were used to persuade 
 her to marry, and dispensation obtained from the 
 pope, she remained immovable. She exercised 
 upon herself the discipline of flagellation, fasted 
 often, and spent nearly her whole time in study 
 and devotion. 
 
 Persons of note who passed through Venice 
 were more desirous to see her than any of the cu- 
 riosities of that superb city. The cardinals de 
 Bouillon and d'Etre^s were commanded by the 
 king of France to call on her, on their journey 
 through Italy, and examine whether what was 
 said of her was true ; and they found that she 
 fully equalled her high reputation all over Europe. 
 Her severe studies impaired her health, and she 
 died in 1685. 
 
 As soon as the news of her death reached Rome, 
 the academicians, called Infecondi, who had ad- 
 mitted her to their society, made innumerable 
 odes and epitaphs to her memory. They celebrated 
 a funeral solemnity in her honour, in the college 
 of the Barnabite friars, with the highest pomp and 
 magnificence ; and one of the academicians made 
 a funeral oration, in which he expatiated on all 
 her great and valuable qualities. She was not the 
 author of any literary productions. 
 
 COSEL, COUNTESS OF, 
 
 One of the numerous mistresses of Augustus II., 
 king of Poland and elector of Saxony, was the 
 wife of the Saxon minister Hoymb, who, knowing 
 the king's disposition, kept her far from court; 
 but, on one occasion, excited by wine, he praised 
 her so highly to the king, that Augustus ordered 
 her to be brought to Dresden. Soon after she 
 was divorced from Hoymb, and appeared at court 
 as the countess of Cosel. A palace was built for 
 her by the king, still called the Cosel palace, which 
 was pre-eminent for magnificence and luxury. 
 For nine years the countess preserved the king's 
 favour, and exercised an arbitrary sway in the af- 
 fairs of government. The money coined while she 
 was in favour bore the stamp of the royal arms in 
 conjunction with those of the countess. At last 
 she fell into disgrace, and was dismissed. She 
 retired to Prussia, and was afterwards arrested at 
 Halle, at the request of Augustus, and imprisoned 
 at Stolpe, in Saxony, where she remained forty- 
 five years. She died at the age of eighty. 
 
 271 
 
CO 
 
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 COSSON DE LA GEE S S ONNIE RE, 
 CHAELOTTE GATHAEINE, 
 BoEN at Mfeziferes, in the eighteenth century, 
 was the author of several poems which were 
 published in the " Mercure de France," and other 
 periodical journals. She also wrote a poetical 
 " Lamentation on the Death of the Dauphin." 
 
 COSTA, MAEIA MAEGAEITA, 
 An Italian poetess, whose works were published 
 at Paris, was born at Eome, in 1716. She was a 
 woman of Tast erudition, and wrote successfully 
 in different kinds of literature. She wrote the 
 librettos of several operas. 
 
 COSWAY, MARY, 
 
 One of the best miniature-painters of Italy, was 
 the daughter of an Englishman by the name of 
 Hadfield, who kept a hotel at Leghorn. Mary 
 was born in the year 1779, and married, when 
 twenty years old, an Englishman by the name of 
 Cosway, who had acquired some celebrity as a 
 painter. He soon discovered the talent of his wife, 
 and aided her in cultivating it. He then went 
 with her to Paris, where she devoted herself alto- 
 gether to miniature-painting and engraving. Her 
 fame extended soon throughout the country, and 
 people from all parts of the kingdom came to have 
 their likenesses taken by her. Her greatest un- 
 dertaking, a work which was to contain a copy of 
 the best paintings in the Museum, accompanied 
 with historical notices, remained unfinished on 
 account of the loss of a child, which affected her 
 so much that she became melancholy, and gave 
 up her artistical pursuits. She died, 1804, in a 
 nunnery near Lyons. 
 
 COTTIN, SOPHIE, 
 Whose maiden name was Ristaud, was born at 
 Tonneins, in the department of Lot and Garonne, 
 in 1773. She married M. Cottin, a banker at 
 Bordeaux, and went soon after to reside at Paris, 
 where her husband died. She was then twenty 
 years of age, and might have been much admired ; 
 but she had been tenderly attached to her husband, 
 
 and never would re-marry. To relieve her sor- 
 rows, she gave herself up to intellectual pursuits ; 
 and thus, in the expression of her thoughts and 
 feelings, she began to write. Her first attempts 
 were small poems, and a story, " Claire d'Albe," 
 which she was induced to publish by the following 
 singular circumstances. Upon the breaking out 
 of the revolution of 1789, Madame Cottin, who did 
 not partake of the popular opinions, adopted the 
 most secluded life possible, devoting herself to 
 study and reading. At the same time she took a 
 lively interest in the misfortunes of those unhappy 
 days, and her heart bled to hear of the imprison- 
 ment and execution of many a well-known citizen. 
 In the darkest days of " terror," she one evening 
 received the following letter : 
 
 Madam, — I am almost unknown to you. I have 
 seen you but a few times, and have probably made 
 but a slight impression on you ; but I am in urgent 
 distress, and I apply to you with confidence, cer- 
 tain of receiving the aid you can administer. 
 
 Madam, my name is on the proscribed list ; I 
 am surrounded by spies and enemies ; every step 
 leads me to the guillotine, and I can only hope for 
 safety in a foreign land. But I am totally without 
 money to release myself from these dangers; a 
 way has now opened for me, but persons must be 
 feed, and 2150 livres is the sum requisite. I sup- 
 plicate you then, madam, to take pity on an un- 
 fortunate fellow-creature who wishes to preserve 
 his life for the sake of a family depending on him. 
 The person who delivers this will call for your 
 answer, and may be entirely trusted. 
 
 De Fonbelle. 
 
 Madame Cottin remembered the name of Fon- 
 belle, and also remembered that he was highly 
 esteemed in the house where she had met him; 
 she was anxious to save him ; but how or where 
 to get the required sum ? She thought, she con- 
 sidered ; when at last the idea struck her. She 
 had often been urged by her friends to publish the 
 tales she had written for her amusement, but had 
 always shrunk from coming before the world. 
 In this extremity, however, she bethought her of 
 a story, of which she had read the first chapters 
 in a little circle, where it had produced a favour- 
 able impression. She instantly sat down to her 
 writing-desk, drew out her imperfect manuscript, 
 and resolved to complete it. The night passed — 
 she was still at her labours ; two o'clock came— 
 her room was the only one in the house that showed 
 a light ; there was a knocking at the door — a noise 
 in the entry ! Who could it be, at that hour ? Her 
 heart beat violently. It was a domiciliary visit ! 
 The letter of Fonbelle lay on the desk — it needed 
 all her presence of mind — the gens-d'armes were 
 already in the room. The expedient she adopted 
 was singular, but successful ; she told them she 
 was an authoress, merely occupied in her vocation, 
 and, that they might be convinced of it, offered to 
 give them a sketch of her story. They ranged 
 themselves on chairs round the room, and she pro- 
 ceeded to relate to them " Claire d'Albe." There 
 was such a charm in her voice, and in her manner 
 of arranging the incidents — so much dramatic 
 interest in her conduct of the events — that these 
 
 272 
 
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 rude men became deeply affected. The same 
 people who would have remorselessly dragged the 
 fairest and tenderest to a merciless execution, ab- 
 solutely sobbed over fictitious woes, pathetically 
 related. When she had finished, they were so 
 much gratified, that they forbore touching her 
 papers ; and their search through the house was 
 but nominal. They departed, after shaking hands 
 with her, telling her when the book came out, 
 they would immediately purchase a copy. 
 
 The book was soon finished ; but that was not 
 all — it must be sold. Madame Cottin went in the 
 morning to at least twenty booksellers ; none were 
 willing to risk their money with an unknown 
 author. Her active benevolence was not to be 
 abated by repulse. At last, by the means of a 
 friend, she was introduced to a Idnd-hearted pub- 
 lisher, who, hearing she was pressed for money, 
 consented to oblige her. "What do you ask, 
 madam ?" said he ; " the book is prettily written, 
 as far as I see, but it is not a master-piece." 
 "Fifty Louis," replied she; "since you are so 
 frank, I confess that I am under the most urgent 
 necessity to procure this sum." 
 
 The good man feared the risk ; but his better 
 feelings prevailed, and he counted her out fifty 
 golden Louis. The^rest of the sum she made up 
 from money she had reserved for her housekeeping 
 supplies, determined to live frugally till her next 
 account day. When the messenger returned, she 
 placed in his hands the 2150 livres ; and in a fort- 
 night, had the pleasure of a letter from M. De 
 Fonbelle, assuring her of his safety and gratitude, 
 while on the same day her volume appeared in 
 print. It was received with so much approbation, 
 that she was induced to bring out, in succession, 
 her other more admired works. 
 
 This anecdote has been detailed, as it honours 
 Madame Cottin more than even her literary repu- 
 tation. How noble, to take the first steps in the 
 career of authorship from no sordid motive, nor 
 even from a vain desire of renown, but solely to 
 save the life of an innocent victim of injustice ! 
 Her other works were all brought out for the in- 
 dulgence of her wish to succour the indigent, and 
 never did a lower motive inspire her genius. Her 
 written works are like her entire life — an exposi- 
 tion of the noblest sentiments. The eloquence 
 and fervour with which she expresses the most 
 secret feelings of the heart, have been much ad- 
 mired, particularly by her own sex. Her author- 
 ship commenced from the irrepressible desire to 
 occupy her time innocently, and improve her own 
 mind. The last work she undertook, was on reli- 
 gion ; and she had also commenced one on educa- 
 tion ; a painful disease prevented her from finish- 
 ing either. The latter was the only one of her 
 works for which she was anxious to gain a favour- 
 able reception with the public. Singular as it 
 will now seem, she disapproved, in general, of 
 women appearing as authors ; but, in her solici- 
 tude for this work on education, she honoured the 
 true and instinctive promptings of female genius — 
 to teach. Madame Cottin died, after a severe ill- 
 ness of three months, August 25ih, 1807. Her 
 works have been collected, and published at Paris. 
 S 
 
 Her published works are, besides " Claire 
 d'Albe," " Malvina," "Amelie de Mansfield," 
 " Matilda," and " Elizabeth, or the Exile of Si- 
 beria;" this last is considered her best work. We 
 shall give a few selections from it; but first, a 
 morceau or two from her own thoughts. 
 
 TEMPTATIONS. 
 
 When we have to account to ourselves alone, 
 the predominant passion finds a thousand ways of 
 leading us into its paths, and even of persuading 
 us that there is nothing wrong in following them. 
 We have resisted a little while, and we think we 
 have done wonders ; because we estimate the merit 
 of our existence, not by its duration, but by the 
 difBculty it has cost us. When, however, we have 
 to show to the eyes of others, our feeble efforts, 
 which will not then be judged by the anguish un- 
 der which we made them, and our rapid yielding, 
 which will not then be excused by the force that 
 determined it — when, in fine, we are sure that 
 only the result of our conduct will be considered, 
 and not the poignant feelings that produced it — 
 then this result will appear to us, as it will be 
 viewed by strangers. The point from which we 
 set out, and the point at which we have arrived, 
 remain alone ; all intermediate palliations have 
 vanished. We are frightened at the fearful steps 
 we have taken, and the more so, as we have taken 
 them without knowing where they led us. 
 
 We like to feel life ; its agitations, its perplexi- 
 ties, while they lacerate us, attach us. In afiBic- 
 tion, the whole of life is before us ; the past with 
 its regrets, the present with its tears, and the 
 future with its hopes. It is in affliction, that the 
 imagination elevates itself to the great thoughts of 
 eternity and supreme justice, and that it takes us 
 out of ourselves, to seek a remedy for our pains. 
 
 From " Elizabeth." 
 THE EXILES AND THEIR HOME. 
 
 On the banks of the Irtish, which rises in Cal- 
 muck Tartary, and falls into the Oby, is situated 
 Tobolsk, the capital of Siberia ; bounded on the 
 north by forests eleven hundred versts in length, 
 extending to the borders of the frozen ocean, and 
 interspersed with rocky mountains covered with 
 perpetual snows. Around it are sterile plains, 
 whose frozen sands have seldom received an im- 
 pression from the human foot, and numerous fri- 
 gid lakes, or rather stagnant marshes, whose icy 
 streams never watered a. meadow, nor opened to 
 the sunbeam the beauties of a flower. On ap- 
 proaching nearer to the pole, these stately pro- 
 ductions of nature, whose sheltering foliage is so 
 grateful to the weary traveller, totally disappear. 
 Brambles, dwarf-birches, and shrubs, alone orna- 
 ment this desolate spot; and farther on, even 
 these vanish, leaving nothing but swamps covered 
 with a useless moss, and presenting, as it were, 
 the last efforts of expiring nature. But still, 
 amidst the horror and gloom of an eternal winter, 
 nature displays some of her grandest spectacles ; — 
 the aurora borealis, enclosing the horizon like a 
 
CO 
 
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 resplendent arch, emits columns of quivering light, 
 and frequently oifers to view sights which are un- 
 known in a more southern hemisphere. South 
 of Tobolsk is the province called Ischim : plains 
 strewed with the repositories of the dead, and 
 divided hy lakes of stagnant and unwholesome 
 water, separate it from the Kirguis, an idolatrous 
 and wandering people. It is bounded on the left 
 by the river Irtish, and on the right by the Tobol, 
 the naked and barren shores of which present to 
 the eye fragments of rocks promiscuously heaped 
 together, with here and there a solitary flr-tree 
 rearing its head. Beneath them, in a space formed 
 by an angle of the river, is the small village of 
 Saimka, about six hundred versts from Tobolsk : 
 situated in the farthest extremity of the circle, in 
 the midst of a desert, its environs are as gloomy 
 as the sombre light which illuminates the hemi- 
 sphere, and as dreary as the climate. 
 
 The province of Ischim is nevertheless denomi- 
 nated the Italy of Siberia; since it enjoys nearly 
 four months of summer, though the winter is rigor- 
 ous to an excess. The north winds which blow 
 during that period are so incessant, and render 
 the cold so piercing, that even in September the 
 Tobol is paved with ice. A heavy snow falls upon 
 the earth, and disappears not before the end of 
 May ; but from the time that it begins to dissolve, 
 the celerity with which the trees shoot forth their 
 leaves, and the fields display their verdure, is 
 almost incredible ; three days is the short period 
 that nature requires to bring her plants to ma- 
 turity. The blossoms of the birth-tree exhale an 
 odoriferous scent, and the wild flowers of the field 
 decorate the ground ; flocks of various kinds of 
 fowl play upon the surface of the lakes ; the white 
 crane plunges among the rushes of the solitary 
 marsh to build her nest, which she plaits with 
 reeds ; whilst the flying squirrels, in the woods, 
 cutting the air with their bushy tails, hop from 
 tree to tree, and nibble the buds of the pines, and 
 the tender leaves of the birch. Thus the natives 
 of these dreary regions experience a season of 
 pleasure ; but the unhappy exiles who inhabit it, 
 alas ! experience none. 
 
 Of these miserable beings the greatest part re- 
 side in the villages situated on the borders of the 
 river, between Tobolsk and the extremest boundary 
 of Ischim ; others are dispersed in cottages about 
 the country. The government provides for some : 
 but many are abandoned to the scanty subsistence 
 they can procure from the chase during the winter 
 season, and all are objects of general commisera- 
 tion. Indeed the name they give to the exiles 
 seems to have been dictated by the tenderest sym- 
 pathy, as well as by a strong conviction of their 
 innocence ; they call them " Unfortunates." 
 
 A few versts fVom Saimka. in the centre of a 
 marshy forest, upon the border of a deep circular 
 lake, surrounded with black poplars, resided one 
 of these banished families, consisting of three 
 persona — a man about five-and-forty, his wife, and 
 a beautiful daughter in the bloom of youth. 
 
 Secluded in the desert, this little family were 
 strangers to the intercourse of society ; the father 
 went alone to the chase ; but neither had he, his 
 
 wife, or his daughter, ever been seen at Saimka ; 
 and, except one poor Tartarian peasant, who 
 waited on them, no human being had entered their 
 dwelling. The governor of Tobolsk only was in- 
 formed of their birth, their country, and the cause 
 of their banishment : and this secret he had not 
 even confided to the lieutenant of his jurisdiction, 
 who was established at Saimka. In committing 
 these exiles to his care, the governor had merely 
 given orders that they should be provided with a 
 comfortable lodging, a garden, food, and raiment; 
 and he had given to the lieutenant a positive 
 charge to restrict them from all communication 
 with any one, and particularly to intercept any 
 letter they might attempt to convey to the court 
 of Russia. 
 
 So much consideration, so much mystery, and 
 such strict precaution excited a suspicion that, 
 under the simple name of Peter Springer, the 
 father of this family concealed a name more illus- 
 trious, and misfortunes of no common nature. 
 Perhaps he had been guilty of some great crime ; 
 or possibly he was a victim to the hatred and in- 
 justice of the Russian ministers. 
 
 WINTER IN SIEEEIA. 
 
 Siberia, in winter, is subject to sudden storms. 
 Often, during this season, when the sky appears 
 serene, dreadful hurricanes arise instantaneously, 
 and obscure the atmosphere. They are impelled 
 from the opposite sides of the horizon ; and, when 
 they meet, the strongest trees in vain oppose their 
 violence. In vain the pliant birch bends to the 
 ground : its flexible branches, with their trembling 
 leaves, are broken and dispersed. The snow foils 
 from the tops of the mountains, carrying with it 
 enormous masses of ice which break against the 
 points of the rocks ; these break in their turn ; 
 and the wind, carrying away the fragments, toge- 
 ther with those of the falling huts, in which the 
 terrified animals have in vain sought shelter, 
 whirls them aloft in the air, and, dashing them 
 back to the earth, strews the ground with the 
 ruins of every production of nature. 
 
 ****** 
 
 THE MOTHER AND DADGHTER. 
 
 The cold was intense, the firs appeared like trees 
 of ice, their branches being hid under a thick co- 
 vering of hoar frost. A mist obscured the horizon. 
 Night's near approach gave to each object a still 
 gloomier shade, and the ground, smooth as glass, 
 refused to support the steps of the trembling Phe- 
 dora. Elizabeth, reared in this climate, and ac- 
 customed to brave the extremest severity of the 
 weather, assisted her mother, and led her on. 
 Thus a tree, transplanted from its native soil, lan- 
 guishes in a foreign land, while the young suckling 
 that springs from its root, habituated to the new 
 climate, acquires strength, flourishes, and, in a 
 few years, sustains the branches of the trunk that 
 nourished it ; protecting, by its friendly shade, the 
 tree to which it is indebted for existence. Before 
 Phedora had reached the plain, her strength totally 
 failed : " Rest here, my dear mother," said Eliza- 
 beth, " and let me go alone to the edge of the 
 
 274 
 
CO 
 
 CO 
 
 forest. If we stay longer, the darkness of the 
 night will prevent me from distinguishing my fa- 
 ther in the plain." Phedora supported herself 
 against a tree, while her daughter hastened for- 
 ward, and in a few seconds she reached the plain. 
 Some of the monuments with which it is inter- 
 spersed are very high. Elizabeth climbed up the 
 most elevated of them : her heart was full of grief, 
 and her eyes dim with tears. She gazed around 
 in vain for her father : all was still and lonely ; 
 the obscurity of night began to render the search 
 useless. Terror almost suspended her faculties, 
 when the report of a gun revived her hopes. She 
 had never heard this sound but from the hand of 
 her father, and, to her, it appeared a certain indi- 
 cation that he was near. She rushed towards the 
 spot whence the noise proceeded, and, behind a 
 pile of rocks, discovered a man in a bending pos- 
 ture, apparently seeking for something upon the 
 ground. " My father, my father, is it you?" she 
 exclaimed. He turned hastily ; it was not Springer. 
 His countenance was youthful, and his air noble ; 
 at the sight of Elizabeth he stood amazed. " Oh ! 
 it is not my father," resumed she with anguish, 
 " but perhaps you may have seen him on the 
 plain? Oh ! can you tell me where to find him ?" 
 — "I know nothing of your father," replied the 
 stranger; "but surely you ought not to be here 
 alone at this unseasonable hour ; you are exposed 
 to great danger, and should not venture." — " Oh !" 
 interrupted she, "I fear nothing but losing my 
 father." As she spoke she raised her eyes to hea- 
 ven: their expression revealed, at once, firmness 
 in affliction, and dignity united with softness. 
 They expressed the feelings of her soul, and 
 seemed to foretell her future destiny. The stran- 
 ger had never seen a person, nor had his imagina- 
 tion ever painted a vision, like Elizabeth : he 
 almost believed himself in a dream. When the 
 first emotion of surprise had subsided, he inquired 
 the name of her father ; " Peter Springer," she 
 replied. — "How!" he exclaimed, "you are the 
 daughter of the exile residing in a cottage by the 
 lake ! be comforted, I have seen your father. It 
 is not an hour since he left me ; he intended to 
 make a circuit, and must be at home ere this." 
 
 CBOSSING THE WOLGA. 
 
 She travelled so slowly that she was unable to 
 reach Casan till the beginning of October. A strong 
 wind from the north-west had prevailed for several 
 days, and had collected so great a quantity of ice 
 upon the Wolga, as to render the passage of that 
 river almost impracticable. It could only be cross- 
 ed by going partly in a boat and partly on foot, 
 leaping from one piece of ice to another. Even 
 the boatmen who were accustomed to this danger- 
 ous navigation, would not undertake it but in con- 
 sideration of a high reward ; and no passenger 
 ever ventured to expose his life with them in the 
 attempt. Elizabeth, without thinking of the dan- 
 ger, was about to enter one of their boats ; they 
 roughly pushed her away, declaring that she could 
 not be permitted to cross till the river was quite 
 frozen over. She inquired how long she would 
 probably have to wait. " A fortnight, at least," 
 
 they replied. This determined her immediately to 
 proceed. " I beseech you, in the name of Heaven 
 I beseech you," she exclaimed, " aid me in cross- 
 ing the river. I come from beyond Tobolsk, and 
 am going to Petersburgh, to petition the emperor 
 in behalf of my father, who is now an exile in 
 Siberia ; and I have so little money that if I am 
 obliged to remain a fortnight at Casan, I shall 
 have nothing left for the rest of my journey." 
 
 This affecting appeal softened the heart of one 
 of the boatmen, who, taking her by the hand, 
 "Come," said he, "you are a good girl; I will 
 endeavour to ferry you over : the fear of God, and 
 the love of your parents, guide your steps, and 
 Heaven will protect j'ou." He then took her into 
 his boat, which he rowed half-way over : not be- 
 ing able to work it farther, he lifted Elizabeth on 
 his shoulder ; and alternately walking and leaping 
 over the masses of ice, he reached, by the assist- 
 ance of an oar, the opposite bank of the Wolga, 
 where he set her down in safety. Elizabeth ex- 
 pressed her acknowledgments of the kindness in 
 the most animated terms that her grateful heart 
 could dictate, and, taldng out her purse, which 
 contained now but two rubles and a few smaller 
 coins, offered a trifling reward for his services. 
 " Poor child," said the boatman, looking at the 
 contents of her purse, "is that all the money you 
 have to defray the expenses of your journey hence 
 to Petersburgh ? Believe me, that Nicholas Kiso- 
 loff will not deprive you of a single obol ! No, 
 rather let me add to your little store ; it will bring 
 down a blessing upon me and my children." He 
 then threw her a small piece of money, and re- 
 turned to his boat, exclaiming, " May God watch 
 over and protect you, my child !" 
 
 Elizabeth took up the money, and regarding it 
 with her eyes filled with tears, said, " I will pre- 
 serve thee for my father : thou wilt prove to him 
 that his prayers have been heard, and that a pa- 
 ternal protection has, everywhere, been extended 
 to me." 
 
 THE MITE GIVEN IN CHARITY. 
 
 She had occupied nearly three months in her 
 journey from Sarapol to Voldomir ; but, through 
 the kind hospitality of the Russian peasants, who 
 never take any payment for milk and bread, her 
 little treasure had not been yet exhausted. Now, 
 however, all began to fail ; her feet were almost 
 bare, and her ragged dress ill defended her from 
 a frigidity of atmosphere, which had already sunk 
 the thermometer thirty degrees below the freezing 
 point, and which increased daily. The ground 
 was covered with snow more than two feet deep. 
 Sometimes it congealed while falling, and appear- 
 ed like a shower of ice, so thick that the earth 
 and sky were equally concealed from view. At 
 other times torrents of rain rendered the roads 
 almost impassable, or gusts of wind so violent 
 arose, that Elizabeth, to defend herself from its 
 rude assaults, was obliged to dig holes in the 
 snow, covering her head with large pieces of the 
 bark of pine trees, which she dexterously stripped 
 off, as she had seen done by the inhabitants of 
 Siberia. 
 
 27-5 
 
CO 
 
 CR 
 
 One of these tempestuous hurricanes had raised 
 the snow in thick clouds, and had created an ob- 
 scurity so impenetrable, that Elizabeth, no longer 
 able to discern the road, and stumbling at every 
 step, was obliged to stop. She took refuge under 
 a lofty rock, to which she clung as firmly as she 
 could, that she might be enabled to withstand the 
 fury of a storm which overthrew all around her. 
 Whilst she was in this perilous situation, with her 
 head bent down, a confused noise, that appeared 
 to issue from behind the spot where she stood, 
 raised a hope that a better shelter might be pro- 
 cured. With difficulty she tottered round the 
 rock, and discovered a kibitki, which had been 
 overturned and broken, and a hut at no great dis- 
 tance. She hastened to demand entrance. An 
 old woman opened the door ; and, struck with the 
 wretchedness of her appearance, " My poor child," 
 said she, "whence dost thou come, and why art 
 thou wandering thus alone in this dreadful wea- 
 ther ?" To this interrogation Elizabeth made her 
 usual reply: "I come from beyond Tobolsk, and 
 am going to Petersburgh to solicit my father's 
 pardon." At these words, a man who was sitting, 
 dejectedly, in a corner of the room, suddenly raised 
 his head from between his hands, and, regarding 
 Elizabeth with an air of astonishment, exclaimed, 
 " Is it possible that you come from so remote a 
 coimtry, alone, in this state of distress, and during 
 this tempestuous season, to solicit pardon for your 
 father ? Alas ! my poor child would perhaps have 
 done as much, had not the barbarians torn me 
 from her arms, leaving her in ignorance of my 
 fate. She knows not what has become of me. 
 She cannot plead for mercy. No, never shall I 
 again behold her — this afflicting thought will kill 
 me — separated for ever from my child, I cannot 
 live. Now, indeed, that I know my doom," con- 
 tinued the unhappy father, " I might inform her 
 of it ; I have written a letter to her, but the car- 
 rier belonging to this kibitki, who is returning to 
 Riga, the place of her abode, will not undertake 
 the charge of it without some small compensation, 
 and I am unable to ofi'er him any. Not a single 
 copec do I possess : the barbarians have stripped 
 me of everything." 
 
 Elizabeth drew from her pocket the last ruble 
 she possessed, and, blushing deeply at the insigni- 
 ficance of the trifle, asked, in timid accents, as 
 she presented it to the unfortunate exile, " If that 
 would be enough ?" He pressed to his lips the 
 generous hand that was held forth to succour 
 him ; and then ran to offer the money to the car- 
 rier. As with the widow's mite. Heaven bestowed 
 its blessing on the offering. The carrier was satis- 
 fied, and took charge of the letter. Thus did her 
 noble sacrifice produce a fruit worthy of the heart 
 of Elizabeth : it relieved the agonized feelings of 
 a parent, and carried consolation to the wounded 
 bosom of a child. 
 
 When the storm bad abated, Elizabeth, before 
 she pursued her journey, embraced the old wo- 
 man, who had bestowed upon her all the care and 
 tenderness of a mother ; and said in a low voice, 
 that she might not be heard by the exile, " I have 
 nothing left to give : the blessing of my parents 
 
 is the only recompense I have to offer for your 
 
 kindness; it is the only treasure I possess." 
 
 " How !" interrupted the old woman aloud, " My 
 poor child, have you then given away all you pos- 
 sessed ?" Elizabeth blushed, and hung down her 
 head. The exile started from his seat, and raising 
 his hands to Heaven, threw himself upon his knees 
 before her. " Angel that thou art," he exclaimed, 
 " can I make no return to you, who have thus be- 
 stowed your all upon me ?" A knife lay upon the 
 table : Elizabeth took it up, cut off a lock of her 
 hair, and said, " Sir, you are going into Siberia, 
 and will see the governor of Tobolsk ; give him 
 this, I beseech you, and tell him, that Elizabeth 
 sends it to her parents. He will perhaps consent 
 to forward it to them as a token by which they 
 may know that their daughter is still in exist- 
 ence." 
 
 "Your wish shall be accomplished," answered 
 the exile, " and if, in those deserts of which I am 
 to be an inhabitant, I am not absolutely a slave, I 
 will seek out the dwelling of your parents, and 
 will tell them what you have this day done for 
 me." 
 
 To the heart of Elizabeth, the gift of a throne 
 would have afforded less delight, than the pros- 
 pect of thus being able to convey consolation to 
 her parents. She was now bereft of all, except 
 the little piece of money given to her by the boat- 
 man of the Wolga. Yet she might deem herself 
 rich, for she had just tasted the only pleasure 
 which opulence could bestow ; she had conferred 
 happiness on a fellow-creature, had revived the 
 desponding heart of a father, and had converted 
 tears of sadness, shed by the orphan, into those 
 of consolation. Such were the blessings which 
 even a single ruble had effected. 
 
 COUVREUR, ADRIANNE LE, 
 A Fkench actress, born at Fismes, in Cham- 
 pagne, in 1690. She first appeared in 1717, in 
 the character of Electra, and was received with 
 universal applause. Her best personation was Phae- 
 dra. She was for some time mistress to marshal 
 Saxe, whom, when reduced to distress, she assisted 
 with a large sum of money raised upon her jewels. 
 
 COWLEY, HANNAH, 
 Whose maiden name was Parkhouse, was born at 
 Tiverton, in Devonshire, in 1743, and died there in 
 1809. She is the author of nine comedies, among 
 which are, the " Runaway," the " Belle's Strata- 
 gem," and " More Ways than One ;" the tragedies 
 of "Albina," and " The Fate of Sparta ;" two farces ; 
 and the poems of " The Siege of Acre," "The Maid 
 of Aragon," and " The Scottish Village." Herpoems 
 are of that description which Horace deprecates ; 
 but her comedies have considerable merit. 
 
 CRAVEN, ELIZABETH, LADY, 
 Margkavine of Anspach, youngest daughter of 
 the earl of Berkeley, was born in 1750, and mar- 
 ried, in 1767, WiUiam, last earl of Craven, by 
 whom she had seven children. But in conse- 
 quence of his ill-treatment, they were separated 
 in 1781. After this, lady Craven lived successively 
 
 276 
 
CR 
 
 CR 
 
 at the courts of Versailles, Madrid, Lisbon, Vi- 
 enna, Berlin, Constantinople, Warsaw, St. Peters- 
 burgh, Rome, Florence, Naples, and Anspach, 
 where she became acquainted with the margrave 
 Christian Frederick Charles Alexander, a nephew 
 of Frederick the Great. On this tour, in 1787, 
 she was persuaded to descend into the grotto of 
 Antiparos, which no woman had ever before visit- 
 ed. Lord Craven died at Lisbon in 1791, and his 
 widow soon after married the margrave, who sur- 
 rendered his estates to the king of Prussia for a 
 pension, and went to reside in England with his 
 wife. He died there in 1806. The account of 
 lady Craven's travels through the Crimea to Con- 
 stantinople was first published, in a series of let- 
 ters, in 1789. Besides these, she has written 
 poems, plays, romances, and her ovfn memoirs, 
 entitled " Memoirs of the Margrave of Anspach, 
 formerly Lady Craven, &c." London, 1825. These 
 are interesting on account of her intercourse with 
 Catharine II., Joseph II., and other princes. 
 
 CRAWFORD, ANNE, 
 A CELEBRATED English actress, both in comedy 
 and tragedy ; but better remembered by her 
 maiden name of Barry. She was born at Bath, 
 in 1734, and died in 1801. 
 
 CRBGUY, VICTOIRE D'HOULAY, 
 MARQUISE DE, 
 
 A DiSTiNGTiiSHED French lady, was born in 1699, 
 and died in 1804. She has left several volumes 
 of souvenirs, which form a sort of panorama of 
 the eighteenth century. Allied by birth to the 
 highest nobility, and inspired by nature with a 
 taste for literary society, she was acquainted with 
 most of the celebrated characters of all descrip- 
 tions, that flourished during that lapse of time. 
 
 As a girl, being presented to Louis XIV., when, 
 according to the etiquette of the court, she ad- 
 vanced to kiss the king's hand, the gallant monarch 
 prevented the action by rendering this homage to 
 herself ; a fact only worth recording because the 
 very same circumstance occurred on a presenta- 
 tion to Napoleon eighty years afterwards. 
 
 A family of the name of Crfeguy, but whose 
 ancestor had been an upholsterer in the time of 
 Louis XII., claimed to belong to the great de 
 Crfeguy race. " There was some similarity in the 
 pursuits of our ancestors," said Madame de Crfe- 
 guy, *' c^esi que Us uns gagnaieni des batailles, iandis 
 que les autres faisaient des sieges." 
 
 Louis XIV. said to her one day in the presence 
 of marshal Saxe, " Look at the happy effects of 
 the victory of Montenay ! The marshal's legs 
 were horribly puffed up with gout ; he has come 
 back active and well-proportioned!" 
 
 "All other heroes have been puffed up with 
 glory," returned Madame de Crfeguy. " Marshal 
 ' Saxe is the first upon whom it has had a contrary 
 effect." 
 
 These are but random examples of the ready 
 wit for which she was celebrated among her con- 
 temporaries. Held at the baptismal font by the 
 distinguished princess des Ursins, who governed 
 Spain despotically under Philip V., she lived to 
 
 see that monarchy submitted to the disposal of 
 France, and its crown awarded to one bom the 
 private subject of an obscure province. That the 
 marchioness de Crfeguy maintained through all 
 these changes her cheerfulness of mind, shows 
 that her literary pursuits had a happy effect on 
 the tranquillity and usefulness of her long life. 
 An ignorant old lady is a pitiful object — she has 
 then only frivolous pursuits, which appear more 
 foolish with every increasing year. 
 
 GRETA, LAURA, 
 
 Was born in Italy, in 1669. She received a 
 learned education, and was a proficient in lan- 
 guages and philosophy. She married Pietro Le- 
 reni, but he died in less than two years after their 
 union. She had been much attached to her hus- 
 band, and refusing several advantageous offers of 
 marriage, devoted herself to her studies, and lived 
 in honoured widowhood to the close of her life. 
 She corresponded with most of the eminent scho- 
 lars and philosophers then living in Europe, who 
 were happy in forming an acquaintance, through 
 the medium of letters, with such a lady, renowned 
 as the most learned woman of the age. She died 
 at the beginning of the eighteenth century, and 
 was, says a contemporary writer, "lamented 
 throughout Christendom." 
 
 CROMWELL, ELIZABETH, 
 Wife of Oliver Cromwell, was the daughter of 
 Sir James Bourchier, knight, of Felsted, in Essex. 
 She was married on tho 22d of August, 1620. In 
 person and manners she was very plain, and not 
 well educated, even for those times. She seems 
 to have been an upright, religious and charitable 
 woman, who however did not possess much influ- 
 ence over her husband. After the death of 
 Cromwell, in 1658, she retired for a short time 
 into Wales, and then went to the house of her 
 son-in-law Claypole, at Norborough, in Lincoln- 
 shire, where she lived till her death, October 8th, 
 1672. She was probably upwards of seventy 
 when she died. 
 
 CRUZ, JUANA INEZ DE LA, 
 Was born in November, 1651, a few leagues 
 from the city of Mexico. Her father, a Spaniard, 
 had sought wealth by an establishment in Ame- 
 rica, where he married a lady of the country, bat 
 of Spanish extraction. Juana, the fruit of this 
 union, displayed in early childhood a passion for 
 letters, and an extraordinary facility in the com- 
 position of Spanish verse. At eight years of age, 
 she was placed by her parents with an uncle, who 
 resided in Mexico, and who caused her to receive 
 a learned education. Her talents having attracted 
 notice and distinction, she was patronized by the 
 lady of the viceroy, the marquis de Mancera, and, 
 at the age of seventeen, was received into his 
 family. 
 
 A Spanish encomiast of Juana, relates a curious 
 anecdote respecting her, communicated to him, as 
 he affirms, by the viceroy. Her patrons, filled 
 with admiration and astonishment, by the powers 
 and attainments of their young protegSe, deter- 
 
 277 
 
CR 
 
 CU 
 
 mined to prove the extent and solidity of her eru- 
 dition. For this purpose they invited forty of the 
 most eminent literary characters of the country, 
 ■who assembled to examine Juana in the different 
 branches of learning and science. Questions, ar- 
 guments, and problems, were accordingly proposed 
 to her, by the several professors, in philosophy, 
 mathematics, history, theology, poetry, &c., to all 
 of •which she answered with equal readiness and 
 skill, acquitting herself to the entire satisfaction 
 of her judges. To this account it is added, that 
 she received the praises extorted on this occasion 
 by her acquirements, ivith the most perfect mo- 
 desty ; neither did she, at any period of her life, 
 discover the smallest tendency to presumption or 
 vanity, though honoured with the title of the tenth 
 muse: a pious humility was her distinguishing 
 characteristic. She lived forty-four years, twen- 
 ty-seven of which she passed in the convent of St. 
 Geronimo ("where she took the veil) in the exercise 
 of the most exemplary virtues. 
 
 That enthusiasm by which genius is character- 
 ised, necessarily led to devotion in circumstances 
 like those in which Juana was placed. In the 
 fervour of her zeal, she wrote in her blood a con- 
 fession of her faith. She is said to have collected 
 a library of four thousand volumes, in the study 
 of which she placed her delight: nevertheless, 
 towards the close of her life, she sacrificed this 
 darling propensity for the purpose of applying the 
 money which she acquired by the sale of her books, 
 to the relief of the indigent. However heroic may 
 be the motive of this self-denial, the rectitude of 
 the principle is doubtful: the cultivation of the 
 mind, with its consequent influence upon society, 
 is a more real benefit to mankind than the partial 
 relief of pecuniary exigences. 
 
 Juana was not less lamented at her death, than 
 celebrated and respected during her life : her 
 writings were collected in three quarto volumes, 
 to which are prefixed numerous panegyrics upon 
 the author, both in verse and prose, by the most 
 Illustrious persons of old and new Spain. It is 
 observed by the Spanish critic, father Feyjoo, that 
 the compositions of Juana excel in ease and ele- 
 gance, rather than in energy and strength. This 
 is perhaps in some degree attributable to the age 
 in which she lived, and to the subjects of her pro- 
 ductions, which were principally compliments ad- 
 dressed to her friends, or sacred dramas, to which 
 an absurd and senseless superstition afforded the 
 materials. The following is an imitation in Eng- 
 lish of one of her poems, in which she complains 
 of what is keenly felt by every woman of under- 
 standing, the injustice suffered by her sex. 
 
 Weak men, who without reason aim 
 To luad poor woman with abuse, 
 Not seeing that yourselves produce 
 
 The very evils that you blame! 
 
 Vou 'gainst her firm resistance strive, 
 And having struck her judgment mute, 
 Soon to her levity impute 
 
 What from your labour you derive. 
 
 Of woman's weakness much afraid, 
 Of your own prowess still you boast; 
 Like the vain child who makes a ghost. 
 
 Then fears what he himself has made. 
 
 Her whom your arms have once embrac'd, 
 You think presumptuously to find, 
 When she is woo'd, aa Thais kind, 
 
 When wedded, as Lucrctia chaste. 
 
 now rare a fool must he appear, 
 Whose folly mounts to such a pass, 
 That first he breathes upon the glass, 
 
 Then grieves because it is not clear. 
 
 Still with unjust, ungrateful pride, 
 You must both favour and disdain ; 
 The lirm, as cruel you arraign. 
 
 The tender, you as weak deride. 
 
 Your foolish humour none can please, 
 Since judging all with equal phlegm ; 
 One for her rigour you condemn, 
 
 And one you censure for her ease. 
 
 But while you show your pride and power, 
 With tyrant passions vainly hot, 
 She 's only blest who heeds you not. 
 
 And leaves you all in happy hour. 
 
 CULMAN, ELIZABETH, 
 Is worthy of a place beside Lucretia Davidson ; 
 she died when only seventeen years old. Misa 
 Culman was born in the year 1816 at St. Peters- 
 burg. She was already a prodigy of learning at 
 an age when other children only commence their 
 education. In her fourteenth year she was ac- 
 quainted with ancient and modern Greek, the 
 Latin, German, English, French, Italian, Spanish, 
 and Portuguese languages and literature, and had 
 then already translated the Odes of Anacreon into 
 her vernacular. But just when her mind gave 
 promise of becoming one of the greatest ornaments 
 of her country, death removed her to a higher 
 state of existence. She died, in 1833, at St Pe- 
 tersburg ; and a year after her death, her writings, 
 making three volumes, were published in that city. 
 
 CUNITIA, or CUNITZ, MARIA, 
 A LADY of great genius and learning, was born 
 in Silesia, about the beginning of the seventeenth 
 century. She became, when very young, cele- 
 brated for her extensive knowledge in many 
 branches of learning, particularly in mathematics 
 and astronomy, upon which she wrote several in- 
 genious treatises ; one of which, under the title 
 of " Urania Propitia," printed in 1650, in Latin 
 and German, she dedicated to Ferdinand III., em- 
 peror of Germany. In this work are contained 
 astronomical tables, of great care and accuracy, 
 founded upon Kepler's hypotheses. She acquired 
 languages with amazing facility ; and understood 
 Polish, German, French, Italian, Latin, Greek, and 
 Hebrew. With equal care she acquired a know- 
 ledge of the sciences, history, physic, poetry, 
 painting, music, both vocal and instrumental; 
 and yet they were no more than her amusements. 
 Her favourite studies were mathematics and astro- 
 nomy ; and she was ranked among the ablest as- 
 tronomers of the age. The exact time of hSr birth 
 is not known. She married Elias de Lewin, M. D., 
 and died at Pistcheu, in 1664. The name of this 
 learned lady is now little known, but several fa- 
 mous men have borrowed from her works to en- 
 rich their own, without any acknowledgment of 
 the real author. 
 
 278 
 
DA 
 
 DA 
 
 D. 
 
 DACIER, ANNE, 
 
 Wa8 daughter of Tanneguy le Fevre and Marie 
 Oliver his -wife. Anne was born at Saumur, in 
 1651. Her father, it is related, had an acquaint- 
 ance -who practised judicial astrology, and who, 
 on the birth of the infant, desired he might he 
 allowed to cast her nativity. After finishing his 
 figures, he told M. le Fevre there must have been 
 some mistake respecting the exact instant of the 
 birth of the child, since her horoscope promised a 
 future and fame quite foreign to a female. This 
 story must be left to the faith of the reader ; but, 
 whatever might be its truth, it is certain that an 
 incident occurred, when Mademoiselle Le Fevre 
 was about ten years of age, which determined her 
 father, who was professor of the Belles-Lettres at 
 Saumur, to give her the advantage of a learned 
 education. 
 
 M. Le Fevre had a son whom he instructed in 
 the classics ; and to whom he usually gave lessons 
 in the room in which his daughter worked in 
 tapestry. The youth, whether from incapacity or 
 inattention, was sometimes at a loss when ques- 
 tioned by his father ; on these occasions his sister, 
 who appeared to be wholly occupied with her 
 needle and her silks, never failed to suggest to 
 him the proper reply, however intricate or embar- 
 rassing the subject. M. Le Fevre was, by this 
 discovery, induced to cultivate the talents of his 
 daughter. Mademoiselle Le Fevre afterwards 
 confessed that she felt, at the time, a secret vexa- 
 tion for having thus betrayed her capacity, and 
 exchanged the occiipations and amusements of her 
 sex, under the eye of an indulgent mother, for the 
 discipline of her father, and the vigilance and ap- 
 plication necessary to study. 
 
 After having learned the elements of the Latin 
 language, she applied herself to the Greek, in which 
 she made a rapid progress, and at the end of eight 
 years no longer stood in need of the assistance of 
 a master. As her mind strengthened and acquired 
 a wider range, she emancipated herself from the 
 trammels of authority, and laid down plans of 
 study which she pursued with perseverance. She 
 now read and thought for herself; and frequently, 
 though with the utmost modesty and deference, 
 presumed to differ, on subjects of literature and 
 criticism, from her respectable father. Of this the 
 translation of Quintus Curtius, by the celebrated 
 Vaugelaus afiForded an example. M. Le Fevre 
 accorded, on this occasion, with the popular 
 opinion of the times, in considering this perform- 
 ance as a masterpiece of eloquence : his daughter, 
 on the contrary, whether more acute or less easily 
 satisfied, censured the translation as defective in 
 purity of style, and in the idiom of the French 
 language. 
 
 Her father died in 1673, and the following year 
 Mademoiselle Le Fevre went to Paris, and took 
 up her residence in that city. She was then en- 
 gaged on an edition of " Callimachus," which she 
 published in 1674. Some sheets of that work 
 having been shown to M. Huet, preceptor to the 
 dauphin, and other learned men, a proposal was 
 
 made to her to prepare some Latin authors for the 
 dauphin's use ; which proposal she accepted, and 
 published an edition of Florus in 1674. 
 
 Her reputation being now spread all over Eu- 
 rope, Christina of Sweden ordered a present to be 
 sent to her, in her name ; upon which Mademoi- 
 selle Le Fevre sent the queen a Latin letter, with 
 her edition of Florus. Her majesty not long after 
 wrote to her, to persuade her to abandon the Pro- 
 testant faith, and made her considerable offers to 
 settle at court. But this she declined, and con- 
 tinued to publish works for the use of the dauphin. 
 " Sextus Aurelius Victor" came out under her care, 
 at Paris, in 1681 ; and in the same year she pub- 
 lished a French translation of the poems of Ana- 
 creon and Sappho, with notes, which were so 
 much admired as to make Boileau declare that it 
 ought to deter any one from attempting to trans- 
 late those poems in verse. She also published, 
 for the use of the dauphin, " Eutropius," in 1683 ; 
 and "Dictys Cretensis" and " Dares Phrygius" in 
 1684. She wrote Frencli translations of the "Am- 
 phitryo," "Epidicus," and "Prudens," comedies 
 of Plautus, in 1683; and of the "Plutus" and 
 "Clouds" of Aristophanes, with notes. She wa.^ 
 so charmed with this last comedy, that she had 
 read it two hundred times. 
 
 She married M. Dacier, with whom she had 
 been brought up in her father's house, in 1683, 
 and soon after declared to the duke of Montausier 
 and the bishop of Meaux a design of reconciling 
 herself with the church of Rome ; but as M. Da- 
 cier was not satisfied as to the propriety of the 
 change, she retired with him to Castrea in 1684, 
 to examine the controversy between the Protest- 
 ants and Papists. They determined in favour of 
 the latter, and, after their conversion, the duke de 
 Montausier and the bishop of Meaux recommended 
 them at court, and the king settled a pension of 
 1500 livres on M. Dacier, and of 500 upon his 
 wife. They then returned to Paris and resumed 
 their studies. 
 
 In 1688, she published a French translation of 
 "Terence's Comedies," with notes, in three vol- 
 umes. She rose at five in the morning, during a 
 very cold winter, and finished four of them, but 
 reading them over a few months afterwards, she 
 was so dissatisfied with them that she burnt them, 
 and began the translation again. She brought the 
 work to the highest perfection, and even equalled 
 the grace and noble simplicity of the original. 
 She assisted in the translation of " Marcus Anto- 
 ninus," published by her husband in 1691, and in 
 the specimen of the translation of "Plutarch's 
 Lives," which he published three years after- 
 wards. 
 
 In 1711, she published a French translation, 
 with notes, of " Homer's Iliad," which was thought 
 faithful and elegant. In 1714, she published the 
 " Causes of the Corruption of Taste." This was 
 written against M. de la Motte, who, in the pre- 
 face to his " Iliad," had expressed but little admi- 
 ration for that poem. This was the beginning of 
 a literary war, in the course of which a number 
 of books were produced. In 1716, she published 
 a defence of Homer against the apology of father 
 
 279 
 
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 DA 
 
 Hardouin, in which she attempts to show that 
 father Hardouin, in endeavouring to apologize for 
 Homer, has done him a greater injustice than his 
 declared enemies. Her last worlc, the " Odyssey 
 of Homer," with notes, translated from the Greek, 
 was published the same year. 
 
 She died, after a painful sickness, August 17th, 
 1720, at sixty-nine years of age. She had two 
 daughters and a son, whom she educated with the 
 greatest care ; but the son died young, one daugh- 
 ter became a nun, and the other, who is said to 
 have united all the virtues and accomplishments 
 of her sex, died at eighteen. 
 
 M. Dacier was inconsolable for his loss ; nor did 
 he long survive his wife. Never had there been a 
 couple more united, better suited to each other, 
 and between whom a more entire aifection had 
 subsisted. They had been educated together, and 
 for more than forty years they lived in the enjoy- 
 ment of that harmony of tastes and pursuits 
 which enhanced their mutual esteem and love. 
 Marriage, when thus made holy by the union of 
 souls, as well as hearts and hands, while life is 
 devoted to noble pursuits, displays human nature 
 in the happiest light. 
 
 Madame Dacier was remarkable for firmness, 
 generosity, good-nature, and piety. Her modesty 
 was so great, that it was with difficulty she could 
 be induced to speak on literary subjects. A 
 learned German once visited her and requested 
 her to write her name and a sentence in his book 
 of collections. She, seeing in it the names of the 
 greatest scholars in Europe, told him that she 
 could not presume to put her name among so many 
 illustrious persons. But as he insisted, she wrote 
 her name with a sentence from Sophocles signify- 
 ing that " Silence is the ornament of women." 
 She was often solicited to publish a translation of 
 some books of Scripture, with remarks upon 
 them; but she always answered that "A woman 
 ought to read and meditate on the Scriptures, and 
 regulate her conduct by them, and to keep silence, 
 agreeably to the command of St. Paul." 
 
 We must not forget to mention, that the aca- 
 demy of Ricovrati at Padua chose her one of their 
 body in 1684, and learned men of all countries 
 vied with each other in proving their sense of her 
 merit. 
 
 DAMER, ANNE SEYMOUR, 
 Only child of Field-marshal Conway, was born 
 in 1748. Almost in childhood, she imbibed a love 
 of literature, and became highly accomplished. 
 An accidental conversation with Hume, respecting 
 some plaster casts, turned her attention to sculp- 
 ture, and she took lessons from Ceracchi and Ba- 
 con, and studied in Italy. She was also fond of 
 dramatic amusements, ana was an excellent ama- 
 teur actress. She died May 28th, 1808. The 
 productions of her chisel are numerous and do her 
 honour. Among them is a bust of Nelson in 
 Guildhall, and two colossal heads on Henley 
 bridge, and a statue in marble, of George III., in 
 the Edinburgh Register office. 
 
 It is not so much the excellence of her works 
 of art that entitles this lady to admiration, as that 
 
 a person of her rank, wealth, and beauty, should 
 give up society, in a great measure, to devote her- 
 self to so arduous an occupation as that of sculp- 
 ture. She was a warm-hearted politician, and 
 exerted all her influence, which was not trifling, 
 in favour of Fox. 
 
 DANCY, ELIZABETH, 
 
 Second daughter of Sir Thomas More, was bom 
 in London, 1509, and educated very carefully un- 
 der her father's care. She corresponded with 
 Erasmus, who praises the purity of her Latin 
 style. She married, when very young, Mr. Dancy, 
 son and heir of Sir John Dancy. Her productions 
 and the time of her death are uncertain. 
 
 DANGEVILLE, MARY ANNE BOTOL, 
 
 A OELEBEATED French actress, considered as 
 superior to any of her profession in the class of 
 characters she personated ; she was the repre- 
 sentative of the waiting-maids of French comedy. 
 She died, March, 1796; but, more fortunate than 
 people of higher station and greater talents, her 
 eulogium was pronounced two years before her 
 decease. In September 1794, M. Molg, at the 
 Lyceum of Arts, at Paris, delivered a panegyric 
 on this distinguished actress. 
 
 DARLING, GRACE, 
 Whose name, by an act of heroic daring, has 
 resounded through the civilized world, was born 
 November 24th, 1815, at Bamborough, on the coast 
 of Northumberland, England. She was the se- 
 venth child of William Darling, a steady, judicious, 
 and sensible man, who held the responsible office 
 of keeper of the Longstone Lighthouse, situated 
 on one of the most distant and exposed of the 
 Fame Islands, a rocky group extending some seven 
 or eight miles beyond this dangerous coast. In 
 this isolated position, where weeks sometimes 
 elapsed without communication with the main- 
 land, the greater part of Grace's existence was 
 passed, with no other companionship than that of 
 her parents and brother, who resided at the Light- 
 house. She benefited by the advantages of a 
 respectable education, suited to one in her sphere 
 
 280 
 
DA 
 
 DA 
 
 of life, and her time was principally occupied in 
 assisting her mother in household affairs. 
 
 Grace had reached her twenty-second year, 
 when the incident occurred which has given her 
 so wide-spread and just a fame. The Forfarshire 
 steamer, proceeding from Hull to Dundee, with 
 sixty-three persons on hoard, was wrecked upon 
 one of the fearful crags of the Fame group, on 
 the night of the 6th of September, 1838. The 
 vessel, which subsequent enquiry proved to have 
 been utterly unseaworthy, was broken in two 
 pieces, the after part, with many souls upon it, 
 being swept away instantly, while the fore part 
 remained upon the rock. The captain and his 
 wife were among the number of those who per- 
 ished. Nine persons survived the horrors of that 
 night upon the remaining fragment of the wreck, 
 exposed, amid rain and profound darloiess, to the 
 fury of the waves, and expecting momentarily to 
 be engulfed by the boiling surge. 
 
 At daybreak on the morning of the 7th, these 
 poor people were discovered from Longstone by 
 the Darlings, at nearly a mile's distance, by means 
 of a glass, clinging to the rocks and remnants of 
 the vessel. Grace, the moment she caught sight 
 of them, perceiving their imminent danger — for 
 the returning tide must wash them oif — immedi- 
 ately determined to save them ; and no remon- 
 strances of her father, who, in the furious state 
 of the sea, considered it a desperate and hopeless 
 adventure, had any power in dissuading her. 
 There was no one at the time at the Lighthouse 
 but her .parents and herself, her brother being 
 absent on the mainland ; and she declared if her 
 father did not accompany her, she would go alone ; 
 that, live or die, she would attempt to save the 
 wretched sufferers. 
 
 Her father consented to the trial. The boat 
 was launched with the assistance of the mother, 
 and the father and daughter, each taking an oar, 
 proceeded upon their errand of mercy. They suc- 
 ceeded ; and in no instance has lowly virtue and 
 unobtrusive heroism met with more prompt ac- 
 knowledgment or just reward. The highest enthu- 
 siasm prevailed throughout Great Britain as the 
 adventure became known, and distant nations re- 
 sponded with hearty sympathy. To reward the 
 bravery and humanity of Grace Darling, a sub- 
 scription was raised in England, which amounted 
 to £700, and she received besides numberless pre- 
 sents from individuals, some of them of distin- 
 guished rank. Her portrait was taken and multi- 
 plied over the kingdom ; the Humane Society sent 
 her a flattering vote of thanks and a piece of 
 plate ; dramatic pieces were performed represent- 
 ing her exploit; her sea-girt home was invaded 
 by steamboat loads of wonder-seeking admirers, 
 and offers of marriage, not a few, flowed in upon 
 her. 
 
 Amid all this tumult of applause, so calculated 
 to unsettle the mind, Grace Darling never for a 
 moment swerved from the modest dignity which 
 belonged to her character. She continued, not- 
 withstanding the improvement in her circum- 
 stances, to reside at the Lighthouse with her pa- 
 rents, content to dwell in the secluded and humble 
 
 sphere in which her lot had been cast ; proving by 
 her Conduct that the liberality of the public had 
 not been unworthily bestowed. 
 
 Grace Darling, as is too often the case with the 
 noble and good, was not destined to long life. 
 She survived only a few years to enjoy her well- 
 earned fame. In 1841, symptoms of decliniijg 
 health exhibited themselves, and, on the 20th of 
 October, 1842, she died of consumption. 
 
 Grace DarUng is described as a woman of the 
 middle size, comely, though not handsome, but 
 with an expression of mildness and benevolence 
 most winning. Her disposition was always retir- 
 ing and reserved, the effect, no doubt, of her soli- 
 tary mode of life ; a life which unquestionably 
 fostered and concentrated the quiet enthusiasm of 
 her character, and made her the heroine of one 
 of the most beautiful episodes that ever adorned 
 the history of woman. 
 
 DARRAH, LYDIA, 
 
 A MEMBER of the Society of Friends, and the 
 wife of William Darrah, of Philadelphia, rendered 
 an important service to the American army during 
 the revolutionary war. The house of William 
 Darrah was chosen by General Howe, while the 
 British army had possession of Philadelphia, as a 
 place for private conference with the other ofiicers. 
 On the night of the second of December, 1777, 
 Lydia Darrah overheard an order read, for the 
 troops to march out of the iity on the night of the 
 fourth, to a secret attack on the American camp 
 at White Marsh. Not wishing to endanger her 
 husband's life by making him a sharer of the 
 secret, she resolved to give the important informa- 
 tion to General Washington herself. Obtaining 
 permission from General Howe to leave the city 
 on some domestic errand, she went directly to- 
 wards the American camp. Meeting an American 
 ofScer on her way, she disclosed the secret to him, 
 making him promise not to betray her, and re- 
 turned without any suspicions having been excited 
 concerning her errand. -In consequence of her 
 information, when the British army marched out 
 to the attack, on the night of the fourth, they 
 found the enemy so well prepared, that they were 
 obliged to return without firing a gun. Lydia 
 Darrah's interposition was never discovered by 
 the British. 
 
 DASCHKOFF, CATHARINE ROMANOWNA, 
 Pkincess of, was descended from the noble 
 family of Worenzoff, and was the early friend and 
 confidant of the empress Catharine II. of Russia. 
 She was born in 1744, and became a widow at the 
 age of eighteen. She endeavoured to effect the 
 accession of Catharine to the throne, but, at the 
 same time, was in favour of a constitutional limi- 
 tation of the imperial power. In a military dress, 
 and on horseback, she led a body of troops to the 
 presence of Catharine, who placed herself at their 
 head, and precipitated her husband, Peter III., 
 from the throne. The request of the princess 
 Daschkoff to receive the command of the imperial 
 guards, was refused. She did not long remain 
 about the person of Catharine. Study became 
 
 281 
 
DA 
 
 DA 
 
 ber favourite employment ; and, after her return 
 from abroad, in 1782, she was made director of 
 the Academy of Sciences, and president of the 
 newly-established Russian Academy. She wrote 
 much in the Russian language, and promoted the 
 publication of the Dictionary of the Russian Aca- 
 demy. She died at Moscow, in 1810. 
 
 Her courage and decision were extraordinary. 
 Although her exertions in Catharine's favour had 
 been repaid by ingratitude, neglect and coldness, 
 yet the empress did not hesitate, when a conspi- 
 racy was formed to dethrone her, of which she 
 thought the princess must be cognizant, to write 
 her a long and flattering letter, in which she con- 
 jured her, in the name of their friendship, to re- 
 veal the projects against her, promising the prin- 
 cess full pardon for all concerned. The indignant 
 princess replied to the four pages she had received 
 in four lines. "Madam, I have heard nothing: 
 but, if I had, I should beware of what I spoke. 
 What do you require of me ? That I should ex- 
 pire on the scaffold ? I am ready to ascend it." 
 
 DAVIDSON, LUCRETIA MARIA, 
 
 Second daughter of Dr. Oliver and Margaret 
 Davidson, was born at Plattsburg, on Lake Cham- 
 plain, Sept. 27th, 1808. Her parents were then 
 in indigent circumstances, and, to add to their 
 troubles, her mother was often sickly. Under 
 such circumstances, the little Lucretia would not 
 be likely to owe her precocity to a forced educa- 
 tion. The manifestations of intellectual activity 
 were apparent in the infant, we may say ; for at 
 four years old she would retire by herself to pore 
 over her books, and draw pictures of animals, and 
 soon illustrated these rude drawings by poetry. 
 Her first specimens of writing were imitations of 
 printed letters; but she was very much distressed 
 when these were discovered, and immediately de- 
 stroyed them. 
 
 The first poem of hers which has been preserved, 
 was written when she was nine years old. It was 
 an elegy on a Robin, killed in the attempt to rear 
 it. This piece was not inserted in her works. 
 The earliest of her poems which has been printed, 
 was written at eleven years old. Her parents 
 were much gratified by her talents, and gave her 
 all the indulgence in their power, which was only 
 time for reading such books as she could obtain 
 by borrowing ; as they could aiford no money to 
 buy books, or to pay for her instruction. Before 
 she was twelve years old, she had read most of 
 the standard English poets — much of history, both 
 sacred and profane — Shakspeare's, Kotzebue's and 
 Goldsmith's dramatic works, and many of the popu- 
 lar novels and romances of the day. Of the latter, 
 however, she was not an indiscriminate reader — 
 many of those weak and worthless productions, 
 which are the ^lite of the circulating libraries, 
 this child, after reading a few pages, would throw 
 aside in disgust. Would that all young ladies pos- 
 sessed her delicate taste and discriminating judg- 
 ment! 
 
 When Lucretia was about twelve years old, a 
 gentleman, who had heard of her genius and seen 
 some of her verses, sent her a complimentary note, 
 
 enclosing twenty dollars. Her first exclamation 
 was, " Oh, now I shall buy me some books!" But 
 her dear mother was lying ill — the little girl looked 
 towards the sick-bed — tears gushed to her eyes, 
 and putting the bill into her father's hand, she 
 said — " Take it, father; it will buy many comforts 
 for mother ; I can do without books." 
 
 It is no wonder that her parents should feel the 
 deepest affection for such a good and gifted child. 
 Yet there will always be found ofiicious, meddling 
 persons, narrow-minded, if not en>dous, who are 
 prone to prophesy evil on any pursuits in which 
 they or theirs cannot compete. These meddlers 
 advised that she should be deprived of pen, ink, 
 and paper, and rigorously confined to domestic 
 pursuits. Her parents were too kind and wise to 
 follow this counsel ; but Lucretia, by some means, 
 learned that such had been given. Without a 
 murmur, she resolved to submit to this trial ; and 
 she faithfully adhered to the resolution. She told 
 no one of her intention or feelings, but gave up 
 her writing and reading, and for several months 
 devoted herself entirely to household business. 
 Her mother was ill at the time, and did not notice 
 the change in Lucretia's pursuits, till she saw the 
 poor girl was growing emaciated, and a deep de- 
 jection was settled on her countenance. She said 
 to her, one day, " Lucretia, it is a long time since 
 you have written any thing." The sweet child 
 burst into tears, and replied, " 0, mother, I have 
 given that up long ago." Her mother then drew 
 from her the reasons which had influenced her to 
 relinquish writing — namely, the opinions she had 
 heard expressed that it was wrong for her to in- 
 dulge in mental pursuits, and the feeling that she 
 ought to do all in her power to lighten the cares 
 of her parents. Mrs. Davidson was a good, sen- 
 sible woman ; with equal discretion and tender- 
 ness, she counselled her daughter to take a middle 
 course, resume her studies, but divide her time 
 between these darling pursuits and the duties of 
 the household. Lucretia from thenceforth occa- 
 sionally resumed her pen, and soon regained her 
 quiet serenity and usual health. 
 
 Her love of knowledge grew with her growth, 
 and strengthened by every accession of thought. 
 "Oh!" said she one day to her mother — "Oh! 
 that I only possessed half the means of improve- 
 ment which I see others slighting ! I should be 
 the happiest of the happy !" At another time she 
 exclaimed — " How much there is yet to learn! — 
 If I could only grasp it at once !" 
 
 This passionate desire for instruction was at 
 length gratified. When she was about sixteen, a 
 gentleman, a stranger at Plattsburg, saw, by ac- 
 cident, some of her poems, and learned her his- 
 tory. With the prompt and warm generosity of a 
 noble mind, he immediately proposed to place her 
 at school, and give her every advantage for which 
 she had so ardently longed. Her joy on learning 
 this good fortune was almost overwhelming. She 
 was, as soon as possible, placed at the Troy Fe- 
 male Seminary, under the care of Mrs. Emma 
 Willard. She was there at the fountain for which 
 she had so long thirsted, and her spiritual eager- 
 ness could not be restrained. " On her entering 
 
 282 
 
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 DA 
 
 the Seminary," says the Principal, " she at once 
 surprised us by the Ibrillianoy and pathos of her 
 compositions — she evinced a most exquisite sense 
 of the beautiful in the productions of her pencil ; 
 always giving to whatever she attempted to copy, 
 certain peculiar and original touches which marked 
 the liveliness of her conceptions, and the power 
 of her genius to embody those conceptions. But 
 from studies which required calm and steady in- 
 vestigation, efforts of memory, judgment and con- 
 secutive thinking, her mind seemed to shrink. She 
 had no confidence in herself, and appeared to re- 
 gard with dismay any requisitions of this nature." 
 — In truth, she had so long indulged in solitary 
 musings, and her sensibility had become so exqui- 
 site, heightened and refined as it had been by her 
 vivid imagination, that she was dismayed, agonized 
 even, with the feeling of responsibility, which her 
 public examination involved. She was greatly be- 
 loved and tenderly cherished by her teachers ; but 
 it is probable that the excitement of the new situa- 
 tion in which she was placed, and the new studies 
 she had to pursue, operated fatally on her consti- 
 tution. She was, during the vacation, taken with 
 an illness, which left her feeble and very nervous. 
 When she recovered, she was placed at Albany, at 
 the school of Miss Gilbert — but there she was 
 soon attacked by severe disease. She partially 
 recovered, and was removed to her home, where 
 she gradually declined till death released her pure 
 and exalted mind from its prison-house of clay. 
 She died, August 27th, 1825, before she had com- 
 pleted her seventeenth year. 
 
 In person she was exceedingly beautiful. Her 
 forehead was high, open, and fair as infancy — her 
 eyes large, dark, and of that soft beaming expres- 
 sion which shows the soul in the glance — her fea- 
 tures were fine and symmetrical, and her com- 
 plexion brilliant, especially when the least excite- 
 ment moved her feelings. But the prevailing 
 expression of her face was melancholy. Her 
 beauty, as well as her mental endowments, made 
 her the object of much regard ; but she shrunk 
 from observation — any particular attention always 
 seemed to give her pain ; so exquisite was her 
 modesty. In truth, her soul was too delicate for 
 this " cold world of storms and clouds." Her 
 imagination never revelled in the " garishness of 
 joy ;" — a pensive, meditative mood was the na- 
 tural tone of her mind. The adverse circumstances 
 by which she was surrounded, no doubt deepened 
 this seriousness, till it became almost morbid me- 
 lancholy — -but no external advantages of fortune 
 would have given to her disposition buoyant cheer- 
 fulness. It seems the lot of youthful genius to be 
 sad ; Kirke White was thus melancholy. Like 
 flowers opened too early, these children of song 
 shrink from the storms of life before they have 
 felt its sunbeams. 
 
 The writings of Miss Davidson were astonish- 
 ingly voluminous. She had destroyed many of her 
 pieces ; her mother says, at least one-third — yet 
 those remaining amount to two hundred and seventy- 
 eight pieces. There are among them five regular 
 poems of several cantos each, twenty-four school- 
 exercises, three unfinished romances, a complete 
 
 tragedy, written at thirteen years of age, and 
 about forty letters to her mother. Her poetry is 
 marked by strong imaginative powers, and the 
 sentiment of sad forebodings. These dark visions, 
 though they tinged all her earthly horizon, were 
 not permitted to cloud her hope of heaven. She 
 died calmly, relying on the merits of our Lord and 
 Saviour for salvation. The last word she spoke 
 was the name of the gentleman who had so kindly 
 assisted her. And if his name were known, often 
 would it be spoken ; for his generosity to this 
 humble, but highly gifted daughter of song, will 
 make his deed of charity a sacred remembrance 
 to all who love genius, and sympathize with the 
 suffering. 
 
 Her poems, with a biographical sketch, were 
 published in 1829, under the title "Amir Khan, 
 and other poems, the remains of L. M. David- 
 son." This work was reviewed in the London 
 Quarterly of the same year ; and the writer says, 
 " In our own language, except in the cases of 
 Chatterton and Kirke White, we can call to mind 
 no instance of so early, so ardent, and so fatal a 
 pursuit of intellectual advancement." 
 
 TO A FEIEND. 
 
 And thou hast marked in childhood's hour 
 The fearless boundings of my breast, 
 
 When fresh as summer's opening flower, 
 I freely frolicked and was blest. 
 
 Oh say, was not this eye more bright ? 
 
 Were not these lips more wont to smile ? 
 Methinks that then my heart was light, 
 
 And I a fearless, joyous child. 
 
 And thou didst mark me gay and wild, 
 My careless, reckless laugh of mirth; 
 
 The simple pleasures of a child. 
 The holiday of man on earth. 
 
 Then thou hast seen me in that hour. 
 When every nerve of life was new. 
 
 When pleasures fanned youth's infant flower, 
 And [lope her witcheries round it threw. 
 
 That hour is fading; it hath fled; 
 
 And I am left in darkness now, 
 A wanderer towards a lowly bed. 
 
 The grave, that home of all below. 
 
 THE GUAEDIAN ANGEL. 
 
 To Miss E. C. — Composed on a blank leaf of her Paley durivg 
 recitation. 
 
 I'm thy guardian angel, sweet maid, and I rest 
 In mine own chosen temple, thy innocent breast; 
 At midnight I steal from my sacred retreat. 
 When the chords of thy heart in soft unison beat. 
 
 When thy bright eye is closed, when thy dark tresses flow 
 In beautiful wreaths o'er thy pillow of snow, 
 
 then I watch o'er thee, all pure as thou art, 
 And listen to music which steals from thy heart. 
 
 Thy smile is the sunshine which gladdens my soul. 
 My tempest the clouds which around thee may roll ; 
 
 1 feast my light form on thy rapture-breathed sighs. 
 And drink at the fount of those beautiful eyes. 
 
 The thoughts of thy heart are recorded by me ; 
 
 There are some which half-breathed, half-acknowledged by 
 
 thee. 
 Steal sweetly and silently o'eK thy pure breast. 
 Just ruffling its calmness, then murmuring to rest. 
 
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 Like a breeze o'er the lake, when it breathlessly lies, 
 With its own mimic mountains, and star-spangled skies, 
 1 stretch my light pinions around thee when sleeping, 
 To guard thee from spirits of sorrow and weeping. 
 
 1 breathe o'er thy slumbers sweet dreams of delight; 
 Till you wake but to sigh for the visions of night ; 
 Then remember, wherever your pathway may lie, 
 Be it clouded with sorrow, or brilliant with joy. 
 
 My spirit shall watch thee, wherever thou art, 
 
 My incense shall rise from the throne of thy heart. 
 
 Farewell ! for the shadows of evening are fled. 
 
 And the youn" rays of morning are wreathed round my head. 
 
 TO A STAR. 
 
 Thou brightly glittering Star of Even — 
 Thou gem upon the brow of heaven I 
 Oh! were this fluttering spirit free, 
 How quick 't would spread its wings to thee ! 
 
 How calmly, brightly dost thou shine. 
 Like the pure lamp in Virtue's shrine ; 
 Sure the fair world which thou mayst boast 
 Was never ransomed — never lost. 
 
 There, beings pure as heaven's own air, 
 Their hopes, their joys, together share; 
 While hovering angels touch the string, 
 And seraphs spread the sheltering wing. 
 
 There cloudless days and brilliant nights, 
 Illumed by heaven's refulgent lights; 
 There, seasons, years, unnoticed roll, 
 And unregretted by the soul. 
 
 Thou little sparkling Star of Even — 
 Thou gem upon an azure heaven ! 
 How swiftly will I soar to thee, 
 When this imprisoned soul is free ! 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 addressed to her Sister, requesting her losing " Moore^s Fare- 
 well to his Harp." 
 
 When evening spreads her shades around, 
 And darkness fills the arch of heaven. 
 
 When not a murmur, not a sound 
 To Fancy's sportive ear is given; 
 
 When the broad orb of heaven is bright. 
 And looks around with golden eye ; 
 
 When Nature, softened by her light, 
 Seems calmly, solemnly to lie ; — 
 
 Then, when our thoughts are raised above 
 This world, and all this world can give, 
 
 Oh, sister 1 sing the song I love, 
 And tears of gratitude receive. 
 
 The song which thrills my bosom's core, 
 And, hovering, trembles half afraid, 
 
 Oh, sister ! sing the song once more 
 Which ne'er for mortal ear was made 
 
 'T were almost sacrilege to sing 
 Those notes amid the glare of day; 
 
 Notes borne by angels' purest wing. 
 And wafted by their breath away. 
 
 When sleeping in my grass-grown bed, 
 Shouldst thou still linger here above, 
 
 Wilt thou not kneel beside my head, 
 And, sister, sing the song I love? 
 
 LINES, 
 
 Addressed to her mother, a few montjis before Lucretia's 
 death. 
 
 Oh thou whose care sustained my infant years, 
 And taught my prattling lip each note of love ; 
 
 Whose soothing voice breathed comfort to my fears, 
 And rouhd my brow hope's brightest garland wove: 
 
 To thee my lay is due, the simplest song, 
 Which Nature gave me at life's opening day ; 
 
 To thee these rude, these untaught strains belong, 
 Whose heart indulgent will not spurn my lay. 
 
 O say, amid this wilderness of life. 
 
 What bosom would have throbbed like thine for me? 
 Who would have smiled responsive ?— who in grief 
 
 Would e'er have felt, and, feeling, grieved like thee? 
 
 Who would have guarded, with a falcon eye. 
 
 Each trembling footstep or each sport of fear ? 
 Who would have marked my bosom bounding high, 
 
 And clasped me to her heart, with love's bright tear? 
 
 Who would have hung around my sleepless couch. 
 And fanned, with anxious hand, my burning brow ? 
 
 Who would have fondly pressed my fevered lip. 
 In all the agony of love and wo ? 
 
 None but a mother — none but one like thee, 
 Whose bloom has faded in the midnight watch ; 
 
 Whose eye, for me, has lost its witchery; 
 Whose form has felt disease's mildew touch. 
 
 Yes, thou hast lighted me to health and life, 
 By the bright lustre of thy youthful bloom — 
 
 Yes, thou hast wept so oft o'er every grief, 
 That wo hath traced thy brow with marks of gloom. 
 
 Oh, then, to thee this rude and simple song, 
 Which breathes of thankfulness and love for thee, 
 
 To thee, my mother, shall this lay belong. 
 Whose life is spent in loil and care for me. 
 
 FKAGMENT,* 
 
 There is a something which I dread, — 
 
 It is a dark, a fearful thing; 
 It steals along with withering tread, 
 
 Or sweeps on wild destruction's wing. 
 
 That thought comes o'er me in the hour 
 Of grief, of sickness or of sadness ; 
 
 'T is not the dread of death — 't is more, 
 It is the dread of madness ! 
 
 Oh! may these throbbing pulses pause. 
 Forgetful of their feverish course ; 
 
 May this hot brain, which burning glows 
 With all a fiery whirlpool's force. 
 
 Be cold, and motionless, and still, 
 
 A tenant of its lowly bed ; 
 But let not dark delirium steal — 
 
 DAVIDSON, MARGARET MILLER, 
 
 Sister of Lucretia, was also the daughter of Dr. 
 Davidson of Plattsburg, N. Y. She was born in 
 1823, and though her health was always extremely 
 delicate, she early devoted herself to study and 
 literary pursuits. In 1838, her father removed to 
 Saratoga, where she died on the twenty-fifth of 
 November of the same year, in her sixteenth year. 
 She was distinguished, as well as her sister, for 
 remarkable precocity of genius, and her poems 
 would be creditable to much more experienced 
 writers. In personal appearance and character, 
 she was lovely and estimable. The particular bias 
 of her mind towards poetry was, probably, in- 
 duced, certainly fostered, by the example of her 
 sister. Margaret was but two years old when Lu- 
 cretia died, yet the sad event was never effaced 
 from her mind. This impression was deepened as 
 she grew older and listened to the story of her 
 lovely and gifted sister, who had been a star of 
 hope in her humble home. Often, when Mrs. Da- 
 
 * These lines are the last she ever wrote ; they were left 
 thus unfinished. 
 
 284 
 
DA 
 
 DE 
 
 vidson, the mother, was relating what Luoretia 
 had said and done, little Margaret would exclaim, 
 " Oh, I will try to fill her place ; teach me to be 
 like her !" And she was like her, both in the pre- 
 cocity of her genius and in her early death. Their 
 mother was kind, and, in some things, judicious ; 
 but we think she encouraged, or permitted rather, 
 the development of the imagination of Margaret 
 at the expense of her constitution, when, by pa- 
 tient and prudent training, it might have been 
 suppressed. The following is among her best 
 productions, and memorable as the last she ever 
 wrote, only a few days before her death. 
 
 TO MY MOTHEB. 
 
 oil. mother, would the power were mine 
 To wake the strain thou lovest to hear, 
 
 And breathe eacl) trembling new-born thought 
 Within thy fondly listening ear, 
 
 As when, in days of health and glee, 
 
 My hopes and fancies wander'd free. 
 
 But, mother, now a shade hath passed 
 
 Athwart my brightest visions here ; 
 A cloud of darkest gloom hath wrapped 
 
 The remnant of my brief career ; 
 No song, no echo can I win. 
 The sparkling fount hath dried within. 
 
 The torch of earthly hope burns dim, 
 
 And fancy spreads her wings no more. 
 And oh, how vain and trivial seem 
 
 The pleasures that I prized before ; 
 My soul, with trembling steps and slow, 
 
 Is struggling on through doubt and strife ; 
 Oh. may it prove, as time rolls on, 
 
 The pathway to eternal life ! 
 Then, when my cares and fears are o'er, 
 ril sing thee as in "days of yore." 
 
 I said that Hope had pass'd from earth — 
 'Twas but to fold her wings in heaven. 
 
 To whisper of the soul's new birth. 
 Of sinners saved and sins forgiven : 
 
 When mine are wash'd in tears away. 
 
 Then shall my spirit swell the lay. 
 
 When God shall guide my soul above. 
 By the soft chords of heavenly love — 
 When the vain cares of earth depart. 
 And tuneful voices swell my heart. 
 Then shall each word, each note I raise, 
 Burst forth in pealing hymns of praise: 
 And all not offer'd at his shrine. 
 Dear mother, I will place on thine. 
 
 DAVIES, LADY ELEANOR, 
 Was the fifth daughter of lord George Audley, 
 earl of Castlehaven, and born about 1603. She 
 received a learned education, and married, first. 
 Sir John Davies, who died 1644 ; three months 
 after his death, she married Sir Archibald Douglas. 
 Neither of these marriages was happy, the lady's 
 pretension to the spirit of prophecy seeming to 
 have disgusted her husbands. She fancied that 
 the spirit of the prophet Daniel had been infused 
 into her body, and this she founded on an anagram 
 she had made of her own name. 
 
 Dr. Heylin, in his Life of Archbishop Laud, 
 thus speaks of her: "And that the other sex 
 might whet their tongues upon him also, the lady 
 Davies, the widow of Sir John Davies, attorney- 
 general for king James in Ireland, scatters a pro- 
 phecy against him. This lady had before spoken 
 somewhat unluckily of the duke of Buckingham, 
 importing that he should not live till the end of 
 
 August, which raised her to the reputation of a 
 Cunning Woman among the ignorant people : and 
 now (1634) she prophesies of the new archbishop, 
 that he should live but a few days after the 5th 
 of November ; for which and other prophecies of 
 a more mischievous nature, she was after brought 
 into the court of high commission; the woman 
 being grown so mad, that she fancied the spi- 
 rit of the prophet Daniel to have been infused 
 into her body ; and this she grounded on an ana- 
 gram which she made up of her name : viz. Elea- ^ 
 NOK Davies : Eeveai, Daniel. And though it 
 had too much by an S, and too little by an L, yet 
 she found Daniel and reveal in it, and that served 
 her turn. Much pains was taken to dispossess 
 her of this spirit ; but all would not do, till Lamb, 
 then dean of the arches, shot her through and 
 through with an arrow borrowed from her own 
 quiver: for whilst the bishops and divines were 
 reasoning the point with her out of the Holy 
 Scriptures, he took a pen into his hand, and at 
 last hit upon this excellent anagram : Dame Elea- 
 NOK Davies : Neveb so mad a Ladt ; which hav- 
 ing proved to be true by the rules of art, ' Madam,' 
 said he, ' I see you build much on anagrams, and 
 I have found out one which I hope will fit you.' 
 This said, and reading it aloud, he put it into her 
 hands in writing ; which happy fancy brought that 
 grave court into such a laughter, and the poor 
 woman thereupon into such a confusion, that after- 
 ward she grew either wiser, or was less regarded." 
 
 In the continuation of Baker's Chronicle, the 
 lady Davies is mentioned witli more respect. Dr. 
 Peter du Moulin also thus speaks of her: "She 
 was learned above her sex, humble below her for- 
 tune, having a mind so great and noble, that pros- 
 perity could not make it remiss, nor the deepest 
 adversity cause her to shrink, or discover the least 
 pusillanimity or dejection of spirit ; being full of 
 the love of God, to that fulness the smiling world 
 ceuld not add, nor the frowning from it detract." 
 It is probable that the learning of this lady, acting 
 upon a raised imagination, and a fanatic turn of 
 mind, produced a partial insanity. 
 
 "Great wit to madness nearly is allied." 
 
 The year before her death, which took place in 
 1652, lady Davies published a pamphlet, entitled 
 " The Eestitution of Prophecy ; that buried Talent 
 to be revived. By the lady Eleanor, 1651." In 
 this tract, written very obscurely, are many seve- 
 rities against the persecutors of the author. 
 
 DEBORAH, 
 
 A .Jewess, living at Rome, who died in the be- 
 ginning of the seventeenth century. She was dis- 
 tinguished while she lived for her poems and other 
 works. None of these are now to be obtained ; 
 but if a literary work serves one generation of 
 readers the author should be satisfied. 
 
 DEFFAND, MARIE DE VICHY CHAM- 
 BROND DU, 
 One of the most prominent French women of 
 the regency and reign of Louis XV., was born at 
 Paris in 1697, of a family noble and military. 
 Educated in a convent, she early distinguished 
 
 285 
 
DE 
 
 DE 
 
 lierself for a tone of raillery on religious sutjecta. 
 Massillon was called in to talk with her, but " Elle 
 est charmante" was his only reproof. At the age 
 of twenty, Mademoiselle de Vichy married the 
 marquis du Deifand, from whom her intrigues soon 
 caused her to separate. Eyes remarkable for their 
 beauty and brilliancy, a pleasant smile, and a 
 countenance full of piquancy and expression, were 
 the chief personal attractions of the young mar- 
 chioness. Brilliant, witty, sceptical, and sarcastic, 
 she drew around her the most distinguished men 
 and women of her time. She had numerous 
 lovers, the regent himself being for a short time 
 among the number ; and she possessed the power 
 of securing the constancy of many of them, even 
 up to their dotage. 
 
 Her hard selfishness of character and want of 
 sympathy, rendered her incapable of love ; but 
 her clear cool judgment and abhorrence of finesse, 
 rendered her perfectly frank and sincere. When 
 the celebrated work of Helvetius appeared, he 
 was blamed, in her presence, for having made sel- 
 fishness the great motive of human actions. 
 
 "Bah!" said she, "he has only revealed every 
 one's secret." 
 
 The greater portion of Madame du DefiFand's 
 early life was passed at the court of the brilliant 
 Duchess du Maine, whose friendship she enjoyed. 
 At a later period, failing in her repeated attempts 
 to become a devotee, for which she manifestly had 
 no vocation, she nevertheless established herself 
 in the convent of St. Joseph's, where, in handsome 
 apartments, she gave evening parties and suppers 
 to her friends. Soon after her retreat to the con- 
 vent, she became totally blind, and continued in 
 that melancholy condition for the last thirty years 
 of her life ; a misfortune which she endured with 
 great fortitude. She gathered around her, how- 
 ever, a brilliant intellectual circle, to which she 
 gave the tone, who met for common amusement, 
 and served to dispel the ennui by which she was 
 constantly attacked. 
 
 Horace Walpole, who became acquainted with 
 her at this period of her life, has celebrated her 
 in his amusing letters. Their friendship conti- 
 nued uninterrupted till her death, and was ce- 
 mented by frequent visits to Paris by Walpole, 
 and constant correspondence. Her treatment of 
 Mademoiselle de Lespinasse, whom she first suc- 
 coured, and then discarded through jealousy, made 
 her many enemies, and drew from her ranks many 
 of her most brilliant visitors. The latter part of 
 ^ her life was only the shadow of what it had been, 
 her ennui, selfishness, and ill-temper repelling 
 even her most attached friends. She died, after 
 a final and unsuccessful attempt to become devout, 
 in the month of September, 1780, in the eighty- 
 fourth year of her ago. 
 
 Madame du DefFand's epistolary writings were 
 characterized by an exquisite style ; not obtained, 
 however, it is said, without a degree of labour and 
 study somewhat surprising to the readers of those 
 spontaneous effusions. Her poetry never rose above 
 mediocrity. The following are specimens ; the 
 fii'St alludes to her own blindness, which gives a 
 melancholy interest to the little song. 
 
 CHANSON. 
 
 Lr ver a soie est a meg yeux 
 L'etre dont le sort vaut le mieux: 
 II travaille dans sa jeunesse; 
 II dort dans sa maturity; 
 II mcurt enfin dans sa vieillesse 
 Au comble de la volupt6. 
 
 Notre sort est bien different ; 
 II va toujours en enipirant: 
 duelques plaisirs dans la jeunesse: 
 Des soins dans la maturite; 
 Tons les malheurs de la vieillesse; 
 Puis la peur de r6ternit6. 
 
 LES DEUX AGES DE L HOMME. 
 
 II est nn age heureux, mais qu'on perd sans retour, 
 Oil la foible jeunesse entraine sur ses traces 
 
 Le plai?ir vif avec I'amour 
 
 Et les dtisirs avec les graces. 
 II est un age affreux, sombre et froide saison. 
 Oil rhomme encor s'6gare et prend dans sa tristesse 
 
 Son impuissance pour sagesse, 
 
 Et ses craintes pour la raison. 
 
 DEKKEN, AGATHE, 
 
 A Dutch authoress, born in 1741, in the village 
 of Amstelveen, near Amsterdam, on the 10th of 
 December, 1741. When three years old she lost 
 her parents, and being very poor, was placed in 
 the Amsterdam orphan asylum. Her natural abi- 
 lities and industry soon distinguished her from 
 her companions, and her early and successful ef- 
 forts in poetry, procured the protection and assist- 
 ance of the " Diligentia3 Omnia" society. When 
 she left the asylum, she accepted a place as com- 
 panion to Miss Maria Borsh, a young lady who 
 was herself a poetess. She lived with Miss Borsh 
 till 1773. After the death of her friend and bene- 
 factress, Miss Dekken published a collection of 
 poems, the result of their joint labours. She then 
 went to live with another friend, Elizabeth Beeker, 
 the widow of a clergyman. Their united labours 
 produced the first Dutch domestic novel, and they 
 became thus the founders of a new school of novel 
 writers. Shortly afterwards they published the 
 " Wanderlengen door Bougogne," (1779.) In 1787 
 she removed to Paris, and had subsequently, dur- 
 ing the reign of terror, some very narrow escapes 
 from the guillotine. In 1790 she returned to Hol- 
 land, when the dishonesty of a friend deprived 
 her of her little property. She had now again to 
 resort to her pen as a means of subsistence. She 
 translated therefore several English novels, and 
 published a collection of poems, which contains 
 some patriotic and religious pieces, which are to 
 this day esteemed master-pieces of Dutch poetry. 
 She died on the 15th of November, 1807. 
 
 DELANY, MARY, 
 Was the daughter of Bernard Granville, Esq., 
 afterwards Lord Lansdowne, a nobleman celebrated 
 for his abilities and virtues. His character as a 
 poet, and his friendship with Pope, Swift, and 
 other eminent writers of the time, as well as his 
 general patronage of men of genius and literature, 
 have been so often recorded that they must be 
 familiar to our readers. His daughter Mary re- 
 
 286 
 
DE 
 
 DE 
 
 ceiTed a very careful education, and at the age of 
 seventeen was induced to marry, against her own 
 inclination, Alexander Pendarves, a gentleman of 
 large property at Boscrow, in Cornwall. From a 
 great disparity of years, and other causes, she was 
 very unhappy during this connexion. However, 
 she wisely employed the retirement to which she 
 was confined in cultivating her mind and her mu- 
 sical talents. She was distinguished for her powers 
 of conversation, for her epistolary writing, and 
 her taste. 
 
 In 1724 Mrs. Pendarves became a widow, when 
 she left Cornwall for London. For several years 
 after this she corresponded with Dean Swift. In 
 1743 she married Dr. Patrick Delany, whom she 
 had long known, and their union was a very happy 
 oi)e. He died in 1768, and after that she was in- 
 duced by the duchess-dowager of Portland, who 
 had been an early and constant friend of hers, to 
 reside a part of the time with her ; and Mrs. De- 
 lany divided the year between London and Bul- 
 strode. 
 
 On the death of the duchess-dowager of Port- 
 land, the king assigned Mrs. Delany, as a summer 
 residence, the use of a furnished house in St. Al- 
 ban's street, Windsor, adjoining the entrance to 
 the castle, and a pension of three hundred pounds 
 a year. Mrs. Delany died at her own house in 
 St. James' street, on the 15th of April, 1788, hav- 
 ing nearly completed her eighty-eighth year. 
 
 The circumstance that has principally entitled 
 Mrs. Delany to a place in this dictionary was her 
 skill in painting, and other ingenious arts. She 
 was thirty years old before she learned to draw, 
 and forty before she attempted oil-painting ; but 
 she devoted herself to it, and her proficiency was 
 remarkable. She was principally a copyist, but 
 painted a f^w original pictures, the largest of 
 which was the raising of Lazarus. She excelled 
 in embroidery and shell-work, and at the age of 
 seventy-four invented a new and beautiful mode 
 of exercising her ingenuity. This was in the con- 
 struction of a Flora. She cut out the various 
 parts of the flower she wished to imitate, in co- 
 loured paper, which she sometimes dyed herself, 
 and pasted them, accurately arranged, on a black 
 ground. The effect was so admirable that it was 
 impossible often to distinguish the original from 
 the imitation. Mrs. Delany continued to carry 
 out this favoiu^ite design till she was eighty-three, 
 when the partial failure of her sight obliged her 
 to lay it aside, but not till she had finished nine 
 hundred and eighty flowers. This is the com- 
 pletest Flora ever executed by one hand, and re- 
 quired great knowledge of botanical drawing. 
 
 She bequeathed this work to her nephew, count 
 Dewes. At the age of eighty she began to write 
 poetry; — the following she prefixed to the first 
 volume of her Flora, or Herbal : 
 
 " Hail to the Iiappy times when fancy led 
 My pensive mind the flovv'ry path to tread. 
 And gave me emulation to presume, 
 With timid art, to trare fair nature's bloom : 
 To view with awe the great creative power 
 That shines confest in the minutest flower: 
 With wonder to pursue the glorious line, 
 And gratefully adore the hand divine." 
 
 It was said of Mrs. Delany's poetry that "her 
 verses show at least a pious disposition." At 
 eighty piety is the charm of woman's life and con- 
 versation, and also required for her own happiness. 
 Mrs. Delany has left a beautiful example to her 
 sex, by the manner in which she improved her 
 time ; she never grew old in feeling ; always em- 
 ployed, and always improving her talents, she 
 kept youth in her heart, and therefore never lost 
 her power of pleasing. Miss Burney, who was 
 the intimate friend of her last years of life, thus 
 describes Mrs. Delany just before her death, when 
 she had entered her 88tli year : — 
 
 ' ' Her eyes alone had failed, and these not to- 
 tally. Not even was her general frame, though 
 enfeebled, wholly deprived of its elastic powers. 
 She was upright ; her air and her carriage were 
 full of dignity ; all her motions were graceful ; 
 and her gestures, when she was animated, had a 
 vivacity almost sportive. Her exquisitely suscep- 
 tible soul, at every strong emotion, still mantled 
 in her cheeks, and her spirits, to the last, retained 
 their innocent gaiety ; her conversation its balmy 
 tone of sympathy; and her manners their soft and 
 resistless attraction: while her piety was at once 
 the most fervent, yet most humble." 
 
 Mrs. Delany died April 15th, 1788, and was in- 
 terred in a vault belonging to St. James' church, 
 where a monument has been erected to her me- 
 mory. 
 
 DELOBME, MABION, 
 BoKN in 1612, at Chalons, in Champagne, was 
 the mistress of Cinq-Mars, who was executed by 
 Richelieu for high-treason, in the reign of Louis 
 XIII. Even before the death of her lover she 
 was unfaithful to him, and her house was the ren- 
 dezvous of the young courtiers. In 1650 she was 
 involved in another difBculty with the government, 
 and only escaped arrest by a report of her sick- 
 ness, followed by one of her death. She is said 
 to have seen her own funeral from a window. She 
 then went to England, married a wealthy noble- 
 man, and being soon left a widow, she returned to 
 France. On her way to Paris she was attacked 
 by robbers and forced to marry their captain. 
 Becoming a widow a second time, she married a 
 man named Lebrun, with whom she went to Paris, 
 where she died, in 1706, in great indigence. ^She 
 was a friend of the celebrated Ninon de I'Enclos. 
 
 DEROCHES, MADELEINE KEVUO, 
 And her daughter Catherine, were famed among 
 the French literati for wit and sparkling vivacity 
 of mind. Their names cannot be separated, for 
 like twin stars they illuminated the literary sky. 
 The greatest minds of France sought and enjoycl 
 their conversation: Marley, Scaliger, Rapin, and 
 Pasquier, considered it more improving than that 
 of their male friends, and Pasqnier published a 
 collection of their poems, with the curious title 
 "Fleas of Miss Deroches," (1582). They were 
 inseparable in death as during their life. They 
 always expressed a wish that they might die at 
 the same time ; and Providence granted it. They 
 died on the same day at Poictiers, victims of the 
 
 287 
 
DE 
 
 DE 
 
 plague, whicli prevailed there at that time. Their 
 works were published, in two volumes, in the 
 year 1604. 
 
 DESCABTES, CATHARINE, 
 Daughter of a councillor of the Parliament of 
 Brittany, and niece of the celebrated philosopher 
 of that name, was, from her learning and talents, 
 so worthy of her origin, that it was said, " The 
 mind of the great Descartes had fallen on a 
 distaff." Her most considerable work was an ac- 
 count of the death of her uncle, in prose and verse. 
 She led a very quiet life in Brittany, and died, in 
 1 706, of a disease brought on by hard study. She 
 was born at Rennes in 1635. 
 
 DESHOULIERES, ANTOINETTE 
 LIGIER DE LA GARDE, 
 
 Was born at Paris, in 1638. At that period the 
 education of young ladies was very carefully at- 
 tended ; usage required them to be instructed in 
 many subjects that are not always open to their 
 sex. Mademoiselle de la Garde evinced a bright- 
 ness of mind, and love for study, at a very early 
 age. Her taste for poetry manifested itself almost 
 in infancy; she "lisped in number." Henault, a 
 poet of some reputation, was a friend of the family, 
 and he took pleasure in instructing this charming 
 damsel in the rules of versification ; it has even 
 been said that he sacrificed some poems of his 
 own to add to the celebrity of his pupil. Made- 
 moiselle de la Garde added the charms of beauty, 
 and pleasing manners, to her literary abilities. 
 Perhaps her admirers, who were many, would 
 have expressed it — her beauty rendered her 
 charming in spite of her literary abilities. In 
 1651 she became the wife of the seigneur Deshou- 
 liferes, a lieutenant-colonel of the great Conde. 
 He participated actively in the civil war of the 
 Fronde, and becoming obnoxious to the queen- 
 regent, suffered a confiscation of his property. 
 Madame Deshouli^res, who had accompanied her 
 husband through the changes and chances of a 
 soldier's life, went to Brussels, where a Spanish 
 court resided, to obtain some claims which the 
 
 colonel was not himself at leisure to pursue ; this 
 step resulted in an arbitrary imprisonment. She 
 was confined, in a state prison, for eight months, 
 and at the end of that time with difficulty released 
 by the exertions of her husband. At the close of 
 the civil wars M, Deshouliferes obtained an office 
 in Guienne, where he retired with his family. At 
 this time Antoinette had the opportunity of visit- 
 ing Vaucluse : the scene of Petrarch's inspiration ; 
 and here it was that she composed her happiest 
 effusions. Her pastorals, particularly " Les Mou- 
 tons" and "Le Ruisseau," are imiversally allowed 
 to be among the very best of that sort of writing 
 in the French language. Some of her maxims are 
 still frequently cited, the following especially, 
 whose truth comes home to everybody. 
 
 11 n'est pas si facile qu'on pense, 
 D'etre honnete homme, et de jouer gros jeu, 
 Le desir de gagner, qui null et jour occupe, 
 
 Est un dangereux aiguillon : 
 Souvent. quoique I'esprit, quoique le cceur soil bon, 
 
 On commence par etre dupe; 
 
 On finit par etre fripon. 
 L'amour propre est, iielas ! le plus sot des amours ■ 
 Cependant des erreurs il est la plus commune : 
 Ciuelque puissant qu'on soit en richesse, en credit, 
 Quelque mauvais succes q'ait tout ce qu'on ecrit, 
 
 Nul n'est content de sa fortune 
 
 Ni mficontcnt de son esprit. 
 
 A little anecdote may serve , for a moment's 
 amusement, while it displays no inconsiderable 
 courage in the heroine. It should be prefaced, 
 by recalling to the reader that in the seventeenth 
 century a ghost was a thing to be afraid of, and 
 that not merely the "fair and innocent" succumbed 
 to the unreal terrors of superstition. The cardi- 
 nal de Retz gives a curious proof of this, in the 
 account of the dismay oast over himself and the 
 great Turenne, with many other of less note, by 
 an imaginary band of spectres. Madame Deshou- 
 liferes went to pay a visit to a friend of hers in the 
 country. She was informed that one of the cham- 
 bers was haunted ; that for some time, every night, 
 a phantom repaired there ; and that, consequently, 
 nobody would inhabit that side of the-chateau. 
 Madame Deshouliferes was neither credulous nor 
 superstitious, and she immediately offered to un- 
 dertake the adventure of sleeping in the fatal 
 apartment. In the middle of the night she heard 
 the door open — she spoke — the spectre made no 
 reply, but walked on with a heavy tread, uttering 
 rough sounds. A table at the foot of the bed was 
 thrown down, and the curtains pushed back with 
 a great noise ; the phantom approached, the lady, 
 nowise disconcerted, stretched out her hands to 
 discover whether it had a palpable form. She 
 seized two long, soft ears ; she dared not let go, 
 lest she should lose the fruit of her undertaking, 
 but actually remained in that attitude till the 
 dawn of day revealed, as the cause of all the 
 alarm, a large dog, very much petted by the 
 family. This animal, not liking to sleep in open- 
 yard, formed the habit of betaking himself to this 
 room, the door of which was so constructed that 
 he could push it open. 
 
 Madame Deshouliferes was made a member of 
 the Academy of Aries and of that of the Eicoverati, 
 in Padua. She numbered among her friends. 
 
 288 
 
B^ 
 
 DE 
 
 many of the most distinguished persons of the 
 day. The two Corneilles, Flechier, Quinault, the 
 duke of Nevers, and La Rochefoucault, professed 
 for her the highest esteem as a woman and as an 
 authoress. The great Cond^ appears to have en- 
 tertained for her a more tender sentiment — his 
 rank, power, and many dazzling qualities, might 
 have proved dangerous to a lighter mind ; hut her 
 firm principles of virtue, and love for her husband, 
 preserved her from the shadow of reproach. She 
 had several children — a daughter, Antoinette, who 
 inherited some of her mother's poetical talent ; she 
 took a prize at the French Academy, though Fon- 
 tenelle was her competitor. 
 
 Madame Deshouliferes achieved her literary re- 
 putation, not by isolating herself from the duties 
 of society, as some poets have deemed necessary 
 to the development of the poetic temperament. 
 A tender mother — an active friend — as we have 
 seen above, she did not hesitate to plunge into 
 the difficulties of diplomacy, when called upon 
 to aid her husband, — proving that the cultiva- 
 tion of the mind is by no means incompatible 
 with attention to the minute and daily duties of 
 the mother of a family. And those ladies who 
 affect to despise feminine pursuits, or who com- 
 plain of the cramping effect of woman's household 
 cares, may learn from the example of this success- 
 ful authoress, that neither are obstacles in the 
 path of real genius, but rather an incentive to call 
 forth talents, by developing the character in con- 
 formity with nature. Madame Deshouliferes had 
 studied with success geometry and philosophy, 
 and was well versed in the Latin, Italian, and 
 Spanish languages. She died in 1694. The fol- 
 lowing poem was very popular : — 
 
 LES MOUTONS. 
 IDYLLE. 
 
 H^lasl petits moutons, que vous etes heureux! 
 
 Vous paissez dans nos champs sans soucis, sans alarmes: 
 
 Aussitot aim^s qu'amoureux. 
 On ne vous force point a r6pandre des larmes; 
 Vous ne formez jamais d'inutilesd^sirs. 
 ' pans vos tranquilles cceurs Tamour suit la nature ; 
 Sans ressentir ses maux, vous avez ses plaisirs. 
 L'ambition, Thonneur, Tint^ret, I'imposture, 
 
 Q.ui font tant de maux parmi nous, 
 
 Ne se recontrent point chez vous. 
 Cependant nous avons la raison pour partage, 
 
 Et vous en ignorez Tusage. 
 Innocens animaux, nlen soyez point jaldux : 
 
 Ce n'est pas un' grand avantage. 
 Cette fifire raison, dont on fait tant de bruit. 
 Centre les passions n'est pas un sur remade: 
 Un peu de vin la trouble, un enfant la seduit; 
 Et di^chirer un coeur qui I'appelle a son aide, 
 
 Est tout reflfet qu'elle produit. 
 
 Toujours impuissante et sgv^re, 
 £lle s'oppose a tout et ne surmonte rien. 
 
 Sous la garde de votre cliien, 
 Vous devez beaucoup moins redouter la colore 
 
 Des,loups cruels et ravissans, 
 Q,ue, sous ]'autorit6 d'une telle chinidre, 
 
 Nous ne devona craindre nos sens. 
 Ne vaudroit-il pas mieux vivre comme vous faites, 
 
 Dans une douce oisivet6? 
 Ne vaudroit-il pas mieux etre comme vous etes, 
 
 Dans une heureuse obscurity, 
 
 Q,ue d'avoir, sans tranquillity, 
 
 Des richesses, de la naissance, 
 
 De I'esprit et de la beauts? 
 Ces pr^tendus tr^sors, dont on fait vanite, 
 
 Valent moins que votre indolence: 
 
 lis nouB livrent sans cesse a des soins crimincls ; 
 
 Par eux plus d'un remords noua ronge; 
 
 Nous voulons les rendre 6ternels, 
 Sans songer qu'eux et nous passerons comme un songe. 
 
 11 n'est dans cc vaste univers 
 
 Rien d'assur^, rien de solide: 
 Des choses d'ici-bas la fortune decide 
 
 Selon ses caprices divers. 
 
 Tout I'effort de notre prudence 
 Ne peut nous derober au moindre de ses coups. 
 Faissez, moutons, paissez sans regie et sans science ; 
 
 Malgr6 la trompeuse apparence, 
 
 Vous etes plus sages que nous. 
 
 DESMOULINS, lUCILLE, 
 Was torn in Paris, in 1771. Her father was 
 a clerk of the finances, and her mother one of 
 the most beautiful women of the age. LucUle, 
 whose maiden name was Duplessis, was carefully 
 educated. She formed an attachment, when Tcry 
 young, to Camille Desmoulins, a young man of 
 great talent, who became one of the first leaders 
 and victims of the rerolution. They were married 
 in 1790. Camille Desmoulins, after having made 
 himself conspicuous by his speeches in favour of 
 the death of Louis XVI., was appointed a member 
 of the Convention, and for some time was very 
 much followed. But as his feelings gradually 
 changed from hatred against the aristocrats to 
 pity for the innocent victims of the people's fury, 
 he lost his popularity, was denounced, and impri- 
 soned. Lucille exerted herself to the utmost to 
 save him, and wandered continually around his 
 prison, trying to rouse the people in his favour ; 
 but in vain. He was guillotined, and she was 
 tried and condemned for having endeavoured to 
 rescue him. She was calm, and even cheerful, 
 during her hasty trial ; and dressing herself with 
 the greatest care, she entered the fatal cart, and, 
 in the full bloom of her youth and beauty, ascended, 
 with the most perfect serenity, the scaffold. She 
 was executed in 1794, at the age of twenty-three. 
 
 DEVONSHIRE, GEORGIANA CAVENDISH, 
 
 DI7CHESS OF, 
 
 A LADT as remarkable for her talents as her 
 
 beauty, was the eldest daughter of earl Spencer, 
 
 and was born in 1757. In her seventeenth year, 
 
 she married the duke of Devonshire, a distin- 
 
 289 
 
DE 
 
 DU 
 
 guished nobleman. The Ibeaiitifiil duchess, in the 
 bloom of youth, became not only the leader of 
 female fashions, and the star of the aristocratic 
 world, but she also aspired to political influence. 
 In 1780, she became the zealous partizan of Mr. 
 Fox, and canvassed successfully for votes in his 
 favour. The story of the butcher selling her his 
 vote for a kiss, is well known. Among a variety 
 of other jmx d'esprits which appeared on that oc- 
 casion, was the following : — 
 
 " Array'd in matchless beauty, Devon's fair, 
 
 In Fox's favour takes a zealous part; 
 But oh ! where'er the pilferer comes, beware— 
 
 She supplicates a vote, and steals a heart." 
 
 The duchess was benevolent, as well as patriotic, 
 and few ladies in her high station have left such 
 an impression of the kindly feelings of the heart 
 on the public mind. 
 
 An anecdote is related of her by Gibbon, the 
 celebrated historian, who became acquainted with 
 her while she passed through Switzerland, during 
 her travels abroad. The duchess returned to 
 London ; it was in the year 1793, when England 
 was at war with France. The patriotism of the 
 duchess now displayed a true feminine character ; 
 she took an anxious interest in the health and 
 comfort of the protecting armies ; and when, late 
 in the autumn. Gibbon revisited England, and re- 
 newed his acquaintance with the duchess of De- 
 vonshire, he found her "making flannel waistcoats 
 for the soldiers." This was more lady-like than 
 canvassing for votes. 
 
 The duchess had three children, two daughters 
 and a son, and seems to have been a careful and 
 loving mother, as she was an excellent wife. She 
 died, after a short illness, on the 30th of March, 
 1806, in the forty-ninth year of her Ufe. She 
 possessed a highly cultivated taste for poetry and 
 the fine arts, and was liberal in her encourage- 
 ment of talents and genius. She had written 
 many poems, but only a few pieces have been 
 published. These are spirited and elegant, and 
 show a mind filled with enthusiasm for the true 
 and the good. We subjoin an extract from the 
 longest and most elaborate poem, entitled 
 
 THE PASSAGE OP THE MOUNTAIN OF ST. GOTHARD. 
 
 But though no more amidst those scenes I roam, 
 My fancy long its image shall retain — 
 
 The flock returning to its welcome home — ■ 
 And the wild carol of the cow-herd's strain. 
 
 Lucerna's lake its glassy surface shows, 
 Whilst nature's varied beauties deck its side : 
 
 Here rocks and woods its narrow waves enclose, 
 And there its spreading bosom opens wide. 
 
 And hail the chapel ! hail the platform wild I 
 Where Tell directed the avenging dart ; 
 
 With well-strung arm, at first preserved his child, 
 Then winged the arrow to the tyrant's heart. 
 
 Across the lake, and deep embower'd in wood, 
 Behold another hallow'd chapel stands, 
 
 Where three Swiss heroes lawless force withstood. 
 And Btamp'd the freedom of their native land. 
 
 Their Liberty requir'd no rites uncouth. 
 No blood demanded, and no slaves enchain'd; 
 
 Her rule was gentle, and her voice was truth, 
 By social order form'd, by law restrain'd. 
 
 We quit the lake— and cultivation's toil, 
 With nature's charms combin'd, adorn the way ; 
 
 And well-earn'd wealth improves the ready soil, 
 And simple manners still maintain their sway. 
 
 Farewell, Helvetia— from whose lofty breast 
 Proud Alps arise, and copious rivers flow ; 
 
 Where, source of streams, eternal glaciers rest. 
 And peaceful science gilds the plains below. 
 
 Oft on thy rocks the wond'ring eye shall gaze, 
 
 Thy valleys oft the raptur'd bosom seek- 
 There, nature's hand her boldest work displays; 
 Here, bliss domestic beams on every cheek. 
 
 Hope of my life ! dear children of my heart I 
 That anxious heart, to each fond feeling true, 
 
 To you still pants, each pleasure to impart. 
 And more- O transport !— reach its home and you. 
 
 DEYSTER, ANNA, 
 The daughter of Louis Deyster, a Flemish 
 painter, was bom at Bruges in 1696. She ex- 
 celled in landscapes, and imitated her father's 
 works so well, that few of the best judges could 
 distinguish the copies from the originals. She 
 died in poverty, because, abandoning painting, she 
 devoted her time to constructing organs and harp- 
 sichords, and was not successful. She died in 
 1746. 
 
 DIGBT, LETTICE, 
 Was descended from the ancient family of the 
 Fitzgeralds of Kildare. She was created baroness 
 of Offale for life, and on her marriage with lord 
 Digby, of ColeshOl, in the county of Longford, 
 brought her large possessions into that family. 
 As lady Digby lived in the time of the rebellion, 
 the insurgents often assaulted her in her castle of 
 Geashill, which she defended with great resolu- 
 tion. She died in 1658, and lies buried in the 
 cathedral of St. Patrick. She left seven sons and 
 three daughters. 
 
 DOMEIR, ESTHER, BORN GAD, 
 
 .. Was a woman of great genius and masculine 
 powers of mind. She was born at Breslau, 1770, 
 of Jewish parents. Already in her early youth, 
 she busied herself with plans for improving the 
 condition and education of her sex, and wrote 
 several essays on the subject. When twenty years 
 old, she went to Berlin, where she became ac- 
 quainted with Madame de Genlis, who contributed 
 much to model her mind. In 1791, she embraced 
 Christianity ; and in 1792 married Dr. W. F. Do- 
 meir. With him she travelled through southern 
 Europe, and spent several years in Portugal. The 
 result of her observations was published in the 
 year 1803, in Hamburg, under the title "Letters 
 during my residence in Portugal and England." 
 She wrote also several smaller works, and trans- 
 lated a number of French books into English. 
 She died in 1802, lamented by aU her friends. 
 Her writings are distinguished for vivid descrip- 
 tion, strong sense, and beauty of thought, without 
 much polish of sentiment or style. 
 
 DUBOIS, DOROTHEA, 
 Daughter of Annesley, earl of Anglesea, by 
 Anne Sympson, married a musician, and endea- 
 
 290 
 
DTJ 
 
 DU 
 
 voured, Ijy her writings, to reclaim her rights froin 
 her father, who had basely denied his marriage 
 with her mother, and disowned her as his ohUd. 
 She wrote the "Divorce," a musical entertainment, 
 and " Theodora," a novel, in which she delineates 
 her own history. She died in Dublin, in 1774. 
 
 DUCLOS, MARIE ANNE, 
 
 A Fbenoh actress of great merit, was born at 
 Paris, where she died in 1748, aged seventy-eight. 
 She excelled in the representation of queens and 
 princesses. Her maiden name was Chateauneuf ; 
 that of Duclos was assumed ; she married, in 1730, 
 Duchemin, an actor, from whom she was divorced 
 three years after. 
 
 DUFRESNOY, MADEMOISELLE, 
 Was born in Paris, and entered "La congrega- 
 tion des fiUes de la Croix." Her poems were very 
 popular, and she holds a respectable rank among 
 the female poets of France. She died in 1825. 
 
 DUMEE, JOAN, 
 Was born at Paris, and instructed, from her 
 earliest infancy, in belles-lettres. She married 
 very young, and was scarcely seventeen when 
 her husband was killed, in Germany, at the head 
 of a company he commanded. She employed the 
 liberty her widowhood gave her in ardent appli- 
 cation to study, devoting herself especially to as- 
 tronomy. She published, in 1680, at Paris, a 
 quarto volume under the title of " Discourses of 
 Copernicus touching the Mobility of the Earth, by 
 Madame Joanne DumSe, of Paris." She explains 
 with clearness the three motions attributed to the 
 earth, and the arguments that establish or mili- 
 tate against the system of Copernicus. 
 
 DUMESNIL, MARIE FRANCES, 
 A OELEBKATED tragic actress, was born at Paris 
 in 1713, went upon the stage in 1737, and re- 
 mained popular till the moment of her retirement,' 
 in 1775. She died in 1803, having preserved her 
 intellectual powers to the last. She displayed her 
 talents most strikingly in queens and lofty char- 
 acters, especially in the parts of Merope, Clytem- 
 nestra, Athaliah, and Agrippina. "When she ex- 
 erted her full powers, she surpassed all her thea- 
 trical contemporaries in exciting emotions of pity 
 and of terror. 
 
 DUMONT, MADAME, 
 Was born at Paris, in the 18th century. She 
 was the daughter of M. Lutel, an officer in the 
 household of the duke of Orleans, then regent. 
 She was celebrated for her poetical talents, and 
 she published a collection of fugitive pieces, trans- 
 lations of Horace, fables, songs, &c. 
 
 DUPRE, MARY, 
 Dauohtee of a sister of des Margts de St. Sor- 
 lin, of the French Academy, was born at Paris 
 and educated by her uncle. Endowed with a hap- 
 py genius and a retentive memory, she read the 
 principal French, Italian, and Latin authors, in 
 the original, and understood Greek and philosophy. 
 
 She studied Descartes so thoroughly, that she ob- 
 tained the surname of la Cartesienne ; and she 
 also wrote very agreeable verses, and corresponded 
 with several of her learned contemporaries. The 
 answers of Isis to Climene, in the select pieces of 
 poetry published by father Bouhors, are by this 
 lady. She lived in the seventeenth century. 
 
 DURAND, CATHARINE, 
 A Fkenoh poetess, married a man by the name 
 of Bedacien, and died in 1736. She kept the 
 name of Durand because she had begun to write 
 under it. She published several romances, come- 
 dies, in prose and verse, and some poetry. An 
 "Ode a la Louange de Louis XIV." gained the 
 prize for poetry at the French Academy, in 1701. 
 It is too long for insertion, and its chief merit, 
 that which obtained the prize, was doubtless the 
 homage the author rendered the Grand Monarque. 
 
 DURAS, DUCHESS OF, 
 A MODEBN French authoress, best known from 
 her novel Aurika. She was the daughter of a 
 captain in the navy, count Corsain. During the 
 French revolution, in 1793, she left France and 
 went with her father to England. There she mar- 
 ried the refugee duke Duras, a firm royalist. In 
 the year 1800, she returned with her husband to 
 France, where she made the acquaintance of Ma- 
 dame de Stael, and then opened her labours to a 
 literary circle, composed of the greatest minds of 
 the country. When Louis XVIII. returned to 
 France, he called her husband to his court, and 
 gave him a place near his person. The duchess, 
 although now a great favourite at court, devoted 
 much of her time to a school which she established, 
 and in superintending several benevolent societies 
 of which she was an active member. Her novel 
 Aurika, in which she attacks, in a firm but gentle 
 way, the prejudices of the nobility of birth, made 
 quite a sensation, and was translated in several 
 countries. Her next work, "Edward," was not 
 quite equal to the first. She died in the year 1828. 
 
 DUSTON, HANNAH, 
 Was the wife of Thomas Duston, of Haverhill, 
 in Massachusetts. In 1679, Haverhill was attack- 
 ed by the Indians; and Mrs. Duston, with her 
 infant, only a week old, and the nurse, were taken 
 by them. Mr, Duston succeeded in saving him- 
 self and the other seven children. After proceed- 
 ing a short distance, the Indians killed the child, 
 by dashing out its brains against a tree, because 
 it embarrassed their march. Proceeding on the 
 fatiguing journey, they arrived at an island in the 
 Merrimack, just above Concord, N. H., now called 
 Duston's Island. When they reached the place of 
 rest, they slept soundly. Mrs. Duston did not 
 sleep. The nurse, and an English boy, a prisoner, 
 were apprised of her design, but were not of much 
 use to her in the execution of it. In the stillness 
 of the night she arose and went out of the wig- 
 wam to test the soundness and security of savage 
 sleep. They moved not ; they were to sleep until 
 the last day. She returned, took one of their 
 hatchets, and dispatched ten of them, — each with 
 
 291 
 
DW 
 
 EB 
 
 a single blow. An Indian woman, who was rising 
 when she struck her, fled with her probable death- 
 wound ; and an Indian boy was designedly spared ; 
 for the avenger of blood was a woman and a mo- 
 ther, and could not deal a death-blow upon a 
 helpless child. She surveyed the carnage ground 
 by the light of the fire, which she stirred up after 
 the deed was done ; and catching a few handfuls 
 of roasted corn, she commenced her journey ; but 
 on reflecting a moment, she thought the people of 
 Haverhill would consider her tale as the ravings 
 of madness, when she should get home, if ever 
 that time might come ; she therefore returned, 
 and scalped the slain; then put her nurse and 
 English boy into the canoe, and with herself they 
 floated down to the falls, when she landed, and 
 took to the woods, keeping the river in sight, 
 which she knew must direct her on her way home. 
 After suffering incredible hardships by hunger, 
 cold, and fatigue, she reached home, to the sur- 
 prise and joy of her husband, children and friends. 
 The general court of Massachusetts examined her 
 story, and being satisfied of the truth of it, took 
 her trophies, the scalps, and gave her fifty pounds. 
 The people of Boston made her many presents. 
 All classes were anxious to see her ; and they 
 found her as modest as brave. 
 
 In 1830, the house in Haverhill where Mrs. 
 Duston had resided was standing, and was visited 
 as a memorable spot, the home of an American 
 neroine. 
 
 DWIGHT, ELIZABETH BAKER, 
 Was born at Andover, in Massachusetts, in 
 1808. Her maiden name was Baker. She was 
 carefully educated ; and her naturally strong mind 
 was thus disciplined to give greater effect to her 
 graces of character. She was about seventeen 
 years of age when she became a member of the 
 church of which Dr. Justin Edwards was pastor. 
 From this period till the time of her marriage. Miss 
 Baker was remarkable for the mingled sweetness 
 and discretion of her manners ; constantly striving 
 to improve her time and talents in the service of 
 the Saviour, whom she, like Mary of Bethany, had 
 chosen for her portion. 
 
 In 1830, she married the Rev. H. G. 0. Dwight, 
 and sailed with him to Malta, where she resided 
 two years, her husband being a missionary to that 
 place. She was actively and very usefully engaged 
 while there, and when her husband removed to 
 Constantinople. 
 
 Her correspondence at this period, and the tes- 
 timony of her associates, show how earnestly her 
 spirit entered into the work she had undertaken. 
 Her pious and tender sympathy was most efiicient 
 help to her husband, in his arduous missionary 
 duties ; though her delicate health, and many 
 household cares, prevented her from giving the 
 active assistance in the teacher's department she 
 had iutended, and was well qualified to have done. 
 She had anticipated this work as her happiest 
 privilege ; to be able to imbue the minds of the 
 children of unbelievers with the sweet and salu- 
 tary truths of the gospel had been Mrs. Dwight's 
 most cherished desire. 
 
 The missionary family resided at San Stefano, 
 near the Bosphorus. Scenes of beauty and of 
 storied interest were around Mrs. Dwight; still 
 she had few opportunities of visiting the remark- 
 able places in this region of the world. Once she 
 made an excursion with Lady Franklaud and an 
 American friend to the Black Sea, and found her 
 health renovated ; still she was drooping and deli- 
 cate, like a transplanted flower, which pines for 
 its own mountain home, and the fresh breezes and 
 pure sunshine of its first blossoming. 
 
 In the spring of 1837, the plague appeared at 
 Constantinople, and Mrs. Dwight felt she was one 
 of its doomed victims. The presentiment proved 
 true. She died on the 8th of July, 1837; her 
 devoted husband being the only person who re- 
 mained to watch over, comfort her, and receive 
 her last breath. She was only twenty-nine years 
 of age, and had hardly become habituated to the 
 missionary cross, when she was called to wear its 
 crown. 
 
 DYER, MARY, 
 
 Was the wife of William Dyer, who removed 
 from Massachusetts to Rhode Island in 1638. 
 Having been sentenced to execution for "rebel- 
 lious sedition and obtruding herself after banish- 
 ment upon pain of death," she was reprieved at 
 the request of her son, on condition that she de- 
 parted in forty-eight hours, and did not return. 
 She returned, and was executed June Ist, 1660. 
 She was a Quakeress, and, in the estimation of her 
 friends, a martyr. 
 
 E. 
 EBOLI, ANNE DE MENDOZA LA CERDA, 
 Princess of, was married to Rui de Gomez de 
 Silva, the favourite of Philip 11. of Spain, whose 
 favour he was supposed to have owed to the at- 
 tractions of his wife. Her ambition induced her 
 to listen to the king's passion, by which means she 
 obtained, for a time, great influence in the state. 
 Antonio Perez, the secretary of state, was the 
 rival of his master, who, discovering the circum- 
 
 292 
 
ED 
 
 ED 
 
 stance, would have sacrificed the lovers to his ven- 
 geance ; but Perez made his escape to France, and 
 the princess was imprisoned. 
 
 EDGEWORTH, MAKIA, 
 Descended from a respectable Irish family, was 
 born in Oxfordshire, England, January 1st, 1767. 
 Her father was Richard Lovell Edgeworth, Esq., 
 who, succeeding to an estate in Ireland, removed 
 thither when Maria was about four years old. 
 The family residence was at Edgeworthstown, 
 Longford county ; and here the subject of our 
 sketch passed her long and most useful life, leaving 
 an example of literary excellence and beneficent 
 goodness rarely surpassed in the annals of woman. 
 
 Mr. Edgeworth was a man of talent, who de- 
 voted his original and very active mind chiefly to 
 subjects of practical utility. Mechanics and gene- 
 ral literature were his pursuits, in so far as he 
 could make these subservient to his theories of 
 education and improvement; but his heart w&s 
 centered in his home, and his eldest child, Maria, 
 was his pride. She early manifested a decided 
 taste for literary pursuits ; and it appears to have 
 been one of her father's greatest pleasures to 
 direct her studies and develope her genius. This 
 sympathy and assistance were of invaluable ad- 
 vantage to her at the beginning of her literary 
 career; and sweetly did she repay these atten- 
 tions when her own ripened talents outstripped 
 his more methodical but less gifted intellect ! 
 
 The father and daughter wrote, at first, toge- 
 ther, and several works were their joint produc- 
 tions. The earliest book thus written in partner- 
 ship was " Practical Education ;" the second bore 
 the title of "An Essay on Irish Bulls," which does 
 not sound significantly of a young lady's agency, 
 yet the book was very popular, because, with much 
 wit, there was deep sympathy with the peculiar 
 virtues of the Irish character, and pathetic touches 
 in the stories illustrating Irish life, which warmed 
 and won the heart of the reader. Miss Edgeworth 
 was an earnest philanthropist, and herein lay the 
 secret strength of her literary power. She felt 
 for the wants and weaknesses of humanity ; but 
 
 as she saw human nature chiefly in Irish nature, 
 her thoughts were directed towards the improve- 
 ment of her adopted country, rather more, we 
 suspect, from propinquity than patriotism. Be 
 this as it may, her best novels are those in which 
 Irish character is pourtrayed ; but her best books 
 are those written for the young ; because in these 
 her genuine philanthropy is most freely unfolded. 
 
 From the beginning of the century, 1800, when 
 Miss Edgeworth commenced her literary career, 
 till 1825, almost every year was the herald of a 
 new work from the pen of this distinguished lady. 
 " Castle Backrent," "Belinda," "Leonora," "Po- 
 pular Tales," " Tales of Fashionable Life," " Pa- 
 tronage," "Vivian," "Harrington and Ormond," 
 followed each other rapidly, and all were welcomed 
 and approved by the public voice. In 1817, Mr. ~ 
 Edgeworth died, and Maria's profound sorrow for 
 his loss suspended for some time her career of 
 authorship. She did not resume her tales of fic- 
 tion until she had given expression to her filial 
 affection and gratitude to her father for his pre- 
 cious care in training her mind and encouraging 
 her talents, and also to her deep and tender grief 
 for his loss, by completing the " Memoir" he had 
 commenced of his own life. This was published 
 in 1820. Then she resumed her course of moral 
 instruction for the young, and published that 
 work, which so many children, in America as well 
 as in Great Britain, have been happier and better 
 for reading, namely, " Rosamond, a Sequel to 
 Early Lessons." In 1825, " Harriet and Lucy," 
 a continuation of the "Early Lessons," in four 
 volumes, was issued. 
 
 In 1823, Miss Edgeworth visited Sir Walter 
 Scott at Abbotsford. " Never," says Mr. Lock- 
 hart, " did I see a brighter day at Abbotsford than 
 that on which Miss Edgeworth 'first arrived there ; 
 never can I forget her look and accent when she 
 was received by him at his archway, and exclaimed, 
 ' Everything about you is exactly what one ought 
 to have had wit enough to dream.' The weather 
 was beautiful, and the edifice and its appurte- 
 nances were all but complete ; and day after day, 
 so long as she could remain, her host had always 
 some new plan of gaiety. Miss Edgeworth re- 
 mained a fortnight at Abbotsford. Two years 
 afterwards, she had an opportunity of repaying 
 the hospitalities of her entertainer, by receiving 
 him at Edgeworthtown, where Sir Walter met with 
 as cordial a welcome, and where he found ' neither 
 mud hovels nor naked peasantry, but snug cot- 
 tages and smiling faces all about.' Literary fame 
 had spoiled neither of these eminent persons, nor 
 unfitted them for the common business and enjoy- 
 ment of life. ' We shall never,' said Scott, ' learn 
 to feel and respect our real calling and destiny, 
 unless we have taught ourselves to consider every- 
 thing as moonshine compared with the education 
 of the heart.' Maria did not listen to this without 
 some water in her eyes ; her tears are always 
 ready when any generous string is touched — (for, 
 as Pope says, "the finest minds, like the finest 
 metals, dissolve the easiest") ; but she brushed 
 them gaily aside, and said, " You see how it is ; 
 Dean Swift said he had written his books in order 
 
 293 
 
ED 
 
 ED 
 
 that people might learn to treat him like a great 
 lord. Sir Walter -writes his in order that he may 
 he able to treat his people as a great lord ought 
 to do.'" 
 
 In 1834, Miss Edge-worth made her last appear- 
 ance as a novelist, -with the exquisite story of 
 " Helen," in three volumes. It is her best -work 
 of fiction, combining with truth and nature more 
 of the warmth of fancy and pathos of feeling than 
 she displayed in her earlier writings. As though 
 the last beams from the sun of her genius had, like 
 the departing rays of a long unclouded day, be- 
 come softer in their brightness and beauty, while 
 stealing away from the world they had blessed. . 
 
 As every thing pertaining to the private hfe of 
 a woman whose intellect has had such wide-spread 
 and happy influence on the risen and rising gene- 
 rations of the Saxon race, is of incalculable im- 
 portance to the literary character of her sex, we 
 -wOl give a sketch of Miss Edgeworth at home, 
 from the pen of one who knew her well, and has 
 most charmingly described her. Mrs. S. C. Hall, 
 in the " Art- Journal," thus delineates the domes- 
 tic life -of her revered friend, whom she visited in 
 1842: 
 
 " The entrance-hall at Edgeworthstown was an 
 admirable preface to the house and family ; it was 
 spacious, hung with portraits ; here, a case of 
 stuffed birds ; there, another of curiosities ; spe- 
 cimens of various kinds, models of various things, 
 all well arranged and weD kept, all capable of af- 
 fording amusement or instruction; an excellent 
 place it was for children to play in, for at every 
 pause in their games their little minds would be 
 led to question what they saw ; a charming wait- 
 ing-room, it might have been, were it not that at 
 Edgeworthstown no one was ever kept waiting, 
 everything was as well-timed as at a railway-sta- 
 tion. Many of this numerous family at that pe- 
 riod had passed from time to eternity; others 
 were absent; but there still remained a large 
 family party. Among them were two of Miss 
 Edgeworth's sisters, and Mr. and Mrs. Francis 
 Edgeworth, and their children. 
 
 The library at Edgeworthstown is by no means 
 the stately, solitary room that libraries generally 
 are ; it is large, spacious, and lofty, well stored 
 with books, and embellished with those most 
 valuable of all classes of prints, the ' suggestive.' 
 It is also picturesque, having been added to, and 
 supported by pillars, so as to increase its breadth, 
 and the beautiful lawn seen through the windows, 
 embellished and varied by clumps of trees, im- 
 parts much cheerfulness to the exterior. If you 
 look at the oblong table in the centre, you wiU see 
 the rallying-point of the family, who were gene- 
 rally grouped around it, reading, -writing, or 
 working; while Miss Edgeworth, only anxious 
 upon one point, — that all in the house should do 
 exactly as they liked, vrithout reference to her, — 
 sat in her own peculiar comer on the sofa : her 
 desk, — upon which was Sir Walter Scott's pen, 
 given to her by him, when in Ireland, — placed 
 before her on a little quaint, unassuming table, 
 constructed and added to for convenience. Miss 
 Edgeworth's abstractedness, and yet power of at- 
 
 tention to what was going on, — the one not seem- 
 ing to interfere with the other, — puzzled me ex- 
 ceedingly. In that same corner, and upon that 
 table, she had written nearly all that has enlight- 
 ened and delighted the world ; the novels that 
 moved Sir Walter Scott ' to do for Scotland what 
 Miss Edgeworth had done for Ireland;' the works 
 in which she brought the elevated sensibilities and 
 sound morality of maturer life to a level with the 
 comprehension of childhood, and rendered know- 
 ledge, and virtue, and care, and order, the play- 
 things and companions of the nursery; — in that 
 spot, — and while the multitudinous family were 
 moving about and talking of the ordinary and 
 everyday things of life, — she remained, -wrapt up, 
 to all appearance, in her subject, yet knovring, by 
 a sort of instinct, when she was really wanted in 
 the conversation ; and then, without laying do-wn 
 her pen, — hardly looking up from her page, — she 
 would, by a judicious sentence, wisely and kindly 
 spoken, explain and illustrate, in a few words, so 
 as to clear up any difficulty ; or turn the conver- 
 sation into a new and more pleasing current. She 
 had the most harmonious way of throwing in ex- 
 planations ; informing, while entertaining, and 
 that without embarrassing. 
 
 It was quite charming to see how Mr. Francis 
 Edgeworth's children enjoyed the freedom of the 
 library without abusing it; to set these little 
 people right when they were wrong, to rise from 
 her table to fetch them a toy, or even to save a 
 servant a journey ; to run up the high steps and 
 find a volume that escaped all eyes but her own ; 
 and having done all this, in less space of time than 
 I have taken to -write it, to hunt out the exact 
 passage wanted or referred to — were the hourly 
 employments of this unspoiled and admirable wo- 
 man. She would then resume her pen, and con- 
 tinue -writing, pausing sometimes to read a pas- 
 sage from an article or letter that pleased herself, 
 and would please her still more if it excited the 
 sympathy of those she loved. I expressed my 
 astonishment at this to Mrs. Edgeworth, who said 
 that " Maria was always the same ; her mind was 
 so rightly balanced, everything so honestly weighed, 
 that she suffered no inconvenience from what would 
 disturb and distract an ordinary -?mter." Per- 
 haps to this habit, however, may be traced a want 
 of closeness in her arguments ; indeed, neither on 
 paper or in conversation was she argumentative. 
 She would rush at a thing at once, rendering it 
 sparkling and interesting by her playfulness, and 
 informing by anecdote or illustration, and then 
 start another subject. She spoke in eloquent 
 sentences, and felt so truly what she said, that 
 she made others instantly feel also. 
 
 ■»■**»* 
 
 " I regretted that so much of Miss Edgeworth's 
 mind and attention were given to local matters, 
 but the pleasure she herself derived from the im- 
 provement of every li-ving thing around her, was 
 delightful to -witness. I thought myself par- 
 ticularly good to be up and about at half-past 
 seven in the morning ; but early as it was. Miss 
 Edgeworth had preceded me ; and a table heaped 
 -with early roses, upon which the dew was still 
 
 294 
 
ED 
 
 ED 
 
 moist, and a pair of gloves, too small for any 
 hands but hers, told ■who was the early florist. 
 She was passionately fond of flowers: she liked 
 to grow them, and to give them ; one of the most 
 loved and cherished of my garden's rose-hushes, 
 is a gift from Miss Edgeworth. There was a rose, 
 or a little bouquet of her arranging, always by 
 each plate on the breakfast-table, and if she saw 
 my bouquet faded, she was sure to tap at my 
 door with a fresh one before dinner. And this 
 from Maria Edgeworth — then between seventy 
 and eighty ! — to me ! ! These small attentions 
 enter the heart and remain there, when great ser- 
 vices and great talents are regarded perhaps like 
 great mountains, — distant, and cold, and ungenial. 
 I linger over what I write, and yet feel I cannot 
 pourtray her at all as I desire to do. 
 
 ***** 
 
 " Her whole life was a lesson of truth, and yet 
 her truths never oilended; she took the rough 
 edge off an opinion with so tender and skilful a 
 hand, she was so much fonder of wiling you into 
 a virtue than exciting terror at a vice ; so stedfast 
 yet so gentle, that whenever she left the room, 
 there was something wanting, a joy departed, a 
 light gone out. 
 
 She had a vivid perception of the ridiculous, 
 but that was kept in admirable order by her be- 
 nevolence. Her eyes and mouth would often 
 smile, when she restrained an observation, which, 
 if it had found words, would have amused us, 
 while it perhaps pained others ; and yet she had 
 the happiest manner of saying things, drawing a 
 picture with a few words, as a great artist pro- 
 duces a likeness with a few touches of his pencil. 
 I remember Cuvier excited my admiration very 
 much, during one of our visits to Paris ; I saw 
 him frequently in society, and his magnificent 
 head captivated my imagination. "Yes," said 
 Miss Edgeworth, " he is indeed a wonder, but he 
 has been an example of the folly of literary and 
 scientific men being taken out of their sphere ; 
 Cuvier was more vain of his bad speeches in the 
 Chamber of Peers, than he was of his vast reputa- 
 tion as a naturalist." 
 
 I never knew any one so ready to give informa- 
 tion ; her mind was generous in every sense of the 
 word, in small things as well as in large ; she 
 gave away all the duplicates of her shells — " One 
 is enough," she would say, "I must keep that out 
 of compliment to the giver." She was not re- 
 served in speaking of her literary labours, but she 
 never volunteered speaking of them or of herself ; 
 she never seemed to be in her own head, as it were 
 — much less m her own heart: she loved herself, 
 thought of herself, cared for herself, infinitely less 
 than she did for those around her. Naturally 
 anxious to know everything connected with her 
 habits of thought and writing — I often reverted 
 to her books, which she said I remembered a great 
 deal better than she did herself. When she saw 
 that I really enjoyed talking about them, she 
 spoke of them with her usual frankness. I told 
 her I observed that she spoke to children as she 
 wrote for them, and she said it was so ; and she 
 believed that having been so much with children, 
 
 had taught her to think for them. I have no 
 doubt that the succession of children in the Edge- 
 worth family, kept alive her interest in childhood ; 
 those who withdraw from the society of youth, 
 when they themselves are no longer young, turn 
 away from the greenness and freshness of exist- 
 ence ; it is as if winter made no preparation for, 
 and had no desire to be succeeded by spring. 
 
 While seeing the little weaknesses of humanity, 
 clearly and truly, she avoided dwelling upon them, 
 and icould not bear to inflict pain : " People," she 
 said, "see matters so differently that the very 
 thing I should be most proud of makes others 
 blush with shame; Wedgwood carried the 'hod' 
 of mortar in his youth, but his family objected to 
 that fact being stated in ' Harry and Lucy.' " 
 
 I once asked her how long she took to write a 
 novel. She replied, she had generally taken 
 ample time ; she had written " Ormond" in three 
 months; "but that," she added, "was at my 
 father's command ; I read to him at night what I 
 wrote by day, and I never heard of the book, nor 
 could I think of it, after his death, until my sister, 
 two years after, read it me ; then it was quite 
 forgotten." She had a great veneration for father 
 Matthew, and said Mr. Hall did himself honour 
 by being the first Protestant, and the first Con- 
 servative, who advocated his cause in print: 
 "What authors say goes for nothing," she ob- 
 served; "it is what they write they should be 
 judged by." 
 
 ***** 
 
 I remember saying to her, how happy it was 
 for Ireland that she had overcome every religious 
 prejudice. 
 
 "Ah!" she exclaimed, "I never had religious 
 prejudices to overcome, so I deserve no praise for 
 being without them." Miss Edgeworth never 
 wrote that other people might practise, but she 
 wrote what she and hers practised daily ; it was 
 evident from the children being constantly with 
 the family, that they still held by the opinion that 
 intercourse between children and servants is inju- 
 rious to the former. "We believe in it," said 
 Miss Edgeworth ; " but I have long learned how 
 very impossible it is for others to practise it. My 
 father made it easy ; for not only his wife, but his 
 children knew all his affairs. Whatever business 
 he had to do was done in the midst of his family, 
 usually in the common sitting-room ; so that we 
 were intimately acquainted, not only with his 
 general principles of conduct, but with the most 
 minute details of their every-day application." 
 ***** 
 
 Some of the "unco good" have complained of 
 what they call the want of religious, but what I 
 should rather call sectarian, instruction, in Miss 
 Edgeworth's juvenile works. "We wrote," she 
 said to me, " for every sect, and did not, nor do 
 I now, think it right, to introduce the awful idea 
 of God's superintendence upon'puerile occasions. 
 I hold religion in a more exalted view than as a 
 subject of perpetual outward exhibition. Many 
 dignitaries of the established church honoured my 
 father by their esteem and private friendship ; this 
 could not have been, had they believed him to be 
 
 295 
 
ED 
 
 ED 
 
 either an open or concealed enemy to Christianity." 
 Certainly, as a magistrate, as a member of the 
 Board of Education, as a member of parliament, 
 Mr. Edgeworth had public opportunities of record- 
 ing his opinions; and there is no trace, that I 
 could ever discover, of his desiring to found a 
 system of morality exclusive of religion. Unfor- 
 timately, in Ireland, if you are not, — I do not like 
 the word, but I can find no other, — bigoted, to one 
 or the other party, you are marked and stigma- 
 tised as irreligious — or worse — by both. 
 
 I do not design to write a panegyric. Miss Edge- 
 worth's own works will suffice for that; they are 
 imperishable monuments of her usefulness and 
 her "goodwill," especially towards the country 
 of her adoption and towards children. But even 
 after a visit to Edgeworthstown, where a natural 
 habit of observation, as well as a desire to read 
 her rightly, made me more than usually awake to 
 every word and every passing incident — ^ bright 
 days of rambling and sunshine, and dark days of 
 rain and conversation with her and hers — seeing 
 her thus away from the meretricious glare and 
 false lights of London society, where I had first 
 met her — in the trying seclusion of a country- 
 house, in the midst of a most mingled family — 
 where her father's last wife was many years 
 younger than herself, and the half foreign chil- 
 dren and foreign wife of her youngest brother, 
 rendered the mingling still more extraordinary — 
 recalling all seen and known of other families, 
 where children of the same parents too seldom 
 live together in unity — I remember nothing that 
 at this distance of time does not excite my admi- 
 ration and increase my affection for this admirable 
 woman, combining in her small self whatever we 
 believe to be most deserving of praise in her sex. 
 She was a literary woman, without vanity, affec- 
 tation, or jealousy — a very sunbeam of light, in 
 a home rendered historic by her genius — a per- 
 fect woman in her attention to those little offices 
 of love and kindness which sanctify domestic life ; 
 a patriot, but not a politician — the champion of a 
 country's virtues, without being blind either to its 
 follies or its crimes. Honoured wherever her 
 name was heard during half a century of literary 
 industry — idolized by a family composed as I 
 have said of many members under one roof, yet 
 tuned into matchless harmony by admirable ma- 
 nagement and right affection, — this woman, so 
 loved, so honoured, so cherished to the very last, 
 was entirely unselfish." 
 
 The true feminine beauty and excellence of Miss 
 Edgeworth's character seem to rise palpably be- 
 fore us as we read these delineations by one who 
 knew her so intimately and loved her so well. And 
 ■these reminiscences gain enhanced value from the 
 circumstance that Miss Edgeworth left positive 
 orders her private correspondence should not be 
 published ; we cannot, therefore, hope for a more 
 intimate Imowledge of this estimable woman than 
 Mrs. Hall has given. One more trait from this re- 
 miniscence, a written portrait of Miss Edgeworth.* 
 
 * Miss Edge\vortli would never sit for her picture ; the one 
 we have given is from a sltetch taken by Mr. S. C. Hall, 
 when at Edgeworthstown. 
 
 In person she was very small, — smaller than 
 Hannah More, — and with more than Hannah 
 More's vivacity of manner ; her face was pale and 
 thin ; her featm-es irregular ; they may have been 
 considered plain, even in youth ; but her expres- 
 sion was so benevolent, her manner so entirely 
 well bred, — • partaking of English dignity and 
 Irish frankness, — that you never thought of her, 
 in reference either to plainness or beauty; she 
 was all in all; occupied, without fatiguing the 
 attention ; charmed by her pleasant voice ; while 
 the earnestness and truth that beamed in her 
 bright blue — very blue — eyes, made of value, 
 every word she uttered, — her words were always 
 well chosen ; her manner of expression was grace- 
 ful and natural ; her sentences were frequently 
 epigrammatic ; she knew how to listen as well as 
 to talk, and gathered information in a manner 
 highly complimentary to the society of which, at 
 the time, she formed a part ; while listening to 
 her, she continually recalled to me the story of 
 the fairy whose lips dropped diamonds and pearls 
 whenever they opened. 
 
 Miss Edgeworth was remarkably neat and par- 
 ticular in her dress ; her feet and hands were so 
 very small as to be quite child-like. I once took 
 a shoe of hers to Melnotte's, in Paris, she having 
 commissioned me to procure her some shoes there, 
 and the people insisted that I must require them 
 ^' pour un&jeune demoiselle,''^ 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 We have chosen the first work of Miss Edge- 
 worth from which to make our extracts, partly 
 because it is less read than her novels, but chiefly 
 because the sentiments are those which actuated 
 her own life, and form the moral of all she wrote. 
 In the " Practical Education" is contained the 
 soul, so to speak, of her genius. She wrought out 
 her materials of thought into many forms, and 
 coloured these with the rainbow tinting of her 
 fancy, and ornamented them with the polished 
 beauty of benevolent feeling; but the precious 
 gold of truth, which she first assayed in this ele- 
 mentary book, makes the sterling worth of all her 
 books. And what a number she has written ! The 
 term of her life was long, but measured by what 
 she accomplished seems to comprise the two cen- 
 turies in which she lived. So quiet and easy was 
 her death, it seemed but a sweet sleep, after only 
 a half-hour's illness. May 21st, 1849. She died 
 in her eighty-third year, ripe in good works, and 
 in the " charity which never faileth," for the king- 
 dom of love and peace. 
 
 Prom " Practical Education." 
 
 ONLY OHILBRESf. 
 
 An only child runs a dreadful chance of being 
 spoiled. He is born a person of consequence ; he 
 soon discovers his innate merit ; every eye is turn- 
 ed upon him the moment he enters the room ; his 
 looks, his dress, his appetite, are all matters of 
 daily concern to a whole family ; his wishes are 
 divined ; his wants are prevented ; his witty say- 
 ings are repeated in his presence ; his smiles are 
 courted ; his caresses excite jealousy ; and he soon 
 ' 296 
 
ED 
 
 ED 
 
 learns how to avail himself of his central situa- 
 tion His father and mother make him alternately 
 their idol, and their plaything ; they do not think 
 of educating, they only think of admiring him: 
 they imagine that he is unlike all other children 
 in the universe ; and that his genius and his tem- 
 per are independent of all cultivation. But when 
 this little paragon of perfection has two or three 
 brothers and sisters, the scene changes ; the man 
 of consequence dwindles into an insignificant little 
 hoy. 
 
 THE POWER OF SYMPATHY. 
 
 Long before children can understand reasoning, 
 they can feel sympathy ; during this early period 
 of their education, example and habit, slight ex- 
 ternal circumstances, and the propensity to imita- 
 tion, govern their thoughts and actions. Imitation 
 is the involuntary effect of sympathy in children ; 
 hence, those who have the most sympaihy are most 
 liable to be improved or injured by early exam- 
 ples. Examples of the malevolent passions should 
 therefore be most carefully excluded from the sight 
 of those who have yet no choice in their sympathy ; 
 expressions of kindness and affection in the coun- 
 tenance, the voice, the actions, of all who ap- 
 proach, and of all who have the care of infants, 
 are not only immediately and evidently agreeable 
 to children, but ought also to be used as the best 
 possible means of exciting benevolent sympathies 
 in their minds. Children who habitually meet with 
 kindness, habitually feel complacency ; that spe- 
 cies of instinctive, or rather of associated affec- 
 tion, which always rises in the mind from the 
 recollection of past pleasures, is immediately ex- 
 cited in such children by the sight of their parents. 
 By an easy transition of ideas, they expect the 
 same benevolence, even from strangers, which 
 they have experienced from their friends, and 
 their sympathy naturally prepares them to wish 
 for society ; this wish is often improperly in- 
 dulged. 
 
 At the age when children begin to unfold their 
 ideas, and to express their thoughts in words, they 
 are such interesting and entertaining companions, 
 that they attract a large portion of our daily at- 
 tention : we listen eagerly to their simple obser- 
 vations ; we enter into their young astonishment 
 at every new object; we are delighted to watch 
 all their emotions ; we help them with words to 
 express their ideas ; we anxiously endeavour to 
 understand their imperfect reasonings ; and are 
 pleased to find, or put them in the right. This 
 season of universal smiles and courtesy is delight- 
 ful to ehUdreu while it lasts ; but it soon passes 
 away: they soon speak without exciting any 
 astonishment ; and instead of meeting with admi- 
 ration for every attempt to express an idea, they 
 are soon repulsed for troublesome volubility ; even 
 when they talk sense, they are suffered to talk 
 unheard, or else they are checked for imbecoming 
 presumption. Children feel this change in public 
 opinion and manners most severely ; they are not 
 sensible of any change in themselves, except, per- 
 haps, they are conscious of having improved both 
 In sense and language. 
 
 MUSIC AS AN ACCOMPLISHMENT. 
 
 Out of the prodigious number of young women 
 who learn music and drawing, for instance, how 
 many are there who, after they have become mis- 
 tresses of their own time, and after they have the 
 choice ofxtheir own amusements, continue to prac- 
 tise these accomplishments for the pure pleasure 
 of occupation ? As soon as a young lady is mar- 
 ried, does she not frequently discover that "she 
 really has not leisure to cultivate talents which 
 take up so much time ?" Does she not complain 
 of the labour of practising four or five hours a day, 
 to keep up her musical character ? What motive 
 has she for perseverance ? She is, perhaps, already 
 tired of playing to all her acquaintance. She may 
 really take pleasure in hearing good music ; but 
 her own performance will not, then, please her ear 
 so much as that of many others. She will prefer 
 the more indolent pleasure of hearing the best 
 music that can be heard for money at public con- 
 certs. She will then, of course, leave off playing, 
 but continue very fond of music. How often is 
 the labour of years thus lost for ever ! 
 
 THE BEST ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 
 
 We must further observe, that the habit of pur- 
 suing any occupation which requires no mental 
 exertion, induces an indolence or incapacity of 
 intellect. Mere artists are commonly as stupid 
 as mere artificers, and these are little more than 
 machines. 
 
 The length of time which is required to obtain 
 practical skill and dexterity in certain accomplish- 
 ments, is one reason why there are so few people 
 who obtain any thing more than mechanical ex- 
 cellence. They become the slaves of custom, and 
 they become proud of their slavery. At first, they 
 might have considered custom as a tyrant; but 
 when they have obeyed her for a certain time, 
 they do her voluntary homage ever after, as to a 
 sovereign by divine right. To prevent this species 
 of intellectual degradation, we must, in education, 
 be careful to rank mere mechanical talents below 
 the exercise of the mental powers. Thus the am- 
 bition of young people will be directed to high ob- 
 j ects ; and all inferior qualifications may be attained 
 without contracting the understanding. Praise 
 children for patience, for perseverance, for indus- 
 try ; encourage them to reason and to invent upon 
 all subjects, and you may direct their attention 
 afterwards as you think proper. But if you ap- 
 plaud children merely for drawing a flower neatly, 
 or copying a landscape, without exciting their am- 
 bition to any thing higher, you will never create 
 superior talents, or a superior character. The 
 proficiency that is made in any particular accom- 
 plishment, at any given age, should not be con- 
 sidered so much, even by those who highly value 
 accomplishments, as the power, the energy, that 
 is excited in the pupil's mind, from which future 
 progress is insured. The writing and drawing 
 automaton performs its advertised wonders to the 
 satisfaction of the spectators ; but the machine is 
 not "instinct with spu-it;" you cannot expect 
 from its pencil the sketch of a Eaphael, or from 
 
 297 
 
EI) 
 
 EL 
 
 its pen the thoughts of a Shakspeare. It is easy 
 to guide the hand, but who can transfuse a soul 
 into the image ? 
 
 LITEKABT EDUCATION. 
 
 It -will be sufficient to profess the distinct opinion 
 ■which a longer consideration of the subject has yet 
 more fully confirmed, That it will tend to the hap- 
 piness of society in general, that women should 
 have their understandings cultivated and enlarged 
 as much as possible; that the happiness of do- 
 mestic life, the virtues and the powers of pleasing 
 in the female sex, the yet more desirable power 
 of attaching those worthy of their love and esteem, 
 wiU be increased, by the judicious cultivation of 
 the female imderstanding, more than by all that 
 modern gallantry or ancient chivalry could devise 
 in favour of the sex. Much prudence and ability 
 are requisite to conduct properly a young woman's 
 literary education. Her imagination must not be 
 raised above the taste for necessary occupations, 
 or the numerous small, but not trifling, pleasures 
 of domestic life ; her mind must be enlarged, yet 
 the delicacy of her manners must be preserved ; 
 her knowledge must be various, and her powers 
 of reasoning unawed by authority ; yet she must 
 habitually feel that nice sense of propriety, which 
 is at once the guard and the charm of every femi- 
 nine virtue. By early caution — unremitting, scru- 
 pulous caution — in the choice of the books which 
 are put into the hands of girls, a mother, or a 
 preceptress, may fully occupy and entertain their 
 pupils, and excite in their minds a taste for pro- 
 priety, as well as a taste for literature. It cannot 
 be necessary to add more than this general idea, 
 that a mother ought to be answerable to her 
 daughter's husband for the books her daughter 
 had read, as well as for the company she had kept. 
 
 ON PRUDENCE. 
 
 In the education of girls, we must teach them 
 much more caution than is necessary to boys: 
 their prudence must be more the result of reason- 
 ing than of experiment; they must trust to the 
 experience of others ; they cannot always have 
 recourse to what ought to be; they must adapt 
 themselves to what is. They cannot rectify the 
 material mistakes in their conduct. Timidity, a 
 certain tardiness of decision, and reluctance to act 
 in public situations, are not considered as defects 
 in a woman's character; her pausing prudence 
 does not, to a man of discernment, denote imbe- 
 cility; but appears to him the graceful, auspi- 
 cious characteristic of female virtue. There is 
 always more probability that women should en- 
 danger their own happiness by precipitation, than 
 by forbearance. Promptitude of choice is seldom 
 expected from the female sex ; they should avail 
 themselves of the leisure that is permitted to them 
 from reflection. "Begin nothing of which you 
 have not considered the end," was the piece of 
 advice for which the Eastern sultan paid a purse 
 of gold, the price set upon it by a sage. The 
 monarch did not repent of his purchase. This 
 maxim should be engraved upon the memory of 
 our female pupils, by the repeate'd lessons of edu- 
 
 cation. We should, even in trifles, avoid every 
 circumstance which can tend to make girls ven- 
 turesome ; which can encourage them to trust 
 their good fortune, instead of relying on their own 
 prudence. 
 
 ECONOMY. 
 
 Economy in women is an essential domestic vir- 
 tue. Some women have a foolish love of expensive 
 baubles ; a taste which a very little care, probably, 
 in their early education might have prevented. 
 We are told that when a collection of three hun- 
 dred and fifty pounds was made for the celebrated 
 Cuzzona, to save her from absolute want, she im- 
 mediately laid out two hundred pounds of the 
 money in the purchase of a shell-cap, which was 
 then in fashion. Prudent mothers will avoid show- 
 ing any admiration of pretty trinkets before their 
 young daughters ; and they will oppose the ideas 
 of utility aijd durability to the mere caprice of 
 fashion, which creates a taste for beauty, as it 
 were, by proclamation. " Such a thing is pretty, 
 but it is of no use. Such a thing is pretty, but it 
 will soon wear out" — a mother may say ; and she 
 should prove the truth of her assertions to her 
 pupils. 
 
 ELEONOEE OF TOLEDO, 
 
 Daughtee of Pertor of Toledo, viceroy of Na- 
 ples, was born in the year 1526, and showed, even 
 when a child, marks of an extraordinary mind. 
 In 1543, she married Cosmos I., a Medici. Her 
 husband ,was only twenty-four years old, though 
 already six years a ruling prince. He had ascend- 
 ed the throne after the assassination of Alexander, 
 in the year 1533, and found himself now constantly 
 engaged in active hostilities vrith the Strozzi, the 
 hereditary enemies of his house. Bloody and ter- 
 rible were the battles fought in this struggle ; but 
 Eleonore never left the side of her husband even 
 during the hottest encounters of the fight. Her 
 extraordinary courage contributed greatly to the 
 termination of the war ; for, one day while riding 
 with an escort of only fifteen horsemen, she met 
 the leader of the hostile forces, Philip Strozzi, 
 with a force of forty-five horsemen, reconnoitring 
 the camp. Without a moment's hesitation, she 
 threw herself upon them, cut them to pieces, and 
 made Strozzi prisoner. Philip knew that no pri- 
 soner had hitherto been spared, and, in order to 
 escape an ignominious death upon the scaffold, 
 committed suicide in prison. This sad event in- 
 duced Eleonore to prevail upon her husband to 
 promise that henceforth he would spare the lives 
 of his prisoners. Eleonore also accompanied her 
 husband in the war between Charles V. and Fran- 
 cis I., and was actively engaged in the storming 
 and taking Sienna. She afterwards urged her 
 husband to have himself crowned a king, but in 
 this he failed. Pius V. finally changed his title, 
 duke of Florence, into that of grand-duke of Tus- 
 cany. 
 
 Eleonore's ambition being now satisfied, she de- 
 voted the rest of her life to encoiirage education, 
 the fine arts, and benevolent institutions. The 
 exact time of her decease is not known. 
 
 298 
 
EL 
 
 EL 
 
 ELIZABETH, QUEEN OF ENGLAND, 
 Was the daughter of Henry VIII. by his second 
 wife, Anne Boleyn, and born September 7th, 1533. 
 Upon that king's marriage with Jane Seymour, in 
 1535, she was declared illegitimate, with her half- 
 sister Mary ; and the succession to the crown esta- 
 
 blished on the king's issue by his third wife. Her 
 mother, at her death, had earnestly recommended 
 her to the care of Dr. Parker, a great reformer, 
 and afterwards archbishop of Canterbury; who 
 had the charge of her education, and instructed 
 her carefully in the principles of the Christian re- 
 ligion. She spent her youth in the manner of a 
 private person, and was unmolested; but, when 
 her sister Mary ascended the throne, she was im- 
 prisoned on suspicion of being concerned in lady 
 Jane Grey's promotion ; and in March, 1557, com- 
 mitted to the Tower. She came near losing her 
 life, for bishop Gardiner was against her, suppos- 
 ing Popery but half re-established while she lived. 
 But Philip of Spain, Mary's husband, interceded 
 for her, and saved her. For as Philip and Mary 
 had no children, he considered that if Elizabeth 
 were removed, the crown of England, after Mary's 
 death, would pass to Mary of Scotland, who had 
 just married the dauphin of France. And his 
 hatred of France proved stronger than his zeal 
 for his religion. Nevertheless, Elizabeth under- 
 went great sufferings and ill treatment during her 
 sister's reign. 
 
 Elizabeth began to reign in 1558.' She was then 
 twenty-five, and highly accomplished. Her person 
 was graceful, her carriage noble and majestic, and 
 though her features were not regular, yet her fair 
 complexion, her lustrous eyes, and intelligent, 
 animated expression, hardly suffered smaller im- 
 perfections to be observed. She was endowed with 
 great talents, enlarged, cultivated, and refined by 
 education. She wrote letters in English and Ita- 
 lian at thirteen; and, before she was seventeen, 
 was perfect in the Latin, Greek, and French, and 
 not unacquainted with other European languages. 
 She also studied philosophy, rhetoric, histoi'y. 
 
 divinity, poetry and music, and everything that 
 could improve or adorn her mind. 
 
 Her first object, after her accession, was to re- 
 store the Protestant religion ; to this she was led 
 by interest as well as principle. ' For the pope 
 treated'her in such a manner, that she clearly per- 
 ceived, if she professed Popery, she must allow 
 her father's divorce from Catharine of Arragon 
 to be void, and consequently herself illegitimate ; 
 and this would have annulled her pretensions to 
 the crown. She has been strongly suspected by 
 some of an inclination to the Roman Catholio re- 
 ligion ; but there is no proof of this. Indeed she 
 was the real foundress of the English Episcopal 
 Church, as it now exists. True, she was greatly 
 assisted by her counsellor, Cecil, afterwards lord 
 Burleigh ; still Elizabeth herself always held the 
 reins of government over the church, as well as 
 over the state ; and what she founded and upheld 
 steadily for fifty years, must have been conforma- 
 ble to her own faith. 
 
 The queen, while she was princess, had a pri- 
 vate proposal of marriage from the king of Swe- 
 den; but she declared " she could not change her 
 condition," though it was then very disagreeable. 
 Upon her becoming queen, Philip of Spain, her 
 late sister's husband, made an offer of himself to 
 her, which she declined. In the first parliament 
 of her reign, the house of commons addressed 
 her, and represented to her how necessary it was, 
 for the happiness of the nation, that she should 
 think of marrying. She replied, " That, by the 
 ceremony of her inauguration, she was married 
 to her people, and her subjects were to her instead 
 of children ; that they should not want a successor 
 when she died ; and that, for her part, she should 
 be very well contented to have her tomb-stone tell 
 posterity, ' Here lies a queen, who reigned so long, 
 and lived and died a virgin.' " Several matches 
 were afterwards proposed to her by her people, 
 and many distinguished personages were desirous 
 of uniting themselves to this illustrious princess, 
 but she maintained her celibaoy. 
 
 It was not long before Elizabeth, by the advice 
 of her council, began to interfere in the affairs of 
 Scotland. Mary, the yoimg queen of that country, 
 was the next heir in blood to the crown of Eng- 
 land; and as the zealous Romanists considered 
 the birth of Elizabeth illegitimate, and her suc- 
 cession as rendered invalid by the papal excom- 
 munication she had undergone, they regarded 
 Mary as the true sovereign of England. In ac- 
 cordance with this idea, when queen Mary died, 
 Mary of Scotland and her husband, the dauphin 
 of France, openly assumed the arms and title of 
 English royalty. This act of hostility Elizabeth 
 never forgot. When Mary returned to Scotland, 
 some ineffectual attempts were made to induce Eli- 
 zabeth to recognize her as presumptive successor 
 to the English throne ; but Elizabeth then, as ever 
 afterwards, displayed the greatest aversion to the 
 nomination of a successor. The matter was suf- 
 fered to rest, and the two queens lived in apparent 
 amity. The queen of England always evinced a 
 weak jealousy of Mary's superior personal charms, 
 and attempted a rivalry in that respect, as mean 
 
 299 
 
EL 
 
 as it was hopeless. Another weakness of hers was 
 a propensity to adopt court faTOurites, whom she 
 selected rather on account of their external ac- 
 complishments than their merit. This foible was 
 sometimes detrimental to her state affairs ; though 
 she generally gave her ministers and counsellors, 
 who were chosen for their real merit, a due supe- 
 riority in business affairs OYor her favourites. 
 
 One of the most conspicuous of these, Dudley, 
 earl of Leicester, who obtained a great ascendency 
 over her, aspired to her hand ; but she checked 
 his presumption, and proposed him as a husband 
 to the queen of Scotland, whom she had thwarted 
 in every attempt she made to ally herself to a 
 foreign potentate. But when Mary seemed dis- 
 posed to listen favourably to this proposal, Eliza- 
 beth interfered and prevented her rival from taking 
 away her favourite. Elizabeth and her ministers 
 had also fomented those political dissensions which 
 gave Mary so much disquiet. 
 
 In 1568, Mary fled from Scotland, and took re- 
 ftige in England, having previously informed Eli- 
 zabeth of her determination. The English queen 
 resolved to detain her rival in perpetual imprison- 
 ment ; in consequence of which two or three rebel- 
 lions were excited by the Catholics of England, 
 but these were soon quelled by the prompt mea- 
 sures of Elizabeth. 
 
 The Puritan party began at this time to give 
 the queen some uneasiness ; for with a haughty 
 and arbitrary temper, and a high idea of her pre- 
 rogative, she was greatly offended by the spirit of 
 civil liberty which, from their earliest rise, marked 
 the Puritans. Elizabeth, however, understood so 
 well the art of making concessions, and at the 
 same time of supporting her dignity, that though 
 she ruled her people with a rigorous hand, she 
 always retained their confidence and affection. 
 Her wise frugality prevented her from being bur- 
 densome to the nation ; and she is a singular in- 
 stance of a sovereign who returned a portion of 
 the people's grants. The principal pecuniary 
 cause of complaint in her reign arose from her 
 custom of rewarding her courtiers with monopolies. 
 One of the most singular instances of contention 
 between the feminine weakness and the political 
 prudence of Elizabeth, was her conduct with re- 
 spect to her suitor, the Duke d'Anjou, youngest 
 brother of Charles IX. of France. This prince, 
 about twenty-five years younger than herself, had 
 been encouraged to come over to England, and 
 prosecute his courtship in person. The negotia- 
 tions for the marriage were nearly completed ; and 
 the queen was seen, in public, to take a ring from 
 her own finger, and put it on his, as a pledge of 
 their union. At length, perhaps in consequence 
 of the great dislike of the nation to the match, she 
 suddenly broke off the affair, and sent back the 
 enraged prince to his government of the Nether- 
 lands. 
 
 In 1585, Elizabeth openly defied the hostility 
 of Spain, by entering into a treaty with the re- 
 volted Low Countries, by which she bound herself 
 to assist them with a considerable force, on condi- 
 tion of having some ports in her hands for her se- 
 curity. She refused the offer, which was twice 
 
 EL 
 
 made, of the sovereignty of these provinces, but 
 stipulated for the admission of her general into 
 the council of the states. The person she chose 
 for this high trust, was the earl of Leicester, who 
 did little honour to her choice. She at the same 
 time sent a powerful armament against the Spa- 
 nish settlement of the West Indies, under Sir 
 Francis Drake. She likewise made a league of 
 mutual defence with James, king of Scotland, 
 whose friendship she courted, while she kept his 
 mother imprisoned. 
 
 In 1586, a conspiracy was formed against the 
 life of Elizabeth, the detection of which had very 
 important consequences. Ballard, a Catholic priest, 
 induced Anthony Babington, a Derbyshire gentle- 
 man of fortune, to undertake the queen's assassi- 
 nation. He was acting in the service of the queen 
 of Scots, but it is doubtful whether Mary was 
 aware of the intended murder of Elizabeth. The 
 plot was discovered, and letters of Mary found, 
 which rendered hei participation in it, to a certain 
 extent, a matter of judicial proof. Fourteen of 
 the principal conspirators were executed, and 
 Mary was tried and condemned to death. Eliza- 
 beth, though consenting to her execution, prac- 
 tised all the artifice and dissimulation which be- 
 longed to her character, to avoid as much as pos- 
 sible the odium of putting to death a queen and a 
 near kinswoman. She wept and lamented as 
 though she had lost a dear friend ; she stormed at 
 her council, and inflicted on her secretary, Davi- 
 son, who had sent off the warrant, a ruinous fine. 
 The next great event of this reign was the ex- 
 pedition sent against England by the Spaniards. 
 A large fleet, the Invincible Armada, as it was 
 called, set sail in the summer of 1588, and pre- 
 sented a more formidable spectacle in the English 
 channel than had been witnessed for many centu- 
 ries. Elizabeth exerted all her energy to infuse 
 confidence in her subjects. She rode on horseback 
 through the camp at Tilbury, with a cheerful and 
 undaunted demeanour, and addressed the troops 
 with the true spirit of a hero. Happily the Eng- 
 lish fleet, aided by the winds, conquered the invin- 
 eible armada, before it reached the coast. Eliza- 
 beth also assisted Henry IV., of Navarre, in ob- 
 taining possession of the throne of France. 
 
 In these enterprises by land and sea, the gallant 
 Robert Devereux, earl of Essex, distinguished 
 himself very much. On the death of Leicester, 
 he had succeeded to his place in the estimation of 
 the queen; and his splendid qualities and heroic 
 valour seemed to justify her partiality. Her par- 
 tiality, howeveir, did not prevent her from assert- 
 ing her own dignity ; and once, when in the heat 
 of debate he had turned his back upon her, she 
 resented the affront by a sound box on his ear. 
 She afterwards mollified his deeply-injured pride, 
 and sent him over to Ireland as lord-lieutenant. 
 Through his mismanagement the expedition failed. 
 Upon his unpermitted return to justify himself, 
 she at first received him graciously ; but after a 
 few hours of reflection her conduct changed so 
 towards him, that he became really ill. This 
 roused the pity of the queen, who sent her physi- 
 cians to him with kind messages. After his reco- 
 
 300 
 
EL 
 
 EL 
 
 Tery he again lost her favour, and urged by his 
 enemies, and his own impetuous temper, Essex 
 broke out in open rebellion against his sovereign. 
 Elizabeth, after a long delay, signed his death- 
 warrant with the most painful reluctance. . He 
 was executed in 1600. 
 
 In 1601, Elizabeth held a conference with Sully, 
 who came from Henry IV. of France, concerning 
 the establishment of a new system of European 
 power, which was to produce a lasting peace. 
 Sully returned much impressed by the solidity 
 and enlargement of her views. She never was 
 more respected abroad, or more beloved and che- 
 rished by her subjects, than just at the termina- 
 tion of her reign. But the last scene was dark- 
 ened by a deep melancholy, and she died in a 
 most deplorable state of despondency. 
 
 An incident relative to the unfortunate Essex 
 has been suggested as the cause of her grief. She 
 had given him a ring, as a pledge of her affection, 
 promising him at sight of it a favourable hearing, 
 with whatever offences he might be charged. 
 After his condemnation, Essex had sent this ring 
 to the queen by the countess of Nottingham, who 
 had been persuaded by her husband, an enemy of 
 the earl, to retain the pledge. On her death-bed, 
 the countess sent for the queen, and revealed the 
 secret to her, entreating her pardon. The queen, 
 in a violent rage, shook the dying countess in her 
 bed, exclaiming, " that God might pai-don her, 
 but she never could." 
 
 From this time, she rejected all consolation, 
 refused food, and throwing herself on the floor, 
 passed days and nights without changing her 
 place. Nature, at length, began to sink ; and as 
 her end drew near, she was urged to declare her 
 successor. She said she had held a regal sceptre, 
 and would have none but a king to succeed her ; 
 and who should that be but her nearest kinsman, 
 the king of Scots ? She died March 24th, 1602, in 
 the seventieth year of her age. 
 
 Elizabeth was rather noble as a queen, than 
 amiable as a woman. Pope Sixtus V., who highly 
 admired her, gave her a place among the only 
 three persons then living who deserved to reign — 
 the other two were himself and Henry IV. The 
 character of this great queen has been misunder- 
 stood, because she has been judged as a woman 
 mther than as a sovereign. It should never be 
 forgotten, that she voluntarily relinquished the 
 enjoyment of domestic life, where woman's nature 
 is most truly and beautifully displayed, in order 
 to devote herself to the cares of state and the hap- 
 piness of her people. She should therefore be 
 judged as a ruler ; only it should ever be borne 
 in mind that a higher degree of moral power ought 
 to be found in the character of woman, in what- 
 ever station she occupies, than is manifested by 
 man. It was this moral sense in which Elizabeth 
 excelled all the kings of England, from the time 
 of Alfred to her own day, that made her power 
 and her glory. This intuitive wisdom guided her 
 in the choice of able counsellors, and kept her 
 true to the best interests of her subjects ; and in- 
 spired her to preserve the manners of her court 
 in that chastity which is the atmosphere of the 
 
 highest genius as well as the purest patriotism. 
 Thus it was from her wise rule that the English 
 nation prospered, and, as an eloquent writer ad- 
 mits — ' ' The kingdom, under her government, ac- 
 quired and maintained a higher and more influen- 
 tial place among the states of Europe, principally 
 by policy, than it had ever been raised to by the 
 most successful military exertions of former ages. 
 Commerce flourished and made great advances, 
 and wealth was much more extensively and more 
 rapidly diffused among the body of the people 
 than at any former period. It is the feeling of 
 progress, rather than any degree of actual attain- 
 ment, that keeps a nation in spirits ; and this feel- 
 ing every thing conspired to keep alive in the 
 hearts of the English in the age of Elizabeth ; even 
 the remembrance of the stormy times of their 
 fathers, from which they had escaped, lending its 
 aid to heighten the charm of the present calm. 
 To these happy circumstances of the national con- 
 dition was owing, above all, and destined to sur- 
 vive all their other products, the rich native lite- 
 rature, more especially in poetry and the drama, 
 which now rushed up, as if from the tillage of a 
 virgin soil, covering the land with its perennial 
 fruit and flowers. Spenser and Shakspeare, Beau- ' 
 mont and Fletcher, Kaleigh and Bacon, and many 
 other distinguished names, gained their earliest 
 celebrity in the Elizabethan age." 
 
 Elizabeth was herself fond of learning, and no 
 mean scholar in her attainments. She was well 
 skilled in the Greek, and translated from that lan- 
 guage into Latin, a dialogue of Xenophon, two 
 orations of Isocrates, and a play of Euripides ; 
 she also wrote a " Commentary on Plato." From 
 the Latin, she translated Boethius' Consolations 
 of Philosophy, Sallust's Jugurthian War, and a 
 part of Horace's Art of Poetry. In the Royal 
 and Noble Authors of Lord Orford, may be foimd 
 a catalogue of translations from the French, 
 prayers, meditations, speeches in parliament, and 
 letters, which testify sufSciently to the learning 
 and general capacity of Elizabeth. She was also 
 skilled in the art of poetry. Being pressed by a 
 Catholic priest, during the life of her sister Mary, 
 while she was undergoing great persecution, to 
 declare her opinion concerning the real presence 
 of Christ in the wafer, she answered in the follow- 
 ing impromptu : — 
 
 "Christ was the Word that spake it; 
 He toolt the bread and bralce it; 
 And what that Word did make it, 
 That I believe, and talce it." 
 
 When she was a prisoner at Woodstock, she 
 composed the following verses, and wrote them 
 with charcoal on a shutter : — ■ 
 
 Oh, Fortune! how thy restlesse wavering state 
 
 Hath fraught with cares my troubled witt ! 
 Witness this present prisonn, whither fate 
 
 Could beare me, and the joys 1 quit. 
 Thou causedest the guiltie to be losed 
 From bandes, wherein are innocents inclosed: 
 Causing the guiltles to be straite reserved, 
 And freeing those that death had well deserved 
 But by her envie can be nothing wroughte, 
 So God send to my foes all they have thoughle. 
 
 Elizabeth, PRisoNEa. 
 301 
 
EL 
 
 EL 
 
 We will add a specimen of the prose of this great 
 queen and learned lady ; namely, a letter, written 
 by Elizabeth to her sister, queen Mary. The ori- 
 ginal is preserved in the Cottonian Library, and 
 was first published in D'Israeli's " Curiosities of 
 Literature." The letter, besides showing the lite- 
 rary taste of that age, and the manner in which 
 the English language was then written, also dis- 
 plays the subjection in which Elizabeth was then 
 compelled to keep her haughty spirit. D'Israeli 
 remarks on this letter : — " She was, at the time 
 of its composition, in iabitual intercourse with 
 the most excellent writers of antiquity ; her letter 
 displays this in every part of It ; it is polished and 
 repolished." 
 
 LETTEB. 
 
 Like as the riche man that dayly gathereth 
 riches to riches, and to one bag of money layeth 
 a greate sort tU. it come to infinit, so me thinkes, 
 your Majestic not beinge suffised with many bene- 
 fits and gentilnes shewed to me afore this time, 
 dothe now increase them in askinge and desiring 
 wher you may bid and comaunde, requiring a 
 thinge not worthy the desiringe for it selfe, but 
 made worthy for your highness request. My pic- 
 tur I mene, in wiche if the inward good mynde 
 towarde your grace might as wel be declared as 
 the outwarde face and countenance shal be seen, 
 I wold nor haue taried the comandement but pre- 
 vent it, nor haue bine the last to graunt but the 
 first to offer it. For the face, I graunt, I might 
 wel blusche to ofi'er, but the mynde I shall. n'eur 
 be ashamed to present. For thogth from the 
 grace of the pictur, the coulers may fade by time, 
 may giue by wether, may be spotted by chance, 
 yet the other nor time with her swift winges shall 
 ouertake, nor the mistie cloudes with their lower- 
 inges may darken, nor chance with her slipery 
 fote may overthrow. Of this althogth yet the 
 profe could not be greate because the occasions 
 hathe bine but smal, notwithstandinge as a dog 
 hathe a day, so may I perchaunce haue time to 
 declare it in dides wher now I do write them but 
 in wordes. And further I shal most humbly be- 
 seche your Maiestie that whan you shal loke on 
 my pictur you wil witsafe to thinke that as you 
 haue but the outwarde shadow of the body afore 
 you, so my inward minde wischeth, that the body 
 it selfe wer oftener in your presence ; howbeit 
 bicause bothe my so beinge I thinke coulde do 
 your Maiestie litel pleasure thogth my selfe great 
 good, and againe bicause I se as yet not the time 
 agreing theriito, I shal lerne to folow this sainge 
 of Grace, Feras non culpes quod vitari non potest. 
 And thus I wil (troblinge your Maiestie I fere) 
 ende with my most humble thankes, besechinge 
 God longe to preserue you to his honour, to your 
 cofort, to the realmes profit, and to my joy. From 
 Hatfilde this 1 day of May. 
 
 Your Maiesties most humbly Sister 
 and Seruante. 
 
 Elizabeth. 
 
 But more to be praised than her poetry, is the 
 encouragement she gave to the design of printing 
 in English the large folio edition of the Holy 
 Scriptures, known as "The Bishop's Bible." This 
 
 was the best translation of the sacred book which 
 had then appeared. It was printed in 1568, and 
 the version, made by order of king James I., differs 
 little from the Bible used by Elizabeth. 
 
 That she did not conform her own spirit to the 
 Gospel requirements, but allowed pride, vanity, a 
 violent temper, and selfishness, frequently to ob- 
 scure her many great qualities, is to be regretted ; 
 but, compared with the Idngs her successors, she 
 rises so high above their standard of character, 
 that we almost forget to record her faults. To 
 quote the remarks of a learned historian, — " The 
 page of history has seldom to record a reign more 
 honourable to the intellect and capacity of the 
 person presiding over it, than that of Elizabeth 
 of England." 
 
 ELIZABETH OF FRANCE, 
 
 Daughter of Henry II. and of Catharine de 
 Medicis, was born at Fontaiuebleau, in 1545. She 
 was the destined wife of Edward VI. of England; 
 but the marriage was prevented by his premature 
 death. Elizabeth was then betrothed to Don 
 Carlos, Infant of Spain ; and though they were 
 mutually attached to each other, she was com- 
 pelled, in spite of her repugnance, to marry his 
 father, Philip II., who became a widower by the 
 death of his wife Mary. Don Carlos never forgave 
 this injury ; and having expressed his sentiments 
 too freely, was murdered, probably by the com- 
 mand of his father, who was jealous of him. Eli- 
 zabeth was deeply affected by the fate of Don 
 Carlos ; she died, in child-bed, ten weeks after 
 him, at the age of twenty-two. She left two 
 daughters. 
 
 ELIZABETH OF AUSTRIA, 
 
 Daughter of the emperor Maximilian II., and 
 vrife of Charles IX., king of France, was married 
 at M^zieres, Nov. 26th, 1570. She was one of the 
 most beautiful women of her time ; but her virtue 
 even surpassed her beauty. The jealousy of the 
 queen-mother, Catharine de Medicis, and the in- 
 fluence she possessed over the mind of her son, 
 prevented Elizabeth from having any share in the 
 events that occurred in the tumultuous reign of 
 Charles IX. 
 
 The deplorable massacre of St. Bartholomew 
 affected her extremely; though she was not in- 
 formed of it till the morning, lest her opposition 
 should influence the king. 
 
 She was gentle and patient, and devoted herself 
 entirely to domestic concerns. Warmly attached 
 to the king, during his illness, she spent all the 
 time, when she was not attending on him, in 
 prayers for his recovery. Thus she always pre- 
 served his affection and esteem ; and he often said, 
 that he might boast of having the most discreet 
 and virtuous wife, not only in all France, or in all 
 Europe, but in the whole world. 
 
 Elizabeth wrote two books: one " On the Word 
 of God ;" the other, " On the principal events that 
 happened during her residence in France." After 
 the death of the king, her husband, she retired to 
 Vienna, where she died, in 1592, at the age of 
 thirty-eight, in a convent of her own foundation. 
 
 302 
 
EL 
 
 EL 
 
 ELIZABETH, CHARLOTTE, 
 DcoHBSS of Orleans, only daughter of the elec- 
 tor Charles Louis, of the Palatinate, was born at 
 Heidelberg in 1652. She was a princess of dis- 
 tinguished talents and character, and lived half 
 a century in the court of Louis XIV. without 
 changing her German habits for French manners. 
 Educated with the greatest care, at the court 
 of her aunt, afterwards the electoress Sophia of 
 Hanover, at the age of nineteen, she married 
 duke Philip of Orleans, from reasons of state po- 
 licy. She was without personal charms, but her 
 understanding was strong, and her character un- 
 affected ; and she was characterized by liveliness 
 and wit. It is to be regretted that she exercised 
 no more influence on the education of her children. 
 Her second son was afterwards known as regent. 
 Madame de Maintenon was her implacable enemy ; 
 but Louis XIV. was attracted by her integrity and 
 frankness, her vivacity and wit. She often attend- 
 ed him to the chase. She preserved the highest 
 respect for the literary men of Germany, particu- 
 larly for Leibnitz, whose correspondence with the 
 French literati she promoted. She died at St. 
 Cloud in 1722. She has described herself and her 
 situation with a natural humour, perfectly original, 
 in her German letters, which form an interesting 
 addition to the accounts of the court of Louis XIV. 
 The most valuable of her letters are contained in 
 the " Life and Character of the Duchess Elizabeth 
 Charlotte of Orleans," by Professor Schiitz, Leip- 
 sic, 1820. 
 
 ELIZABETH, PHILIPPINE MARIE HELENS, 
 OF FRANCE, MADAME, 
 
 Sister of Louis XVI., was born at Versailles, 
 May 23d, 1764, and perished by the guillotine. 
 May 10th, 1794. She was the youngest child of 
 the dauphin Louis and his second wife, Josephine 
 of Saxony, who died when Elizabeth was but three 
 years old. She received an excellent education, 
 and her acquirements were considerable. Her 
 prof>osed union with the duke of Aosta, Infant of 
 Spain, second son of the king of the Two Sicilies, 
 was never concluded. When the private establish- 
 ment of Elizabeth was fixed, she received 25,000 
 francs annually for the purchase of diamonds ; but 
 she requested that this sum should be paid for six 
 years to a young favourite, whose poverty prevent- 
 ed her marriage. The revolution destroyed her 
 happiness ; but, during all its scenes of terror, 
 she devoted herself to her brother the king and 
 his family. She attended him everywhere, and 
 often inspired him with firmness. When mistaken 
 for the queen, June 20th, 1792, the cry was raised, 
 "Down with the Austrian woman!" and the mob 
 were about to kill her. An ofScer of the guard 
 corrected the mistake, when she said calmly, " Why 
 undeceive them ? You might have spared them a 
 greater crime." 
 
 She was confined with the royal family in the 
 Temple, where she devoted herself to her fellow- 
 prisoners. On the evening of May 9th, 1794, Eli- 
 zabeth was led from the Temple to the Conciergerie, 
 and tried for carrying on a correspondence with 
 
 her brother. When asked her name and rank 
 before the revolutionary tribunal. May 10th, she 
 replied with dignity, " I am Elizabeth of France, 
 the aunt of your king." This bold answer filled 
 the judges with astonishment. Twenty-four others 
 were sentenced with her, and she had to witness 
 the execution of them all. She met death calmly, 
 without uttering a single complaint against her 
 judges. 
 
 Though not beautiful, Elizabeth was very at- 
 tractive and lovely. She was modest and timid in 
 prosperity, but calm and courageous in adversity. 
 Her character was spotless. 
 
 ELIZABETH CHRISTINA, 
 Wife of Frederic II. of Prussia, princess of 
 Brunswick-Wolfenbuttel, was born in 1715, at 
 Brunswick; married in 1733; and died in 1797. 
 Being compelled to this marriage, Frederic lived 
 separate from her during his whole life. But on 
 his ascending the throne in 1740, he gave her 
 proofs of his esteem, and on his death ordered 
 her revenue of 40,000 crowns to be increased to 
 50,000; "for," said he, " during my whole reign 
 she has never given me the slightest cause of dis- 
 satisfaction." Half of her income she appropriated 
 to benevolent purposes. She translated several 
 German works into French ; and wrote in French, 
 " La Sage Revolution ;" " Meditation k I'Occasion 
 du Renouvellement de I'Ann^e, sur les Soins que 
 le Providence §, pour les Humains, &c. ;" "Re- 
 flexions pourtous les Jours de la Semaine ;" " Re- 
 flexions sur I'Etat des Afi'airs, publiques en 1778, 
 addresses aux Personnes craentives." 
 
 ELIZABETH PETROWNA, 
 The second daughter of czar Peter the Great, 
 was placed on the throne of Russia by the revolu- 
 tion of 1741. She was born in 1709, and was 
 extremely beautiful. This, as well as her exalted 
 rank and large dowry, occasioned her several 
 offers ; but she refused them all, and died unmar- 
 ried. During the life of her father, Peter I., ne- 
 gotiations commenced ^or her marriage with Louis 
 XV., but were not adopted by the court of France. 
 By the will of Catharine, Elizabeth was betrothed 
 to Charles Augustus, bishop of Lubec, duke of 
 Sleswick and Holstein, and brother to the king of 
 Sweden ; but he died before the completion of the 
 ceremony. In the reign of Peter II. she was de- 
 manded by Charles, margrave of Anspach ; in 
 1741, by the Persian tyrant Kouli Khan; and, at 
 the time of the revolution, the regent Ann endea- 
 voured to force her to espouse prince Louis of 
 Brunswick, for whom she had a settled aversion. 
 From the period of her accession she renounced 
 all thoughts of marriage, and adopted her nephew 
 Peter. Her dislike to marriage did not proceed 
 from any aversion to the other sex ; for she would 
 frequently own that she was never happy but when 
 she was in love. The same warmth of temper 
 carried her to extremes of devotion ; and she was 
 scrupulously exact in her annual confessions, ex- 
 pressed the utmost contrition for her numerous 
 transgressions, and adhered to the minutest cere- 
 monies and ordinances of the church. 
 
 303 
 
EL 
 
 EK 
 
 She is generally styled the humane Elizabeth, 
 as she made a tow upon her accession to inflict 
 no capital punishments during her reign ; and is 
 reported to have shed tears upon the news of every 
 victory gained by her troops, from the reflection 
 that it could not have been obtained without great 
 bloodshed. But, although no criminal was for- 
 mally executed in public, yet the state prisons 
 were filled with wretched sufferers, many of whom, 
 unheard of and unknown, perished in damp and 
 unwholesome dungeons. The state inquisition, or 
 secret committee, appointed to judge persons sus- 
 pected of high treason, had constant occupation 
 during her reign ; many on the slightest suspicion 
 were secretly tortured, and many expired under 
 the knout. But the transaction that reflects the 
 deepest disgrace on her reign was the public 
 punishment of two ladies of rank, the countesses 
 Bestuchef and Sapookin, who each received fifty 
 strokes of the knout in the open square of St. Pe- 
 tersburg; their tongues were then cut out, and 
 they were banished to Siberia. Madame Sapookin, 
 who was thought the most beautiful woman in 
 Eussia, was accused of carrying on a secret cor- 
 respondence with the French ambassador ; but her 
 real crime was, her having commented too freely 
 on the amours of the empress. 
 
 Elizabeth died on the 25th of December, 1761, 
 in the twenty-first year of her reign, and the 53d 
 of her age. 
 
 During the reign of Elizabeth, Ivan, grandson 
 of Peter the Great, and rightful heir to the throne 
 of Eussia, was kept by her in strict confinement. 
 
 ELSTOB, ELIZABETH, 
 SiSTEK of William Elstob, and famous for her 
 skill in the Saxon language, was born in 1683. 
 Her mother, to whom she owed the rudiments of 
 her extraordinary education, dying when she was 
 but eight years old, her guardisins discouraged 
 her progress in literature, as improper for her 
 sex ; and, after her brother's death, she met with 
 so little patronage, that she retired to Evesham, 
 in Worcestershire, where she with difiSculty sub- 
 sisted by keeping a small school. 
 
 Three letters of hers to the lord treasurer of 
 Oxford are extant among the Harleian MSS., from 
 which it appears that he obtained for her the 
 queen's bounty towards printing the Saxon homi- 
 lies ; but, after the death of this queen, (Caroline, 
 wife of George II.,) she was so low in her finances, 
 as to be forced, though a mistress of nine lan- 
 guages, to become a governess. For this purpose 
 she was taken into the family of the duchess-dow- 
 ager of Portland, in 1739 ; and continued there 
 tm she died. May 30th, 1756. 
 
 The homily of "St. Gregory's Day," published 
 by her brother, has her English translation, be- 
 sides his Latin one. She appears to have written 
 the preface too, in which she answers the objec- 
 tions made to women's learning, by producing 
 " that glory of her sex," as she calls her, Mrs. 
 Anna Maria 4 Shurman. In 1715 she published 
 a " Saxon Grammar." Had her talents been 
 kindly encouraged, she would, probably, have 
 equalled Madame Daoier. 
 
 ENGLISH, HESTEE, 
 A Feenohwohajt by extraction, was eminent 
 for her fine chirography in the time of Queen Eli- 
 zabeth and James I. Many of her performances 
 are still extant, both in public libraries and in the 
 hands of individuals. She was thought the most 
 exquisite scribe of her age. She married, at the 
 age of forty, Mr. Bartholo^new Kello, a North' 
 Briton, and had a son, who was educated at Ox- 
 ford, and was minister of Speckshall, in Suffolk. 
 
 ENNETIEEES, MAEIE D', 
 A lEARNED lady of Tournay, who wrote many 
 works, particularly an epistle against Turks, Jews, 
 Lutherans, &c., printed in 1539. 
 
 EPINAY, LOUISE D', 
 Celebrated for her connexion with Eousseau, 
 was the daughter of M. Sardieu Desclavelles, who 
 lost his life in Flanders, in the service of Louis 
 XV., and left his family in moderate circum- 
 stances. She married M. Delalive de Bellegarde, 
 who received the offtce of farmer-general. The 
 extravagance of M. Delalive soon disturbed their 
 happiness, and his indifference to the conduct of 
 his wife, was equalled by his own dissolute life, 
 and no doubt influenced hers. She gathered 
 around her a distinguished circle, which though 
 neither brilliant nor renovmed, was free and natu- 
 ral. Here the man of learning consented to doff 
 his philosophical armour, through which posterity 
 has found it so difiicult to discern his . real fea- 
 tures ; and here, authors, artists, and men and 
 women of the world, met without restraint. Pos- 
 sessed of judgment and penetration, Madame 
 d'Epinay had neither originality nor imagination. 
 Her mind was of that plastic order which led her 
 to yield to the opinions of those in whose intimacy 
 she lived ; and she never attempted to exercise 
 over her circle, a control for which her good sense 
 told her she was little adapted. Hume, Diderot, 
 D'Holbach, and Grimm, were habitues of her so- 
 ciety. It is to her connexion with Eousseau, 
 however, that she owes the interest attached to 
 her name, and the attention she excited in her 
 own time. The details of their intimacy and 
 quarrel for some time occupied all Paris. Ma- 
 dame d'Epinay was constantly engaged in some 
 literary labour. In 1783, she wrote " Les Con- 
 versations d'Emilie," which obtained the prize 
 offered by Monthieu for useful works of that kind, 
 in preference to the " Adfile et Theodore" of Ma- 
 dame de Genlis. She also wrote "Lettres a mon 
 Fils," and " Mes Moments Heureux." An abridg- 
 ment of her letters and correspondence, showing 
 her relations with Duclos, Eousseau, Grimm, Hol- 
 bach, Lambert, &c., appeared in Paris, in 1818. 
 Madame d'Epinay died in 1783. 
 
 EEAUSO, CATALINA DE, 
 The Monja Alferez, or Nun-Lieutenant. More 
 famous women have lived than this, but a more 
 extraordinary one has never been recorded. Her 
 career was one of singular adventure, of wild pas- 
 sions, of unsparing cruelty, of heroic bravery ; the 
 
 304 
 
EE 
 
 ER 
 
 few virtues wliioli palliate her vices and savage 
 conduct are such as «,re found to vindicate the 
 dormant element in the breasts of brigands and 
 pirates. And it is not the least singular circum- 
 stance connected mth such a history, that it has 
 been written down, detailed, and powerfully de- 
 scribed by the heroine herself, in a style wonder- 
 fully vigorous, clear, and in pure and classic 
 Spanish. 
 
 She was born in the city of Sebastian, in 1585, 
 daughter of Don Miguel de Erauso. At that pe- 
 riod, when families were numerous it was the 
 custom to dispose of the girls by putting them into 
 the church. Such was the destiny of Donna Cata- 
 lina. At the age of four years she was sent to her 
 aunt, prioress of a convent of Dominicans. She 
 remained there till the age of fifteen. Rebellious 
 fancies had frequently arisen in her mind : she 
 had entered her noviciate, and as the fatal day for 
 her profession approached, her desire for liberty 
 increased. Being sent one day by her aunt into 
 the parlour of that lady for a book, she saw the 
 keys of the convent hanging on a nail. In one 
 moment her resolution was taken ; the nuns were 
 all assembled in the choir for the matin service ; 
 she begged permission to go to bed, complaining 
 of indisposition ; this was granted her. We give 
 the sequel in her own words : 
 
 "I went out of the choir, took a light, went to 
 the cell of my aunt, took scissors, needle and 
 thread, and a little money. I went out of the 
 convent; I found myself in the street, without 
 knowing where to go ; that was no matter ; all I 
 wanted was liberty.. I ran without stopping, till 
 I reached a grove of chestnuts." 
 
 Such was her escape. She remained in that 
 wood three days, subsisting on roots and wild 
 fruits. She made herself male garments out of 
 her petticoats, cut her hair, and started forth in 
 the character of man. After going through va- 
 rious scenes in Spain ; meeting her own father in 
 search of her; acting as' page, clerk, servant — 
 always adroit, always able to serve herself with 
 expedients — she joined an expedition to the New 
 World. There she entered the army, and distin- 
 V 
 
 guished herself by the most daring actions. She 
 adopted different names, at different periods ; but 
 the most noted one, that which she bore after 
 being made lieutenant, was Alonzo Dias. She 
 gained several battles. It seems that her sense 
 and judgment in council were not inferior to her 
 redoubtable prowess in the field. In the intervals 
 of her military duty, she connected herself with 
 the most desperate and vicious beings to be met 
 with. Gambling, stabbing, robbing, were her 
 pastimes. A curious caprice, which she diverted 
 herself with not uufrequently, was to gain the af- 
 fection of some young lady, by every art and assi- 
 duity, and when all was ready for the marriage, 
 to disappear. It would be impossible, in this 
 sketch, to detail her numerous homicides and 
 fierce anger ; but one may be alluded to from its 
 consequences. Becoming enraged, at a gambling- 
 house, with a man of consequence, of Chili, she 
 attacked him, and savagely killed him. She was 
 obliged to take the refuge of a sanctuary ; but as 
 the friends of the murdered person were of rank 
 and power, her retreat was carefully guarded, and 
 after remaining there eight months, she felt the 
 necessity of escaping into another government. 
 The only way to effect this was by traversing the 
 icy deserts of the Andes. " In this attempt I may 
 find death," said she; "byremaining here I shall 
 certainly find it." At the outset she met three 
 outlaws, who, like herself, were fugitives from 
 justice. These banded themselves by necessity ; 
 fatigue and hunger were their first difficulties. 
 Successively they killed their horses, when all 
 other food was spent; but soon advancing into 
 higher regions of the mountain, the cold became 
 intense and biting.' StiU Catalina cheered on her 
 companions, infused her own courage, and sus- 
 tained their efforts to drag on, when one of them 
 uttered a cheerful cry — help, aid dawned ! Two 
 men were standing at a little distance ; the wretched 
 creature tried to spring forward ; he fell on a heap 
 of snow. Catalina followed his indication ; alas ' 
 horror and misery — the two men were unfortunate 
 beings, dead, frozen stiff, with a ghastly look of 
 anguish stamped on their frightful faces ! Even 
 Catalina was for an instant daunted. She turned 
 to the man who had first seen them — he wasdead ! 
 She felt it was no time to pause, but urging on 
 her remaining companions, sought a new impetus 
 for exertion in her very despair. The cold became 
 more and more bitter ; still she stopped not. She 
 saw her companions sink, one by one ; she ha-d no 
 time to mourn them — recommending herself to 
 the Virgin, she went on. The temperatua-e be- 
 came milder ; at last she reached Tuouman, where 
 she met with the utmost kindness and hospitality. 
 She soon resumed her wild military life, always- 
 involving herself in quarrels. 
 
 On one occasion she was condemned to be hnog, 
 and actually taken to the gallows. Even there 
 no feminine tremors discomposed her firmness. 
 The executioner was awkward in placing the cord. 
 
 "Put it on right, or let me alone," said she; 
 "this priest will do it a great deal better tha; 
 you!" 
 
 A pardon arrived in the mean time ; for her 
 
 ao5. 
 
ER 
 
 ES 
 
 gallant actions In battle, and real serTioes, pro- 
 cured for her many protectors. She traTersed 
 every part of the Spanish countries, and acquitted 
 herself in the most able manner of the duties of a 
 sailor, soldier, and even lawyer ; in every field for 
 enterprise she appeared, and always in a distin- 
 guished manner; but all h-er merits as an able 
 man were tarnished by a mad love for rapine, 
 cruelty, gaming, and every vice save one, to which 
 the soldiers of that epoch and country abandoned 
 themselves. It is to be observed that she had 
 carefully guarded the knowledge of her sex from 
 everybody until an exigency occurred, when she 
 disclosed her real condition. Iler many deeds of 
 violence provoked pursuit, and at last she was 
 once more reduced to take refuge in a church at 
 Guamango, in Pern ; the bishop, a saintly person, 
 considered it his duty to exhort the criminal ; his 
 tender and searching admonitions had their effect 
 on the iron-hearted lieutenant. She sank on her 
 knees, and said, " Father, I am a woman !" Then 
 followed a complete confession. 
 
 The bishop was excited by this strange story ; 
 he pitied the unfortunate young woman, only 
 thirty-five years of age, who, by a dark fatality, 
 had incurred such reprobation ; he thought he 
 perceived signs of compunction ; these he fostered, 
 and being encouraged by the result, obtained her 
 pardon, and even a permission to return to Spain, 
 without dread of ecclesiastic punishment. One 
 cause of hope for her remained, she had preserved 
 her chastity ; and thus, though stained with many 
 crimes, she was not abandoned to vice. Her will 
 was strong, and her passions often violent; but 
 she was not sensual or selfish. Had she been pro- 
 perly educated, and allowed to live in society, she 
 would probably have proved a woman of superior 
 powers of mind, and been active in good works as 
 she was in evil, when driven to abandon her coun- 
 try and put off the semblance of her own sex. 
 
 Donna Catalina set sail and arrived at Cadiz in 
 1624. Already her fame had preceded her, and 
 during her travels through Spain and Italy she was 
 looked upon as an object of curiosity. The pope. 
 Urban VIII., gave her permission to retain for life 
 her male attire. The period of her death is un- 
 known ; but some documents which have been 
 preserved in .a convent at Vera Cruz testify that 
 she devoted the remainder of her life to commerce, 
 under the name of Antonio de Erauso. The cele- 
 brated Spanish painter, Pacheco, took her portrait 
 from life, when she was at Seville. From the 
 original, still preserved, is taken the print aifixed 
 ;to this sketch. 
 
 ERDMUTHE, SOPHIA, MARGRAVINE, 
 Or Baireuth, was born February 15th, 1C44. 
 True devotional feelings animated her mind al- 
 ready when quite a child, and these were guided 
 by an intellect which belonged only to riper years. 
 When she was in her tenth year she wrote a scries 
 of poetical and prose papers, and a volume to 
 which she gave the title of " Christian Closet for 
 the Heart." Her teacher, the celebrated Dr. 
 Weber, discovered them accidentally in her desk, 
 and was so much struck "with their beauty and 
 
 pious tendency, that he prevailed upon her parents 
 to have them published ; and he accompanied them 
 with a preface. Many of the hymns which she 
 wrote at that age are still incorporated in the 
 German books, though few know at the present 
 time that they were composed by so young a child. 
 In 1662, on the 19th of October, she married the 
 margrave Christian Ernst of Baireuth, to whom 
 she became a loving wife and able coadjutor in 
 deeds of charity and piety ; but she would never 
 consent to take part in his government alfairs. 
 She established the first Magdalene house of re- 
 fuge in that part of Germany. Much of her time 
 was devoted to writing. One of her best works 
 was published in 1666, " A Treatise on the Age of 
 the World, and a Consideration of the States of the 
 Roman Empire and their Condition." It is replete 
 with theological, geographical, historical, and ge- 
 nealogical information. She died in the year 1670, 
 on the 12th of June, and was buried in the court 
 chapel which she had just caused to be built, 
 
 ERNECOURT, BARBARA OF, 
 
 Better known as the Lady of St. Balmont, a 
 second Joan of Arc, was born in the year 1609, 
 at the castle of Newville, between Bar and Verdun. 
 From the earliest childhood she trained herself to 
 the use of arms, and in all knightly accomplish- 
 ments. She married, when quite young, the lord 
 of Balmont, who met and fell in love with her 
 while hunting, and whom she frequently accom- 
 panied in the chase. During the " thirty years' 
 war" in Germany, she always took command of 
 her husband's castle, while he accompanied the 
 duke of Lothrengeiu to the field. This brave 
 woman repulsed the enemy frequently, and on 
 several occasions made sorties and succeeded in 
 capturing both men and baggage. AVhen peace 
 was restored, she laid aside the sword and took 
 up the pen, which she wielded with equal skill. 
 Her first work, " Les Jumeaux Martyrs," was 
 published in 1651 ; several other works, of consi- 
 derable merit, appeared afterwards. The death 
 of her husband, to whom she was tenderly at- 
 tached, made her resolve to retire from the ■world, 
 and she entered a nunnery ; but died, before taking 
 the veil. May 22d, 1660, aged fifty-one. 
 
 ESCOBAR, MARINE D', 
 
 The foundress of the " Reconciliation of St. 
 Bridget," in Spain. She died in 1633. 
 
 ESSARS, CHARLOTTE DES, 
 Countess of Romorentin, and daughter of lieu- 
 tenant-general des Essars in Champagne, was a 
 woman of great beauty. She was introduced, in 
 1590, to Henry IV. of France, by whom she had 
 two children, afterwards legitimated. She next 
 lived with Louis de Lorraine, cardinal de Guise, 
 by whom she had a son called the chevalier de 
 Romorentin; and she married, in 1630, marshal 
 de I'Hopital. Her wishes to advance her son Ro- 
 morentin by her intrigues proved fatal to her, as 
 she fell under the resentment of the king and 
 Richelieu, by whom she was thrown into prison, 
 where she died in 1651. 
 
 306 
 
ES 
 
 ES 
 
 ESTAMPES, ANNE, OF PISSELEU, 
 DUCHESS OF, 
 
 Was a beautiful -woman, daughter of de Herfeli. 
 She accompanied, as maid of honour, Louise of 
 Savoy, when she went, in 1526, to meet her son 
 Francis I. of France, at Madrid ; who no sooner 
 saw her than he loved her. He attempted to cover 
 her dishonour by marrying her to one of his fol- 
 lowers, whom he created duke d'Estampes. In 
 the last years of Francis, the duchess, to counter- 
 act the views of the dauphin and his mistress, 
 Diana of Poictiers, entered into correspondence 
 with Charles V., emperor of Germany; and by 
 her perfidious communications, enabled him to 
 surprise and take Epernay and Chateau-Lierri, 
 where the magazines of the French were deposited. 
 Francis confided entirely in her, and she sent con- 
 stant information to Charles, so that the ruin of 
 the kingdom seemed inevitable ; but the quarrel 
 that arose between Charles V. and Henry VIII. 
 of England saved France. After tlie death of 
 Francis, the favourite retired to her country-seat, 
 and was screened from the prosecution of her hus- 
 band, who wished to punish her for adultery, by 
 the interference of the reigning monarch. She 
 died a protestant. 
 
 ESTE, ELEONOEA D', 
 Was descended from the most illustrious of Ita- 
 lian princely races — that of the sovereigns of Este, 
 Modena, and Reggio. She was daughter of Her- 
 cules II., marquis of Este, and Eenge, daughter of 
 Louis XII., king of France, and was born in 1537. 
 Endowed by fortune with an exalted station, by 
 nature with extraordinary beauty, fine taste and 
 intellect, Eleonora drew the admiration of all, and 
 seemed destined to a life whose tissue was woven 
 in golden threads ; but these very qualities, while 
 they added lustre to her station, led to a true 
 romance, the melancholy course of which clouded 
 not only her own life, but that of one of the greatest 
 geniuses that has ever shone and suffered. 
 
 Tasso was twenty-one years old when he ap- 
 peared at the court of Alphonso of Este. He had 
 just given to the world his " Jerusalem Delivered," 
 
 and a well-founded enthusiasm for the poet per- 
 vaded all Italy. He was endowed with every 
 pleasing quality — a handsome countenance, win- 
 ning address, a captivating voice in speaking, and, 
 what all poets do not possess, most extraordinary 
 bravery. An indiscreet remark having been made 
 by a certain cavalier upon his devotion to the 
 princess Eleonora, he challenged the offender, who, 
 with three brothers to aid him, basely attacked 
 the bard. Tasso valiantly combated the whole four, 
 until persons interfered to put an end to the duel. 
 The duke Alphonso felt his pride offended at the 
 cause of this rencontre ; it is true, he punished 
 the four cowardly brothers, but at the same time 
 be sent Tasso into exile, where he remained until 
 the duke was persuaded to recall him. After this 
 time, Eleonora appears to have become cautious 
 in her encouragement of the poet ; but when we 
 read the verses in which he speaks of her charms 
 and his passion, who can wonder that a heart of 
 any sensibility should be touched? 
 
 Eleonora was in her thirtieth year when Tasso 
 was first introduced at her brother's court ; a dis- 
 parity of age — the poet being nine years her 
 junior, which is certainly no argument against 
 the passion she inspired. For a young man, at 
 his first entrance into life, to fall in love ambi- 
 tiously — with a woman older than himself, or with 
 one who is, or ought to be, unattainable — is a 
 common occurrence. Tasso was an admirer of 
 beauty. Eleonora was exceedingly lovely ; she had 
 a transparent delicacy of complexion — a "Faleur, 
 qui marque une ame tendre," as the lover thought. 
 It is said that Tasso, being at a wedding of one of 
 the Gonzago family, celebrated at the court of 
 Este, blinded by his passion, impressed a kiss on 
 the cheek of the princess Eleonora. The colour 
 mounted to Alphonso's brow ; but he turned coldly 
 to his courtiers, and said, "What a great pity that 
 the finest genius of the age has become suddenly 
 mad!" 
 
 Upon this charge of madness, the prince caused 
 Tasso to be shut up in the hospital of St. Anna. 
 His long years of imprisonment, his suff'erings, 
 his laments, are known to everybody. In a few 
 words, we will close the story of the unfortunate 
 Eleonora. Obliged to witness the cruel punish- 
 ment of her lover, and knowing the inflexible cha- 
 racter of her brother, she fell into a slow fever ; 
 constantly receiving the tender complaints of the 
 poet, whose pangs were daggers to her heart, she 
 gradually sank into the grave. Solitary and me- 
 lancholy, she dragged on the last days of her life; 
 holding converse with no one, living on sad me- 
 mories, languishing, and fading away. The doors 
 of Tasso's prison were at length opened ; but she 
 was dead ! Youth, love, fortune, all had vanished ; 
 fame, it is true, remained. The laurel-crown was 
 placed on his brow at Rome, in the midst of a 
 pompous festival. Could this recompense him for 
 his wasted youth and his lost Eleonora? She dieil 
 in 1581, about a year after Tasso's imprisonment. 
 
 ESTRADA, MARIA D', 
 Wife of a soldier of Fernandez Cortez, followed 
 her husband to Mexico, in 1519, where she fought 
 
 307 
 
ES 
 
 FA 
 
 by his side, and performed extraordinary exploits 
 of valour, to the astonishment and admiration of 
 all who beheld her. 
 
 ESTREES, GABEIELLE D', DUCHESS 
 OF BEAUFORT, 
 
 The mistress of Henry IV. of France, born about 
 1671, was the daughter of Antoine d'Estrges, a de- 
 scendant of one of the noblest houses in Picardy, 
 for a long time grand maitre de I'artilkrie, who dis- 
 tinguished himself in the defence of Noyon against 
 the duke of Mayenne, for which Henry IV. made 
 him governor of the Isle de France. Gabrielle 
 was about twenty years of age when Henry first 
 saw her, on a visit to Coeuvres castle; and her 
 beauty immediately captivated him. Gabrielle, 
 however, who was attached to the duke of Belle- 
 garde, was at first little inclined to gratify the 
 wishes of the king. But Henry still urged his 
 suit, and often stole by the sentinels of his ene- 
 mies, in the dress of a peasant, to see the object 
 of his love. The heart of the lady was at length 
 moved by such ardour and devotion. She became 
 the mistress of the chivalrio monarch, who never 
 loved any other woman so passionately. To escape 
 the severe scrutiny of her father, Henry married 
 her to a nobleman named Damerval, of Liancourt ; 
 but, says Sully, il sut emp^cher la consommation du 
 marriage, and subsequently dissolved the marriage. 
 Henry intended to raise Gabrielle to the throne 
 as his lawful wife. For this purpose, he not only 
 procured a divorce from Margaret of Valois, but 
 also raised the county of Beaufort to a duchy, 
 which he bestowed on Gabrielle, thus giving her 
 a high rank at court. This design was strongly 
 opposed by Sully, who often represented to the 
 monarch the bad consequences of such a measure. 
 Gabrielle, therefore, became his bitter enemy, 
 and, instigated by the adversaries of the minister, 
 she once so far forgot herself as to urge the king 
 
 to discharge him. Henry's reply was, "By , 
 
 madam, if I must lose one of you, I would rather 
 give up ten mistresses like you, than one servant 
 like him." So ardent, however, was his passion 
 for Gabrielle, that he once wrote to her in a mo- 
 ment of danger, — " If I am conquered, you know 
 me too well to believe that I shall fiee. My last 
 thought shall be God's ; my last but one, yours." 
 
 Notwithstanding the determination of the king, 
 and the wishes of Gabrielle, their marriage never 
 took place. Just before Easter, in 1599, when ne- 
 gotiations were already in train for the divorce of 
 the king, she retired from court, by the advice of 
 Ben^ B^noit, the king's confessor, and went to 
 Paris to spend the Passion-week. On Maundy 
 Thursday, having eaten an orange after dinner, 
 she was suddenly seized with convulsions, which 
 distorted her beautiful countenance, and, on Satur- 
 day, she died in the most excruciating torments. 
 Apoplexy, with convulsions, was the cause as- 
 signed for her death ; but no one can doubt that 
 she was poisoned. The king's grief for her loss 
 was excessive ; and, what is seldom the case, the 
 royal mistress was universally lamented. Her 
 amiable disposition, the gentleness of her charac- 
 ter, and the modesty which prevented her from 
 
 meddling with public affairs, won her general 
 favour. She had three children by the king — 
 Caesar and Alexander, afterwards dukes of Ven- 
 dome, and a daughter, Catharine Henrietta, after- 
 wards the wife of the duke of Elbeuf. Her bio- 
 graphy, which appeared some years ago in France, 
 is accompanied by an interesting correspondence 
 between Gabrielle and her royal lover. 
 
 EUDOCIA, FEODOROWNA, 
 FiBST wife of Peter I., czar of Russia, was 
 daughter of the boyar Feodor Lapookin. Peter 
 married her in 1689, when he was only seventeen, 
 and Alexis was born in 1690. 
 
 Peter had caused it to be proclaimed throughout 
 his empire, that he intended to bestow his crown 
 and his heart on the woman he judged most wor- 
 thy. A hundred young girls were brought to 
 Moscow, and his choice fell on Eudocia. But her 
 joy was of short duration. Her opposition to 
 Peter's reforms, and her remonstrances against 
 his faithlessness, irritated him ; and in 1696 she 
 was divorced, compelled to assume the veil, and 
 confined in a convent at Susdal. There she was 
 said to have entered into a contract of marriage 
 with general Glebof, by exchanging rings with 
 him ; but, though Glebof was afterwards tortured 
 to the utmost extremity, he persisted in asserting 
 his own and her innocence ; and when the czar 
 came to him and offered him pardon if he would 
 confess, he spit in the czar's face, and told him 
 that "he should disdain to speak to him, if it 
 were not his desire to clear his mistress, who was 
 as virtuous as any woman in the world." 
 
 Encouraged by the predictions of the archbishop 
 of Kostof, who, from a dream, announced to her 
 the death of Peter and her return to court, under 
 the reign of her son Alexis, she reassumed the 
 secular dress, and was publicly prayed for in the 
 church of the convent, under the name of the em- 
 press Eudocia. Being brought to Moscow in 
 1718, and examined, she was, by her husband's 
 order, scourged by two nuns, and imprisoned in 
 the convent of Nova Ladoga, and allowed to see 
 no one but the persons who brought her food, 
 which she prepared herself; for she was allowed 
 no servant, and but one cell. From thence she 
 was removed to the fortress at Shlusselburgh. 
 Being released on the accession of her grandson, 
 Peter II., she repaired to Moscow, and was pre- 
 sent at his coronation, as well as that of the em- 
 press Anne ; and expired in the Devitza monastery, 
 where she held her court, in 1731, in the fifty- 
 ninth year of her age. 
 
 F. 
 FAINI, DIAMANTE, 
 Whose maiden name was Medaglia, one of the 
 most noted Italian poets, was born in Roako, a 
 village in the neighbourhood of Breschia. Her 
 poetic talent developed itself while she was yet 
 quite a child. When she reachad her fifteenth 
 year, she was well acquainted with the ancient 
 languages, and had written several poems, which 
 
 308 
 
FA 
 
 FA 
 
 excited the admiration of tlie literary world. The 
 academies of Uuanimi in Italy, of Ardetti in Pa- 
 dua, and that of the Arcadi of Rome, were proud 
 to inscribe her name among their members. But 
 she was not only a poetess, — philosophy, mathe- 
 matics, theology, and astronomy, all found in her 
 a devoted admirer and a close student. She died 
 the 13th of July, 1770, at Salo. 
 
 FALCONBERG, MARY, 
 Third daughter of Oliver Cromwell, and second 
 wife of Thomas lord viscount Falconberg, was dis- 
 tinguished for her talents, her spirit, and her 
 beauty. Bishop Burnet, who styles her "a wise 
 and worthy woman," adds, " that she was more 
 likely to have maintained the post of protector 
 than either of her brothers ; according to an ob- 
 servation respecting her, that those who wore 
 breeches deserved petticoats better ; but if those 
 in petticoats had been in breeches, they would 
 have held faster." After the deposition of Richard, 
 of whose incapacity his sister was aware, she ex- 
 erted herself in favour of Charles II., and is said 
 to have greatly contributed towards the Restora- 
 tion. It is certain that her husband was, by the 
 committee of safety, sent to the Tower a short 
 time before the return of Charles, in whose favour 
 he held a distinguished place. Lady Falconberg 
 was a member of the established church, and re- 
 spected for her munificence and charity. 
 
 FANE, ELIZABETH, 
 
 Author of several pious meditations and pro- 
 verbs in the, English language, printed in London 
 in 1550, was probably either the wife of Richard 
 Fane, who married Elizabeth, daughter and heiress 
 of Stidolph, or of Sir Thomas Fane, who was en- 
 gaged in Wyatt's rebellion in the reign of queen 
 Mary. Her writings were entitled "Lady Eliza- 
 beth Fane's twenty-one Psalms, and one hundred 
 and two Proverbs." 
 
 FANSHAWE, ANN HARRISON-, LADY, 
 The eldest daughter of Sir John Harrison, of 
 Balls, England, was born in London, March 25th, 
 1625. Her mother was Margaret Fanshawe, of 
 
 an ancient and highly respectable family ; and, 
 what was of more importance to her daughter, she 
 was an eminently pious as well as accomplished 
 lady. So well did this careful mother instruct 
 her eldest daughter, that when the former died, 
 the latter, though only fifteen years of age, took 
 charge of her father's house and family, and ful- 
 filled all her duties in a manner highly exemplary. 
 
 Ann Harrison married, when about nineteen, 
 Mr., afterwards Sir Richard Fanshawe, a relation 
 of her mother's. He had been educated a lawyer, 
 but not lildng his profession, went abroad, with 
 his wife, and was finally appointed secretary to 
 the English ambassador at the Spanish court. 
 Mr. Fanshawe was a loyal follower of the house 
 of Stuart, true to the falling fortunes of Charles I. , 
 and the confidant and counsellor of Charles II., 
 while he was striving to obtain the. throne. Dur- 
 ing all the struggles and violence of those terrible 
 times, Mrs. Fanshawe shared every danger and 
 sympathized with every feeling of her dearly be- 
 loved husband. He was taken and imprisoned 
 after the battle of Worcester, and during his im- 
 prisonment, she never failed to go secretly with a 
 dark lantern, at four o'clock in the morning, to 
 his window. She minded neither darkness nor 
 storms, and often stood talking with him with her 
 garments drenched in rain. Cromwell had a great 
 respect for Sir Richard Fanshawe, and would have 
 bought him into his service upon almost any terms. 
 
 Sir Richard Fanshawe was finally released, on 
 a heavy bail, and they removed to Tankersly Park, 
 Yorkshire, where the husband devoted himself to 
 literary pursuits, which were also the taste of his 
 wife. After the restoration. Sir Richard Fan- 
 shawe was in great favour at court, had a seat in 
 parliament, was sent ambassador to Portugal and 
 Spain; but in all these high stations the hearts 
 of both husband and wife were centred in their 
 domestic happiness. Sir Richard was recalled, 
 unexpectedly, through some change of policy, and 
 they were preparing to return, when he suddenly 
 died. The queen of Spain was so moved by the 
 desolation of the heart-broken widow, that she 
 offered her a pension of thirty thousand ducats 
 per annum, and a handsome provision for her 
 children, if she would embrace the Catholic reli- 
 gion. Lady Fanshawe was deeply grateful for 
 this kind interest, but could not accept any favour 
 with such conditions. Her own language will 
 best portray her feelings under this severe afBic- 
 tion. She thus writes in her journal : 
 
 "Oh! all powerful and good God, look down 
 from heaven upon the most distressed wretch on 
 earth. My glory and my guide, all my comfort 
 in this life, is taken from me. See me staggering 
 in my path, because I expected a temporal bless- 
 ing as a reward for the great innocence and in- 
 tegrity of his whole life. Have pity on me, 
 Lord, and speak peace to my disquieted soul, now 
 sinking under this great weight, which without 
 thy support cannot sustain itself. See me, with 
 five children, a distressed family, the temptation 
 of the change of my religion, out of my country, 
 away from my friends, without counsel, and with- 
 out means to return with my sad family to Eng- 
 
 309 
 
FA 
 
 FA 
 
 land. Do with me, and for me, what thou pleasest ; 
 for I do wholly rely on thy promises to the widow 
 and the fatherless ; humbly beseeching thee that, 
 when this mortal life is ended, I may be joined 
 with the soul of my dear husband." 
 
 The body of Sir Richard Fanshawe was em- 
 balmed, and for seyeral months his widow had it 
 daily in her sight. She wished to accompany the 
 remains to England, but could obtain no money 
 from government ; even the arrears due her hus- 
 band were withheld by the ungrateful and profli- 
 gate Charles II., who lavished upon his worthless 
 minions and mistresses what was due his tried and 
 suffering friends. At length Anne of Austria, 
 widow of Philip IV., gave lady Fanshawe two 
 thousand pistoles, saying with true feminine deli- 
 cacy, " That the sum had been appropriated to 
 purchasing a farewell p'esent for Sir Richard, had 
 he lived to depart from Spain." The mournful 
 train reached England, October, 1666. The body 
 was interred in the vault of St. Mary's chapel. 
 Ware church, and Lady Fanshawe erected a hand- 
 some monument to her husband's memory. Their 
 union of twenty-two years had been a pattern of 
 conjugal truth and happiness ; the widow conti- 
 nued as constant to the memory of the dear de- 
 parted as she had been in her affection to him 
 while he lived. Her whole aim and plan of life 
 was to educate their "children ; and she wrote her 
 own Memoir, "for her dear and only son." She 
 survived her husband fourteen years, dying Janu- 
 ary, 1680, aged fifty-four. 
 
 Lady Fanshawe deserves to be honoured as the 
 exemplar of what a good wife is and should be. 
 Her interesting " Memoir" contains many in- 
 stances of this ; one, displaying what we mean by 
 the obedience a true wife owes to her husband, we 
 will give in her own words. Her husband was 
 secretary to the prince of Wales, afterwards 
 Charles II. 
 
 " And now I thought myself a perfect queen, 
 and my husband so glorious a crown, that I more 
 valued myself to be called by his name than born 
 a princess, for I knew him very wise and very 
 good, and his soul doted on me ; upon which con- 
 fidence I will tell you what happened. My Lady 
 Rivers, a brave woman, and one that had suffered 
 many thousand pounds' loss for the king, for whom 
 I had a great reverence, and she a kinswoman's 
 kindness for me, in discourse tacitly commended 
 the knowledge of state affairs ; she mentioned 
 several women, who were very happy in a good 
 understanding thereof, and said none of them was 
 originally more capable than I. She said a post 
 woxild arrive from Paris from the queen that night, 
 and she should extremely like to know what news 
 it brought; adding if I would ask my husband 
 privately, he would tell me what he found in the 
 packet, and I might tell her. I, that was young 
 and innocent, and to that day had never in my 
 mouth, ' What news ?' now began to think there 
 was more in enquiring into public affairs than I 
 had thought of; and that being a fashionable 
 thing it would make me more beloved of my hus- 
 band than I already was, if that had been possible. 
 When my husband returned home from the coun- 
 
 cil, after receiving my welcome, lie went with his 
 hands fall of papers into his study. I followed 
 him ; he turned hastily, and said, ' What wouldst 
 thou have, my life?' I told him I heard the 
 prince had received a packet from the queen, and 
 I guessed he had it in his hand, and I desired to 
 know what was in it. He smilingly replied, ' My 
 love, I will immediately come to thee ; pray thee 
 go; for I am very busy.' When he came out of 
 his closet, I revived my suit ; he kissed me, and 
 talked of other things. At supper I would eat 
 nothing ; he as usual sat by me, and drank often 
 to me, which was his custom, and was full of dis- 
 course to company that was at table. Going to 
 bed I asked him again, and said I could never be- 
 lieve he loved me, if he refused to tell me all he 
 knew. He answered nothing, but stopped my 
 mouth with kisses. I cried, and he went to sleep. 
 Next morning very early, as his custom was, he 
 called to rise, but began to discourse with me 
 first, to which I made no reply ; he rose, came on 
 the other side of the bed, kissed me, drew the 
 curtains softly, and went to court. When he came 
 home to dinner, he presently came to me as was 
 usual, and when I had him by the hand, I said, 
 ' Thou dost not care to see me troubled ;' to which 
 he, taking me in his arms, answered, ' My dearest 
 soul, nothing on earth can aiBict me like that; 
 when you asked me of my business, it was wholly 
 out of my power to satisfy thee. My life, my for- 
 tune, shall be thine, and every thought of my 
 heart, in which the trust I am in may not be re- 
 vealed ; but my honour is my ovni, which I cannot 
 preserve, if I communicate the prince!s affairs. I 
 pray thee with this answer rest satisfied.' 
 
 " So great was his reason and goodness, that 
 upon consideration it made my folly appear to me 
 so vile, that from that day until the day of his 
 death, I never thought fit to ask him any business, 
 except what he communicated freely to me in 
 order to his estate or family." 
 
 FARREN, MISS, 
 A HIGHLY accomplished actress, and an excel- 
 lent and beautiful woman, was born in 1759. Her 
 father was a surgeon at Cork, in Ireland, but his 
 habits were so irregular that his family were often 
 in great want. Miss Farren was driven to exer- 
 tions for her own support, and made her first ap- 
 pearance at Liverpool in 1773. She was very well 
 received. In 1777 she went to London, where she 
 met with much applause. She excelled principally 
 in high comedy. April 7th, 1797, Miss Farren 
 retired from the stage ; and in May she married 
 the earl of Derby, who had been long attached 
 to her, but who had been unable to offer his hand 
 during the life of the countess of Derby, from 
 whom he had long been separated. The new 
 countess was esteemed and respected by aU who 
 knew her ; and died, greatly regretted, April 23d, 
 1829. 
 
 FARNESE, FRANCESCA, 
 Commonly called Sister Francesca, was born 
 at Rome. She was a nun, and founded a con- 
 vent. Her poems are united to those of her sister, 
 
 310 
 
TA 
 
 FA 
 
 also a nun, called Sister Isabella. She -was learned 
 in her native literature, in Latin, and in theology. 
 She has left many sacred poems of a very chaste 
 and correct style. Before taking vows she wrote 
 a romance and much miscellaneous poetry, which, 
 under a mistaken sense of duty, she hui-ned. She 
 died in 1651. 
 
 FAUGEEE, MISS,' 
 Was born in the year 1709, in the neighbour- 
 hood of Avignon. She was compelled by her parents 
 to take the veil ; but, with an utter repugnance to 
 the life of a nun, she strained every nerve to free 
 herself from the thraldom imposed upon her. Ten 
 years elapsed, however, before her efforts were 
 crowned with success, when she received a papal 
 permission to leave the sisterhood. But even then 
 she was looked upon by her family as having dis- 
 graced herself and them. She, however, removed 
 to Paris, and from there to London. Wholly de- 
 pendent upon her literary labours, she was com- 
 pelled to write too much, and her writings are of 
 very unequal merit. The best of her works are 
 " Le Triumphe de I'AmitiiJ," published in 1751 ; 
 "Abassai, Histoire Orientale," in 1753; " Contes 
 du Serail," in 1753; and " Les Zelindiens," in 
 1758. She also wrote " Dialogues Moraux et Amu- 
 sans," published in 1777. 
 
 FAUGERES, MARGARETTA V., 
 An American lady, born in 1777, the daughter 
 of Anne Elizabeth Bleeker, was distinguished for 
 her literary accomplishments. Her youth was spent 
 in the country ; but she afterwards married and 
 lived in New York. Many of her poetical pieces 
 were published in the periodicals of the day, and 
 much admired. She also wrote the tragedy of 
 " Belisarius" and some other works. By the pro- 
 fligacy of her husband, Peter Faugeres, a physi- 
 cian, she was reduced to extreme poverty; and 
 after his death was obliged to resort to teacliing 
 for support. Her fine talents were wasted in her 
 struggles with misfortune, and she never accom- 
 plislied what her genius promised. She died in 
 1801. 
 
 FAVART, MARIE JUSTINE BENOITE, 
 MADAME, 
 Was a celebrated French actress, whose maiden 
 name was du Roncerai. She was always a great fa- 
 vourite with the public, in comedies, comic operas, 
 and other lively pieces. Beloved among her friends 
 for her sensibility, gentleness, and generosity of 
 character, she was also a favourite with the public 
 for her inexhaustible vivacity. She was born at 
 Avignon in 1727, and died at Paris in 1772. 
 
 FAYETTE, LOUISE DE LA, 
 Was celebrated for her friendship for Louis 
 XIII., and for her self-denial in that dangerous 
 situation. She was of a noble family, and a fa- 
 vourite maid of honour to the queen, Anne of 
 Austria. The king, enslaved by Richelieu, sought 
 consolation in the society of this lady, who took a 
 sincere interest in his welfare, and was instrumen- 
 tal in reconciling him to his queen. When she 
 
 found her regard for the king growing more ten- 
 der than prudence allowed, she retired to a con- 
 vent and took the veil. The king continued to 
 visit her till the intrigues of Richelieu interrupted 
 their friendship. The queen urged her return to 
 court, but she rejected all temptations, and con- 
 tinued in her convent, with the universal esteem 
 of France. 
 
 FAYETTE, MARIE MADELEINE, 
 COUNTESS DE, 
 
 Daughter of Aymar de la Vergne, marechal- 
 de-camp, and governor of Havre-de-Grace, was 
 more distinguished by her wit and literary pro- 
 ductions than by Jier family. She married the 
 Count de Fayette, in 1655, and removing to Paris, 
 cultivated letters and the fine arts. Her house 
 was the rendezvous for the most distinguished 
 literati in Paris, especially the Duke de la Roche- 
 foucault, Huet, Menage, La Fontaine, and Legrais. 
 The last, when obliged to leave the house of Ma- 
 ilame de Montpensier, found an honourable retreat 
 with her. Madame Sfivignfi, who knew her well, 
 speaks of her as an amiable and estimable lady. 
 Her principal works are the three romances, 
 "Zaide," "La Princesse de Cleves," and "La 
 Princesse de Montpensier ;" which were the first 
 romances that exhibited the manners of fashion- 
 able life in an easy and natural manner. She also 
 wrote " Memoires de la cour de France pour les 
 ann^es, 1688 et 1689," " Histoire d'Henriette 
 d'Angleterre," and " Divers portraits de quelques 
 personnes de la cour." All these works are still 
 esteemed. She also wrote memoirs of other per- 
 sons, which were not published, and were lost by 
 her son, the AbbS de la Fayette. She understood 
 Latin, which she learned in a very short time. 
 Her works are written in an easy and elegant 
 style, which was, at that time, unequalled. We 
 will insert one of her letters, in the original, as a 
 specimen of the French prose of that period, and 
 the style of epistolary composition among tlie best 
 educated. Madame de la Fayette died at Paris, 
 in 1693. 
 
 LETXEE A MADAME DE SEVIGNE. 
 
 H6 bien, hg bien, ma belle, qu'avez-vous 3, crier 
 comme un aigle ? Je vous mande que vous atten- 
 diez 5. juger de moi quand voifs serez ici; qu'y 
 a-t-il de si, terrible i, ces paroles ? mes journ6es 
 sont remplies. II est vrai que Bayard est ici, et 
 qu'il fait mes affaires ; mais quand il a couru tout 
 le jour pour mon service, 6crirai-je ? encore faut-il 
 lui parler? quand j'ai couru, moi, et que je re- 
 viens, je trouve M. de la Rochefoucault, que je 
 n'ai point vu de tout le jour ; 6crirai-je ? M. de 
 la Rochefoucault et Gourville sont ici ; ^crirai-je '! 
 mais quand lis sont sortis ? ah ! quand ils sont 
 sortis, il est onze heures, et je sors, moi. Je 
 couche chez nosvoisins ^ cause qu' on batit devant 
 nos fenetres. Mais I'aprfes-din^e ? j'ai mal a la 
 tete ; mais le matin, j'y ai mal encore, et je prends 
 des bouillons d'herbes qui m'enivrent. Vous etes 
 en Provence, ma belle ; vos heures sont libres, et 
 votre t6te encore plus : le gout d'dorire vous dure 
 encore pour tout le monde ; il m'est pass^ pour 
 tout le monde ; et si j'avais un amant qui voulftt 
 
 311 
 
FE 
 
 de mes lettres tous les mating, je romprais aveo 
 lui. Ne mesurez done point notre amitiS sur 
 I'^oriture ; je tous aimerai autant, en ne tous 
 ^criTant qu'une page en un mois, que vous en 
 m'en ^criTant dix en huit jours. Quand je suis i, 
 Saint-Maur, je puis ^crire, parce que j'ai plus de 
 tSte et de loisir; mais je n'ai pas celui d'y etre: 
 je n'y ai pass^ que huit jours cette ann^e. Paris 
 me tue. Adieu, ma trfes-chfere; Totre defiance 
 seule compose votre unique d^faut, et la seule 
 chose qui pent me d^plaire en tous. M. de la 
 
 llocliefoucault tous ^crira. 
 
 * 
 
 FEDELE, CASSANDRA, 
 Of Venice, born 1465. This noted lady was 
 well acquainted with Greek, Latin, and with his- 
 tory. Julius II., Leo X., Louis XIIL, and Ferdi- 
 nand of Arragon, iuTited her to their courts ; but 
 her own republic would not allow her departure. 
 Her death, which happened in 1558, was commemo- 
 rated by the tributary praises of the literati of 
 that day. Poliziano eulogizes her in the highest 
 terms. There remain some letters and Latin ora- 
 tions of her composition. 
 
 FEDOROWNA, MARIA, 
 
 Empress of the unfortunate Paul of Russia, and 
 mother of the emperors Alexander and Nicholas, 
 was born princess of Wurtemburg, in 1759. Se- 
 lected by Catharine II. as bride for the heir to the 
 throne, her early married life was one of mortifica- 
 tion and insignificance. The capricious temper and 
 ill-regulated character of Paul, Tented themselTes 
 frequently in harsh measures towards this exem- 
 plary woman. Her sons, howCTer, unceasingly 
 manifested towards her the affection and duty her 
 deTotion to their childhood had so well merited. 
 After the death of Paul, in 1801, she was released 
 from the trammels in which her youth had been 
 spent. From that epoch till the day of her death, 
 she was occupied in attention to the poor and suf- 
 fering. The number of magnificent institutions 
 for the benefit of the unfortunate and afflicted, 
 which she founded and directed, is really wonder- 
 ful. She was the first person to introduce into 
 
 FE 
 
 Russia an attempt to instruct the deaf and dumb, 
 employing for that purpose a pupil of the Abb6 
 Sicard. She died in 1828. 
 
 FERGUSON, ELIZABETH GR^ME, 
 Daijqhtek of Dr. Thomas Grseme, who came 
 from Scotland to America, was born in Philadel- 
 phia, in 1739. She was Tery carefully educated, 
 and showed uncommon abilities. WhUe still young, 
 she translated Fenelon's Telemachus into English 
 Terse ; she also wrote seTCral smaller poems, which, 
 together with her essays and some of her letters, 
 haTC been published. She married Mr. Hugh 
 Henry Ferguson ; but on the breaking out of the 
 ReTolution, in 1775, as he adhered to the British 
 gOTernment, and she was faithful to her country, 
 they separated, and neTer liTed together again. 
 Mrs. Ferguson died in 1801. 
 
 FERNANDEZ, MARIA MADDALENA 
 MORELLI, 
 
 Won the admiration of all Italy as an improvi- 
 sairice. The talent of improTising in poetry seems 
 to be almost exclusiTely allotted to the Italians, 
 among whom the structure of their Terse, and the 
 conventional, CTer-recurring rhymes, render it an 
 easier matter to employ this frame- work to thought, 
 than would be possible under a different system 
 of prosody. If, howCTer, the powers of ordinary 
 improvisatori, from these reasons, are not to be 
 overvalued, — when thought, imagery, feeling, pas- 
 sion, harmony of numbers, flow spontaneously, 
 the admiration and wonder they excite must be 
 unbounded, as these qualities are independent of 
 any rhythm, and would command praise and en- 
 thusiasm, CTen when these effusions were produced 
 upon study, and corrected efforts. 
 
 Among the improvisatori whose fame has been 
 more than ephemeral, perhaps the first was Maria 
 Morelli. She was born of noble ■ parents, in the 
 city of Pistoja, in the year 1740. From her ear- 
 liest years she manifested a quick ear for harmony, 
 and a talent for improvisation. This talent was 
 heightened by an excellent education ; her mind 
 was stored with history and science, and her ima- 
 gination improved by assiduous reading of the 
 
 312 
 
FE 
 
 FE 
 
 beat poets. Her parents, proud of her genius, 
 took her to Rome, to exhibit her powers to the 
 academy of "Arcadia." Gifted with personal 
 beauty and grace, she received the highest ap- 
 plause, and was made a member of that society, 
 under the name of Gorilla Olympia, by which she 
 was afterwards universally designated. At Na- 
 ples she was received with enthusiasm, and there 
 captivated a young Sicilian gentleman, named 
 Fernandez, to whom she was united in marriage. 
 Her fame soon resounded throughout Europe, and 
 she was noticed by the most illustrious persons of 
 the age. The emperor Joseph II. visited her at 
 Naples ; and pope Clement XIV. directed to her 
 an honourable brief, by which he permitted her 
 to read forbidden books. She published some 
 poems, an epic poem dedicated to the empress of 
 Russia, an epistle to Metastasio, and some others. 
 In 1776, she went through the ordeal of a trial of 
 her poetic powers, for three days, at Rome, before 
 a vast concourse of literary and noble personages. 
 Some of the subjects were, Moral Philosophy, 
 Revealed Religion, Physics, Metaphysics, Heroic 
 Poetry, Harmony, Pastoral Poetry, &c. These 
 were handed to her in order, in sealed notes, and 
 she acquitted herself in every case so as to disarm 
 criticism. She then was solemnly crowned with 
 a laurel wreath. A minute description of this 
 ceremony, which was accompanied with wonder- 
 ful pomp and pageantry, has been written by two 
 literary abb^s, and published by the celebrated 
 Bodoni, in 1779. Our poetess, after passing her 
 youth amidst the homage of the great and power- 
 ful, retired upon her laurels to Florence, where 
 she lived tranquilly to the age of sixty. She died 
 in 1800. 
 
 FERRIOL, MADAME DE, .^ 
 Was the sister of Madame de Tencin ; handsome 
 and intriguing, like her sister, but without her wit 
 and suppleness. She was early married to M. de 
 Ferriol, a magistrate, who cared little about his 
 wife, and philosophically permitted her to have a 
 long and open liason with the Mar^chal d'Uxelles. 
 This connexion with a minister, added to Madame 
 de Ferriol's power. Her house was frequented 
 by all those who had favours to ask ; every class, 
 and every party, were represented in her society. 
 Voltaire and Bolingbroke formed a part of her 
 circle. As long as the mar^chal continued con- 
 stant, his handsome mistress remained in vogue ; 
 but his love cooled with age and the decline of her 
 charms, and Madame de Ferriol, who had never 
 been very witty, grew ill-tempered and morose 
 with years. The world would no doubt have be- 
 come indifferent and estranged, like the margchal, 
 had it not been for the attractions of a young and 
 lovely Circassian slave, whom she had brought up, 
 and who resided beneath her roof. 
 
 The origin of the connexion between Mademoi- 
 selle Aiss6 and her protectress, was singular and 
 romantic. She was purchased, when a child, in 
 the slave-market of Constantinople, by Monsieur 
 de Ferriol's elder brother. Struck by her singular 
 beauty, he questioned her owner, and found that 
 she was the daughter of a Circassian prince, who 
 
 had been massacred, with all his people. M. de 
 Ferriol confided the child to the care of his sister- 
 in-law, and returned to Constantinople, where he 
 resided as ambassador until the year 1711. Aiss^ 
 was kindly treated by Madame de Ferriol, and 
 brought up on an equality with her two sons. 
 Ai'ss6 grew up in surpassing loveliness, and at- 
 tracted considerable attention in the circle of 
 Madame de Ferriol. Her beauty was not her 
 only attraction ; she possessed the most noble and 
 amiable qualities of the heart. She was in all the 
 bloom and freshness of her beauty, when M. de 
 Ferriol returned to France. He was on the verge 
 of seventy; his prot6g€e barely seventeen. He 
 endeavoured, nevertheless, to inspire her with a 
 more tender feeling than gratitude ; and when he 
 failed, he asserted his right over her with oriental 
 despotism. To escape this persecution, Aiss^ ap- 
 pealed to her adopted brother, whose influence 
 convinced her ancient admirer of the uselessness 
 of his suit. M. de Ferriol consented to be reason- 
 able, and thenceforward received from Aiss6 all 
 she could give — the affection of a daughter. She 
 had many admirers ; among them the regent, who 
 urged his suit in explicit language. Stung and 
 astonished by her coldness, he made her the most 
 brilliant offers, all of which Ai'ss^ indignantly re- 
 fused. 
 
 Madame de Ferriol, to whom it was inconceiv- 
 able that a young girl should resist the wishes of 
 the first prince of the blood, and regent of the 
 kingdom, combated her arguments, and called her 
 moral scruples folly, exhorting her to do as all 
 around her did. Unlike the noble and free-born 
 ladies of France, the Circassian slave, bought in 
 the market of Constantinople, inexorably refused 
 to sell herself for gold or power. When the perse- 
 cution she endured became intolerable, the young 
 girl threw herself at the feet of her protectress, 
 declaring, if the subject was urged again, she 
 would seek refuge in a convent. Alarmed at a 
 threat which would have deprived her society of 
 its greatest attraction, Madame de Ferriol was 
 compelled to desist. 
 
 Soon after this, an ardent attachment sprung 
 up between Mademoiselle Ai'ssS and the Chevalier 
 d'Aydie, a young knight of St. John, represented 
 as a true hero of romance. Bound by his vows to 
 a life of celibacy, their love was madness ; and it 
 was then, in the struggle between conscience and 
 passion, that Madame de Ferriol's arguments re- 
 curred to the mind of Aiss^. She yielded to them ; 
 and Madame de Ferriol openly sanctioned between 
 her ward and the chevalier, a connexion which 
 was only treated as a matter of course by the 
 society in which they moved. Naturally too pure 
 and delicate for the errors intp which her unhappy 
 education had made her fall, Mademoiselle Aiss^ 
 soon felt all the horrors of remorse and shame, in 
 the conviction of her degradation. Her lover, 
 whose ardent attachment had been rendered more 
 tender by the birth of a child, offered to procure 
 a dispensation from the pope, and marry her ; but 
 she steadily refused ; her unknown origin, the 
 poverty of her lover, and the prejudices of the 
 age, which would have rendered such an alliance 
 
 313 
 
n 
 
 FL 
 
 degrading for him, made her persist in her refusal. 
 She announced to her lover, after a long period 
 of painful struggles, that henceforward friendship 
 must be the only feeling between them. He sub- 
 mitted to her decision, protesting that her aifec- 
 tion, whatever name she might give it, would be 
 his only source of happiness ; and promising never 
 to seek to influence her against her conscience. 
 He religiously kept his word ; and his love for 
 his Circassian mistress ever remained fervent and 
 true. 
 
 Signs, she could not mistake, soon told Aissfi 
 that her life was drawing to a close. She ardently 
 desired to reconcile herself to God ; and, by the 
 aid of the chevalier, she was enabled to confess 
 herself to a priest at the house of Madame du 
 Dftflfand. The Chevalier d'Aydie survived his mis- 
 tress many years ; his sorrow was severe and last- 
 ing. He retired to the country, and devoted him- 
 self to the education of his daughter. Madame 
 de Ferriol is chiefly remarkable as having been 
 the protectress of Aissi5, of whose history a beau- 
 tiful little sketch may be found in that clever book, 
 " The Women of France," by Miss Kavanach. 
 
 FIELDING, SAEAH, 
 The third sister of Henry Fielding, the novelist, 
 and herself a writer of some celebrity, was born 
 in 1714, lived unmarried, and died in 1768. She 
 showed a lively and penetrating genius in many 
 of her productions, especially in the novel entitled 
 " David Simple," and in the Letters afterwards 
 published between the principal characters in that 
 work. She also translated "Xenophon's Memo- 
 rabilia." The following eulogy on this lady, was 
 composed by Dr. John Hoadley, who erected a 
 monument to her memory ; — 
 
 "Her unaffected manners, candid mind, 
 Her heart benevolent, and soul resigned. 
 Were niurp lier praise, than all she l<ne\v or thought, 
 Tliough Athens' wisdom to her sex she taught."' 
 
 FICKER, CHRISTIANE D. S., 
 The inventor of the tambour-needle, was the 
 daughter of Mr. Nier, the comptroller of the mines 
 in Eibenstock, Saxony. She was born November 
 12th, 1769. She was led to the invention by her 
 love for embroidering, and the desire to trace 
 raised figures, by means of a thread and needle, 
 upon the cloth. The invention has been of great 
 use to the poor women of Saxony, to whom it 
 became a fruitful source of employment from 
 abroad. The inventor, though, like Fulton, gained 
 nothing by the invention, except a present of a 
 small sum of money, given to her by the queen 
 Amelia Auguste. She died on the 22d of October, 
 1811, as the wife of Christian G. Ficker, pastor 
 of Eibenstock. 
 
 FISHER, CATHARINE. 
 The biographers of this lady appear to have 
 been ignorant of her origin, though they all agree 
 in allowing that she possessed great comprehension 
 of mind, and acknowledge that she was one of the 
 most perfect linguists that adorned the sixteenth 
 century. About the year 1659, she married Gual- 
 
 theius Gruter, a burgomaster of Antwerp, by whom 
 she had one son, the' celebrated James Gruter, 
 whose philosophical works have been so univer- 
 sally admired. In the early part of his life, he 
 had no other instructor than his mother, who was 
 perfect mistress both of Latin and Greeks and to 
 her has been ascribed his fondness for study, as 
 it is during childhood that a bias is given to the 
 mind. At what age she died, has not been spe- 
 cified ; but the year, her biographers believe to 
 have been 1579, the time when her son left the 
 University of Cambridge, to study at Leyden ; but 
 this circumstance is not positively ascertained. 
 
 FISHER, MARY, 
 An enthusiastic English Quakeress of the seven- 
 teenth century, who travelled to Constantinople, 
 with the intention of converting the grand seignior. 
 She embarked at Smyrna in an Italian vessel for 
 Adrianople ; but her design being discovered, she 
 was taken from the ship, and sent to Venice. 
 This opposition only increased her zeal, and she 
 determined to pursue her journey by land. When 
 she reached Adrianople, she obtained an audience 
 of Mahomet IV., who, surprised at her courage, 
 and the manner in which she addressed him, re- 
 garded her as deranged, and ordered her to be 
 carried back to her own country in the first vessel 
 that sailed. On her return, she was received in 
 triumph by the Quakers, and married to one of 
 the principal members of that sect. 
 
 FLAXMAN, ANN, 
 
 Wipe of John Flaxman, the celebrated sculptor, 
 deserves a place among distinguished women, for 
 the admirable manner in which she devoted her- 
 self to sustain her husband's genius, and aid him 
 in his arduous career. 
 
 Her maiden name was Denman ; she married 
 John Flaxman when he was about twenty-seven 
 years old, and she twenty-two. They had been 
 for some time mutually attached to each other; 
 but he was poor in purse, and though on the road 
 to fame, had no one, but this chosen partner of 
 his life, who sympathized in his success. She was 
 amiable and accomplislied, had a taste for art and 
 literature, was skilful in French and Italian, and, 
 like her husband, had acquired some knowledge 
 of the Greek. But what was better than all, she 
 was an enthusiastic admirer of his genius — she 
 cheered and encouraged him in his moments of 
 despondency — regulated modestly and prudently / 
 his domestic economy — arranged his drawings — 
 managed now and tlien his correspondence, and 
 acted in all particulars, so that it seemed as if the 
 church, in performing a marriage, had accom- 
 plished a miracle, and blended them really into 
 one flesh and one blood. That tranquillity of 
 mind, so essential to those who live by thought, 
 was of his household; and the sculptor, happy in 
 the company of one who had taste and enthusiasm, 
 soon renewed with double zeal the studies which 
 courtship and matrimony had for a time inter- 
 rupted. He had never doubted that in the com- 
 pany of her whom he loved he should be able to 
 work with an intenser spirit ; but of another opi- 
 
 314 
 
FL 
 
 FO 
 
 nion was Sir Joshua Reynolds. " So, Flaxman," 
 said the president, one day, as he chanced to meet 
 him, "I am told you are married; if so, sir, I tell 
 you you are ruined for an artist." Flaxman went 
 home, sat down beside his wife, took her hand, 
 and said, with a smile, " I am ruined for an artist." 
 "John," said she, "how has this happened, and 
 who has done it?" "It happened," said he, "in 
 the church, and Ann Denman has done it ; I met 
 Sir Joshua Reynolds just now, and he said mar- 
 riage had ruined me in my profession." 
 
 For a moment, a cloud hung on Flaxman's brow ; 
 but this worthy couple understood each other too 
 well, to have their happiness seriously marred by 
 the unguarded and peevish remark of a wealthy 
 old bachelor. They were proud, determined peo- 
 ple, who asked no one's advice, who shared their 
 domestic secrets with none of their neighbours, 
 and lived as if they were unconscious that they 
 were in the midst of a luxurious city. "Ann," 
 said the sculptor, " I have long thought that I 
 could rise to distinction in art without studying 
 in Italy, but these words of Reynolds have deter- 
 mined me. I shall go to Rome as soon as my 
 affairs are fit to be left ; and to show him that wed- 
 lock is for a man's good rather than his harm, you 
 shall accompany me. If I remain here, I shall be 
 accused of ignorance concerning those noble works 
 of art which are to the sight of a sculptor what 
 learning is to a man of genius, and you will lie 
 under the charge of detaining me." In this reso- 
 lution Mrs. Flaxman fully concurred. They re- 
 solved to prepare themselves in silence for the 
 journey, to inform no one of their intentions, and 
 to set, meantime, a still stricter watch over their 
 expenditure. No assistance was proffered by the 
 Academy, nor was any asked; and five years 
 elapsed from the day of the memorable speech of 
 the president, before Flaxman, by incessant study 
 and labourj had accumulated the means of depart- 
 ing for Italy. They went together ; and in all his 
 subsequent labours and triumphs, the wife was 
 his good angel. 
 
 For thirty-eight years Flaxman lived wedded — 
 his health was generally good, his spirits ever 
 equal ; and his wife, to whom his fame was hap- 
 piness, had been always at his side. She was a 
 most cheerful, intelligent woman ; a collector, too, 
 of drawings and sketches, and an admirer of Stot- 
 hard, of whose designs and prints she had amassed 
 more than a thousand. Her husband paid her the 
 double respect due to affection and talent; and 
 when any difficulty in composition occurred, he 
 would say, with a smile, "Ask Mrs. Flaxman, she 
 is my dictionary." She maintained the simplicity 
 and dignity of her husband, and refused all pre- 
 sents of paintings, or drawings, or books, unless 
 some reciprocal interchange were made. It is 
 almost needless to say that Flaxman loved such a 
 woman very tenderly. The hour of their separa- 
 tion approached — she fell ill, and died in the year 
 1820; and from the time of this bereavement, 
 something like a lethargy came over his spirit. He 
 survived his wife six years ; and, as his biographer 
 remarks, was " surrounded with the applause of 
 the world." 
 
 FODOR, MAINVILLE, JOSEPHINE, 
 One of the most brilliant opera-singers of the 
 eighteenth century. Her fame is European. She 
 was the daughter of M. Fodor, the violinist, and 
 born at Paris in 1793. Already in her eleventh 
 year, she appeared at the opera in St. Petersburg 
 with a success which drew the eyes of all the 
 directors of operas in Europe upon her. Her 
 fame increased from year to year, so that even at 
 the age of seventeen she had the most brilliant offers 
 from the best theatres in Europe. She married 
 the actor Mainville, and appeared with her hus- 
 band at all the court theatres in Denmark, Eng- 
 land, France, Germany, Russia, Sweden, and Italy. 
 The latter country greeted her with the title of 
 Queen of Song, and Venice had a medal struck 
 to honour her. Mademoiselle Sontag owes much 
 to her instruction. She died a few years ago. 
 
 FOIX, MARGARET DE, DUCHESS 
 D'EPERNON. 
 
 In 1588, the chief of the league, wishing to 
 ruin the duke, rendered him an object of suspi- 
 cion at court, and obtained an order to take from 
 him the castle of Angouleme, of which he was 
 governor. The magistrate charged with the execu- 
 tion of this act seized the duchess, and conducted 
 her to the principal gate of the citadel, in order 
 that her danger might induce the duke to submit. 
 In this situation, one of the officers by whom the 
 duchess was led was killed at her feet, and another 
 mortally wounded. Calm amidst the dangers which 
 menaced her, and insensible to the remonstrances 
 of the enemy, who urged her to exhort her hus- 
 band to surrender, she replied, magnanimouslj', 
 that she knew not how to give ill counsel ; nor 
 would she enter into a treaty with murderers. 
 " In what terms," said she, " can a wife, who is 
 afflicted only that she has but one life to offer for 
 the honour and safety of her husband, persuade 
 him to an act of cowardice ?" She went on to 
 declare, that she would shed, with joy, the last 
 drop of her blood to add new lustre to the reputa- 
 tion of her husband ; or to lengthen his existence 
 but a single day ; that she would be guilty of no 
 weakness that should disgrace him : and that she 
 would die with pleasure at the castle-gate for him, 
 without whom she should abhor life even on a 
 throne. 
 
 To the duke, whom they endeavoured to terrify 
 by the danger which threatened his wife, she held 
 out her arms, and implored him not to suffer his 
 resolution to be shaken by any considerations 
 which respected her safety. It was her wish, she 
 told him, that her body might serve him for a new 
 rampart against his enemies. On him, she de- 
 clared, in whom alone she lived, depended her 
 fortune and her fate. That by sacrificing himself 
 he would gain no advantage, since she was deter- 
 mined not to survive him ; but that to live in his 
 remembrance would, in despite of their adversa- 
 ries, constitute her happiness and her glory. 
 
 The grace and energy with which she expressed 
 herself, softened the hearts of the enemy, who 
 deliberated on other means by which their pur- 
 
 315 
 
.FO 
 
 FO 
 
 pose might be effected. In the interval the duke 
 was relieved by his friends ; when the duchess, 
 impatient to rejoin this beloved husband, of whom 
 she had proved herself so worthy, without waiting 
 till the castle-gate was cleared, entered by a ladder 
 at one of the windows, and was received with the 
 honours and tenderness she merited. 
 
 FONSECA, ELEONORA, MAE- 
 CHIONESS OF, 
 A LADY of great beauty and talents, was born 
 at Naples in 1768. She cultivated botany, and 
 other branches of natural history, and assisted 
 Spallanzani in his philosophical investigations. 
 Thcugh possessed of great beauty, she devoted 
 her youth to the cultivation of her mind. She 
 studied with much care natural history and ana- 
 tomy. As might be supposed, she was a warm 
 partisan of the French revolution. When the 
 king and royal family were obliged to leave Naples 
 in 1799, the marchioness of Fonseca narrowly 
 escaped the fury of the Lazzaroni, who threatened 
 the lives of those who were in the French interest. 
 During the short-lived existence of the Partheno- 
 pean republic, in 1799, she warmly espoused the 
 popular cause, and edited a republican journal 
 called " The Neapolitan Monitor." For these ex- 
 pressions of her political principles the marchioness 
 was executed, on the 20th of July, by the restored 
 government. Her private character was irre- 
 proachable 
 
 FONTANA, LAVINIA, 
 Daughter of Prospero Fontana, a painter of 
 Bologna, died in 1602, aged fifty. She was emi- 
 nent as a painter, and was patronized by Pope 
 Gregory XIII., whose picture she drew in a very 
 superior manner. 
 
 FONTANGES, MARIE ANGELIQUE, 
 DUCHESS OF, 
 Stjcoessok. to Montespan in the affections of 
 Louis XIV., was beautiful as an angel, but silly 
 as a goose, as Abb6 Choisi said. She nevertheless 
 captivated the affections of Louis XIV., who was 
 tired of the pride and the caprice of Madame de 
 Montespan. As soon as she discovered the pas- 
 sion which she had inspired, and had secured her 
 royal conquest, she became haughty and extra- 
 vagant, spending a hundred thousand crowns a 
 month, and retorting a hundred-fold the disdain 
 she had experienced from Madame de Montespan. 
 She became the general dispenser of the king's 
 favours, and the model of fashion. One day, when 
 she was on a hunting-party, the wind having put 
 her head-dress in disorder, she fastened it with a 
 riband, the knot of which falling over her fore- 
 head, this fashion spread all over Europe under 
 her name. The king made her a duchess ; but she 
 did not long enjoy the rank, as she died when 
 scarcely twenty years old, in the abbey of Port- 
 Royal, Paris, shortly after an accouchement. 
 
 FONTE, MODERATA, 
 The assumed name of a celebrated Venetian 
 lady, whose real name was Modesta Pazzo. She 
 
 was bom at Venice, in 1555, and became an orphan 
 in her infancy. "While young, she was placed in 
 the convent of the nuns of Martha of Venice ; but 
 afterwards left it, and was married. She lived 
 twenty years very happily with her husband, and 
 died in 1592. She learned poetry and Latin with 
 the greatest ease ; and is said to have had so pro- 
 digious a memory, that, after hearing a sermon 
 only once, she could repeat it word for word. 
 She wrote a poem, entitled " II Floridoro," and an- 
 other on the "Passion and Resurrection of Jesus 
 Christ." Besides these and other poems, she wrote 
 a book in prose, which was not published till after 
 her death, called " Dei Meriti delle Donne," in 
 which she maintains that women are not inferior 
 in understanding or merit to men. None of her 
 works are now extant. 
 
 FORCE, CHARLOTTE ROSE DE 
 CAUMENT DE LA, 
 
 A French poetess, who died in 1724, aged se- 
 venty. Her " Castle in Spain," a poem; and her 
 "Secret History of Burgundy," a romance; her 
 tales, and other works, possess considerable merit ; 
 but nothing she wrote has retained a permanent 
 place in French literature. 
 
 FOUGERET, ANNA FRANCESCA 
 DONTREMONT, 
 
 Was born at Paris in 1745, in a family where, 
 by example and instruction, she was brought up 
 to know and practise the virtues of a Christian. 
 Her father was an eminent barrister ; and her mo- 
 ther, descended from a very respectable family, 
 was a woman of superior ability, and esteemed 
 for her many virtues. Anna was married when very 
 young to M. de Fougeret, receiver-general of the 
 finance. At the head of an establishment of which 
 she had the management, and living in an extended 
 circle of society, she found time to be the instruct- 
 ress of her children, whom she educated in a most 
 careful manner. Her love for her own infants 
 awakened her sympathy for some unfortunates 
 whom circumstances brought under her notice. 
 Her father, who was a director of the hospitals, 
 often deplored the miserable situation of that of 
 
 316 
 
FO 
 
 FR 
 
 the foundlings, where numbers of bahes perished 
 for want of proper nutrition, impossible to be 
 given, and from the bad air of overcrowded rooms. 
 The pictures of this distress deeply moved the 
 heart of Madame de Fougeret ; nor was she satis- 
 fied with a barren commiseration ; she pondered 
 over the subject until she devised the remedy ; 
 but her plans required more money than a private 
 purse could supply. True benevolence is invinci- 
 ble. Madame de Fougeret, abdicating all personal 
 merit in this good act, communicated her ideas to 
 the duchess de Cosae, whose rank and power, 
 united with her benevolence and piety, rendered 
 her the fit person to set on foot this useful estab- 
 lishment. Soon all the opulent ladies of Paris 
 became interested, everything was arranged, every 
 obstacle surmounted, and the " Maternal Charity" 
 became an institution. 
 
 Louis XVI. and Maria Antoinette headed the 
 list of subscribers, and in 1788 the society began 
 their labours. These were crowned with the ut- 
 most success until the whirlwind of 1789 came to 
 disperse the founders and patrons. Amidst the 
 trials to which she was exposed, Madame de Fou- 
 geret had the opportunity of manifesting the 
 greatness of her mind and the energy of her cha- 
 racter. Her husband expired on the guillotine, 
 and she was left to sustain, encourage, and main- 
 tain her children ; and, by judicious exertion of 
 her abilities, she rescued from confiscation the 
 patrimony of her family. After the restitution of 
 her property she lived in the country, surrounded 
 by a numerous offspring, to whom she was an ob- 
 ject of love and veneration. In 1813, a painful 
 malady terminated a life of virtue and good 
 works. 
 
 The sagacity of Napoleon discerned the value 
 of the institution devised by Madame de Fougeret. 
 He adopted it, and declared it by a decree of the, 
 senate an Imperial Institute ; and the empress, 
 Maria Louisa, was its directress. 
 
 At the restoration of the Bourbons, the dau- 
 phiness saw, with much emotion, the signature of 
 her unfortunate mother among the early promoters 
 of this charity. This was enough to enlist her in- 
 terest ; and she, by personal attention and munifi- 
 cent donations, assisted the managers. Since then 
 the funds of the society have been increased by 
 bequests and donations until it has become as 
 flourishing as its benevolent originator could have 
 ever anticipated or desired. But Madame Fou- 
 geret was its foundress. 
 
 FOUQUE, CAROLINE AUGUSTE DE 
 LA MOTTE, 
 BoKN in 1773, at Hernhauser. Her maiden 
 name was Von Briest. She married first a gen- 
 tleman named Von Rochow, from whom she was 
 divorced, in 1800, when she married Charles F. 
 Baron de la Motte Fouqu^, the poet of the roman- 
 tic school. In 1807j she published "Roderic;" 
 in 1809, " Letters on Female Education ;" in 1812, 
 "Magic of Nature;" in 1814, "Feodore;" in 
 1811, "Edmund's Walks and Wanderings;" in 
 1810, "The Hero Maiden of the Verdi;" and in 
 1808, " The Desk." She died in 1815. 
 
 FRANCISCA, or FRANCES, 
 A Roman lady, was the founder of a convent at 
 Rome, called the Oblates. She followed the doc- 
 trines of St. Benedict, and was canonized in 1608. 
 Many marvellous stories are told of the miracles 
 performed by Francisca, who was noted for the 
 religious mortifications she imposed on herself. 
 
 FRANKLIN, ELEANOR ANN, 
 Was the daughter of Mr. Porden, an eminent 
 architect, and was born in 1795. She early ma- 
 nifested great talent and a strong memory, and 
 acquired considerable knowledge of Greek and 
 other languages. A knot of literary friends, who 
 occasionally met at her father's house, fostered 
 this natural bent of her genius : and their habit 
 of furnishing contributions to a kind of album kept 
 by the party, under the name of the " Salt Box," 
 (selections from which have been printed,) did 
 much towards confirming in her a passionate fond- 
 ness for poetry. In her seventeenth year she 
 wrote, as her shar* towards this domestic miscel- 
 lany, her first poem, " The Veils, or the Triumphs 
 of Constancy," which was published in 1815, with 
 a dedication to Countess Spenser. Three years 
 afterwards appeared a small " Poetical Tribute," 
 under the name of " The Arctic Expedition," sug- 
 gested' by a visit to the Isabella and Alexander 
 discovery ships, which visit led to an acquaintance 
 with Captain Franklin, one of the gallant adven- 
 turers, that ended in marriage, after his return 
 from the expedition, in the month of August, 1823. 
 The year previously appeared Miss Porden's prin- 
 cipal work, an epic poem on the subject of the 
 third crusade, entitled " Cceurde Lion," dedicated 
 by permission to the Idng. In Jime, 1824, the 
 birth of a daughter encouraged hopes in her 
 friends, that a strong tendency to a pulmonary 
 complaint, increased by the bursting of a blood- 
 vessel, in 1822, might be counteracted ; but these 
 flattering expectations were soon destroyed, and 
 she died, February 22d, 1825. 
 
 FRANZ, AGNES, 
 BoKN at Militsch in Silesia, in 1795, was the 
 daughter of the government councillor, L. Franz. 
 She passed her youth at Schweidnitz, where she 
 wrote the greater number of her fugitive pieces. 
 Her poems were first published in 1826 ; her Para- 
 bles were published at Wesel ia 1829 ; Flowers 
 that Pass, at Essen in 1833. Her collected works 
 were published in 1824 at Breslau, under the title 
 of " Glycerion ;" and under that of " Cyanen" in 
 1833, at Essen. In 1834, she edited a portfolio 
 on the Lower Rhine. 
 
 FRATELLINI, GIOVANNA, 
 
 An Italian artist, was born at Florence in 1666. 
 She possessed some talent for historical painting ; 
 but her chief excellence consisted ui painting por- 
 traits. As she executed equally well in oil, crayons, 
 miniature, and enamel, Cosmo III. and most of the 
 princes and princesses of Italy sat to her. Her 
 own portrait in the ducal gallery, painted by her- 
 self, is a happy instance of her talent. It repre- 
 
 817 
 
FR 
 
 sents her in the act of taking the portrait of Lo- 
 renzo, her only son and pupil, who died in the 
 bloom of life. It is painted in crayons, and equals 
 the best productions of Rosalba. 
 
 FROHBERG, REGINA, 
 A German novelist, was born in 1783, at Ber- 
 lin. Her maiden name was Salamon. She was 
 the daughter of wealthy Jewish parents, and has 
 lived, since 1813, in Vienna. She is quite a pro- 
 lific authoress, and her works are distinguished 
 for purity of style, true colouring, and a fine 
 display of imagination. The best of these are 
 " Louisa, or the Contest between Love and Obe- 
 dience," published at Berlin in 1808 ; " Love and 
 Grief," published at Amsterdam in 1812 ; and 
 " The Vow," brought out at Vienna in 1816. 
 
 1/ il'i'l'.-^' 
 
 FRY, ELIZABETH, 
 An English lady of the sect of Friends or Qua- 
 kers, distinguished for her benevolence, and as 
 the originator of the Newgate female committee, 
 was born in 1780. Her father was Mr. Gurney, 
 of Norwich, England; and her brother was the 
 celebrated John J. Gurney. Before her marriage, 
 she established, by her father's consent, a school 
 in his house for eighty poor children. 
 
 In 1800, Miss Gurney married Mr. Fry, who 
 generously aided her in her benevolent inclina- 
 tions. An accidental visit to the prison at New- 
 gate, London, so impressed her with the misery 
 of the women confined there, that she took imme- 
 diate and effectual means to relieve them. She 
 entered alone a room where a hundred and sixty 
 women and children surrounded her in the greatest 
 disorder ; she offered them assistance, and spoke 
 to them words of peace, of hope, and of consola- 
 tion. They listened in silent astonishment and 
 respect. Mrs. Fry repeated her visit, and passed 
 a whole day with them, reading and instructing 
 them from the Bible. She won their love and their 
 confidence ; founded in the prison a school for the 
 children, and societies for the improvement of 
 those more advanced. She drew up rules for their 
 conduct, to which they unanimously consented ; 
 and one of their own number was appointed a 
 
 FB 
 
 matron or superintendent, under the inspection 
 of twenty-four women of the Society of Friends. 
 Mrs. Fry was engaged many years in this arduous 
 undertaking. She afterwards travelled through 
 several countries, but always in pursuance of 
 some plan for ameliorating the condition of the 
 poor and friendless. 
 
 Born to fortune, and to those charms of person 
 and graces of manner, which, making their pos- 
 sessor the idol of society, sometimes stand in the 
 way of an entire devotion to duty, Mrs. Fry over- 
 came all these worldly temptations. She was 
 blessed with a sweet voice, whose persuasive tones- 
 proved no trifling advantage in her labours ; and a 
 yet sweeter temper, without which both philan- 
 thropy and religion would have been vain in deal- 
 ing with the erring. In her youth she was more 
 remarkable for seriousness than vivacity. 
 
 The latest project of Mrs. Fry was the forma- 
 tion of libraries for the use of the Coast Guards, 
 in their numerous stations round the British Isles ; 
 and this, with the aid of her friends and the pa- 
 tronage of government, she lived to see completely 
 successful. 
 
 As a wife and mother, indeed in all her domestic 
 and social relations, she was equally exemplary. 
 She died in 184.5, aged sixty-nine years. Her 
 death caused a great sensation throughout Europe. 
 It was felt that a star of love and hope had gone 
 down ; and none has yet risen to shine iwith the 
 sweet and cheering lustre for the poor as did this 
 truly angelic woman. She not only practised the 
 most disinterested charity herself, but made it 
 familiar with all under her influence. Her chil- 
 dren were taught to consider relieving the poor a 
 pleasure, because their mother did it in such a 
 cheerful spirit. She employed her children as 
 almoners when very young, but required a minute 
 account of their giving, and their reasons for it. 
 After the establishment of the Tract Society, she 
 always kept a large supply of such as she ap- 
 proved for distribution. It was her desire not 
 only to relieve the bodily wants, but also in some 
 way to benefit the souls of the poor. Among other 
 charities, Mrs. Fry acquired the art of vaccina- 
 tion, in order to vaccinate the poor ; and, at inter- 
 vals, made a sort of investigation of the state of 
 the parish where she resided, and persuaded pa- 
 rents to have their children vaccinated ; and she 
 sought to influence their minds to escape the con- 
 tagion of sin by furnishing Bibles and books of 
 instruction to all who had them not. 
 
 Thus passed her life in this round of benefi- 
 cence ; beloved and honoured in a degree which 
 queens might envy; and women most renowned 
 for genius might gladly lay down their crowns of 
 laurel at her feet, and thank her for the glory she 
 has conferred on the sex. She was not gifted with 
 what is termed genius ; she has left few written 
 records; and these, though expressive of piety, 
 are not like her life, interesting and uplifting in 
 their tendency. It was not her mission to write 
 books; but to leave an example of good works, 
 more impressive and beautiful than the pen can 
 teach. We give a few extracts from her "Jour- 
 nal." 
 
 318 
 
FR 
 
 GA 
 
 QUESTIONS FOB, MYSELF. 
 
 First, — Hast thou tliis day been honest and true 
 in performing thy duty towards thy Creator in the 
 first place ; and, secondly, towards thy fellow- 
 creatures ; or hast thou sophisticated and ilinched ? 
 
 Second, — Hast thou been vigilant in frequently 
 pausing in the hurry and career of the day, to see 
 who thou art endeavouring to serve ; whether thy 
 Maker or thyself? And every time that trial or 
 temptation assailed thee, didst thou endeavour to 
 look steadily to the Delivering Power ; even to 
 Christ, who can do all things for thee ? 
 
 Third, — Hast thou endeavoured to pci-form thy 
 relative duties faithfully; been a tender, loving, 
 yielding wife, where thy own will and pleasure 
 were concerned ; a tender, yet steady mother with 
 thy children, making thyself quickly and strictly 
 obeyed, but careful in what thou requirest- of 
 them; a kind, yet honest mistress, telling thy 
 servants of their faults, when thou thinkest it for 
 their or thy good, but never unnecessarily worry- 
 ing thyself or them about trifles ; and to every 
 one endeavouring to do as thou wouldst be done 
 unto? 
 
 THE EFFECT OF THE BIBLE ON THE FEMALE PRI- 
 SONEKS. 
 
 Another very important point is the excellent 
 effect we have found to result from religious edu- 
 cation ; our habit is constantly to read the Scrip- 
 tures to the prisoners twice a day ; many of them 
 have been taught, and some of them have been 
 enabled to read a little themselves ; it has had an 
 astonishing effect. I never saw the Scriptures 
 received in the same way ; and to many of them 
 they have been entirely new, both the great sys- 
 tem of religion and morality contained in them ; 
 and it has been very satisfactory to observe the 
 effect upon their minds. When I have sometimes 
 gone and said it was my intention to read, they 
 would flock up stairs after me, as if it were a great 
 pleasure I had to afford them. 
 
 CAPITAL PUNISHMENT. 
 
 fThe following rough memoranda, in the form of question 
 and answer, were found in Mrs. Fry's writing among her 
 papers.] 
 
 Does capital punishment tend to the security 
 of the people ? 
 
 By no means. It hardens the hearts of men, 
 and makes the loss of life appear light to them ; 
 and it renders life insecure, inasmuch as the law 
 holds out that property is of greater value than 
 life. The wicked are consequently more often dis- 
 posed to sacrifice life to obtain property. It also 
 lessens the security of the subject, because many 
 are so conscientious, that they had rather suffer 
 loss and sustain much injury, than be instrumental 
 in taking the life of a fellow-creature. The result 
 is, that the innocent suffer loss, and the guilty 
 escape with impunity. 
 
 Does capital punishment tend to the reformation 
 of any party ? 
 
 No : because in those who suffer it leads to un- 
 belief, hypocrisy, and fatalism ; in those who re- 
 
 main, to discontent, dissatisfaction with the laws, 
 and the powers which carry tliem into execution ; 
 to hardness of heart, unbelief, and deceit. 
 
 Does it deter others from crime ? 
 
 No : because the crimes subject to capital pun- 
 ishment are gradually increasing. Punishment is 
 not for revenge, but to lessen crime and reform 
 the criminal. 
 
 G. 
 
 GACON, DUFOUE MARIE A. JOHANNE, 
 A DESCENDANT of the Celebrated poet of the 
 same name, devoted all her fine talents and ener- 
 gies to the study of agriculture and economy. Her 
 best works on these subjects are " Bibliotheque 
 Agronomique," " Dictionnaire Rurale et Recueil 
 Pratique d'Economie Eurale et Domestique." She 
 wrote, moreover, " La femme Grenadier," in 1801 ; 
 " Les Dangers de la Prevention ;" and " Les Pre- 
 jug6 Vaincu;" besides several other works. 
 
 GAETANS, AURORA, 
 Of Saponara, in Calabria, born in 1669. From 
 her earliest years she devoted herself to elegant 
 literature. She had the good fortune to be in- 
 structed by the most illustrious men of her age, 
 and to enjoy their friendship ; such persons as 
 Leonardo da Capua, il Calabrese, il Vico. She 
 was much admired for her poetry, and belonged 
 to the Accademia Arcadica, under the name of 
 Lucinda Coritesea. She died in 1730. Her poems 
 are to be found in the collection of Bergalli ; they 
 are written with exquisite delicacy and taste. 
 
 GABRIELLI, CATHARINE, 
 
 One of the most celebrated singers of the nine- 
 teenth century, was bom at Rome in 1730. As 
 soon as her great talent was discovered, (by acci- 
 dent,) she received instructions from Garcia (la 
 Spagnaletto) and Porpora. In the year 1747, she 
 sang at the theatre of Lucca, where she was ge- 
 nerally admired. Francis I. called her subse- 
 quently to Vienna. Metastasio gave her the last 
 finish, especially with regard to the recitative. 
 The operas of this poet gained more celebrity by 
 her than by any other musician. An anecdote is 
 told concerning the extreme capriciousness of this 
 lady. The viceroy of Sicily invited her one day to 
 dine with him and the highest nobility of Palermo. 
 When she did not make her appearance at the ap- 
 pointed hour, he sent a messenger to inform her 
 that she was expected by the party. She was 
 found reading on her sofa, and pretended to have 
 entirely forgotten the invitation. The viceroy 
 seemed inclined to forgive this impoliteness ; but 
 when, during the opera, she acted her part with 
 the utmost negligence, and sang all her airs soito 
 voce, he threatened her with punishment ; yet his 
 displeasure seemed to have no other effect but to 
 render her still more stubborn ; she declared that 
 she might be forced to scream, but not to sinff. She 
 was committed to prison for twelve days ; during 
 this time she gave costly entertainments, paid all 
 
 319 
 
GA 
 
 GA 
 
 the debts of the prisoners, and, with great charity, 
 spent large sums of money among them. The 
 viceroy being obliged to yield, she was released 
 amidst the shoutings of the poor. She would never 
 go to England. When offered an engagement at 
 the theatre of London, she said, " I should not be 
 mistress of my own will ; whenever I should have 
 a fancy not to sing, the people would insult, per- 
 haps misuse me ; better is it to remain here un- 
 molested, were it even in a prison." 
 
 In the year 1765, the empress Catharine invited 
 her to St. Petersburg, vrith the intention to engage 
 her for two months. When her salary was men- 
 tioned, she asked five thousand ducats. 
 
 "Five thousand ducats!" exclaimed the em- 
 press ; "none of my field-marshals receive so en- 
 ormous a sum!" 
 
 "In this case," replied the songstress, "your 
 majesty has only to engage one of your field-mar- 
 shals to sing." 
 
 The empress laughed, and paid the desired sum. 
 Towards the year 1780, Gabrielli went to Milan, 
 where she did her utmost to triumph over and de- 
 feat Marches!. In general, the rest of the singers 
 were afraid of her. Pacchiarotti thought himself 
 lost, when he appeared for the first time with her 
 on the stage. She sang a difficult air peculiarly 
 adapted to her voice, in which she displayed her 
 whole power of singing to such a degree, that poor 
 Pacchiarotti fled, with loud groans, behind the 
 scenes, and could not be prevailed upon to come 
 forth again. She retired from the stage in 1780, 
 and died in 1796. 
 
 GAIL, SOPHIA, 
 Wipe of John Baptist GaU, a celebrated Helle- 
 nist, was born about 1779, and died at Paris in 
 1819. For the arts, particularly music, she mani- 
 fested an early taste, and began to compose when 
 she was not more than twelve years of age. Among 
 her principal compositions are the operas of " The 
 Jealous Pair ;" " Mademoiselle de Launay in the 
 Bastile ;" and " The Serenade." 
 
 GAILLARD, JANE, 
 
 A POETESS of Lyons, living in the sixteenth cen- 
 tury. We have found nothing concerning her writ- 
 ings ; therefore have only the record of her name, 
 as presented in the collection of Lyonese authors, 
 to give. Will the numerous band of young ladies 
 who now write " charming sonnets" for the public 
 journals, leave each one, a name which will be 
 remembered after a lapse of three hundred years ? 
 
 GALLITZIN, AMALIA, PRINCESS, 
 A LADY distinguished for talents, and a strong 
 propensity to mysticism, was the daughter of count 
 Schmettan, and lived during part of her youth at 
 the court of prince Ferdinand, brother of Frederic 
 the Gi'eat of Prussia. She married prince Gallit- 
 zin, of Russia; and, as much of his time was 
 passed in travelling, she chose Munster, in the 
 centre of Germany, for her permanent residence. 
 Here she assembled around her many of the most 
 distinguished men in Germany, of whom Hamann 
 and Hemsterhuis were her most intimate friends. 
 
 She was an ardent Catholic, and very fond of 
 making proselytes ; with the exception of this 
 excessive zeal, she was a very fine woman. Her 
 children were educated according to Rousseau's 
 system. The princess is the Diotama to whom 
 Hemsterhuis, tmder the name of Dioklas, ad- 
 dressed his work on Atheism. She died in 1806, 
 near Munster. Her only son was a missionary in 
 America. 
 
 GALIGAI, ELEONORA, 
 
 The family name of the marechale d'Ancre, 
 was wife of Concini, marechal d'Ancre. Bom in 
 very humble life, the daughter of a joiner, and a 
 washerwoman in Italy, she enjoyed for some time 
 an irresistible dominion in France ; and perished 
 at last by a' judicial sentence pronounced upon her 
 for crimes, some of which were not proved, and 
 others impossible to be committed. She was foster- 
 sister to Mary de Medicis, who loved her with the 
 tenderest affection. It was doubtless the favour 
 she enjoyed with this princess that induced Con- 
 cini to marry her ; for she was exceedingly plain. 
 Her talents, however, made amends for her per- 
 sonal defects. They went to France with Mary de 
 Medicis, whom Madame Concini governed so com- 
 pletely, that she was virtually queen, and after- 
 wards regent of France. Her excessive insolence 
 so disgusted Louis XIII., the son of her protectress, 
 that he gave her up to the envy and hatred of the 
 court. Concini was assassinated by the king's 
 order, and his wife was brought to a trial, in 
 which, for want of other crimes, she was accused 
 of sorcery. Being asked by what magic she had 
 so fascinated the queen, she replied, " By the 
 power which strong minds naturally possess over 
 the weak." She was condemned in May, and exe- 
 cuted in July, 1617. She left a son and a daughter. 
 The latter died soon after her mother ; the son, 
 though he lost his nobility, retired to Italy, with 
 an ample fortune, which had been accumulated 
 by the avarice of his parents. 
 
 The marchioness de Concini was accused, with 
 her husband, of having turned Jews, and of prac- 
 tising magic arts. Her fastidiousness, while at 
 the height of her power, was so great, that the 
 princes, princesses, and first personages in the 
 kingdom, were prohibited from coming to her 
 apartments ; and it was accounted a crime to look 
 at her. 
 
 GARRICK, EVA MARIA, 
 Wife of the celebrated David Garriok, was born 
 at Vienna, February 29th, 1725. Her maiden 
 name was Viegel, under which appellation she at- 
 tracted the notice of Maria Theresa, empress of 
 Austria, as a dancer, and by her command changed 
 it to Violette, a translation of an anagram of her 
 name. In 1744, she arrived in England, bringing 
 with her a letter from the countess of Stahrem- 
 berg to the countess of Burlington, who received 
 her as an inmate of Burlington-house, and treated 
 her with the greatest aflFection. This circumstance 
 gave rise to a very general but erroneous idea, that 
 Eva or Violette was a natural daughter of the 
 earl's, born before his marriage with tlie countess ; 
 
 320 
 
GA 
 
 GE 
 
 but the dates of the respective events prove the 
 inaccuracy of the supposition. While under the 
 protection of this noble family, Mademoiselle Vio- 
 lette formed an attachment with David Garrick, 
 and on the 22d of June, 1749, the nuptials were 
 celebrated, with the sanction of the earl and 
 countess ; a marriage portion of six thousand 
 pounds being bestowed upon the bride by the 
 former. In 1751 and in 1763, Mrs. Garrick ac- 
 companied her husband to the continent ; and in 
 1769, the journals of the day speak highly of the I 
 grace and elegance displayed by her at the Strat- 
 ford jubilee. After the death of her husband, 
 though strongly solicited by several persons of 
 rank and fortune, (among others by the learned 
 lord Monboddo,) to re-enter the marriage state, 
 she continued a widow, residing in her house on 
 the Adelphi terrace, where she died suddenly in 
 her chair, October 16th, 1822, and was buried in 
 the same vault with her husband, near the ceno- 
 taph of Shakspeare, in Westminster Abbey, on the 
 25th day of October in the same year. 
 
 The beauty and truth of Mrs. Garrick's charac- 
 ter in her conjugal relation chiefly entitles her to 
 a notice in our work. As the wife and widow of 
 David Garrick, she offers an example of the sin- 
 gleness and purity of woman's soul which deserves 
 a record. Miss Hannah More, then a young lady, 
 had been intimate with Mr. and Mrs. Garrick for 
 several years before his decease. On her first visit 
 to the new-made widow, she thus describes her — 
 "Not a sigh escaped poor Mrs. Garrick that she 
 could restrain. When I expressed my surprise at 
 her self-command, she answered — ' Groans and 
 complaints are very well for those who are to 
 mourn but a little while ; but a sorrow that is to 
 last for life will not be violent or romantic' " And 
 it did last for life. 
 
 GASTON, MAKGARET, 
 Was born in the county of Cumberland, England, 
 about the year 1755. Her maiden name was Sharpe. 
 Her parents being Catholics, were desirous of 
 giving their daughter better advantages of educa- 
 tion, connected with their own faith, than could 
 be found in their country ; so Margaret was sent 
 to France, and brought up in a convent. She was 
 very happy in her secluded life ; and her conduct 
 in her subsequent history shows that she was well 
 trained. Having two brothers residing in America, 
 she came hither to visit them ; and married, in 
 North Carolina, Dr. Alexander Gaston, of Hugue- 
 not ancestry. This was about the commencement 
 of the war of our Independence ; and Dr. Gaston 
 took a zealous part with his country. He was 
 cruelly murdered, in presence of his wife and little 
 children, by a body of tories in British pay ; — the 
 musket which found his heart was levelled over 
 her shoulder ! 
 
 ' Her brothers and eldest son died before this sad 
 event. Mrs. Gaston had no relatives in America 
 but her two surviving children, William, a boy of 
 three years old, and an infant daughter. In the 
 eloquent language of Mrs. Ellet, who has given the 
 biography of this interesting lady in her "Women 
 of the American Revolution," — "Many women, 
 V 
 
 possessing the acute sensibility of Mrs. Gaston, 
 would have been overwhelmed in such a situa- 
 tion ; but severe trials served only to develop the 
 a'dmirable energy of her character. Every mo- 
 ment of her being guided by religion, she was 
 strong in its support, and devoted herself to the 
 duties that devolved , upon her, with a firmness 
 and constancy by which all who knew her saw that 
 she lived above time and above the world." 
 
 " —Her footsteps seemed to touch tlie earth 
 Only to mark the track that leads to Heaven." 
 
 Though still young when left a widow, she never 
 laid aside the habiliments of sorrow ; and the an- 
 niversary of her husband's murder was kept as a 
 day of fasting and prayer. The great object of 
 her life was the instruction of her son, and imbu- 
 ing his mind with the high principles, the noble 
 integrity, and Christian faith, which shone conspi- 
 cuous in herself. Her income being small, she 
 practised economy to enable her to gratify her 
 dearest wish, and procure for him a complete 
 education ; while her maternal tenderness did not 
 dispense with implicit obedience ; and strict admo- 
 nitions, or yet stricter discipline, were employed 
 to correct the faults of childhood and youth. One 
 slight anecdote may give an idea of her method of 
 education. When her son was seven or eight years 
 of age, being remarkable for his aptitude and 
 cleverness, a little schoolmate as much noted for 
 his dullness said to him — "William, what is the 
 reason you are always head of the class, and I am . 
 always foot ?" — " There is a reason," replied the 
 boy; " but if I tell you, you must promise to keep 
 it a secret, and do as I do. Whenever I take up 
 my book to study, I first say a little prayer my 
 mother taught me, that I may be able to learn my 
 lessons." He tried to teach the words of the peti- 
 tion to the dull boy, who could not remember them. 
 The same night Mrs. Gaston observed William 
 writing behind the door ; and as she permitted no- 
 thing her children did to be concealed from her, 
 he was obliged to confess having been writing out 
 the prayer for little Tommy, that he might be able 
 to get his lessons. 
 
 This cherished son William (afterwards the 
 distinguished judge Gaston, of North Carolina) 
 graduated at Princeton, taking the highest honours 
 of the institution. When he returned home, be- 
 fore his mother embraced or welcomed him, she 
 laid her hands on his head, as he knelt before her, 
 and breathed forth the feelings of her soul in the 
 exclamation — " My God, I thank thee !" 
 
 GAUSSEM, JEANNE CATHERINE, 
 A CELEBBATEB French actress, who, for thirty 
 years, enjoyed the applause of the audience in the 
 principal French theatres. She retired from the 
 stage in 1664, and died at Paris in 1767, aged 
 fifty-six years. 
 
 GENLIS, STEPHANIE FELICITE, 
 
 COUNTESS DE, 
 
 Was born near Autun, in Burgundy, in 1746. 
 
 Her maiden name was Ducrest de St. Aubin. 
 
 Though of a good family, she had no fortune ; but 
 
 321 
 
GE 
 
 her beauty, accomplishments, and skill on the 
 harp, introduced her into high circles, where she 
 had the opportunity of cultivating her mind and 
 improving her knowledge of the world. She re- 
 ceived many offers of marriage, and accepted the 
 count de Genlis, who, before he saw her, had fallen 
 iu love with her from reading one of her letters. 
 
 The union was not a happy one ; and the tongue 
 of scandal did not spare the character of Madame 
 de Genlis. By this marriage, however, she was 
 allied to Madame Montesson, who was privately 
 married to the duke d'Orleans ; and thus it hap- 
 pened that Madame de Genlis was chosen by the 
 duke de Chartres as the governess of his children. 
 She conducted the education of these children en- 
 tirely herself, and wrote her first works for their 
 instruction. Appearing as an author, she produced 
 in rapid succession " Adele and Theodore ;" " The 
 Tales of the Castle ;" " The. Theatre of Education ;" 
 .and " The Annals of Virtue ;" all of which were 
 much praised. Though she was a warm friend 
 to the revolution, her connexion with the duke 
 d'Orleans rendered her so unpopular, that, in 
 1793, she was compelled to leave France. 
 
 She relates herself, in her " Precis de ma Con- 
 duite," that Petion conducted her to London, that 
 she might meet with no obstructions to her jour- 
 ney. About the time of the September massacres, 
 1792, the duke of Orleans recalled her to Paris. As 
 the governess of his daughter, the young duchess 
 of Orleans, and the friend and confidant of the 
 duke, she had become suspected. She therefore 
 retired, with the princess, to Tournay, where she 
 married her adopted daughter, the beautiful Pa- 
 mela, to lord Fitzgerald. Here she saw general 
 Dumouriez, and followed him to St. Amand. Not 
 approving of the plan of the general (who had the 
 sons of the duke of Orleans with him) to march to 
 Paris and overthrow the republic, she retired with 
 the princess to Switzerland, in 1793, where they 
 lived in a convent at Bremgarten, a few miles from 
 Zurich. The daughter of the duke of Orleans 
 liaving at length gone to join her aunt, the princess 
 of Cond6, at Friburg, Madame de Genlis retired 
 with her foster-daughter, Henrietta Sercy, who 
 
 GE 
 
 was now alone left to her, to Altona. This was in 
 1794, and there, in monastic solitude, this once 
 gay and brilliant woman devoted herself entirely 
 to literature. She wrote about this time a novel, 
 " The Chevaliers du Lygne," printed in Ham- 
 burg, 1795, which contains many republican ex- 
 pressions and very free descriptions. It was after- 
 wards republished in Paris, but with many altera- 
 tions. The same year (1795) Madame de Genlis 
 wrote a sort of autobiography, which is amusing, 
 but not very reliable. Between her own vanity 
 and the license usually granted to French vivacity 
 and sentiment, the portrait she has drawn of her- 
 self is very highly coloured and ilattering. At the 
 close of this work is a rather remarkable letter to 
 her eldest pupil, Louis Philippe, in which she ex- 
 horts him not to accept the crown of France, even 
 though it should be oifered him, because the 
 French republic seemed to rest upon moral and 
 just foundations. 
 
 When Napoleon was placed at the head of the 
 government, Madame de Genlis returned to France, 
 and received from him a house; and iu 1805, a 
 pension of 6000 francs. He treated her always 
 with respect a,nd favour ; and she corresponded 
 with him. But, on the return of the Bourbons, 
 she forgot her obligations to the emperor, and wel- 
 comed the restoration of her early friends. This 
 was not strange ; but she even stooped to join the 
 detraction of the exiled Corsican, which was not 
 creditable to her heart or mind. 
 
 For the last thirty years of her life, her inex- 
 haustible genius continued to pour forth a great 
 variety of works. The whole number of her pro- 
 ductions consists of nearly one hundred volumes, 
 and are characterized by great imagination, and 
 purity of style. She died at Paris, in December, 
 1830. 
 
 Among the multitude of her books, the best are 
 those she wrote for the purpose of instructing the 
 children under her charge. We will give a few 
 selections from the "Tales of the Castle." 
 
 Laws, replied the baroness, are enacted for the 
 general community : we must not expect generous 
 and delicate sentiments from the multitude ; con- 
 sequently, the laws cannot regulate certain ac- 
 tions and sentiments ; were they more severe, they 
 would be observed only by a few, therefore could 
 not contribute to the general good : they confine 
 themselves to forbid manifest violence and injus- 
 tice, because they are made fflr the regulation of 
 common and not superior minds. For which rea- 
 son, you may observe that the man whose probity 
 consists in merely obeying the laws, cannot be 
 truly virtuous or estimable ; for he will find many 
 opportunities of doing contemptible and even dis- 
 honest acts, which the laws cannot punish. Hence 
 you may comprehend how law may authorize what 
 honour may proscribe; and wherefore it is shame- 
 ful to go to law in many instances, where you 
 would be certain of gaining the cause. 
 
 VIRTUE. 
 
 There is no man, however wicked, or however 
 
GE 
 
 GE 
 
 vulgar, but naturally loves virtue, and hates vice. 
 His passions make him aqt against his conscience ; 
 but, while his conscience reproves him for his own 
 errors, it demonstrates more clearly the errors of 
 others, because, with respect to them, he does not 
 reject its testimony. Hence it is that men act ill, 
 and judge well. Feeble and corrupted, they give 
 way to their passions ; but when they are cool — ■ 
 that is to say, when they are uninterested — they 
 instantly condemn what they have often been 
 guilty of ; they revolt against every thing that is 
 contemptible ; they admire every thing generous, 
 and they are moved at every thing affecting. 
 
 PBEJUDICE. 
 
 A prejudice is an opinion formed without due 
 reflection, and which cannot be supported by any 
 good reasons : thus, for example, Mademoiselle 
 Victoire believes, that a bit of rope with which a 
 man has been hanged, carried in her pocket, will 
 make her win at cards. This is a prejudice ; for 
 it certainly is not the effect of reasoning on the 
 possibility of the fact, which could first make her 
 give into such a belief. Ask her why she has this 
 opinion, and she will tell you she had it of her 
 aunt, her mother, or her grandmother; and this 
 is all she knows. 
 
 All prejudices are not equally stupid with this ; 
 but I know many which I think so, and which are 
 yet generally adopted. I have seen women run 
 away frightened at the entrance of a person who 
 nursed another sick of the small-pox or the mea- 
 sles ; and I have seen these same women, with 
 great tranquillity, shut themselves up with the 
 physician who attended those very patients. Many 
 other things, of a like kind, may be observed, 
 equally rational with Mademoiselle Victoire's pre- 
 dilection for the hangman's rope. 
 
 But there is another species of prejudice, which, 
 far from being ridiculous, deserves to be respected, 
 because it is produced by a lively and delicate 
 sensibility. Let us continue to believe, that twins 
 are united in perfect friendship ; that they reci- 
 procally suffer the bodily evils of each other ; that 
 a mother would discover her child, whom she had 
 never seen, amid a thousand other children : these 
 are the errors of kind hearts, the consequences of 
 virtuous sentiments, and ought not to be despised. 
 
 All opinions which cannot be maintained by 
 reason, and which facts and experiments demon- 
 strate to be false, are certainly prejudices ; yet we 
 must be careful how we affirm, that any thing, 
 with the nature of which we are unacquainted, 
 however strange it may appear to us, is chimerical 
 and vain. The history of Alphonso has taught 
 us, that there exists an infinity of phenomena in 
 nature, the causes of which are unknown to man ; 
 for which reason we ought only to call those things 
 prejudices, which are not only repugnant to rea- 
 son, but which are capable of being proved false 
 by facts. 
 
 Can any one be a connoisseur in music, without 
 a knowledge of the science ? 
 No ; it is absolutely impossible. We have al- 
 
 ready allowed, that, with the best natural taste 
 imaginable, after long study, after travelling, and 
 observing with attention the varieties of nature, 
 and all the collections of pictures in Europe, an 
 amateur, if he cannot paint himself, never can 
 distinguish all the beauties of a picture visible to 
 a good painter : yet painting is the real imitation 
 of nature; it represents material objects as they 
 are hourly seen ; and many parts of it must equally 
 please the ignorant and the learned ; the nicer 
 touches of art escape the first, but they cannot 
 help being pleased with an imitation that looks 
 like nature itself. 
 
 It is not the same with music. The composer 
 of an opera, no doubt, must find in nature that 
 kind of declamation which his poem requires ; but 
 this species of imitation is too abstracted, to be 
 as generally felt as that of painting. Besides, 
 music may have expression, and yet not be good : 
 as, for example, if certain rules of composition be 
 not observed ; of which, however, none but a mu- 
 sician will properly feel the want. I own that, in 
 general, it is my opinion that sensibility and good 
 taste, without a knowledge of music, may distin- 
 guish the merits of certain passages, where the 
 expression is very happy ; may feel the difference 
 of style, and determine whether the melody be 
 agreeable, or common and insipid ; but it is im- 
 possible they can hear the beauties and defects of 
 complicated harmony ; they absolutely do not hear 
 them, they are deaf to the effects of an accompa- 
 niment. I maintain (and the proof is easy) that 
 a person who does not understand music, that is 
 to say, who cannot decipher it with facility, and 
 whose youth has not been passed in composing it, 
 will never be a complete judge of it. Let a per- 
 former of any note play a voluntary, and give a 
 mixture of good and false concords, and you shall 
 see one of these connoisseurs, who declaim so em- 
 phatically on barbarous music, motives^ and interim 
 tions, listen with delight to discords and uncon- 
 nected resolutions of harmony, which would make 
 a musician shudder ; and bestow the most pompous 
 praises while he listens. And what do people 
 gain, who wish to seem learned in things they 
 know nothing about? They impose on nobody, 
 they talk nonsensically, they judge without taste, 
 they are accused of pedantry by the ignorant, of 
 folly by the well-informed, and they are tiresome 
 and disagreeable to both. 
 
 A SCENE IN "THE TWO EEPUTATIONS." 
 
 Luzincourt, unable to support this incertitude 
 concerning the real sentiments of Aurelia, thought 
 at last of declaring his own, really taking it for 
 granted, that a woman whom he had loved for 
 three years had never discovered his secret. 
 
 Full of fears and uneasiness, he went to Aurelia, 
 whom he found just returned from a public sitting 
 of the French Academy. She seemed greatly agi- 
 tated. " There is no bearing it," said she to Lu- 
 zincourt; "all is lost; neither justice, reason, or 
 gallantry remain." 
 
 " Heavens, madam, what is the matter ?" 
 
 " A great man has affirmed those nations, where 
 women are best treated, are always most civilized." 
 
 323 
 
GE 
 
 GE 
 
 " I flatter myself the great man who apoke so 
 well was a Frenchman." 
 
 "By no means; he was an Englishman. We 
 are not so civilly dealt with in France. Yon shall 
 judge when I have told you what I have just heard. 
 A philosopher, desirous of^praising a princess, 
 who has been dead these fifty years, could not ac- 
 complish his purpose but at the expense of all the 
 princesses, and all the women, who have ever ex- 
 isted or do exist; and that in a single phrase." 
 
 " He has been very laconic indeed." 
 
 "You shall hear — Though a woman and a prin- 
 cess, said he, she loved learning .'" 
 
 " The orator ought to have been answered, that 
 though a philosopher, and an academician, he did 
 not, on this occasion, show either much politeness 
 or equity." 
 
 "And the less, in that a great princess honoured 
 the assembly by her presence ; by which she 
 proved that, though a woman and a princess, she 
 loved learning." 
 
 " And did the public approve this speech ?" 
 
 "They groaned and hissed; that was all they 
 did." 
 
 " That was all they could do, I think." 
 
 " What ! among so many auditors, not one cou- 
 rageous knight to answer for us, and defend us ?" 
 
 " How could you wish any answer to be given 
 to so foolish a thing? Had you been attacked 
 with any appearance of reason, you would, no 
 doubt, have found defenders. If, for example, 
 the philosophers, instead of accusing women of 
 not loving the belles-lettres, had accused them of 
 the contrary, and endeavoured to turn their pas- 
 sion for literature into ridicule, your knights might 
 then have been of service." 
 
 "Why, very true: for women never wrote or 
 cultivated literature so much as at present. What 
 then could this- philosopher be thinking of? He 
 was absent, no doubt ; mathematicians are subject 
 to be so, and we might well advise them to calcu- 
 late more and write less. For my part, I own, I 
 am passionately interested in the glory of my 
 sex." 
 
 " The sentiment is worthy of you. It is noble 
 and natural." 
 
 "It has been said that the age of Louis XIV., 
 which produced so many great men, was the age 
 for great women also : I am afraid that they can- 
 not say as much of this." 
 
 "I do not think that fear well founded. True 
 it is, I know no woman who has been appointed 
 to an embassy, or the sister of a common soldier 
 who has married an emperor; but in other re- 
 spects, I think the balance is in favour o'f the 
 women of the present age." 
 
 "An embassy! an empress! I am sorry to 
 think that can never happen again." 
 
 " Oh that I had a throne to offer you !" 
 
 "Pshaw! this is not the kind of gallantry I 
 want : give me your proofs in favour of the women 
 of this age." 
 
 "And is not your ambition on this head satis- 
 fied, madame ? We have queens, who, on the 
 throne, afford the brightest examples of the mild 
 and benevolent virtues which honour humanity, 
 
 and of those shining qualities which constitute 
 heroes. Women, in this age, have vrritten in every 
 branch of literature with the greatest success. 
 The best modern novels are the productions of 
 women ; the Peruvian Letters, the Letters of my 
 Lady Catesby, &o., are surely equal to the prin- 
 cess of Cleves and Zaide. Women have not been 
 less distinguished in poetry ; many may be cited 
 equal to Madame Deshoulieres ; and some have 
 even discovered abilities of a higher kind. They 
 have written cantatas, poems, and tragedies. The 
 women of Louis XIV.'s time composed little ex- 
 cept works of mere amusement : whereas, within 
 these twenty years, they have written a multitude 
 of truly useful and moral works ; and there are at 
 this moment, several women in France, who culti- 
 vate letters with reputation in various branches 
 of literature. In England they have the same 
 success ; and in Russia, a woman directs the la- 
 bours of a celebrated academy, of which she is 
 perpetual president: and really, madam, if this 
 will not satisfy you, you are very hard to please." 
 
 " You forget the learned ladies of the last cen- 
 tury." 
 
 " I see you envy Madame Dacier." 
 
 " You must own that ladies do not now under- 
 stand Greek." 
 
 " And I must likewise own that men do not 
 either. We learn the Greek alphabet, after which 
 we read translations ! then we say we understand 
 Greek, and this is the whole mystery. As to other 
 languages, we meet with many ladies who under- 
 stand English, Italian, Spanish, and even Latin." 
 
 " Latin!" 
 
 " Yes ; you yourself are acquainted with three." 
 
 " What ! three women who understand Latin !" 
 
 " Yes, madam, who understand Latin. There 
 
 are Madame N , Mademoiselle N her 
 
 daughter, and Madame the Marchioness de L , 
 
 who all understand it as perfectly as the most 
 studious men." 
 
 " Understand Latin ! and I who have been ac- 
 quainted with them these three years, never to 
 suspect it ! Women then may be modest as well 
 as learned, and scholars without being pedants ; 
 nay, without wishing to have their abilities known. 
 But let us continue the comparison between the 
 women of the last century and this. I do not re- 
 member any French woman of the age of Louis 
 XIV. who understood mathematics ; and we have 
 now Madame du Chatelet — do you know any 
 foreigners ? — "■ 
 
 "England, Switzerland, Holland, Germany, and 
 Italy, present a crowd of women eminent for their 
 extent and depth of knowledge. A woman has 
 received, even in this age, an honour which incon- 
 testably proved her talents were very superior to 
 those of all the learned in her nation, then in ex- 
 istence. A pope, equally distinguished for his 
 understanding and information, Benedict XIV., 
 bestowed on Maria Agnezi, a celebrated mathe- 
 matician, the place of apostolical professor in the 
 university of Bologna, in 1758." 
 
 "A woman apostolical professor! Well, that 
 really delights me. How great must be her merit 
 to pretend to such a place !" 
 
 324 
 
OE 
 
 GE 
 
 "And does not Benedict XIV., who, to reward 
 superior merit, did a thing so uncommon, deserve 
 a word of praise from you ?" 
 
 " Oh yes; though a man and a pope, he was su- 
 perior to vulgar prejudices against women." 
 
 " These prejudices will be forgotten when edu- 
 cation is better understood, and when women will 
 imagine themselves capable of acquiring all the 
 knowledge and aU the arts, as perfectly as the 
 men!" 
 
 "We do not think this, and therefore we remain 
 ignorant. All serious studies seem superior to 
 our miuds. So, it seems, you think excessive hu- 
 mility makes us frivolous. Well, I am glad you 
 have found out this. But I am uneasy about 
 another thing. No person can deny there have 
 been women of genius ; the famous Elizabeth, 
 queen of England, and other heroines, are our 
 proofs : yet it is obstinately maintained, that there 
 are certain works of imagination which require a 
 force and energy that women have not. Thus, 
 for example, it is affirmed no woman can wi'ite an 
 excellent tragedy. The tragedies of Mademoiselles 
 Barbier and Bernard, and of Madame de Gomez, 
 were performed with success at first, it is true ; 
 biit they are not acted at present." 
 
 " Remember, madam, since the Cleopatra of 
 lodelle, only five women have written tragedies 
 that have been performed on the French stage ; 
 and you must allow it would have been miracu- 
 lous, if, out of this small number, one had been 
 found equal to Racine. These five authors, far 
 from having written contemptible works, were 
 successful ; and what could reasonably be hoped 
 for more ? Think, on the other hand, what an 
 innumerable swarm of tragic writers have preceded 
 and come after Corneille : how many have been 
 condemned, for one who was approved ; how many 
 have been forgotten, and how many shall be for- 
 gotten ? I, therefore, do not see what foundation 
 there is to assert, that to write a tragedy belongs 
 only to men, and that women bught not to pretend 
 to it; it is wrong to judge them till they have 
 been oftener tried. It must be owned that they 
 have written good poetry; that they have wit, 
 understanding, dignity of mind, and feeling ; and 
 what more is required to write a good tragedy ? 
 Often have they, even in this way, charmed the 
 public at much less expense." 
 
 " You speak of women in a very flattering man- 
 ner ; but do not you think they have, in general, 
 treated us with great rigour, and that there never 
 was a less gallant age than the present ?" 
 
 " This is a sign greatly in your favour; for it 
 proves there is a real competition for superiority 
 between men and women. We are willing enough 
 to praise you, when you are only amiable ; but if 
 once you discover eminence in any one thing, we 
 have a right to find fault ; for we are the masters, 
 and surely we must maintain subordination. For 
 my part, when I think on the education of women, 
 I cannot conceive how we can help admiring them. 
 Let us suppose that Corneille and Racine had 
 learned nothing from infancy to youth, that is till 
 they were eighteen or twenty, but to dance and 
 play on the harpsichord ; and that afterwards they 
 
 had heard speak only of balls, feasts, and visits. 
 Behold them, at that period, obliged to answer 
 numberless messages every morning, and do no- 
 thing but write billets, and read the Journal de 
 Paris. Do you think they would then have written 
 Cinna and Athalia ?" 
 
 "You are in the right; and we have been re- 
 fused the gifts of genius a little too inconsider- 
 ately." 
 
 GENTILESCHI, ARTEMISIA, 
 
 Was the daughter of Orazio Gentileschi, an Ita- 
 lian historical and landscape painter, who was 
 born at Pisa, but came to London, where he died. 
 Artemisia resided in London for some time with 
 her father, where she painted the portraits of se- 
 veral of the royal family, and many of the English 
 nobility. She died in Italy, in 1642. One of her 
 paintings represents Judith killing Holofornes ; it 
 is a picture of deep and terrible passion ; the other 
 is the Temptation of Susanna, a work of much 
 ease, softness, and grace. Her talents gained her 
 a wide reputation ; and her private life was ex- 
 cellent. 
 
 GEOFFRIN, MARIE THERESE RO- 
 DET, MADAME, 
 
 Born in 1699. She was a woman alike distin- 
 guished by her qualities of mind and heart, who, 
 during half a century, was the ornament of the 
 most polite and cultivated societies in Paris. An 
 orphan from the cradle, she was educated by her 
 grandmother, and early accustomed to think and 
 judge justly. She afterwards became the wife of 
 a man, of whom nothing can be said, excepting 
 that he left her in possession of a considerable 
 fortune, which she employed partly in assisting 
 the needy, partly in assembling around her a select 
 circle of distinguished persons. Her benevolence 
 was exerted in a touching and delicate manner. 
 An attentive study of mankind, enlightened by 
 reason and justice, had taught Madame Geoffrin 
 that men are more weak and vain than wicked ; 
 that it is necessary to overlook the weakness, and 
 bear with the vanity of others, that they, in turn, 
 may bear with ours. Her favourite maxim, there- 
 fore, was, " Give and forgive." 
 
 325 
 
GE 
 
 GL 
 
 Prom her very childhood she was of a most 
 charitable disposition. She wished to perpe- 
 tuate her benevolence through the hands of her 
 friends. 
 
 " They will be blessed," said she, " and they in 
 their turn will bless my memory." Thus she as- 
 signed to one of her friends, who was poor, an 
 income of twelve hundred livres for his lifetime. 
 "If you should grow richer," said she, "distri- 
 bute the money out of love to me, when I can use 
 it no longer." 
 
 In her house the best society in Paris was as- 
 sembled. Cultivated minds of every description 
 found access to her ; none could therefore claim a 
 preference : the mistress of the house herself was 
 far from desiring any precedence ; she was only 
 amiable and animating. The abb^ de St. Pierre, 
 when she dismissed him, after a long conversa- 
 tion, with the words, " Vous avez H6 charmant 
 aujourd'hui," addressed to her the well-known 
 and deserved compliment, " Je ne swis qu'un in- 
 strument, Madame, dont vous avez bienjoue." 
 
 " The question is often asked," says La Harpe, 
 "whether this woman, who converses so much 
 with wits, is herself a wit: she is not so, but she 
 possesses a sound judgment, and a wise moderation 
 is the foundation of her character. She exhibits 
 that pleasing politeness which is gained only by 
 intercourse with society ; and no one has a more 
 delicate feeling of propriety." Among the great 
 number of strangers who visited her house in 
 Paris, the most distinguished was count Ponia- 
 towsky, afterwards king of Poland. He apprised 
 her of his accession to the throne in these words : 
 " Maman, votre fits est roi ;" inviting her, at the 
 same time, to Warsaw. On her journey thither 
 (1768) she was received at Vienna in the most 
 flattering manner, by the emperor and empress. 
 The latter, having met Madame Geofifrin, while 
 taking a ride with her children, immediately 
 stopped, and presented them to her. Upon her 
 arrival at Warsaw, she found a room there, per- 
 fectly like the one she had occupied in Paris. She 
 returned to Paris, after having received the most 
 flattering marks of respect, and died in 1777. 
 Three of her friends, Thomas, Morellet, and 
 d'Alembert, dedicated particular writings to her 
 memory, which, with her treatise, Sur la Conver- 
 sation, have been lately republished. 
 
 We see in the example of this interesting lady, 
 that neither personal attractions, nor wit, nor 
 genius, are required to make woman lovely and 
 beloved. Madame Geoffrin was not distinguished 
 for these showy gifts and graces ; but she possessed 
 what was better — sound judgment, good taste, 
 and warm kindness of heart. Her disinterested be- 
 nevolence was wonderful. All her sayings breathe 
 this universal charity. We have remarked that 
 her favourite maxim was — "Give and forgive." 
 Another of her sayings was, " We should not let the 
 grass grow on the path of friendship." " Among 
 those advantages which attract for us the most 
 consideration," said Madame Geoffrin, " are good 
 manners, an erect bearing, a dignified demeanour, 
 and to be able tq enter a room gracefully ; we dare 
 not speak ill of a person who has all these advan- 
 
 tages, for they presuppose thoughtfulness, order, 
 and judgment." 
 
 She was exquisitely neat in her person, and 
 dressed with great taste ; and this was one secret 
 of her power. A slatternly woman'can never be 
 loved or respected, however much she may be ad- 
 mired for her talents. Madame Geoffrin died at 
 Paris in 1777, aged seventy-eight. 
 
 GETHIN, LADY GRACE, 
 Was the daughter of Sir George Norton, of 
 Abbots-Leith, in Somersetshire, England, and 
 born in 1676. She was liberally educated, and 
 married Sir Richard Gethin, of Gethin-grott, in 
 Ireland. Lovely and beloved, and possessed of 
 many and great accomplishments, both natural 
 and acquired, she did not live long enough to dis- 
 play them to the world ; for she died in her twenty- 
 first year. She was buried in Westminster Abbey,- 
 where a beautiful monument is erected over her ; 
 and, moreover, for perpetuating her memory, pro- 
 vision was made for a sermon to be preached in 
 Westminster Abbey, yearly, on Ash-Wednesday, 
 forever. She wrote, and left behind her in loose 
 papers, a work which, soon after her death, was pub- 
 lished under the title of "Reliquise Gethineanse'; 
 or some remains of the most ingenious and excel- 
 lent lady, Grace Lady Gethin, lately deceased; 
 being a collection of choice Discourses, pleasant 
 Apothegms, and witty Sentences, written by her, 
 for the most part, by way of Essay, and at spare 
 hours, 1700." This work consists of discourses 
 upon friendship, love, gratitude, death, speech, 
 lying, idleness, the world, secresy, prosperity, ad- 
 versity, children, cowards, bad poets, indifferency, 
 ceusoriousness, revenge, boldness, youth, age, cus- 
 tom, charity, reading, beauty, flattery, riches, ho- 
 nour, pleasure, suspicion, excuses, &c. It is at 
 present very scarce. 
 
 GHIRADELLI, LAURA FELICE, 
 
 This elegant authoress has left but one sonnet. 
 But, as with respect to Sappho, we may say — 
 
 O suavis animal qualein te dicam bonam, 
 Ante Iiac fuisse, tales cum sint reliquis ! 
 
 She was a native of Bologna, and flourished in 
 1675. 
 
 GINASSI, CATERINA, 
 Was born of a noble family at Rome, in 1590. 
 She was the niece of cardinal Domenico Ginassi. 
 She studied painting under Giovanni Lanfranco, 
 from whose designs she executed several pictures 
 in the convent of St. Lucia. She died in 1660. 
 
 GLAUBER, DIANA, 
 
 Was sister of John and Gottleib Glauber, and 
 was born at Utrecht in 1650. John Glauber in- 
 structed his sister in the principles and practice 
 of his art; and she devoted herself chiefly to 
 painting portraits. Her style became quite dis- 
 tinguished i and she also designed historical sub- 
 jects, until she was accidentally deprived of her 
 sight. She died at Hamburg about 1720. 
 
 826 
 
GL 
 
 GO 
 
 GLENORCHY, WILHELMINA MAX- 
 WELL, LADY, 
 DisTiNQUisHED for her piety and beneTolence, 
 ■was born at Preston, in North Britain, in 1742. 
 Lovely, agreeable, wealthy, and allied to a noble 
 house, her premature -widowhood, and a severe 
 illness, induced her in her twenty-third year to 
 retire from the gayeties of the world, and devote 
 her time wholly to her religious duties. She exerted 
 herself principally for the education of youth, and 
 trained up hundreds of children to fill useful sta- 
 tions in society. She endowed a free-scliool at 
 Edinburgh, built four chapels, and founded and 
 endowed schools in different places, besides edu- 
 cating several young men for the ministry, and 
 bestowing large sums in private acts of benevo- 
 lence. To enable her to carry out tliese schemes, 
 she denied herself luxuries, and in every way prac- 
 tised the greatest economy. She died in 1780, 
 leaving the greater part of her property to chari- 
 table purposes. 
 
 Lady Glenorchy had drawn much information 
 concerning the most useful subjects, from reading, 
 from conversation, and correspondence with a nu- 
 merous circle of worthy friends, and from acute 
 observation of what passed within and around her. 
 She entered into conversation with much ailability, 
 and communicated ideas with uncommon perspi- 
 cuity and readiness. The vivacity of her temper, 
 the justness and sweetness of her remarks, could 
 not fail to render her company acceptable to any 
 society. But important obligations of a spiritual 
 kind afforded her little leisure or inclination for 
 mixed company. Her courage in avowing and 
 endeavouring to promote on every occasion an 
 attachment to the gospel, was truly admirable. 
 None had more boldness, nor more ability in in- 
 troducing religious discourse, and directing the 
 attention of those with whom she conversed to 
 subjects that were spiritual and edifying. None 
 could sit, for any time, at her table or in her com- 
 pany, without hearing some truths, which ought 
 to be profitable to their souls. In her religion she 
 wore no morose or forbidding appearance. Her 
 temper was cheerful, her conversation and man- 
 ners, though remote from the dissipation of the 
 4 age, exhibited piety in a pleasing form, and con- 
 veyed the idea that, " wisdom's ways are ways of 
 pleasantness, and all her paths are paths of peace." 
 
 GLEIM, BETTY, 
 
 Known as a writer on German literature and 
 female education, was born in 1781. Her grand- 
 father, J. L. "W. Gleim, and several literary friends, 
 contributed greatly to the development of her na- 
 tural talents. From her earliest youth, she felt a 
 strong bias towards the calling of a teacher. She 
 considered herself in duty bound to devote her life 
 to the amelioration of the mental condition of her 
 sex. She established a female school, which con- 
 tinued to flourish for a long time as a model insti- 
 tute for the region of the country in which she 
 lived. Her work on Cookery obtained for her 
 quite a celebrity as a housekeeper, and went 
 through seven or eight editions. She next pub- 
 
 lished " The German Reader." Then followed 
 " The Education of Females in the Nineteenth 
 Century." Soon afterwards appeared " The Edu- 
 cation of Women and the assertion of their dignity 
 in the various Conditions of Life." She also pre- 
 pared several primary grammars, and a number 
 of other school-books, upon various topics. Her 
 works have proved of much utility, and her life 
 was a lesson to all who wish to do good to their 
 race. She died, March 27th, 1807, at the Insti- 
 tution founded by herself, a fitting monument of 
 her earnest philanthropy. 
 
 GODEWYCK, MABGARETTA, 
 Was born at Dort in 1627, and was instructed 
 in design and drawing by Nicholas Maas, by whose 
 instructions she acquired a fine taste in painting 
 landscapes, which she ingeniously diversified with 
 views of rivers, cascades, villages, groves, and 
 distant hills, that rendered her compositions very 
 pleasing. This lady was not more admired for her 
 paintings in oil, than for her needle-work, execut- 
 ing the same kind of subjects which she expressed 
 with her pencil, and with an equal appearance of 
 nature and truth, in embroidery. She died in 
 1G77. 
 
 GODWIN, MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT, 
 The first wife of William Godwin, better known 
 however by her maiden name of WoUstonecraft, 
 was born on the 27th of April, 1759. At the time 
 of her birth her father owned a small farm in Es- 
 sex, from which he afterwards, in 1768, removed 
 to another farm, near Beverley, in Yorkshire. 
 Mary WoUstoneoraft's early years were thus spent 
 in the country, and she had no better opportuni- 
 ties of education than were furnished by the day- 
 schools of Beverley, where she resided from her 
 tenth to her sixteenth year. When she had at- 
 tained this age, her father, having entered into a 
 commercial speculation, removed from Beverley 
 to Hoxtou, near London. While she resided at 
 Hoxton, Godwin was a student in the Dissenters' 
 College of that place, but they did not then meet. 
 Mary WoUstoneoraft's early years were not 
 passed happily. Her father appears to have been 
 a man of no judgment in the management of a 
 family, and of a most ungovernable temper. " The 
 despotism of her education," says Mr. Godwin, in 
 his unaffected and interesting memoir of his wife, 
 " cost her many a heart-ache. She was not formed 
 to be the contented and unresisting subject of a 
 despot ; but I have heard her remark more than 
 once, that when she felt she had done wrong, the 
 reproof or chastisement of her mother, instead of 
 being a terror to her, she found to be the only 
 thing capable of reconciling her to herself. The 
 blows of her father, on the contrary, which were 
 the mere ebullitions of a passionate temper, in- 
 stead of humbling her, roused her indignation." 
 A woman of exquisite sensibility, as well as of 
 great energy of character, she was thus led early 
 to think of quitting her parents and providing for 
 herself. She went first to live as companion to a 
 lady at Bath, and afterwards, in 1783, in concert 
 with two sisters and also a friend for whom she 
 
 a27 
 
GO 
 
 GO 
 
 had conceived an ardent attachment, she opened 
 a day-school at Islington, which was very shortly 
 removed to Newington Green. Mr. Godwin, who 
 is well qualified to give an opinion, speaks in high 
 terjns of her pre-eminent fitness for the teaching 
 of children ; but the call of friendship having car- 
 ried her for a time to Lisbon, and the school hav- 
 ing been mismanaged in her absence, she found it 
 necessary on her return to give up this plan of 
 subsistence. She almost immediately obtained 
 the situation of governess in the family of Lord 
 Kingsborough. 
 
 Mary WoUstonecraft had by this time made an 
 attempt in authorship. She had, in 1786, written 
 and published, in order to devote the profits to a 
 work of charity, a pamphlet entitled " Thoughts 
 on the Education of Daughters." On leaving Lord 
 Kingsborough's family, in 1787, she went to Lon- 
 don, and entered into negotiations with Mr. John- 
 son, the publisher, with a view of supporting her- 
 self by authorship. The nest three years of her 
 life were accordingly spent in writing ; and during 
 that period she produced some small works of fic- 
 tion, and translations and abridgments of several 
 valuable works, for instance, Salzman's Elements 
 of Morality, and Lavater's Physiognomy, and 
 several articles in the Analytical Review. The 
 profits of her pen, which were more than she 
 needed for her own subsistence, supplied aid to 
 many members of her family. She helped to edu- 
 cate two younger sisters, put two of her brothers 
 out in the world, and even greatly assisted her 
 father, whose speculative habits had by this time 
 brought him into embarrassments. Thus for three 
 years did she proceed in a course of usefulness, 
 but unattended by fame. Her answer, however, 
 to Burke's Reflections on the French Revolution, 
 which was the first of the many answers that ap- 
 peared, and her "Vindication of the Rights of 
 Women," which was published in 1791, rapidly 
 brought her into notice and notoriety. 
 
 In 1792, Mary WoUstonecraft went to Paris, 
 and did not return to London till after an interval 
 of three years. While in France she wrote her 
 " Moral and Historical View of the French Revo- 
 tion ;" and a visit to Norway on business, in 1795, 
 gave rise to her " Letters from Norway." Dis- 
 tress of mind, caused by a bitter disappointment 
 to which an attachment formed in Paris had sub- 
 jected her, led her at this period of her life to 
 make two attempts at suicide. But it is a striking 
 proof of her vigour of intellect that the " Letters 
 from Norway" were written at the time when her 
 mental distress was at its height, and in the inter- 
 val between her two attempts at self-destructiftn. 
 
 In 1796, Mary WoUstonecraft became acquainted 
 with William Godwin, the celebrated philosopher 
 and political writer. A mutual attachment was 
 the result ; and as they, unfortunately, held simi- 
 lar opinions respecting the ceremony of marriage, 
 they lived together, unwedded, for six months ; 
 when finding the necessity of legitimatizing the 
 child which would otherwise be an outcast from 
 her birth, they were married. Mrs. Godwin died 
 in child-bed a few months afterwards, leaving her 
 infant daughter, who subsequently became the 
 
 wife of Percy Bysshe Shelley, and has given ample 
 proof that she inherits the talents of both her 
 parents. 
 
 Mr. Godwin mourned the death of his wife 
 deeply. In 1798 he edited her posthumous works, 
 and also published a small memoir of her, which 
 is eminently marked by genuine feeling, simpli- 
 city, and truth. The style of this Memoir is dif- 
 ferent from the other productions of Godwin, 
 which he ascribed to the influence the genius of 
 his wife had exercised over his own mind; he 
 concludes thus : " This light was lent to me for a 
 very short period, and is now extinguished for- 
 ever." 
 
 Mary WoUstonecraft Godwin was endowed with 
 great mental powers, and an unusual degree of 
 feeling ; but these gifts were of little avail to her- 
 self, or to the promotion of that improvement of 
 her own sex, which she most ardently desired. 
 Yet the errors of her life and writings were more 
 the result of her unfortunate early training, than 
 any want of principle. The brutal cruelty of her 
 father made her believe in the necessity of wo- 
 man's becoming able to defend herself. She did 
 not see that the true way to remedy the evils of 
 society was to increase the moral power of the 
 world ; that woman is the depositary of this 
 power ; and that slie must cultivate, in Christian 
 meekness, her heavenly gifts ; and thus, by the 
 exhibition of moral gi-aces, and by her influence 
 in training her sons, finally win man to use his 
 physical strength and mental power for her pro- 
 tection and enlightenment. In short, that to bring 
 about the true Christian civilization, which only 
 can improve the condition of our sex, the men 
 must become more like women, and the women 
 more like angels. 
 
 GOMEZ, MAGDALENE ANGEXINA 
 PAISSON DE, 
 
 A French author, was the daughter of Paul 
 Paisson, a player, and born at Paris, in 1684. 
 She married M. de Gomez, a Spanish gentleman 
 of small fortune, in whose circumstances she was 
 deceived. She, however, procured sufficient, by 
 her writings, to live at St. Germaine-en-Laye ; 
 she died there, in 1770. Her works were nume- 
 rous, chiefly romances, which were well written, 
 and have been much esteemed. Those most cele- 
 brated were "Les Journ^es Amusantes," 8 vols. ; 
 " Crementine," 2 vols. ; " Anecdotes Persans," 2 
 vols. ; " Les Cent Nouvelles," 8 vols. She also 
 wrote several tragedies, which were unsuccessful. 
 
 GONZAGA-COLONNA, JULIA, 
 Duchess of Traietto, and countess of Fondi, was 
 married, when very young, to duke Vespasian 
 Colonna, a man older than her father ; but it seems 
 he gained her heart. She was, in a few years 
 after her marriage, left a widow, rich, exceedingly 
 beautiful, and " the great attractions of her person 
 were surpassed, if possible, by the qualifications 
 of her mind." The first noblemen in Italy made 
 proposals for her hand ; but notwithstanding the 
 duke her husband had been old' and infirm, she 
 paid the highest respect to his memory, and deter- 
 
 328 
 
GO 
 
 GO 
 
 mined never to marry a second time. The fame 
 of her charms extended beyond her own country, 
 and at length reached the Ottoman Porte. The 
 sultan, Soliman II., determined to obtain her by 
 force, as he covtld not gain her by other means. 
 The commander of his nivy, Ariadne Barbarossa, 
 undertook to seize and carry her off; arriving at 
 Fondi, in the night, with two thousand soldiers, 
 he found little difficulty in scaling the walls. The 
 inhabitants of Fondi, alarmed by the appearance 
 of the invaders, and ignorant of the purpose for 
 which they had come, rushed out of their houses. 
 
 uttering the most doleful shrieks. The beautiful 
 duchess, awakened by these cries of terror, es- 
 caped from her chamber-window, and fled to the 
 mountains, where she was assailed by fresh ter- 
 rors, for a desperate banditti made these moun- 
 tains their haunt. She fell into their hands ; but, 
 moved by her appeals, or restrained by divine 
 providence, these outcasts treated her with re- 
 spect, and restored her to freedom. 
 
 The duchess devoted her time chiefly to litera- 
 ture, and her genius, beauty, and virtues, gained 
 her many flattering tributes from the distinguished 
 philosophers and poets of that age. Bernardo 
 Tasso, father of Torquato, complimented her by 
 name in his Amadis ; and after her decease, which 
 occuiTed April 19th, 1566, Ariosto thus comme- 
 morates her : 
 
 " Ginlia Gonzaga che dovunque il piedp 
 Volge e dovunque i sereni occhi gira 
 Non pur ogn' altra di belta la cede, 
 Ma come Dea dal ceil scesa rammira." 
 
 Julia was suspected of Lutheranism ; and though 
 she never acknowledged this, yet as she died with- 
 out the usual Catholic ceremonies, the presump- 
 tion is, that she was Protestant in her heart. 
 
 GONZAGA, LUGRETIA, 
 
 An illustrious Italian lady of the sixteenth cen- 
 tury, was as remarkable for her wit and learning, 
 as for high birth. She wrote such beautiful letters, 
 that the utmost care was taken to preserve them ; 
 and a collection of them was printed at Venice in 
 1552. There is no learning in her letters, yet we 
 
 perceive by them that she was learned ; for, in a 
 letter to Robertellus, she says, that his Comment- 
 aries had shown her the true meaning of several 
 obscure passages in Aristotle and .Slschylus. All 
 the wits of her time commended her highly ; and 
 Hortensio Lando, besides singing her praises, de- 
 dicated to her a piece written in Italian, " Upon 
 moderating the passions of the soul." They cor- 
 responded, and more than thirty of her letters to 
 him have been printed. In one of these she blames 
 him for grieving at his poverty: "I wonder," she 
 writes, " that you, who are a learned man, and so 
 well acquainted with the aff'airs of this world, 
 should yet be so strangely vexed at being poor : 
 as though you did not know that a poor man's life 
 is like sailing near the coast, whereas that of a 
 rich man resembles the condition of those who 
 are in the main sea. The former can easily throw 
 a cable on the shore, and bring their ship safe into 
 an harbour ; whereas the latter cannot do it with- 
 out much danger and difficulty." 
 
 We learn from these letters that her marriage 
 with John Paul Manfrone was unhappy. She was 
 not fourteen when she was married to him against 
 her own consent; yet she treated him with due 
 respect and obedience, though his conduct gave 
 her great imeasiness. He engaged in a conspiracy 
 against the duke of Ferrara ; was detected and 
 imprisoned by him ; but, though condemned, not 
 put to death. She did all in her power to obtain 
 his release ; applied to every man of importance 
 in Christendom to intercede for him ; and even so- 
 licited the Grand Seignior to make himself master 
 of the castle where her husband was kept. But 
 her endeavours were vain, for he died in prison, 
 after having shown such impatience under his suf- 
 ferings as made many persons imagine that he had 
 lost his senses. She lived afterwards in honour- 
 able widowhood, though several men of rank were 
 her suitors. On being solicited to contract a se- 
 cond marriage, she answered, with indignation, 
 ' ' Scarcely have I dried the tears, and suppressed 
 the sighs, which the destiny of my unfortunate 
 husband extorted from me, when you press me to 
 form new engagements. Know you not, that se- 
 cond marriages have been deemed unchaste ? Vir- 
 gil makes his Dido call them criminal. No, I will 
 have no other husband than Jesus Christ, to whom 
 I am resolved to dedicate my future life." On 
 another occasion, she frankly declared, that she 
 had suffered too much in a conjugal state again to 
 subject herself to the yoke, from which God had 
 freed her, even though a husband, richer than 
 Croesus, wiser than Lelius, or handsomer than 
 Nireus, should ofi'er himself. Of four daughters 
 which Lucretia bore to her husband, two only 
 survived, whom she dedicated to a conventual 
 life. Her writings were held in so much esteem, 
 for the graces of her style, that even the notes 
 she wrote to her domestics were carefully collect- 
 ed, and many of them preserved in the edition of 
 her letters. She was a kind mistress, careful even 
 to the settlement of her domestics in life, as a re- 
 ward of their services. She wrote many letters 
 to her friends and acquaintances on various sub- 
 jects, in a strain of admirable morality ; and in 
 
 329 
 
GO 
 
 GO 
 
 all her conduct was an example to her sex, and a 
 blessing to society. 
 
 GONZAGA, COLONNA IPPOLITA. 
 
 Don Ferrante Gonzaga, one of the most renown- 
 ed captains of the emperor Charles V., had very 
 singular ideas on the subject of education ; ideas 
 that met with little approval among his own sex 
 at that day, and would find as little at present. 
 He said that all exercises of the head and intellect 
 tended to render men good for nothing ; that mili- 
 tary discipline, the use of arms, skill in horse- 
 manship, were to be taught young noblemen ; their 
 moral training was to be patience, perseverance, 
 long-suffering, bravery. As to women, it was quite 
 another thing ; their domain was in-doors ; and as 
 it was good for the world that science and litera- 
 ture should advance and embellish life, and add to 
 its comforts, somebody must attend to these ; no- 
 thing more clear, then, argued don Ferrante, than 
 that this is "woman's mission." 
 
 He had an opportunity of acting upon this theory, 
 for he was the father of ten sons, all younger than 
 his daughter Ippolita, who was born in 1535. She 
 had, from her infancy, masters of the first intelli- 
 gence for every science ; and nature having en- 
 dowed her with uncommon ability, her progress 
 in every department of literature soon rendered 
 her famous. Her father, becoming governor of 
 Milan, brought her into a brilliant and courtly 
 circle, where her personal charms, and the wealth 
 and importance of her family, attracted many 
 suitors, undeterred by her extraordinary learning. 
 She formed a marriage of love with Fabrizio Co- 
 lonna, a Roman nobleman, who had distinguished 
 himself in a military capacity. This union seems 
 to have been one of great happiness ; but it was 
 of short duration. Fabrizio died in the flower of 
 youth. His widow, after the manifestation of 
 violent grief, sought solace in literature. Her 
 house soon became the resort of all the eminent 
 writers of the age ; the most extravagant tributes 
 of admiration were offered to her by the poets ; 
 nor were scientific or grave writers behind-hand 
 in pouring out homage to a woman whose beauty, 
 
 high rank, and talents, seemed to warrant this 
 sort of adulation. In the meantime, her brothers 
 grew up in the greatest ignorance ; her uncle, the 
 cardinal Ercule, bishop of Mantua, interceded in 
 favour of the heir of the family, -don Cesare ; he 
 urged his brother to allow his eldest son some few 
 of the advantages he had lavished on his ■daugh- 
 ter ! In vain ! Don Ferrante, firm to his theory, 
 refused that the smallest part of the " ample page 
 of knowledge" should be "unrolled" to the mo- 
 dern Csesar. 
 
 Ippolita formed a second union with the count 
 Caraffa, but it was productive of nothing but mi- 
 sery. The count Caraffa took umbrage at the 
 crowd of literati and artists who surrounded his 
 wife. She was not willing to abandon her habits 
 and tastes ; discord was fomented by the count's 
 mother, a narrow-minded woman, who detested 
 her daughter-in-law : these disputes resulted in a 
 legal separation ; upon which occasion Ippolita 
 received a letter from her father breathing the 
 tenderest consolation, and recalling his darling to 
 the bosom of her family. She was received with 
 tenderness, but her spirits were broken. She 
 gradually declined in health, and died at the age 
 of twenty-eight. 
 
 She left a volume of poems, among which is 
 celebrated, a sonnet written on the death of Irene 
 of Spilimberg. 
 
 GOTTSCHED, LOUISA ADELGUNDE 
 VICTORIA, 
 
 Was born at Dantzic, in 1713. Her maiden 
 name was Kalmus. When only sixteen years of 
 age, she married professor Gottsched, of the Leip- 
 sic university. She aided her husband in all his 
 literary labours ; and appeared, in a short time 
 after her marriage, as an authoress under her 
 own name. Her style is pronounced by critics as 
 superior to that of her husband ; though he en- 
 joyed a great reputation as an author. She wrote 
 a number of melo-dramas, and a very fine tragedy, 
 "Panthea." Her death occurred in 1762. 
 
 GOUGES, MARIE OLYMPE DE, 
 
 A NATIVE of Montauban. During the revolu- 
 tion she espoused the cause of the people, and 
 made Mirabeau the hero of her writings. , But 
 the enormities of the Jacobins disgusted her ; and 
 when Louis XVI. was dragged before the tribunal 
 she had the courage to demand the privilege of 
 defending him. This heroic conduct, and her at- 
 tacks on Marat and Robespierre, marked her out 
 for death. She was guillotined November 3d, 1792, 
 aged thirty-eight. She wrote several dramas. Her 
 character as a woman was by no means irreproach- 
 able. 
 
 GOURNAY, MARY DE ,TARS, LADY OP, 
 A French woman of wit and learning, was re- 
 lated to several noble families in Paris, but born 
 in Gascony, in 1565. She had a strong turn for 
 literature, and was so delighted with Montaigne's 
 Essays, that, on her father's death, she adopted 
 Montaigne in his stead, even before she had seen 
 him. When he was at Paris in 1588, she visited 
 
 330 
 
GE 
 
 GR 
 
 him, and prevailed on him to pass two or three 
 months with her and her mother, the lady Gournay. 
 Mademoiselle de Jars became so wedded to books 
 in general, and Montaigne's Essays in particular, 
 that she resolved never to have any other asso- 
 ciate. Nor was Montaigne ungrateful for her ad- 
 miration. He foretold, in his second book of 
 Essays, that she would be capable of first-rate 
 productions. The connection was carried through 
 the family. Montaigne's daughter, the viscountess 
 de Jamaches, always claimed Mademoiselle de 
 Jars as a sister. In 1634, after Montaigne's death, 
 she revised and reprinted an edition of his Essays, 
 with a preface, full of the strongest expressions of 
 devotion to his memory. 
 
 She published a volume of prose and verse in 
 1636, called " Les Avis et les Presens de la De- 
 moiselle de Gournai." She was never married, 
 but received a small pension from the court. She 
 died in 1645, at Paris. 
 
 GRACE, MRS. 
 
 The maiden name of this ingenious woman is 
 not known. She was the daughter of a shoemaker, 
 and without any regular instruction, succeeded so 
 well in painting portraits as not only to support 
 her family, but also to realize twenty thousand 
 pounds. She frequently exhibited with the Society 
 of Artists in London; and in 1767 produced an 
 historical picture. She left London for Homerton, 
 where she died about 1786. 
 
 GRAFFIGNY, FRANgOISB D'HAPPONCOURT, 
 
 Was the daughter of a great-niece of the cele- 
 brated engraver Callot. Her disposition gentle 
 and serious, her judgment excellent, she was be- 
 nevolent and affectionate, and much esteemed by 
 her numerous friends. Her " Lettres Peruviennes" 
 obtained great celebrity. Their variety of descrip- 
 tion, richness of imagery, and impassioned inter- 
 est, have been justly admired. She also composed 
 a comedy of the genre larmoyante, which con- 
 tains many ingenious thoughts, but is negligently 
 finished. 
 
 Madame de Graffiguy sometimes told with mor- 
 tification, that her mother, having inherited a vast 
 number of the copperplates of the great Callot, 
 sent one day for a brazier and had them all melted 
 down, and made iuto kitchen utensils. 
 
 In her married life she suffered much unkind- 
 ness from an unworthy husband. Becoming a 
 widow, in 1740 she went to Paris in the suite of 
 Mademoiselle de Guise, little foreseeing the ho- 
 nours that awaited her in the literary world. Her 
 reputation was formed in the capital while she 
 was unconscious of it. Several men of letters 
 engaged her assistance in a periodical production 
 that had a vogue at that time. She wrote for 
 them a tale entitled " Bad examples produce as 
 many virtues as vices." This story is filled with 
 maxims, of which the very title is one. Madame 
 de Graffigny began the career of an author at rather 
 a late period of life ; but no want of spirit or ani- 
 mation is to be objected to her writings. Besides 
 many other dramatic and imaginative works, she 
 composed three or four little plays for, the young, 
 
 which were represented in Vienna by the children 
 of the emperor, who gave her a pension. These 
 were of a moral tendency, and written with a cha- 
 racteristic simplicity. She died in 1758. 
 
 GRAHAM, ISABELLA, 
 Was born in the county of Lanark, Scotland, in 
 1742. Her parents, Mr. and Mrs. John Marshall, 
 educated her carefully and religiously. In 1765, 
 she became acquainted with Dr. John Graham, a 
 physician of Paisley, whom she afterwards mar- 
 ried, and by whom she had four children. Soon 
 after their marriage, her husband was ordered to 
 his regiment, then in Canada. Four of the hap- 
 piest years of her life were spent in that country, 
 when Dr. Graham was ordered to Antigua, where 
 he died, in 1774. Mrs. Graham then returned to 
 her father in Scotland, where, by taking charge 
 of the education of some young ladies, she sup- 
 ported her aged father, herself, and her chil- 
 dren. 
 
 In 1789, Mrs. Graham returned to America, and 
 opened a seminary for young ladies in New York, 
 in which she was very successful. She was also 
 eminent as a public benefactor, being the projec- 
 tor, the founder, and one of the most efficient 
 members, of the "Widow's Society," the "Or- 
 phans' Asylum," and a "Society for the Promo- 
 tion of Industry." She devoted her time, talents, 
 influence and earnings, to the building up of these 
 useful charities ; even performing the office of 
 teacher for some time in the Orphans' School, be- 
 fore the funds were sufficient to pay an instructor. 
 Few women have accomplished such efficient ser- 
 vices for public good as did this truly noble woman ; 
 she not only worked herself in the cause of her 
 heavenly Master, but she had that peculiar faculty, 
 the gift of persuasion, which moved the hearts of 
 many to work with her, who, without such an ex- 
 emplar and monitor, would never have entered on 
 these plans of doing good. Mrs. Graham was also 
 gifted with genius ; her talents, hallowed by piety, 
 and devoted to duty, were of the high order which 
 would have gained her a wide reputation for lite- 
 rature, had she lent herself to its pursuits. Her 
 familiar letters are models of the best style ; and 
 the fragments of her poetry, found among her 
 papers, entitled "Provision for my last Journey 
 through the Wilderness," &c., show the poetic feel- 
 ing which slumbered in her heart, or rather was 
 absorbed by her love of God and her ceaseless 
 service in His cause. She had, in this life, the 
 reward of seeing her exertions crowned with won- 
 derful success ; and the blessing of a peaceful and 
 happy death seemed the fitting close of an earthly 
 career which was to open for her an eternity of 
 glory and blessedness. She died, July 27th, 1814. 
 But her spirit has not passed away ; it animates 
 her descendants ; her daughter, Mrs. Bethune, 
 and the only son of this daughter. Rev. George W. 
 Bethune, who carry on and out the holy princi- 
 ples of benevolence of Isabella Graham. Her 
 " Life and Writings" are widely known, many edi- 
 tions having been published in Scotland and Eng- 
 land ; and probably more than fifty thousand copies 
 have been printed in America. We give only one 
 
 331 
 
GR 
 
 GK 
 
 extract, a poem. Its pious resignation will com- 
 fort those who mourn as she mourned. 
 
 WIDOWHOOD. 
 
 Written in the Island of Antigua shortly after Dr. QraluinCs 
 death. 
 Hail ! thou state of widowhood, 
 State of those that mourn to God ; 
 Who from earthly comforts torn. 
 Only live to pray and mourn. 
 
 Meanest of the number, I 
 
 For my dear companion sigh; 
 
 Patiently my loss deplore. 
 
 Mourn for one that mourns no more. 
 
 Me my consort hath outrun. 
 Out of sight he quite has gone; 
 He his course has finished here. 
 First come to the sepulchre. 
 
 Following on with earnest haste, 
 Till my mourning days are past, 
 1 my partner's steps pursue, 
 I shall soon be happy too ; 
 
 Find the ease for which I pant, 
 Gain the only good I want; 
 Uuietly lay down my head. 
 Sink into my earthy bed. 
 
 There my flesh shall rest in hope, 
 Till the quicken'd dust mount up; 
 When to glorious life I '11 rise, 
 To meet my husband in the skies. 
 
 GRANT, ANNE, 
 
 Whose maiden name was Mac Vicar, was born 
 at Glasgow, Scotland, in February, 1755. When 
 a child, she came with her father, who was an offi- 
 cer in the British army, to America, and spent 
 some time in the interior of New York. While 
 residing near Albany, Miss Mac Vicar was intro- 
 duced to the notice of Madame Schuyler, wife, or 
 widow rather, of Colonel Philip Schuyler ; and to 
 this " American lady," the English maiden, after- 
 wards Mrs. Grant, acknowledges she owed " what- 
 ever of culture her mind received." Respecting 
 the effect which a residence in the then American 
 colonies had, Mrs. Grant, many years afterwards, 
 says : "I was fond of it to enthusiasm, and spent 
 the most delightful and fanciful period of my life 
 in it, for mine was a very premature childhood. 
 The place where I resided was the most desirable 
 in the whole continent ; there my first perceptions 
 of pleasure, and there my earliest habits of think- 
 ing, were formed; and from thencS I drew that 
 high relish for the sublime simplicity of nature 
 which has ever accompanied me. This has been 
 the means of preserving a certain humble dignity 
 in all the difliculties I have had to struggle 
 through." 
 
 She returned to Scotland in 1768, and in 1779 
 married the Rev. Mr. Grant, of Laggan, by whom 
 she had several children. On the death of her 
 husband, in 1801, being obliged to resort to her 
 pen for subsistence, she wrote " The Highlanders, 
 and other Poems," "Memoirs of an American 
 Lady," "Letters from the Mountains," "Essays 
 on the Superstitions of the Highlands of Scotland," 
 &c. She died on the 7th of November, 1838, at 
 Edinburgh, where she resided during the latter 
 part of her life, and where she was the centre of 
 
 a circle of accomplished and literary people. From 
 1825 till her death she enjoyed a royal pension of 
 one hundred pounds yearly, which, with the emo- 
 luments derived from her writings, and some 
 liberal bequests, rendered her quite independent. 
 
 Among the productions of Mrs. Grant, her 
 "Memoirs of an American Lady" ranks the first 
 in interest and power; but all she wrote was 
 good. Sir Walter Scott has thus given testimony 
 to her worth and genius : 
 
 " The character and talents of Mrs. Grant have 
 long rendered her, not only a useful and estimable 
 member of society, but one eminent for the ser- 
 vices which she has rendered to the cause of reli- 
 gion, morality, knowledge, and taste. Her lite- 
 rary works, although composed amidst misfortune 
 and privation, are written at once with simplicity 
 and force ; and uniformly bear the stamp of a vir- 
 tuous and courageous mind, recommending to the 
 reader that patience and fortitude, which the 
 writer herself practised in such an eminent degree. 
 Her writings, deservedly popular in her own coun- 
 try, derive their success from the manner in which, 
 addressing themselves to the national pride of the 
 Scottish people, they breathe a spirit at once of 
 patriotism, and of . that candour which renders 
 patriotism unselfish and liberal. We have no hesi- 
 tation in attesting our belief that Mrs. Grant's 
 writings have produced a strong and salutary ef- 
 fect upon her countrymen, who not only found 
 recorded in them much of national history and 
 antiquities, which would otherwise have been for- 
 gotten, but found them combined with the sound- 
 est and best lessons of virtue and morality." 
 
 We subjoin a poem of Mrs. Grant's, which is 
 characteristic of her turn of thought and her che- 
 rished feelings. , , 
 
 ON A SPKIG OF HEATH. 
 
 Flower of the waste! the heath.fowl shuns 
 For thee the brake and tangled wood — 
 
 To thy protecting shade she runs. 
 Thy tender buds supply her food ; 
 
 Her young forsake her downy plumes. 
 
 To rest upon thy opening blooms. 
 
 Flower of the desert though thou art 1 
 The deer that range the mountain free. 
 
 The graceful doe, the stately hart, 
 Their food and shelter seek from thee ; 
 
 The bee thy earliest blossom greets, 
 
 And drains from thee her choicest sweets. 
 
 Gem of the Iieathl whose modest bloom 
 Sheds beauty o'er the lonely moor: 
 
 Though thou dispense no rich perfume, 
 Nor yet with splendid tints allure, 
 
 Both valour's crest and beauty's bower 
 
 Oft hast thou decked, a favourite flower. 
 
 Flower of the wild ! whose purple glow 
 Adorns the dusky mountain's side. 
 
 Not the gay hues of Iris' bow. 
 Nor garden's artful varied pride, 
 
 With all its wealth of sweets, could clieer. 
 
 Like thee, the hardy mountaineer. 
 
 Flower of his heart; thy fragrance mild 
 Of peace and freedom seem to breathe ; 
 
 To pluck thy blossoms in the wild, 
 And deck his bonnet with the wreath, 
 
 Where dwelt of old his rustic sires. 
 
 Is alljiis simple wish desires. 
 
 332 
 
GR 
 
 GR 
 
 Flower of his dear-loved native land! 
 
 Alas, when distant far more dear ! 
 When he from some cold foreign strand, 
 
 Look's homeward through the blending tear, 
 How must his aching heart deplore. 
 The home and thee he sees no more ! 
 
 GREVILLE, MRS., 
 
 Wipe of Fulke Greville, was a celebrated wit 
 and beauty in English society during the last cen- 
 tury. She wrote, about 1753, a "Prayer for In- 
 difference," which was long very popular. The 
 beautiful Mrs. Crewe was the daughter of Mrs. 
 Greville. Her maiden name was Fanny M'Cart- 
 uey. Mrs. Greville was the author of " Maxima 
 and Characters," published in 1756, and some 
 other worlis ; but none are now of much account 
 except the 
 
 PRATEU POE, INDIFrEBENCE. 
 
 Oft I've implored the gods in vain, 
 And prayed till I've been weary; 
 
 For once I'll try my wish to gain 
 Of Oberon the Fairy. 
 
 Sweet airy being, wanton sprite. 
 
 That lurk'st in woods unseen. 
 And oft by Cynthia's silver light 
 
 Tripp'st gaily o'er the green; 
 
 If e'er thy pitying heart was moved, 
 
 As ancient stories tell. 
 And for th' Athenian maid who loved 
 
 Thou found'st a wondrous spell ; 
 
 Oh deign once more t' exert thy pow'r ! 
 
 Haply some herb or tree, 
 Sov'reign as juice of western flower. 
 
 Conceals a balm for me. 
 
 I ask no kind return of love, 
 
 IVo tempting charm to please; 
 Far from the heart those gifts remove 
 
 That sighs for peace and ease : 
 
 No peace nor ease the heart can know. 
 
 Which, like the needle true. 
 Turns at the touch of joy or woe, 
 
 But, turning, trembles too. 
 
 Far as distress the soul can wound, 
 
 'Tis pain in each degree; 
 'Tis bliss but to a certain bound, 
 
 Beyond, is agony. 
 
 Take then this treacherous sense of mine, 
 
 Which dooms me still to smart; 
 Which pleasure can to pain refine, 
 
 To pain new pangs impart. 
 
 Oh haste to shed the sacred balm! 
 
 My shattered nerves new string; 
 And for my guest, serenely calm, 
 
 The nymph Indifference bring. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 And what of life remains for me 
 
 I'll pass in sober ease; 
 Half pleased, contented will I be. 
 
 Content but half to please. 
 
 GREY, LADY JANE, 
 Was an illustrious personage of the blood-royal 
 of England by both parents ; her grandmother on 
 her father's side, Henry Grey, marquis of Dorset, 
 being queen-consort to Edward IV. ; and her grand- 
 mother on her mother's, lady Frances Brandon, 
 being daughter to Henry VII., and queen-dowager 
 of France. Lady Jane was born in 1537, at Brad- 
 gat*, her father's seat in Leicestershire, and very 
 
 early gave astonishing proofs of her talents. She 
 was considered superior to Edward VI., who was 
 about the same age, and was thought a prodigy. 
 She embroidered and wrote beautifully, played 
 admirably on various instruments, and accompa- 
 nied them with a voice exquisitely sweet and well 
 cultivated. These, however, were only inferior 
 ornaments in her character ; and, far from priding 
 herself upon them, from her parents' severity in 
 exacting them, they became a source of grief ra- 
 ther than pleasure. 
 
 Her father had himself an inclination to letters, 
 and was a great patron of the learned. He had 
 two chaplains, Harding and Aylmer, both men of 
 distinguished learning, whom he employed as 
 titters to his daughter ; and under whose instruc- 
 tions she made such proficiency as amazed them 
 both. Her own language she spoke and wrote 
 with the utmost accuracy ; and she not only un- 
 derstood the French, Italian, Latin, and Greek, 
 but spoke and wrote them with the greatest free- 
 dom. She was also versed in Hebrew, Chaldee, 
 and Arabic ; and all this while a mere child. She 
 had a sedateness of temper, a quickness of appre- 
 hension, and a solidity of judgment, that enabled 
 her to understand the sciences ; so that she thought, 
 spoke, and reasoned, upon subjects of the greatest 
 importance, in a manner that surprised all. To 
 these endowments were added the loveliest graces 
 of woman, mildness, humility, and modesty. Her 
 natural fondness for literature was much increased 
 by the severity of her parents in the feminine part 
 of her education ; for, by the gentleness of her 
 tutor, Aylmer, in the fulfilment of his duties, he 
 won her to love what he taught. Her alliance to 
 the crown, and the great esteem in which the mar- 
 quis of Dorset, her father, was held both by Henry 
 VIII. and Edward VI., unavoidably brought her 
 sometimes to court ; and she received many marks 
 of Edward's favour. Yet she generally continued 
 in the country at Bradgate. 
 
 It was there that the famous Roger Ascham was 
 on a visit in August, 1550 ; and all the rest of the 
 family being out hunting, he went to the apartment 
 of the lady Jane, and found her reading Plato's 
 
 333 
 
GK 
 
 GR 
 
 Phsedon in the original Greek. Astonislied at this, 
 he aslsed her, why she lost such pastime as there 
 must needs be in the park ; at -which she answered, 
 smiling, " I wist all their sport in the park is but a 
 shadow to that pleasure that I find in Plato. Alas, 
 good folk, they never felt what true pleasure 
 meant." 
 
 This naturally leading him to inquire how a lady 
 of her age had attained to such a depth of plea- 
 sure, both in the Platonic language and philosophy, 
 she made the following remarkable answer : 
 
 " I will tell you, and I will tell you a truth which 
 perchance you will marvel at. One of the greatest 
 benefits which ever God gave me is, that he sent 
 me so sharp and severe parents, and so gentle a 
 schoolmaster. For when I am in presence either 
 of father or mother, whether I speak, keep silence, 
 sit, stand, or go, eat, drink, be merry or sad, be 
 sewing, playing, dancing, or doing anything else, 
 I am so sharply taunted, so cruelly threatened, 
 yea presently sometimes with pinches, nips, and 
 bobs, and other ways (which I will not name for 
 the honour I bear them) so without measure mis- 
 ordered, that I think myself in hell, till time come 
 that I must go to Mr. Aylmer, who teacheth me 
 so gently, so pleasantly, with such fair allurements 
 to learning, that I think all the time nothing while 
 I ara with him ; and, when I am called from him, 
 I fall on weeping ; because, whatever I do else but 
 learning, is full of grief, trouble, fear, and wholly 
 misliking unto me. And thus my book hath been 
 so much my pleasure, and bringeth daily to me 
 more pleasure and more, and that in respect of it 
 all other pleasures in very deed be but trifles and 
 troubles unto me." Ascham was deeply affected 
 by this speech and interview. 
 
 In 1653, she was married to lord Guilford Dud- 
 ley ; and, shortly afterwards, reluctantly accepted 
 the diadem, which the intrigues of her father and 
 her father-in-law had induced. But ascending the 
 throne was only a step on her way to the scaffold. 
 Nine days only did she wear the crown ; the nation 
 acknowledged the right of Mary, eldest daughter 
 of Henry VIII. ; and the lady Jane and her hus- 
 band were sent to the Tower. They had committed 
 a crime against the state, in accepting the sove- 
 reignty which by birth belonged to Mary ; but as 
 she had suifered no loss, and the oifenders were 
 so young, and had been persuaded by others, it 
 was hoped their lives would be spared. But the 
 boon of mercy was not for them ; and in Febru- 
 ary, 1554, they were brought to the block. 
 
 Although the queen, seeming to desire the 
 salvation of her victims, sent the most learned 
 and subtle priests to exhort the lady Jane to a 
 change of faith, she defended her opinions with 
 ability and resolution ; and her part in this con- 
 ference is highly commended by bishop Burnet, 
 and other ecclesiastical historians. She wrote 
 several letters in her confinement, one to her 
 sister, in Greek, exhorting her to maintain, in 
 every trial, that fortitude and perseverance of 
 which she trusted to give her the example. An- 
 other one was addressed to her father's chaplain. 
 Dr. Harding, who had apostatized from his reli- 
 gion, imploring him to prefer his conscience to his 
 
 safety. She also wrote four epistles in Latin, two 
 of them the night before her execution, on the 
 blank leaves of her Greek Testament. 
 
 She refused to consent to her husband's entreat 
 ties for a last interview, alleging that the ten- 
 derness of their parting would overcome their 
 fortitude, and that they should soon meet where 
 no disappointment, misfortune, or death could 
 disturb them. 
 
 As she beheld from her window her husband 
 led to execution, having given him a token of her 
 remembrance, she calmly awaited her own fate. 
 On her way to the scaffold, she was met by the 
 cart that bore the lifeless body of lord Guilford ; 
 this forced from her some tears, that were quickly 
 dried by the report of his courage and constancy. 
 
 Sir John Gage, constable of the Tower, entreated 
 her to give him some token of remembrance, and 
 she presented him with her tablets, in which she 
 had just written three sentences in Greek, Latin, 
 and English, suggested by seeing the dead body 
 of her husband; importing that he, whom human 
 laws had condemned, would be saved by Divine 
 mercy ; and that if her own fault deserved punish- 
 ment, it would, she trusted, be extenuated by her 
 youth and inexperience. At the scaffold, without 
 breathing a complaint against the severity of her 
 punishment, she attested her innocence of inten- 
 tional wrong ; her crime, she said, had not been 
 ambition, but a want of firmness in resisting the 
 instances of those whom she had been accustomed 
 to revere and obey. She concluded her remarks 
 with a solemn profession Of her faith, and de- 
 voutly repeated a psalm in English. 
 
 The executioner knelt to implore her forgive- 
 ness, which she granted readily, adding, " I pray 
 you, despatch me quickly*" Then kneeling, and 
 saying, "Lord, into thy hands I commend my 
 spirit," she meekly submitted to her fate. She 
 was hardly seventeen at the time of her death. 
 
 We are glad to record, for the credit of that age, 
 and of humanity, that the cruel fate of this lovely 
 lady was universally pitied ; and the memory of 
 her virtues has ever excited the highest admira- 
 tion. 
 
 On the wall of the room in which the lady Jane 
 was imprisoned in the Tower, she wi-ote with a 
 pin the following lines : 
 
 " Noil aliena putes homini quffi obtingere possunt; 
 Sors liodierna mihi, eras erit ilia tibi." 
 
 " Think not, O mortal, vainly gay, 
 That thou from hunian woes art free ; 
 The bitter cup I drink to-day, 
 To-morrow may be drunk by thee." 
 
 " Deo juvante, nil nocet livor malus, 
 Et non juvante, nil juvat labor gravis, 
 Post tenebras spero lucem." 
 
 " Harmless all malice if our God is nigh ; 
 Fruitless all pains, if he his help deny. 
 Patient I pass these gloomy hours away, 
 And wait the morning of eternal day." 
 
 GRIERSON, CONSTANTIA, 
 Was born in the county of Kilkenny, in Ireland. 
 She was considered an excellent scholar, not only 
 in Greek and Roman literature, but in history, 
 
 834 
 
GR 
 
 GV 
 
 divinity, philosophy, and mathematics. She gave 
 a proof of her knowledge of Latin by her dedica- 
 tion of the Dublin edition of Tacitus to Lord Car- 
 teret, and that of Terence to his son, to whom she 
 also -wrote a Greek epigram. She also composed 
 several fine poems, in English ; and was a woman 
 of exemplary piety and virtue. What made these 
 extraordinary talents yet more surprising, was, that 
 her parents were poor, illiterate, country people, 
 and she had no instruction but the little the mi- 
 nister of the parish gave her, when she found time 
 from her needle-work, to which she was closely 
 kept by her mother. 
 
 When Lord Carteret was lord-lieutenant of Ire- 
 land, he obtained a patent for Mr. Grierson, her 
 husband, to be the king's printer ; and, to distin- 
 guish and reward her uncommon merit, had her 
 life inserted in it. Whether owing to her own 
 desire or the envy of those around her, very few 
 of her various and beautiful writings were ever 
 published. She died in 1738, at the early age of 
 twenty-seven. 
 
 GEIFFITH, ELIZABETH, 
 A NOVELIST and dramatic writer of some emi- 
 nence, first distinguished herself by " The Letters 
 of Henry and Frances," which contained the genu- 
 ine correspondence between her and her husband 
 before their marriage. She also wrote " Memoirs 
 of Ninon de I'Enclos," the " Morality of Shak- 
 speare's Dramas Illustrated," three novels, four 
 comedies, and "Essays addressed to Young Mar- 
 ried Women." She died in Ireland, in 1793. 
 
 GEIGNAN, FRANCES, COUNTESS DE, 
 Daughtee of the celebrated Madame Sevign^, 
 was born in 1646. In 1669, she married Count 
 Grignan, an officer of high rank at the court of 
 Louis XIV. Her residence in Provence with her 
 husband, and at a distance from her mother, was 
 the cause of the writing of those excellent letters 
 which passed between the mother and daughter. 
 She had two daughters and one son. Her life 
 owes all its celebrity to the interest excited by the 
 letters of her mother. The death of the Countess 
 de Grignan occurred in 1705. 
 
 GROTIUS, MARY, 
 Daughtee of Baron Reigesberg, of Zealand, 
 was married to the renowned Hugh Grotius, July, 
 1 608. She proved herself worthy of her illustrious 
 husband ; was his confidant and counsellor in all 
 his pursuits, and by her fortitude and persevering 
 affection sustained him in every reverse of fortune. 
 When, in 1619, he was sentenced, for his political 
 writings, to impi'isonment for life in the fortress 
 of Louvestein, she petitioned to accompany him. 
 This was granted, on condition that if she went 
 into the prison she should never come out. She 
 agreed to this, but finally was allowed to go out 
 twice a week. In prison, Grotius devoted himself 
 entirely to his literary pursuits, while his true 
 wife was studying how to effect his liberation. 
 She accomplished this in the following manner. 
 
 She had been permitted to borrow books of his 
 friends for him, and when he had used the- books. 
 
 they were carried back in a chest in which his 
 linen was carried to and from his laundress. The 
 first year his guards were very exact in examining 
 the chest ; but being used to find nothing in it 
 besides books and linen, they grew remiss, and 
 did not take the trouble to open it. Madame Gro- 
 tius observed this, and proposed her plan. She 
 represented to her husband that it was in his 
 power to get out of prison, if he would put him- 
 self into this chest. But to prevent any danger 
 to his health, she caused holes to be bored oppo- 
 site to where his face was to be, so that he might 
 breathe freely; and persuaded him to try if he 
 could remain shut up in that confined posture (the 
 chest was only three and a half feet in length) as 
 long as it would require to go from Louvestein to 
 Gorcum. Finding it might be done, she then 
 watched for a favourable opportunity to make the 
 attempt. The commandant being called away, 
 this faithful wife contrived to get her husband 
 carried out in the chest, as though it were filled 
 with books, while she remained in prison, pre- 
 tending that he was very ill. Thus Grotius es- 
 caped, and went to P.aris, where he had many 
 friends. She was, for a time, confined and treated 
 with great rigour ; but finally released, and al- 
 lowed to join her husband. 
 
 Subsequently, when he wished to return to Hol- 
 land, she went first to prepare the way. And 
 then, when she made a journey into Zealand, to 
 pick up the remains of their fortune, his biogra- 
 pher observes: " Time passed horribly with Gro- 
 tius till the return of his wife. She had always 
 been his consolation in adversity. In truth, the 
 most important works of this wonderful man owe 
 their perfection, if not their origin, to her. She 
 encouraged his plans, assisted him in preparing 
 his writings for the press, and was his guardian 
 and guiding angel through all the perils and per- 
 plexities of his life." 
 
 GROUCHY, SOPHIA, 
 
 SiSTEE of Marshal Grouchy, and widow of the 
 celebrated French philosopher, Condorcet, was a 
 successful writer and translator. She translated 
 two works of Adam Smith into French ; and she 
 added "Letters on Sympathy," in which Madame 
 Condorcet supplies some omissions of the author, 
 whom she examines, modifies, and often combats. 
 Her translation is remarkable for the elegance 
 and purity of its style, the ideas and severity of 
 philosophical language. This lady composed a 
 treatise for the education of her daughter, which 
 remains unpublished. She died in 1822 univer- 
 sally regretted. 
 
 GUILLAUME, JACQUETTE, 
 
 A Feench lady of the seventeenth century, 
 wrote a work entitled "Les Dames illustres: oil, 
 par bonnes et fortes Raisons, il se prouve que le 
 sexe femiuin surpasse en toute sorte de Genre le 
 sexe mascnlin." In this performance, published 
 in 1665, the writer attempts to prove the superi- 
 ority of the female over the male sex, through the 
 whole human and animal creation. The style is 
 elegant and unaffected, and the examples and ob- 
 
 335 
 
GU 
 
 au 
 
 servations show knowledge and research. She 
 did not, however, dwell sufficiently on the kind 
 of superiority she claimed for woman over man — 
 that it was moral, not mental or physical power 
 which the female sex was ordained to wield. Nor 
 did she distinguish sufficiently between the mani- 
 festations of the distinctive characters of man and 
 woman : that the power of the first was centred 
 in the reason and the will ; of the last, in the 
 conscience and the affections. She had never 
 studied the Bible, which is the grand charter of 
 woman's rights, and the only true expositor of her 
 duties. 
 
 GUIZOT, CHARLOTTE PAULINE, 
 Was born in Paris, in 1773. Her father, JL de 
 Meulan, lost all his fortune by the Revolution, 
 and dying in 1790, left a widow and five children 
 almost totally destitute. Pauline de Meulan, the 
 eldest, commenced writing in order to contribute 
 to the support of her family. Her first attempt 
 was a novel, which was successful, and then she 
 became one of the most popular contributors to a 
 journal established at Paris, called " The' Publi- 
 ciste." In 1807, while suffering under an illness 
 brought on by over-exertion, which compelled her 
 to give up writing, the only resource of her mother 
 and herself, she received an article written in 
 happy imitation of her style, accompanied by an 
 anonymous letter, in which she was informed that 
 till her health should be restored, a similar article 
 should be sent to her for each number of the Pub- 
 liciste. These articles came with the utmost re- 
 gularity ; and on her recovery, she discovered the 
 writer of them to be M. Guizot. He had heard 
 of her, read and admired her writings, and they 
 soon became friends. In 1812, Mademoiselle de 
 Meulan married her benefactor ; and though she 
 was fourteen years older than her husband, their 
 union was a very happy one. The purity and 
 severity of her moral nature exercised great influ- 
 ence over her husband ; and she also assisted him 
 in his literary labours. The perfect accord of 
 their sentiments rendered this easy for her, and 
 he thus gained for himself increased honour and 
 fame. She died in 1827. Her first works were 
 
 novels, called " The Contradictions," and the 
 "Chapel of Ayton." She afterwards published 
 "Essays on Literature and Morals." In 1821, 
 she gave to the public a work for youth, called 
 " Raoul the Scholar," which has been translated 
 into English, and enjoyed extensive circulation. 
 This was followed by " Letters on Domestic Edu- 
 cation," the best monument Madame Guizot has 
 left of her talents and fame. Among all the 
 French female authors, no one has more consist- 
 ently and constantly advocated the cause of truth 
 and good morals than this excellent lady. 
 
 GUIZOT, ELISE MARGARETTA, 
 
 Was born in Paris, in 1804. Her father, James 
 Dillon, sprang from a branch of the Irish family 
 of that name, which followed James II. of England 
 in his banishment to France. He married Hen- 
 rietta de Meulan, sister of Pauline, the first wife 
 of M. Guizot. Madame Dillon was left a widow 
 at an early age, with small means, and the charge 
 of two children, Elise and Pauline. She, how- 
 ever, proved herself equal to this difficult situa- 
 tion. Frugal, simple in her tastes, gifted with an 
 hereditary quickness of intellect, she brought up 
 her daughters in a most admirable manner. Elise, 
 from the dawn of her understanding, manifested 
 unusual aptness for acquirement, and extraordi- 
 nary love for study. Upon the death of her mo- 
 ther, which occurred while she was a very young 
 girl, she assumed the responsibility of managing 
 the family and bringing up her sister Pauline. 
 These duties she discharged with zeal and dis- 
 cernment, until the illness of her aunt, Madame 
 Guizot, of the preceding sketch, for whom she en- 
 tertained a peculiar affection, required her society 
 and skill as a nurse, during an excursion to the 
 baths of Plombieres. Madame Guizot was much 
 older than her husband, whom she loved with 
 that afi'ection peculiar to woman, which regards 
 the advantage of its object. Setting aside per- 
 sonal considerations, she felt that her husband's 
 happiness would be secured, if at a proper tinje 
 after her death he could obtain the hand of a 
 young lady whose mind and character she had 
 herself formed, and whose tastes and habits were, 
 as she knew, perfectly congenial with his. She 
 therefore recommended to him this marriage, 
 which actually took place after the lapse of over a 
 year of mourning was expired. This union seems 
 to have been fraught with happiness to both par- 
 ties. Madame Elise Guizot preserved her simpli- 
 city as wife of the minister, and used her influence, 
 and added fortune only to promote plans of utility 
 and beneficence. M. Guizot's political and literary 
 life is too well known to demand any detail ; but 
 that he has maintained through every temptation 
 and trial his consistency of principle, and his un- 
 tarnished honour, is doubtless to be ascribed, in a 
 great measure, to the purity of heart and uncom- 
 mon culture of mind which distinguished his two 
 successive wives. Even after their decease, the 
 memory of their pious examples was to him as 
 guardian angels amid the perils of power and the 
 seductions of flattery. Madame Elise Guizot died 
 in 1833, universally regretted, leaving three young 
 
 336 
 
GV 
 
 QV 
 
 children to her husband's care. She was be- 
 loved by all her connexions ; the warmth of her 
 heart being as remarkable as the brilliancy of her 
 intellect. She wrote some works of an ethical 
 character ; several novels, somewhat in the style 
 of those of Miss Martineau ; and she was a con- 
 stant contributor to the " Revue Franjaise," in 
 valuable Essays upon English, German, and Ita- 
 , lian Literature. 
 
 GUYAED, ADELAIDE SABILLE, 
 Was born at Paris in 1749, and acquired a me- 
 rited reputation by her portraits in miniature, 
 crayons, and oil. She married M. Vincent, a dis- 
 tinguished artist. She died in 1803, partly of 
 grief at the destruction of a favourite picture 
 which had cost her several years' labour, by the 
 revolutionary fanatics. 
 
 GUYON, JEANNE MARIE BOUVIER 
 DB LA MOTTE, 
 
 The friend of the celebrated Fenelon, archbishop 
 of Cambray, and memorable for her sufferings in 
 defence of her religious opinions, was the descend- 
 ant of a noble family, and born at Montargis in 
 France, April 13th, 1648. At seven years of age 
 she was sent to the convent of the Ursulines ; here 
 the sensibility of her constitution and temper, 
 aided by the impressions received in a monastic 
 life, gave her an early propensity to enthusiasm. 
 The confessor of Henrietta Marie, widow of Charles 
 I., struck by the character and ardour of the young 
 devotee, presented her, when scarcely eight years 
 old, to the queen, who, but for the opposition of 
 her parents, would have retained her in her family. 
 
 Jeanne was desirous of taking the veil, but was 
 overruled by her father, who obliged her to marry 
 M. Guyon, a wealthy gentleman. This union was 
 not a very happy one ; and at the age of twenty- 
 eight Madame Guyon was left a widow, with two 
 sons and a daughter, of whom she was appointed 
 sole guardian. The first years of her widowhood 
 she devoted to the regulation of her domestic 
 affairs, the education of her children, and the 
 management of their fortune ; in which employ- 
 ments she discovered great energy and capacity. 
 By these occupations, however, she was not pre- 
 vented from conforming to the ceremonials of the 
 Catholic church, which she continued to observe 
 with a rigorous austerity. 
 
 In the midst of these duties, she was suddenly 
 seized with a spiritual impulse ; and, under the 
 delusions of a heated imagination, she abandoned 
 the common affairs of life, to deliver herself up to 
 sublime chimeras. She went to Paris, where she 
 became acquainted with M. d'Aranthon, bishop of 
 Geneva, who prevailed on her to go to his diocese, 
 to perfect an establishment founded by him at 
 Gex, for the reception of newly converted Catho- 
 lics. She went to Gex in 1681, accompanied by 
 her little daughter. Some time after, her rela- 
 tions demanded of her a resignation of her office 
 of guardian to her children, together with their 
 fortunes, which amounted to forty thousand livres. 
 She readily consented to this ; and, reserving only 
 a moderate income for herself, consigned over to 
 W 
 
 her family the bulk of her property. The com- 
 munity of Gex, observing her liberality, asked the 
 bishop to propose to Madame Guyon that she 
 should bestow a pension on their house, and there- 
 by constitute herself its superior. Her rejection 
 of this proposal, on the plea of disapprobation of 
 the regulations of the community, gave offence to 
 the sisterhood and their patron, by whom she was 
 desired to leave the house. 
 
 She then went to the Ursulines at Thonon, whence 
 she proceeded to Turin, and thence to Grenoble : 
 at length, by the invitation of the bishop, who 
 venerated her piety, she retired to Verceil. After 
 an absence of five years, which she had spent in 
 teaching her doctrines, she returned, in 1686, to 
 Paris, with a view of procuring medical aid. Dur- 
 ing hfer wanderings she had composed two tracts, 
 entitled "A Short and Easy Method of Prayer," 
 and " The Song of Songs, interpreted according 
 to its Mystical Sense." Her irreproachable con- 
 duct, added to the novelty of her doctrines, which 
 recommended prayer, contemplation, and divine 
 love, as the sum and substance of religion, pro- 
 cured her many converts. The principles of Ma- 
 dame Guyon, which savoured of Platonic philoso- 
 phy, diffused themselves daily throughout Paris, 
 under the name of Quietism. Letters, from the 
 provinces in which she had lived, complaining of 
 the spread of her doctrines, completed their tri- 
 umph by stimulating the curiosity of the multitude. 
 The church, alarmed at a heresy which disparaged 
 ceremonial devotion, prepared to resist the attack. 
 Father la Combe, a Barnabite, and confessor to 
 Madame Guyon, was the first who suffered. He 
 was imprisoned. Madame Guyon herself was next 
 confined, January, 1688, in the convent des Fillea 
 de la Visitacion, where she was strictly interro- 
 gated, and detained for eight months. Her deli- 
 verance was at length effected by Madame Mira- 
 nion, the superior of the convent, who represented 
 her case to Madame de Maintenon. This lady 
 pleaded her cause with Louis XIV., who liberated 
 her, and^he was introduced at St. Cyr, a convent 
 erected by Madame de Maintenon. 
 
 Soon after her liberation, Madame Guyon was 
 introduced to Fenelon, who became her disciple 
 and friend. She was also distinguished by the 
 notice of the dukes de Chevreuse and Beauvilliers, 
 men of merit and talents, and by ladies of the first 
 distinction, who were attracted as much by the 
 graces of her person and manners as by her doc- 
 trines. 
 
 The cry of heresy was again raised by the 
 church, which, by its anathemas, gave importance 
 to the sect it sought to crush. Madame Guyon 
 was persuaded by her friends to submit her cause 
 and her writings to the. bishop of Meaux ; who, 
 after a conference with her, and perusing her pa- 
 pers, declared his satisfaction. The fury of the 
 church was not, however, allayed ; and an order 
 was procured for the re-examination of the doc- 
 trines of Madame Guyon ; who, in the mean time, 
 retired to the convent of Meaux. Bossuet was at the 
 head of the committee of examination, and Tran- 
 son, Fenelon, and the bishop of Chalons, were asso- 
 ciated. At the end of six mouths, thirty-four arti- 
 
 337 
 
GW 
 
 HA 
 
 cles were drawn up by the commisaioners, to -wMcli 
 Fenelon added four, to prove the harmlessness of 
 Quietism. The thirty-four articles were signed by 
 all the examiners, March 10th, 1695. Madame 
 Guyon also put her signature to them, and signed 
 a submission to censure passed by the bishop of 
 Meaux the preceding April, against her tracts; 
 by which she declared, that she had never meant 
 to advocate anything contrary to the Catholic, 
 apostolic, and Roman church. To this the bishop 
 added an attestation, purporting that he was satis- 
 fied with the conduct of Madame Guyon, and had 
 continued her in the participation of the holy sa- 
 crament. Thus acquitted, she returned to Paris, 
 in the hope of finding safety and repose. 
 
 But the rage of bigotry was not yet exhausted ; 
 Madame Guyon became involved in the persecu- 
 tions of Fenelon, and in less than a year was im- 
 prisoned, first in the castle of Vincennes, then in 
 the convent Thomas & Gerard, and at last in the 
 Bastile. At a meeting of the general assembly 
 of the clergy of France, in 1700, no evidence ap- 
 pearing against her, she was once more set at 
 liberty. 
 
 She then went to visit her children, and settled 
 near them at Blois. The remainder of her life 
 she passed in retirement. The walls of her cham- 
 ber, the tables and furniture, were covered with 
 her numerous verses, which were printed after her 
 death in five volumes, entitled " Cantiques Spiri- 
 tuels, ou d'Emblemes sur I'Amour divin." She 
 also left twenty volumes of " Commentaries on the 
 Bible;" and "Reflections and Explanations con- 
 cerning the Inner Life;" and "Christian Dis- 
 courses;" "Letters to several persons;" her own 
 "Autobiography;" a volume of "Visitations;" 
 and two volumes of " Opuscules." She died, June 
 9th, 1717. 
 
 GWYNNE, ELEANOR, 
 Bettek known as Nell Gwynn, (her real name 
 was Margaret Symoott,) rose from an orange-girl 
 of the meanest description, to be the mistress of 
 Charles II. of England. She first gained her bread 
 by singing from tavern to tavern, and gradually 
 
 rose to be a popular actress at the Theatre-Royal. 
 She is said to have been exceedingly pretty, but 
 below the ordinary height. In her elevation she 
 showed great gratitude to Dryden, who had be- 
 friended her in her poverty. She was also faithful 
 to her royal lover, and after his death retired from 
 the world and passed the remainder of her life in 
 seclusion. She died in 1691, and was pompously 
 interred in the parish church of St. Martin's in 
 the Fields ; Dr. Tennison, then vicar, afterwards 
 bishop of Canterbury, preaching her funeral ser- 
 mon. This sermon, it was reported, was shortly 
 afterwards brought forward by lord Jersey to im- 
 pede the Rev. doctor's preferment; but queen 
 Mary, having heard the objection, answered grave- 
 ly, " What then ? I have hea,rd as much ; this is a 
 sign that that poor unfortunate woman died peni- 
 tent ; for, if I can read a man's heart through his 
 looks, had she not made a pious and Christian 
 end,. the doctor could never have been induced to 
 speak well of her." This repentance is not re- 
 corded of any other mistress of the profligate 
 king. "Poor Nelly" was the victim of circum- 
 stances, not the votary of vice ; and of the inmates 
 of that wicked and corrupt court, she only has 
 won pity and forgiveness from posterity. She 
 deserves this ; for she was pitiful to others. In 
 the time of her prosperity she never forgot to re- 
 lieve distress ; and at her death she left a fund 
 for annual distribution at Christmas among the 
 poor debtors, which is to this day distributed in 
 the prisons of London. From Nell Gwynne de- 
 scended the dukes of St. Albans. 
 
 H. 
 
 HABERT, SUSAN DE, 
 "Wife of Charles Jardin, an officer of the house- 
 hold of Henry III. of France, who became a widow 
 in 1585, at the age of twenty-four, when she de- 
 voted herself to literature, especially philosophy, 
 divinity, and the languages. She was a pious as 
 well as learned woman. She died in 1633. 
 
 HALKET, LADY ANNE, 
 Whose extensive learning and voluminous theo- 
 logical writings place her in the first rank of fe- 
 male authors, was the daughter of Mr. Robert 
 Murray, of the family of TuUibardine, and was 
 born at London, January 4, 1622. Her father 
 was preceptor to Charles I., and her mother sub- 
 governess to the duke of Gloucester and the prin- 
 cess Elizabeth. Lady Anne was carefully educated 
 by her parents in every polite and liberal science ; 
 but theology and physic were her favourite stu- 
 dies ; and she became such a proficient in the lat- 
 ter science, and also in surgery, that the most 
 eminent professional men, as well as invalids of 
 every rank, both in Britain and on the continent, 
 sought her advice. 
 
 Being a staunch royalist, her family and her- 
 self suffered with the misfortunes of Charles. She 
 married, in March, 1656, Sir James Halket, to 
 whom she bore four children, all of whom died 
 
HA 
 
 HA 
 
 young excepting her eldest son EolDert. It was 
 to Mm she addressed her admirable tract, " The 
 Mother's Will to the Unborn Child," under the 
 impression that she should not survive its birth. 
 She died in 1699. During her lifetime there were 
 published of her writings no less than twenty-one 
 volumes, chiefly on religious subjects. She was a 
 woman of the most singular and unaffected piety, 
 and of the sweetest simplicity of manner ; this, 
 together with her great talents and learning, pro- 
 cured her the universal esteem of her contempo- 
 raries. She also left thirty-six books in manu- 
 script, containing " Meditations." 
 
 HAMILTON, ELIZABETH, 
 
 Was born in Belfast, in the year 1758. Her 
 father was a merchant, of a Scottish famUy, and 
 died early, leaving a widow and three children. 
 The latter were educated and brought up by rela- 
 tives in better circumstances ; — Elizabeth, the 
 youngest, being sent to Mr. Marshall, a farmer in 
 Stirlingshire, married to her father's sister. Her 
 brother obtained a cadetship in the East India 
 Company's service, and an elder sister was re- 
 tained in Ireland. A feeling of strong affection 
 seems to have existed among these scattered mem- 
 bers of the vinfortunate family. Elizabeth found 
 in Mr. and Mrs. Marshall all that could have been 
 desired. She was adopted and educated with a 
 care and tenderness that has seldom been equalled. 
 " No child," she says, " ever spent so happy a 
 life, nor have I ever met with anything at all re- 
 sembling our way of living, except the description 
 given by Rousseau of Wolmar's farm and vintage." 
 A taste for literature soon appeared in Elizabeth 
 Hamilton. Wallace was the first hero of her stu- 
 dies ; but meeting with Ogilvie's translation of the 
 Hiad, she idolized Achilles, and dreamed of Hec- 
 tor. She had opportunities of visiting Edinburgh 
 and Glasgow, after which she carried on a learned 
 correspondence with Doctor Moyse, a philosophical 
 lecturer. She wrote also many copies of verses — 
 that ordinary outlet for the warm feelings and ro- 
 mantic sensibilities of youth. Her first appear- 
 ance in print was accidental. Having accompa- 
 nied a pleasure party to the Highlands, she kept 
 a journal for the gratification of her aunt, and the 
 good woman showing it to one of her neighbours, 
 it was sent to a provincial magazine. Her retire- 
 ment in Stirlingshire was, in 1773, gladdened by 
 a visit from her brother, then about to sail for In- 
 dia. Mr. Hamilton seems to have been an excel- 
 lent and able young man, and his subsequent let- 
 ters and conversations on Indian affairs stored the 
 ^ mind of his sister with the materials for her Hin- 
 doo Rajah, a work equally remarkable for good 
 sense and sprightliness. In 1778, Miss Hamilton 
 lost her aunt, whose death was a heavy blow to 
 the happy family. For the ensuing six years she 
 devoted herself to the cares and duties of the 
 household, her only literary employments being 
 her correspondence with her brother, and the 
 composition of two short papers which she sent to 
 -the Lounger. Mr. Hamilton returned from India 
 in 1786, in order that he might better fulfil an 
 important duty intrusted to him, the translation 
 
 of thfi Mussulman Code of Laws. It would not 
 be easy to paint the joy and affection with which 
 he was received by his sister. They spent the 
 winter together in Stirlingshire, and in 1789, when 
 her kind friend and protector, Mr. Marshall, die(^, 
 she quitted Scotland, and rejoined her brother in 
 London. Mr. Hamilton was cut off by a prema- 
 ture death, in 1792. Shortly after this period 
 commenced the literary life of Elizabeth Hamilton, 
 and her first work was " The Letters of a Hindoo 
 Rajah," published in 1796. The success of this 
 work decided her to pursue the career of author- 
 ship. She wrote, successively, " The Modern Phi- 
 losophers ;" " Letters on Education," an excellent 
 book ; " Memoirs of Agrippina," a work of great 
 research ; and " Letters to the Daughters of a 
 Nobleman." This was published in the year 1806 ; 
 and soon afterwards Miss Hamilton became an 
 active promoter of th^ House of Industry, at Edin- 
 burgh, an establishment for the education of fe- 
 males of the lowest class. For the benefit of these 
 young persons she composed a little book, "Ex- 
 ercises in Religious Knowledge," which was pub- 
 lished in 1809, receiving the sanction of Bishop 
 Sandford and Mr. Alison. The previous year, 
 1808, she published her most original, popular, 
 and useful work, " The Cottagers of Glenburnie.' 
 Of this novel, or moral tale, a learned reviewer 
 remarks: "It has probably been as effective in 
 promoting domestic improvement among the rural 
 population of Scotland as Johnson's Journey to 
 the Hebrides was in encouraging the planting of 
 trees by the lauded proprietors. In both cases 
 there was some exaggeration of colouring, but the 
 pictures were too provokingly true and sarcastic 
 to be laughed away or denied. They constituted 
 a national reproach, and the only way to wipe it 
 off was by timely reformation. There is still much 
 to accomplish, but a marked improvement in the 
 dwellings and iuternal economy of Scottish farm- 
 houses and villages may be dated from the publi- 
 cation of the ' Cottagers of Glenburnie.' " 
 
 She wjote two works after this, " Essays on the 
 Human Mind," and " Hints to the Directors of 
 Public Schools ;" the subject of education being 
 her favourite theme. Her health was delicate for 
 several years before her decease, but neither dis- 
 ease or time had power to disturb her cheerful 
 perenity of soul. As a maiden lady, she preserved 
 her dignity and showed her good sense by never 
 attempting to play the juvenile. In her own plea- 
 sant manner she thus describes herself ; 
 
 With expectation beating higli, 
 Myself I now desire to spy ; 
 And straight I in a glass surveyed 
 An antique lady, much decayed, 
 Whose languid eye and pallid cheek 
 The conquering power of time bespeak. 
 J3ut though deprived of youthful bloom, 
 Free was my face from peevish gloom. 
 A cap, tho' not of modern grace, 
 Hid my grey hairs, and decked my face ; 
 No more I fashion's livery wear. 
 But cleanly neatness all my care ; 
 Whoe'er had seeft me must have said, 
 There goes one cheerful, pleased old maid." 
 
 Mrs. Hamilton, as she was styled after she had 
 put on her cap, has shown, in all her works, great 
 
HA 
 
 HA 
 
 power of analysis ; she had studied well the hu- 
 man mind, and the hest writers on metaphysics 
 and morals may gain hints from her application 
 of the truths of philosophy how to make their 
 knowledge of practical use, particularly in the art 
 of education. She has shown how the doctrine 
 of the association of ideas may be applied in early 
 education to the formation of habits of the temper, 
 and of the principles of taste and morals. And 
 also, she has shown how all that metaphysicians 
 know of sensation and abstraction, can be applied 
 in the cultivation of the attention, the judgment, 
 and the imagination of children. 
 
 But more important still is the influence her 
 writings have had in awakening the attention of 
 mothers, and directing their inquiries rightly — 
 much by exciting them to reflect upon their own 
 minds, and to observe what passes in the minds 
 of their children : she has opened a new fleld of 
 investigation to women — a field fitted to their do- 
 mestic habits — to their duties as mothers, and to 
 their business as preceptors of youth, to whom it 
 belongs to give the minds of children those first 
 impressions and ideas which remain the longest, 
 and which influence them often, the most power- 
 fully, through the whole course of life. 
 
 Mrs. Hamilton died, after a protracted illness, 
 which she bore with sweet patience, and devout 
 submission to the will of God, on the 23d of July, 
 1816, aged fifty-eight. 
 
 A few extracts from her "Private Letters" are 
 of interest in rightly understanding her character. 
 
 THE BENEFITS OP SOCIETY. 
 
 To persons who have the power of selection, a 
 capital affords opportunities of mental improve- 
 ment that are of incalculable advantage ; for with 
 regard to the eS'ects of society upon the mind, 
 your observation is too just. Like the evil spirits 
 in Pandemonium, we shrink into the dimensions 
 of the place we are appointed to occupy, or that 
 we seem in the opinion of others to occupy — never 
 expanding to improper stature, but as we are ex- 
 cited by sympathy with our compeers. If the 
 mind be thus cramped in early Ufe, (as is gener- 
 ally the fate of my sex,) it is a thousand to one 
 that it remains stationary for ever, never making 
 an attempt to rise above the level of its immediate 
 associates ; and even where it has been enabled to 
 expand, it is so much easier to sink to the level 
 of others, than to raise the minds of others to a 
 level with our own, that few in such circumstances 
 do not sink. It is only by the love of reading that 
 the evil resulting from the association vrith little 
 minds can be counteracted. A lively imagination 
 creates a sympathy with favourite authors, which 
 gives to their sentiments the same power over the 
 -mind as that possessed by an intimate and ever 
 present friend ; and hence a taste for reading be- 
 comes to females of still greater importance than 
 it is of to men. 
 
 Of all the privileges enjoyed by the lords of the 
 creation, there is none so estimable as having it 
 in their power to form a society of their own 
 liking. Any young man in the station of a gentle- 
 man may, with agreeable manners, make his ac- 
 
 quaintance with characters of a superior stamp : 
 he may gradually introduce himself to the notice, 
 at least to the company, of those from whose con- 
 versation he can reap instruction, and is under no 
 necessity of being confined to the society of un- 
 congenial minds ; whereas poor women cannot 
 escape out of the rubbish in which they may hap- 
 pen to be buried, but at the expense of many ruba 
 and scratches. 
 
 ON IMAGINATION. 
 
 I perfectly agree with you in considering castles 
 in the air as more useful edifices than they are 
 generally allowed to be. It is only plodding mat- 
 ter-of-fact dulness that cannot comprehend their 
 use. I do not scruple to confess to you, as I find 
 you are a sister adept in this art of freemasonry, 
 that I owe to it three-fourths of my sense, and 
 half of my virtue. It is by giving scope to the 
 imagination, that one becomes thoroughly ac- 
 quainted with the real dispositions of one's own 
 heart; it is by comparing the ardent efforts of 
 exalted virtue, formed by the fancy, with what 
 conscience tells us we have performed, that we are 
 instigated to improvement, and by tracing the 
 combinations of which our castles have been com- 
 posed, we acquire such a knowledge of our own 
 minds, as at once enlightens the understanding, 
 and betters the heart. I seriously believe that the 
 great disadvantage of perpetually living in a crowd 
 is the check it puts upon the free ' excursions of 
 imagination. 
 
 Was ever Bath belle as much improved by walk- 
 ing in the crowded Crescent, as you and I have 
 been by a solitary ramble, when, at the magic 
 touch of fancy, a new creation has arisen around 
 us ? By most of the pious people and pious writers 
 I have met with, the imagination is treated as a 
 sort of evil spirit, that must be exorcised and laid 
 at rest ; but, in my opinion, it is very impious, and 
 surely very ungrateful, thus to treat the first of 
 blessings, without which judgment will be but a 
 sour old maid, producing nothing. Let us marry 
 them, and we shall do better, for it is evident nei- 
 ther of them was meant for the single state. 
 
 from "The Cottagers of Glenburiiie." 
 
 A PEEP AT SCOTTISH KUBAL LIFE FOIITT TEARS 
 
 AGO. 
 
 Our party then drove off, and at every turning 
 of the road expressed fresh admiration at the in- 
 creasing beauty of the scene. Towards the top 
 of the glen the hills seemed to meet, the rooks be- 
 came more frequent and more prominent, some- 
 times standing naked and exposed, and sometimes 
 peeping over the tops of the rowan-tree amd weep- 
 ing birch, which grew in great abundance on all 
 the steepy banks. At length the village appeared 
 in view. It consisted of about twenty or thirty 
 thatched cottages, which, but for their chimneys, 
 and the smoke that issued from them, might have 
 passed for so many stables or hogsties, so little 
 had they to distinguish them as the abodes of 
 man. That one horse, at least, was the inhabitant 
 of every dwelling, there was no room to doubt, as 
 every door could not only boast its dunghiU, but 
 
 340 
 
HA 
 
 HA 
 
 had a small cart stuck up on end directly before 
 it ; which cart, tliough often broken, and always 
 dirty, seemed ostentatiously displayed as a proof 
 of wealth. 
 
 In the middle of the village stood the kirk, a 
 humble edifice, which meekly raised its head but 
 a few degrees above the neighbouring houses. It 
 was, however, graced by an ornament of peculiar 
 beauty. Two fine old ash-trees, which grew at the 
 east end, spread their protecting arms over its 
 lowly roof, and served all the uses of a steeple 
 and a belfry ; for on one of the loftiest of these 
 branches was the bell suspended which, on each 
 returning Sabbath, 
 
 " Rang the blest summons to the house of God." 
 
 On the other side of the churchyard stood the 
 manse, distinguished from the other houses in the 
 village by a sash window on each side of the door, 
 and garret windows above ; which showed that two 
 floors were, or might be, inhabited ; for in truth 
 the house had such a sombre air that Mrs. Mason, 
 in passing, concluded it to be deserted. 
 
 As the houses stood separate from each other at 
 the distance of many yards, she had time to con- 
 template the scene, and was particularly struck 
 with the number of children which, as the car ad- 
 vanced, poured forth from every little cot to look 
 at the strangers and their uncommon vehicle. On 
 asking for John Macclarty's, three or four of them 
 started forward to offer themselves as guides ; and 
 running before the car, turned down a lane to- 
 wards the river, on a road so deep with ruts, that, 
 though they had not twenty yards to go, it was 
 attended with some danger. Mrs. Mason, who was 
 shaken to pieces by the jolting, was very glad to 
 alight ; but her limbs were in such a tremor, that 
 Mr. Stewart's arm was scarcely sufficient to sup- 
 port her to the door. 
 
 It must be confessed that the aspect of the 
 dwelling where she was to fix her residence was 
 by no means inviting. The walls were substantial, 
 built, like the houses in the village, of stone and 
 lime ; but they were blackened by the mud which 
 the cart-wheels had spattered from the ruts in 
 winter ; and on one side of the door completely 
 covered from view by the contents of a great dung- 
 hill. On the other, and directly under the window, 
 was a squashy pool, formed by the dirty water 
 thrown from the house, and in it about twenty 
 young ducks were at this time dabbling. 
 
 At the threshold of the door, room had been left 
 for a paving-stone, but it had never been laid ; 
 and consequently the place became hollow, to the 
 great advantage of the yoimger ducklings, who 
 always found in it a plentiful supply of water, in 
 which they could swim without danger. Happily 
 Mr. Stewart was provided with boots, so that he 
 could take a firm step in it, while he lifted 'Mrs. 
 Mason, and set her down in safety within the 
 threshold. But there an unforeseen danger await- 
 ed her, for there the great whey pot had stood 
 since morning, when the cheese had been made, 
 and was at the present moment filled with chickens, 
 which were busily picking at the bits of curd which 
 
 had hardened on the sides, and cruelly mocked 
 their wishes. Over this Mr. Stewart and Mrs. 
 Mason unfortunately tumbled. The pot was over- 
 turned, and the chickens, cackling with hideous 
 din, flew about in all directions, some over their 
 heads, and others making their way by the hallan 
 (or inner door) into the house. 
 
 The accident was attended with no further bad 
 consequences than a little hurt upon the shins : 
 and all our party were now assembled in the 
 kitchen ; but, though they found the doors of the 
 house open, they saw no appearance of any inha- 
 bitants. At length Mrs. Macclarty came in, all 
 out of breath, followed by her daughters, two big 
 girls of eleven and thirteen years of age. She 
 welcomed Mrs. Mason and her friends with great 
 kindness, and made many apologies for being in 
 no better order to receive them ; but said that both 
 her gudeman and herself thought that her cousin 
 would have stayed at Gowan-brae till after the 
 fair, as they were too far off at Glenburnie to 
 think of going to it ; though it would, to be sure, 
 be only natural for Mrs. Mason to like to see all 
 the grand sights that were to be seen there ; for, 
 to be sure, she would gang mony places before she 
 saw the like. Mrs. Mason smiled, and assured 
 her she would have more pleasure in looking at 
 the fine view from her door than in all the sights 
 at the fair. 
 
 "Ay, it's a bonny piece of corn, to be sure," 
 returned Mrs. Macclarty with great simplicity ; 
 "but then, what with the trees, and rocks, and 
 wimplings o' the burn, we have nae room to make 
 parks o' ony size." 
 
 " But were your trees, and rocks, and wimplings 
 of the burn all removed," said Mr. Stewart, " then 
 your prospect would be worth the looking at, Mrs. 
 Macclarty ; would it not?" 
 
 Though Mr. Stewart's irony was lost upon the 
 good woman, it produced a laugh among the young 
 folks, which she, however, did not resent, but im- 
 mediately fell to busying herself in sweeping the 
 hearth, and adding, turf to the fire, in order to 
 make the kettle boil for tea. 
 
 " I think," said Miss Mary, " you might make 
 your daughters save you that trouble," looking at 
 the two girls, who stood all this time leaning 
 against the wall. 
 
 " 0, poor things," said their mother, " they have 
 not been used to it ; they have enough of time for 
 wark yet." 
 
 "Depend upon it," said Mrs. Mason, "young 
 people can never begin too soon; your eldest 
 daughter there will soon be as tall as your- 
 self." 
 
 "Indeed she's of a stately growth," said Mrs. 
 Macclarty, pleased with the observation; "and 
 Jenny there is little ahint her ; but what are they 
 but bairns yet for a' that ! In time, I warrant, 
 they '11 do weel enough. Meg can milk a cow as 
 weel as I can do, when she likes." 
 
 "And does she not always like to do all she 
 can ?" said Mrs. Mason. 
 
 " 0, we mauna complain," returned the mother; 
 " she does well eneugh." 
 
 341 
 
HA 
 
 HA 
 
 HAMILTON, LADY, 
 Before her marriage, Emma Lyon, or Harte, 
 was the daughter of a poor servant woman, from 
 Wales. Emma was placed at service, when about 
 thirteen ; and at sixteen she went to London, where 
 she first assisted in a shop, and afterwards became 
 chambermaid to a lady of rank. She soon lost 
 this situation in consequence of her devotion to 
 reading plays and romances, and became a maid- 
 servant in a tavern. She afterwards lived with a 
 captain in the navy, as his mistress, and when 
 abandoned by him, was reduced to the lowest pitch 
 of degradation. While being exhibited by a quack 
 doctor as the goddess Hygeia, she ensnared Charles 
 Greville, by whom she had three children. He 
 was on the point of marrying her, when the loss 
 of his offices prevented him ; and he sent her to 
 Naples, where his uncle. Sir Wniiam Hamilton, 
 was ambassador. She was first the mistress of 
 Sir WiUiam, but he married her in 1791. She 
 had naturally good talents, and having studied 
 diligently to supply all the deficiencies of her edu- 
 cation, she became eminent for her social attrac- 
 tions. Being a great favourite of the queen of 
 Naples, she had no lack of followers. Soon after 
 Lady Hamilton's marriage, her acquaintance with 
 Nelson commenced, who became madly in love 
 with her. It is asserted, and has never been dis- 
 proved, that those violent measures which Nelson 
 used on his return to Naples, in 1799, contrary to 
 the articles of capitulation, were urged on by Lady 
 Hamilton, as acts of vengeance on her personal 
 enemies. When Sir William Hamilton was recalled 
 to England, Nelson resigned his command, and 
 accompanied them to London. Here she had a 
 daughter, whom she called Horatia Nelson. After 
 Sir William's death, his widow retired to Merton 
 Place, a country-seat which Lord Nelson had 
 bought for her. Here she resided till the death 
 of Lord Nelson, in 1805. Again abandoning her- 
 self to her inclinations, and being reduced to a 
 small pension, she left England for France, and 
 died near Calais, in 1815. Lady Hamilton was 
 beautiful and artful ; the ascendency she gained 
 over men was used for evil purposes ; but that 
 she did thus rule the brave, and lead the honour- 
 able man down into the depths of infamy, shows 
 the wonderful power of female influence. 
 
 HARCOURT, HARRIET EUSEBIA, 
 
 Was born, in 1705, at Richmond, Yorkshire, 
 England. She travelled over Europe with her 
 father, and at his death, in Constantinople, in 
 1733, she returned to England ; and as she inhe- 
 rited a large property, she began to establish a 
 convent on her Yorkshire estate, and another in 
 the western isles of Scotland. These institutions 
 were composed chiefly of foreign ladies. A sys- 
 tem of perfect equality prevailed in these con- 
 vents, over which each presided in turn. The 
 members could withdraw from the society when 
 they chose, on the forfeiture of the sum of one 
 hundred pounds. They only devoted a portion 
 of their time to religious exercises, and the rest 
 
 was spent in amusements, the study of the fine 
 arts and sciences, and embroidery. 
 
 Miss Harcourt was beautiful and graceful in 
 her person, and had a taste for music, painting, 
 and drawing, which had been highly cultivated. 
 She died at her seat in Richmond, December 1st, 
 1745, in the thirty-ninth year of her age, be- 
 queathing the greater part of her fortune to her 
 institution, on condition that the society should 
 be supported and continued according to its origi- 
 nal design, and to the directions she left in wri- 
 ting. But she had been the soul of the society ; 
 after her decease, it was soon dissolved. 
 
 HASER, CHARLOTTE HENRIETTA, 
 
 A OELEEKATED singer, born at Leipsic, in 1789, 
 was the daughter of the director of music in the 
 university there. In 1804 she was engaged at the 
 Italian opera at Dresden. Her superior voice, 
 her fine execution, and her attempt to combine the 
 advantages of the German and Italian methods, 
 gave her a brilliant success. Distinguished for 
 the correctness of her morals and her great mo- 
 desty, she was received with applause at all the 
 most celebrated theatres in Italy and Germany. 
 She married Vera, a lawyer at Rome, and retired 
 from the stage. 
 
 HASTINGS, ELIZABETH, 
 Daughtek of Theophilus earl of Huntington, 
 deserves a place in this collection, from the num- 
 ber of her public and private charities, which 
 were perhaps never equalled by any of her sex. 
 Congreve speaks of her, in the forty-second num- 
 ber of the Tattler, as the " Divine Aspasia ;" and 
 in the forty-ninth number of the same work gives 
 a farther account of her: "Her cares," says her 
 biographer, " extended even to the animal crea- 
 tion ; while over her domestics she presided with 
 the disposition of a parent, providing for the im- 
 provement of their minds, the decency of their 
 behaviour, and the propriety of their manners. 
 She would have the skill and contrivance of every 
 artificer used in her house, employed for the ease 
 of her servants, and that they might suffer no in- 
 convenience or hardship. Besides providing for 
 the order, harmony, and peace of her family, she 
 kept great elegance in and about her house, that 
 her poor neighbours might not fall into idleness 
 and poverty for want of employment ; and while 
 she thus tenderly regarded the poor, she would 
 visit those in the higher ranks, lest they should 
 accuse her of pride or superciliousness." At her 
 table her countenance was open and serene, her 
 voice soft and melodious, her language polite, and 
 animated. It might truly be said of this lady, 
 that "her mind was virtue, by the graces drest." 
 The sympathy, tenderness, and delicacy, which 
 accompanied her liberalities doubled their value : 
 she was the friend and patroness, through life, of 
 Mrs. Mary Astell ; to whom, her circumstances 
 being narrow, she frequently presented consider- 
 able sums. Her benefactions were not confined 
 to the neighbourhood in which she lived ; to many 
 families, in various parts of the kingdom, she gave 
 large annual allowances. She also maintained a 
 
 342 
 
HA 
 
 HA 
 
 charity-school, gave exhibitions to scholars in the 
 universities, and contributed to the support of 
 several seminaries of education. To this may be 
 added her munificence to her relations and friends, 
 her remission of sums due to her, in cases of dis- 
 tress or straitened circumstances, and the noble 
 hospitality of her establishment. To one relation 
 she allowed five hundred pounds annually, to 
 another she presented a gift of three thousand 
 pounds, and to a third three hundred guineas. 
 She acted also with great liberality towards a 
 young lady, whose fortune had been injured in the 
 South-sea scheme : yet the whole of her estates 
 fell short of three thousand pounds a year. It 
 "was by economy and strict self-denial that this 
 noble lady was enabled thus to extend her boun- 
 ties. Her favourite maxim was, first to attend to 
 justice ; secondly, to charity ; and thirdly, to 
 generosity. 
 
 She died in 1770, aged thirty-nine. Previous 
 to her decease, she destroyed the greater part of 
 her writings ; so that her talents must be estimated 
 from her works of benevolence, not from the pro- 
 ductions of her pen, although she had a very su- 
 perior mind. She would never marry, preferring, 
 in a single and independent life, to be mistress of 
 her own actions, and the dispenser of her own 
 income. 
 
 HASTINGS, LADY FLORA, 
 
 Was the eldest daughter of Francis, Marquis 
 of Hastings, who made himself notorious as Lord 
 Rawdon for the severity with which he treated the 
 Americans who fell into his power during the re- 
 volutionary war. Lady Flora was born in 1806 ; 
 and from her childhood manifested a fondness for 
 study and literary pursuits. Beautiful and accom- 
 plished, distinguished also for genius and piety, 
 she was selected by that eminent pattern of the 
 virtues in courtly life, the Duchess of Kent, to be 
 one of her ladies of the bed-chamber. While in 
 this station Lady Flora was attacked with a dis- 
 ease which caused an enlargement of her liver, 
 and gave rise to suspicions injurious to her repu- 
 tation. These cruel surmises, although proved 
 utterly unfounded, no doubt aggravated her ill- 
 ness, and hastened her death, which took place at 
 Buckingham Palace, July 5th, 1839. Her fame 
 was now unspotted, and her premature death was 
 deeply mourned by the court and nation. She had 
 collected her poems, which were published after 
 her decease, by her sister. These effusions evince 
 the purity of her sentiments ; and tlie gentle me- 
 lancholy they breathe make a deeper impression 
 on the heart of the reader, because it seems to 
 shadow forth her sad fate. The following, among 
 her poems, have been much admired : — 
 
 ITALY. 
 
 Oh I name it not, there is a spell 
 Around its memory clinging, 
 To which I would not bid farewell. 
 For all the future's bringing. 
 
 The skies of radiant Italy 1 
 
 Oh ! they are deeply blue ; 
 
 And nothing save their kindred waves 
 
 Can match their sapphire hue. 
 
 No little clouds e'er flit across. 
 To dim their heavenly light ; 
 Would that my soul were pure as they 
 As spotless and as bright! 
 
 The gales of balmy Italy! 
 
 Oh! as they fleet along. 
 
 They bear upon their doWny wings 
 
 The treasured wealth of song. 
 
 They linger through the blooming scenes 
 
 Where once my footsteps roved ; 
 
 And tkcy are free, though I am not, 
 
 To kiss the flowers I loved. 
 
 The songs of tuneful Italy ! 
 , They wake within the heart 
 Those visions of the olden time, 
 Wiiich will not thence depart. 
 And freedom, love, and honour bright. 
 Rise from the dust again. 
 Would that my feeble lyre could wake 
 The spirit-stirring strain I 
 
 The flowers of sunny Italy ! 
 
 Oh! blissful is their doom; 
 
 A brief, bright space to bloom, then sink 
 
 Untrodden to the tomb. 
 
 Still breathing fragrance as they droop 
 
 Beneath the golden ray ; 
 
 Oh thus were 't mine to sigh my soul 
 
 In ecstacy away ! 
 
 The tombs of holy Italy I 
 
 The earth where heroes trod ; 
 
 Where sainted martyrs glorified 
 
 In death th' Incarnate God ! 
 
 Where all is bright, and pure, and calm. 
 
 On earth, in air, and sea. 
 
 O Italy 1 amongst thy tombs. 
 
 Hast thou not one for me? 
 
 THE SWAN SONG. 
 
 Grieve not that I die young — Is it not well 
 To pass away ere life hath lost its brightness? 
 Bind me no longer, sisters, with the spell 
 Of love and your kind words. List ye to me : 
 Here I am blessed — but I would be more free ; 
 I would go forth in all my spirit's lightness. 
 Let me depart ! 
 
 Ah ! who would linger till bright eyes grow dim. 
 Kind voices mute, and faithful bosoms cold? 
 Till carking care, and coil, and anguisi) grim. 
 Cast their dark shadows o'er this faery world; 
 Till fancy's many-coloured wings are furled. 
 And all, save the proud spirit, waxeth old ? 
 
 I would depart 1 
 
 Thus would I pass away — yielding my soul 
 A joyous thank-oifering to Him who gave 
 That soul to be, those starry orbs to roll. 
 Thus — thus exultingly would I depart. 
 Song on my lips, ecstacy in my heart. 
 Sisters — sweet sisters, bear me to my grave — 
 Let me depart ! 
 
 HATJFFE, FREDERICA, 
 
 Commonly called the Seeress of Prevorst, was 
 born in 1801, at Prevorst, a little village among 
 the mountains of Wirtemberg, not far from Low- 
 enstein. Her father was game-keeper or district 
 forester, and Frederica was brought up in the most 
 quiet simplicity. She early showed great sensi- 
 bility to spiritual influences, which her family en- 
 deavoured to discourage. At the age of nineteen 
 she was married to Mr. HaufFe, and went to reside 
 at Kurnbach. There she was attacked by a sin- 
 gular illness which lasted for seven years, during 
 the latter part of which she was attended by Dr. 
 Kerner, a well-known German physician and poet, 
 
 343 
 
HE 
 
 HE 
 
 who has since published an account of her, highly 
 coloured, probably, by his own imagination. The 
 last three years of her life were spent at Weins- 
 berg. She saw, or imagined she saw, and held 
 converse with spirits ; and the system of philoso- 
 phy she revealed, and which she had, apparently, 
 acquired from her close communion with the spi- 
 rit-world, is singular, from its being the production 
 of a woman entirely uneducated in such matters. 
 Frederica Hauffe died at Lowenstein on the 5th 
 of August, 1829. 
 
 HEDWIG, AMELIA VON, 
 One of the most celebrated German poetesses, 
 was born at Weimar, August 16th, 1776. Her 
 maiden name was Ton ImhofF. When only eight, 
 she could speak English and French as readily as 
 her own tongue ; and her talent for poetry had 
 already begun to develop itself. When she was 
 twelve she lost her father ; and the lady who took 
 charge of her kept her so constantly occupied, 
 that she had no time for writing. She was about 
 fourteen when she went to live at Weimar, where 
 she became acquainted with several of the most 
 celebrated poets of the time. Schiller, happening 
 to see a poem of hers, invited her to his house at 
 Jena, where she became acquainted with Goethe. 
 She was afterwards appointed Lady of the court 
 at Saxe Weimar, where she was married to Lieu- 
 tenant-General Von Hedwig. Madame Von Hed- 
 wig was a poetess of the higher order, one whom 
 Goethe praised for her true Parnassian inspira- 
 tions. At his request she composed the "Legend 
 of the Three Wise Men of the East," a romance 
 in twelve cantos. She also wrote a number of 
 legends, all displaying great poetic genius ; while 
 her lyrics, her patriotic songs, and her idyls, have 
 added many a leaf to her wreath. She was a fer- 
 tile prose writer, and also translated several works 
 from the Swedish. William Howitt says of this 
 popular author, " Her well-known Saga of the 
 Wolfabrunnen near Heidelberg, was taken bodily 
 possession of by Grattan, author of " Highways 
 and Byways," who lived for some time near the 
 scene of the Saga. His " Legend of the Wolfs- 
 brunnen" is literally that of Madame Von Hedwig, 
 except that he has inverted her story, putting her 
 first part second, and the second first." Nor is 
 Mr. Grattan the first man who has stolen from the 
 literature of female writers the plots, ideas, and 
 even productions, that have made his best title to 
 fame. Madame Von Hedwig is probably deceased. 
 
 HELVETIUS, MADAME, 
 Was daughter of Compte Lignville, and married, 
 in 1751, Claude Adrien Helvgtius, who afterwards 
 became celebrated for his talents. Madame Hel- 
 T^tius was very beautiful and accomplished. Be- 
 ing the niece of Madame GrafBgny, by whom she 
 was brought up, she had been educated with great 
 care. Helv^tius was passionately fond of his wife, 
 and after their marriage they lived chiefly in re- 
 tirement at Vord, enjoying the pure pleasures of 
 domestic life. After his decease, which occurred 
 in 1V71, Madame Helv(Stius removed to Auteuil, 
 where her house became the resort of the most 
 
 distinguished literati and artists of the time. 
 Among other great men. Dr. Benjamin Franklin 
 was a frequent visitor and a warm friend of Ma- 
 dame Helv^tius. She was then far advanced in 
 years ; but her good sense, cheerful kindness, and 
 highly cultivated mind, rendered her the favourite 
 companion of intelligent men. She is an example 
 of the superiority of cultivated intellect over per- 
 sonal beauty; her youthful charms were soon 
 gone ; her mental graces improved to. the last, and . 
 made her society sought and her friendship valued 
 as long as she lived. 
 
 HEMANS, FELICIA DOROTHEA, 
 
 Was the second daughter and fourth child of a 
 family of three sons and three daughters. She 
 was born in Duke street, Liverpool, on the 25th of 
 September, 1794. Her father, Mr. Browne, was 
 a native of Ireland, and her mother, a Miss Wag- 
 ner, was of Venetian origin. As a child, Felicia 
 was remarkably beautiful, and she early gave in- 
 dications of her poetic genius, which was encou- 
 raged by her accomplished mother. When Miss 
 Browne was about five years old, domestic embar- 
 rassments led her father to remove to Gwrych, in 
 North Wales. 
 
 That land of wild mountain scenery, and ancient 
 minstrelsy, was the fitting place to impart sub- 
 limity to her youthful fancies, and elevate her 
 feelings with the glow of patriotism and devotion. 
 She began to write when very young; her first 
 printed poems, entitled "Early Blossoms," were 
 issued in 1808, when she was fourteen. 
 
 In 1809, her family removed from Gwrych to 
 Bronwylfa, near St. Asaph's, in Flintshire, where 
 she resided for sixteen years, and wrote, many of 
 her works. It was during this year, 1809, that 
 the great event of her life took place — her intro- 
 duction to Captain Ilemans. The young poetess 
 was then only fifteen, in the full glow of that 
 radiant beauty which was destined to fade so early. 
 The mantling bloom of her cheeks was shaded by 
 a profusion of natural ringlets, of a rich golden 
 brown; and the ever-varying expression of her 
 brilliant eyes gave a changeful play to her coun- 
 tenance, which would have made it Impossible for 
 
 844 
 
HE 
 
 / 
 
 HE 
 
 any painter to do justice to it. No wonder that 
 so fair a creature should excite the admiration of 
 a gallant captain. And the love on both sides 
 was ardent and sincere ; for Captain Hemans, soon 
 after their introduction, was called upon to embark 
 with his regiment for Spain. On his return, in 
 1812, they were married. 
 
 Mrs. Hemans' eagerness for knowledge con- 
 tinued to be intense, and of her industry, volumes, 
 still existing, of extracts and transcriptions, are 
 evidence. The mode of her studies was very de- 
 sultory to outward appearance, as she loved to be 
 surrounded by books of all sorts and languages, 
 and on every variety of topic, turning from one to 
 another. And this course, it is said, " she pursued 
 at all times — in season and out of season — by night 
 and day — on her chair, her sofa, and bed — at home 
 and abroad — invalid, convalescent, and in perfect 
 health — in rambles, journeys, and visits — in com- 
 pany with her husband, and when her children 
 were around her — ^at hours usually devoted to 
 domestic claims, as well as in the solitude of the 
 study and bower." 
 
 In the year 1818, Captain Hemans' health re- 
 quiring the benefit of a warmer climate, he deter- 
 mined upon repairing to the Continent, and event- 
 ually fixed his residence at Bome. At this time a 
 permanent separation was not contemplated by 
 either party, and it was only a tacit and conven- 
 tional arrangement, with a frequent interchange 
 of correspondence relative to the education and 
 the disposal of their children. But years rolled 
 on, and from that time till the hour of her death, 
 Captain and Mrs. Hemans never met again. She 
 continued to reside with her mother at Bronwylfa, 
 and had the five boys left under her care ; a suffi- 
 cient proof that nothing more than incompatibility 
 of pursuits and uncongeniality of temper were the 
 moving causes of the separation. 
 
 Notwithstanding the peculiarity of her situation, 
 in consequence of this separation, her talents, her 
 amiable qualities, and the increasing popularity of 
 her writings, continued to secure' to Mrs. Hemans 
 the warm attachment of several distinguished, 
 friends, among whom were Bishop Luxmoore and 
 Bishop Heber; with the latter she became ac- 
 quainted in 1820, and he was the first literary 
 character with whom she ever familiarly asso- 
 ciated. To him she submitted the commencement 
 of a poem, entitled " Superstition and Revela- 
 tion," which was, however, never completed by 
 her, and at his suggestion, she was first led to 
 offer her " Vespers of Palermo" to the stage. 
 This play, completed in June, 1821, was, after 
 many theatrical delays, acted at Covent Garden, 
 in December, 1823, but proved a failure. It, how- 
 ever, led to a correspondence with the poet Mil- 
 man, who kindly interested himself in its behalf; 
 and it was subsequently acted in Edinburgh with 
 considerable success, — with an epilogue written 
 by Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 The death of her beloved mother, which occurred 
 in 1827, was an irreparable loss to Mrs. Hemans ; 
 she had now no one to whom she could cling for 
 protection ; and her sensitive, dependent nature, 
 made the maternal shelter and security necessary 
 
 to her happiness — almost to her own existence. 
 As the care and education of her five sons now 
 devolved entirely on herself, she was induced to 
 leave Wales, where her heart still clung, and settle 
 at Wavertree, a small village near Liverpool, where 
 she hoped to find superior advantages of education 
 for her boys. 
 
 During the many years that Mrs. Hemans re- 
 sided with her mother, the anxieties and respon- 
 sibilities of house-keeping had never fallen to her 
 lot, and her time and thoughts might be and were 
 almost exclusively devoted to poetry and literature. 
 But now domestic cares forced themselves upon 
 her attention, and butchers' and grocers' bills in- 
 truded, as she observes, "in frightful array." In 
 these household duties she felt but little interest, 
 being, as she playfully describes herself, "little 
 better than a grown-up Rosamond, (Miss Edge- 
 worth's naughty girl,) who constantly lie in bed 
 till it is too late to get up early — break my needles 
 (when I use any) — leave my keys among my neck- 
 laces — answer all my amusing letters first, and 
 leave the others to their fate." Elsewhere she 
 says, "I am now for the first time in my life 
 holding the reins of government, independently 
 managing s, household myself, and I never liked 
 any thing less than ce trisie empire de moi~mime." 
 
 In the summer of 1829 she visited Scotland, 
 where she was cordially received by many distin- 
 guished persons, among others, by Sir Walter 
 Scott, with whom she spent two or three weeks 
 very delightfully. When bidding her farewell, he 
 said : " There are some whom we meet, and should 
 like ever after to claim as kith and kin, and you 
 are one of these." On one occasion he observed: 
 "One would say you had too many accomplish- 
 ments, Mrs. Hemans, were they not all made to 
 give pleasure to those around you." In 1830, 
 Mrs. Hemans visited the Lakes, where she formed 
 a personal acquaintance with Wordsworth, whose 
 writings she had always admired. Mrs. Hemans 
 was delighted with the scenery at Rydal Mount, 
 and concluded to hire a residence called Dove's 
 Nest, beautifully situated in a very romantic spot 
 on the banks of Windermere ; she thus describes 
 it in one of her letters : 
 
 " The house was originally meant for a small 
 villa, though it has long passed into the hands of 
 farmers, and there is, in consequence, an air of 
 neglect about the little demesne, which does not 
 at all approach desolation, and yet gives it some- 
 thing of touching interest. You see everywhere 
 traces of love and care beginning to be effaced — 
 rose-trees spreading into wildness — ^laurels dark- 
 ening the windows with their luxuriant branches 
 — and I cannot help saying to myself, ' Perhaps 
 some heart like my own in its feelings and suffer- 
 ings has here sought refuge and found repose.' 
 The ground is laid out in rather an antiquated 
 style, which, now that nature is beginning to re- 
 claim it from art, I do not at all dislike. There 
 is a little grassy terrace immediately under the 
 window, descending to a small court with a circu- 
 lar grass-plot, in which grows one tall white rose- 
 tree. You cannot imagine how I delight in 'that 
 fair, solitary, neglected-looking tree. I am wri- 
 
 345 
 
HE 
 
 HE 
 
 ting to you from an old-fashioned alcove in the 
 little garden, round which the eweetbriar and the 
 moss-rose tree had completely run wild; and I 
 look down from it upon lovely Windermere, which 
 seems at this moment even like another sky, so 
 truly is every summer cloud and tint of azure pic- 
 txired in its transparent mirror." 
 
 In 1831 she left England with her children, to 
 take up her residence permanently in Dublin. 
 The next four years were passed busily and rather 
 pleasantly by Mrs. Hemans, who continued to 
 write unceasingly, though a gradual decline in her 
 health was perceptible to her friends. At the 
 close of the year 1834 her health became very 
 precarious, and the following spring brought symp- 
 toms of her approaching dissolution. The closing 
 scene has been impressively described by one of 
 her friends : 
 
 " Mrs. Hemans was now too ill to leave her 
 room, and was only laid upon a couch during the 
 daytime, occasionally suffering severely. But all 
 was borne with resignation and patience, and 
 when not able to bear even the fatigue of reading, 
 she had recourse to her mental resources, and as 
 she lay on her sofa, she would repeat to herself 
 whole chapters of the Bible, and page after page 
 of Milton and Wordsworth. Her thoughts reverted 
 frequently to the days of her childhood — to the 
 old house by the sea-shore — the mountain rambles 
 — the haunts and the books which had formed the 
 delight of her childhood. She was wont to say to 
 those who expressed pity for her situation, that 
 " she lived in a fair and happy world of her own, 
 among gentle thoughts and pleasant images ;" and 
 in her intervals of pain she would observe, that 
 "no poetry could express, nor imagination con- 
 ceive, the visions of blessedness that flitted across 
 her fancy, and made her waking hours more de- 
 lightful than those even that were given to tempo- 
 rary repose." Indeed her sister observes, "At 
 times her spirit would appear to be already half- 
 etherealized, her mind would seem to be fraught 
 with deep and holy and incommunicable thoughts, 
 and she would entreat to be left perfectly alone, 
 in stillness and darkness, ' to commune with her 
 own heart,' and reflect on the mercies of her Sa- 
 viour." 
 
 On the 15th of March, after receiving the holy 
 sacrament, she became extremely ill, but a tem- 
 porary improvement took place, and on the 26th 
 of April, she dictated to her brother, (for she had 
 for some time been constrained to employ an ama- 
 nuensis,) her "Sabbath Sonnet," the last strain 
 of the sweet singer of the hearth, the home, and 
 the affections. 
 
 On Saturday, the 26th of May, she sank into a 
 peaceful slumber, which continued all day, and at 
 nine o'clock in the evening her gentle spirit passed 
 away without pain or struggle. 
 
 Her remains were deposited in a vault beneath 
 St. Anne's Church, Dublin, almost close to the 
 house where she died. A small tablet has been 
 placed above the spot where she is laid, inscribed 
 with her name, her age, and the date of her death, 
 and' with the following lines from a dirge of her 
 own; 
 
 "Calm on the bosom of thy God, 
 
 Fair Spirit I rest thee now I 
 Ev'n while with us thy footsteps trod, 
 
 His seal was on thy brow. 
 Dust to the narrow home beneath ! 
 
 Soul to its place on high ; 
 They, that have seen thy. look in death, 
 
 No more may fear to die." 
 
 In perusing the poems of Mrs. Hemans, we are 
 struck with her wonderful perception of the beaur 
 tiful ! This seems to be her peculiar'gift. What- 
 ever be the scene described, the character or object 
 introduced, she always gathers around her images 
 and allusions of exceeding beauty ; and these se- 
 lected with a moral taste so pure and refined, that 
 it seems to have shed the lustre of heaven upon 
 the things of earth. 
 
 And yet, over these bright visions, incomparable 
 in loveliness as they are, is the blending of human 
 cares and sorrows, and the shadow of Nature's 
 decay. Nothing is satisfying, nothing is abiding. 
 She saw the perfectness of the Creator's works in 
 their most attractive forms ; but she saw that 
 Death was in the world, and that all which was 
 made was subject to the Destroyer. 
 
 Hence the sadness which pervades nearly all 
 her poems, with the exception of those she wrote 
 towards the close of her career. It was not her 
 own blighted hopes that gave to her harp its note 
 of wo. Hers is the lament for the lot of humanity, 
 dwelling amid so much beauty which must fade 
 and perish like the crushed flower; and in the 
 midst of the joy and harmony which for her per- 
 vaded all Nature, she yet could not avoid discern- 
 ing, with the spirit of the mystic prophetess, 
 
 " The low footsteps of each coming ill." 
 
 And so wonderfully was her genius endowed 
 with the power of expressing "thoughts which 
 create thoughts" in the minds of others, that there 
 is scarcely a human heart but is moved by these 
 strains of feeling or imagination. The truth of 
 the description is acknowledged at once. For, 
 though many of the moving scenes in the poems 
 of Mrs. Hemans were undoubtedly fictitious, yet 
 the feelings, the struggles, the sorrows bear the 
 seal of reality. She saw with her mind's eye and 
 felt in her own soul all that she has pourtrayed. 
 And thus she compels the sympathy of her readers 
 to follow her bidding, and by the dream of the 
 poet to interpret their own feelings, and sttuggles, 
 and sorrows. 
 
 Still there is none of the gloom of misanthropy 
 in the strains of Mrs. Hemans. She had naturally 
 a cheerful, even mirthful disposition, as her pri- 
 vate letters show ; and she had the loving, hoping 
 heart of a true woman. She was the poet of 
 home. Around the hearth she gathered the sweet- 
 est and saddest images of her fancy. There was 
 her throne of power, to the muse of man unap- 
 proachable. In these domestic attachments, and 
 in her sympathy with her own sex, may be found 
 the main causes of her unparalleled success in the 
 choice of subjects. This purity and justness of 
 moral taste, which always selects the theme best 
 suited to the position of the writer, is a beautiful 
 element in the character of a literary woman. 
 
 346 
 
HE 
 
 HE 
 
 We consider her example of refined moral taste 
 in directing the efforts of female genius as of in- 
 estimable benefit to the young imaginative reader ; 
 and so purely beautiful did her poems appear, 
 that we scarcely knew when to pause in our selec- 
 tion. Mrs. Hemana does, in truth, merit the gra- 
 titude as well as admiration of her sex, for she 
 has exalted the genius of woman, and shown an 
 example of excellence in private life, — thus prov- 
 ing that the cultivation of the highest gifts of 
 intellect are not incompatible with the perform- 
 ance of our humblest duties. 
 
 The crowning grace of her genius however was her 
 love of the good. In her earlier studies she search- 
 ed for this in objects of sense or creations of fancy. 
 But the shadow of change and decay marred the 
 loveliness of Nature, and the spirit of the poet 
 grew restless and sad. In her last years, looking 
 upward as well as inward, she found, in contem- 
 plation of the "Eternal God," the perfection she 
 adored. And how ardently her soul 
 
 " Sought the light, 
 Studious of that pure intercourse begun, 
 When first her infant brows their lustre won; 
 
 So, like the mountain, did she grow more bright, 
 From unimpeded commerce with the sun, 
 
 At the approach of all-involving night." 
 
 In respect to the religious dignity which she 
 attached to her profession, there is a passage in 
 one of her letters which .fully unfolds her feelings 
 and her hopes ; thus she writes, about a year pre- 
 vious to her death : — " I have now passed through 
 the feverish and somewhat visionary state of mind 
 often connected with the passionate study of art 
 in early life ; deep affections and deep sorrows 
 seem to have solemnized my whole being, and I 
 now feel as if bound to higher and holier tasks, 
 which, though I may occasionally lay aside, I 
 • could not long wander from without some sense 
 of dereliction. I hope it is no self-delusion, but I 
 cannot help sometimes feeling as if it were my 
 true task to enlarge the sphere of sacred poetry, 
 and extend its influence. When you receive my 
 volume of ' Scenes and Hymns,' you will see what 
 I mean by enlarging its sphere, though my plan 
 as yet is very imperfectly developed." 
 
 She speaks here of the passionate study of art 
 in early life. And this is not the least of her me- 
 rits, — that she did study, early and late, her whole 
 life long, making poetry, as it deserves, no less a 
 subject of science than a gift of genius. She was 
 above the miserable dispara'gement of labour, and 
 learning, and the advice of the world. She pro- 
 fited continually by them all ; and the critics have 
 in no respect rendered her fuller justice, than in 
 noticing the astonishing progress indicated by her 
 successive productions. 
 
 Thus, then, is her poetry distinguished. Others 
 have possessed her imagination, her taste, her am- 
 bition, her art, her glowing feeling, her Christian 
 principle ; but they did not all undertake, and 
 they were not all competent if they had, to devote 
 the exercise of every energy, effectually, to the 
 one object of her labours, — the composition of a 
 model which might perfectly represent what fe- 
 male poetry is and should be. This Mrs. Hemans 
 
 has done. She had a genius worthy to be the re- 
 presentative of that of her sex,— and she sounded 
 the depths of its capacities of exertion and suffer- 
 ing, and trained them, vrith every faculty, to do 
 justice to herself, her sex, her race, her Creator, 
 in the discharge of the true office of the profession 
 she chose, — the illuminating or figuring forth of 
 truth, (as Sydney describes it,) and especially of 
 the truth most worthy of the work, — which it most 
 concerns men, as such, to feel the force of, — and 
 which, also, she was herself best qualified so to 
 set forth — " hy the speaking picture of poetry." She 
 wrote not only as none but a woman could write, 
 but so wrote as that, in her department, neither 
 her predecessors, or successors, of her own sex, 
 have been, or will be, able to surpass her. 
 
 Mrs. Hemans was a Briton by birth, but, as we 
 think, her delicate purity of nature was truly 
 American. One of her biographers says that Mrs. 
 Hemans " always cut out of her books whatever 
 was coarse ;" a proceeding which resembles very 
 nearly the instinctive delicacy of character so fre- 
 quently ridiculed by English travellers and writers 
 as peculiar to the women of America. No doubt 
 this unison of feeling has contributed to give the 
 poetry of Mrs. Hemans such wide and wonderful 
 popularity in our republic. An English critic, 
 noticing the writings of Mrs. Hemans, remarks — 
 "The peculiar beauties of her poetry were first 
 pointed out to us by our transatlantic brethren." 
 Yes, the true feminine loveliness — there is no other 
 term so appropriate — of her muse, has won the 
 heart of the American people. We understand, 
 we appreciate the sweet purity of her productions ; 
 nor can her own countrymen hold her works in 
 higher estimation or cherish her memory with 
 more true regard than do her millions of friends 
 and readers in this our " green forest land." 
 
 Her principal works were, " The Domestic Af- 
 fections," 1812; "Restoration of the Works of 
 Art to Italy;" "Welsh Melodies," 1822; " SJege 
 of Valencia, and the Last Constantine," 1823 ; 
 " Vespers of Palermo," 1823 ; " The Forest Sanc- 
 tuary," 1826; "Records of Women," 1828; 
 "Songs of the Affections," 1830; "National Ly- 
 rics," 1834; "Hymns for Childhood," 1834; 
 " Scenes and Hymns of Life," 1834. The selec- 
 tions we give are chiefly descriptive of or inciden- 
 tal to woman — the theme of power with Mrs. He- 
 mans. 
 
 THE SWITZEE'S WIFE. 
 
 Werner Staufiacher, one of the three confederates of the 
 field of Grutii, had been alarmed by the envy with which the 
 Austrian Bailifl\ Landenberg, had noticed the appearance 
 of wealth and comfort which distinguished his dwelling. It 
 was not, however, until roused by the entreaties of his wife, 
 a woman who seems to have been of an heroic spirit, that 
 he was induced to deliberate with his friends upon the mea- 
 sures by which Switzerland was finally delivered. 
 
 Nor look nnr tone revealeth aught 
 Save woman's quietness of thought ; 
 And yet around her is a light 
 Of inward majesty and might. M. J. J. 
 ***** 
 Wer solch ein herz an seinen Busen druckt, 
 Der kann fur herd und hof mit freutlen fechten. 
 Willholm TeU. 
 
 347 
 
HE 
 
 HE 
 
 It was the time when children bound to meet 
 Their father's homeward step from field or hill, 
 
 And when the herd's returning bells are sweet 
 In the Swiss valleys, and the lakes grow still, 
 
 And the last note of that wild horn swells by, 
 
 Which haunts the exile's heart with melody. 
 
 And lovely smiled full many an Alpine home, 
 Touch'd with the crimson of the dying hour, 
 
 Which lit its low roof by the torrent's foam. 
 
 And pierced its lattice through the vine-hung bower; 
 
 But one, the loveliest o'er the land that rose. 
 
 Then first looked mournful in its green repose. 
 
 For Werner sat beneath the linden-tree. 
 That sent its lulling whispers through his door, 
 
 Ev'n as man sits whose heart alone would be 
 With some deep care, and thus can find no more 
 
 Th' accustomed joy in all which evening brings, 
 
 Gathering a household with her quiet wings. 
 
 His wife stood hush'd before him,— sad, yet mild 
 In her beseeching mien ;— he mark'd it not. 
 
 The silvery laughter of his bright-hair'd child 
 Rang from the greensward round the shelter'd spot, 
 
 But seem'd unheard; until at last the boy 
 
 Raised from his heap'd-up flowers a glance of joy, 
 
 And met his father's face : but then a change 
 
 Paas'd swiftly o'er the brow of infant glee, 
 
 'And a quick sense of something dimly strange 
 
 Brought him from play to stand beside the knee 
 So often climb'd, and lift his loving eyes 
 That shone through clouds of sorrowful surprise. 
 
 Then the proud bosom of the strong man shook ; 
 
 But tenderly his babe's fair mother laid 
 Her hand on his, and with a pleading look, 
 
 Thro' tears half quivering, o'er him bent, and said, 
 "What grief, dear friend, hath made thy heart its prey, 
 That thou shouldst turn thee from our love away 7 
 
 " It is too sad to see thee thus, my friend ! 
 
 Mark'st thou the wonder on thy boy's fair brow, 
 Missing the smile from thine ? Oh ! cheer thee I bend 
 
 To his soft arms, unseal thy thoughts e'en now ! 
 Thou dost not kindly to withhold the share 
 Of tried affection in thy secret care." 
 
 He look'd up into that sweet earnest face. 
 But sternly, mournfully: not yet the band 
 
 Was loosen'd from his soul ; its inmost place 
 Not yet unveil'd by love's o'ermastering hand. 
 *' Speak low I" he cried, and pointed where on high 
 
 The white Alps glitter'd through the solemn sky : 
 
 *' We must speak low amidst our ancient hills 
 And iheir free torrents ; for the days are come 
 When tyranny lies crouch'd by forest-rills, 
 
 And meets the shepherd in his mountain-home. 
 Go, pour the wine of our own grapes in fear, 
 Keep silence by the hearth I its foes are near. 
 
 *' The envy of the oppressor's eye hath been 
 
 Upon my heritage. I sit to-night 
 Under my household tree, if not serene. 
 
 Yet with the faces best-beloved in sight : 
 To-morrow eve may find me chain'd, and thee— 
 How can I bear the boy's young smiles to see ?" 
 
 The bright blood left that youthful mother's cheek ; 
 
 Back on the linden-stern she lean'd her form, 
 And her lip trembled, as it strove to speak, 
 
 Like a frail harp-string, shaken by the storm. 
 'Twas but a moment, and the faintness pass'd, 
 And the free Alpine spirit woke at last. 
 
 And she, that ever through her home had moved 
 With the meek thoughtfulness and quiet smile 
 
 Of woman, calmly loving and beloved, 
 And timid in her happiness the while, 
 
 Stood brightly forth, and steadfastly, that hour, 
 
 Her clear glance kindling into sudden power. 
 
 Ay, pale she stood, but with an eye of light, 
 And took her fair child to her holy breast. 
 
 And lifted her soft voice, that gather'd might 
 As it found language ; — " Are we thus oppress'd? 
 
 Then must we rise upon our mountain-sod, 
 
 And man must arm, and woman call on God I 
 
 *' I know what thou wouldst do.— and be it done ! 
 
 Thy soul is darken'd with its cares for me. 
 Trust me to Heaven, my husband I — this, thy son, 
 
 The babe whom I have borne thee, must be free ! 
 And the sweet memory of our pleasant hearth 
 May well give strength— if aught be strong on earth. 
 
 *' Thou hast been brooding o'er the silent dread 
 Of my desponding tears; now lift once more, 
 My hunter of the hills ! thy stately head, 
 
 And let thine eagle glance my joy restore I 
 I can bear all, but seeing tkee subdued, — 
 Take to thee back thine own undaunted mood. 
 
 " Go forth beside the waters, and along 
 
 The chamois-paths, and through the forests go; 
 And tell, in burning words, thy tale of wrong 
 
 To the brave hearts that 'midst the hamlets glow. 
 God shall be with thee, my beloved ! — Away I 
 Bless but thy child, and leave me, — I can pray !" 
 
 He sprang up like a warrior-youth awaking 
 To clarion-sounds upon the ringing air: 
 
 He caught her to his breast, while proud tears breaking 
 From his dark eyes, fell o'er her braided hair, — 
 
 And " Worthy art thou," was his joyous cry, 
 "That man for thee should gird himself to die. 
 
 " My bride, my wife, the mother of my child ! 
 Now shall thy name be armour to my heart ; 
 And this our land, by chains no more defiled, 
 Be taught of thee to choose the better part ! 
 I go— thy spirit on my words shall dwell, 
 Thy gentle voice shall stir the Alps— Farewell !" 
 
 And thus they parted, by the quiet lake. 
 In the clear starlight : he. the strength to rouse 
 
 Of the free hills ; she, thoughtful for his sake. 
 To rock her child beneath the whispering boughs, 
 
 Singing its blue, half-ctirtain'd eyes to sleep, 
 
 With a low hymn amidst the stillness deep. 
 
 GERTRUDE, OR FIDELITY TILL DEATH. 
 
 The Baron Von der Wart, accused, though it is believed 
 unjustly, as an accomplice in the assassination of the em- 
 peror Albert, was bound alive on the wheel, and attended 
 by his wife Gertrude, throughout his last agonizing hours, 
 with the most heroic devotedness. Her own sufferings, with 
 those of her unfortunate husband, are most affectingly de- 
 scribed in a letter which she afterwards addressed to a female 
 friend, and which was published some years ago, at Haar- 
 lem, in a book entitled Gertrude Von der Wart, or Fidehty 
 unto Death. 
 
 Dark lowers our fate, 
 And terrible the storm that gathers oer us; 
 But nothing:, till that latest agony 
 Which severs thee from nature, shall unloose 
 This fix'd and sacred hold. In thy dark prison-house, 
 ■ In the terrific face of armed law, 
 Yea, on the scaffold, if it needs must be, 
 I never will forsake thee. 
 
 Joanna Baillie. 
 
 Her hands were clasp'd, her dark eyes raised. 
 
 The breeze threw back her hair ; 
 Up to the fearful wheel she gazed — 
 
 All that she loved was there. 
 The night was round her clear and cold, 
 
 The holy heaven above. 
 Its pale stars watching to behold 
 
 The might of earthly love 
 
 "And bid me not depart," she cried, 
 " My Rudolph, say not so 1 
 This is no time to quit thy side. 
 Peace, peace I I cannot go. 
 
 348 
 
HE 
 
 HE 
 
 Hath the world aught for me to fear, 
 When deatli is on thy brow 7 
 
 The world I what means it— mine is here— 
 I will not leave thee now. 
 
 '1 have been with thee in thine hour 
 
 Of glory and of bliss; 
 Doubt not its memory's living power 
 
 To strengthen me through this! 
 And thou, mine honopr'd love and true, 
 
 Bear on, bear nobly on ! 
 We have the blessed heaven in view, 
 
 Whose rest shall soon be won." 
 
 And were not these high words to flow 
 
 From woman's breaking heart? 
 Through all that night of bitterest woe, 
 
 She bore her lofty part ; 
 But oh! with such a glazing eye, 
 
 With such a curdling cheek — 
 Love, love I of mortal agony. 
 
 Thou, only thou shouldst speak! * 
 
 The wind rose high,— but with it rose 
 
 Her voice, that he might hear: 
 Perchance that dark hour brought repose 
 
 To happy bosoms near; 
 While she sat striving with despair 
 
 Beside his tortured form. 
 And pouring her deep soul in prayer 
 
 Forth on the rushing storm. 
 
 She wiped the death-damps from his brow. 
 
 With her pale hands and soft. 
 Whose touch upon the lute-chords low, 
 
 Had stiird his heart so oft. 
 She spread her mantle o'er his breast, 
 
 She bathed his lips with dew, 
 And on his cheeks such kisses press'd 
 
 As hope and joy ne'er knew. 
 
 Oh ! lovely are ye, Love and Faith, 
 
 Enduring to the last ! 
 She had her meed — one smile in death — 
 
 And his worn spirit pass'd. 
 While ev'n as o'er a martyr's grave 
 
 She knelt on that sad spot, 
 And, weeping, bless'd the God who gave 
 
 Strength to forsake it not ! 
 
 THE GRAVE OF A POETESS.* 
 
 " Ne me plaignez pas— si vous saviez 
 Combien de peines ce tombeau m'a eparsnees !" 
 
 I stood beside the lowly grave; — 
 
 Spring-odours breathed around, 
 And music, in the river-wave, 
 
 Pass'd with a lulling sound. 
 
 All happy things that love the sun 
 
 In the bright air glanced by. 
 And a glad murmur seem'd to run 
 
 Through the soft azure sky. 
 
 Fresh leaves were on the ivy-bough 
 
 That fringed the ruins near; 
 young voices were abroad — but thou 
 
 Their sweetness couldst not hear. 
 
 And mournful grew my heart for thee. 
 
 Thou in whose woman's mind, 
 The ray that brightens earth and sea. 
 
 The light of song was shrined. 
 
 * Extrinsic interest has lately attached to the fine scenery 
 of Woodstock, near Kilkenny, on account of its having been 
 the last residence of the author of Psyche. Her grave is one 
 of many in the church-yard of the village. The river runs 
 smoothly by. The ruins of an ancient abbey that has been 
 partially converted into a church, reverently throw their 
 mantle of tender shadow over it.— Tales by the O'Hara Fa- 
 mily. 
 
 Mournful that thou wert slumbering low, 
 
 With a dread curtain drawn 
 Between thee and the golden glow 
 
 Of this world's vernal dawn. 
 
 Parted from all the song and bloom 
 Thou wouldst have loved so well. 
 
 To thee the sunshine round thy tomb 
 Was but a broken spell. 
 
 The bird, the insect on tlie wing, 
 
 In their bright reckless play. 
 Might feel the flush and life of spring, — 
 
 And thou wert pass'd away I 
 
 But then, even then, a nobler thought 
 
 O'er my vain sadness came; 
 ' Th' immortal spirit woke, and wrought 
 Within my thrilling frame. 
 
 Surely on lovelier things, 1 said, 
 Thou must have look'd ere now, 
 
 Than all that round our pathway shed 
 Odours and hues below. 
 
 The shadows of the tomb are here, 
 
 Yet beautiful is earth ! 
 What seest thou then where no dim fear, 
 
 No haunting dream, hath birth? 
 
 Here a vain love to passing flowers 
 Thou gav'st — but where thou art, 
 
 The sway is not with changeful hours 
 There love and death must part. 
 
 Thou hast left sorrow in thy song, 
 
 A voice not loud, but deep I 
 The glorious bowers of earth among. 
 
 How often didst thou weep ! 
 
 Where couldst thou fix on mortal ground 
 Thy tender thoughts and high ?— 
 
 Now peace the woman's heart hath found, 
 And joy the poet's eye. 
 
 THE MOTHEK's love. 
 
 There is none. 
 
 In all this cold and hollow world, n*o fount 
 
 Of deep, strong, deathless love, save that within 
 
 A mother's heart.— It is but pride, wherewith 
 
 To his fair son the father's eye doth turn, 
 
 Watching his growth. Ay, on the boy he looks, 
 
 The bright glad creature springing in his path, 
 
 But as the heir of his great name — the young 
 
 And stately tree, whose rising strength ere long 
 
 Shall bear his trophies well. And this is love ! 
 
 This is man's love I — What marvel ? — Vou ne'er made 
 
 Your breast the pillow of his infancy, 
 
 While to the fulness of your heart's glad heavings 
 
 Bis fair cheek rose and fell, and his bright hair 
 
 Waved softly to your breath? — You ne'er kept watch 
 
 Beside him till the last pale star had set, 
 
 And morn, all dazzling, as in triumph broke 
 
 On your dim weary eye: not yours the face 
 
 Which, early faded through fond care for him. 
 
 Hung o'er his sleep, and, duly as heaven's light 
 
 Was there to greet his wakening. You ne'er smoothed 
 
 His couch, ne'er sung him to his rosy rest. 
 
 Caught his least whisper, when his voice from yours 
 
 Had learned soft utterance ; pressed your lips to his 
 
 When fever parched it; hushed his wayward cries. 
 
 With patient, vigilant, never-wearied love ! 
 
 No ! these are Woman's tasks ! — In these her youth, 
 
 And bloom of cheek, and buoyancy of heart, 
 
 Steal from her all unmarked I 
 
 ■WOMAN AND FAME, 
 
 Thou hast a charmed cup, O Fame, — 
 
 A draught that mantles high. 
 And seems to lift this earthly frame 
 
 Above mortality. 
 Away! to me — a woman — bring 
 Sweet waters from affection's spring. 
 
 349 
 
HE 
 
 HE 
 
 Thou hast green laurel-leaves that twine 
 
 Into so proud a wreath — 
 For that resplendent gift of thine, 
 
 Heroes have smiled in death. 
 Give me from some kind hand a flower, 
 The record of one happy hour. 
 
 Thou hast a voice, whose thrilling tone 
 
 Can bid each life-pulse beat, 
 As when a trumpet's note hath blown, 
 
 Calling the brave to meet. 
 But mine, let mine — a woman's breast- 
 By words of home-born love be blessed. 
 
 A hollow sound is in thy song, 
 
 A mockery in thy eye. 
 To the sick heart that doth but long 
 
 For aid, for sympathy, * 
 
 For kindly looks to cheer it on. 
 For tender accents that are gone. 
 
 Fame, Fame 1 thou canst not be the stay 
 
 Unto the drooping reed, , 
 The cool fresh fountain in the day 
 
 Of the soul's feverish need: 
 Where must the lone one turn or flee? — 
 Not unto thee, ohl not to thee! 
 
 " Oh, cast thou not 
 Affection from thee ! in this mtter world 
 Hold to thy heart that only treasure fast, 
 Watch — guard it — suffer not a breath to dim 
 The bright gem's purity !" 
 
 If thou hast crush'd a flower, 
 
 The root may not be blighted ; 
 If thou hast quench'd a lamp. 
 
 Once more it may be lighted: 
 But on thy harp or on thy lute, 
 
 The string which thou hast broken 
 Shall never in sweet sound again 
 
 Give to thy touch a token I 
 
 If thou hast loosed a bird, 
 
 Whose voice of song could cheer thee, 
 Still, still he may be won 
 
 From the skifs to warble near thee 
 But if upon the troubled sea 
 
 Thou hast thrown a gem unheeded, 
 Hope not that wind or wave shall bring 
 
 The treasure back when needed. 
 
 If thou hast bruised a vine, 
 
 The summer's breath is healing, 
 And its cluster yet may glow 
 
 Through the leaves their bloom revealing ; 
 But if thou hast a cup o'erlhrown. 
 
 With a bright draught fill'd — oh ! never 
 Shall earth give back that lavish'd wealth. 
 
 To cool thy parch'd lip's fever! 
 
 The heart is like that cup. 
 
 If thou waste the love it bore thee. 
 And like that jewel gone, 
 
 Which the deep will not restore thee; 
 And like that string of harp or lute 
 
 Whence the sweet sound is scatter'd ; — 
 — Gently, oh! gently touch the chords. 
 
 So soon for ever shattered! 
 
 MAN AND WOMAN. 
 
 " Women act their parts 
 
 When they do make their order'd houses know them. 
 Men must be busy out of doors, must stir 
 The city; yea, make the great world aware 
 That they are in it; for the mastery 
 Of which they race and wrestle." 
 
 Knowles. 
 
 Warrior! whose image on thy tomb, 
 ' With shield and crested head. 
 Bleeps proudly in the purple gloom 
 By the stain'd window shed; 
 
 The records of thy name and race 
 
 Have faded from the stone, 
 Yet through a cloud of years I trace ^ 
 
 What thou hast been and done. 
 
 A banker from its flashing spear 
 
 Flung out o'er many a figfit; 
 A war-cry ringing far and clear, 
 
 And strong to turn the flight; 
 An arm that bravely bore the lance 
 
 On for the holy shrine, 
 A haughty heart and kingly glance — 
 
 Chief I were not these things thine? 
 
 A lofty place where leaders sate 
 
 Around the council board; 
 In festive halls a chair of state, 
 
 When the blood-red wine was pour'd ; 
 A name that drew a prouder tone 
 
 From herald, harp, and bard ; 
 — Surely these things were all thine own. 
 
 So hadst thou thy reward! 
 
 Woman ! whose sculptured form at rest 
 
 By the arm'd knight is laid. 
 With meek hands folded o'er thy breast 
 
 In matron robes array'd ; 
 What was tliy tale ? — Oh, gentle mate 
 
 Of him the bold and free. 
 Bound unto his victorious fate. 
 
 What bard hath sung of thee? 
 
 He woo'd a bright and burning star; 
 
 Thine was the void, the gloom. 
 The straining eye that foUow'd far 
 
 His oft-receding plume; 
 The heart-sick listening while his steed 
 
 Sent echoes on the breeze; 
 The pang— but when did fame take heed 
 
 Of griefs obscure as these ? 
 
 Thy silent and secluded hours, 
 
 Through many a lonely day 
 While bending o'er thy broider'd flowers. 
 
 With spirit far away; 
 Thy weeping midnight prayers for him 
 
 Who fought on Syrian plains; 
 Thy watchings till the torch grew dim, — 
 
 These fill no minstrel strains. 
 
 A still sad life was thine I — long years. 
 
 With tasks ilnguerdon'd fraught, 
 Deep, quiet love, submissive tears, 
 
 Vigils of anxious thought; 
 Prayers at the cross in fervour pour'd, 
 
 Alms to the pilgrims given ; 
 O happy, happier than thy lord, 
 
 In that lone path to heaven ! 
 
 THE SPELLS OE HOME. 
 
 There blend the ties that strengthen 
 
 Our hearts in hours of grief, 
 The silver links that lengthen 
 
 Joy's visit when most brief. 
 
 Bernard Barton. 
 
 By the soft green light in the woody glade, 
 
 On the banks of moss where thy childhood play'd. 
 
 By the household tree through which thine eye 
 
 First look'd in love to the summer sky. 
 
 By the dewy gleam, by the very breath 
 
 Of the primrose tufts in the grass beneath. 
 
 Upon thy heart there is laid a spell, 
 
 Holy and precious — oh! guard it well! 
 
 By the sleepy ripple of the stream, 
 Which hath lull'd thee into many a dream. 
 By the shiver of tJie ivy leaves 
 To the wind of morn at thy casement eaves, 
 By the bee's deep murmur in the limes. 
 By the music of the Sabbath chimes, 
 By every sound of thy native shade, 
 Stronger and dearer the spell is madt;. 
 
 350 
 
HE 
 
 HE 
 
 By the gathering round the winter health 
 
 VVhen twilight call'd unto household mirth, 
 
 By the fairy tale or the legend old 
 
 In that ring of happy faces told, 
 
 By the quiet hour when hearts unite 
 
 In the parting prayer and the kind " Good-nighl ! 
 
 By the smiling eye and the loving tone, 
 
 Qver thy life has the spell been thrown. 
 
 And bless that gift! — it hath gentle might, 
 A guardian power and a guiding light. 
 It hath led the freeman forth to stand 
 In the mountain battles of his land; 
 It hath brought the wanderer o'er the seaa, 
 To die on the hills of his own fresh breeze 
 And back to the gates of his father's hall 
 It hath led the weeping prodigal. 
 
 Yes! when thy heart, in its pride, would stray 
 From the pure first loves of its youth away — 
 When the sullying breath of the world would come 
 O'er the flowers it brought from its childhood's home- 
 Think thou again of the woody glade, 
 And the sound by thS rustling ivy made. 
 Think of the tree at thy father's door. 
 And the kindly spell shall have power once more ! 
 
 ■WOMAN ON THE PIELD OF BATTLE. 
 
 Where hath not woman stood, 
 Strong in affection's might? a reed upborne 
 By an o'ermastering current ! 
 
 Gentle and lovely form 
 
 What didst thou here. 
 When the fierce battle-storm 
 
 Bore down the spear ? 
 
 Banner and shiver'd crest, 
 
 Beside thee strown, 
 Tell, that amidst the best. 
 
 Thy work was donel 
 
 Yet strangely, sadly fair, 
 
 O'er the wild scene, 
 Gleams, through its golden hair, 
 
 That brow serene. 
 
 Low lies the stately head,— 
 
 Earth-bound the free; 
 How gave those haughty dead 
 
 A place to thee? 
 
 Slumberer! thine early bier 
 Friends should have crown'd. 
 
 Many a flower and tear 
 Shedding around. 
 
 Soft voices, clear and young. 
 
 Mingling their swell. 
 Should o'er thy dust have sung 
 
 Earth's last farewell. 
 
 Sisters, above the grave 
 
 Of thy repose. 
 Should have bid violets wave 
 
 With the white rose. 
 
 Now must the trumpet's note. 
 
 Savage and shrill. 
 For requiem o'er thee float, 
 
 Thou fair and still ! 
 
 And the swift charger sweep 
 
 In full career, 
 Trampling thy place of sleep,— 
 
 Why earnest thou here ? 
 
 Why ? — ask the true heart why 
 
 Woman hath been 
 Ever, where brave men die, 
 
 Unshrinking seen? 
 
 Unto this harvest ground 
 
 Proud reapers came, — 
 Some, for that stirring sound, 
 
 A warrior's name; 
 
 Some, for the stormy play 
 
 And joy of strife; 
 And some, to fling away 
 
 A weary life; — 
 
 But thou, pale sleeper, thou, 
 
 With the slight frame, 
 And the rich locks, whose glow 
 
 Death cannot tame; 
 
 Only one thought, one power. 
 
 Thee could have led. 
 So, through the tempest's hour. 
 
 To lift thy head! 
 
 Only the true, the strong, 
 
 The love, whose trust 
 Woman's deep soul too long 
 
 Pours on the dust 1 
 
 LANDING OF THE PILGBIM FATHEUS. 
 
 The breaking waves dashed high 
 
 On a stern and rock-bound coast. 
 And the woods against a stormy sky 
 
 Their giant branches tossed; 
 
 And the heavy night hung dark, 
 
 The hills and waters o'er, 
 When a band of exiles moored their bark 
 
 On the wild New England shore. 
 
 Not as the conqueror comes. 
 They, the true-heaited, came ; 
 ■ Not with the roll of the stirring drums, 
 And the trumpet that sings of fame : 
 
 Not as the flying come. 
 
 In silence and in fear;— 
 They shook the depths of the desert gloom 
 
 With their hymns of loHy cheer. 
 
 Amidst the storm they sang. 
 
 And the stars heard, and the sea ! 
 And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang 
 
 To the anthem of the free. 
 
 The ocean eagle soared 
 
 From his nest by the white wave's foam. 
 And the rocking pines of the forest roared^ 
 
 This was their welcome home I 
 
 There were men with hoary hair. 
 
 Amidst that pilgrim band; — 
 Why had they come to wither there. 
 
 Away from their childhood's land? 
 
 There was woman's fearless eye. 
 
 Lit by her deep love's truth ; 
 There was manhood's brow serenely high, 
 
 And the fiery heart of youth. 
 
 What sought they thus afar? 
 
 Bright jewels of the mine? 
 The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?— 
 
 They sought a faith's pure shrine I 
 
 Ay, call it holy ground. 
 The soil where first they trod! 
 
 They have left unstained what there they found- 
 Freedom to worship God. 
 
 SABBATH SONNET. 
 
 How many blessed groups this hour are bending 
 
 Through England's primrose meadow-paths their way 
 
 Toward spire and tower, 'midst shadowy elms ascending. 
 
 Whence the sweet chimes proclaim the hallowed day I 
 
 The halls, from old heroic ages grey. 
 
 Pour their fair children forth ; and hamlets low. 
 
 With whose thick orchard-blooms the soft winds play, 
 
 Send out their inmates in a happy flow. 
 
 Like a free vernal stream.— I may not tread 
 
 With them those pathways,— to the feverish bed 
 
 Of sickness bound ;— yet oh, my God! I bless 
 
 Thy mercy, that with Sabbath peace hath filled 
 
 My chastened heart, and all its throbbings stilled 
 
 To one deep calm of lowliest thankfulness. 
 
 351 
 
HE 
 
 HE 
 
 THE POETET or THE PSALMS.* 
 
 Nobly thy song, O minstrel ! rushed to meet 
 Th' Eternal on the pathway of the blast, 
 With darkness round him as a mantle cast. 
 
 And cherubim to waft his flying seat. 
 
 Amidst the hills that smoked beneath his feet, 
 With trumpet voice thy spirit called aloud. 
 
 And bade the trembling rncks his name repeat. 
 And the bent cedars, and the bursting cloud ; 
 
 But far more gloriously to earth made known. 
 
 By that high strain, than by the thunder's tone. 
 Than flashing torrents, or the ocean's roll ; 
 
 Jehovah spoke through the inbreathing fire, 
 
 Nature's vast realms forever to inspire, 
 With the deep worship of a living soul. 
 
 HENRIETTA OF ENGLAND, 
 
 Dacghtek of the unfortunate Charles I. of Eng- 
 land, and grand-daughter of Henry IV. of France, 
 married, in 1661, Philip of France, duke of Or- 
 leans, and brother of Louis XIV. ; but this mar- 
 riage was not a happy one. Hoivever, she was a 
 great favourite with the king, who often joined in 
 the brilliant assembly of rank and genius which 
 she collected around her. She also had much in- 
 fluence over her brother, Charles II. of England ; 
 and negotiated an important treaty with England 
 against Holland, which the most skilful diploma- 
 tists had long solicited in vain. 
 
 This princess died at St. Cloud, in 1670, at the 
 age of twenty-six. There were some suspicions 
 that she was poisoned. She was universally re- 
 gretted ; her sweetness of manners, and her grace 
 and beauty, rendering her a great favourite. Bos- 
 suet pronounced her funeral oration. 
 
 HENDEL-SCHUTZ, HENRIETTA. 
 
 This celebrated woman, in whom her native 
 country recognises one of its first tragic actresses, 
 and her age the greatest pantomimic artist, was 
 the daughter of the eminent tragedian, Schiiler. 
 Prom her fourth year, she received instruction in 
 declamation and dancing. In the latter art she 
 was BO accomplished, even when a child, that she 
 was engaged for the ballet of the Berlin Royal 
 Theatre, of which her father was a member. The 
 celebrated Engel, at that time director of the Ber- 
 lin Theatre, seems to have duly appreciated her 
 rare talents, for he took her to his house, and in- 
 structed her in history, mythology, versification 
 in languages, and declamation. In her sixteenth 
 year, she united herself to the excellent tenor- 
 singer, Eunike (in Berlin), and both were engaged, 
 first at the Prince's Theatre, at Maintz, then at 
 Bonn. There she was vmdoubtedly prima donna. 
 In the year 1792, they were invited to Amsterdam, 
 where the new German theatre opened for the 
 first time (November 11th, 1793), with Kotzebue's 
 drama, " The Indians in England." She performed 
 the part of Gurli, and the audience was enrap- 
 tured. The French Revolutionary war, which 
 
 * This and the preceding, are the two last strains, the 
 dying strains of this sweet poetess. Truly her mind seemed 
 breatliing inspired notes, while her pure spirit was stealing 
 gently away to join the angelic choir in that " better land," 
 where "Borrow and death may not enter." 
 
 seemed to threaten Holland, soon put an end to 
 the German theatre. Mrs. Eunike, therefore, left 
 Amsterdam, and went to Frankfurt on the Maine, , 
 in October, 1794. There her talent for pantomime 
 was awakened by the celebrated painter, Pfarr. 
 He showed her, among others, Rehberg's plates of 
 the attitudes of Lady Hamilton ; also some draw- 
 ings of William Fischbein (a German), in Naples. 
 After these models she studied the art of panto- 
 mime ; but she spent twelve years in practising, 
 before she ventured on a public exhibition. It Is 
 generally acknowledged, that the Hendel-Schiitz 
 has much enlarged and elevated this art ; her pan- 
 tomime representations were a series of fine atti- 
 tudes, not only in the antique, but also in the 
 modem styles, and in the former as well in the 
 Egyptian and Greek, as in the latter in the Italian 
 and Germanic characters. They were, however, 
 not mere imitations of statues and paintings ; she 
 endeavoured, by an instructive succession of inte- 
 resting images of antique and modern mythology 
 and "history, to represent to the eye the most im- 
 portant changes of antique and modern plastic 
 art ; so that a critic says, "In representing, in a 
 chronological order, the different styles of plastic 
 art, the principal traits of the history of art pass 
 in moving pictures before the eye of the spectator, 
 which are as instructive to the mind as they are 
 pleasing to the eye." Besides, she possessed the 
 still greater gift of inventing practical poetical 
 attitudes, and representing them in a suitable 
 style, so that the German artist seems vastly to 
 have surpassed her English predecessor (Lady 
 Hamilton). In the mean time, she and her hus- 
 band accepted an invitation to go to Berlin, where 
 she remained for ten years. Here she separated 
 herself from her first husband, and married Dr. 
 Mayer, whom she accompanied to Stettin ; this 
 second union was likewise dissolved ; and then 
 (1806) she became the wife of Dr. Hendel. Seven 
 months after, death deprived her of her third hus- 
 band, who, as chief physician of the French hos- 
 pitals, died a victim of the typhus fever. Circum- 
 stances induced her to appear again on the stage. 
 In October, 1807, she undertook a long artistic 
 journey; and when in Halle, she became ac- 
 quainted with the son of the celebrated philologer, 
 Schiitz ; he (the son) was at that time engaged at 
 the University of Halle, as Professor of the Fine 
 Arts. With this gentleman she entered again into 
 the bonds of matrimony, when Napoleon arrested 
 the University, for which reason Professor Schiitz 
 exchanged the academical course for the theatrical 
 profession, and acquired, both in tragedy and 
 comedy, an honourable place among the German 
 dramatic artists. Mr. and Mrs. Schiitz did not 
 limit themselves to the principal cities of Germany, 
 but visited also Russia, Sweden, and Denmark, 
 and their fame spread far and wide. In the sum- 
 mer of 1819, they went to Paris, where the panto- 
 mimic talent of Mrs. S. was acknowledged in the 
 most select circles by competent judges. They 
 settled afterwards in Halle, where Mr. S. was 
 again engaged as professor. The general conclu- 
 sion is, that Mrs. Hendel-Schiitz, as a pantomimic 
 artist, stands unrivalled in Germany. 
 
 862 
 
HE 
 
 HE 
 
 HERBERT, MARY, COUNTESS OF 
 PEMBROKE, 
 Married Henry, Earl of Pembroke, in 1576, 
 and lived in the reigns of Elizabeth and James I. 
 She was the sister of Sir Philip Sydney ; whose 
 " Arcadia," from being dedicated to her, was al- 
 ways called by the author himself, " The Countess 
 of Pembroke's Arcadia." A great encourager of 
 letters, and a careful cultivator of them herself, 
 she translated a tragedy from the French, called 
 " Annius," in 1595 ; and is also supposed to have 
 made an exact translation of the Psalms of David 
 into English metre; and also wrote "A Pastoral 
 Dialogue in Praise of Astrsea." She died at 
 her house in Aldersgate-Street, London, Septem- 
 ber 25th, 1601. Osbom, in his memoirs of the 
 reign of king James, says, " She was that sister 
 of Sir Philip Sydney to whom he addressed his 
 Arcadia," and of whom he had no other advan- 
 tage than what he received from the partial bene- 
 volence of fortune in making him a man, (which 
 yet she did, in some judgments, recompense in 
 beauty,) her pen being nothing short of his. But, 
 lest I should seem to trespass upon truth, I shall 
 leave the world her epitaph, in which the author 
 doth manifest himself a poet in all things but un- 
 truth : 
 
 " Underneath this sable hearse 
 Lies the subject of all verse ; 
 Sydney's sister, Pembrolce's mother. 
 Death! ere thou hast killed another, 
 Fair, and good, and wise, as she. 
 Time shall throw a dart at thee." 
 
 These lines were written by Ben Jonson. 
 
 HERITIEB, MARIE JEANNE L', DE 
 VILLANDON, 
 
 Was bom at Paris in 1664, daughter of Nicho- 
 las I'Heritier, a French poet, from whom she in- 
 herited a talent for poetry. She was also esteemed 
 for the sweetness of her manners, and the dignity 
 of her sentiments. The academy of the " jeux 
 Floraux" received her as a member in 1696, and 
 that of the Bicovrati in Padua in 1697. She wrote 
 a translation in verse of sixteen of Ovid's Epistles ; 
 an English tale, called "La Tour Tenebreuse;" 
 "Les Caprices de Destin;" another novel; and a 
 novel in verse, called " L'Avare Puni ;" with a few 
 other poems. She lived a single life, and died at 
 Paris in 1734, aged seventy. We give one speci- 
 men of her style. 
 
 RONDEAU. 
 
 .j9 nne Jeune Demoiselle. 
 
 C'est grand hazard, si Ton voit deui esprits 
 Avoir Chez eux memes desirs nourris. 
 Vous n'aimez rien qu'amour et badinage; 
 Mais moy qui hais leur importun bagage, 
 Mon cabinet me tient lieu de r^duits."*^ 
 
 Ld du savoir j'examine le prix, 
 Et puis ni'occupe a frivoles Merits ; 
 Car si par fois je fais passable ouvrage, 
 C'est grand hazard. 
 
 * Boudoir. 
 
 Atissi mon cceur de renom n'esl 6pris, 
 Et d'Apollon jc n'ai Tart entrepris 
 Uue pour bannir I'oisivet^ peu sage ; 
 Cluand trop on est de loisir au bet age. 
 Sans coqueter avec maints favoris, 
 C'est grand hazard. 
 
 HEBON, CECILIA, 
 The third daughter of Sir Thomas More, was 
 born in 1510, and, with her sisters, received a 
 learned education. She possessed a thorough 
 knowledge of Latin, and corresponded with Eras- 
 mus in that language. She was married very 
 early in life to Giles Heron, Esq. Nothing of her 
 private history is recorded. 
 
 HERSCHEL, CAROLINE LUCRETIA, 
 Sister, and, for a long time assistant, of the 
 celebrated astronomer, was born at Hanover on 
 the 16th of March, 1750. She is herself distin- 
 guished for her astronomical researches, and par- 
 ticularly for the construction of a selenographical 
 globe, in relief, of the surface of the moon. But 
 it was for her brother, Sir William Herschel, that 
 the activity of her mind was awakened. From 
 the first commencement of his astronomical pur- 
 suits, her attendance on both his daily labours and 
 nightly watches was put in requisition ; and was 
 found so useful, that on his removal to Datchet, 
 and subsequently to Slough — he being then occu- 
 pied wfth his reviews of the heavens and other 
 researches — she performed the whole of the ar- 
 duous and important duties of his astronomical 
 assistant, not only reading the clocks and noting 
 down all the observations from dictation as au 
 amanuensis, but subsequently executing the whole 
 of the extensive and laborious numerical calcula- 
 tions necessary to render them available to science, 
 as well as a multitude of others relative to the 
 various objects of theoretical and experimental 
 inquiry, in which, during his long and active 
 career, he at any time engaged. For the perform- 
 ance of these duties, his majesty king George III. 
 was pleased to place her in the receipt of a salary 
 sufficient for her singtilarly moderate wants and 
 retired habits. 
 
 353 
 
HE 
 
 Arduous, however, as these occupations must 
 appear, especially when it is considered that her 
 brother's observations were always carried on (cir- 
 cumstances permitting) till daybreak, without re- 
 gard to season, and indeed chiefly in the winter, 
 they proved insufficient to exhaust her activity. 
 In their intervals she found time both for actual 
 astronomical observations of her own and for the 
 execution of more than one work of great extent 
 and utility. 
 
 The observations here alluded to were made 
 with a small Newtonian sweeper constructed for 
 her by her brother ; with which, whenever his oc- 
 casional absences or any interruption to the regular 
 course of his observations permitted, she searched 
 the heavens for comets, and that so effectively as 
 on no less than eight several occasions to be re- 
 warded by their discovery, viz. on August 1, 1786; 
 December 21, 1788; January 9, 1790; April 17, 
 1790; December 15, 1791; October 7, 1793; No- 
 vember 7, 1795 ; and August 6, 1797. On five of 
 these occasions (recorded in the pages of the " Phi- 
 losophical Transactions" of London) her claim to 
 the first discovery is admitted. These sweeps, 
 moreover, proved productive of the detection of 
 several remarkable nebulae and clusters of stars 
 previously unobserved, among which may be spe- 
 cially mentioned the superb Nebula, No. 1, Class 
 v., of Sir William Herschel's catalogues — an ob- 
 ject bearing much resemblance to the celebrated 
 nebula in Andromeda, discovered by Simon Ina- 
 rius — as also the Nebula V., No. 18; the 12th and 
 27th clusters of Class VII. ; and the 45th, 65th, 
 72d, 77th, and 78th, of Class VIII. of those cata- 
 logues. 
 
 The astronomical works which she found leisure 
 to complete were — 1st. " A Catalogue of 561 Stars 
 observed by Flamsteed," but which, having escaped 
 the notice of those who framed the " British Cata- 
 logue" from that astronomer's observations, are 
 not therein inserted. 2. "A General Index of 
 Reference to every Observation of every Star in- 
 serted in the British Catalogue." These works 
 were published together in one volume by the 
 Royal Society ; and to their utility in subsequent 
 researches Mr. Baily, in his " Life of Flamsteed," 
 pp. 388, 390, bears ample testimony. She further 
 completed the reduction and arrangement as a 
 " Zone Catalogue" of all the nebulae and clusters 
 of stars observed by her brother in his sweeps ; a 
 work for which she was honoured with the Gold 
 Medal of the Astronomical Society of London, in 
 1828 ; which Society also conferred on her the 
 unusual distinction of electing her an honorary 
 member. 
 
 On her brother's death, in 1822, she returned to 
 Hanover, which she never again quitted, passing 
 the last twenty-six years of her life in repose — 
 enjoying the society and cherished by the regard 
 of lier remaining relatives and friends — gratified 
 by the occasional visits of eminent astronomers — 
 and honoured with many marks of favour and 
 distinction on the paj-t of the king of Hanover, 
 the crown prince, and his amiable and illustrious 
 consort. 
 
 HE 
 
 To within a very short period of her death her 
 health continued uninterrupted, her faculties per- 
 fect, and her memory (especially of the scenes 
 and circumstances of former days) remarkably 
 clear and distinct. Her end was tranquil and free 
 from suffering — a simple cessation of life. 
 
 The writer of this very interesting memoir has, 
 however, omitted to state, that besides being an 
 Honorary Member of the Royal Astronomical So- 
 ciety, Miss Herschel was also similarly honoured 
 by the Royal Irish Academy. 
 
 The accompanying portrait is copied, by per- 
 mission, from a picture in the possession of Sir 
 John Herschel, believed to be the only portrait of 
 any authenticity. It very strongly recalls Miss 
 Herschel's air and appearance in 1829, when the 
 picture was painted; i. e., when the lady was in 
 her 80th year. 
 
 We add the following just, and eloquent tribute 
 to the merits of Miss Herschel, from Dr. Nichol's 
 " Views of the Architecture of the Heavens :" — 
 
 " The astronomer, (Sir William Herschel,) dur- 
 ing these engrossing nights, was constantly assisted 
 in his labours by a devoted maiden sister, who 
 braved with him the inclemency of the weather — 
 who heroically shared his privations that she might 
 participate in his delights — whose pen, we are 
 told, committed to paper his notes of observations 
 as they issued from his lips. ' She it was,' says 
 the best of authorities, ' who, having passed the 
 nights near the telescope, took the rough manu- 
 scripts to her cottage at the dawn of day, and 
 produced a fair copy of the night's work on the 
 ensuing morning ; she it was who planned the 
 labour of each succeeding night, who reduced 
 every observation, made every calculation, and 
 kept everything in systematic order ;' she it was — 
 Miss Caroline Herschel — who helped our astrono- 
 mer to gather an imperishable name. This vene- 
 rable lady has in one respect been more fortunate 
 than her brother ; she has lived to reap the full 
 harvest of their joint glory. Some years ago, the 
 gold medal of our Astronomical Society was trans- 
 mitted to her to her native Hanover, whither she 
 removed after Sir William's death ; and the same 
 learned Societ.,' has recently inscribed her name 
 upon its roll : but she has been rewarded by yet 
 more, by what she will value beyond all earthly 
 pleasures ; she has lived to see her favourite ne- 
 phew, him who grew up under her eye unto an 
 astronomer, gather around him the highest hopes 
 of scientific Europe, and prove himself fully equal 
 to tread in the footsteps of his fathej." 
 
 In 1847, she celebrated the ninety-seventh an- 
 niversary of her birth, when the king of Hanover 
 sent to compliment her ; the Prince and Princess 
 Royal visited her ; and the latter presented her 
 with a magnificent arm-chair embroidered by her- 
 self; and the king of Prussia sent her the gold 
 medal awarded for the Extension of the Sciences. 
 
 Miss Herschel died at the opening of the fol- 
 lowing year, January 9th, 1848, crowned with the 
 glory which woman's genius may gain, working in 
 the way Divine Providence appointed her, — as the 
 helper of man. 
 
 354 
 
HE 
 
 HO 
 
 HEYWOOD, ELIZA, 
 
 A MOST voluminous female -writer, was the 
 daugliter of a tradesman in Loudon, in 1693. 
 Nothing is known of her early education, but only 
 of her works. She wrote " The Court of Arme- 
 nia," " The New Utopia," and other similar ro- 
 mances. The looseness of these works was the 
 ostensible reason of Pope for putting her into his 
 Dunciad ; but it is more probable that some pri- 
 vate provocation was the real motive. She seemed 
 to perceive her error ; and, in the numerous vo- 
 lumes she published afterwards, she preserved 
 more purity and delicacy of sentiment. Her later 
 writings are, " The Female Spectator," in four 
 volumes, "Epistles for the Ladies," "Fortunate 
 Foundling," " Adventures of Nature," " History 
 of Betsey Thoughtless," "Jenny and Jemmy Jes- 
 samy," "Invisible Spy," "Husband and Wife," 
 and a pamphlet, entitled, "A Present for a Ser- 
 vant Maid." She also wrote dramatic pieces, but 
 none that succeeded. She died in 1756, aged 
 sixty-three. 
 
 HOFLAND, BARBARA, 
 Was born at Sheffield, in 1770. Her father, 
 Mr. Robert Wreaks, was an extensive manufac- 
 turer, in Sheffield. In 1796, Miss Wreaks mar- 
 ried Mr. T. Bradshaw Hoole, a young man con- 
 nected with a large mercantile house in Sheffield ; 
 but he died in two years after their marriage, 
 leaving her with an infant son only four months 
 old ; and soon after, she ' lost the greater part of 
 her property. Mrs. Hoole, in 1805, published a 
 volume of poems, with the proceeds of which she 
 established herself in a small school, at Harrogate, 
 where she continued to write, but principally in 
 prose. In 1808, Mrs. Hoole married Mr. Thomas 
 C. Hofland, a landscape-painter, and went with 
 him to London. She still pursued her writing 
 with great zeal, and in 1812 published five works. 
 In 1833 she lost her son by Mr. Hoole ; and her 
 husband died in 1843. She had continued to write 
 till this time, but her health now failed, and she 
 expired the following year, 1844, aged seventy- 
 four. Her principal works are, " The Clergy- 
 man's Widow," "The Daughter-in-Law," "Emi- 
 ly," "The Son of a Genius," "Beatrice," "Says 
 she to her Neighbour, What?" "Captives in In- 
 dia," " The Unloved One," " Daniel Dennison," 
 &c. &c. All her productions are moral and in- 
 structive ; she was earnest in her purpose of doing 
 good. And she has done much service to the cause 
 of improvement, though her works are not of that 
 high order of genius which keeps its place in the 
 heart of humanity, because its productions mirror 
 life and not manners. 
 
 HOHENHAUSER, PHILIPPINE 
 
 AMALIE ELISE VON, 
 BoEN 1790, daughter of the Westphalian Gene- 
 ral von Ochs, was married, in 1810, to Leopold, 
 Baron von Hohenhauser. In 1816, she wrote her 
 first work, "Spring Flowers;" in 1819, she pub- 
 lished " Minden and its Vicinity ;" in 1820, " Na- 
 ture, Art, and Life," and "Recollections of Tra- 
 
 vels;" and afterwards several other novels and 
 tales, and a translation of Byron's Corsair. In 
 1833, she lost a promising son, who was then a 
 student at the university of Bonn. A peculiar 
 monomania induced him to commit suicide. This 
 unhappy event caused his parents to write a work 
 
 entitled " Charles von H ," in which mucli 
 
 wise counsel is given to parents, guardians, and 
 instructors. 
 
 HOHENHEIM, FRANCISCA, COUNTESS VON, 
 BoEN in 1748, at Adelmansfeldeu, daughter of 
 the lord of Bernardin. She married, when quite 
 a child, the old and disagreeable lord of Laubrum. 
 She became afterwards acquainted with Charles 
 Eugene, duke of Wurtemberg, who fell violently in 
 love with her, and persuaded her to elope with 
 him. She was afterwards divorced from her first 
 husband, and married to the duke in Morganatic 
 marriage. She became a blessing to the duchy 
 of Wurtemberg, by the happy infiuence she exer- 
 cised over her otherwise harsh and cruel husband. 
 She was the foundress of numerous charitable in- 
 stitutions. When her husband died, she withdrew 
 to Kirchheim, where she died, in 1811. 
 
 HOOPER, LUCY, 
 
 Was born in Newburyport, Massachusetts, in 
 1816. When she was about fifteen, the death of 
 her father caused the removal of the family to 
 Brooklyn, Long Island. Soon after her arrival in 
 that city she began to write and publish poems, 
 under the initials of L. H. In 1840, she published 
 an "Essay on Domestic Happiness," and a work 
 entitled "Scenes from Real Life." She was en- 
 gaged in preparing a work entitled " The Poetry 
 of Flowers," during the time of her last sickness : 
 the book was published after her decease, which 
 occurred in August, 1841. The following year 
 one of her friends collected and arranged the 
 " Literary Remains of Miss Hooper," which were 
 published, with an affectionate tribute to her ge- 
 nius and the excellence of her private life. An- 
 other biographer remarks: "There have been 
 in our literary history few more interesting cha- 
 racters than Lucy Hooper. She died at an early 
 age, but not until her acquaintances had seen de- 
 veloped in her a nature that was all truth and 
 gentleness, nor until the world had recognised in 
 her writings the signs of a rare and delicate ge- 
 nius, that wrought in modesty, but in repose, in 
 the garden of the affections and in the light of 
 religion." 
 
 The following will serve as specimens of her 
 style of thought and poesy : 
 
 THE OLD DATS WE REMEMBEn. 
 
 The old days we remember, 
 How softly did they glide, 
 While all utitouched by worldly care 
 We wandered side by side ! 
 In those ple.isant days, when the sun's last rays 
 
 Just lingered on the hill. 
 Or the moon's pale light with the coming night 
 Shone o'er our pathway still. 
 
 355 
 
HO 
 
 HO 
 
 The old days we remember— 
 
 Oh! there's nothing like them now, 
 The glow has faded from our hearts, 
 The blossom from the bough ; 
 In the chill of care, 'midst worldly air, 
 
 Perchance we are colder grown, 
 For stormy weather, since we roamed together, 
 The hearts of both have known. 
 
 The old days we remember — 
 Oh! clearer shone the sun, 
 And every star looked brighter far 
 Than they ever since have done ! 
 On the very streams there lingered gleams 
 
 Of light ne'er seen before. 
 And the running brook a music took 
 Our souls can hear no more. 
 
 The old days we remember — 
 Oh! could we but go back 
 To their quiet hours, and tread once more 
 Their bright, familiar track — 
 Could we picture again what we pictured then 
 
 Of the sunny world that lay 
 From the green hillside, and the waters wide, 
 And our glad hearts far away ! 
 
 The old days we remember, 
 
 When we never dreamed of guile. 
 Nor knew that the heart could be cold below. 
 While the lip still wore its smile! 
 Oh, we may not forget, for those hours come yet ; 
 
 They visit us in sleep. 
 While far and wide, o'er life's changing tide. 
 Our barks asunder keep. 
 
 Still, still we must remember 
 
 Life's first and brightest days, 
 And a passing tribute render 
 As we tread the busy maze; 
 A bitter sigh for the hours gone by. 
 
 The dreams that might not last, 
 The friends deemed true when our hopes were new, 
 And the glorious visions past ! 
 
 "TIME, PAITH, ENEHGT."* 
 
 High words and hopeful !— fold them to thy heart. 
 Time, Faith, and Energy, are gifts sublime; 
 If thy lone bark the threatening waves surround, 
 Make them of all thy silent thoughts a part. 
 When thou wouldst cast thy pilgrim staff away. 
 Breathe to thy soul their high, mysterious sound. 
 And faint not in the noontide of thy day : 
 Wait thou for Time ! 
 
 Wait thou for Time : the slow-unfolding flower 
 Chides man's impatient haste wiih long delay : 
 The harvest ripening in the autumnal sun; 
 The golden fruit of Suffering's weighty power 
 Within the soul— like soft bells' silvery chime 
 Repeat the tones, if fame may not be won, 
 Or if the heart where thou shouldst find a shrine, 
 
 Breathe forth no blessing on thy lonely way- 
 Wait thou for Time : it hath a sorcerer's power 
 To dim life's mockeries that gayly shine. 
 To lift the veil of seeming from the real. 
 Bring to thy sou] a rich or fearful dower. 
 Write golden tracery on the sands of life. 
 And raise the drooping heart from scenes ideal 
 To a high purpose in the world of strife : 
 
 Wait thou for Time ! 
 
 Yea, wait for Time, but to thy heart take Faith, 
 Soft beacon-light upon a stormy sea ; 
 A mantle for the pure in heart, to pass 
 Through a dim world, untouched by living death, 
 A cheerful watcher through the spirit's night, 
 Soothing the grief from which she may not flee — 
 A herald of glad news— a seraph bright. 
 
 Pointing to sheltering heavens yet to be. 
 
 * Suggested by a passage in Bulwer's Night and Morning. 
 
 Yea, Faith and Time— and thou that through the hour 
 Of the lone night hast nerved the feeble hand, 
 Kindled the weary heart with sudden fire. 
 Gifted the drooping soul with living power. 
 Immortal Energy I shalt thou not be 
 While the old tales our wayward thoughts inspire, 
 Linked with each vision of high destiny, 
 Till on the fadeless borders of that land 
 
 Where all is known we find our certain way, 
 And lose ye, 'mid its pure, effulgent light? 
 Kind ministers, who cheered us in our gloom, 
 Seraphs who lightened griefs with guiding ray. 
 Whispering through tears of cloudless glory dawning — 
 Say, in the gardens of eternal bloom 
 Will not our hearts, when breaks the cloudless morning, 
 Joy that ye led us through the drooping night? 
 
 HOPTON, SUSANNA, 
 A LADY of Staffordshire, England, who became 
 a Koman Catholic, but afterwards returned to 
 the Protestant faith, and died at Hereford, in 
 1709, aged eighty-two. . She married Eichard 
 Hopton, one of the Welsh judges. She 'wrote 
 ''Daily Devotions," " Hexameron, or Meditations 
 on the Six Days of the Creation," and also cor- 
 rected the devotions in the ancient way of offices, 
 published by her friend Dr. Hickes. She was a 
 very charitable woman, and was noted for her ex- 
 cessive severity in performing her religious duties. 
 
 HORTENSE DE BEAUHARNOIS BONAPARTE, 
 EX-QUEEN OF HOLLAND, 
 
 Was bom in 1783, daughter of the vicomte 
 Alexandre de Beauharnois and Josephine, subse- 
 quently empress of France. The vicomte married 
 at an early age ; his dissipated habits and unjusti- 
 fiable conduct obliged his wife to separate herself 
 from him for a time ; during this period, the edu- 
 cation and charge of her children devolved solely 
 upon her. A reconciliation took place, and the 
 married pair seem to have afterwards lived in the 
 utmost domestic peace and happiness. 
 
 Upon the breaking out of the Revolution, the 
 vicomte rendered himself obnoxious to the existing 
 powers, and after undergoing a sad imprisonment, 
 was executed by the guillotine, July 24th, 1794. 
 The childish days of Hortense were thus clouded 
 by severe afflictions. It would be superfluous to 
 detail the well-known circumstances of Josephine's 
 marriage with General Bonaparte, who, in his 
 rapid elevation to the imperial throne, bore with 
 him to the highest worldly splendours the family 
 de Beauharnois. Hortense received a brilliant 
 education; and, both from her charms and posi- 
 tion in life, was one of the most admired women 
 in Paris. Her marriage was not one of her choice; 
 Napoleon obliged her to give her hand to his bro- 
 ther Louis. This match took place on the 4th of 
 January, 1802 ; and never was a wedding more 
 gloomy ! Louis was an honourable, an amiable, 
 a cultivated man ; Hortense, one of the most fas- 
 cinating women ; yet both were averse to the 
 union. Neither could estimate the merits of the 
 other. 
 
 In 1806, Louis Bonaparte was made king of 
 Holland by Napoleon ; but Louis cared little for 
 the show and state of royalty, and after a few 
 years of discontent, having abdicated his nominal 
 
 356 
 
HO 
 
 HO 
 
 sovereignty in favour of Ms son, he appointed his 
 wife Hortense regent. She had left him, and gone 
 to Paris to eiyoy the pleasures of the court circle. 
 Their son, Napoleon Charles, was particularly 
 loved by Napoleon, who created him grand-duke 
 of Berg, and had even spoken of adopting him as 
 heir of the empire. The death of this promising 
 boy, was a great blow to Hortense. After Holland 
 was incorporated with France, Hortense was ob- 
 liged to relinquish the title of queen, and was 
 usually styled countess of St. Leu; yet she was 
 recognised as the ex-queen of Holland by many 
 of the French writers of that time. Hortense bore 
 her reverses better than her exaltation ; she was 
 an affectionate mother, and a devoted daughter; 
 for many of the errors she committed, her position, 
 and the peculiar circumstances in which she was 
 placed, are a palliation, if not an excuse. 
 
 Without poetic genius to rank among authors, 
 Hortense had a very pretty talent for making oc- 
 casional poems for society. Her romances, for 
 which she also composed the music, have been 
 published in a collected form ; some of these ob- 
 tained great popularity. She died in 1847. 
 
 HOUDETOT, SOPHIE DE LA BRICHE, 
 COUNTESS D', 
 
 Was born at Paris, in 1730. Her father was 
 an 'oflicer of the government ; and she married the 
 count d'Houdetot in 1748. This lady was the 
 friend of St. Lambert, and was highly esteemed 
 by Rousseau and Marmontel. 
 
 The power by which Madame d'Houdetot capti- 
 vated the gay, handsome, dissipated St. Lambert, 
 or kindled the imagination of Rousseau, was not 
 that of beauty. Her face was plain, and slightly 
 marked with the small-pox ; her eyes were not 
 good ; she was extremely short-sighted, which 
 made her often appear ungraceful ; she was small 
 in person, and, but for her warm kindness of 
 heart and cheerful sunshine of spirit, would have 
 been quite overlooked in the world. To her sin- 
 gular power of charming, Madame d'Houdetot 
 added talents of no common "order, though never 
 much cultivated. She was a musician, a poet, a 
 wit; but every thing "par la grcice de I)ieu.'\ 
 However, all these gifts, and her benevolence of 
 her nature, will not make amends for her bad 
 morals. Like Dr. Donne's servant, who was per- 
 fect, except for one thing — he was a thief. She 
 died in 1813, aged eighty-three. Her poems were 
 only published as fugitive pieces ; the following is 
 characteristic of her mode of writing : — 
 
 IMITATION DE MAKOT. 
 
 Jeune, j'aimai ; ce temps de mon bel Sge, 
 Ce temps si court, Tamour seul !e remplit. 
 Uuand j'atteignis la saison d'etre sage, 
 Encor j'aimaj, la raison me le dit. 
 Me vojci vieille, et le plaisir s'envole ; 
 Mais le bopheur ne me quitte aujourd'hui, 
 Car j'aime encore, et I'amour me console : 
 Rien n'auroit pu me consoler de lui. 
 
 HOWARD, ANNE, VISCOUNTESS IRWIN, 
 Was daughter of the earl of Carlisle, and mar- 
 ried first the viscount Irwin, and afterwards Colo- 
 nel Douglas. She was a poetess, and wrote in a 
 
 very spirited style. She died in 1760. The best 
 known of her poems is the one in reply to Pope's 
 sarcastic reflections on the sex, in his " Charac- 
 ters of Women." Duncomb, in his "Feminead," 
 praises this poem. We will give an extract from 
 her witty " Reply," &c. : 
 
 — View a fair nymph, blessed with superior charms, 
 
 Whose tempting form the coldest bosom warms; 
 
 No eastern monarch more despotic reigns 
 
 Than this fair tyrant of the Cyprian plains. 
 
 Whether a crown or bauble we desire, 
 
 Whether to learning or to dress aspire, 
 
 Whether we wait with joy the trumpet's call. 
 
 Or wish to shine the fairest at a ball ; 
 
 In either sex the appetite 's the same. 
 
 For love of power is still the love of fame. 
 
 — Women must in a narrow orbit move, 
 
 But power alike both males and females love. 
 
 What makes the difference then, you may inquire. 
 
 Between the hero and the rural squire? 
 
 Between the maid bred up with courtly care. 
 
 Or she who earns by toil her daily fare? 
 
 Their power is stinted, but not so their will. 
 
 Ambitious thoughts the humblest cottage fill : 
 
 Far as they can they push their little fame, 
 
 And try to leave behind a deathless name. 
 
 In education all the difference lies; 
 
 Woman, if taught, would be as learned and wise 
 
 As haughty man, inspired by arts and rules ; 
 
 Where God makes one, nature makes many fools; 
 
 And though nugatixes are daily found, 
 
 Flattering nugators equally abound. 
 
 Such heads are toy-shops filled with trifling ware, 
 
 And can each folly with each female share. 
 
 A female mind like a rude fallow lies. 
 
 No seeds are sown, but weeds spontaneous rise. 
 
 As well might we expect in winter spring. 
 
 As land unfilled a fruitful crop should bring. 
 
 As well we might expect Peruvian ore 
 
 We should possess, yet dig not for the store. 
 
 Culture improves all fruits, all sorts we find, 
 
 Wit, judgment, sense, fruits of the human mind. 
 
 HOWARD, CATHARINE, 
 Fifth wife of Henry VIII. of England, was 
 daughter of Lord Edmund Howard and Joyce, his 
 wife. This marriage proved prejudicial to the 
 Reformation, as Catharine was no friend to the 
 Protestants. She gained such an ascendency over 
 the king, that he gave public thanks to God for 
 the happiness he enjoyed with her. But the next 
 day, archbishop Cranmer came to him with infor- 
 mation that the queen was unfaithful to him. 
 Henry would not at first believe this ; and on 
 Catharine's guilt being clearly proved, he wept. 
 She was tried, found guilty, and executed on 
 Tower-hill, in 1542, about seventeen months after 
 her marriage. Catharine acknowledged that she 
 was not innocent at the time of her marriage, 
 having been seduced by a retainer of her aunt's, 
 the duchess of Northumberland, who had taken 
 charge of her at her parents' death, when she 
 was only fourteen ; but persisted in asserting her 
 fidelity to the king since their marriage. She was 
 young and beautiful at the time of her death. 
 
 HUBER, MARY, 
 A VOLUMINOUS author, was born at Geneva, in 
 1710. The manner of her education is not parti- 
 cularly known. Her principal works are, " Le 
 monde fou, pr^fer^ au monde sage ;" " Le Systgme 
 des Theologians Ancieus et Modernes, sur I'etat 
 des ames s^parges des corps;" " Suite du mgme 
 
 357 
 
HU 
 
 HU 
 
 ouvrage, servant de r^ponse ^ M. Ruchat ;" " Ee- 
 duotion du Spectateur Anglais." This was an 
 abridgment of the Spectator, but did not succeed. 
 " Lettres sur la Religions essentielle k rhomme." 
 Mary Huber was a Protestant, and this latter 
 work in particular was attacked by the divines of 
 the Roman Catholic communion. She had wit 
 and knowledge, but was sometimes coarse in her 
 expressions. She died at Lyons, in France, in 
 1753. 
 
 HUBER, THERESA, 
 Daughtek of the celebrated philologist Heyne, 
 was married to Louis Ferdinand Huber, son of 
 Michael Huber, professor at Leipsio. She was 
 born in 1764, at Gottingen, and was a popular 
 German novelist. During her husband's life, she 
 published several novels under his name. She 
 also edited for some time the Morgenblatt. She 
 died a few years since. 
 
 HUNTER, ANNE, 
 Wipe of John Hunter, the celebrated surgeon, 
 was a sister of Sir Everard Home. She was born 
 in 1742, and was remarkable for her literary 
 attainments. Intimately connected with Mrs. 
 Elizabeth Carter, Mrs. Delany, &c., Mrs. Hunter 
 was a member of the learned coterie of ladies who 
 composed that celebrated society. She excelled 
 in lyric poetry. Several of her songs were set to 
 music by Haydn, and greatly admired. Her pro- 
 ductions were collected and published in one vo- 
 lume, previous to her decease. She died in 1821, 
 much lamented, for her virtues as well as her 
 talents had greatly endeared her to her friends. 
 We add specimens of her poetry. 
 
 O tuneful voice! I still deplore 
 
 Those accents which, though heard no more, 
 
 Still vibrate on my heart; 
 In echo's cave I long to dwell. 
 And still would hear the sad farewell, 
 
 When we were doomed to part. 
 
 Bright eyes, O that the task were mine 
 To guard the liquid fires that shine. 
 
 And round your orbits play ; 
 To watch them with a vestal's care. 
 And feed with smiles alight so fair. 
 
 That it may ne'er decay I 
 
 INDIAN DEATH SONQ. 
 
 The sun sets in night, and the stars shun th.> day. 
 But glory remains when their lights fade away. 
 Begin, you tormentors! your threats are in vain, 
 For the son of Allcnomook will never complain. 
 
 Remember the arrows he shot from his bow. 
 Remember your chiefs by his hatchet laid low. 
 Why BO slow ? Do you wait till 1 shrink from the pain ? 
 No; the son of Alknomook shall never complain. 
 
 Remember the wood where in ambush we lay, 
 And the scalps which we bore from your nation away. 
 Now the flame rises fast; you exult in my paiij; 
 But the son of Alknomook can never complain. 
 
 1 go to the land where my father is gone. 
 His ghost ^all rejoice in the fame of his son ; 
 Death comes, like a fViend, to relieve me from pain ; 
 And thy son, O Alknomook ! has scorned to complain. 
 
 THE lOT OP THOUSANDS. 
 
 When hope lies dead within the heart, 
 By secret sorrow close concealed, 
 
 We shrink lest looks or words impart 
 What must not be revealed. 
 
 'Tis hard to smile when one would weep; 
 
 To speak when one would silent be ; 
 To wake when one would wish to sleep, 
 
 And wake to agony. 
 
 Y"e such the lot by thousands cast 
 Who wander in this world of care. 
 
 And bend beneath the bitter blast 
 To save them from despair. 
 
 But Nature waits her guests to greet. 
 Where disappointment cannot come: 
 
 And time guides with unerring feet 
 The weary wanderers home. 
 
 HUNTINGDON, SELINA, COUNTESS OP, 
 
 Was born in 1707. She was one of three daugh- 
 ters and co-heirs of Washington Shirley, earl Fer- 
 rers ; the other two being Lady Kilmorey and 
 Lady Elizabeth Nightingale. Selina, the second 
 daughter, married, in 1728, Theophilus Hastings, 
 earl of Huntingdon, with whom she lived very 
 happily till his sudden death, in October, 1746. 
 She had several children, four of whom died young. 
 
 Probably these heavy afuictions disposed this 
 lady to take such deep interest in religion. It 
 was at the time when the founders of Method- 
 ism, Wesley and Whitfield, were exciting in Eng- 
 land a spirit of more intense devotion than was 
 generally prevalent, and the Countess of Hunting- 
 don embraced their doctrines with her whole heart. 
 
 She rather inclined to Whitfield's peculiar doc- 
 trines than to Wesley's ; but she chose to be her- 
 self the founder of a sect, which were called " The 
 Countess of Huntingdon's Connexion." She had 
 the control of a large income during her forty-five 
 years of widowhood, and as her own personal ex- 
 penses were small, and she was assisted by other 
 opulent persons, she supported a college at Tre- 
 vecca, in Wales, for the education of ministers, 
 and built sixty-fotr chapels, the ministers of 
 which she assisted to support. Her largest chapel 
 was at Bath, which she frequently attended. She 
 created a trust for the support of her college and 
 chapels after her death. And not only did she 
 thus merit the title of public benefactor, but she 
 also expended, annually, large sums in private 
 charities. She lived for others, and at her death, 
 which took place June 17th, 1791, was deeply 
 mourned by all who knew her ; even those who 
 regarded her conduct as the result of mistaken 
 enthusiasm, respected her for the noble virtues of 
 her character and her Christian conduct. 
 
 HUTCHINSON, ANNE, 
 A WOMAN who caused much diflSculty in New 
 England soon after its settlement, came from Lin- 
 colnshire to Boston in 1635, and was the wife of 
 one of the representatives of Boston. The mem- 
 bers of Mr. Cotton's church used to meet every 
 week to repeat his sermons and discourse on doc- 
 trines. She established similar meetings for wo- 
 men, and soon had a numerous audience. She 
 
HU 
 
 HU 
 
 advocated sentiments of her own, and warped tlio 
 discourses of lier clergyman to coincide with them. 
 She soon threw the whole colony into a flame. The 
 progress of her sentiments occasioned, in 1637, 
 the first synod in America. This convention of 
 ministers condemned eighty-two erroneous opinions 
 then propagated in the country. Mrs. Hutchinson 
 was called before the court in November, 1637 ; 
 and, being convicted of traducing the ministers 
 and advancing errors, was banished from Massa- 
 chusetts. She went with her husband to Rhode 
 Island; and in 1742, after her husband's death, 
 removed into the Dutch colony beyond New Ha- 
 ven, where she, with most of her family, consist- 
 ing of sixteen persons, were captured, and all, 
 except one daughter, killed by the Indians. This 
 occurred in 1643. 
 
 HUTCHINSON, LUCY, 
 Daughter of Sir Allan Aspley, was born in 
 1624. At the age of eighteen she was married to 
 Colonel John Hutchinson, who distinguished him- 
 self as one of the most efScient among the Puritan 
 leaders in the war between Charles I. and the Par- 
 liament. Their courtship was a very romantic one, 
 as it is given by the lady in her " Memoir" of her 
 husband. She says — ' ' Never was there a passion 
 more ardent and less idolatrous ; he loved her 
 better than his life ; with inexpressible tenderness 
 and kindness ; had a most high, obliging esteem 
 of her ; yet still considered honour, religion and 
 duty, above her ; nor ever suffered the intrusion 
 of such a dotage as should blind him from mark- 
 ing her imperfections." That it was "not her 
 face he loved," but "her honour and her virtue 
 were his mistresses," he abundantly proved; for, 
 "on the day fixed for the marriage, when the 
 friends of both parties were assembled, and all 
 were waiting the appearance of the bride, she 
 was suddenly seized with an illness, at that time 
 often the most fatal to life and beauty. She was 
 taken ill of small-pox ; was for some time in im- 
 minent danger; and, at last, when her recovery 
 was assured, the return of. her personal attrac- 
 tions was considered more than doubtful. She 
 says, indeed, herself, that her illness made her, 
 for a long time after she had regained her health, 
 "the most deformed person that could be seen." 
 But Mr. Hutchinson's affection was as strong as 
 his honour. He neither doubted nor delayed to 
 prosecute his suit ; but, thankful to God for her 
 preservation, he claimed her hand as soon as she 
 was able to quit her chamber ; and when the cler- 
 gyman who performed the service, and the friends 
 who witnessed it, were afraid to look at the wreck 
 of her beauty. He was rewarded ; for her features 
 were restored, unblemished as before ; and her 
 form, when he presented her as his wife, justified 
 his taste as much as her more intrinsic qualities 
 did his judgment. They were united to each other 
 on the 3d of July, 1638. 
 
 Their union was an example of the happiness 
 which marriage confers on those who fulfil its du- 
 ties in holy truth and faithful love. In the perils 
 of war Mrs. Hutchinson was an attendant on her 
 beloved husband ; and when, after the restoration 
 
 of Charles II., Colonel Hutchinson was imprisoned 
 in the Tower, she followed him, and never ceased 
 her exertions and importunities till she was per- 
 mitted to visit him. When her husband was re- 
 moved to Sandown Castle in Kent, she, with some 
 of her children, went also, and used every en- 
 treaty to be permitted to reside in the castle with 
 him. This was refused ; but she took lodgings in 
 Deal, and walked every day to Sandown to see and 
 cheer the prisoner. All that could be done to 
 obtain his pardon or liberation, she did ; but as 
 Colonel Hutchinson was a Puritan and a republican 
 on principle, and would not disclaim his opinions, 
 though he would promise to live in quiet, his ene- 
 mies listened to no pleadings for mercy. What 
 was to have been his ultimate punishment will 
 never be known ; the damp and miserable apart- 
 ment in which he was confined brought on an ill- 
 ness which ended his life, September llth, 1664, 
 leaving his wife with eight children and an embar- 
 rassed estate to mourn his irreparable loss. Mrs. 
 Hutchinson was not with him at his death; she 
 had gone to their home to obtain supplies and 
 bring away the children left there. His death- 
 scene shows the estimation in which he held her. 
 So long as he was able to sit up, he read much in 
 the Bible ; and on looking over some notes on the 
 Epistle to the Romans, he said, ' ' When my wife 
 returns, I will no more observe their cross hu- 
 mours ; but when her children are all near, I will 
 have her in the chamber with me, and they shall 
 not pluck her out of my arms. During the winter 
 evenings she shall collect together the observa- 
 tions I have made on this Epistle since I have 
 been in prison." 
 
 As he grew worse, the doctor feared delirium, 
 and advised his brother and daughter not to defer 
 anything they wished to say to him. Being in- 
 formed of his condition, he replied with much 
 composure, " The will of the Lord be done ; I am 
 ready." He then gave directions concerning the 
 disposal of his fortune, and left strict injunctions 
 that his children should be guided in all things by 
 their mother ; " And tell her," said he, " that as 
 she is above other women, so must she on this 
 occasion show herself a good Christian, and above 
 the pitch of ordinary minds." 
 
 Faithfully she fulfilled these injunctions ; evinc- 
 ing her sorrow and her love, not by useless re- 
 pinings, but by training up her children to be like 
 their father, and employing her talents in con- 
 structing a monument to his fame. For this pur- 
 pose she undertook her great work, " The Life of 
 Colonel Hutchinson, by his widow Lucy." This 
 has been republished lately, and the Edinburgh 
 Review thus closes a notice of the work : 
 
 "Education is certainly far more generally dif- 
 fused in our days, and accomplishments infinitely 
 moye common ; but the perusal of this volume has 
 taught us to doubt whether the better sort of wo- 
 men were not fashioned of old, by a purer and 
 more exalted standard ; and whether the most 
 eminent female of the present day would not ap- 
 pear to disadvantage by the side of Mrs. Hutchin- 
 son. There is something in the demestic virtue 
 and calm commanding mind of this English raa- 
 
 .■?;i9 
 
HU 
 
 tron, that makes the Corinnes and Heloises appear 
 very insignificant. We may safely venture to as- 
 sert that a nation which produces many such wives 
 and mothers as Mrs. Lucy Hutchinson, must be 
 both great and happy." 
 
 We should do injustice to the worth of female 
 genius if we omitted to give a few extracts from 
 this work of Mrs. Hutchinson. An "Address to 
 her Children" forms the introduction to the Me- 
 moir. Thus she writes : — 
 
 " I, who am under a command not to grieve at 
 the common rate of desolate women, while I am 
 studying which way to moderate my wo, and, if it 
 were possible, to augment my love, can find out 
 none more just to your dear father, or more con- 
 soling to myself, than the preservation of his me- 
 mory ; which I need not gild with such flattering 
 commendations as the hired preachers equally 
 give to the truly and the nominally honourable ; 
 an undrest narrative, speaking the simple truth 
 of him, will deck him with more substantial glory 
 than all the panegyrics the best pens could ever 
 consecrate to the virtues of the best men. To 
 number his virtues is to give the epitome of his 
 life, which was nothing else but a progress from 
 one degree of virtue to another. His example was 
 more instructive than the best rules of the moral- 
 ists ; for his practice was of a more divine extrac- 
 tion, drawn from the Word of God, and wrought 
 up by the assistance of his spirit. He had a noble 
 method of government, whether in civil, military, 
 or domestic administrations ; which forced love 
 and reverence even from unwilling subjects, and 
 greatly endeared him to the souls of those who 
 rejoiced to be governed by him. He had a na- 
 tive majesty that struck awe into the hearts of 
 men, and a sweet greatness that commanded 
 love." 
 
 ***** 
 Ilis affection foi his wife was such, that who- 
 ever would form rules of kindness, honour, and 
 religion, to be practised in that state, need no 
 more, but exactly draw out his example. Man 
 never had a greater passion or a more honourable 
 esteem for woman ; yet he was not uxorious, and 
 never remitted that just rule which it was her 
 honour to obey ; but he managed the reins of go- 
 vernment with such prudence and affection, that 
 she who would not delight in such honourable 
 and advantageous subjection, must have wanted 
 a reasonable soul. He governed by persuasion, 
 which he never employed but in things profitable 
 to herself. He loved her soul better than her 
 countenance; yet even for her person he had a 
 constant affection, exceeding the common tempo- 
 rary passion of fond fools. If he esteemed her at 
 a higher rate than she deserved, he was himself 
 the author of the virtue he doated on ; for she 
 was but a faithful mirror, reflecting truly, but 
 dimly, his own glories upon him. When she ceased 
 to be young and lovely, he showed her the most 
 tenderness. He loved her at such a kind and 
 generous rate as words cannot express ; yet even 
 this, which was the highest love any man could 
 have, was bounded by a superior feeling ; he re- 
 garded her, not as his idol, but as his fellow-crea- 
 
 IN 
 
 ture in the Lord, and proved that such a feeling 
 exceeds all the irregularities in the world." 
 
 Mrs. Hutchinson brought up her children and 
 lived to see some of them married. The time of 
 her decease is not known. 
 
 HYDE, ANNE, DUCHESS OF YORK, 
 The eldest daughter of Lord Clarendon, and 
 mother of two of the queens of Great Britain, was 
 born in 1638. During the exile of the royal fa- 
 mily she attended her father abroad, and was ap- 
 pointed maid of honour to the princess of Orange, 
 the eldest sister of Charles II. Her intercourse 
 with James, duke of York, then a young and gal- 
 lant soldier, commenced when Miss Hyde was in 
 her twenty-first year. She had accompanied the 
 princess of Orange to Paris, on a visit to her mo- 
 ther, queen Henrietta, when James saw, and fell 
 in love with her. They were betrothed at Breda, 
 November 24th, 1659 ; but there were so many 
 difficulties in obtaining the consent of the royal 
 famOy to this alliance, that they were not married 
 till September 3d, 1660. The ceremony was per- 
 formed at Worcester-House, London. The duchess 
 of York was a handsome and sensible woman, and 
 Uved in harmony with her husband, notwithstand- 
 ing his open infidelities. Before her death she 
 became a Roman Catholic. She died at St. James' 
 palace, March 31st, 1671, in her thirty-fourth 
 year. 
 
 INCHBALD, ELIZABETH, 
 A DKAMATisT and novelist, whose maiden name 
 was Simpson, was born in 1756, at Stanningfield, 
 near Bury, in Suffolk. The beauty of Elizabeth 
 Simpson was much celebrated in the circle of her 
 acquaintance, and she appears to have been no- 
 ticed by those of a higher rank than her own cir- 
 cle ; but an imperfection in her organs of utter- 
 ance rendered her averse to society, and she would, 
 in early youth, fly to solitude, and seek, in books, 
 for the amusement she could not enjoy in conver- 
 sation. The kind of education she received may 
 
 860 
 
IN 
 
 IN 
 
 be gathered from an observation of her own : " It 
 is astonishing how much all girls are inclined to 
 literature, to what boys are. My brother went to 
 school seven years, and could not spell; I, and 
 my two sisters, though we were never taught, 
 could speU from our infancy." 
 
 To cure the impediment in her speech she ex- 
 erted the most persevering efforts, and by repeated 
 trials discovered the way of palliating her defects. 
 She says that she wrote out all the words with 
 which she had any difficulty, carried them con- 
 stantly about with her, and at last perceived, or 
 fancied she perceived, that stage declamation was 
 favourable to this defect, rather than the reverse. 
 
 When sixteen she secretly left her family, 
 prompted by an irrepressible desire to visit Lon- 
 don. After escaping many dangers in this rash 
 adventure, she nlarried Mr. Inchbald, of Drury 
 Lane theatre, and was for several years on the 
 stage. Mr. Inchbald died suddenly, in 1779, and 
 left his widow, at twenty-iive years of age, entirely 
 dependent on herself for support. She continued 
 on the stage for a time, but left it in 1789, and 
 from that time devoted herself solely to her lite- 
 rary labours. She wrote nineteen dramas, some 
 of which were very successful, and two novels, 
 "The Simple Story," and "Nature and Art," 
 which rank among the standard works in that 
 class of literature; and she edited "The British 
 Theatre," " The Modern Theatre," and a collec- 
 tion of farces. Mrs. Inchbald died August 1st, 
 1821, aged sixty-seven. 
 
 The following is the opinion of Miss Edgeworth 
 respecting the " Simple Story," the most popular 
 of Mrs. Inchbald's works : " I have just been 
 reading, for the third, I believe for the fourth 
 time, the ' Simple Story.' Its effect upon my feel- 
 ings was as powerful as at the first reading ; I 
 never read any novel — I except none — I never read 
 any novel that affected me so strongly, or that so 
 completely possessed me with the belief in the 
 real existence of all the persons it represents. I 
 never once recollected the author whilst I was 
 reading it ; never said or thought, that 's a fine 
 sentiment — or, that is well expressed — or, that is well 
 invented; I believed all to be real, and was affected 
 as I should be by the real scenes, if they had 
 passed before my eyes ; it is truly and deeply pa- 
 thetic." 
 
 Of her second novel, " Nature and Art," Mr. 
 Chambers, in his "Cyclopsedia of English Litera- 
 ture," remarks: "Its object may be gathered 
 from the concluding maxim — ' Let the poor no 
 more be their own persecutors — no longer pay 
 homage to wealth — instantaneously the whole ido- 
 latrous worship will cease — the idol will be broken.' 
 Mrs. Inchbald illustrated this by her own practice ; 
 yet few of her readers can feel aught but mortifi- 
 cation and disappointment at the denouement of the 
 tale, wherein the pure and noble-minded Henry, 
 after the rich promise of his youth and his intel- 
 lectual culture, finally settles down with his father 
 to ' cheerful labour in fishing, or the tending of a 
 garden, the produce of which they carry to the 
 next market-town ?' The following brief allusion 
 to the miseries of low London service reminds us 
 
 of the vividness and stern pathos of Dickens : — 
 ' In romances, and in some plays, there are scenes 
 -of dark and unwholesome mines, wherein the la- 
 bourer works during the brightest day by the aid 
 of artificial light. There are, in London, kitchens 
 equally dismal, though not quite so much exposed 
 to damp and noxious vapours. In one of these 
 under ground, hidden from the -cheerful light of 
 the sun, poor Agnes was doomed to toil from 
 morning till night, subjected to the command of a 
 dissatisfied mistress, who, not estimating as she 
 ought the misery incurred by serving her, con- 
 stantly threatened her servants with a dismission, 
 at which the unthinking wretches would tremble 
 merely from the sound of the words ; for to have 
 reflected — to have considered what their purport 
 was — to be released from a dungeon, relieved from 
 continual upbraiding and vile drudgery, must have 
 been a subject of rejoicing ; and yet, because these 
 good tidings were delivered as a menace, custom 
 had made the hearer fearful of the consequence. 
 So, death being described to children as a disaster, 
 even poverty and shame will start from it with 
 affright; whereas, had it been pictured with its 
 benign aspect, it would have been feared but by 
 few, and many, many would welcome it with glad- 
 ness.' " 
 
 But better than any sentiment contained in her 
 works of fiction are the noble generosity and true 
 Christian self-denial she practised towards her 
 poor, unfortunate sister, whom she supported for 
 many years. The tirief notices of her charitable 
 deeds, gathered from letters and the records of 
 her friends, are her best monument. One writer 
 says: "Mrs. Inchbald frequently suffered from 
 the want of fire herself, when it is known that she 
 had enabled others to avail themselves of that 
 necessary of life, and her donations to her sisters 
 and other friends in distress were generous and 
 munificent. To her sister, Mrs. Hunt, she event- 
 ually allowed nearly a hundred per annum. At 
 the time when Mrs. Inchbald was her own servant, 
 she writes, ' I have raised her allowance to eighty, 
 but in the rapid strides of her wants, and my ob- 
 ligation as a Christian to make no selfish refusal 
 to the poor, a few months hence, I foresee, must 
 make the sum a hundred.' Again, in 1810, she 
 says, ' I say no to all the vanities of the world, 
 and perhaps soon shall have to say, that I shall 
 allow nxj poor infirm sister a hundred a year.' 
 
 To the last, Mrs. Hunt depended on Mrs. Inch- 
 bald almost exclusively for support. The follow- 
 ing expresses the sentiments of her feeling and 
 affectionate heart, on the receipt of the intelli- 
 gence that she had no longer a brother or sister 
 in the world. ' To return to my melancholy. 
 Many a time this winter, when I cried with cold, 
 I said to myself — but, thank God, my sister has 
 not to stir from her room : she has her fire lighted 
 every morning ; all her provisions bought, and 
 brought to her ready cooked : she would be less 
 able to bear what I bear ; and how much more 
 should I have to suffer, but from this reflection ! 
 It almost made me warm, when I reflected that 
 SHE suffered no cold; and yet, perhaps, this se- 
 vere weather affected her also, for after only two 
 
 361 
 
IN 
 
 IS 
 
 days of dangerous illness she died I have now 
 buried my whole family.' " 
 
 Probably our readers would like to have a de- 
 scription of this excellent as well as eminent wo- 
 man, who has shown an example of noble virtues 
 under very adverse circumstances, and therefore 
 is entitled to high estimation. Mrs. Inchbald was 
 a strict Roman Catholic. One who knew her well 
 thus describes her personal appearance: "'The 
 fair muse,' as she was often termed, was, when 
 between thirty and forty, above the middle size, 
 rather tall, of a striking figure, but a little too 
 erect and stiff. She was naturally fair, slightly 
 freckled, and her hair was of a sandy auburn hue. 
 Her face and features were beautiful, and her 
 countenance was full of spirit and sweetness." 
 This description is from a decided admirer of 
 hers, who winds it up with observing, that "her 
 dress was always becoming, and very seldom worth 
 so much as eight pence." 
 
 INGLIS, ESTHER, 
 Is celebrated for her skill in calligraphy, or fine 
 writing. In the beauty, exactness, and variety of 
 her characters, she excelled all who preceded her. 
 In the library of Christ-church in Oxford are the 
 Psalms of David, written in French by Mrs. Inglis, 
 who presented them in person to queen Elizabeth, 
 by whom they were given to the library. Two 
 manuscripts, written by Mrs. Inglis, were also pre- 
 served with care in the Bodleian library : one of 
 them is entitled " Le six vingt et six Quatrains de 
 Guy de Tour, sieur de Pybrao, escrits par Esther 
 Inglis, pour son dernier adieu, ce 21 ejour de Juln, 
 1617." The following address is, in the second 
 leaf, written in capital letters : "To the right wor- 
 shipful my very singular friende, Joseph Hall, 
 doctor of divinity, and dean of Winchester, Esther 
 Inglis wisheth all increase of true happiness. 
 Junii xxi. 1617." In the third leaf is pasted the 
 head of the writer, painted upon a card. The 
 other manuscript is entitled " Les Proverbes de 
 Salomon ; escrites en diverses sortes de lettres, 
 par Esther Anglois, en Fran9oise. A Lislebourge 
 en Escosse," 1599. In the royal library, D. xvi. 
 are " Esther Inglis's fifty Emblems," finely drawn 
 and written: A Lislebourg en Escosse, I'anne 
 1624. 
 
 Esther Inglis married, when she was about forty, 
 a Scotchman, Bartholomew Kello, and had one son, 
 who was a learned and honourable man. The time 
 of her death is not known. 
 
 IRETON, BRIDGET, 
 
 Eldest daughter of Oliver Cromwell, was bap- 
 tized at St. John's church, Huntingdon, on the 4th 
 of August, 1624. She was a gloomy enthusiast, 
 and such a bigoted republican, that she grudged 
 her father his title of Protector. Nevertheless, 
 she is spoken of as a person of great wisdom, 
 "humbled and not exalted by her accession of 
 greatness." January 15th, 1647, she was married 
 at Norton to the saintly Henry Ireton, Lord Deputy 
 of Ireland ; and after his death to Fleetwood, who 
 was appointed to the same high post. She seems 
 to have cherished as much admiration for her first 
 
 husband as she entertained contempt for her se- 
 cond. To Fleetwood, however, her strong sense, 
 and advice, were of the greatest assistance. She 
 died at Stoke Newington, where she was buried, 
 September 5th, 1681. 
 
 ISABELLA, QUEEN OF HUNGARY, 
 Sister of Sigismund Augustus, king of Poland, 
 married, in 1539, John Zapolita, king of Hungary. 
 In 1540, she brought him a son, while her husband 
 was besieging the castle of Fogarras ; and he was 
 so transported at the news that he gave a splendid 
 feast to his soldiers, and died of intemperance on 
 the occasion. Isabella, unable to retain the crown 
 for her son, implored aid from the Ottoman Porte,' 
 the armies of which, entering Hungary, vanquish- 
 ed the troops of Ferdinand of Austria, employed 
 in the siege of Buda. Solyman, who headed his 
 troops in person, sent magnificent presents to the 
 young king, whom he entreated he might be al- 
 lowed to see. He excused himself, at the same 
 time, from visiting the queen, lest their interview 
 might prove injurious to her fame. Isabella, while 
 she acknowledged the kindness and delicacy of the 
 sultan, hesitated whether to trust her son in the 
 Ottoman camp. But, at length, impressed by the 
 services which Solyman had rendered to her, and 
 overcome by the remonstrances of her counsellors, 
 she determined on a compliance with the request. 
 The prince, in a superb cradle, on a carriage of 
 state, accompanied by his nurse, with some noble 
 matrons and lords of the court, was conveyed to 
 the camp. He was received by Solyman, who 
 tenderly caressed him, and presented him to his 
 sons Bajazet and Selim, with every royal honour, 
 as a vassal of the Ottoman Porte, and the son of 
 John Zapolita, whom he had highly esteemed. 
 
 But these specious appearances proved but a 
 cover to the insidious purposes of the sultan, who, 
 throwing off the mask, seized upon Buda, Septem- 
 ber 5th, 1541, and obliged Isabella to retire to 
 Lippa, vrith the poor consolation of a promise, 
 that when her son became of age, Hungary should 
 be restored to him. In this reverse of fortune, 
 Isabella displayed great constancy, and endea- 
 voured to content herself with the title of regent 
 of Transylvania, which the rapacity of Solyman 
 had left to her. But, having appointed as her 
 coadjutor in the administration of the government, 
 George Martinusias, a monk, she experienced from 
 him a thousand mortifications, and found the title 
 of regent but an empty honour. A rupture with 
 Martinusias was the consequence ; when, enraged- 
 at the loss of his authority, he called in the assist- 
 ance of Ferdinand of Austria, who sent an army 
 into Hungary, and compelled Isabella, in 1551, to 
 resign Transylvania into his hands, and to retire 
 to Cassovia. While on her journey to Cassovia, 
 the ruggedness of the roads obliged her to descend 
 from her carriage ; when, looking back to Tran- 
 sylvania while the driver was extricating his 
 wheels, and recollecting her former situation, she 
 carved on a tree. her name, with this sentence: — 
 " Sio Fata toldnt" — " So Fate decrees." ' 
 
 Her disposition was too restless and active to 
 allow her to remain long at Cassovia. She went 
 
 362 
 
JE 
 
 JE 
 
 to Silesia, and thence to Poland, where her mo- 
 ther, Bonna Sforza, resided. In the hope of re- 
 gaining her power, she continued to correspond 
 with the grandees of Transylvania ; and she also 
 applied again to Solyman. In 1556, she was, by 
 the efforts of the sultan, restored to Transylvania. 
 She maintained her authority during the rest of 
 her life, without imparting any share of it to her 
 son, John Sigismund. She died September 5th, 
 1558. 
 
 Isabella was a warm Roman Catholic, and some 
 of her regulations were directed with much seve- 
 rity against the heretics. She was a woman of 
 great talents and learning. Her son, after her 
 death, declared in favour of the Protestants. 
 
 J. 
 
 JARDINS, MARIE CATHARINE DES, 
 Was born about 1640, at Alen9on, in Normandy, 
 where her father was provost. She went when 
 young to Paris, where she supported herself for 
 some time by writing novels and dramas. She 
 was three times married ; first, to M. Villedieu, a 
 young captain of the infantry, who was only se- 
 parated, not divorced, from a former wife ; after 
 his death, to the marquis de la Chasse, who was 
 also only parted from his wife ; and, for the third 
 time, to one of her cousins, who allowed her to 
 resume the name of Villedieu. She soon after 
 retired to a little village, called Clinchemare, in 
 the province of Maine, where she died in 1683. 
 
 Her works were printed in 1702, and form ten 
 duodecimo volumes. Her compositions consisted 
 of dramas, miscellaneous poems, fables, and ro- 
 mances ; among which latter class are "Les Dis- 
 ordres de I'Amour;" "Portraits des Faiblesses 
 Humains;" "Les Exiles de la Cour d'Auguste;" 
 " Cleonice ;" " Carmeute ;" " Les Galanteries Gre- 
 nadines;" "Les Amours des Grands Hommes;" 
 " Les Memoirs du Serail ;" &c. 
 
 Her style is rapid and animated ; but she is 
 oft«n incorrect, and her incidents improbable. 
 Her short stories certainly extinguished the taste 
 for tedious romances, and led the way to the 
 novel ; but were by no means of such excellence 
 as those that have since been written. Her verse 
 is inferior to her prose. Her society was much 
 sought by men of learning, wit, and fashion ; and 
 her conduct during her widowhood was by no 
 means irreproachable. But good morals were not 
 then the fashion in French society. 
 
 JEWSBURY, MARIA JANE. 
 We choose to retain the name by which this 
 gifted woman was Isnown as an authoress, although 
 she had changed it before her decease ; but we can 
 never think of her as Mrs. Fletcher. Miss Jewsbury 
 was born about 1800, in Warwickshire, England. 
 In early youth she lost her mother, and was thence- 
 forth called to take her place at the head of a large 
 family. Her father, soop. after her mother's death, 
 removed to Manchester ; and here, in the midst of 
 a busy population, oppressed with ill health, and 
 
 the grave cares of life, the promptings of genius 
 still triumphed, and the young lady found time to 
 dream dreams of literary distinction, which the 
 energy of her mind, in a few years, converted into 
 realities. 
 
 It was at this period that she addressed a letter 
 to Wordsworth, full of the enthusiasm of an ardent 
 imagination : this led to a correspondence with the 
 bard of the Excursion, which soon ripened into 
 permanent friendship. She was also materially 
 assisted in the development of her talents, and the 
 circulation of her first literary efforts, by the ad- 
 vice and active kindness of Mr. Alaric Watts, at 
 that time a resident in Manchester : these obliga- 
 tions she always gratefully acknowledged. 
 
 Her first work was entitled "Phantasmago- 
 ria; or. Essays of Life and Literature," — which 
 was well received by the public. This was fol- 
 lowed by "Letters to the Young," written soon 
 after a severe illness: then appeared "Lays for 
 Leisure Hours." Her last work was her " Three 
 Histories,"* which she allows displays much of 
 her own character and feelings. But her best 
 writings are to be found in the periodicals and 
 annuals, to which she was a large and most popu- 
 lar contributor. 
 
 In 1833, she married Mr. Fletcher, a gentleman 
 who held an office under the London East India 
 Company — and soon after her marriage left Eng- 
 land with her husband for Bombay. She antici- 
 pated with eager pleasure the riches of nature 
 and antiquity, which the gorgeous East would 
 open before her — but the buoyant and active 
 spirit was soon to be called to another and higher 
 existence. She died a short time after reaching 
 India, and sleeps in that " clime of the sun," a fit 
 resting-place for her warm and ardent heart. 
 
 As the best illustration of her character and 
 genius which we can give, we subjoin some ex- 
 tracts from .a private letter, which she wrote to a 
 friendf a shoi-t time before she left England : — 
 
 "The passion for literary distinction consumed 
 me from nine years old. I had no advantages — 
 great obstacles — and now, when from disgust I 
 cannot write a line to please myself, I look back 
 with regret to the days when facility and audacity 
 went hand in hand ; I wish in vain for the simpli- 
 city which neither dreaded criticism nor knew 
 fear. Intense labour has, in some measure, sup- 
 plied the deficiency of early idleness and common- 
 place instruction ; intercourse with those who were 
 once distant and bright as the stars, has become a 
 thing of course ; I have not been unsuccessful in 
 my own career. But the period of timidity and 
 sadness is now come, and with my foot upon the 
 threshold of a new life, and a new world — 
 
 * I would lay down like a tired child, 
 And weep away this life of wo.' 
 
 " Unfortunately, I was twentj'-one before I be- 
 came a reader, and I became a writer almost as 
 soon : it is the ruin of all the young talent of the 
 
 * This interesting volume was republished in America, 
 and was very popular. Her other works have not been re- 
 printed here. 
 
 t Mrs. Nemans. 
 
 363 , 
 
JE 
 
 JE 
 
 day, that reading and ■writing are simultaneous. 
 We do not educate ourselves for literary enter- 
 prise. I would gladly burn almost everything I 
 ever wrote, if so be I might start now with a mind 
 that has seen, read, thought, and suffered some- 
 what, at least, approaching to a preparation. 
 Alas, alas ! we aU sacrifice the palm-tree to obtain 
 the temporary draught of wine ! We slay the 
 camel thdt would bear us through the desert, be- 
 cause we will not endure a momentary thirst. 
 
 " / have done nothing to live. The powers which 
 I feel, and of which I have given promise, may 
 mature — ■ may stamp themselves in act ; but the 
 spirit of despondency is strong upon the future 
 exile, and I fear they never will. In the language 
 of Keats, 
 
 " I feel the long grass growing o'er my heart. 
 
 "In the best of everything I have done, you 
 will find one leading idea — Death. All thoughts, 
 all images, all contrast of thoughts and images, 
 are derived from living much in the valley of that 
 shadow. My poetry, except some half-dozen 
 pieces, may be consigned to oblivion ; but in all 
 you would find the sober hue, which, to my mind's 
 eye, blends equally with the golden glow of sun- 
 set, and the bright green of spring ; and is seen 
 equally in the 'temple of delight,' as is in the 
 tomb of decay and separation. I am melancholy 
 by nature, but cheerful on principle." 
 
 Such was the mind and heart of this noble wo- 
 man. In conversation she was brilliant and elo- 
 quent ; in the domestic circle she was a treasure 
 that Solomon would have placed above " rubies." 
 Active, judicious, and kind, she showed the strength 
 of her understanding, as well as the correctness of 
 her principles, by discharging her household du- 
 ties with the same promptness and cheerfulness 
 with which she pursued her literary career. 
 
 Her friendships are sufi6cient testimony of her 
 genius and her goodness. Mr. Wordsworth, who 
 was her warm friend, thus speaks of her with 
 beautiful simplicity : — 
 
 " Her enthusiasm was ardent, her piety stead- 
 fast, and her great talents would have enabled her 
 to be eminently useful in the path to which she 
 had been called. The opinion she entertained of 
 her own performances, given to the world under 
 her maiden name, was modest and humble, indeed 
 far below her merits, as is often the case with those 
 who are making trial of their powers to discover 
 what they are fit for. In one quality — quickness 
 in the motions of her mind — she was, in the au- 
 thor's estimation, unrivalled." 
 
 In the " Three Histories," Miss Jewsbury has 
 commemorated the friend of her heart's idolatry, 
 Mrs. Hemans. The picture of " Egeria" was, 
 avowedly, taken from this original ; its exquisite 
 beauty renders it a fitting selection to show the 
 power of Miss Jewsbury's genius when brightened 
 by a subject which warmed her heart as well as 
 her imagination. 
 
 PICTUKE OF MES. HEMANS. 
 
 "Egeria was totally different from any other 
 woman I had ever seen, either in Italy or England. 
 
 She did not dazzle, she subdued me ; other women 
 might be more commanding, more versatile, more 
 acute, but I never saw any one so exquisitely 
 
 feminine Hsr birth, her education, but, 
 
 above all, the genius with which she was gifted, 
 combined to inspire a passion for the ethereal, the 
 tender, the imaginative, the heroic — in one word, 
 the beautiful. It was in her a faculty divine, and 
 yet of daily life — it touched all things, but, like 
 a sunbeam, touched them with ' a golden finger.' 
 Anything abstract or scientific was unintelligible 
 and distasteful to her ; her knowledge was exten- 
 sive and various, but, true to the first principle of 
 her nature, it was poetry that she sought in his- 
 tory, scenery, character, and religious belief — 
 poetry that guided all her studies, governed all 
 her thoughts, coloured all her imaginative conver- 
 sation. Her nature was at once simple and pro- 
 found ; there was no room in her mind for philo- 
 sophy, nor in her heart for ambition ; — the one 
 was filled by imagination, the other engrossed by 
 tenderness. She had a passive temper, but de- 
 cided tastes ; any one might influence, but very 
 few impressed her. Her strength and her weak- 
 ness alike lay in her affections ; these would some- 
 times make her weep, at others imbue her with 
 courage ; so that she was alternately ' a falcon- 
 hearted dove,' and a ' reed broken with the wind.' 
 Her voice was a sad, sweet melody, and her spirits 
 reminded me of an old poet's description of the 
 orange-tree, with its 
 
 ' Golden lamps hid in a night of green ;' 
 
 or of those Spanish gardens where the pomegra- 
 nate grows beside the cypress. Her gladness was 
 like a burst of sunlight ; and if, in her depression, 
 she resembled night, it was night bearing her stars. 
 I might describe and describe for ever, but I should 
 never succeed in pourtraying Egeria ; she was a 
 muse, a grace, a variable child, a dependent wo- 
 man, the Italy of human beings." 
 
 THE WEEPER AT THE SEPUIOHKE. 
 
 A sound in yonder glade, 
 
 But not of fount or breeze, 
 A sound — but of the whispering made 
 
 By the palm and the olive trees; 
 It is not the minstrel's lute. 
 
 Nor the swell of the night-bird's song, 
 Nor the city's hum, when all else is mute, 
 
 By echo borne along. 
 
 'Tis a voice — the Saviour's own — 
 
 " Woman, why weepest thou ?" 
 She turns — and her grief is for ever flown, 
 
 And the shade that dimmed her brow ; 
 He is there, her risen Lord, 
 
 No more to know decline; 
 He is there, with peace in his every word. 
 
 The wept one — siill divine. 
 
 "My father's throne to share, 
 
 As King, as God, I go. 
 But a brother's heart will be with me there. 
 
 For my brethren left below !" 
 The Weeper is laid in dust. 
 
 Her Lord is throned on high, 
 But our's may be still that Weeper's trust, 
 
 And our's that Lord's reply. 
 
 364 
 
JE 
 
 JO 
 
 Mourner —*niid nature's bloom, 
 
 Dimming its light witli tears,— 
 And captive — to whom the lone dark room 
 
 Grows darker yet with fears, — 
 And spirit — that like a tird 
 
 Rests not on sea or shore,— 
 The voice in the olive-glade once heard, 
 
 Hear ye — and weep no morel 
 
 BIRTH-DAY BALLAD. 
 
 Thou art plucking spring-roses, Genie, 
 
 And a little red-rose art thou; 
 Thou hast unfolded to-day, Genie, 
 
 Another bright leaf, I trow ; 
 But the roses will live and die, Genie, 
 
 Many and many a time, 
 Ere thou hast unfolded quite. Genie — 
 
 Grown into maiden prime. 
 
 Thou art looking now at the birds, Genie, 
 
 But oh, do not wish their wing. 
 That would only tempt the fowler, Genie, 
 
 Stay thou on earth and sing; 
 Stay in the nursing-nest, Genie, 
 
 Be not soon thence beguiled. 
 Thou wilt ne'er find a second. Genie ; 
 
 Never be twice a child. 
 
 Thou art building towers of pebbles, Genie - 
 
 Pile them up brave and high; 
 And leave them to follow a bee. Genie, 
 
 As he wandereth singing by ; 
 But if thy towers fall down, Genie, 
 
 And if the brown bee is lost, 
 Never weep — for thou must learn, Genie, 
 
 That soon life's schemes are crossed. 
 
 Thy hand ia in a bright boy's. Genie, 
 
 He calls thee his sweet wee wife; 
 But let not thy little heart think, Genie, 
 
 Childhood the prophet of life: 
 It may be life's minstrel, Genie, 
 
 And sing sweet songs and clear; 
 But minstrel and prophet now, Genie, 
 
 Are not united here. 
 
 What will thy future fate be,' Genie? 
 
 Alas! shall I live to see! 
 For thou art scarce a sapling. Genie, 
 
 And I am a moss-grown tree ! 
 I am shedding life's leaves fast, Genie, 
 
 Thou art in blossom sweet; 
 But think betimes of the grave. Genie, 
 
 Where young and old oft meet. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 She 's on my heart, she 's in my thoughts, 
 At midnight, morn and noon ; 
 
 December's snow beholds her there, 
 And there the rose of June. 
 
 I never breathe her lovely name 
 When wine and mirth go round; 
 
 But oh, the gentle moonlight air 
 Knows well the silver sound. 
 
 I care not if a thousand hear 
 When other maids I praise; 
 
 I would not have my brother by. 
 When I upon her gaze. 
 
 The dews were from the lily gone. 
 
 The gold has lost its shine. 
 If any but my love herself 
 
 Could hear me call her mine. 
 
 PASSING AWAY. 
 
 1 asked the stars, in the pomp of night, 
 Gilding its blackness with crowns of light. 
 Bright with beauty, and girt with power, 
 Whether eternity were not their dower; 
 And dirge-like music stole from their spheres. 
 Bearing this message to mortal ears: — 
 
 " We have no light that hath not been given ; 
 We have no strength but shall soon be riven ; 
 We have no power wherein man may trust ; 
 Like him are we things of time and dust ; 
 And the legend we blazon with beam and ray. 
 And the song of our silence, is—' Passing away.' 
 
 " Wo shall fade in our beauty, the fair and bright, 
 Like lamps that have served for a festal night ; 
 We shall fall from our spheres, the old and strong. 
 Like rose-leaves swept by the breeze along; 
 The worshipped as gods in the olden day, 
 We shall be like a vain dream—' Passing away.' " 
 
 From the stars of heaven, and the flowers of earth, 
 From the pageant of power, and the voice of mirth, 
 From the mists of morn on the mountain's brow, 
 From childhood's song, and aflfection's vow. — 
 From all, save that o'er which soul bears sway, 
 Breathes but one record—" Passing away." 
 
 "Passing away." sing the breeze and rill, 
 As they sweep in their course by vale and hill ; 
 Through the varying scenes of each earthly clime, 
 'Tis the lesson of nature, the voice of time; 
 And man at last, like his fathers grey, 
 Writes in his own dust — " Passing away." 
 
 JOHNSON, LADY ARABELLA, 
 
 Was daughter of Thomas, earl of Lincoln. She 
 married Mr. Isaac Johnson, who left his native 
 land for New England, from religious motives. 
 Lady Arabella cheerfully accompanied him, and 
 they arrived at Salem, Massachusetts, in April, 
 1630. Her exalted character and gentleness gained 
 her universal esteem ; but she died the September 
 after her arrival. Mr. Johnson survived her little 
 more than a month. He is regarded as the founder 
 of Boston ; and though his time was brief, yet the 
 good work he accomplished will never be forgotten 
 by the people of New England. But dearer still 
 is the memory of the Lady Arabella, whose exam- 
 ple as a wife and a Christian is an ever-beaming 
 light to her sex. 
 
 JOHNSON, ESTHER, 
 
 Celebrated as the Stella of Dean Swift, was 
 born in 1684. Her father was the steward of Sir 
 William Temple, who, at his death, left the daugh- 
 ter £1000, in consideration of her father's faithful 
 services. At the death of Sir William, she was in 
 her sixteenth year; and about two years after- 
 wards, at Swift's invitation, she left England, ac- 
 companied by Mrs. Dingley, a lady fifteen years 
 older, and whose whole fortune, though she was 
 related to Sir William, was only an annuity of 
 £27. Whether Swift desired the company of Miss 
 Johnson as a friend, or intended to make her his 
 wife, is uncertain ; but they took every precaution 
 to prevent scandal. When Swift was absent, Miss 
 Johnson and her friend resided at the parsonage, 
 but when he returned, they removed; nor were 
 they ever known to meet but in the presence of a 
 third person. During his visits to London, he 
 wrote, every day, an account of what had occurred, 
 to Stella, and always placed the greatest confi- 
 dence in her. 
 
 In 1713, Swift, it is believed, was married to 
 her, by Dr. Ashe, bishop of Clogher; but they 
 continued to live in separate houses, and the mar- 
 riage was never publicly acknowledged. This 
 state of affairs is supposed to have preyed upon 
 
 365 
 
JO 
 
 Stella's health so as to" cause a decline. Dean 
 Swift offered, when she was on her death-bed, to 
 acknowledge her as his wife ; but she replied, " It 
 is too late!" She died in 1728, aged forty-three. 
 She was a beautiful and intellectual woman. The 
 whole story is more romantic than any romance 
 of fiction ; nor have the mysteries ever been satis- 
 factorily explained. 
 
 JORDAN, DOROTHEA, 
 Was the daughter of Captain Bland, of a most 
 * respectable family in Ireland. Her father eloped 
 with her mother, and they both went on the stage. 
 Dorothea commenced her career as an actress in 
 Dublin, but soon quitted that for Tate Wilkinson's 
 York company. She then attracted the attention 
 of the London managers, and was for a long time 
 a great favourite on the English stage. Her forte 
 was comedy. She was at one time the mistress 
 of the duke of Clarence, afterwards William IV., 
 by whom she had several children. She died at 
 ^t. Cloud, in France, in 1816, and was indebted 
 to the kindness of a casual English traveller for a 
 decent interment. 
 
 JOSEPHINE ROSE TASCHER DE 
 LA PAGERIE, 
 
 Empkess of the French, queen of Italy, was 
 born in Martinique, June 24th, 1763. At a very 
 early age she came to Paris, and was married to 
 the Viscount Beauharnais. By this man-iage, 
 which is represented as not having been a happy 
 one, the marquis being attached to another at the 
 time of his union with his wealthy bride — she be- 
 came the mother of two children, Eugene and 
 Hortense, afterwards so well known. In 1787 
 Madame Beauharnais returned to Martinique, to 
 nurse her aged mother, but was soon driven away 
 by the disturbances in that colony. During her 
 absence the French Revolution had broken out, 
 and on her return she found her husband actively 
 engaged in public affairs. Although one of the 
 first actors in the movement which was to regene- 
 rate France, Beauharnais fell a victim to the blood- 
 thirsty fanaticism of the times. Cited before the 
 bar of the Convention, he was condemned to death, 
 
 JO 
 
 and publicly beheaded on the 23d July, 1794. 
 Josephine was imprisoned, where she remained 
 until the death of Robespierre threw open the 
 doors of the prisons. ' 
 
 Josephine is saidto have preserved her serenity 
 during her imprisonment, through her strong faith 
 in a prediction which had been made her ; an old 
 negress in Martinique having foretold, under cir- 
 cumstances of a peculiarly imposing character, 
 that she would one day become queen of France. 
 However reasonably we may doubt the influence 
 of such a circumstance on the mind of a woman 
 condemned to death in such relentless times as 
 these, there is no question of its being a subject 
 often dwelt upon by Josephine when she actually 
 sat upon the throne of France. The prophecies 
 that come to pass, are always remembered! 
 Through her fellow-prisoner, Madame Tallien, Jo- 
 sephine became, after the establishment of the 
 Directory, an influential member of the circle of 
 Barras. According to some writers, she there 
 made the acquaintance of General Bonaparte. 
 The most general belief is, however, that the ac- 
 quaintance was formed through her son Eugene, 
 in the following manner : " The day after the 13th 
 of Vendemiaire, the disarming of the citizens hav- 
 ing been decreed, a boy of fifteen called upon 
 General Bonaparte, then commandant of Paris, 
 and with ingenuous boldness demanded the sword 
 of his father. The general was struck with the 
 boy's deportment; he made particular inquiries 
 about him, and sought an acquaintance with his 
 mother." Bonaparte soon became passionately 
 attached to Madame Beauharnais, and married 
 her on the 17th of February, 1796 ; and his affec- 
 tion for her continued through life. She possessed 
 considerable influence over him, and his letters to 
 her are proofs of his warm attachment, as well as 
 of her amiability. She was always accessible and 
 benevolent to those who sought for mercy or pro- 
 tection from Napoleon. She followed the young 
 hero to Italy, and was with him during that bril- 
 liant period when he laid the foundation of his 
 military reputation. When Bonaparte set out on 
 his expedition to Egypt, Josephine took up her 
 residence at Malmaison. Much has been said of 
 her conduct during this period. Whether the 
 censure was fully merited or not, has never been 
 known ; that Napoleon, on his return, contem- 
 plated a separation, is well ascertained. A recon- 
 ciliation was efl'ected by her children, whom he 
 tenderly loved, and Josephine was again restored 
 to the affection and confidence of her husband. 
 When Napoleon was elevated to the consulate, 
 Josephine constantly exercised her benevolence in 
 favour of the unfortunate. She was particularly 
 kind to the emigrants, many of whom she restored 
 to their country. Napoleon, in one of his letters 
 to her, said, " If I gain battles, it is you who win 
 hearts." 
 
 Josephine loved pomp and show ; her extrava- 
 gance and wasteful expenditure frequently calling 
 down the severest censure from her more just- 
 minded husband. When Napoleon became empe- 
 ror a divorce was proposed to him, but he rejected 
 it. Josephine was consecrated empress of France 
 
 866 
 
JO 
 
 JU 
 
 by pope Pius VII., December 2d, 1804, and the 
 crown which his genius had won for her was placed 
 by Napoleon upon her brow. Soon after, at Mi- 
 lan, she was crowned queen 'of Italy. Josephine 
 acquitted herself in her exalted position with a 
 grace and dignity which won all hearts ; to many, 
 it was a matter of surprise how she had acquired 
 this "royal bearing." Eugene and Hortense, her 
 children, shared her elevation ; Napoleon never 
 neglected their interest, nor that of any members 
 of Josephine's family. As Napoleon's power in- 
 creased, and his family became to all appearances 
 more and more firmly established upon the throne 
 of France, his desire for offspring to continue his 
 line increased ; and after much deliberation, and 
 many painful scenes, a divorce was determined 
 upon. Josephine bore it with a fortitude which 
 her good sense alone enabled her to exert. To 
 have opposed the will of Napoleon would have 
 availed her nothing, and it was every thing to her 
 to continue to possess his esteem. The world, 
 too, would sympathize with a wife who, under 
 such painful circumstances, yielded with dignity 
 to her fall; her impotent resistance would only 
 excite its contempt or sneers. Josephine retired 
 to Malmaison, at the age of forty-six, with the 
 title of empress-dowager, and two millions of 
 francs a year. Napoleon visited her occasionally, 
 and always gave proofs of his esteem and regard 
 for her. While at St. Helena, he paid the highest 
 tribute to her virtues and amiability. On the 
 birth of the king of Rome, in 1811, Josephine is 
 said to have exhibited the most unfeigned satis- 
 faction. If such was really the case, her magna- 
 nimity was of the highest order ; for that event, 
 which must have confirmed Napoleon's sense of 
 the expediency of the divorce, also rendered his 
 wife more dear to him, and Josephine's situation 
 more glaringly humiliating. 
 
 In 1814, Josephine beheld the. downfall of that 
 throne which she had once shared. "When Napo- 
 leon retired to Elba, she wrote to him, signifying 
 her wish, if permitted, to follow him in his re- 
 verses. When the allies entered Paris, she was 
 treated with the most distinguished consideration. 
 The king of Prussia and the emperor of Russia 
 visited her at Malmaison, and showed her flatter- 
 ing attentions. On the 19th of May, the emperor 
 Alexander and the king of Prussia dined with her. 
 She was extremely indisposed, and, in opposition 
 to her physician's wishes, did the honours to her 
 royal guests. The next day she became much 
 worse ; her disease, a species of quinsy, increasing 
 rapidly. On the 29th of May, 1814, she expired, 
 in the full possession of her faculties. Her chil- 
 dren were with her, and, by their affectionate 
 attentions, soothed her last moments. Her body 
 was interred in the church of Ruel, where, seven 
 years after, her children were permitted to erect 
 a monuent to her. 
 
 Josephine was handsome ; her figure was ma- 
 jestic and elegant ; but her greatest charms were 
 her grace and goodness of heart. She has been 
 called Napoleon's " star." His fortunes, it is said, 
 arose with her, and waned when their connexion 
 ceased. The English, when they paint the empress 
 
 Josephine, in their hatred of Napoleon always 
 depict her in the most glowing colours. To exalt 
 Napoleon's repudiated wife, is to censure him. 
 We, who are less liable to prejudice, may be able 
 to estimate her character more impartially, and 
 may fairly inquire how much of the devotion for 
 which she has been so highly praised, belonged to 
 the man, how much to his'station, 
 
 Napoleon's ardent attachment to her admits of 
 no such doubt ; his actions, as well as his letters 
 to her, prove it ; particularly those written in the 
 early part of their married life, when he frequently 
 complains of her coldness, The prudence of her 
 conduct while Napoleon was absent in Egypt, may 
 reasonably be doubted. If so, we may ask, how 
 far the woman who was chosen by such a man as 
 the sharer of his name and fortunes was worthy 
 of her destiny ? Her extravagance, even while 
 seated upon a throne, we have seen, was consider- 
 ed reprehensible by her husband. Napoleon had 
 not an exalted opinion of women ; how much this 
 might be owing to the example of the woman 
 whom he knew best, the reader must decide. If 
 Josephine had been as eminent for high womanly 
 virtues, as he was for exalted genius ; if she had 
 been in truth Napoleon's " star," her fate might 
 have been a different one. 
 
 JUDSON, ANNE HASSELTINE, 
 Was born in 1789, in Bradford, Massachusetts. 
 She was carefully educated, and became early 
 distinguished for her deep and earnest religious 
 character. In February, 1812, she married Ado- 
 niram Judson ; and in the same month sailed for 
 Calcutta, her husband being appointed missionary 
 to India. Soon after they reached Calcutta, they 
 were ordered by the East India Company, who 
 were opposed to all missionary labour among the 
 natiires, to quit the country. While waiting for 
 an opportunity of leaving, Mr. and Mrs. Judson 
 employed their time in investigating the subject 
 of baptism ; and being convinced that their pre- 
 vious opinions had been erroneous, they joined 
 the Baptist Church at Calcutta. In July, 1813, 
 Mr. and Mrs. Judson arrived at Rangoon, in Bur- 
 mah, where for many years they laboured success- 
 
 367 
 
J0 
 
 JU 
 
 fully and diligently in the cause of religion. In 
 1821, in consequence of protracted ill health, Mrs. 
 Judson returned alone to America, where she re- 
 mained till 1823, when she rejoined her husband 
 in Rangoon. Difficulties arising between the go- 
 vernment of Bengal and the Burman empire, and 
 the taking of Rangoon by the British in 1824, 
 caused the imprisonment of Mr. Judson and se- 
 veral other foreigners, who were at Ava, the 
 capital of the Burman empire. For two years, 
 the inexpressible sufferings endured by these pri- 
 soners, were alleviated by the constant care and 
 exertions of Mrs. Judson ; and it was owing in a 
 great measure to her efforts that they were at last 
 released. 
 
 In 1826, the missionary establishment was re- 
 moved from Rangoon to Amherst ; and in October, 
 of that year Mrs. Judson died of a fever during her 
 husband's absence. The physician attributed the 
 fatal termination of the disease to the injury her 
 constitution had received from her long-protracted 
 sufferings and severe privations at Ava. In about 
 six months after her death, her only child, an in- 
 fant daughter, was laid by her side. That some 
 correct idea may be formed by those who have not 
 read the memoir of Mrs. Judson, of the exertions 
 and sufferings of this angelic woman, whose mis- 
 sion was to wear out her precious life for the pre- 
 servation of others and the advancement of her 
 Saviour's cause, we will give one extract from her 
 "Narrative" of the imprisonment of Mr. Judson, 
 written in form of a letter to her brother-in-law. 
 
 MRS. JUDSON AT OCNG-PEN-IA. 
 
 " Th'e next morning I arose and endeavoure'd to 
 find something like food. But there was no market, 
 and nothing to be procured. One of Dr. Price's 
 friends, however, brought some cold rice and vege- 
 table curry, from Amarapora, which, together with 
 a cup of tea from Mr. Lansago, answered for the 
 breakfast of the prisoners ; and for dinner, we 
 made a curry of dried salt fish, which a servant 
 of Mr. Grouger had brought. All the money I 
 could command in the world, I had brought with 
 me, secreted about my person ; so you may judge 
 what our prospects were, in case the war should 
 continue long. But our Heavenly Father was 
 better to us than our fears ; for notwithstanding 
 the constant extortions of the jailers, during the 
 whole six months we were at Oung-pen-la, and 
 the frequent straits to which we were brought, we 
 never really suffered for the want of money, 
 though frequently for want of provisions, which 
 were not procurable. Here at this place my per- 
 sonal bodily sufferings commenced. While your 
 brother was confined in the city prison, I had been 
 allowed to remain in our house, in which I had 
 many conveniences left, and my health had con- 
 tinued good beyond all expectations. But now I 
 had not a single article of convenience — not even 
 a chair or seat of any kind, excepting a bamboo 
 floor. The very morning after my arrival, Mary 
 Hasseltine was taken with the small-pox, the na- 
 tural way. She, though very young, was the only 
 assistant I had in taking care of little Maria. But 
 she now required all the time I could spare from 
 
 Mr. Judson, whose fever still continued in prison, 
 and whose feet were sj dreadfully mangled, that 
 for several days he was unable to move. I knew 
 not what to do, for I could procure no assistance 
 from the neighbourhood, or medicine for the suf- 
 ferers, but was all day long going backwards and 
 forwards from the house to the prison with little 
 Maria in my arms. Sometimes X was greatly re- 
 lieved by leaving her, for an hour, when asleep, 
 by the side of her father, while I returned to the 
 house to look after Mary, whose fever ran so high 
 as to produce delirium. She was so completely 
 covered with the small -pox, that there was no 
 distinction in the pustules. As she was in-the same 
 little room with myself, I knew Maria would take 
 it ; I therefore inoculated her from another child, 
 before Mary's had arrived at such a state as to be 
 infectious. At the same time, I inoculated Abby, 
 and the jailer's children, who all had it so lightly as 
 hardly to interrupt their play. But the inoculation 
 in the arm of my poor little Maria did not take — 
 she caught it of Mary, and had it the natural 
 way. She was then only three months and a half 
 old, and had been a most healthy child ; but it was 
 above three months before she pe^rfectly recovered 
 from the effects of this dreadful disorder. 
 
 "You will recollect I never had the small-pox, 
 but was vaccinated previously to leaving America. 
 In consequence of being for so long a time con- 
 stantly exposed, I had nearly a hundred pustules 
 formed, though no previous symptoms of fever, 
 &c. The jailer's children having had the small- 
 pox so lightly, in. consequence of inoculation, my 
 fame was spread all over the village, and every 
 child, young and old, who had not previously had 
 it, was brought for inoculation. And although I 
 knew nothing about the disorder, or the mode of 
 treating it, I inoculated them all with a needle, 
 and told them to take care of their diet, — all the 
 instructions I could give them. Mr. Judson's 
 health was gradually restored, and he found him- 
 self much more comfortably situated, than when 
 in the city prison. 
 
 " The prisoners were at first chained two and 
 two ; but as soon as the jailers could obtain chains 
 sufficient, they were separated, and each prisoner 
 had but one pair. The prison was repaired, a new 
 fence made, and a large airy shed erected in front 
 of the prison, where the prisoners were allowed to 
 remain during the day, though locked up in the 
 little close prison at night. All the children reco- 
 vered from the small-pox ; but my watchings and 
 fatigue, together with my miserable food, and more 
 miserable lodgings, brought on one of the diseases 
 of the country, which is almost always fatal to 
 foreigners. My constitution seemed destroyed, and 
 in a few days I became so weak as to be hardly able 
 to walk to Mr. Judson's prison. In this debilitated 
 state, I set off in a cart for Ava, to procure medi- 
 cines, and some suitable food, leaving the cook to 
 supply my place. I reached the house in safety, 
 and for two or three days the disorder seemed at a 
 stand ; after which it attacked me so violently, that 
 I had no hopes of recovery left — and my only , 
 anxiety now was, to return to Oung-pen-la to die 
 near the prison. It was with the greatest difficulty 
 
 868 
 
JU 
 
 JU 
 
 that I obtained the medicine-chest from the Go- 
 vernor, and then had no one to administer medi- 
 cine. I howeyer got at the laudanum, and by 
 taking two drops at a time for several hours, it so 
 far checked the disorder, as to enable me to get 
 on board a boat, though so weak that I could not 
 stand, and again set off for Oung-peu-la." 
 
 To show the estimate in which the services and 
 talents of Mrs. Judson were held by the British 
 residents of India, we will give the statement made 
 by one of the English prisoners confined at Ava 
 with Mr. Judson. It was published in a Calcutta 
 paper. 
 
 " Mrs. Judson was the author of those eloquent 
 and forcible appeals to the government, which 
 prepared them by degrees for submission to terms 
 of peace, never expected by any, who knew the 
 hauteur and inflexible pride of the Burman court. 
 
 " And while on this subject, the overflowings 
 of grateful feeings, on behalf of myself and fellow- 
 prisoners, compel me to add a tribute of public 
 thanks to that amiable and humane female, who, 
 though living at a distance of two miles from our 
 prison, without any means of conveyance, and 
 very feeble in health, forgot her own comfort and 
 infirmity, and almost every day visited us, sought 
 out and administered to our wants, and contri- 
 buted in every way to alleviate our misery. 
 
 "While we were all left by the government 
 destitute of food, she, with unwearied persever- 
 ance, by some means or other, obtained for us a 
 constant supply. 
 
 " When the tattered state of our clothes evinced 
 the extremity of our distress, she was ever ready 
 to replenish our scanty wardrobe. 
 
 " When the unfeeling avarice of our keepers 
 confined us Inside, or made our feet fast in the 
 stocks, she, like a ministering angel, never ceased 
 her applications to the government, until she was 
 authorized to communicate to us the grateful news 
 of our enlargement, or of a respite from our gall- 
 ing oppressions. 
 
 " Besides all this, it was unquestionably owing, 
 in a chief degree, to the repeated eloquence, and 
 forcible appeals of Mrs. Judson, that the untu- 
 tored Burman was finally made willing to secure 
 the welfare and happiness of his country, by a 
 sincere peace." 
 
 Mrs. Ann H. Judson was the first American 
 wo&an who resolved to leave her friends and 
 country to bear the Gospel to the heathen in fo- 
 reign climes. Well does she merit the reverence 
 and love of all Christians ; nor can the nineteenth 
 century furnish the record of a woman who so 
 truly deserves the title — a missionary heroine. 
 
 JUDSON, SARAH B., 
 
 Daughter of Ralph and Abia Hull, was born 
 in Alstead, New Hampshire, November 4th, 1803. 
 She was first married to the Rev. George D. Board- 
 man, in 1825, and soon after accompanied her 
 husband, and other missionaries, to Calcutta. 
 The first destination of Mr. and Mrs. Boardman 
 was Tavoy ; and there, after encountering great 
 dangers and sufferings, and overcoming appalling 
 difficulties and discouragements, in all of which 
 
 r 
 
 Mrs. Boardman shared with her beloved husband, 
 Mr. Boardman died, in 1831. She had previously 
 lost two children ; one only, a son, was left her, 
 and they were alone, in a strange land. But she 
 did not desert her missionary duties. Four years 
 she remained a widow, and then was united in 
 marriage with the Rev. Dr. Judson. Their union 
 was a happy one ; but after the birth of her fourth 
 child her health failed, and a voyage to America 
 was recommended as the only hope of restoration. 
 Dr. Judson, with his wife and children, took pas- 
 sage for their own country ; but on reaching the 
 Isle of France, Mrs. Judson's health was so greatly 
 improved, that Dr. Judson, whose duties in Burmah 
 were urgent, determined to return, while his wife 
 and children should visit America. The arrange- 
 ments were accordingly made, and in expectation 
 of the parting, Mrs. Judson wrote this sweet and 
 most pathetic poem, addressed to her husband : 
 
 We part on this green islet, love, — 
 
 Thou for the eastern main; 
 I for the setting sun, love, 
 
 Oh, when to meet again! 
 
 My heart is sad for thee, love. 
 
 For lone thy way will be ; 
 And oft thy tears will fall, love. 
 
 For thy children and for me. 
 
 The music of thy daughter's voice 
 
 Thou 'It miss for many a year. 
 And the merry shout of thine elder boys 
 
 Thou 'It list in vain to hear. 
 
 When we knelt to see our Henry die. 
 And heard his last, faint moan. 
 
 Each wiped the tear from the other's eye- 
 Now each must weep alone. 
 
 My tears fall fast for thee, love, 
 
 How can 1 say farewell ? 
 But go, thy God be with thee, love. 
 
 Thy heart's deep grief to quell. 
 
 Yet my spirit clings to thine, love. 
 
 Thy soul remains with me. 
 And oft we'll hold communion sweet, 
 
 O'er the dark and distant sea. 
 
 And who can paint our mutual joy. 
 
 When, all our wanderings o'er. 
 We both shall clasp our infants three, 
 
 At home on Burmah's shore. 
 
 But higher shall our raptures glow. 
 
 On yon celestial plain, 
 When the loved and parted here below 
 
 Meet, ne'er to part again. 
 
 Then gird thine armour on, love, 
 
 Nor faint thou by the way — 
 Till the Boodh shall fall, and Burmah's sons 
 
 Shall own Messiah's sway. 
 
 But they did not thus part ; on putting out to 
 sea, Mrs. Judson grew rapidly worse, and died 
 within sight of the rooky island of St. Helena, 
 where she was buried, September 3d, 1845. 
 
 If this second Mrs. Judson was less distinguished 
 than her predecessor for strength of mind and the 
 power of concentrating her energies, so as to dis- 
 play, at a glance, her talents, yet she was not in- 
 ferior in loveliness of character. The genius and 
 piety of Mrs. Sarah B. Judson will ever keep her 
 memory sacred as a pure light in the path of the 
 female missionary. 
 
 369 
 
JU 
 
 JU 
 
 JULIANA, 
 A siNGULAK character, of Norwich, England, 
 who, in her zeal for mortification, confined herself 
 for several years within four walls. She wrote 
 " Sixteen Revelations of Divine Love showed to a 
 devout Servant of our Lord, called Mother Juliana, 
 an Anchoret of Norwich, who lived in the days of 
 King Edward III.," published in 1610. 
 
 JULIANA, 
 A WOMAN who possessed great influence at the 
 court of the Mogul emperors of Hindostan, in the 
 early part of the last century. She was born in 
 Bengal, in 1658, and was the daughter of a Por- 
 tuguese named Augustin Diaz d'Acosta. Being 
 shipwrecked, she went to ^he court of the great 
 Mogul, Aurengzebe, whose favour she conciliated 
 by presenting him with some curiosities. Being 
 appointed superintendent of the harem of that 
 prince, and governess of his son, Behadur Shah, 
 she rendered important services to the latter, who 
 succeeded to the crown in 1707, under the title of 
 Shah Aulum. He was obliged to defend his au- 
 thority against his brothers by force of arms ; and 
 in the battle, Juliana, mounted on an elephant by 
 his side, encouraged and animated both him and 
 the troops, and he was indebted to her for the 
 complete victory he obtained. Her services were 
 rewarded with the title of princess, the rank of 
 the wife of Seu Omrah, and a profusion of riches 
 and honours. Shah Aulum often said, " If Ju- 
 liana were a man, she should be my vizier." Je- 
 hander Shah, who became emperor of Hindostan 
 in 1712, was equally sensible of her merit; and 
 though she experienced some persecution when 
 that prince was deposed, in 1713, by his nephew, 
 she speedily recovered her influence, and retained 
 it till her death, in 1733. 
 
 JUNOT, LAURA, DUCHESS D'ABRANTES, 
 Was bom in Montpelier, 1785. Constantine 
 Comnena, a scion of the imperial stock, emigrated 
 from the Peloponnesus, in 1676. He was followed 
 by a body of three thousand Greeks. After two 
 years of wandering they settled in the island of 
 
 Corsica, then a savage and uncultivated region, 
 which they brought to some degree of culture and 
 civilization, although the fierce and restless spirit 
 of the native inhabitants kept them in a state of 
 perpetual, sharp, yet petty warfare. When Cor- 
 sica was sold to France, under Louis XIII., an- 
 other Constantine, a man of approved valour and 
 worth, was at the head of the Comnena family. 
 He was the father of three sons, and a daughter, 
 called Panona, who married a Frenchman by the 
 name of Pernon. Upon the breaking out of the 
 Corsican revolution, he was driven to seek shelter 
 in France. From this vinion sprang the Duchess 
 d'Abrantes. Destined to experience the most ex- 
 traordinary vicissitudes, her very cradle was dis- 
 turbed by the agitations which convulsed France 
 at that period. In an autobiographical sketchy 
 she speaks of her childish terrors, when, in the 
 absence of her parents, she was placed at a board- 
 ing-school among strangers ; the terrible days of 
 September (1792) are particularly commemorated. 
 Her father, for whom she appears to have enter- 
 tained a particularly tender afi'ection, died while 
 she was still a child : she also lost the sister near- 
 est her own age — • to these afflictions were added 
 most straitened pecuniary circumstances. The 
 latter difficulties, after a time, diminished, and 
 Madame Pernon established herself comfortably 
 in Paris, where her house soon became the resort 
 of all the most noted men of that day. The at- 
 tractions, personal and mental, of her daughter, 
 were not undistinguished. A man of rank and 
 wealth made an oflfer of his hand : he was old 
 enough to be her grandfather, but this seemed no 
 objection in the eyes of the mother, who with dif- 
 ficulty yielded to Laura's repugnance, and gave 
 up a match which held out so many mercenary 
 advantages. Another matrimonial proposal soon 
 was presented, which came to a more fortunate 
 conclusion. Among the generals who distinguished 
 themselves in the wars of Napoleon, was Junot, 
 born of respectable parents at Bussy-le-6rand, in 
 1771. Before entering the career of arms, he had 
 studied jurisprudence, with his friend Marmont ; 
 but the cannons of the revolution roused him to 
 visions of fame, and he enrolled himself in the 
 very first battalion that was formed in his pro- 
 vince. At the siege of Toulon he was a sergeant 
 of grenadiers : an accident was the beginning of 
 his advancement. Napoleon called out, on s8me 
 exigency, for somebody to step forward who pos- 
 sessed a good hand-writing. Junot came from 
 the ranks, and began a letter, under the great 
 man's dictation. Scarcely had he formed the last 
 sentence, when a bomb cast by the English, burst- 
 ing at ten paces from him, covered the writer and 
 the writing with earth. "Capital!" said Junot, 
 smiling, "here is exactly what we want, sand to 
 dry the ink." Such intrepidity was not lost on 
 Bonaparte ; he kept the heroic soldier in his eye, 
 and soon after obtaining his generalship, he made 
 Junot his adjutant. This man, on his return from 
 the expedition to Egypt, was introduced to the 
 house of Madame Pernon. He soon manifested 
 an attachment to the young Laura ; and as his 
 military grade, and favour with the first consul, 
 
 370 
 
JTJ 
 
 KA 
 
 were united to personal beauty and pleasing ad- 
 dress, he was successful in the suit : they were 
 married in 1800. A very brilliant course awaited 
 this couple, to be terminated with respect to both 
 in a manner singularly unfortunate. Title, riches, 
 and honours, were showered upon them ; the 
 duchess d'Abrantes was attached to the imperial 
 household, and no less favoured by the ladies of 
 the Bonaparte family than her husband was by 
 its chief. Junot, in the very height of his for- 
 tunes, became suddenly a raging lunatic. His 
 cure being despaired of, by the consent of the best 
 physicians, he was placed in a celebrated asylum 
 for the insane : here his sole object appeared self- 
 destruction. Taking advantage of a momentary 
 absence of his keeper, he violently wrenched away 
 the window-bolt, and threw himself out : he was 
 taken up in the street below, without a sign of 
 life. The death of the duke d'Abrantes was fol- 
 lowed by the destruction of the empire, and the 
 unfortunate widow found herself in a position 
 which combined want of friends with want of 
 means. It was then that she determined to have 
 recourse to literature to aid her in the maintenance 
 and education of her family. Her first work of 
 importance was "Historical Eecollections of Na- 
 poleon, the Revolution, the Consulship, the Em- 
 pire." She has been charged with a blind admi- 
 ration of the hero of these scenes, perhaps justly ; 
 but it was difficult for those who rose through 
 that meteor's course, and partook of its brilliancy, 
 to preserve cool and unbiassed the judgment. We 
 may safely grant the author good faith in all she 
 advances. This production was followed by va- 
 rious successful works of history, biography, tra- 
 vels, and romances. But for the descendant of 
 the Greek emperors, the authoress of fifty volumes, 
 the member of learned societies, what a sad end 
 was reserved! She had been for twenty years 
 troubled by a painful malady, to alleviate which 
 she indulged in the use of opium, and it is sup- 
 posed this pernicious drug accelerated the pro- 
 gress of her disease. Worse than physical pains, 
 a hard-hearted creditor, seeing the increasing ill- 
 ness, and fearing death might step in to withdraw 
 his victim, actually brought an execution to her 
 death-bed, and for the miserable sum of four hun- 
 dred francs, sold the furniture of her apartment 
 under her very eyes. She had not yet sunk deep 
 enough in misery : it remained for her to be taken 
 to the hospital to die ! Eemoved from splendid 
 apartments, she was cast into a bare, unfurnished 
 cell, and left to the cares of a hireling nurse, 
 whose venal attentions were distributed among 
 many others. But earthly difficulties were fast 
 passing away. On the night of the 7th June, 
 1838, she received the sacrament from the hands 
 of the archbishop of Paris, who came to this hum- 
 ble couch to administer comfort to one who was 
 the favourite of his flock. She died the next 
 morning in the arms of her children, in a state of 
 perfect resignation, confiding in the promises of 
 the Saviour. She left four children, two daugh- 
 ters and two sons, all estimable, and worthy of 
 the attention their mother had ever bestowed on 
 them. 
 
 K. 
 
 KAMAMALU, 
 
 (The name signifies The Shade of the Lonely 
 One,) was the daughter of Kamehameha, king of 
 the Sandwich Islands, who, from his conquests 
 and character, has been styled "the Napoleon of 
 the Pacific." Kamamalu was his favourite daugh- 
 ter, and he married her to his son and heir, Liho- 
 liho, who was born of a different mother ; inter- 
 marriages of brother and sister being then prac- 
 tised in those heathen islands. 
 
 After the death of Kam«hameha, his son Liho- 
 liho succeeded to be king of Hawaii, and all the 
 islands of the group ; and Kamamalu was queen, 
 and his favourite wife, though he had four others. 
 This was in 1819 ; the following year was the ad- 
 vent of the Gospel and Christian civilization to 
 these miserable heathen. As has ever been the 
 case, women joyfully welcomed the glad tidings 
 of hope and peace and purity. Kamamalu was 
 among the first converts, and eagerly embraced 
 the opportunities for instruction. In 1822, she 
 was diligently prosecuting her studies, could read 
 and write, and her example was of great influence 
 in strengthening the wavering disposition of her 
 husband, and finally inducing him to abandon his 
 debaucheries, and become, as he said, "a good 
 man." 
 
 As proof of the wonderful progress made by 
 this people in the manners of civilized life, and 
 also marking the thoughtful benevolence of Kama- 
 malu, we give an extract from a valuable work by 
 Mr. Jarves on the Hawaiian Islands. 
 
 " On the 26th of March, 1823, his majesty held 
 his annual festival in celebration of the death of 
 Kamehameha I. On this occasion he provided a 
 dinner in a rural bower, for two hundred indivi- 
 duals. The missionaries and all respectable fo- 
 reigners were present ; and the dresses were an 
 improvement upon the costune of the preceding 
 year. Black was the court colour, and every in- 
 dividual was required to be clothed in its sombre, 
 hue. Kamamalu appeared greatly to advantage. 
 
 371 
 
KA 
 
 KA 
 
 The company were all liberally proylded for by 
 her attentions ; and even a party of sailors, to the 
 number of two hundred, who were looking on 
 with wistful eyes, were served with refreshments." 
 
 In the autumn of the same year, Liholiho de- 
 termined to visit England first; and then the 
 United States. Kamamalu, his favourite wife, 
 (polygamy was not then abolished,) was selected 
 to accompany him ; they left Honolulu, November 
 27th, 1823. The people were greatly distressed 
 at the departure of their king and queen. Kama- 
 malu remained on shore to the last, mingling her 
 tears with those of her attendants, to whom her 
 amiability and attention to domestic concerns had 
 greatly endeared her. Before stepping into the 
 boat, she, after the manner of her forefathers, 
 thus chaunted her farewell : " ! heaven ; ! 
 earth ; ! mountains ; ! sea ; ! my counsel- 
 lors and my subjects, farewell ! ! thou land for 
 which my father suffered, the object of toil which 
 my father sought. We now leave thy soil ; I fol- 
 low thy command; I will never disregard thy 
 voice ; I will walk by the command which thoii 
 hast given me." Royal salutes were fired, and 
 the ship soon disappeared before a favourable 
 breeze. 
 
 They reached London safely ; and the first ap- 
 pearance of Kamamalu was rather novel ; she 
 wore loose trowsers and a long bed-gown of co- 
 loured velveteen. However, the whole party were 
 soon fitted with clothes of the newest fashion. 
 Kamamalu for the first time encircled her ample 
 waist in corsets ; and as she was really a fine- 
 looking woman, and had an air of native majesty, 
 and was moreover a queen, many of the London 
 ladies sought patterns of the turban that graced 
 her brow. 
 
 This party of semi-barbarians was flattered and 
 feasted, and hurried from one rout to another, 
 in a manner which their tropical constitutions 
 could very ill bear. The king, Liholiho, took the 
 measles ; and, in a few days afterwards, his wife 
 Kamamalu was seized with the same disease. 
 Liholiho appeared to be recovering rapidly, when 
 his wife was found to be dying. The mutual grief 
 of the royal couple was affecting. They held each 
 other in a warm and protracted embrace, while 
 the thought of dying so early in their career, so 
 far from their loved islands and friends, caused 
 the tears to gush freely. In the evening she died. 
 This sad event so affected the depressed spirits of 
 the king, that although hopes of his recovery had 
 been entertained, he sank rapidly, and on the 
 14th, after much severe suffering, breathed his 
 last. Previously to his death, he drew up a rough 
 memorandum, in which he expressed his wish to 
 have his body and that of his consort conveyed to 
 their native land; his personal effects he distri- 
 buted among his retinue. 
 
 The will of the dead was observed ; the bodies 
 of Liholiho and Kamamalu were taken to Hono- 
 lulu ; and, with a mingling of barbaric pomp and 
 Christian observances, interred. 
 
 Kamamalu was about twenty-six years of age 
 at the time of her decease. Had her life been 
 prolonged, with her uncommon talents and the 
 
 earnest purpose she manifested of learning the 
 true and doing works of goodness, she would 
 doubtless have been of great aid in the improve- 
 ment of the people of Hawaii. 
 
 KAPIOLANI 
 Was wife of Naihe, hereditary counsellor in the 
 court of king Liholiho, at Honolulu. As wife of 
 one of the highest chiefs, Kapiolani had great in- 
 fluence, which she used in favour of the missiona- 
 ries, and in aid of the improvement of the people 
 of Hawaii. She did much to prevent infanticide, 
 debauchery, and drunkenness ; but the heroic deed 
 which distinguishes her name was the overthrow 
 of the idolatrous worship of Pele. The immediate 
 region around the crater of Kilauea, being remote 
 from all the mission stations, remained for several 
 years under the influence of the priesthood of this 
 goddess, the most fearful of all the deities of Ha- 
 waii. Sacrifices were there offered, and the wicked 
 rites of heathenism practised. The priests taught 
 that whoever insulted the tabu or withheld the 
 offerings required, would be destroyed by Pele, 
 who would spout forth liquid fire, and devour her 
 enemies; and their poor Ignorant followers be- 
 lieved them. But early in the year 1825, their 
 credulity was staggered by the boldness of Kapio- 
 lani, who, with a daring which, when her previous 
 associations are considered, does her infinite cre- 
 dit, determined to convince its votaries of the 
 falsity of their oracles. She visited the wonderful 
 phenomenon ; reproved the idolaty of its worship- 
 pers, and neglected every rite and observance 
 which they had been taught to consider as neces- 
 sary for their welfare. In vain the priests launched 
 their anathemas, and denounced upon her the ven- 
 geance of the offended deity. She replied, she 
 feared not; and would abide the test of daring 
 Pele in the recesses of her domains : the fires of 
 the volcano were the work of the God she wor- 
 shipped. Venturing to the brink of the abyss, 
 she descended several hundred feet toward the 
 liquid lava, and after casting the sacred berries 
 into the flames, an act than which none more 
 sacrilegious according to their ideas could have 
 been done, she composedly praised Jehovah amid 
 one of the most sublime and terrible of his works. 
 There is a moral grandeur in this deed, worthy of 
 a Christian philosopher. The sincerity of her faith 
 could not have been put to a severer test. 
 
 KARSCH, ANNA LOUISA, 
 A German poetess, was born December 1st, 
 1722, in a small hamlet called Nammer, on the 
 borders of Lower Silesia. Her father kept an 
 alehouse; but, dying before Louisa was eight 
 years old, she was taken by a great-uncle, re- 
 siding in Poland, who taught her to read and 
 write. 
 
 Having remained three years with this relative, 
 she returned to her mother, who employed her in 
 household labour and in taking care of the cows. 
 It was at this time that Louisa began to display 
 her fondness for intellectual occupations ; but her 
 mother checked her inclinations as much as possi- 
 ble. When she was seventeen she was married to 
 
 872 
 
KA 
 
 KE 
 
 a wool-oomber ; and, being obliged td share his 
 labour, as well as attend to her household, she 
 had but little leisure to cultivate the muses. She, 
 nevertheless, composed verses while she worked, 
 and on Sunday committed them to paper. After 
 living with this husband for eleven years, she ob- 
 tained a divorce. 
 
 Her poverty induced her to marry Karsch, a 
 tailor, whose dissipated habits threw all the sup- 
 port of the family on Louisa, and rendered her 
 very unhappy. It was at this time that she iirst 
 began to sell her poems ; and she also wandered 
 about the country as an improvisatrice. Her writings 
 having fallen into the hands of several gentlemen, 
 she was encouraged by them to persevere. In 
 1755, she removed with her family to Great Glo- 
 gau, where, for the first time, she gained access 
 to a bookseller's shop. 
 
 In 1760, she became acquainted with Baron 
 Cottwitz, a Silesian nobleman, who, travelling 
 through Glogau, was struck with her talents ; and, 
 commiserating her distress, he took her with him 
 to Berlin, and introduced her to the circle of lite- 
 rati, and to the king, Frederic William II. Here 
 she composed most of the poems that were printed 
 in her collection. 
 
 Several small pensions were bestowed upon her ; 
 but as she had two children and a brother de- 
 pendent on her, they proved insufficient for her 
 support. Frederic William II. had a house built 
 for her, and she was so anxious to occupy it, that 
 she went into it before the walls were dry. This 
 imprudence cost her her life. She died, October, 
 1791. Her daughter published her memoirs and 
 some of her poems, in 1792. 
 
 KAUFFMAN, MARIA ANGELICA, 
 Was born in 1742, at Coire, the capital of the 
 Grisons. She was instructed in the elements of 
 painting by her father, whose talents were mode- 
 rate, and whom she soon excelled. She loved 
 music, and her admiration of the beautiful was 
 early developed. At the age of fourteen her father 
 took her to Milan, where her talents and personal 
 accomplishments rendered her an object of general 
 admiration. In 1764 she went to Venice, and the 
 
 following year accompanied Lady Wentworth, the 
 wife of the British ambassador, to England. Here 
 she painted the whole royal family, which increased 
 her reputation and improved her circumstances ; 
 and she was soon elected a member of the royal 
 academy. In London she contracted a most un- 
 fortunate marriage, the details of which, from 
 their romantic character, we are apt to assume, 
 are only to be found in the pages of fiction. An 
 English artist who had addressed her and been 
 refused, stung by his disappointment, determined 
 to be revenged upon her. He selected a very 
 handsome young man from the lowest ranks — 
 some say he was a footman — and passing him off 
 for a German count, introduced him into the house 
 of Angelica, where he soon became a suitor. An- 
 gelica was deceived, and married him. The re- 
 jected artist now disclosed the deceit, and Angelica 
 obtained a divorce ; not, however, without suffer- 
 ing great ill-usage from her low-minded husband, 
 who fled, after robbing her of three hundred 
 pounds. Seven years after, her husband having 
 meanwhile died, Angelica married a Venetian 
 painter. Signer Zucchi, with whom she lived very 
 happily. She continued to retain her maiden 
 name, and never had any children. Signer Zuc- 
 chi also died long before her. Angelica resided 
 seventeen years in England ; she then went to 
 Rome, where she devoted herself to painting till 
 her death, in 1807. In 1808, her bust was placed 
 in the Pantheon. She left a select library, some 
 beautiful original paintings of old masters, and a 
 considerable fortune, which she divided among 
 several individuals and charitable institutions. 
 She painted many portraits and historical pictures, 
 the latter chiefly after the antique ; she treated 
 poetical subjects in a fascinating manner that was 
 peculiarly her own, drew well, coloured beauti- 
 fully, and etched in a spirited style. Her works 
 are remarkable for grace, though the critic may 
 discover in them incorrectness of style and same- 
 ness of plan. 
 
 KELLEY, FRANCES MARIA, 
 Was born at Brighton, England, December 15th, 
 1790. Her father was an ofBcer in the navy, and 
 brother to Michael Kelley, under whom Frances 
 studied music and singing. She made her first 
 appearance at Drury Lane, in 1800, and in 1808 
 was engaged at the Haymarket, and afterwards 
 at the English Opera House, where she was very 
 successful. As an actress, Miss Eelley's talents 
 were very versatile. Her character was always 
 irreproachable: 
 
 KERALIO, MADAME DE, 
 
 Was born at Paris, in 1758. She is known 
 principally as a translator of several works from 
 the English and Italian. She also wrote a volu- 
 minous " History of Queen Elizabeth," several 
 novels, and edited a collection of the best French 
 works composed by women. 
 
 KILLIGREW, ANNE, 
 " A Gkaoe for beauty, and a Muse for wit," as 
 Wood says, was the daughter of Dr. Henry Killi- 
 
KI 
 
 KI 
 
 grew, one of the prebendaries of Westminster, and 
 born in London, a little before the restoration of 
 Charles II. She showed indications of genius 
 very early, which being carefully cultivated, she 
 became eminent in the arts of poetry and painting. 
 She painted a portrait of the duke of York, after- 
 wards James II., and also of the duchess, to whom 
 she was maid of honour. She also painted some 
 historical pictures and some pieces of still-life, for 
 her own amusement. She was a woman of exem- 
 plary piety and virtue. Dryden speaks of her in 
 the highest terms, and wrote a long ode to her 
 memory. She died of the small-pox, June, 1685, 
 in her twenty-fifth year. She was buried in the 
 Savoy Chapel. 
 
 KILLIGREW, CATHARINE, 
 Daughter of Sir Anthony Cooke, was born at 
 Giddy-hall, in Essex, about 1530; and married 
 Henry Killigrew, Esq., a Cornish gentleman, who 
 was knighted, for the good service he did his 
 country when an ambassador. This lady, having 
 an excellent education, and much natural talent, 
 became, like many other women of her time, very 
 learned. She understood Hebrew, Greek, and 
 Latin, and was famous for her poetical skill. The 
 following lines were addressed to her sister Mil- 
 dred, Lady Burleigh ; the subject of this poem 
 has never been fully ascertained — whether a lover, 
 a husband, or a friend, __was the happy person for 
 whom the lady pleaded. Dr. Fuller thinks the lines 
 refer to Sir Henry Killegrew, when about to be 
 sent ambassador to France, which, as the times 
 were troublesome, was not a desirable mission. 
 
 LINES TO MILDKED CECIL. 
 
 Si mihim quern cupio cures, Mrldreda, remitti, 
 
 Tu bona, tu melior, tu mihi sola soror: 
 
 Sin malg cessando retines. et trans mare mittis, 
 
 Tu mala, tu pejor, tu mihi nulla soror. 
 
 Is si Cornubia, tibi pax sit et omnia Iteta ; 
 
 Sin mare, CiciliiE nuncio bella. Vale. 
 
 Translation, 
 
 If Mildred, to my wishes kind. 
 
 Thy valued charge thou send, 
 In thee my soul shall hold combined 
 
 The sister and the friend. 
 If from my eyes by thee detained 
 
 The wanderer cross the seas, 
 No more thy love shall soothe as friend. 
 
 No more as sister please. 
 His stay let Cornwall's shore engage: 
 
 And peace with Mildred dwell! 
 Else war with Cecil's name I wage, 
 
 Perpetual war! — Farewell. 
 
 KINGSTON, ELIZABETH, DUCHESS OF, 
 Daughter of Colonel Chudleigh, governor of 
 Chelsea college, England, was born in 1720. On 
 her father's death, as she was left without ade- 
 quate provision, her friends obtained for her the 
 post of maid of honour to the princess of Wales, 
 mother of George III. Her wit and beauty made 
 her very much admired, and the duke of Hamilton 
 proposed to her. But while he was on the conti- 
 nent, and Miss Chudleigh was visiting her aunt, 
 Mrs. Hanmer, she was induced, August 4th, 1744, 
 to marry, privately, Captain Hervey, a naval offi- 
 cer, afterwards earl of Bristol. She soon con- 
 
 ceived a violent dislike to her husband, heightened, 
 by the discovery that she had been deceived about 
 the duke of Hamilton, and the marriage was never 
 acknowledged. Wishing to destroy all record of 
 her union with Captain Hervey, she contrived to 
 tear the leaf out of the parish register in which 
 her marriage was entered ; but after he became 
 earl of Bristol she had it replaced. When the 
 duke of Kingston made her a proposal of marriage, 
 she endeavoured to obtain Lord Bristol's consent 
 to a divorce, and at length succeeded, and mar- 
 ried, March 8th, 1769, Evelyn Pierrepont, duke 
 of Kingston, who left her, at his death, in 1773, 
 his immense fortune. The heirs of the duke had 
 her arrested for bigamy, as having been divorced 
 by an incompetent tribunal. She was tried before 
 the house of lords, and found guilty ; but on her 
 pleading the privilege of peerage, she was dis- 
 charged, on paying the fees of the office. Her 
 fortune was not affected by the sentence. She 
 went abroad, and died near Fontainebleau, in 
 France, August 28th, 1788. 
 
 KIRCH, MARY MARGARET, 
 Of Leipsic, Germany, was the daughter of 
 Matthias Winkelman, a Lutheran divine. She 
 married, in 1692, Godfrey Kirch, an eminent as- 
 tronomer, of Luben, in Lower Lusatia, who, when 
 appointed royal astronomer, in 1700, in the aca- 
 demy of sciences at Berlin, found in his wife an 
 intelligent assistant, and an able calculator. She 
 discovered, in 1702, a comet; and, in 1707, she 
 observed that remarkable Aurora Borealis which 
 the astronomers of Europe noticed in their me- 
 moirs. The husband died in 1710, and the fol- 
 lowing year his wife published " A Discourse on 
 the approaching Conjunction of Jupiter, Saturn, 
 &c." She was equally eminent for her private 
 virtues as for her talents, and died at Berlin, in 
 1720, aged fifty. 
 
 KIRCHGESSNER, MARIANNE, 
 
 Was born, 1770, at Bruchsal. The loss of her 
 eye-sight, in her fourth year, by the small-pox, 
 seemed rather to have augmented than lessened 
 her talent for music. In the sixth year of her 
 age, she astonished her auditors by her execution 
 on the piano. Taught by Schmittbaur, in Carlsruhe, 
 she made the most extraordinary progress. In 
 company with Mr. Bassler (her biographer) she 
 travelled, in her tenth year, over Germany, where 
 she received everywhere, great applause ; and, 
 1794, she went to London. Her abode there, of 
 three years, besides the perfecting of her art, was 
 useful to her on account of her eye-sight having 
 become partly restored. In November, 1796, she 
 visited Copenhagen, and went from thence to St. 
 Petersburg ; and after having gained just appro- 
 bation and well-merited reward in all these places, 
 she chose' the beautiful village of Gahles, near 
 Leipsic, for her dwelling-place. She remained 
 there until 1807, in the society of her friend, Mr. 
 Bassler, when she intended to go back to her na- 
 tive country ; but at Schaffhausen she experienced 
 a violent attack of fever, of which she died, on the 
 9th of December, in her thirty-eighth year. 
 
 874 
 
KL 
 
 KL 
 
 KLOPSTOCK, MARGAKET, 
 or MET A, 
 Whose maiden name was Moller, was born in 
 Hamburg, March 19th, 1728. In 1751, the famous 
 Frederic Gottlelb Klopstock became acquainted 
 with this young enthusiastic German maiden. The 
 story of their courtship and marriage has been 
 told by the lady herself; any abridgement would 
 mar its beautiful simplicity ; even its imperfect 
 English has the charm of truth; it is like the 
 lisping, stammering language of a child, who is 
 only earnest to make you understand its feelings, 
 and caring nothing for the criticism its language 
 may cause. These letters of Mrs. Klopstock were 
 addressed to Kichardsou the novelist, author of 
 Sir Charles Grandison. 
 
 Hameueg, March 14th, 1758. 
 ***** 
 
 You will know all that concerns me. Love, 
 dear sir, is all what me concerns ! and love shall 
 be all what I will tell you in this letter. 
 
 In one happy night I read my husband's poem, 
 the Messiah. I was extremely touched with it. 
 The next day I asked one of his friends, who was 
 the author of this poem ? and this was the first 
 time I heard Klopstock's name. I believe, I fell 
 immediately in love with him. At the least, my 
 thoughts were ever with him filled, especially be- 
 cause his friend told me very much of his charac- 
 ter. But I had no hopes ever to see him, when 
 quite unexpectedly I heard that he should pass 
 through Hamburg. I wrote immediately to the 
 same friend, for procuring by his means that I 
 might see the author of the Messiah, when in 
 Hamburg. He told him that a certain girl at 
 Hamburg wished to see him, and, for all recom- 
 mendation, showed him some letters, in which I 
 made bold to criticise Klopstock's verses. Klop- 
 stock came, and came to me. I must confess, that, 
 though greatly prepossessed of his qualities, I 
 never thought him the amiable youth whom I 
 found him. This made its effect. 
 
 After having seen him two hours, I was obliged 
 to pass the evening in a company, which had never 
 been so wearisome to me. I could not speak, I 
 could not play ; I thought I saw nothing but Klop- 
 stock. I saw him the next day, and the following, 
 and we were very seriously friends. But the fourth 
 day he departed. It was an strong hour the hour 
 of his departure ! He wrote soon after, and from 
 that time our correspondence began to be a very 
 diligent one. I sincerely believed my love to be 
 friendship. I spoke with my friends of nothing 
 but Klopstock, and showed his letters. They 
 rallied at me and said I was in love. I rallied 
 them again, and said that they must have a very 
 friendshipless heart, if they had no idea of friend- 
 ship to a man as well as to a woman. Thus it 
 continued eight months, in which time my friends 
 found as much love in Klopstock's letters as in 
 rae. I perceived it likewise, but I would not be- 
 lieve it. At the last Klopstock said plainly that 
 he loved, and I startled as for a wrong thing. I 
 answered, that it was no love, but friendship, as 
 
 it was what I felt for him ; we had not seen one 
 another enough to love. (As if love must have 
 more time than friendship ;) This was sincerely 
 my meaning, and I had this meaning till Klopstock 
 came again to Hamburg. This he did a year after 
 we had seen one another the first time. We saw, 
 we were friends, we loved ; and we believed that 
 we loved ; and a short time after I could even tell 
 Klopstock that I loved. But we were obliged to 
 part again and wait two years for our wedding. 
 My mother would not let marry me a stranger. I 
 could marry then without her consentment, as by 
 the death of my father my fortune depended not 
 on her ; bat this was an horrible idea for me ; and 
 thank heaven that I have prevailed by prayers. 
 At this time, knowing Klopstock, she loves him as 
 her lifely son, and thanks God that she has not 
 persisted. We married, and I am the happiest 
 wife in the world. In some few months it will be 
 four years that I am so happy, and still I dote 
 upon Klopstock as if he was my bridegroom. 
 ***** 
 He is good, really good, in all his actions, in all 
 the foldings of his heart. I know him ; and some- 
 times I think if we knew others in the same man- 
 ner, the better we should find them. For it may 
 be that an action displeases us which would please 
 us, if we knew its true aim and whole extent. No 
 one of my friends is so happy as I am ; but no 
 one has had courage to marry as I did : They 
 have married — as people marry; and they are 
 happy — as people are happy. 
 
 Hamburg, August 26, 1758. 
 
 Why think you, Sir, that I answer so late ? I 
 will tell you my reasons. Have not you guessed 
 that I, summing up all my happinesses, and not 
 speaking of children, had none? Yes, Sir, this 
 has been my only wish ungratified for these four 
 years. But thanks, thanks to God ! I am in full 
 hope to be a mother in the month of November. 
 The little preparations for my child (and they are 
 so dear to me) have taken so much time, that I 
 could not answer your letter, nor give you the 
 promised scenes of the Messiah. This is likewise 
 the reason wherefore I am still here ; for properly 
 we dwell in Copenhagen. Our staying here is only 
 on a visit (but a long one) which we pay my family. 
 My husband has been obliged to make a little visit 
 alone to Copenhagen, I not being able to travel 
 yet. He is yet absent — a cloud over my happi- 
 ness ! He will soon return — But what does thit 
 help ? he is yet equally absent ! We write to eacli 
 other every post — but what are letters to pre- 
 sence? But I will speak no more of this little 
 cloud ; I will only tell my happiness ! But I can- 
 not tell how I rejoice ! A son of my dear Klop- 
 stock ! Oh, when shall I have him ! It is long 
 since I made the remark that the children of 
 geniuses are not geniuses. No children at all, bad 
 sons, or, at the most, lovely daughters, like you 
 and Milton. But a daughter or a son, only with a 
 good heart, without genius, I will nevertheless 
 love dearly. 
 
 This is no letter, but only a newspaper of your 
 Hamburg daughter. When I have my husband 
 
 375 
 
KO 
 
 KR 
 
 and my child, I -will write you more, (if God gives 
 me health and life.) You will think that I shall 
 be not a mother only, but a nurse also ; though the 
 latter (thank God ! that the former is not so too) 
 is quite against fashion and good manners, and 
 though nobody can think it possible to be always 
 with the child at home. M. Klopstock. 
 
 But these hopes were never, in this life, to be 
 realized ; the mother and babe both died ; — and 
 the poor bereaved husband and father was left 
 desolate ! In a letter to a friend, Klopstock de- 
 scribes the manner of her death and their last 
 parting. After having prayed with her for a long 
 time, he said, as he bent over her, " Be my guar- 
 dian angel, if God permits." "You have ever 
 been mine," she replied. And when with stifled 
 voice he again repeated, " If God permits, be my 
 guardian angel !" she fixed her eyes upon him full 
 of love, and said, " Ah, who would not be your 
 guardian angel!" 
 
 Just before she died, she said, with the serene 
 smile of an angel, " My love, you will follow 
 me!" 
 
 Some time after her decease, Klopstock pub- 
 lished her writings, which are, " Letters from the 
 Dead to the Living;" "The Death of Abel," a 
 tragedy ; and several small poems. Her husband 
 says that these were written entirely for her own 
 amusement, and that she always blushed and was 
 very much embarrassed whenever he found her 
 writing, and expressed a wish to see what she had 
 done. He says, too, " that her taste was correct, 
 and highly cultivated, and that her criticisms upon 
 his poetry were always extremely apt and judi- 
 cious ; he knew instantly by her countenance, 
 whether his thoughts pleased her ; and so perfect 
 was their sympathy, that their souls could hold 
 delightful communion almost without the aid of 
 language." 
 
 KOERTEN, JOANNA, 
 
 A CELEBRATED Dutch artist, was born at Am- 
 sterdam, iu 1650. She married Adrian Block, 
 and arrived at great excellence in drawing, paint- 
 ing, and embroidery. She also modelled in wnx, 
 made artificial ornaments, and flowers ; but her 
 principal excellence was in cutting figures out of 
 paper with the scissors ; and her portraits and 
 landscapes in this way were so celebrated, that 
 foreigners visited Amsterdam to see them, amongst 
 whom was Peter the Great, of Russia. Sea-pieces, 
 animals, architecture, and still-life, were her fa- 
 vourite subjects ; but she also cut portraits on 
 paper with as striking a resemblance as if they 
 had been painted by the ablest artists. The elec- 
 tor-palatine offered her one thousand florins for 
 three small pictures of her cutting, which she re- 
 fused as insufScient. At the request of the em- 
 peror of Germany, she designed a trophy with the 
 arms of the empire, ornamented with laurel crowns, 
 wreaths of flowers, and other suitable designs, 
 which she executed with great correctness of 
 drawing and wonderful beauty. The empress 
 gave her for it four thousand florins. She also 
 out the emperor's poi-trait, which is hung up in 
 
 the imperial cabinet at Vienna. She died iu 1715, 
 aged sixty-five. 
 
 KONIGSMARK, MARIE AURORE, 
 
 COUNTESS or. 
 
 One of the numerous mistresses of Augustus II., 
 king of Poland and elector of Saxony, was bom in 
 1678. She was descended from one of the oldest 
 families in Brandenburg, and was a woman of 
 great beauty and talents, and of uncommon politi- 
 cal abilities. Thoroughly educated, she spoke 
 several languages, played on various instruments, 
 composed music, and sang and painted with great 
 skill ; she also excelled in conversation. In 1678 
 she went to Dresden, and, at first sight, Augustus 
 fell in love with her. She rejected his overtures 
 for some time, but at last yielded, and became the 
 mother of the famous Marshal Saxe. When the 
 love of Augustus declined, the countess of Koniga- 
 mark conducted herself so discreetly that he al- 
 ways remained her friend. By his influence she 
 was appointed superintendent of Quedlinberg, in 
 1700, where she remained till her death, in 1728. 
 She was beloved by all around her, and was very 
 kind to the poor. 
 
 KRUDENER, JULIANNA, BARONESS 
 OF VALERIA, 
 Was born in Riga, about 1776. Her father. 
 Baron Vietinghoff, one of the richest landed pro- 
 prietors in Courland, gave her a careful education. 
 When a young girl, her parents took her to Paris, 
 where her father's house was the resort of men 
 of talents ; and her wit, beauty, and cheerfulness, 
 were much admired. In her fourteenth year, she 
 was married to Baron Kriidener, a Livonian, about 
 thirty-six years old. She accompanied her hus- 
 band to Copenhagen and Venice, where he was 
 Russian minister. In these places, and in St. 
 Petersburg, Madame Kriidener, placed by rank 
 and wealth in the first circles, was one of their 
 most brilliant ornaments. She was surrounded 
 by admirers of her talents and beauty ; but she 
 was not happy. She became the mother of two 
 children ; but her natural liveliness of tempera- 
 ment, and the allurements of the world, led her 
 into levities which finally caused a divorce from 
 her husband. In 1791 she returned to her father's 
 house, in Riga, where she was considered one of 
 the most amiable and accomplished ladies, with a 
 feeling heart and lively imagination. But Riga 
 did not satisfy her, and she lived alternately at 
 Paris and St. Petersburg. Her love of amusements 
 involved her, in both places, in many difficulties. 
 In the midst of these, she wrote a novel, of which 
 she had formed the plan at an earlier period — 
 "Valerie ou Lettres de Gustave de Linar 4 Erneste 
 de G." — in which she delineated certain scenes of 
 her own life. The disasters of Prussia arrived ; 
 and Madame Kriidener, being then about the per- 
 son of the queen of Prussia, and participating in 
 her afiiiction, turned her mind from the pleasures 
 of the world to the subject of religion, though, 
 perhaps, little change may have been produced in 
 the essentials of her character. Ambition, a lively 
 sensibility, and love of excitement, seem to have 
 
 376 
 
KR 
 
 LA 
 
 remained the great springs of her actions. She 
 was now attracted by the principles of the Mora- 
 vians. She went again to Paris, where she found 
 many disciples, chiefly among those who, having 
 been accustomed to live on excitements from early 
 youth, and having become sickened with those of 
 fashionable life, turn with pleasure to those of 
 devotion. On the commencement of the war of 
 the northern powers against Napoleon, Madame 
 Kriidener went to Geneva. She began to believe 
 herself called to preach the gospel to the poor ; 
 and therefore visited the prison at Heidelberg, 
 and preached to the criminals condemned to death. 
 In 1814 she returned to Paris, where she became 
 acquainted with Alexander, the emperor of Rus- 
 sia, who had already shown a disposition to reli- 
 gious contemplations, and upon whom her conver- 
 sation had great influence. In Paris she had 
 prayer-meetings, attended by distinguished person- 
 ages, where she was seen in the back-ground of a 
 suite of rooms, in the dress of a priestess, kneeling 
 in prayer. It is very generally believed that her 
 conversations with Alexander were mainly instru- 
 mental in suggesting the idea of the holy alliance : 
 it is certain that in her later sermons she held it up 
 almost as a new covenant. In 1815 she went to 
 Bale, where a small community of devout mystics 
 was already collected. Here a young clergyman 
 of Geneva followed her, and preached in the 
 prayer-meetings which the baroness held every 
 evening. Women and girls went in numbers to 
 these meetings, and gave liberally to the poor, 
 often to a degree much beyond what they could 
 afford. These meetings had a very bad moral 
 effect. Cases were reported which excited great 
 scandal, and a preacher named Fasch flnally de- 
 nounced the priestess. The magistracy of Bale 
 obliged her to leave the city. She experienced 
 the same treatment at Lorrach, Aaran, and other 
 places ; yet, according to the common course of 
 things, the number of her followers increased, 
 particularly among young females. At the same 
 time, she carried on an extensive correspondence, 
 and money was sent to her from great distances. 
 In 1816, with her daughter, she went to reside 
 not far from Bale, in Baden. Here she assembled 
 many poor people, great numbers of whom were 
 vagabonds, whom she provided with food and lodg- 
 ings without labour. These were very ready to 
 profit by the kindness of the benevolent lady, who 
 preached against the cold-heartedness of the rich 
 as the source of all evil. The public peace was 
 so much disturbed by these proceedings, that her 
 place of residence was surrounded by soldiers, in 
 1817, and her disciples carried away to Lorrach. 
 She wrote, in consequence, a remarkable letter to 
 the minister at Carlsruhe, in which she spoke of 
 the "desert of civilization" through which she was 
 obliged to wander, and reminded him of the law 
 of God, requiring the authorities to take care of 
 the poor. She now travelled about, preaching in 
 the open air, often surrounded by thousands of 
 people, and giving bountifully to the poor. Wher- 
 ever she arrived, she was under the surveillance 
 of the police. In Leipsic, police ofiicers were 
 even placed at her door, so that nobody could be 
 
 admitted to see her. At length the police trans- 
 ported her to the Russian frontier, where she re- 
 ceived orders not to go to Moscow or to St. Peters- 
 burg. In 1824, she went with her daughter and 
 her son-in-law to the Crimea, and died there the 
 same year, December 13th, at Karafubasar. She 
 appears to have been an amiable enthusiast, pour- 
 ing out pious effusions, mingled with arrogant 
 prophecies ; and is one of the many instances 
 where ardent zeal and good intention (for it is 
 probable that she considered herself to be doing 
 right) are by no means suflScient to render one 
 capable of effecting a great reformation. 
 
 L. 
 LABBE, LOUISE, (LA BELLE CORDIERE), 
 
 Was born in Lyons, in 1525 or 1526. Her fa- 
 ther, Pierre Chardin, surnamed Labb6, was a rope- 
 maker or seller. He had her carefully instructed 
 in the Greek, Latin, Spanish, and Italian lan- 
 guages, and also in riding and military exercises. 
 She was fond of music, hunting, and war. Her 
 boldness was increased by the example of the he- 
 roines of her own time. Before she was sixteen, 
 she went to Perpignan, in the army of the young 
 dauphin, where, under the name of Captain Loys, 
 she showed great valour. Among the numerous 
 admirers attracted by her beauty, her talents, and 
 her courage, a young warrior, whose name is un- 
 known, inspired her with a lasting passion. 
 
 Louise Labb^ married Ennemond Perrin, a 
 wealthy rope-seller, by which she was enabled to 
 devote herself entirely to her literary tastes. Her 
 house, near Lyons, became the resort of men of 
 letters, and persons of distinction. In these so- 
 cieties, where Louise was the presiding genius, 
 every thing was collected that could gratify the 
 understanding, delight the imagination, or capti- 
 vate the senses. The charms, talents, and assem- 
 blies of La belle Cordiere, excited jealousy, and 
 provoked scandal in the society of Lyons. Her 
 writings, too, sometimes voluptuous, and some- 
 times satirical, afi'orded new provocation for cen- 
 sure, for which her conduct gave suspicion if not 
 proof. 
 
 The most celebrated of her works is a fiction 
 entitled " Debat de Folie et d' Amour ;" it is dedi- 
 cated to her illustrious friend Clemence de Bourges. 
 This piece is full of wit, originality, and beauty. 
 Erasmus and La Fontaine were both indebted to 
 it ; the first, for the idea of " The Praise of Folly," 
 and the last, for " L'Amour et la Folie." In 
 truth, La Fontaine's poem is only a versification 
 of the prose story of Louise Labb^. Her elegies 
 and sonnets are highly esteemed by the French. 
 
 We may find some excuse for her conduct in the 
 character of the age, when gallantry was not con- 
 sidered dishonourable ; and she herself was sur- 
 rounded by a crowd of agreeable and distinguished, 
 but licentious men. Her generosity, her taste for 
 learning, and her acquirements, so extraordinary 
 for the times, effaced this stain in the eyes of 
 
 377 
 
LA 
 
 LA 
 
 most of her contemporaries, as we learn from tri- 
 butes of esteem paid her. The street in Lyons 
 where her house was situated was called after her, 
 and still bears the name of La Belh Cordiire. The 
 charm of her conversation, her accomplishments, 
 her talents, the verses which she composed and 
 sung to the lute, contributed to fascinate her ad- 
 mirers to the end of her life. She died in 1566. 
 
 LABEOUSE, CLOTILDE SUZETTE 
 COUECELLES, 
 
 A CELEBRATED French visionary, was born May 
 8th, 1747, of respectable parents, in the town of 
 Vauxains, in Perigord, in the department of Dor- 
 dogne. From the age of four she displayed deep 
 religious fervour, and her greatest happiness was 
 in the performance of her religious duties, to 
 which, notwithstanding the remonstrances of her 
 mother, and the raillery of her young companions, 
 she devoted the most of her time. From her ear- 
 liest years she regarded herself as an especial in- 
 strument to make known the will of God. She 
 fasted, wore a girdle lined with sharp points, slept 
 on the floor in winter, cut off her beautiful hair, 
 and gave up music, of which she was very fond. 
 She had offers of marriage, from a young man of 
 great piety and immense fortune, whom she liked, 
 but refused to marry, as she said an internal voice 
 commanded her to do, that she might not fail in 
 the great mission which had devolved on her. 
 
 Her strongest desire was to travel to convert 
 mankind, but this she was prevented from doing 
 till 1779; she hen escaped from her home, and 
 arrived safely in Paris, where she passed some 
 time under the protection of the Duchess de Bour- 
 bon. Here she was visited by all classes of people, 
 and regarded as a prophetess. She predicted 
 various events, and carried on a profound argu- 
 ment with the Abb^ Maury, in which she came 
 oif victorious. Leaving Paris, where she had been 
 very successful, she returned to Perigord, and 
 went from there to Eome, to convert the pope and 
 cardinals " to the principles of liberty and equa- 
 lity ; of the civil constitution of the clergy ; and 
 to persuade the pope to abdicate his temporal 
 power." Suzette preached at the different places 
 through which she passed ; but when she reached 
 Boulogne, in October, 1792, she was ordered by 
 the pope's legate to leave the city. She took re- 
 fuge in Viterbo ; but the pope had her seized, and 
 confined in the castle of San Angelo. She was 
 not ill-treated, however ; and when the Directory, 
 in 1796, requested her liberation, she replied that 
 she did not wish to leave Italy till 1800, when she 
 had predicted that there would be a sign in hea- 
 ven which would open the eyes of the pope him- 
 self. But when the French took Rome, in 1798, 
 she returned to Paris, where she was surrounded 
 by a number of disciples, although the year 1800 
 passed without the sign. Her followers, many 
 of whom were learned men, remained steadfast, 
 however, and Suzette continued to have visions 
 till she was seventy-four. She died in 1821. 
 Pontard, bishop of Paris, remained faithful to her 
 to the last. 
 
 LACOMBE, EOSE, 
 
 One of the terrible heroines or rather furies 
 of the French revolution, born about 1768, was 
 an actress of high reputation, and very beautiful. 
 She was one of the leaders in that crowd of fero- 
 cious women who attacked the Hotel-de-Ville, and 
 obliged the king and his family to return from 
 Versailles to Paris. She founded a club of women, 
 in which she was the chief speaker ; and joined in 
 the attack on the Tuilleries, in which she showed 
 such intrepidity, that the city of Marseilles de- 
 creed to her a civic crown. She entered with her 
 whole soul into all the scenes of savage cruelty 
 which disgraced those times. After having been 
 the recognised leader and orator of the republican 
 women for some time, she suddenly lost nearly all 
 her influence by falling violently in love with, and 
 endeavouring with her usual reckless impetuosity, 
 to save, but in vain, a young nobleman who was 
 imprisoned. 
 
 The latter part of her life was passed in a small 
 shop, where she gained her livelihood by the sale 
 of petty articles. The time or manner of her death 
 is not known. 
 
 LAFAYETTE, MADAME, 
 
 Belonged to the noble family of Noailles, and 
 was married, when quite young, to General La- 
 fayette. When, in 1793, he was imprisoned at 
 Olmutz by the Austrians, she was confined in Paris, 
 and only saved from the guillotine by the death of 
 Eobespierre. The first use she made of her free- 
 dom was to proceed to Vienna, where, through the 
 compassion of prince de Eossenberg, she succeed- 
 ed in obtaining an audience of the emperor. She 
 pleaded earnestly for the release of her husband on 
 the grounds of common justice and humanity, and 
 urged her strong desire to see him restored to his 
 family. The emperor said it was out of his power 
 to grant her request, but he was willing she and 
 her two daughters, (then about twelve and fifteen 
 years of age,) should enliven the prisoner by taking 
 up their abode with him. This indulgence was 
 gratefully accepted, and the long-separated friends 
 were restored to each other. 
 
 Madame Lafayette was deeply affected at the 
 emaciated figure and pale countenance of her hus- 
 band. She found him suff'ering under annoyances 
 much worse than she had feared. 
 
 She wished to write to the emperor ; but this 
 was refused. She made applications for redress 
 in other quarters, but received no answer, except, 
 " Madame Lafayette has submitted to share the 
 captivity of her husband. It is her own choice." 
 
 At length, her health, already impaired by six- 
 teen months imprisonment in Paris, began to give 
 way. She solicited permission to go to Vienna, to 
 breathe pure air, and consult a physician. During 
 two mouths she received no reply; but, at last, 
 she was informed that the emperor permitted her 
 to go out, upon condition that she never returned 
 to the prison. 
 
 Being desired to signify her choice in writing, 
 she wrote as follows. 
 
 " I consider it a duty to my family and friends 
 
 878 
 
LA 
 
 LA 
 
 to desire the assistance necessary for my health ; 
 but they well know it cannot be accepted by me 
 at the price attached to it. I cannot forget that 
 while we were on the point of perishing, myself 
 by the tyranny of Robespierre, and my husband 
 by the physical and moral sufferings of captivity, 
 I was not permitted to obtain any intelligence of 
 him, nor to acquaint him that his children and 
 myself were yet alive ; and I shall not expose my- 
 self to the horrors of another separation. What- 
 ever then may be the state of my health, and the 
 inconveniences of this abode for my daughters, 
 we will gratefully avail ourselves of his Imperial 
 Majesty's generosity, in permitting us to partake 
 this captivity in all its circumstances." 
 
 After this, Madame Lafayette fearful of being 
 separated from her husband, refrained from mak- 
 ing any complaint ; although the air of the prison 
 was so foetid, that the soldiers, who brought food, 
 covered their faces when they opened the door. 
 
 She remained with him till he was set at free- 
 dom, after four years' captivity, by the interven- 
 tion of Bonaparte. Madame Lafayette's health 
 suffered so much from the close confinement, that 
 she died soon after her release, in 1807. 
 
 LA FERTE IMBAULT, MARIA THERESA 
 GEOFFRIN, MARCHIONESS DE, 
 
 Daughter of the celebrated Madame Geoffrin, 
 was born at Paris in 1715. She married, in 1733, 
 the Marquis de la FertS, great-grandson of the 
 marshal of that name ; and distinguished herself, 
 not only by her literary talents, but also by her 
 opposition to the philosophical party among the 
 French literati of the last century, with whom her 
 mother had been intimately connected. In 1771, 
 the Marquis de Croismare, a man of wit, and a 
 friend of Madame de la Ferte Imbault, founded 
 the burlesque order of the Lanturelas, of which 
 he appointed that lady the grand-mistress, while 
 he was himself the grand-master. This whimsical 
 institution gave rise to a great many songs and 
 lively verses ; and it attracted so much attention 
 that Catharine II. was accustomed to advise all 
 the Russian nobles who visited Paris to become 
 Lanturelus, an honour which was sought by se- 
 veral sovereign princes. The Marchioness drew 
 up a series of extracts from the writings of the 
 ancient Pagan and Christian philosophers, for the 
 instruction of the grandchildren of Louis XV. ; 
 and she wrote a great number of letters to persons 
 of rank and celebrity, which remain in manuscript 
 in the hands of her husband's relations. She died 
 at Paris, in 1791. 
 
 LAFITE, MARIE ELIZABETH DE, 
 
 Was born at Paris in 1750, and died at London 
 in 1794. She wrote " Reponses S, D4m61er ou 
 Essai d'une Maniere d'^xercer I'attention;" "En- 
 tretieres, Drames, et Contes Moraux, k I'usage des 
 Enfans." She also translated into French, some of 
 the works of Wieland, Gellert, and Lavater. 
 
 LAMB, LADY CAROLINE, 
 Dauohtek of the Earl of Besborough, was born 
 in 1785. The history of Lady Caroline Lamb is 
 
 painfully interesting. She was united, before the 
 age of twenty, to the Honourable William Lamb, 
 (Lord Melbourne,) and was long the delight of 
 the fashionable circles, from the singularity as 
 well as the grace of her manners, her literary 
 accomplishments, and personal attractions. On 
 meeting with Lord Byron, she contracted an un- 
 fortunate attachment for the noble poet, which 
 continued three years, and was the theme of much 
 remark. The poet is said to have trifled with her 
 feelings, and a rupture took place. " For many 
 years Lady Caroline led a life of comparative 
 seclusion, principally at Brocket Hall. This was 
 interrupted by a singular and somewhat romantic 
 occurrence. Riding with Mr. Lamb, she met, just 
 by the park-gates, the hearse which was conveying 
 the remains of Lord Byron to Newstead Abbey. 
 She was taken home insensible : an illness of length 
 and severity succeeded. Some of her medical atr 
 tendants imputed her fits, certainly of great inco- 
 herence and long continuance, to partial insanity. 
 At this supposition she was invariably and bitterly 
 indignant. Whatever be the cause, it is certain, 
 from that time her conduct and habits materially 
 changed ; and about three years before her death 
 a separation took place between her and Mr. Lamb, 
 who continued, however, frequently to visit, and, 
 to the day of her death, to correspond with her. 
 It is just to both parties to add, that Lady Caroline 
 constantly spoke of her husband in the highest 
 and most affectionate terms of admiration and re- 
 spect. A romantic susceptibility of temperament 
 and character seems to have been the bane of this 
 unfortunate lady. Her fate illustrates the wisdom 
 of Thomson's advice — 
 
 Then keep each passion down, however dear. 
 Trust me, the tender are the most severe. 
 
 Lady Caroline Lamb was the authoress of three 
 works of fiction, which, from extrinsic circum- 
 stances, were highly popular in their day. The 
 first, " Glenarvon," was published in 1816 ; and 
 the hero was understood to shadow forth the cha- 
 racter and sentiments of Lord Byron ! It was a 
 representation of the dangers attending a life of 
 fashion. The second, " Graham Hamilton," de- 
 picted the difiiculties and dangers inseparable, 
 even in the most amiable minds, from weakness 
 and irresolution of character. The third, "Ada 
 Reis," (1823,) is a wild Eastern tale, the hero be- 
 ing introduced as the Don Juan of his day, a 
 Georgian by birth, who, like Othello, "is sold 
 to slavery," but rises to honours and distinctions. 
 In the end Ada is condemned, for various mis- 
 deeds, to eternal punishment ! 
 
 LAMB, MARY, 
 The daughter of respectable parents, was born 
 in London about 1766. She was subject to attacks 
 of insanity, and in one of them, in 1796, brought 
 on by over-exertion, and anxiety about her mo- 
 ther, then quite an aged person, she stabbed her 
 mother to the heart, killing her instantly. After 
 recovering from this attack, she resided with her 
 brother Charles, the well-known author of "Essays 
 of Elia," who devoted his whole life to her. They 
 
 379 
 
LA 
 
 LA 
 
 lived in or near London. In connexion witli her 
 brother, Miss Lamb wrote two volumes of juvenile 
 poetry ; " Stories for Children, or Mrs. Leicester's 
 School;" and "Tales from Shakspeare." Miss 
 Lamb was remarkable for the sweetness of her 
 disposition, the clearness of her understanding, 
 and the gentle wisdom of all her acts and words, 
 notwithstanding the distraction under which she 
 suffered for weeks, and latterly for months, in 
 every year. She survived her brother eleven 
 years, dying May 20th, 1847. She was buried 
 with him in Edmonton church-yard. 
 
 LAMBALLE, MARIE THERESE LOUISE, OF 
 SAVOY, CARIGNAN, PRINCESS DE, 
 
 Was born at Turin, September 8th, 1749, and 
 married the duke of Bourbon Penthifevre, by whom 
 she was left a wealthy, young, beautiful, and ami- 
 able widow. When appointed intendant of the 
 royal household of Marie Antoinette, she gained 
 and deserved the confidence and warm affection 
 of her mistress. On the unfortunate flight of the 
 royal family to Varennes, Madame Lamballe 
 escaped by another road from France to England, 
 where she might have lived in safety ; but she no 
 sooner heard of the imprisonment of her royal 
 friend, than she hastened back to Paris to soothe 
 her miseries. This fidelity and devotion proved 
 fatal to her. Dragged to the prison of La Force, 
 she was tried before the bloody tribunal, Septem- 
 ber 3d, 1792 ; and, when questioned about the 
 queen, slie answered with firmness and dignity. 
 Some of the judges, moved by her heroism, youth, 
 and beauty, wished to spare her ; but as soon as 
 she had left the place of her trial, she was seized 
 by the mob and literally torn and cut to pieces. 
 Her head was placed on a pike, and paraded by 
 the diabolical monsters in view of the unfortunate 
 queen and her family. 
 
 The character of the princess de Lamballe was 
 so perfect, that not even her enemies and assassins 
 dared to asperse it. 
 
 LAMBERT, ANNE THERESE, MARQUISE DE, 
 Was daughter of a master of the accounts, and 
 was born at Paris in 1647. She lost her father at 
 three years old ; and her mother then married the 
 ingenious Bachaumont, who took great pleasure 
 in cultivating his step-daughter's talents. She 
 married Henri Lambert, marquis of St. Bris, in 
 1666; but he died in 1688. After this, she had 
 long and troublesome law-suits ; but succeeding in 
 them, she took a house in Paris, to which it was 
 considered an honour to be admitted. All literary 
 persons resorted to it for the sake of conversation, 
 as hers was almost the only house free from the 
 vice of gaming. She died in 1733, aged 86. Her 
 works were printed in two volumes, and are mark- 
 ed by fine sense, taste, and spirit. The principal 
 ones are, "Avis d'une M^re a son fils, et d'une 
 M^re ^ sa fiUe." These are not mere dry didactic 
 precepts, but the easy and graceful effusions of a 
 noble and delicate mind. "Nouvelles Reflexions 
 sur les Femmes ;" " Traits de I'Amitig ;" " Traitg 
 de la Viellesse ; et " La Femme Hermite;" were 
 among her works. The following selections give a 
 
 more striking portrait of this excellent woman 
 than any mere description. 
 
 EXTRAIT DES AVIS d'uNE M^EB A SON EILS. 
 X * X * * 
 
 Au-dessus de tons vos devoirs, est le culte que 
 vous devez a I'Etre Supreme. La religion est un 
 commerce ^tabli entre Dieu et les hommes ; par la 
 grace de Dieu aux hommes, et par le culte des 
 hommes k Dieu. Les ames 61ev6es ont pour Dieu 
 des sentimens et un culte S. part, qui ne ressemble 
 point 3, celui du peuple : tout part du cceur et va & 
 Dieu. Les vertus morales sont en danger, sans 
 les chr^tiennes. Je ne vous demande point une 
 religion remplie de faiblesse et de superstition : je 
 demande seulement que I'amour de I'ordre sou- 
 mette ^ Dieu vos lumiferes et vos sentimens, que 
 le meme amour de I'ordre se r^pande sur votre 
 conduite ; il vous donnera la justice, et la justice 
 assure toutes les vertus. 
 
 II y a des ames basses qui sont toujours pros- 
 tern^es devant la grandeur. II faut s^parer 
 I'homme de la dignity, et voir ce qu'il est, quand 
 il en est d^pouille ; il y a bien une autre grandeur 
 que eelle qui vient de I'autorit^ ; ce n'est ni la 
 puissance ni les richesses qui distinguent les 
 hommes ; la superiority r^elle et veritable entre 
 eux, c'est le m^rite. 
 
 Le titre d'honnete homme est bien au-dessus 
 des titres de la fortune. Le plaisir le plus d^licat 
 est de faire le plaisir d'autrui ; mais pour cela, il 
 ne faut pas tant faire de cas des biens de la for- 
 tune. Les richesses n'ont jamais donn6 la vertu ; 
 mais la vertu a souvent donn6 les richesses 
 
 L'honnete homme aime mieux manquer k sa 
 fortune qu'sl la justice. L'amour des richesses 
 est le commencement de tons les vices, comme le 
 d^sint^ressement et le prinoipe de toutes les vertus. 
 
 Le plaisir le plus touchant pour les honnetes 
 gens, c'est de faire du bien, et de soulager les 
 misijrables. Quelle difference d'avoir un peu plus 
 d'argent, ou de le savoir perdre pour faire plaisir, 
 et de le changer centre la reputation de bonte et 
 de gengrosite ! 
 
 Ayez des pensges et des sentimens qui soient 
 dignes de vous. La vertu rehausse I'etat de 
 I'homme, et le vice le degrade. 
 
 EXTRAIT DES AVIS D'uNE MjSbE A SA FILLE. 
 
 n ne suffit pas, ma fiUe, pour etre estimable, de 
 s'assujettir exterieurement aux bienseances ; ce 
 sont les sentimens qui ferment le caraotfere, qui 
 couduisent I'esprit, qui gouvernent la volonte, qui 
 r6pondent de la r^alite et de la dva-6e de toutes 
 nos vertus. Quel sera le principe de ces senti- 
 mens ? la religion ; quand elle sera grav^e dans 
 notre coeur, alors toutes les vertus couleront de 
 cette source ; tous les devoirs se rangeront chacun 
 dans leur ordre. Ce n'est pas assez pour la con- 
 duite des jeunes personnes, que de les obligor &, 
 faire leur devoir ; il faut le leur faire aimer : I'au- 
 torite est le tyran de I'exterieur, qui n'assujettit 
 point le dedans. Quand on present une conduite, 
 il faut en montrer les raisons et les motifs, et don- 
 ner du goftt pour ce que Ton conseille. 
 
 Nous avons tant d'int^ret a pratiquer la vertu, 
 
 380 
 
LA 
 
 LA 
 
 que nous ne devons jamais la regarder comme 
 notre ennemie, mais comme la source de bonheur, 
 de la gloire et de la paix. Vous arrivez dans le 
 monde ; venez-y, ma fiUe, avec des prinoipes ; 
 vous ne sauriez trop vous fortifier contre ce qui 
 Tous attend ; apportez-y toute votre religion : 
 nourrissez-la dans voire coeur par des sentimens ; 
 soutenez-la dans votre esprit par des reflexions et 
 par des lectures convenables 
 
 Les femmes qui n'ont nourri leur esprit que des 
 maximes de sifecle, tombent dans un grand vide 
 en avan9ant dans I'^ge : le monde les quitter, et 
 la raisou leur ordonne aussi de le quitter : k quoi 
 se prendre ? le pass6 nous fournit des regrets, le 
 present des chagrins, et I'avenir des craintes. La 
 religion seule calme tout, et console de tout ; en 
 vous unissant 3, Dieu, elle vous rSconcilie avec le 
 monde et avec vous-mSme 
 
 Les plaisirs du monde sont trompeurs ; ils prom- 
 mettent plus qu'ils ne donnent ; ils nous inquifetent 
 dans leur recherche, ne nous satisfont point dans 
 leur possession, et nous d^sespferent dans leur 
 
 perte Ne nous croyons heureuses, ma flUe, 
 
 que lorsque nous sentirons nos plaisirs naitre du 
 
 fond de notre ame II y a de grandes vertus, 
 
 qui, port^es 4 un certain degr^, font pardonner 
 bien des d^fauts : la supreme valeur dans les 
 hommes, et I'extr^me pudeur dans les femmes. 
 On pardonnait tout k Agrippine, femme de Ger- 
 manicus, en faveur de sa chastet6 : cette prin- 
 cesse 4tait ambitieuse et hautaine ; mais, dit Ta- 
 cite, "toutes ses passions ^taient consacr^es par 
 sa chastete." .... 
 
 Que votre premifere parure soit done la modes- 
 tie : elle a de grands avantages, elle augmente la 
 beauty et sert de voile S, la laideur ; la modestie 
 
 est le supplement de la beauty II ne faut 
 
 pas nfigliger les talens ni les agr^mens, puisque 
 les femmes sont destinies a plaire ; mais il faut 
 bien plus penser ^ se donner un m^rite solide, 
 qu'a s'occuper de choses frivoles. Rien n'est plus 
 court que le rfegue de la beauty ; rien n"est plus 
 triste que la suite de la vie des femmes qui n'ont 
 
 su qu'etre belles Une honnete femme a les 
 
 vertus des hommes, I'amitie, la probity, la fidelity 
 a ses devoirs. 
 
 Les femmes apprennent volontiers I'ltalien qui 
 me parait dangereux : c'est la langue de I'amour, 
 les auteurs italiens sont peu chati^s ; il rfegne 
 dans leurs ouvrage un jeux de mots, une imagina- 
 tion sans rfegle, qui s'oppose ^ la justesse de 
 I'esprit. 
 
 La po^sie pent avoir des inconveniens ; j'aurais 
 pourtant de la peine a interdire la lecture des 
 belles tragedies de Corneille: mais souvent les 
 meilleures vous donnent des le5ons de vertu, et 
 vous laissent I'impression du vice. 
 
 La lecture des romans est plus dangereuse: je 
 ne voudrais pas que Ton en fit un grand usage, ils 
 mettent du faux dans J' esprit. Le roman n'gtant 
 jamais pris sur le vrai, allume I'imagination, af- 
 faiblit la pudeur, met le d^sordre dans le coeur, et, 
 pour peu qu'une jeune personne ait de la disposi- 
 tion a la tendresse, hS,te et pr^cipite son penchant. 
 H ne faut point augmenter le charme et I'illusion 
 de I'amour : plus il est a.doucit plus il est modeste 
 
 et plus il est dangereux. .le ne voudrais point les 
 defendre ; toutes defenses blesseut la liberty, et 
 augmentent le d^sir; mais il faut, autant qu'on 
 peut, s'aoooutumer i des lectures solides, qui or- 
 nent I'esprit et fortifient le coeur : on ne peut trop 
 fiviter celles qui laissent des impressions dange- 
 reuses et difficiles a efl'acer. 
 
 PORTBAIT DE FENELON. 
 
 F^neion etait d'une assez haute taille, bien fait, 
 maigre et pale ; il avait la nez grand et bien tir^. 
 Le feu et I'esprit sortaient de ses yeux comme un 
 torrent. Sa physionomie etait telle qu'on n'en 
 voyait point qui lui ressemblat ; aussi ne pouvait- 
 on I'oublier dfes qu'une fois on I'avait vu: elle 
 rassemblait tout, et les contraires ne s'y combat- 
 taient point ; elle avait de la gravity et de la dou- 
 ceur, du serieux et de la gaiety. Ce qui surnageait 
 sur tout sa personne, o'^tait la finesse, la d^cence, 
 les graces, et surtout la noblesse: il fallait faire 
 effort sur soimSme pour cesser de la regarder. 
 Tous ses portraits sont parlans, sans que n^an- 
 moins on art jamais pu attraper la justesse fet 
 I'harmonie qui frappaient dan's I'original, et la 
 deiicatesse que chaque caractfere de ce visuge T6r 
 unissait. Ses maniferes y r^pondait dedans la meme 
 proportion : o'^tait une aisance qui en I'honneur 
 aux autres, un air de bon golit dont il etait rede- 
 vable a I'usage du grand monde et de la meilleure 
 compagnie, et qui se rfipandait, comme de soi- 
 mSme, dans toutes ses conversations, et cela aveo 
 une eloquence naturelle, douce, fleurie ; une po- 
 litesse insinuante, mais noble et proportionnee ; 
 une elocution facile, nette, agrSable ; un ton du 
 clarte et de precision pour se faire entendre, meme 
 en traitant les mattiferes les plus abstraites et les 
 plus embarrassees. Avec cela il ne voulait jamais 
 avoir plus d' esprit que ceux El qui il parlait ; il se 
 mettait 3, la portee de chacun sans le faire sentir, 
 il mettait ^ I'aise, et semblait enchanter de fa9on 
 qu'on ne pouvait le quitter, ni s'en defendre, ni 
 ne pas soupirer aprfes le moment de le retrouver. 
 C'est ce talent si rare et qu'il avait au supreme 
 degre, qui lui tint ses amis si attaches toute sa 
 vie, malagre sa chute, sa disgrace, et qui, dans le 
 triste eioignement oiX ils etaient de lui, les reunis- 
 sait pour parler de lui, pour le regretter, pour le 
 desirer, pour soupirer aprfes son retour, et I'espe- 
 rer sans cesse. 
 
 LAMBRUN, MARGARET, 
 Was a Scotch-woman, one of the retinue of 
 Mary, Queen of Scots, as was also her husband, 
 who died of grief oh account of his queen's execu- 
 tion. Margaret Lambrun then resolved to avenge 
 the death of both by assassinating Queen Eliza- 
 beth ; she, therefore, dressed herself like a man, 
 took the name of Anthony Sparke, and went to 
 the court of the English queen, carrying with her 
 a brace of pistols ; one for the queen, and the 
 other for herself. But, as she was pressing through 
 the crowd to get near her majesty, who was then 
 walking in her garden, she dropped one of her 
 pistols. This being seen by the guards, she was 
 seized, and brought before the queen, who wished 
 to examine the prisoner herself. "When Elizabeth 
 
 381 
 
LA 
 
 LA 
 
 demanded her name, country, and condition, Mar- 
 garet replied with great firmness : 
 
 " Madam, though I appear in this habit, I am a 
 woman ; my name is Margaret Lambrun ; I was 
 several years in the service of Queen Mary, whom 
 you have so unjustly put to death ; and, by her 
 death, you have also caused that of my husband, 
 who died of grief to see so innocent a queen perish 
 so iniquitously. Now, as I had the greatest love 
 and aifection for both these personages, I resolved, 
 at the peril of my life, to revenge their death by 
 killing you, who are the cause of both. I confess 
 to you, that I suffered many struggles within my 
 breast, and have made all possible efforts to divert 
 my resolution from so pernicious a design, but all 
 in vain ; I found myself necessitated to prove by 
 experience the certain truth of that maxim, that 
 neither reason nor force can hinder a woman from 
 vengeance, when she is impelled thereto by love." 
 
 The queen heard this bold address with compo- 
 sure, and answered calmly: "You are then per- 
 suaded that, in this action, you have done your 
 duty, and satisfied the demands which your love 
 for your mistress and your spouse indispensably 
 required from you ; but what think you now is 
 my duty to do to you 2" 
 
 Margaret replied, with the same unmoved hardi- 
 ness : " I will tell you frankly my opinion, pro- 
 vided you will let me know whether you put this 
 question in the quality of a queen or in that of a 
 judge?" 
 
 To which her majesty professing that of a queen : 
 "Then," said Margaret, "your majesty ought to 
 grant me a pardon." 
 
 " But what assurance can you give me," said 
 the queen, "that you will not make the like at- 
 tempt on some other occasion ?" 
 
 " Madam," replied Lambrun, " a favour given 
 under such restraint is no more a favour ; and, in 
 so doing, your majesty would act against me as a 
 judge." 
 
 The queen turned to some of her council, and 
 said, " I have been thirty years a queen, but do 
 not remember to have had such a lecture ever 
 read to me before;" and immediately granted an 
 entire and unconditional pardon. Margaret Lam- 
 brun showed her prudence by begging the queen 
 to extend her generosity still farther, and grant 
 her a safe conduct to the coast of France ; with 
 which request Elizabeth complied. 
 
 LAMOTTE, VALOIS, COUNTESS OF, 
 Was the principal actor in the affair of the 
 necklace, which caused so much annoyance and 
 injury to Marie Antoinette, queen of France. The 
 countess of Lamotte, an immoral intriguing wo- 
 man, well known as such to most of the principal 
 persons in Paris, suddenly, from great poverty, 
 apparently became very wealthy. The means by 
 which she supported her extravagance at length 
 was ascertained. The countess, knowing the great 
 desire of prince Louis de Rohan, cardinal bishop 
 of Strasburg, who had fallen into disgrace at court, 
 to regain favour, told him that the queen, Marie 
 Antoinette, with whom she said she was on very 
 confidential terms, wished to obtain a diamond 
 
 necklace then for sale, but not having at the time 
 sufficient money by her, would like him to pur- 
 chjise the necklace as if for himself, and the queen 
 would repay him by instalments and restore him 
 to favour. The cardinal did so, and gave the 
 necklace to the countess de Lamotte for the queen, 
 who gave him in return a bond which she had 
 forged. The countess also procured a woman who 
 resembled the queen, to personate her in a private 
 interview with the cardinal, on a night in August, 
 1784. When the time for payment arrived, the 
 cardinal, not being able to meet the demand, 
 told the jewellers that he had bought it for the 
 queen. The jewellers, after some time, applied to 
 the king, and the fraud was discovered. Bohan 
 was tried and acquitted ; but the countess de La- 
 motte was sentenced to be scourged, branded, and 
 imprisoned for life. After some months' confine- 
 ment she escaped and went to England, where her 
 husband was living on the proceeds derived from 
 the sale of the necklace. Here she wrote a 
 pamphlet defaming the queen, which prejudiced 
 many people against that princess. The countess 
 was found one morning dead on the pavement in 
 one of the streets of London, having fallen, while 
 intoxicated, from a window in the third story of 
 her lodgings. 
 
 LANDA, CATHARINE, 
 Was eminent for her beauty and learning. She 
 wrote a letter in Latin to Peter Bembo, which, 
 with his answer, is printed in that author's works. 
 She died in 1626, at a very early age. 
 
 LANE, JANE, 
 A WOMAN of great spirit and sagacity, assisted 
 in the escape of Charles II. after the battle of 
 Worcester. The royal fugitive, disguised in her 
 father's livery, rode before her on horseback from 
 Bentley-Hall, in Staffordshire, to Mr. Norton's, 
 near Bristol. Charles II., on his restoration, re- 
 warded her amply ; and she married Sir Clement 
 Fisher, bart., of Packington-Hall, in Warwick- 
 shire. 
 
 LANDON, LETITIA ELIZABETH, 
 
 Generally known as L. E. L., in consequence 
 of having first published under her initials only, 
 was born at Hans Place, Chelsea, in 1802. Her 
 father, Mr. Landon, was a partner in the house 
 of Adairs, army agents. When about seven years 
 of age. Miss Landon's parents removed to Trevor 
 Park, not far from East Barnet, where, amidst 
 scenes vividly depicted in various passages in her 
 later works, were passed many of the happiest 
 days of her childhood. In the " Traits and Trials 
 of Early Life," in " The History of a Child," she 
 is supposed to have pourtrayed that of her own 
 early years ; but the account is part romance and 
 part reality. She describes " a large, old, and 
 somewhat dilapidated place," — of which "only 
 part of the grounds were kept in their original 
 high order." Here she was wont " to wander in 
 the almost deserted shrubberies, where the flowers 
 grew in aU the luxuriance of neglect over the 
 walls." According to the same fictitious picture. 
 
LA 
 
 LA 
 
 on a small island, in a deep pond, almost dark 
 with the depth of shadow, and partly covered with 
 water-lilies, "with the large green leaves that 
 support the loveliest of ivory hoats, fit for the 
 fairy queen and her summer court," grew one 
 curiously-shaped but huge yew-tree, and in the 
 shadows of this gloomy tree the embryo poetess 
 was wont to conceal herself for the whole of her 
 playtime, " chewing the cud of sweet and bitter 
 fancy," and brooding over the troubles and sor- 
 rows which necessarily await every shy and sensi- 
 tive person, and which are perhaps never more 
 acutely felt than in the days of early childhood. 
 Her childhood, however, was cheerful and often 
 joyous. 
 
 In 1815, when Miss Landon was about thirteen 
 years of age, the family quitted Trevor Park ; and 
 after a twelvemonths' residence at Lewis Place, 
 Fulham, Mr. Landon removed to Brompton, where 
 a considerable part of his daughter's youth was 
 passed, excepting a year or two spent with her 
 grandmother in Sloane street, and some occasional 
 visits to her relations. Here, no sooner was she 
 emancipated from the school-room, and allowed to 
 pursue the bent of her own mind, than her poetical 
 reveries were committed to paper; and through 
 the encouraging kindness of Mr. Jordan, the editor 
 of the Literary Gazette, to whose judgment they 
 were submitted, while still in her teens, the youth- 
 ful writer had the pleasure of seeing some of her 
 verses first appear in print, in the pages of that 
 periodical, and visions of fame, perhaps, in some 
 degree, comforted her for the reverses to which 
 her family were then beginning to be subjected. 
 
 " The Fate of Adelaide," a romantic tale, and 
 some minor poems, were published in 1821, when 
 Miss Landon was nineteen ; and the first of her 
 principal poetical works was issued in 1824. In 
 the summer of 1825, the " Troubadour" appeared, 
 and some other volumes of her poetry. 
 
 Her father died about this time, and Miss Lan- 
 don's literary exertions were directed to support 
 her family and assist her brother. An extract 
 from a letter of hers touchingly alludes to the 
 painful circumstances in which this delicate daugh- 
 ter of the muse was placed : 
 
 " The more I think of my past life, and of my 
 future prospects, the more dreary do they seem. 
 I have known little else than privation, disappoint- 
 ment, unkindncss, and harassment ; from the time 
 I was fifteen, my life has been one continual strug- 
 gle, in some shape or other, against absolute po- 
 verty ; and I must say not a tithe of my profits 
 have I ever expended on myself. And here I can- 
 not but allude to the remarks on my dress. It is 
 easy for those whose only trouble on that head is 
 change, to find fault with one who never in her life 
 knew what it was to have two dresses at a time. 
 No one knows but myself what I have had to con- 
 tend with." 
 
 Miss Landon has herself remarked, that " a 
 history of the how and where works of imagination 
 have been produced, would often be more extra- 
 ordinary than the works themselves." A friend 
 of hers observes, that ' ' though a dilettante of 
 literature would assign for the scene of her author- 
 ship a fairy-like boudoir, with rose-coloured and 
 silver hangings, filled with all the luxuries of a 
 fastidious taste," yet the reality was of a very dif- 
 ferent nature ; for though her drawing-room was 
 prettily furnished, it was her invariable habit to 
 write in her bed-room, — "a homely-looking, al- 
 most uncomfortable room, fronting the street, and 
 barely furnished — with a simple white bed, at the 
 foot of which was a small, old, oblong-shaped sort 
 of dressing-table, quite covered with a common 
 worn writing-desk, heaped with papers, while 
 some strewed the ground, the table being too 
 small for aught besides the desk. A little high- 
 backed cane chair, which gave you any idea but 
 that of comfort, and a few books scattered about, 
 completed the author's paraphernalia." 
 
 " Miss Landon was not strictly handsome, her 
 eyes being the only good feature in her face ; but 
 her countenance was intellectual and piquant, 
 and her figure slight and beautifully proportioned. 
 Altogether, however, her clear complexion, dai-k 
 hair and eyes, the vivacious expression with which 
 the latter were lighted up when animated and in 
 good health, combined with her kind and fascinat- 
 ing manners, to render her extremely attractive ; 
 so that the rustic expression of sentiment from 
 the Ettriok Shepherd, when he was first introduced 
 to her, ' I did nae think ye had been sae bonny,' 
 was perhaps the feeling experienced by many 
 when they first beheld L. E. L." 
 
 Such is the portrait of this fascinating writer, 
 drawn by one of her biographers. William Howitt, 
 in his notice of Miss Landon, gives a sweeter 
 touch to the picture. " Your first impressions of 
 her were — what a little, light, simple-looking, girl! 
 If you had not been aware of her being a popular 
 poetess, you would have suspected her of nothing 
 more than an agreeable, bright, and joyous young 
 lady. This feeling in her own house, or among a 
 few congenial people, was quickly followed by a 
 feeling of the kind-heartedness and goodness about 
 her. You felt that you could not be long with her 
 without loving her." 
 
 In her later productions. Miss Landon greatly 
 improved in the philosophy of her art. She ad- 
 dresses other feelings besides love ; her style has 
 
 383 
 
LA 
 
 LA 
 
 more simplicity and strength, and the sentiment 
 becomes elevated and womanly — for we hold that 
 the loftiest, purest, and best qualities of our na- 
 ture, the moral feelings, are peculiarly suitable, for 
 their development and description, to the genius 
 of woman. " The Lost Pleiad" and " The History 
 of the Lyre," have many passages of true and 
 simple feeling, united with an elevated moral 
 sentiment, and that accurate knowledge of life, 
 which shows the observing and reasoning mind 
 in rapid progress. Such are the following pas- 
 
 " Can that man be dead 
 Whose spiritual influence is upon his kind ? 
 He lives in glory ; and such speaking dust 
 Has more of life than half its breathing moulds. 
 Welcome a grave, with memories such as these, 
 Making the sunshine of our moral world." 
 
 ***** 
 "Love mine, I know my weakness, and I know 
 How far 1 fall short of the glorious goal 
 I purpose to myself; yet if one line 
 Has stolen from the eye unconscious tears, 
 Recalled one lover to fidelity, 
 Which is the liolincss of love — or bade 
 One maiden sicken at cold vanity. 
 When dreaming o'er aflfection's tenderness. 
 The deep, the true, the honoured of my song, — 
 If but one worldly soil has been effaced. 
 That song has not been utterly in vain. 
 One true, deep feeling purifies the heart." 
 
 In 1838, Miss Landon married George Maclean, 
 governor of Cape-Coast castle, and soon after sailed 
 for Cape-Coast with her husband. She landed 
 there in August, and was resuming, for the benefit 
 of her family in England, her literary engagements 
 in her solitary African home, when one morning, 
 after writing the previous night some cheerful and 
 affectionate letters to her friends in England, she 
 was (October 16th) found dead in her room, with 
 a bottle, which had contained prussic acid, in her 
 hand. It was conjectured that she had undesign- 
 edly taken an over-dose of the fatal medicine, as 
 a relief from spasms in the stomach, to which she 
 was subject. Her last poems are superior in free- 
 dom, force, and originality, to her first. She is 
 most distinguished for her poetical writings, though 
 her tales and romances show great wit, vivacity, 
 and knowledge of life. Her principal poetical 
 works are "The Improvisatrice;" "The Trouba- 
 dour;" "The Golden Violet;" " The Golden Brace- 
 let;" and "The Vow of the Peacock." Besides 
 these, she has written three novels, "Romance 
 and Reality;" " Francesca Carrera;" and "Ethel 
 Churchill ;" and a volume of tales, entitled " Traits 
 and Trials," in which she is supposed to have de- 
 picted the history of her own childhood. She was 
 a frequent contributor to many of the periodicals, 
 and nearly all the annuals of the day. Many of 
 her best poems were written for these publica- 
 tions, and may be found in " Literary Remains 
 of L. E. L., with Memoirs of her Life." Edited 
 by Laman Blanchard. In our selections, we will 
 cull a few of the aphorisms and sentiments which 
 make her prose remarkable for its boldness of 
 truth and sympathy with "those who suffer and 
 are sad." 
 
 Extracts from " Francesca Carrera." 
 YOUTH. 
 
 No marvel that we regret our youth. Let its 
 bloom, let pleasures depart, could they but leave 
 behind the singleness and the innocence of the 
 happy and trusting heart. The lessons of fexpe- 
 rienoe may open the eyes ; but, as in the northern 
 superstition, they only open to see dust and clay, 
 where they once beheld the beauty of palaces. 
 
 ENTHUSIASM. 
 
 Enthusiasm is the royal road to success. Now, 
 call it fame, vanity — what you will — how strange 
 and how strong is the feeling which urges on the 
 painter or the author ! We ought to marvel less 
 at the works produced, than at the efforts made. 
 Their youth given to hopes, or rather fears — now 
 brightening and now darkening, on equally slight 
 grounds, 
 
 " A breath can mar them, as a breath has made,"— 
 
 hours of ceaseless exertion in solitude, of feverish 
 solicitude in society: doomed to censure, which 
 is always to earnest, and to praise, which is not. 
 Alas ! we talk of their vanity ; we forget that in 
 doling forth the careless sneer, we are bestowing 
 but the passing thought of a moment to that which 
 has been the work of an existence. Truly, genius, 
 like virtue, ought to be its own reward, but it can- 
 not. Bitter though the toil, and vain the hope, 
 human exertion must still look to human appro- 
 bation. 
 
 IMAGINATION. 
 
 Nothing at first frames such false estimates as 
 an imaginative temperament. It finds the power 
 of creation so easy, the path it fashions so actual, 
 that no marvel for a time hope is its own security, 
 and the fancied world appears the true copy of 
 the real. 
 
 APHOKISMS. 
 
 There never was a mask so gay but some tears 
 were shed behind it. 
 
 We cannot understand what we have never ex- 
 perienced ; we need pain, were it only to teach us 
 sympathy. 
 
 It is a great error for the heart to hoard up the 
 romance which is only graceful in youth — and it 
 is dangerous too. 
 
 Hopes and regrets are the sweetest links of 
 existence. 
 
 Society is like a large piece of frozen water ; 
 and skating well is the great art of social life. 
 
 Prom " Trials of Early Life." 
 What a duty it is to cultivate a pleasant man- 
 ner ! how many a meeting does it make cheerful 
 which would otherwise have been stupid and for- 
 mal ! We do not mean by this the mere routine 
 
 384 
 
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 of polite observance ; but ■we mean that general 
 cheerfulness "which, like sunshine, lights up what- 
 ever it touches ; that attention to others which 
 discovers what subject is most likely to interest 
 them ; and that information which, ready for use, 
 is easily laid under contribution by the habit of 
 turning all resources to immediate employ. In 
 short, a really pleasant manner grows out of bene- 
 volence, which can be as much shown in a small 
 courtesy as in a great service. 
 
 EXTRACTS EROM MISS LANDON'S POEMS. 
 
 From " A History of the Lyre." 
 
 woman's destiny. 
 
 "I am a woman: — tell me not of fame! 
 
 The eagle's wing may sweep the stormy path, 
 
 And fling back arrowa, where the dove would die. 
 
 Look on those flowers near yon acacia tree— 
 
 The lily of the valley — mark how pure 
 
 The snowy blossoms, — and how soft a breatli 
 
 Is almost hidden by the large dark leaves. 
 
 Not only have those delicate flowers a gift 
 
 Of sweetness and of beauty, but the root— 
 
 A healing power dwells there; fragrant and fair. 
 
 But dwelling still in some beloved shade. 
 
 Is not this woman's emblem ? —she whose smile 
 
 Should only make the loveliness of home— 
 
 Who seeks support and shelter from man's heart, 
 
 And pays it with affection quiet, deep, — 
 
 And in his sickness — sorrow — with an aid 
 
 He did not deem in aught so fragile dwelt. 
 
 Alas! this has not been my destiny. 
 
 Again I'll borrow Summer's eloquence. 
 
 Yon Eastern tulip — that is emblem mine; 
 
 Ay! it has radiant colours — every leaf 
 
 Is as a gem from its own country's mines. 
 
 'Tis redolent with sunshine ; but with noon 
 
 It has begun to wither; — look within, 
 
 It has a wasted bloom, a burning heart; 
 
 It has dwelt too much in the open day, 
 
 And so have I ; and both must droop and die ! 
 
 I did not choose my gift : — too soon my heart, 
 
 Watch-like, had pointed to a later hour 
 
 Than time had reached; and as my years passed on, 
 
 Shadows and floating visions grew to thoughts, 
 
 And thoughts found words, the passionate words of song, 
 
 And all to me was poetry. 
 
 THE poet's power. 
 
 Oh, never had the poet's lute a hope. 
 An aim so glorious as it now may have, 
 In this our social state, where petty cares 
 And mercenary interests only look 
 Upon the present's littleness, and shrink 
 From the bold future, and the stately past,— 
 Where the smooth surface of society 
 Is polished by deceit, and the warm heart 
 With all its kind affections' early flow, 
 flung back upon itself, forgets to beat, 
 At least for others: — 'tis the poet's gilt 
 To melt these frozen waters into tears. 
 By sympathy with sorrows not our own, 
 By wakening memory with those mournful notes, 
 Whose music is the thoughts of early years, 
 When truth was on the lip. and feelings wore 
 The sweetness and the freshness of their morn. 
 Young poet, if thy dreams have not such hope 
 To purify, refine, exalt, subdue, 
 To touch the selfish, and to shame the vain 
 Out of themselves, by gentle mournfulness, 
 Or chords that rouse some aim of enterprise. 
 Lofty and pure, and meant for general good ; 
 If thou hast not some power that may direct 
 The mind from the mean round of daily life, 
 Waking aflfections that might else have slept, 
 Or high resolves, the petrified before, 
 Or rousing in that mind a finer sense 
 Z 
 
 Of inward and external loveliness. 
 Making imagination serve as guide 
 To all of heaven that yet remains on earth,— 
 Thine is a useless lute: break it, and die. 
 
 MUSINGS. 
 
 Methinks we must have known some former state 
 More glorious than our present, and the heart 
 Is haunted with dim memories, shadows left 
 By past magnificence; and hence we pine 
 With vain aspirings, hopes that fill the eyes 
 With bitter tears for their own vanity. 
 Remembrance makes the poet; 't is the past 
 Lingering within him, with a keener sense 
 Than is upon the thoughts of common men, 
 Of what has been, that fills the actual world 
 With unreal likenesses of lovely shapes. 
 That were and are not; and the fairer they, 
 The more their contrast with existing things; 
 The more his power, the greater is his grief. 
 — Are we then fallen from some noble star. 
 Whoso consciousness is as an unknown curse, 
 And wc feel capable of happiness 
 Only to know it is not of our sphere? 
 
 I have sung passionate songs of beating hearts; 
 Perhaps it had been better they had drawn 
 Their inspiration from an inward source. 
 Had I known even an unhappy love. 
 It would have flung an interest round life 
 Mine never knew. This is an empty wish; 
 Our feelings are not fires to light at will 
 Our nature's fine and subtle mysteries; 
 We may control them, but may not create. 
 And love less than its fellows. I have fed 
 Perhaps too much upon the lotus fruits 
 Imagination yields, —fruits which unfit 
 The palate for the more substantial food 
 Of our own land —reality. I made 
 My heart too like a temple for a home ; 
 My thoughts were birds of paradise, that breathed- 
 The airs of heaven, but died on touching earth. 
 —The knight whose deeds were stainless as his creel, 
 Who made my name his watchword in the field ; 
 The poet with immortal words, whose heart 
 I shared with beauty; or the patriot, 
 Whose eloquence was power, who made my smile 
 His recompense amid the toil which shaped 
 A nation's destiny ; these, such as these, 
 The glorified — the passionate — the brave — 
 In these I might have found the head and heart 
 I could have worshipped. Where are such as these? 
 —Not 'mid gay cavaliers who make the dance 
 Pleasant with graceful flatteries; whose words 
 A passing moment might light up my cheek, 
 But haunted not my solitude. The fault 
 Has been my own ; perhaps I asked too much :— 
 Yet let me say, what firmly I believe, 
 Love can be — ay, and is. I held that Love 
 Which chooseth from a thousand only one, 
 To be the object of that tenderness 
 Natural to every heart; which can resign 
 Its own best happiness for one dear sake ; 
 Can bear with absence ; hath no part in Hope,— 
 For Hope is somewhat selfish,— Love is not — 
 And doth prefer another to itself 
 Unchangeable and generous, what, like Love, 
 Can melt away the dross of worldliness. 
 Can elevate, refine and make the heart 
 Of that pure gold which is the fitting shrine 
 For fire, as sacred as e'er came from heaven ? 
 
 From " Poems," &c. 
 
 LINES OF LIFE. 
 
 Orphan in my first years, I early learnt 
 To make my heart suffice itself, and seek 
 Support and sympathy in its own depths, 
 
 Well, read my cheek, and watch ray eye,— 
 
 Too strictly schooled are they. 
 One secret of my soul to show, 
 
 One hidden thought betray. 
 
 385 
 
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 I never knew the time my heart 
 Looked freely from my brow; 
 
 It once was checked by timidness, 
 'Tia taught by caution now. 
 
 I live among the cold, the false, 
 And I must seem like them ; 
 
 And such I am, for I am false 
 As those I most condemn. 
 
 I teach my lip its sweetest smile, 
 
 My tongue its softest tone; 
 I borrow others' likeness, till 
 
 Almost I lose my own. 
 
 I pass through flattery's gilded sieve, 
 
 Whatever I would say; 
 In social life, all, like the blind, 
 
 Must learn to feel their way. 
 
 I check my thoughts like curbed steeds 
 That struggle with the rein; 
 
 I bid my feelings sleep, like wrecks 
 In the unfathomed main, 
 
 I hear them speak of love, the deep. 
 The true, — and mock the name; 
 
 Mock at all high and early truth, 
 And I too do the same. 
 
 I hear them tell some touching tale, 
 
 I swallow down the tear; 
 I bear them name some generous deed, 
 
 And X have learned to sneer. 
 
 I hear the spiritual, the kind. 
 The pure, but named in mirth; 
 
 Till all of good, ay, even hope, 
 Seems exiled from our earth. 
 
 And one fear, withering ridicule. 
 
 Is all that 1 can dread ; 
 A sword hung by a single hair, 
 
 Forever o'er the head 
 
 We bow to a most servile faith. 
 
 In a most servile fear; 
 While none among us dares to say 
 
 What none will choose to hear. 
 
 And if we dream of loftier thoughts. 
 In weakness they are gone; 
 
 And indolence and vanity 
 Rivet our fetters on. 
 
 Surely I was not born for this ! 
 
 I feel a loftier mood 
 Of generous impulse, high resolve, 
 
 Steal o'er my solitude I 
 
 I gaze upon the thousand stars 
 
 That fill the midnight sky; 
 And wish, so passionately wish, 
 
 A light like Iheirs on high. 
 
 I have such eagerness of hope 
 
 To henefit my kind ; 
 And feel as if immortal power 
 
 Were given to my mind. 
 
 1 think on that eternal fame, 
 
 The sun of earthly gloom. 
 Which makes the gloriousness of death. 
 
 The future of the tomb- 
 That earthly future, the faint sign 
 
 Of a more htavenly one; 
 — A step, a word, a voice, a look, — 
 
 Alas! my dream is done. 
 
 And earth, and earth's debasing stain. 
 
 Again is on my soul ; 
 And I am but a nameless part 
 
 Of a most worthless whole. 
 
 Why write I this? because my heart 
 
 Towards the future springs, 
 That future where it loves to soar 
 
 On more than eagle wings. 
 
 The present, it is but a speck 
 
 In that eternal time, 
 In which my lost hopes find a home, 
 
 My spirit knows its clime. 
 
 Oh! not myself,— for what am I? — 
 
 The worthless and the weak. 
 Whose every thought of self should raise 
 
 A blush to burn my cheek- 
 But song has touched my lips with fire. 
 
 And made my heart a shrine: 
 For what, although alloyed, debased. 
 
 Is in itself divine. 
 
 1 am, myself, but a vile link 
 
 Amid life's weary chain; 
 But I have spoken hallowed words, 
 
 Oh do not say in vain 
 
 My first, my last, my only wish, — 
 
 Say, will my charmed chords 
 Wake to the morning light of fame, 
 
 And breathe again my words? 
 
 Will the young maiden, when her tears 
 
 Alone in moonlight shine — 
 Tears for the absent and the loved— 
 
 Murmur some song of mine? 
 
 Win the pale youth, by his dim lamp. 
 
 Himself a dying flame. 
 From many an antique scroll beside. 
 
 Choose that which bears my name? 
 
 Let music make less terrible 
 
 The silence of the dead; 
 I care not, so my spirit last 
 
 Long after life has fled. 
 
 FEMALE FAITH. 
 
 She loved you when the sunny light 
 
 Of bliss was on your brow; 
 That bliss has sunk in sorrow's night, 
 
 And yet she loves you now. 
 
 She loved you when your joyous tone 
 
 Taught every heart to thrill; 
 The sweetness of that tongue is gone, 
 
 And yet— she loves you still. 
 
 She loved you when you proudly stept 
 
 The gayest of the gay ; 
 That pride the blight of time hath swept, 
 
 Unlike her love, away. 
 
 She loved you when your home and heart 
 Of fortune's smile could boast; 
 
 She saw that smile decay — depart — 
 And then she loved you most. 
 
 Oh, such the generous faith that glows 
 
 In woman's gentle breast; 
 'Tis like that star that stays and glows 
 
 Alone in night's dark vest; 
 
 Tliat stays because each other ray 
 
 Has left the lonely shore, 
 And that the wanderer on his way 
 
 Then wants her light the more. 
 
 THE EVE OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 There is a flower, a magical flower. 
 On which love hath laid a fairy power; 
 Gather it on the eve of St. John, 
 When the clock of the village is tolling one ; 
 
LA 
 
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 Let no look be turned, no word be said, 
 And lay the rose-leaves under your head ; 
 Your sleep will be light, and pleasant your rest, 
 For your visions will be of the youth you love best. 
 Four days I had not my own love seen, — 
 Where, sighed I, can my wanderer have been ? 
 I thought I would gather the magical flower, 
 And see him at least in my sleeping hourl 
 St. John's Eve came ; to the garden I flew, 
 .Where the white roses shone with the silver dew: 
 The nightingale sang as I passed along — 
 I startled to hear even her sweet song; 
 The sky was bright with moon and star shine. 
 And the wind was sweet as a whisper of thine, 
 Dear love ; for whose sake I stripped the iree-rose. 
 And softly and silently stole to repose. 
 No look I turned, and no word I said, 
 But laid the white roses under my head. 
 
 Oh, sweet was the dream that came to me then ' 
 
 I dreamt of a lonely and lovely glen. 
 
 There was a clear and beautiful sky, 
 
 Such as is seen in the blue July ; 
 
 To the north was a forest of darkling pine ; 
 
 To the south were hills all green with the vine. 
 
 Where the ruby clusters sparkled like gems 
 
 Seen upon princely diadems; 
 
 On the rocks were goats as white as snow. 
 
 And the sheep-bell was heard in the valley below ; 
 
 And like a nest in the chestnut's shade, 
 
 As just for love and contentment made, 
 
 A little cottage stood, and the tree 
 
 Shadowed it over most gracefully ; 
 
 A white rose grew up beside the door, 
 
 The porch with the blossoms was covered o'er ; 
 
 Methought it was yours— you were standing by: 
 
 You welcomed me, and I felt your sigh 
 
 Warm on my cheek, and our lips met, — 
 
 On mine the touch is thrilling yet! 
 
 But alas 1 1 awaJcened, and all I can do 
 
 Is to tell the sweet dream, my own love, to you ! 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 She prest her slight hand to her brow, or pain 
 
 Or bitter thoughts were passing there. The room 
 
 Had no light but that from the fireside. 
 
 Which showed, then hid her face. Mow very pale 
 
 It looked, when over it the glimmer shone ! 
 
 Is not the rose companion of the spring ? 
 
 Then wherefore has the red-leaved flower forgotten 
 
 Her cheek? The tears stood in her large dark eyes— 
 
 Her beautiful dark eyes— like hyacinth stars. 
 
 When shines their shadowy glory through the dew 
 
 That summer nights have wept :— she felt them not, 
 
 Her heart was far away ! Her fragile form, 
 
 Like the young willow when for the first time 
 
 The wind sweeps o'er it rudely, had not lost 
 
 Its own peculiar grace ; but it was bowed 
 
 By sickness, or by worse than sickness— sorrow! 
 
 And this is love! Oh ! why should woman love : 
 
 Wasting her dearest feelings, till health, hope, 
 
 Happiness, are but things of which henceforth 
 
 She '11 only know the name ? Her heart is seared : 
 
 A sweet light has been thrown upon its life. 
 
 To make its darkness the more terrible. 
 
 And this is Love! 
 
 LAST VERSES OF L. E. L. 
 In allusion to the Pole Star, during her voyage to j^frica. 
 
 A star has lefl; the kindling sky — 
 
 A lovely northern light; 
 How many planets are on high! 
 
 But that has left the night. 
 
 I miss its bright familiar face. 
 
 It was a friend to me; 
 Associate with my native place, 
 
 And those beyond the sea. 
 
 It rose upon our English sky. 
 
 Shone o'er our English land, 
 And brought back many a loving eye, 
 
 And many a gentle hand. 
 
 It seemed to answer to my thought. 
 
 It called the past to mind. 
 And with its welcome presence brought 
 
 All 1 had left behind. 
 
 The voyage it lights no longer, ends 
 
 Soon on a foreign shore ; 
 How can I but recall the friends 
 
 That I may see no more? 
 
 Fresh from the pain it was to part- 
 How could I bear the pain? 
 
 Yet strong the omen in my heart 
 That says — Wo meet again. 
 
 Meet with a deeper, dearer love; 
 
 For absence shows the worth 
 Of all from which we then remove, 
 
 Friends, home, and native earth. 
 
 Thou lovely polar star, mine eyes 
 
 Still turned the first on thee. 
 Till I have felt a sad surprise. 
 
 That none looked up with me. 
 
 But thou hast sunk upon the wave. 
 
 Thy radiant place unknown ; 
 1 seem to stand beside a grave, 
 
 And stand by it alone. 
 
 Farewell! ah, would to me were given 
 
 A power upon thy light! 
 What words upon our English heaven 
 
 Thy roving rays should write! 
 
 Kind messages of love and hope 
 
 Upon thy rays should be ; 
 Tliy shining orbit should have scope 
 
 Scarcely enough for me. 
 
 Oh, fancy vain, as it is fond. 
 
 And little needed too; 
 My friends! I need not look beyond 
 
 My heart to look for you. 
 
 LANNOT, THE COUNTESS OF, 
 
 By birth, countess of Loos Coswareu. She Tvaa 
 born at the castle of Gray, in Brabant, in 1767. 
 In 1788 she espoused the count de Lannoy, and 
 emigrated with him, when the Low Countries were 
 overrun by the French armies of the republic. 
 Having lost all their property by confiscation, like 
 many other families of rank, they were reduced 
 to the utmost need in a strange land. All their 
 resources lay in the energy and ability of the coun- 
 tess. She had always devoted herself to music 
 for the gratification of her taste, and had even 
 attempted composition ; she now made it a pro- 
 fession, and gave instructions with success in the 
 city of Berlin. She published several trios for the 
 piano, violin, and violoncello ; several songs, with 
 an accompaniment for the harp and the piano ; 
 with other pieces of music for those instruments. 
 In 1801 she was permitted to return to Belgium 
 with her family, but was obliged to go through 
 with a tedious lawsuit, which involved all her for- 
 tune. After several anxious years, the suit was 
 lost, and she was obliged to take refuge at Paris, 
 with her daughters, where, by resuming her mu- 
 sical labours, she obtained a scanty living. She 
 died in 1822. 
 
 387 
 
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 LAPIERRE, SOPHIE, 
 A PKETTT Parisian singer, was a member of the 
 conspiracy, which was formed in 1795, to over- 
 throw the Directory, and replace the authority in 
 the hands of the people. Sophie, and several 
 other women, were taken prisoners with the con- 
 spirators, and she confronted her judges with the 
 greatest composure, and even levity. As, how- 
 ever, she could only be accused of singing repub- 
 lican songs, she was acquitted. 
 
 LASHFORD, JOAN, 
 
 Daughtee of Elizabeth Warne, by a former 
 husband, was burned as a heretic by the Roman 
 Catholics, during the reign of Mary of England, 
 in the year 1556. A number of other women, 
 about the same time, sealed their faith with their 
 blood. Joan Lashford was about twenty years of 
 age when she thus suffered and died a martyr. 
 
 LAVALETTE, EMILIE, COUNTESS DE, 
 
 Niece of the empress Josephine, married Marie 
 Chamans Lavalette, aid-de-camp to Bonaparte. 
 Her maiden name was Emilie Beauharnais. The 
 manner in which the marriage was brought about 
 is well described in the " Memoirs of Lavalette." 
 
 General Bonaparte, wishing to reward the bra- 
 very of his aid-de-camp, and being then restricted 
 in his power, determined he should marry this 
 niece of Madame Bonaparte. "I cannot make 
 you a major," said Bonaparte, "I must therefore 
 give you a wife. You shall marry Emilie Beau- 
 harnais. She is very handsome, and well edu- 
 cated." 
 
 Lavalette raised objections : he had no fortune, 
 and was immediately to depart for Egypt with his 
 chief; he urged that he might be killed there, or, 
 which was perhaps his strongest objection, that 
 the lady might not fancy him. 
 
 Bonaparte overruled all these objections, telling 
 him that, if he, Lavalette, was killed, his widow 
 would have a pension, and might marry again ad- 
 vantageously ; and concluded by saying, "The 
 wedding shall take place in eight days. I will 
 
 allow you a fortnight for the honeymoon. You 
 must then come and join ua at Toulon. Come, 
 come, the thing is all settled. Tell the coachman 
 to drive home." 
 
 Lavalette continues the story thus : 
 
 "In the evening I went to see Madame Bona- 
 parte. She knew what was going forward, and 
 was kind enough to show some satisfaction, and 
 call me her nephew. " To-morrow," she said, 
 "we shall go to St. Germains — I will introduce 
 you to my niece : you will be delighted with her 
 — she is a charming girl." Accordingly, next day, 
 the General, Madame Bonaparte, Eugene, and I, 
 went in an open carriage to St. Germains, and 
 stopped at Madame Campan's. The visit was a 
 great event at the boarding-school ; all the young 
 girls were at the windows, in the parlours, or in 
 the court-yard, for they had obtained a holiday. 
 We soon entered the gardens. Among the forty 
 young ladies I anxiously sought for her who was 
 to be my wife. Her cousin, Hortense, led her to 
 us, that she might salute the General and embrace 
 her aunt. She was, in truth, the prettiest of them 
 all. Her stature was tall, and most gracefully 
 elegant, her features were charming, and the glow 
 of her beautiful complexion was heightened by 
 her confusion. Her bashfulness was so great, 
 that the General could not help laughing at her, 
 but he went no further. It was decided that we 
 should breakfast in the garden. In the mean time 
 I felt extremely uneasy. Would she like me? 
 Would she obey without reluctance ? This abrupt 
 marriage, and this speedy departure grieved me. 
 When we got up, and the circle was broken, I 
 begged Eugene to conduct his cousin into a soli- 
 tary walk. I joined them, and he left us ; I then 
 entered on the delicate subject. I made no secret 
 of my birth, or of my want of fortune ; and added 
 — " I possess nothing in the world but my sword, 
 and the good-will of the General — and I must leave 
 you in a fortnight. Open your heart to me. I 
 feel myself disposed to love you with all my soul 
 — but that is not sufficient. If this marriage does 
 not please you, repose a full confidence in me ; it 
 will not be difficult to find a pretext to break it 
 off — I shall depart : you will not be tormented, for 
 I will keep your secret." While I was speaking, 
 she kept her eyes fixed on the ground ; her only 
 answer was a smile, and she gave me the nosegay 
 she held in her hand ; I embraced her. We re- 
 turned slowly to the company, and eight days af- 
 terwards went to the municipality. The following 
 day, a poor priest, who had not taken the oaths, 
 married us in a small convent of the Conception, 
 in the Rue St. Honore. This was in some manner 
 forbidden, but Emilie set a great importance on 
 that point; her piety was gentle and sincere." 
 
 In a fortnight after the marriage, Lavalette left 
 his bride, and joined the expedition to Egypt. In 
 eighteen months he returned, and was most affec- 
 tionately welcomed by his wife, who presented to 
 him their infant daughter ; the happiness of the 
 married pair was complete, and their affection for 
 each other continued faithful and true during 
 years of prosperity. 
 
 On the restoration of the Bourbons, the Count 
 
LE 
 
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 Lavalette was imprisoned and condemned to death. 
 His wife tried every means to obtain Ms pardon ; 
 and, failing in this, she proposed to him, the night 
 before his execution, to put on her dress, and imi- 
 tating her walk and manner, holding his handker- 
 chief to his face, as if he were weeping, to go out 
 from the prison, and when once in the street, she 
 had provided means for his safety. As they were 
 about the same height, the deception succeeded, 
 and Count Lavalette escaped to Belgium ; but his 
 wife was kept for six weeks in prison, and not 
 allowed to see any one but her jailor. She passed 
 twenty-five days without sleep, fearing at every 
 moment that she might see her husband brought 
 back a prisoner. This anxiety at length produced 
 insanity, which continued, with some intervals of 
 rationality, during her whole life. Lavalette left 
 France in 1816 ; in 1822 he was allowed to return, 
 and from that time till his death devoted himself 
 to the care of his wife. 
 
 LEAPOE, MARY, 
 Was bom in Northamptonshire, in 1712, her 
 father having been many years gardener to a gen- 
 tleman in that country. Her education was suit- 
 able to her humble rank, but her attainments far 
 surpassed all expectation. Her modesty kept her 
 merit concealed till it was too late for her to reap 
 any temporal emoluments from her writings. She 
 died in her twenty fourth year, and, when on her 
 death-bed, gave her father a collection of papers, 
 containing original poems, which were afterwards 
 published. Some of these poems are very good. 
 She also wrote a tragedy entitled " The Unhappy 
 Father." 
 
 LEE, ANNE, 
 Was born at Manchester, England, in 1736. 
 She was the daughter of a blacksmith, and also 
 at an early age she became the wife of a black- 
 smith. She is distinguished as the person who 
 introduced Shakerism into this country ; and she 
 became the leader of the sect. Her first " testi- 
 mony of salvation and eternal life," borne in 1770, 
 was the injunction of celibacy as the perfection 
 of human nature ; and next, she claimed to be a 
 divine person. From this time she was honoured 
 with the title of " Mother Anne," while she styled 
 herself "Anne the Word." Having been perse- 
 cuted in England, she came out to America, in 
 1774, with several members of the society, and 
 formed the first community of Shakers, at Water- 
 vliet, near Albany, where she died, in 1784. 
 
 LEE, SOPHIA, 
 This amiable and ingenious lady was born in 
 the metropolis in the year 1750. Her father, 
 originally bred to the law, was an actor of merit, 
 whose conduct gained him admission into the best 
 circles, and who gave his children an excellent 
 education. At an early age, the subject of this 
 article exercised her pen in composition, and in 
 1780 produced the diverting comedy entitled the 
 " Chapter of Accidents," which met with consi- 
 derable success. With the profits of this play, on 
 the death of her father, which took place the fol- 
 
 lowing year, she was enabled to open a school at 
 Bath, which, aided by her sisters, she conducted 
 for several years with great reputation. Her next 
 performance, published in 1784, was the well- 
 known novel entited the "Recess, or a Tale of 
 Other Times," the story of which is founded on 
 the fate of two supposed daughters of Mary queen 
 of Scots, by a secret marriage with the duke of 
 Norfolk. It is ingeniously and pathetically wrought 
 up ; but some severe casuists have condemned the 
 unfair liberty which it takes with some historical 
 characters. This romance, which became very 
 popular, was followed in 1787 by a ballad called a 
 "Hermit's Tale, found in his Cell." In 1796, 
 Miss Lee produced a tragedy, called " Almeyda, 
 Queen of Grenada ;" but, although aided by the 
 great talents of Mrs. Siddons, it did not realize 
 the expectations which her power of moving the 
 passions in the " Recess" had created. In the 
 succeeding year Miss Harriet Lee published the 
 first five volumes of her " Canterbury Tales," 
 three stories in which were from the pen of her 
 sister ; and of these three, one called " Eiutzmar" 
 was selected for the subject of a tragedy by Lord 
 Byron. In 1803, having secured a handsome com- 
 petence, she retired from teaching ; soon after 
 which appeared her "Life of a Lover," a novel 
 written in early life. In 1807, a comedy by Miss 
 Lee, termed the "Assignation," was unsuccess- 
 fully produced at Drury Lane ; which drama ter- 
 minated her literary career. She died at Clifton, 
 near Bristol, March 13th, 1824. 
 
 LEGGE, ELIZABETH, 
 Eldest daughter of Edward Legge, an ancestor 
 of the Earl of Dartmouth, was born in 1580. She 
 was particularly noted for her faculty of acquiring 
 languages, having studied thoroughly the Latin, 
 French, Spanish, and Irish tongues ; besides culti- 
 vating her poetical genius. Unfortunately, these 
 acquisitions soon proved nearly useless, as she 
 lost her sight, indeed became totally blind, in con- 
 sequence of severe study and midnight readings. 
 She was never married, lived chiefly in Ireland, 
 and died at the great age of 105. 
 
 LENNGREN, ANNA MARIA, 
 A Swedish poetess, was born, 1754, and died 
 in 1817. She was the daughter of Professor 
 Malmstadt, of Upsala. Her "Visit to the Par- 
 sonage;" "Portraits;" and other writings, are 
 charming pictures of domestic life. The Swedish 
 Academy honoured her memory by a media, on 
 one side of which is her bust, and on the other a 
 muse holding a lyre, with this inscription : " Quo 
 minus gloriam potebat eo magis assecuta." 
 
 LENCLOS, ANNE or NINON DE, 
 
 Was born in Paris, in 1615. Her father, a man 
 of good family, had served under Henry IV. and 
 Louis XIV. ; had gained considerable reputation 
 for his bravery and knowledge of military tactics. 
 Having resigned his commission, he determined to 
 spend the rest of his life in the pleasures of so- 
 ciety; perhaps we might say dissipated society. 
 His wife, a timid, narrow-minded woman, had to- 
 
LE 
 
 LE 
 
 tally different views ; but unfortunately, though 
 she was pious and well-principled, her want of 
 character and understanding reduced her to a 
 negative position in the family ; and Ninon, from 
 her childhood, was submitted to very little disci- 
 pline that did not accord with her own tastes. She 
 manifested a precocious wit and aptness for learn- 
 ing which gratified her father's vanity highly ; he 
 delighted in the admiration she excited ; and, to- 
 tally neglecting the foundation of every good edu- 
 cation, that moral and religious training of the 
 heart, which gives strength for the vicissitudes of 
 life ; he raised a dazzling superstructure of accom- 
 plishments and graces, that adorned without exalt- 
 ing their possessor. Thus he formed a woman 
 whose fame was her disgrace, whose glory was her 
 shame. 
 
 The premature death of both her parents left 
 Ninon an orplian at sixteen. Her inheritance 
 being but moderate, she converted it into a life- 
 annuity, which gave her the means of living in 
 the enjoyment of affluence. Her personal charms 
 consisted not so much in surprising beauty as in 
 unspeakable grace. She was of the middle height, 
 and perfectly well proportioned; her eyes were 
 remarkably fine ; her voice soft and musical ; and 
 her manners were irresistibly winning. She was 
 quite famous for her conversational powers and 
 talents for repartee. As she was by no means 
 particular in the selection of her society, and ex- 
 cluded none but the dull and tiresome, her attrac- 
 tions and the miscellaneous group around her 
 rendered her soon celebrated ; and all the distin- 
 guished men of the day, the courtly, the learned, 
 iind the military, resorted to her house. 
 
 She had two sons, one of whom entered the 
 navy; the other, whose father was the Marquis 
 de Gersey, was the wretched being, victim of an 
 unhallowed passion he entertained for her : upon 
 learning that she was his mother, he retreated into 
 the garden and put an end to his own existence 
 with his sword ! She was then fifty-six years of 
 ajre. This sad event appears to have greatly 
 shocked her at the moment ; but vicious habits 
 
 were too inveterate to be broken ; she returned to 
 her sallies of frivolity, allured new lovers, and 
 again ran the giddy round of dissipation. 
 
 She was at one time upon intimate terms with 
 that distinguished woman, Madame Scarron, who 
 died the widow of Louis XIV. It is said that 
 Madame de Maintenon, when at Versailles, offered 
 Ninon the privilege of a residence in that royal 
 chateau. Ninon, however, considered herself 
 happier in her life of independence, and declined 
 the proposal of the all-powerful favourite. 
 
 Christina of Sweden visited Ninon when in 
 Paris, and offered to attach her to her household. 
 Less sagacity than that of the witty Parisian would 
 have been sufficient to reject a bondage to so whim- 
 sical a personage. 
 
 The most surprising circumstance in the history 
 of this woman, a little apochryphal to be sure, is, 
 that she excited a violent passion in the abbe 
 Gedoyii, then twenty-nine years old, when she had 
 actually attained her eightieth birth-day. She 
 may be said, according to Horace Walpole's ex- 
 pression, to have " burned her candle to the snuff 
 in public;" for she never changed her habits of 
 living in company, and engaging in its diversions 
 until her death, which took place in her ninetieth 
 year. 
 
 A volume has been published, said to be her 
 letters, written to the Marquis de Sevignfi ; but 
 they are well known to be spurious. Some of her 
 genuine letters are to be found in the correspond- 
 ence of St. Evreraond ; they are written with sim- 
 plicity, but by no means justify the reputation of 
 her colloquial powers. St. Evremond is the author 
 of that well-known madrigal in her praise, where 
 he attributes to her nothing less than the " virtue 
 of Cato." AVhether we consider sex, place, cha- 
 racter, or situation, a less appropriate parallel 
 could scarcely have been found in the catalogue 
 of distinguished persons. 
 
 That in an age of lax morality, the meretricious 
 charms of Ninon de Lenclos should have gained 
 her many admirers, and that indulgence should 
 have been shown to her errors, maybe understood. 
 Her bon-mots are often repeated ; her life of what 
 is called pleasure and gayety ; the attentions of 
 the illustrious ; the charms that lasted nearly a 
 century ; these things, with the thoughtless, some- 
 times obscure the true view of her career. It 
 would be unpardonable, then, in this place, not to 
 exhibit the reverse of the medal. Entitled by her 
 birth, and by her individual talents, to an honour- 
 able place in society, she saw herself an object of 
 dread and disgust to those really distinguished 
 women whose rank was their least title to consi- 
 deration. Madame Sevign^, whose "honest fame" 
 is contemporary with the name of Ninon, shows in 
 various passages the shallowness and mockery of 
 the homage paid by those often cited great men to 
 this celebrated courtezan. The boast frequently 
 repeated by her admirers, that if not a virtuous 
 woman she had the qualities of an honest man, is 
 indeed an empty one. She was under no tempta- 
 tions to commit gross acts of fraud, intemperance, 
 or other manly vices. If she had been brought to 
 the trial, it is less than doubtful that she would 
 
 390 
 
LE 
 
 LE 
 
 haTO failed ; as the much stronger barriers that 
 fence 'woman's conduct were too feeble to resist 
 her passions. It was her policy to carry off her 
 course of life with a gay air ; but, that she bitterly 
 felt its emptiness and degradation, is evident from 
 what she says in one of her letters to St. Evre- 
 mond. " If I were told I had to go over again the 
 life I have led, I would hang myself to-morrow," 
 are her significant words. It is a well authenti- 
 cated fact, that upon one occasion she narrowly 
 escaped being sent to a house for the reformation 
 of the lowest objects of public compassion. The 
 queen, thinking her an object for punishment, 
 issued an order to that effect ; and it required 
 powerful influence to get it countermanded. Des- 
 pised, and justly, by her relatives, excluded from 
 her natural station in life ; a mother, without filial 
 respect or affection ; feeling her life worse than 
 death itself ! Such was Ninon de Leuclos ! 
 
 'Count all the pleasure prosperous vice attains, - 
 "Tia but what virtue flies from, and disdains." 
 
 LENNOX, CHARLOTTE, 
 
 The friend of Johnson and Richardson, was 
 born in 1720, at New York, of which her father, 
 Colonel Ramsay, was lieutenant-governor. She 
 was sent to England to be educated ; married ; was 
 left a widow with one child ; and resorted to her 
 pen for subsistence. Her latter days were clouded 
 by poverty and sickness. Some of her works are, 
 "The Female Quixote;" "Henrietta, Sophia, and 
 Euphemia;" "Shakspeare Illustrated;" two plays, 
 and various translations. 
 
 Dr. Johnson assisted her in drawing up pro- 
 posals for an edition of her works, in three vo- 
 lumes, 4to. ; but it does not appear to have been 
 published. Dr. Johnson had such an opinion of 
 Mrs. Lennox, that on one occasion, not long before 
 his death, he went so far as to pronounce her ta- 
 lents as a writer, superior to those of Mrs. Car- 
 ter, Miss Hannah More, and Miss Burney. She 
 died January 4th, 1804. 
 
 LENORMAND, MADEMOISELLE, 
 Was born in Alenjon. Being left an orphan at 
 an-early age, she was educated, together with her 
 sister, in the convents of Alenjon, and when of a 
 suitable age, she was apprenticed to a milliner. 
 She commenced her vocation by announcing that 
 the superior of the convent of the Benedictines, 
 where she was then living, would be deprived of 
 her office, and she informed her companions of the 
 name, age, and other particulars of the successor 
 of the deprived abbess. For this prophecy. Ma- 
 demoiselle Leuormand was obliged to undergo a 
 penance ; but the event verifying the truth of her 
 predictions, her pretensions as a prophetess were 
 confirmed. Alen9on was, however, too confined a 
 place for a spirit like hers, and when she was four- 
 teen she set out for Paris, with nothing but the 
 clothes she wore, and six francs in her pocket. 
 Her step-father, who was in Paris, obtained for 
 her a situation in a shop, where she soon became 
 a great favourite, and studied arithmetic, book- 
 keeping, and mathematics. After remaining there 
 
 some time. Mademoiselle Lenormand removed to 
 No. 5, Rue de Tournon, where she continued to 
 exercise her profession, without incurring the 
 censure of government. She attracted people of 
 all ranks in life. The Princess de Lamballe, the 
 Count de Provence, afterwards Louis XVIII., Mi- 
 rabeau, Murat, Robespierre, St. Just, Barrifere, 
 Madame Tallien, and even Madame de Stael, were 
 among her frequent visitors. Josephine, wife of 
 Napoleon, reposed the greatest confidence in her, 
 and constantly sent to ask the result of any enter- 
 prise the emperor was about to undertake. She 
 was several times on the point of imprisonment ; 
 at one time for foretelling the divorce of Joseph- 
 ine ; at others, for prophesying the downfall of 
 persons in power; but she always escaped. She 
 bought lands and houses at Alen^on, where she 
 retired after the revolution of July, 1830. At 
 this, her native place, she was unwilling to exer- 
 cise her profession. She was a short, fat, and 
 very plain woman, with remarkably bright piercing 
 eyes. She left her property to her nephew, whom 
 she adopted after her sister's death. 
 
 In 1827, she published " Memoirs Historiques 
 et Secrets de Timperatrioe Josephine." She fore- 
 told that her own death would not take place till 
 she was one hundred and twenty-four, that is, till 
 near the close of the present century. In this she 
 proved a false prophet, as she died a few years 
 
 LESCAILE, CATHARINE, 
 One of those learned and accomplished women, 
 who have been honoured with the appellation of 
 the " Tenth Muse," was a native of Holland. Her 
 poems were published in 1728. They consist 
 principally of tragedies, which, although they vio- 
 late the ordinary rules, show frequent marks of 
 superior genius. She died in 1711. 
 
 LESPINASSE, MADEMOISELLE DE, 
 
 BoEN about 1720, was the illegitimate daughter 
 of Madame d'Albon, a married lady of rank. She 
 was brought up in a convent, under the name of 
 LespLnasse, and when she was of age, was placed 
 in the family of her mother, ap a governess. Ac- 
 quainted with the secret of her birth, her situation 
 was distressing, and the affection shown her in 
 secret by her mother, was her only consolation. 
 But when she died, and the proofs of her birth, 
 as well as a large sum of money, left her by her 
 mother, were wrested from her by her family, her 
 condition became singularly humiliating and deso- 
 late. At this juncture she met with Madame du 
 Deffand, and readily accepted her proposal of re- 
 siding with her as " demoiselle de compagn^e." 
 The cold, selfish Madame du Deffand treated her 
 yotmg dependant with little kindness. She made 
 her sleep, like her, during the day, and sit up all 
 night, in order to read to her. This unnatural 
 mode of life destroyed the health of Mademoiselle 
 de Lespinasse. Her chief consolation was in the 
 friendship of D'Alembert, the friend of Madame 
 du Deffand. Born under similar circumstances, 
 his sympathy flowed out to the friendless girl, 
 and his devotion to her continued till death sepa- 
 
 391 
 
LE 
 
 LI 
 
 rated them. Madame du Deffand's friends soon 
 diaooTcred the attractions of lier companion ; but 
 in order not to excite her jealousy, they aToided, 
 in her presence, taking too much notice of her. 
 To enjoy her society they secretly visited her in 
 her own room, an hour before the usual time of 
 meeting ; Madame du DefFand generally sleeping 
 till the arrival of her guests. For a long time 
 Madame du Deifand remained unconscious of this 
 arrangement ; but ■when she became acquainted 
 with it, her rage was without bounds. She ac- 
 cused Mademoiselle de Lespinasse of the blackest 
 treachery, and announced her intention of dis- 
 missing her immediately. The sense of her desti- 
 tution and helplessness, added to Madame du 
 Deffand's reproaches, acted powerfully upon the 
 excitable imagination of Mademoiselle de Lespi- 
 nasse, and, in a fit of exaggerated sensibility, she 
 took laudanum. Timely remedies saved her from 
 the consequences of this rash act, but she never 
 entirely recovered the shock given to her nerves. 
 They parted, and the Parisian world took sides in 
 the affair ; each had their partisans, and warm 
 and bitter recrimination followed. The friends 
 of Mademoiselle de Lespinasse procured her a 
 pension, and Madame Geoffrin made her a yearly 
 allowance. Placed above want, she soon gathered 
 around her a choice literary circle, many of the 
 friends of Madame du Deffand deserting her for 
 her young rival. All the accounts left of the circle 
 of Mademoiselle de Lespinasse represent it as one 
 of the most agreeable places of Parisian resort ; 
 her tact in presiding over society being a quality 
 in which she had attained the highest excellence. 
 With all the external graces of a French woman 
 of the eighteenth century, Mademoiselle de Les- 
 pinasse possessed none of the heartlessness which 
 characterized the period. Her nature had all the 
 fire and passion of the inhabitants of a southern 
 clime. A calm and even state of mind was insup- 
 portable to her, and it was perhaps this perpetual 
 mobility of feeling which rendered her presence 
 so attractive. Among her visitors was a young 
 Spanish nobleman of distinguished talents, the 
 Marquis de Mora ; he became devotedly attached 
 to her, and his friends fearing he would marry 
 her, recalled him to Spain. His passion was re- 
 turned, and during three years of separation, the 
 lovers corresponded unceasingly. De Mora's 
 health declining, his friends allowed him to return 
 to Paris ; but the fatigue of the journey was too 
 great ; he died on the road, without having seen 
 the object of his idolatry. Mademoiselle de Les- 
 pinasse was overwhelmed with grief, and from 
 that time she slowly declined ; but it was not till 
 after her death that it became known that there 
 lay in her heart a hidden sorrow deeper still. 
 During the absence of M. de Mora she had con- 
 ceived a passion for the Count de Guibert, a man 
 who ranked high in the opinion of the world. She 
 loved him with all the impassioned fervour of her 
 nature, which passion he for a short time, through 
 vanity, feigned to return ; but he married, and 
 wounded affection, united with remorse for her 
 involuntary faithlessness to her devoted lover 
 Mora, brought her to the grave. Even D'Alem- 
 
 bert, her life-friend, never knew till after her 
 death that Mora was not the only one whom she 
 had preferred to him. Mademoiselle Lespinasse's 
 history is chiefly remarkable as an illustration of 
 the difficulties and miseries which surround the 
 path of a young lady who has no natural or legal 
 protector. All these difficulties were enhanced 
 by the profligacy of French society under the old 
 regime. 
 
 LICHTENAW, WILHELMINA, COUNTESS OP, 
 
 The celebrated friend of Frederic William 11. 
 Her father, whose name was Enke, travelled over 
 the greater part of Europe, as a clever musician 
 on the French horn, and was afterwards received 
 into the royal musical chapel of Berlin. She had 
 two sisters, the eldest of whom, on account of her 
 splendid figure, was engaged at the Italian opera. 
 Count Matuschki eloped with her to Venice, and 
 married her, after which they returned to Berlin, 
 where they lived in a brilliant style, their house 
 becoming the resort of the fashionable world. 
 Her sister, Wilhelmina, when ten years of age, 
 lived with her. The hereditary prince, Frederic 
 William, who visited the house of Count Matuschki, 
 thus accidentally made her acquaintance. She 
 was then thirteen. Her beauty inspired the prince 
 with an enthusiastic love ; and when, on some oc- 
 casion, the two sisters had quarrelled, he consi- 
 dered it most proper to have her sent back to the 
 house of her father. However, his growing pas- 
 sion did not suffer him to stop here ; he conducted 
 her to Potsdam, to one of his confidants, procured 
 her a governess and the most skilful masters, and 
 came every day himself, to contribute, by his own 
 instruction, to her mental development. Their 
 mutual attachment was pure and disinterested; 
 but when also in Wilhelmina's bosom a strong 
 passion awoke for her amiable benefactor, she 
 was no longer able to resist his protestations of 
 unchangeable love. Notwithstanding, the prince 
 followed other transient inclinations ; and, not to 
 be disturbed by Wilhelmina's presence, placed her, 
 under pretext of perfecting her mind and accom- 
 plishments, under the guardianship of her sister, 
 (the countess,) in Paris. When six months had 
 elapsed, he decided himself entirely in her favour ; 
 yet, for the sake of outward propriety, a marriage 
 was feigned with a certain Eetz. After the death 
 of Frederic I. she was elevated to a higher but 
 more difficult position. To avoid envy and jea- 
 lousy, was impossible ; neither could she live in 
 the same good intelligence with all parties of the 
 court, who differed greatly in their views. In the 
 year 1792 she travelled, with the king, to Vienna, 
 where she was present at the coronation of Fran- 
 cis II. ; three years later, she visited Italy, and 
 on her return, received the diploma, which gave 
 her the title of Countess Lichtenaw. On her ar- 
 rival in Berlin, she was introduced as such to the 
 queen ; at the same time she received for her esta- 
 blishment 500,000 crowns, and the estates to which 
 she had a claim by her title. Besides, she possessed 
 a house in Berlin, (an inheritance of her deceased 
 son. Count von der Mark,) and a beautiful villa 
 in Charlottenburg. Her situation, as well as the 
 
 392 
 
LO 
 
 LO 
 
 king's favour, lasted until his death, in 1797. But 
 as soon as Frederic William had closed his eyes 
 forever, the scene changed. She was forthwith 
 arrested, at Potsdam, and, for four months, strong- 
 ly secured ; during which time her papers were 
 examined, and she herself minutely interrogated. 
 Although no discovery could be made to accuse 
 her of a state crime, she was sent to Fort Glagow, 
 and her property confiscated. Not until after an 
 imprisonment of three years, and an unconditional 
 renunciation of her entire property, was she re- 
 leased, and obtained an annuity of 4000 crowns. 
 In 1811 her estates were partly restored, but the 
 annuity was withdrawn. She afterwards lived In 
 retirement, and died in 1820. 
 
 As to the bad influence which, according to the 
 statements of her enemies and misinformed per- 
 sons, this woman is said to have exercised over 
 the monarch, and, through him, over the Prussian 
 state, and the abuse which she made of her power 
 for the destruction of worthy and the advance- 
 ment of unworthy statesmen, there is no founda- 
 tion whatever. Men of undoubted character speak 
 of her with the highest esteem ; and she is praised 
 by those who intimately knew her, as a woman 
 of deep sensibility, rare good-nature, correct judg- 
 ment, and unfeigned self-sacrificing interest in 
 those whom she loved. It is an acknowledged 
 fact, that she never sought distinction or wealth 
 for herself, nor for her nearest relations. Her 
 parents died poor ; her youngest sister was mar- 
 ried to a merchant; and her two brothers, of 
 whom the one was high-forester, and the other 
 equerry, had never more than a competency to 
 live on, and lost even that during the unfortunate 
 period of the French war. 
 
 LINCOLN, ELIZABETH, COUNTESS OF, 
 
 Was one of the daughters and co-heiresses of 
 Sir John Knevet, of Charlton, in Wiltshire, Eng- 
 land, and was married to Thomas, Earl of Lincoln, 
 about 1602, by whom she had seven sons and nine 
 daughters. She published, in 1628, a small but 
 valuable tract, called " The Countess of Lincoln's 
 Nursery." It was addressed to her daughter-in- 
 law, the Countess of Lincoln, and is a well-written 
 ~ essay on the advantages of mothers nursing their 
 own children. 
 
 LLOYD, MART, 
 
 Was the daughter of George Michael Moser, 
 of England, and distinguished herself so much as 
 an admirable artist in flower-painting, that she 
 was elected a member of the Eoyal Academy at 
 London. After her marriage, she practised her 
 art solely for amusement. She died in 1819. 
 
 LOGAN, MARTHA, 
 
 A QKEAT florist, was the daughter of Robert 
 Daniel, of South Carolina. In her fifteenth year 
 she married George Logan, and died in 1779, aged 
 seventy-seven. At the age of seventy, she wrote 
 a treatise " On Gardening." 
 
 LOGES, MARIE BRUNEAU, 
 Was one of the most illustrious women in France 
 in the seventeenth century. She was zealous for 
 the reformed religion, and was highly esteemed 
 by Malherbe and Balzac, and all the greatest wits 
 and princes of her time. She died in 1641, and 
 left nine children by her husband, Charles de 
 Rechignfevoisen, Lord des Logos, at one time gen- 
 tleman in ordinary of the king's bed-chamber. 
 
 LOHMAN, JOHANNA FREDERICA, 
 Was born in 1749, at Wittemburg. She was 
 the daughter of the Professor of 'Law, J. D. Rich- 
 ter. She married the auditor Lohman in Schoen- 
 beck, by Magdeburg. She lived at first in Leipzic, 
 then in Magdeburg, and after the death of her 
 husband again in Leipzic, where she died, in 1811. 
 Most of her works were published anonymously. 
 She wrote "The Jacobin," in 1794; "Clara of 
 Wahburg," in 1796; "Carelessness and its Con- 
 sequences," in 1805. 
 
 LOHMAN, EMELIE F. SOPHIE, 
 
 Daughter of the above-mentioned lady, was 
 born in 1784, at Schoenbeck, and died, in 1830, 
 at Leipzic. She was a very prolific writer. Some 
 of her best works are, " Winter Evenings," 1811 ; 
 "Life and Poetry," 1820; and "New Tales," 
 1823. 
 
 LONGUEVILLE, DUCHESS DE, 
 Sister of the great Cond^, was the daughter 
 of Henry, prince de Cond^, and of Marguerite de 
 Montmorenci. She married Henry d'Orleans, duke 
 de Longueville, who, though brave, intelligent, and 
 virtuous, preferred a quiet and retired life ; and 
 soon withdrew from the wars of the Fronde, in 
 which his wife had induced him to take an active 
 part, to his own estate. The duchess, whose cha- 
 racter was very different, embraced with warm 
 ardour the views of that party, whose heroine she 
 soon, from her high birth, beauty and intrepidity, 
 became. Her influence and charms were of great 
 use to the Frondeurs, by inducing the celebrated 
 Turenne and the duke de la Rochefoucauld to join 
 them. Turenne, however, soon returned to his 
 allegiance to the king ; but the duke remained 
 faithful to the last, " ci ses beaux yeux." 
 
 After the amicable termination of the civil war, 
 the duchess was received into the favour of Louis 
 XIII., and from that time devoted herself to litera- 
 ture, and united with her illustrious brothers, the 
 great Cond^, and the prince de Cond^, in encou- 
 raging rising genius. On the death of the duke 
 de Longueville, she left the court, and consecrated 
 the remainder of her days to the most austere 
 penitence. She had a house built at Port-Royal 
 aux Champs, where, although she renounced " the 
 pomps and vanities of the world," she still retain- 
 ed her love for society, and the conversation of 
 intelligent persons. The recluses at Port-Royal 
 were all people who had acquired a high reputa- 
 tion while they lived in the world. Human glory 
 followed them to their hermitage, all the more be- 
 cause they disdained it. 
 
 39a 
 
LO 
 
 MA 
 
 The duchess de Longueville died April 15th, 
 1679, at the age of sixty-one. She left no children. 
 
 LOUIS, MADAME, 
 The wife of an architect of celehrity, was dis- 
 tinguished for her abilities in music. She com- 
 posed an opera called " Fleur d'Epine," which 
 was performed at the Italian opera at Paris in 
 1776, and received much commendation from the 
 musical critics. At the revolution, her husband 
 being banished, she emigrated with him, and pass- 
 ed the remainder of her life in obscurity. She 
 published several sonatas, ariettes, and some works 
 of a scientific class upon music. 
 
 LOUISA AUGUSTA WILHELMINA AMALIA, 
 Queen of Prussia, daughter of Charles, duke of 
 Jlecklenburg-Strelitz, was born at Hanover, where 
 her father was commandant, March 10th, 1776. 
 In 1793, she and her sister were presented at 
 Frankfort to the king of Prussia. The prince- 
 royal was struck with her beauty, and married 
 her, December 24th, 1793. It was the union of 
 mutual affection. Her husband became king, 
 November 16th, 1797; and she fulfilled all the 
 duties of this high station so admirably, as well 
 as those of wife and mother, that she was almost 
 worshipped by the people, as well as by her hus- 
 band and those immediately around her. In 1806, 
 when Prussia was suffering severely from the 
 burdens of war, this good queen, by her solicitude 
 for others, even while oppressed with heavy cares 
 and sorrows of her own, was the theme of genera! 
 praise. Her beauty, her grace, her benevolent 
 and lofty character, attracted the hearts of all, 
 and her goodness won the confidence of the nation. 
 She died in 1810. 
 
 LOUVENCOURT, MARIE DE, 
 
 Was born at Paris in 1680. Graceful and in- 
 tellectual, she was the ornament of both gay and 
 literary society. She had a fine voice, and sang 
 and played exquisitely. Several of her songs have 
 been set to music by the most celebrated com- 
 posers of her time. She lived unmarried, and died 
 in 1712. 
 
 LUCAR, ELIZABETH, 
 Daughter of Paul Witterpool, was born in Lon- 
 don in 1510. She was liberally educated, and 
 excelled in all kinds of needle-work, writing, mu- 
 sic, mathematics, and the languages. She was a 
 religious woman, and died in 1537. 
 
 LUCCHESINI, GUIDICCIONI LAURA, 
 
 Lived at Sienna in 1601, and wrfs of the same 
 family as John Guidiccioni, one of the first Italian 
 poets of the time. She was distinguished for her 
 poetical taste and talents. Her writings were 
 principally lyrics ; but she also composed three 
 pastorals .to be set to music. 
 
 LUMLEY, JOANNA, LADY, 
 Eldest daughter of Henry Fitz-AUan, Earl 
 Arundel, married Lord John Lumley. She was 
 very learned, and translated from the Greek, three 
 
 of the orations of Isocrates, of which the MS. is 
 still preserved in the Westminster Library. She 
 also translated the Iphigenia of Euripides. Her 
 death occurred in 1620. ' 
 
 LUSSAN, MARGARET DE, 
 
 A WEITEB. very much admired in France for a 
 number of romances which she produced, was the 
 daughter of a coachman belonging to Cardinal 
 Fleury, and was born about 1682. The celebrated 
 Huet observed her early talents, assisted her in 
 her education, and advised her to the style of 
 writing in which she afterwards excelled. She 
 had no personal beauty, but possessed many noble 
 and generous qualities of mind and heart. She 
 supported herself chiefly by her pen ; and her 
 works would probably have been more perfect, if 
 she had not been obliged to write so much. Her 
 best productions are " Histoire de la Comtesse de 
 Gondez ;" " Anecdotes de la Cour de Philippe Au- 
 guste;" "Les VieU^es de Thessalie ;" "Memoirs 
 Secret et Intrigues de la Cour de France, sous 
 Charles Till. ;" "Anecdotes de la Cour de Fran- 
 fois I. ;" &c. Some works were published under 
 her name, which are now known to have been 
 written by other persons, with whom she shared 
 the profits. 
 
 M. 
 MACAULAY, CATHARINE, 
 
 A CELEBRATED female historian and politician, 
 was the youngest daughter of John Sawbridge, 
 Esq., of OUantigh, in Kent. Catharine was born 
 about the year 1733. During her infancy her 
 mother died, and left her and an elder sister to 
 be brought up by a governess, who, it appears, 
 was very unfit for such a responsible task. The 
 two sisters seem to have been left almost wholly 
 to the guidance of their own feelings and instincts. 
 Catharine, at an early age, found constant access 
 to her father's large library, and rummaged and 
 read whatever she fancied. Her first favourites 
 were the periodicals, , the Spectator, Rambler, 
 Guardian, &c. ; next, history attracted her mind ; 
 and at length RoUin's spirited account of the Ro- 
 man republic struck on the master chord of her 
 noble nature, and made her a republican and a 
 writer of history. 
 
 She took the name by which she is best known 
 from her first husband, Dr. George Maoaulay, a 
 London physician, to whom she was married in 
 1760. It was soon after this date that she com- 
 menced authoress, by the publication of her " His- 
 tory of England from the accession of James I. to 
 the elevation of the House of Hanover," the first 
 volume of which, in 4to., appeared in 1763, and 
 the fifth and last, which however only brought the 
 narrative down to the Restoration, in 1771. The 
 work also went through more than one edition in 
 8vo. On its first publication it attracted consi- 
 derable attention, principally from the double 
 piquancy of the sex and the avowed republicanism 
 of the writer; but, notwithstanding some ooca- 
 
 894 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 sional liveliness of remarls:, and its notice of a 
 good many facts omitted by most of our other his- 
 torians ; yet, as its spirit was purely republican, 
 its advancement to a s andard work was rendered 
 impossible in England. The style is nervous and 
 animated, although sometimes loose and inaccu- 
 rate, and the reflections of the author are often 
 acute and sagacious, always noble and benevolent. 
 The five volumes of the History were followed, in 
 1778, by another, entitled " The History of Eng- 
 land from the Revolution to the present time, in a 
 series of Letters to the Reverend Dr. Wilson, rector 
 of St. Stepheu's,Walbrook, andprebendary of West- 
 minster," 4to., Bath. The six letters of which this 
 volume consists come down to the termination of 
 the administration of Sir Robert Walpole, in 1742. 
 A female historian, by its singularity, would 
 not fail to excite curiosity ; and as Mrs. Macaulay 
 had ventured to step beyond the province of her 
 sex, as it was then considered, she was more se- 
 verely criticised for her political opinions than a 
 man would have been. As her talents could not 
 be denied, her adversaries resorted to petty, per- 
 sonal scurrilities against her. They said she was 
 "deformed," "ugly," "disagreeable;" and that 
 her ambition to become distinguished had, there- 
 fore, taken this course, most absurd for a woman 
 — attempting to encroach on the province of man. 
 Mrs. Arnold, a lady who subsequently became the 
 warm friend • of Mrs. Macaulay, remarks, that 
 these notions had prejudiced her, and adds : 
 " Judge then of my surprise, when I saw a woman 
 elegant in her manners, delicate in her person, 
 and with features, if not perfectly beautiful, so 
 fascinating in their expression, as deservedly to 
 rank her face among the higher order of human 
 countenances. Her height was above the middle 
 size, inclining to tall ; her shape slender and ele- 
 gant; the contour of her face, neck, and shoul- 
 ders, graceful. The form of her face was oval, 
 her complexion delicate, and her skin fine ; her 
 hair was of a mild brown, long and profuse ; her 
 nose between the Pioman and the Grecian; her 
 mouth small, her chin round, as was the lower 
 part of her face, which made it appear to more 
 advantage in front than in profile. Her eyes were 
 as beautiful as imagination can conceive ; full of 
 penetration and fire ; but their fire softened by 
 the mildest beams of benevolence; their colour 
 was a fine dark hazel, and their expression the 
 indication of a superior soul. Infirm health, too 
 often the attendant on an active and highly culti- 
 vated understanding, gave to her countenance an 
 extreme delicacy, which was peculiarly interest- 
 ing. To this delicacy of constitution was added a 
 most amiable sensibility of temper, which rendered 
 her feelingly alive to whatever concerned those 
 w,ith whom she was connected either by nature or 
 by friendship." 
 
 In her friendships, we are told by this lady, she 
 was fervent, disinterested, and sincere ; zealous 
 for the prosperity, and for the moral improvement, 
 of those whom she distinguished and loved. 
 
 In 1785, Mrs. Macaulay visited the United 
 States, and travelled through the greater part of 
 the country, where she was very kindly received. 
 
 She terminated her journey by a visit to Genera] 
 Washington, with whom she corresponded for the 
 remainder of her life. She resided after her re- 
 turn principally at Binfield, in Berkshire. 
 
 In 1778, or according to another account, in 
 1785, Mrs. Macaulay, having lost her first hus- 
 band, married a Mr. Graham, of whom all that is 
 told is that he was so many years her junior as to 
 expose the lady to much irreverent remark. She 
 also wrote several pamphlets, both during the pro- 
 gress of her great work, and after its completion. 
 Of these the catalogue-makers have preserved the 
 following titles : " Remarks on Hobbe's R,udiment8 
 of Government and Society," 1767 ; enlarged and 
 republished in 1769, with the more striking title 
 of " Loose R,emarks on some of Mr. Hobbes' Posi- 
 tions;" "Observations on a pamphlet (Burke's) 
 entitled Thoughts on the Causes of the present 
 Discontents," 1770; "An Address to the People 
 of England, Scotland, and Ireland, on the present 
 Important Crisis of Aifairs," 1775; "A Treatise 
 on the Immutability of Moral Truth," called in a 
 second much enlarged edition, "Letters on Edu- 
 cation," 1790; and "Observations on the Reflec- 
 tions of the Right Hon. E. Burke on the Revolu- 
 tion in France, in a Letter to the Right Hon. the 
 Earl of Stanhope," 1791. 
 
 This excellent woman died June 23d, 1791. 
 Her friend Mrs. Arnold, in her account of the 
 private character of Mrs. Maffaulay, says : " As a 
 wife, a mother, a friend, neighbour, and the mis- 
 tress of a family, she was irreproachable and ex- 
 emplary. My sentiments of this amiable woman 
 are derived from a long and intimate acquaintance 
 with her various excellencies ; and I have observed 
 her in different points of view. I have seen her 
 exalted on the dangerous pinnacle of worldly pros- 
 perity, surrounded by flattering friends, and an 
 admiring world ; I have seen her marked out by 
 party prejudice as an object of dislike and ridi- 
 cule ; I have seen her bowed down by bodily pain 
 and weakness ; but never did I see her forget the 
 urbanity of a gentlewoman, her conscious dignity 
 as a rational creature, or a fervent aspiration after 
 the highest degree of attainable perfection. I 
 have seen her humble herself in the presence of 
 her Almighty Father ; and, with a contrite heart, 
 acknowledging her sins and imploring his forgive- 
 ness ; I have seen her languishing on the bed of 
 sickness, enduring pain with the patience of a 
 Christian, and with the firm belief, that the light 
 afilictions of this life are but for a moment, and 
 that the fashion of the world will pass' away, and 
 give place to a system of durable happiness." 
 
 Dr. Wilson, prebendary of Westminster, was an 
 enthusiastic admirer of hers, and erected a statue 
 to her, as a patroness of liberty, in the church at 
 Walbrook ; but on the death of Dr. Wilson, this 
 mark of homage was removed by his successor. 
 
 MACDONALD, FLORA, 
 Was the daughter of Mr. Macdonald, of Milton, 
 in South Uist, one of the Hebrides. She was born 
 in 1720, and, after her father's death, resided in 
 the Isle of Skye, with her mother and stepfather, 
 Hugh Macdonel, of Arnadale. After the disas- 
 
 395 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 trous defeat of Culloden, when prince Charles Ed- 
 ward, a hunted fugitive, was seeking concealment 
 in the Western Isles, Flora was on a visit to her 
 brother, in South TJist, where, as it happened, the 
 prince lay hid. The circumstances which induced 
 this young and beautiful girl to become the com- 
 panion of the prince's wanderings, and the sharer 
 of his dangers and almost unexampled hardships, 
 have never been clearly explained. The most 
 probable account, and no doubt the true one, is, 
 that her stepfather, Hugh Macdonel, though in 
 command of a company of royal militia, was in 
 secret so well disposed towards the cause of the 
 Stuarts, that he was induced to allow his step- 
 daughter to aid in the prince's escape, and to 
 write privately to him by a trusty messenger, 
 making him the offer. Flora was conducted to 
 the prince at midnight, where in a lonely hut they 
 concerted measures for his escape. The isles were 
 overrun vrith soldiers ; the prince's pursuers had 
 traced him to South Uist, and thirty thousand 
 pounds were offered for his apprehension. It was 
 therefore necessary to be prompt, wary, and cou- 
 rageous, in the attempt, all of which qualities 
 Flora brought to the undertaking. After passing 
 through numerous adventures, concealed in rocks 
 and caves, and exposed to imminent danger, they 
 succeeded in leaving the isle ; the prince dressed 
 as a female, and personating the character of Betty 
 Burke, an Irish woman in attendance upon Miss 
 Macdonald. On approaching Skye, the boat was 
 fired upon by the soldiers on shore, and Flora, 
 though the buUets fell thick around her, positively 
 refused the prince's request to lie down in the 
 boat for shelter, unless he would consent to do so 
 also, and he was obliged to yield to her importu- 
 nities to ensure her safety. They succeeded in 
 effecting a landing in Skye. Here, Flora was 
 called upon to exercise all her skUl, fortitude, and 
 courage, in behalf of the prince ; and many- inte- 
 resting anecdotes of the romantic incidents con- 
 nected with her efforts to conceal and aid him in 
 his escape, are on record. She conducted him in 
 safety to Portaree, whose arrangements were made 
 to convey him to a neighbouring island, and parted 
 from him after receiving his warmest assurances 
 of gratitude and regard. Twenty days after they 
 parted the prince escaped to France, but before 
 half that period had elapsed Flora was arrested, 
 and carried on board a vessel of war, where she 
 was confined five months. She was then conveyed 
 to London, and detained tinder surveillance for 
 eight months. In July, 1747, she was finally set 
 at liberty, by the provisions of the Act of Indem- 
 nity. While in London, Flora was visited by 
 people of the highest distinction, and on her de- 
 parture she was presented with fifteen hundred 
 pound.?, which had been subscribed by the Jaco- 
 bite ladies of the metropolis. In 1750, Flora be- 
 came the wife of Alexander Macdonald, of Kings- 
 burgh. A few years after, in consequence of the 
 embarrassment of their affairs, they were com- 
 pelled to emigrate to America, where they settled 
 upon an estate which they purchased in North 
 Carolina. On the breaking out of the revolution- 
 ary war, Macdonald sided with the royalist party. 
 
 and after the independence was secured, they re- 
 turned to Skye. Here Flora died, at the advanced 
 age of seventy. By her particular request her 
 body was enclosed and buried in one of the sheets 
 that had been used by the unfortunate prince dur- 
 ing the night he rested at Kingsburgh, and which 
 she had preserved, unwashed, for that purpose. 
 Floi'a Macdonald was the mother of seven children, 
 all of whom were an honour to her name. Dr. 
 Johnson's interview with her is recorded in his 
 " Tour to the Hebrides." 
 
 MADISON, MRS., 
 
 Was the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Payne, of 
 Virginia, members of the society of Friends, who 
 manumitted their slaves soon after their marriage, 
 and removed to Pennsylvania. Miss Dolly Payne 
 was educated in Philadelphia, and, when very 
 young, married Mr. Todd, a lawyer in that city, 
 who soon left her a widow, with one son. In 
 1794, Mrs. Todd became the wife of Mr. James 
 Madison, and went to live on his estates in Virgi- 
 nia, till he was appointed secretary of state, in 
 1801, when they removed to Washington, where 
 Mrs. Madison won the admiration of all by the 
 charms of her elegant hospitality. Mrs. Madison 
 also presided at the White House, in the absence 
 of Mr. Jefferson's daughters, and her frank and 
 cordial manners gave a peculiar charm to the fre- 
 quent parties there assembled. But there were 
 individuals who never visited at the president's, 
 nor met at the other ministerial houses, whom 
 Mrs. Madison won, by the sweet influence of her 
 conciliatory disposition, to join her evening cir- 
 cle, and sit at her husband's table — always covered 
 with the profusion of Virginia hospitality, but 
 not always in the style of European elegance. 
 The wife of a foreign minister ridiculed the enor- 
 mous size and number of the dishes, observing 
 that "it was more like a harvest-home supper, 
 than the entertainment of a secretary of state.'' 
 Mrs. Madison heard of this and similar remarks, 
 and only answered with a smile, " that she thought 
 abundance was preferable to elegance ; that cir- 
 cumstances formed customs, and customs formed 
 taste ; and as the profusion, so repugnant to fo- 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 reign customs, arose from the happy circumstance 
 of the superabundance and prosperity of our coun- 
 try, she did not hesitate to sacrifice the delicacy 
 of European taste, for the less elegant, but more 
 liberal fashion of Virginia." Her house was very 
 plainly furnished, her dress never extravagant; 
 it Vfas only in hospitality and in charity that she 
 was profuse. The many families daily supplied 
 from that profusely-spread table testified to the 
 real hospitality of the hostess. 
 
 In 1809 Mr. Madison was elected president of 
 the United States, which high office he adminis- 
 tered for eight years. During all this period, 
 which included the most stormy times of our re- 
 public, when the war with Great Britain and other 
 important questions, arrayed a most violent oppo- 
 sition to the government, and party animosity was 
 bitter and vindictive ; yet always in the presence 
 of Mrs. Madison, the spirit of discord was hushed ; 
 the leaders of opposite parties would stand around 
 her, smiling and courteous to each other, as though 
 in the sunshine of her benevolence all were friends. 
 Mr. Madison was, in manner, cold, reserved, and 
 lofty ; his integrity of character was I'espected by 
 all ; but the popularity he enjoyed was won by 
 the mildness and gentle virtues of his wife; she 
 ruled over the hearts of all who knew her. It is 
 said that she never forgot a name she had once 
 heard, nor a face she had once seen, nor the per- 
 sonal circumstances connected with every indivi- 
 dual of her acquaintance. Hence her quick recog- 
 nition of persons ; her recurrence to the peculiar 
 interests of each left the gratifying impression 
 that each one was an object of especial regard. 
 
 In 1817, Mr. Madison's second term of ofiice 
 having expired, he retired to his paternal estate, 
 in Virginia. Montpelier, as this place was called, 
 had a large and commodious mansion, designed 
 more for comfort and hospitality than show, where 
 the mother of Mr. Madison had always resided. 
 One wing of the house was appropriated to her, 
 and she had there her separate establishment and 
 her old servants, and maintained all the old cus- 
 toms of the last century. By only opening a door 
 the observer passed from the elegancies, refine- 
 ments, and gayeties of modern life, into all that 
 was venerable, respectable, and dignified in by- 
 gone days. It was considered a high favour and 
 distinction by the great and the gay who thronged 
 to visit Mr. and Mrs. Madison at Montpelier, if 
 they were permitted to pay the homage of their 
 respects to his reverend mother. A lady who was 
 admitted to visit her when she was in her ninety- 
 seventh year, thus describes the scene: "She — 
 Mrs. Madison, the elder — still retained all her 
 faculties, though not free from the bodily infirmi- 
 ties of age. She was sitting, or rather reclining 
 on a couch ; beside her was a small table filled 
 with large, dark, and worn quartos and folios, of 
 most venerable appearance. She closed one as 
 we entered, and took up her knitting, which lay 
 beside her. Among other inquiries, I asked her 
 how she passed her time. 
 
 " I am never at a loss," she replied ; " this and 
 these" — touching her knitting and her books — 
 " keep me always busy ; look at my fingers, and 
 
 you will perceive I have not been idle." In truth 
 her delicate fingers were polished by her knitting- 
 needles. " And my eyes, thanks be to God, have 
 not failed me yet, and I read moat part of the 
 day. But in other respects I am feeble and help- 
 less, and owe everything to her" — pointing to 
 Mrs. Madison, who sat by us. "She is my mo- 
 ther now, and tenderly cares for all my wants!" 
 My eyes were filled with tears as I looked from 
 the one to the other of these excellent women. 
 Never, in the midst of her splendid drawing-room, 
 surrounded by the courtly and brilliant, the ad- 
 mired and respected — herself the centre of attrac- 
 tion, the object of admiration — never was Mrs. 
 Madison so interesting, so lovely, so estimable, 
 as in her attendance on her venerable mother-in- 
 law, whom she loved and honoured with grateful 
 affection." 
 
 In 1836 Mr. Madison died. He had lived 
 twenty years in retirement, and had found, in the 
 society of his wife, and in her unremitting atten- 
 tions to him, when enfeebled by age and infirmity, 
 that she was the best gift of God ; or, as he ex- 
 pressed it, " his connexion with her was the hap- 
 piest event of his life." 
 
 After his decease, Mrs. Madison removed to the 
 city of Washington, where she continued to be 
 held in the highest respect till her death, which 
 occurred July 22d, 1849. Her funeral was at- 
 tended by a very large concourse ; the highest 
 officers of the government united with the people 
 in this testimonial of regard to the honoured and 
 beloved Mrs. Madison. 
 
 MAILLARD, MADEMOISELLE, 
 A BEAUTIFUL French actress and dancer, who 
 made herself conspicuous in the revolution in 
 France, by representing, in 1793, in public, the 
 part of the Goddess of Reason, and receiving in 
 that character the homage of the phrenzied people. 
 
 MAINE, ANNE, LOUISE, BENEDICTE DE 
 BOURBON, DUCHESS DE, 
 
 Geand-daughtek of the great Cond^, was born 
 in 1676 ; and was married, in 1692, to Louis Au- 
 gustus de Bourbon, duke de Maine, son of Louis 
 XIV., and Madame de Montespan. Through the 
 influence of Madame de Maintenon, the children 
 of Madame de Montespan were legitimized ; and 
 she wrung from the old king, on his death-bed, a 
 testament in favour of the duke du Maine. This 
 having been revealed" to the duke of Orleans, he 
 took steps, before the opening of the will, to have 
 his claim to the regency, as first prince of the 
 blood, acknowledged, and the will was set aside. 
 A strong and dangerous party, opposed to the 
 power of the regent, immediately sprung up, of 
 which the duchess du Maine was the acknowledged 
 chief. Her rank, talents, and ambition, rendered 
 her influence formidable ; and had she only been 
 able to impart her own active and energetic spirit 
 to her husband, the duke of Orleans would not 
 have obtained the regency without a struggle. 
 She held her little court at Sceaux, and, under 
 the mask of pleasure and devotion to literature, 
 she carried on political intrigues. 
 
 397 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 Madame du Maine had received an excellent 
 classical education. Her wit was light and bril- 
 liant, and her conversation singularly felicitous. 
 She was bold, active, and vehement, but deficient 
 in moral courage. Her temper was fickle, selfish, 
 and violent ; and, small as she was in person, she 
 had the reputation of beating her husband, who, 
 grave, learned, and deformed in person, had no 
 latent energies to arouse. The weakness of du 
 Maine encouraged the princes of the blood to pro- 
 test against the edicts by which the legitimized 
 children of Louis XIV. had been rendered their 
 equals in rank. Madame du Maine answered this 
 attack by a long and learned memorial, in which 
 the rights of these princes were set forth ; but 
 without avail. The legitimized princes were de- 
 prived of their right of succession to the crown. 
 Bent upon revenge, Madame du Maine's projects 
 were favoured by the state of the country. She 
 carried on intrigues with Spain and with the dis- 
 affected Bretons, and moved every engine within 
 her reach to bring the regent into disrepute and 
 overturn his power. A plot was formed, having 
 many ramifications, its chief objects being the 
 deposition of the regent, and the aggrandizement 
 of the duke du Maine. The plot, however, was 
 prematurely discovered. The duke and duchess 
 were arrested, and the duchess was imprisoned in 
 the castle of bijon, where, after a tedious con- 
 finement, she became so heartily weary as to make 
 her submission to the regent. She was liberated, 
 and her husband was released at the same time. 
 They resumed their former mode of existehce, and 
 the little court at Sceaux was soon as gay as ever, 
 though it was never again so brilliant as formerly. 
 The political part of Madame du Maine ended with 
 her captivity. Her literary influence, though cir- 
 cumstances caused it to decline, was more real and 
 lasting than her political power. If she gave no 
 new impulse to genius, she assisted its develope- 
 ment, and had enough taste to feel the superiority 
 of Voltaire. Her most extraordinary quality ap- 
 pears to have been her conversational style. 
 
 MAINTENON, MADAME DE, 
 An extraordinary woman, who, from a low con- 
 dition, was elevated to the honour of becoming 
 the wife of Louis XIV., was descended from the 
 ancient family of d'Aubigng, her proper name be- 
 ing Frances d'Aubign^. M. d'Aubigng, her grand- 
 father, was a Protestant, and a man of great merit 
 and high standing ; but his. son, Constante d'Au- 
 bign^, the father of Madame de Maintenon, was a 
 man of most infamous character, and actually 
 murdered his first wife. He married afterwards 
 the daughter of Peter de Cardillac, lord of Lane, 
 at Bordeaux, December 27th, 1627. Going to 
 Paris soon after his second marriage, he was, for 
 some very great offence, thrown into prison. Ma- 
 dame d'Aubign^ in vain solicited his pardon. Car- 
 dinal Richelieu told her, that "to take such a 
 husband from her, was to do her a friendly ofiioe." 
 Madame d'Aubign^ shut herself up in prison with 
 him, and there her two oldest sons were born. 
 She then obtained leave to have her husband re- 
 moved to the prison at Niort, that they might be 
 
 near their relations. In that prison her only 
 daughter, Madame de Maintenon, wasborn, No- 
 vember 27th, 1635. Her aunt, Madame Villette, 
 took compassion on the poor infant, and gave it to 
 the care of her daughter's nurse. M. d'Aubigng 
 was at length released on condition that he should 
 become a Roman Catholic ; and, in 1639, he em- 
 barked for America with his family. He died at 
 
 Martinico in 1646, leaving his wife in the greatest 
 poverty. She returned to France, leaving her 
 daughter in the hands of the principal creditor, 
 as a pledge for the payment of her debts ; but he 
 soon sent her to France after her mother, who, 
 being unable to support her, her aunt Villette 
 offered her a home, which she thankfully accepted. 
 But JIadame Villette was a Protestant, and in- 
 structed her niece in the peculiar tenets of that 
 faith. This alarmed another relation of Frances 
 d'Aubign^'s, Madame de Neuillaut, a Catholic, who 
 solicited and obtained an order from the court to 
 take her out of the hands of Madame Villette ; 
 and, by means of threats, artifices, and hardships, 
 she at length made a convert of her. 
 
 In 1651, Madame de Neuillaut took her to Paris, 
 where, meeting the famous wit, the abb6 Scarron, 
 she married him, notwithstanding his being infirm 
 and deformed ; preferring this to the dependent 
 state she was in. She lived with him many years ; 
 and Voltaire says that these were undoubtedly the 
 happiest part of her life. Her beauty, but still 
 more her wit, though her modesty and good sense 
 preserved her from all frivolity, caused her society 
 to be eagerly sought by all the best company in 
 Paris, and she became highly distinguished. Her 
 husband's death in 1660 reduced her to the same 
 infligent state as before ; and her friends used 
 every effort to prevail on the court to continue to 
 her the pension which Scarron had enjoyed. So 
 many petitions were sent in, beginning " The 
 widow Scarron most humbly prays," that the king 
 exclaimed with irritation, " Must I always be tor- 
 mented with the widow Scarron ?" At last, how- 
 ever, he settled a much larger pension on her, as 
 a mark of esteem for her talents. 
 
 In 1671, the birth of the duke of Maine, the 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 son of Louis XIV. and Madame de Montespan, 
 who was then a year old, had not yet been made 
 public. The child had a lame foot, and the physi- 
 cian advised that he should be sent to the waters 
 of Bargge. This trust was committed to Madame 
 Scarron, as a safe person ; and from this time she 
 had the charge of the duke of Maine's education. 
 The letters she wrote to the king on this subject 
 charmed him, and were the origin of her fortune. 
 Louis gave her the lands and name of Maintenon 
 in 1679, which was the only estate she ever had, 
 though afterwards in a position that aiforded her 
 an opportunity of acquiring an immense property. 
 
 Her elevation, however, was to her only a re- 
 treat. Shut up in her rooms, which were on the 
 same floor with the king, she confined herself to 
 the society of two or three ladies, whom she saw 
 but seldom. The king came to her apartment 
 every day, and continued there till after midnight. 
 Here he did business with his ministers, while 
 Madame de Maintenon employed herself with 
 reading or needle-work, carefully avoiding all in- 
 terference in state affairs, but studying more how 
 to please him who governed, than to govern. She 
 made but little use of her influence over the king, 
 either to enable her to confer benefits or do inju- 
 ries. 
 
 About the end of 1685, Louis married Madame 
 de Maintenon. She was then fifty years of age, 
 and the king forty-eight. This union was kept a 
 profound secret, and she enjoyed very little public 
 distinction in consequence of her elevation. But 
 after the king began to lead this retired life with 
 Madame de Maintenon, the court grew every day 
 more serious ; and the monotony of her life was 
 so great, that she once exclaimed to her brother, 
 " I can bear this no longer ; I wish I were dead !" 
 
 The convent of St. Cyr was built by her at the 
 end of the park of Versailles, in 1686. She gave 
 the form to this establishment, assisted in making 
 the rules, and was herself superior of the convent, 
 where she often went to dissipate her ennui and 
 melancholy. 
 
 The king died, September 2d, 1715 ; after which 
 event, Madame de Maintenon retired wholly to St. 
 Cyr, and spent the remainder of her days in acts 
 of devotion. Louis XIV. made no certain provision 
 for her, but recommended her to the duke of Or- 
 leans, who bestowed on her a pension of 80,000 
 livres, which was all she would accept. She died, 
 April I5th, 1719. 
 
 In 1756, the letters of Madame de Maintenon 
 were published in nine volumes, at Amsterdam ; but 
 with many arbitrary changes. Another, and more 
 complete edition, was published in 1812. In 1848, 
 " A History of Madame de Maintenon, &c., by M. 
 le Due de Noailles," appeared in Paris. This last 
 work gives a highly favourable portrait of the 
 character of Madame de Maintenon. Her talents 
 no one ever questioned ; and none, save the ene- 
 mies of virtue, have doubted hers. The following 
 morceaux are from her published letters : 
 
 LETTKE A M. d'aCBIGN^, SON FK^IRE. 
 
 On n'est malheureux que par sa faute. Ce cera 
 toujours mon teste et ma.r^ponse k vos lamenta- 
 
 tions. Songez, mon cher frfere, au voyage d'Am(S- 
 rique, aux malheurs de notre pfere, aux malheurs 
 de notre enfance, 3, ceux de notre jeunesse, et vous 
 biSnirez la providence, au lieu de murmurer centre 
 la fortune. II y a dix ans que nous 6tions bien 
 ^loign^s I'un et I'autre du point oil nous sommes 
 aujourd'hui. Nos espfirances gtaient si pen de 
 chose, que nous bornions nos vues' a trois mille 
 livres de rente. Nous en avons S, present quatre 
 fois plus, et nos souhaits ne seraient pas encore 
 remplis ! Nous jouissons de cette heureuse m^dio- 
 critiS que vous vantiez si fort. Soyons contens. 
 Si les biens nous viennent, recevons-les de la main 
 de Dieu ; mais n'ayons pas de vues trop vastes. 
 Nous avons le n^cessaire et le commode ; tout le 
 reste n'est que cupidit(5. Tons ces d^sirs de gran- 
 deur partent du vide d'un coeur inquiet. Toutes 
 vos dettes sent payees ; vous pouvez vivre d^li- 
 cieusement, sans en faire de nouvelles. Que d^- 
 sirez-vous de plus ? l?aut-il que des projets de 
 richesse et d'ambition vous content la perte de 
 votre repos et de votre sant^ ? Lisez la vie de 
 Saint Louis, vous verrez combien les grandeurs de 
 ce monde sont au-dessoua des diSsirs du coeur de 
 I'homme. II n'y a que Dieu qui puisse le rassa- 
 sier. Je vous le r(5pfete, vous n'etes malheureux 
 que par votre faute. Vos inquietudes d^truisent 
 votre saute, que vous devriez conserver, quand ce 
 ne serait que parce que je vous aime. Travaillez 
 sur votre humeur ; si vous pouvez la rendre moins 
 bilieuse et moins sombre, ce sera un grand point 
 de gagne. Ce n'est point I'ouvrage des reflexions 
 seules ; il y faut de I'exercice, de la dissipation, 
 une vie unie et rfigiee. Vous ne penserez pas bien, 
 tant que vous vous porterez mal ; dfes que le corps 
 est dans I'abattement, rS,me est sans vigueur. 
 Adieu. Eorivez-moi plus souvent, et sur un ton 
 moins lugubre. 
 
 A MADAME DE ST. GERAN. 
 
 Vous voulez savior, Madame, ce qui m'a attire 
 un si beau present. La chose du monde la plus 
 simple. On croit dans le monde que je le dois 3, 
 Madame de Montespan, on se trompe: je le dois 
 au petit due. Le roi s'amusant avec lui, et con- 
 tent de la manifere dont il repondit a ses questions, 
 lui dit : " Vous Stes bien raisonnable." — " II faut 
 que je le sois, repondit I'enfant ; j'ai une gouver- 
 nante qui est la raison memo." — " AUez lui dire, 
 reprit le roi, que vous lui donnerez ce soir cent 
 mille francs pour vos dragees." La mfere me 
 brouille avec le roi ; son fils me reconcilie avec 
 lui; je ne suis pas deux jours de suite dans la 
 meme situation: je ne me fais point a cette vie, 
 moi qui me croyais capable de me faire §, tout. 
 On ne m'envierait pas ma condition, si Ton savait 
 de combien de peines elle est environnee, combien 
 de chagrin elle me coute. C'est un assujettisse- 
 ment qui n'a point d'exemple ; je n'ai ni le temps 
 d'ecrire, ni de faire mes priferes ; c'est un verita- 
 ble esclavage. Tons mes amis s'adressent a moi, 
 et ne voient pas que je ne puis rien, meme pour 
 mes parens. On ne m'accordera point le regi- 
 ment que je demande depuis quinze jours: on ne 
 m'ecoute que quand on n'a personne & ecouter. 
 J'ai parie trois fois 5, M. Colbert; je lui ai repre- 
 
 399 
 
MA 
 
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 sent^ la justice de vos pr(5tentions : il a fait mille 
 diffieultgs, et m'a dit que le roi seul pouvait les 
 r^soudre. J'int^resserai Madame de Montespan, 
 mais il faut un moment fayorable, et qui aait s'il 
 se pr^sentera ? S'il ne a'offre point, je chargerai 
 notre ami de votre affaire, et il parlera au roi ; je 
 oompte beaucoup sur lai. 
 
 Sire, — ^La reine n'est pas k plaindre : elle a v^cu, 
 elle est morte comme une sainte : o'est une grande 
 consolation que I'assurance de son salut. Vous 
 avez. Sire, dans le ciel, une amie qui demandera a 
 Dieu le pardon de vos p^cli^s et les graces des 
 justes. Que votre majesty se nourrisse de ces 
 sentimens : Madame la dauphine se porte mieux. 
 Soyez, Sire, aussi bou chrStien que vous etea 
 grand roi. 
 
 A MADAME DE LA MAISON-FOET. 
 
 II ne vous est pas mauvais de vous trouver dans 
 des troubles d'esprit : vous en serez plus humble, 
 et vous sentirez par votre experience, que nous ne 
 trouvons nulle ressource en nous, quelque esprit 
 que nous ayons. Vous ne serez jamais contente, 
 ma cbfere fiUe, que lorsque vous aimerez Dieu de 
 tout votre coeur : ce que je ne dis pas, par rapport 
 a la profession oil vous vous ^tes engag^e. Salo- 
 mon vous a dit il y a longtemps, qu'aprfes avoir 
 chercliS, trouv^ et gofit^ de tons les plaisirs, il 
 confessait que tout n'est que vanity et affliction 
 d'esprit, hors aimer Dieu et le servir. Que ne 
 puis-je vous donner toute mon experience ! Que 
 ne puis-je vous faire voir I'ennui qui dfivore les 
 grands, et IS peine qu'ils ont S, remplir leurs jour- 
 n^es ! Ne voyez-vous pas que je meurs de tristesse 
 dans une fortune qu'on aurait eu peine a imaginer, 
 et qu'il n'y a que le secours de Dieu qui m'empeche 
 d'y succomber ? J'ai 6t& jeune et jolie, j'ai gout6 
 des plaisirs, j'ai ete aim^e partout; dans un ^ge 
 un pen avanc^, j'ai pass^ des ann^es dans le com- 
 merce de I'esprit, je suis venue a la faveur ; et je 
 vous proteste, ma chfere fille, que tons les iStats 
 laissent un-vide affreux, une inquietude, une lassi- 
 tude, une envie de connaitre autre chose, parce 
 qu'en tout cela rien ne satisfait entiferement. On 
 n'est en repos que lorsqu'on s'est donnfi k Dieu, 
 mais avec cette volonte determinee dont je vous 
 parle quelquefois : alors on sent qu'il n'y a plus 
 rien 5, chercher, qu'on est arrive a ce qui seul est 
 bon sur la terre : on a des chagrins, mais on a 
 aussi une solide consolation, et la paix au fond du 
 oceur au milieu des plus grandes peines. 
 
 MALEGUZZI-VALERI, VERONICA, 
 A LEARNED lady, born at Reggio. She support- 
 ed in public, in a very satisfactory manner, two 
 theses on the liberal arts, which have been pub- 
 lighed ; besides " Innocence Recognised," a drama. 
 She died, 1690, in the convent of Modena, where 
 she had retired. 
 
 MALEPIERRA, OLYMPIA, 
 A Venetian lady of noble birth, who wrote 
 poems of some merit, published at Naples, and 
 died in 1559. 
 
 MALESCOTTE, MARGHERITA, 
 Op Sienna, has left some poems in the collection 
 of Bergalli. She enjoyed considerable reputation 
 among the learned of her day, and died in 1720. 
 
 MALIBRAN, MARIA FEIICITE, 
 
 Daughteb of a singer and composer of music 
 of some celebrity, of the name of Garcia, was born 
 at Paris, March 24th, 1808. When scarcely five, 
 she commenced her musical education at Naples, 
 under the best masters. She sang in public, for 
 the first time, in 1824, and so successfully as to 
 give promise of attaining a very high order of 
 excellence in her art. In 1825, she accompanied 
 her father to England, when a sudden indisposi- 
 tion of Madame Pasta led to her performance, at a 
 short notice, of the part of Rosina, in the Barbel 
 of Seville. The highly satisfactory manner in 
 which she acquitted herself, secured to her an 
 engagement for the season in London; and she 
 sang afterwards in Manchester, York, and Liver- 
 pool. Her father, having been induced to come 
 to the United States, brought his daughter with 
 him, as the prima donna of his operatic corps. 
 Here her success was unbounded, and she qualified 
 herself by the most assiduous study, for competing, 
 on her return to Europe, with the most celebrated 
 singers of the time. 
 
 In March, 1826, she married, at New York, a 
 French merchant of the name of Malibran, of 
 more than double her own age, but who was 
 thought very wealthy. Soon after the marriage, 
 he became a bankrupt ; and the cold and selfish 
 reliance he placed on her musical powers, as a 
 means of re-establishing his ruined fortunes, so 
 offended the feelings of his wife, that she left him, 
 and went to France in September, 1827. 
 
 After two years of a most brilliant career in 
 Paris and the departments, she accompanied La- 
 blache on a professional tour through Italy. Her 
 winters were afterwards passed in Paris, and her 
 summers in excursions in different directions. In 
 ,1835, the French court pronounced her marriage 
 with M. Malibran to have been ab initio null and 
 void, not having been contracted before an autho- 
 rity regarded as competent by the French law. 
 In 1836, she married M. de Beriot, the celebrated 
 violinist, and went with him to Brussels to reside. 
 In consequence of an injury received by a fall 
 from a horse a few weeks after her marriage, her 
 health began to decline ; and, having gone to 
 England during the summer, she was suddenly 
 attacked by a nervous fever, after singing at a 
 musical festival at Manchester, contrary to the 
 advice of her physicians. Her enfeebled consti- 
 tution was unable to resist the progress of the 
 disease, and she died, September 23d, 1836, at 
 the age of twenty-eight. 
 
 MANLEY, MRS., 
 The author of " The Atalantis," was the daugh- 
 ter of Sir Roger Manley, and born in Guernsey, 
 of which her father was governor. She became 
 an orphan early, and was deceived into a false 
 marriage by a relation of the same name, to whose 
 
 400 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 care Sir Roger had bequeathed her. He brought 
 her to London, but soon deserted her, and she 
 passed three years in solitude. Then the duchess 
 of Cleveland, mistress of Charles II., took her 
 under her protection; but, being a very fickle 
 vfoman, she grew tired of Mrs. Manley in a few 
 months, who returned again to her solitary mode 
 of life. 
 
 Her first tragedy, called " The Royal Mischief," 
 was acted in 1696, and brought her great applause 
 and admiration, which proved fatal to her virtue. 
 She then wrote " The New Atalantis," in which 
 she spoke freely of many exalted persons ; several 
 of the characters in the book being only satires 
 on those who brought about the revolution which 
 placed William and Mary on the throne of Great 
 Britain. 
 
 To shield the printer and publisher of these 
 volumes, against whom a warrant was issued, 
 Mrs. Manley voluntarily presented herself before 
 the court of King's-bench as the unassisted author 
 of the "Atalantis." She was confined for a short 
 time, but afterwards admitted to bail, and finally 
 discharged. She lived for some time after in high 
 reputation as a wit, and in great gayety. She 
 wrote several dramas, and was also employed in 
 writing for Queen Anne's ministry, under the 
 direction, it is supposed, of Dean Swift. She 
 died, July 11th, 1724. 
 
 MANSON, MARIE FRANQAISE CLAIRISSE, 
 Remabkable from the manner in which she 
 became implicated with murderers and robbers 
 in a criminal trial, was born in 1785, at Rhodes, 
 a manufacturing town in the south of France. 
 She was the daughter of President Enjalran, and 
 the wife of Antoine Manson, an officer, whom she 
 had married in obedience to her father, but from 
 whom she was separated. She is represented as 
 a woman of amiable disposition, somewhat enthu- 
 siastic and independent in character, but of fair 
 reputation. 
 
 M. Fauldes was a highly esteemed and wealthy 
 inhabitant of Rhodes, who dealt in money trans- 
 actions with all the rich and respectable inhabi- 
 tants of the place ; among them were the brothers 
 Jausion and Bastide Grammont, who were his re- 
 lations and daily visitors, and deeply in his debt. 
 Fualdes, having sold his real estate with the in- 
 tention of removing from Rhodes, insisted upon 
 settling his affairs with the Grammonts. On the 
 morning of the 19th of March, 1817, they had 
 some altercation about it, and a meeting for the 
 evening of the same day was agreed upon, to con- 
 clude the business. With this view, Fualdes set 
 out at eight o'clock P. M., to proceed to the place 
 of meeting. In the Rue des Hebdomadiers, he 
 was set upon by several men, who at a concerted 
 signal were joined by numerous others. He was 
 dragged into a suspicious house, belonging to one 
 Banoal, where, after having been forced to sign 
 several bills of exchange, he was murdered in the 
 most revolting manner. The children of Bancal, 
 a woman in masouHne attire, and another covered 
 with a veil, witnessed the whole scene in an ad- 
 joining room. The dead body was packed like a 
 2A 
 
 bale of merchandise, carried through the streets, 
 and thrown into the river near the town, where it 
 was found the next morning. The officers of jus- 
 tice immediately began a search ; traces of murder 
 were discovered in the house of Banoal, whose 
 little daughter had already betrayed some circum- 
 stances of importance. The brothers Grammont, 
 Bancal, and several others, were arrested and 
 thrown into prison, where Bancal committed sui- 
 cide. 
 
 On the trial, witnesses were wanted ; but Ma- 
 dame Manson, having spoken in conversation of 
 cu'cumstances connected with the deed which led 
 to the suspicion that she had witnessed it, was 
 examined, and confessed to her father and the 
 prefect, that on the evening of the 19th she had 
 been in disguise in the street when the attack was 
 made, and had taken refuge in the first house 
 open, which proved to be Bancal's. She was 
 forced into a closet, and a scream of horror, ac- 
 companied by a fainting fit, betrayed her presence 
 to the murderers. One of them was about to kill 
 her, but was prevented by the rest; they then 
 swore her to silence upon the dead body. As soon 
 as the report of this confession was spread through 
 the town, Madame Manson received several letters 
 threatening her life, and that of her little daugh- 
 ter. Overwhelmed with terror when she appeared 
 at court and beheld the murderers, she fainted ; 
 and, on being questioned, recalled her confession, 
 and denied having been in the house of Bancal. 
 The murderers were convicted, but appealed to a 
 higher court. Madame Manson was arrested for 
 giving false evidence. On the second trial, upon 
 being spoken to by Bastide in an insulting manner, 
 she confessed her duplicity, and gave a true ac- 
 count of the transaction. Bastide and his accom- 
 plices were condemned to death. Madame Mansoui 
 wrote her memoirs while in prison. In Paris four, 
 thousand copies were sold in a few hours ; and it 
 went through seven editions in the course of the 
 year. The whole trial was full of dramatic in- 
 terest, and attracted so much attention that Ma- 
 dame Manson was offered a hundred and twenty 
 thousand francs to come to Paris to gratify the 
 curiosity of the Parisian world. 
 
 MANZONI, GIUSTI FRANCESCA. 
 This erudite lady was as highly esteemed for 
 her virtue and prudence as for her extraordinary 
 intellect and the fertility of her imagination. Her 
 death, which happened in 1743, was universally, 
 lamented. She was a member of the academy of 
 the Filodossi of Milan. The subjoined is a list 
 of her works : — " An Epistle in Verse to the Em- 
 press Maria Theresa;" "Ester," a tragedy; "Abi- 
 galle," a sacred drama; "Debora," an oratorio;. 
 " Gedeone," an oratorio ; " Sagrifizio d'Abramo ;" 
 " Translation of Ovid's Tristitia." 
 
 MARA, GERTRUDE ELIZABETH, 
 Dacrhtee of Mr. Schmaling, city musician in 
 Cassel, was born about 1749. When she was seven, 
 she played very well on the violin, and when she 
 was fourteen, she appeared as a singer. Frederic 
 the Great of Prussia, notwithstanding his preju- 
 
 401 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 dice against German performers, invited her to 
 Potsdam, in 1770, and gave her an appointment 
 immediately. In 1774, she married Mara, a vio- 
 loncello player, a very extravagant man, and he 
 involved her so much in debt, that, in 1786, Fre- 
 deric withdrew her appointment from her, and she 
 went to Vienna, Paris, and London, where she 
 was received with great enthusiasm. In 1808 she 
 went to Russia, and while at Moscow she married 
 Florio, her companion since her separation from 
 Mara. By the burning of Moscow she lost most 
 of her property. She passed the latter part of 
 her life, which was very long, at Reval, where she 
 died, in 1833. She possessed extraordinary com- 
 pass of voice, extending with great ease over three 
 octaves. 
 
 MAEATTI, ZAPPI FAUSTINA, 
 
 Of Rome. Her poems appear to have contri- 
 buted to the improvement of style which tools 
 place in the Italian poetry wh«n she wrote. They 
 ure filled with the tender affection of a devoted 
 ■wife and mother. She was the daughter of the 
 famous painter Maratti. She died in 1740. 
 
 MARGARET, DUCHESS OF PARMA, 
 Was the natural daughter of Charles V. of Ger- 
 many and Margaret of Gest. She was born in 
 1522, and married, first, Alexander de Medici, 
 and afterwards Octavio Farnese, duke of Parma 
 and Piacenza. Her half-brother, Philip II. of 
 Spain, appointed her, in 1559, to the government 
 of the Netherlands, where she endeavoured to re- 
 store tranquillity ; and she might have succeeded, 
 if the duke of Alva had not been sent with such 
 great power that nothing was left to her but the 
 title. Indignant at this, Margaret returned to 
 her husband in Italy, and died at Ortona, 1586. 
 She left one son, Alexander Farnese, duke of 
 Parma. 
 
 MARGARET OF FRANCE, 
 Qdeen of Navarre, daughter of Henry II. of 
 France and Catharine de Medicis, was born in 
 1552. Brantfime says, " If ever there was a per- 
 fect beauty born, it was the queen of Navarre, 
 who eclipsed the women who were thought charm- 
 ing in her absence." She walked extremely well, 
 and was considered the most graceful dancer in 
 Europe. She gave early proofs of genius, and 
 was a brilliant assemblage of talents and faults, 
 of virtues and vices. This may, in a great mea- 
 sure, be attributed to her education in the most 
 polished, yet most corrupt court in Europe. Mar- 
 garet was demanded in marriage, both by the em- 
 peror of Germany and the king of Portugal ; but, 
 in 1572, she was married to Henry, prince of 
 Beam, afterwards Henry IV. of France. Nothing 
 could equal the magnificence of this marriage ; 
 which was succeeded by the horrors of the mas- 
 sacre of St. Bartholomew. Though Margaret was 
 a strict Roman Catholic, she was not entrusted 
 with the secrets of that horrible day. She was 
 alarmed with suspicions, which her mother would 
 not explain to her, and terrified by a gentleman, 
 who, covered with wounds, and pursued by four 
 
 archers, burst into her chamber before she had 
 risen in the morning. She saved his life, and by 
 her prayers and tears, obtained from her mother 
 grace for two of her husband's suite. Henry him- 
 self escaped the fate prepared for him, and Mar- 
 garet refused to suffer her marriage to be cancelled. 
 
 In 1573, when the Polish ambassadors came to 
 create her brother, the duke of Anjou, king of 
 that country, Margaret, as a daughter of France, 
 received them. The bishop of Cracow made his 
 harangue m Latin, which she answered so elo- 
 quently, that they heard her with astonishment. 
 She accompanied the duke d' Anjou as far as Bla- 
 mont, and during this journey she discovered a 
 plot of her husband and her next brother, who 
 was become duke d' Anjou, to revenge the massa- 
 cre, which she revealed to her mother, on condi- 
 tion that no one should be executed. The princes 
 were imprisoned; but the death of Charles IX., 
 in 1577, set them at liberty. 
 
 The king of Navarre, continually occupied by 
 new beauties, cared little for the reputation of his 
 wife ; yet, when he stole from the court, he com- 
 mended his interests to her, in a letter he left for 
 her. But Margaret was then confined to her 
 apartments, and her confidants were treated with 
 the greatest severity. Catharine, however, pre- 
 vented her brother from pushing matters to ex- 
 tremity with her, and by her assistance she ob- 
 tained a short peace. Margaret then demanded 
 permission to retire to her husband in Guienne ; 
 but Henry III. refused to allow his sister to live 
 with a heretic. 
 
 At length open war was commenced against the 
 Protestants, and Margaret withdrew into the Low 
 Countries, to prepare the people in favour of her 
 brother, the duke d'Alenjon, who meditated the 
 conquest of them by the Spaniards. There are 
 curious details of this journey in her memoirs. 
 On her return, she stopped at La Fere, in Picardy, 
 which belonged to her, where she learned that, 
 for the sixth time, peace was made in 1577. The 
 duke d'Alen9on came to Picardy, and was de- 
 lighted with the pleasures that reigned in the little 
 court of Margaret. She soon returned to France, 
 and lived with her husband at Pau, in Bearn, 
 where religious toleration was almost denied her by 
 ■ the Protestants ; and Henry showed her little kind- 
 ness ; yet the tenderness with which she nursed 
 him during an illness, re-established friendship 
 between them, from 1577 to 1580, when the war 
 again broke out. She wished to effect another 
 reconciliation, but could only obtain the neutrality 
 of Nerac, where she resided. 
 
 After the war, Henry III., wishing to draw the 
 king of Navarre, and Margaret's favourite brother, 
 the duke d' Anjou, to court, wrote to Margaret to 
 come to him. Discontented with the conduct of 
 her husband, she gladly complied, and went in 
 1 582 ; yet so much was her brother irritated by 
 her affection for the duke d' Anjou, that he treated 
 her very unkindly. Some time after, a courier, 
 whom he had sent to Rome with important dis- 
 patches, being murdered and robbed by four cava- 
 liers, he suspected his sister of being concerned 
 in the plot, and publicly reproached her for her 
 
 402 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 irregularities, saying everything that was bitter 
 and taunting. Margaret kept a profound silence, 
 but left Paris the next morning, saying, that there 
 never had been two princesses as unfortunate as 
 herself and Mary of Scotland. On the journey 
 she was stopped by an insolent captain of the 
 guards, who obliged her to unmask, and interro- 
 gated the ladies who were with her. Her husband 
 received her at Nerao, and resented the cruel 
 treatment she had experienced from her brother ; 
 but her conduct, and the new intrigues in which 
 she was constantly engaged, widened the breach 
 between them. When her husband was excom- 
 municated, she left him, and went to Agen, and 
 thence from place to place, experiencing many 
 dangers and difficulties. 
 
 Her charms made a conquest of the marquis de 
 Camillac, who had taken her prisoner ; but though 
 he insured her a place of refuge in the castle of 
 Usson, she had the misery of seeing her friends 
 cut to pieces in the plains below ; and though the 
 fortress was impregnable, it was assailed by fa- 
 mine, and she was forced to sell her jewels, and 
 but for her sister-in-law, Eleanor of Austria, she 
 must have perished. The duke d'Anjou, who 
 would have protected her, was dead ; and though, 
 on the accession of her husband to the throne of 
 France, in 1589, she might have returned to court, 
 on condition of consenting to a divorce, she never 
 would do so during the life of Gabrielle d'EstrSes. 
 
 After the death of the mistress, Margaret her- 
 self solicited Clement VIII. to forward the divorce, 
 and, in 1600, Henry was married to Marie de 
 Medicis. Margaret, in the mean time, did some 
 acts of kindness for the king, and was permitted 
 to return to court after an absence of twenty-two 
 years. She even assisted at the coronation of 
 Marie de Medicis, where etiquette obliged her to 
 walk after Henry's sister. She consoled herself 
 by pleasures for the loss of honours ; and though 
 Henry IV. begged her to be more prudent, and 
 not to turn night into day and day into night, she 
 paid but little attention to his advice. 
 
 Margaret passed her last years in devotion, 
 study, and pleasure. She gave the tenth of her 
 revenues to the poor, but she did not pay her 
 debts. The memoirs she has left, which finish at 
 the time of her re-appearance at court, prove the 
 elegant facility of her pen ; and her poetry, some 
 of which has been preserved, equals that of the 
 best poets of her time. She was very fond of the 
 society of learned men. 
 
 "Margaret," said Catharine de Medicis, "is a 
 living proof of the injustice of the Salic law ; with 
 her talents, she might have equalled the greatest 
 kings." 
 
 " The last of the house of Valois," says Meze- 
 ray, " she inherited their spirit ; she never gave 
 to any one, without apologising for the smallness 
 of the gift. She was the refuge of men of letters, 
 had always some of them at her table, and im- 
 proved so much by their conversation, that she 
 spoke and wrote better than any woman of her 
 time." She appears to have been good-natured 
 and benevolent ; wanting in fidelity, not in com- 
 plaisance to her husband ; as, at his request, she 
 
 rose early one morning, to attend to one of his 
 mistresses who was ill. How could Henry re- 
 proach her for infidelities, while living himself a 
 life of the most scandalous licentiousness ! If 
 Margaret had had a more affectionate and faithful 
 husband, she would doubtless have been a true 
 and affectionate wife. This does not justify her 
 errors, but it accounts for them. She died in 
 1615, aged sixty-three. 
 
 MARGARET, 
 
 Daughter of Francis I. of France, married Em- 
 manuel Philibert, duke of Savoy, and died highly 
 respected, September 14th, 1574, aged fifty-one. 
 
 MARGARET LOUISA OF LORRAINE, 
 Daughteb of Henry, duke of Guise, married, in 
 1605, at the instance of Henry IV., who was in 
 love with her, and wished to fix her at court, 
 Francis de Bourbon, prince of Conti. They how- 
 ever left the court immediately on marrying. The 
 prince died in 1617, and Louisa devoted herself 
 to the belles-lettres. She was one of Cardinal 
 Richelieu's enemies, and he banished her to Eu, 
 where she died in 1531. She was suspected of 
 having married the marshal of Bassompierre for 
 her second husband. She wrote the amours of 
 Henry IV., under the title of "Les Amours du 
 Gr. Alexandre." 
 
 MARQUETS, ANNE DE, 
 Was born of noble and rich parents, and was 
 carefully instructed in belles-lettres, and in her 
 religious duties. She became a nun in a convent 
 of the order of St. Dominic, at Poissy, where she 
 devoted the poetic talents for which she was dis- 
 tinguished, to the service of religion. Her poems 
 show great but enlightened zeal. Ronsard, and 
 other celebrated contemporary poets, have spoken 
 very highly of her. She reached an advanced 
 age, but lost her sight some time before her death, 
 which took place in 1558. She bequeathed to 
 Sister Marie de Fortia, a nun in the same convent, 
 three hundred and eighty sonnets of a reUgious 
 nature. 
 
 MARIA THERESA, 
 Akchduohess of Austria, queen of Hungary 
 and Bohemia, and empress of Germany, born in 
 1717, was the eldest daughter of Charles VI. of 
 Austria, emperor of Germany. In 1724, Charles, 
 by his will, known as the Pragmatic Sanction, 
 regulated the order of succession in the house of 
 Austria, declaring that in default of male issue, 
 his eldest daughter should be heiress of all the 
 Austrian dominions, and her children after her. 
 The Pragmatic Sanction was guaranteed by the 
 diet of the empire, and by all the German princes, 
 and by several powers of Europe, but not by the 
 Bourbons. In 1736, Maria Theresa married Francis 
 of Lorraine, who, in 1737, became grand-duke of 
 Tuscany ; and in 1739, Francis, with his consort, 
 repaired to Florence. 
 
 Upon the death of Charles VI. in 1740, the 
 ruling powers of Prussia, Bavaria, Saxony, France, 
 Spain, and Sardinia, agreed to dismember the Aus- 
 
 403 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 trian mouarohy, to portions of TrMch each laid 
 claim. Maria Theresa, however, went immediately 
 to Vienna, and took possession of Austria, Bohe- 
 mia, and her other German states ; she then re- 
 paired to Presburg, took the oaths to the consti- 
 tution of Hungary, and was solemnly proclaimed 
 queen of that kingdom in 1741. Frederic of 
 Prussia offered the young queen his friendship on 
 condition of her giving up to him Silesia, which 
 
 Ehe resolutely refused, and he then invaded that 
 province. The Elector of Bavaria, assisted by the 
 French, also invaded Austria, and pushed his 
 troops as far as Vienna. Maria Theresa took re- 
 fuge in Presburg, where she convoked the Hunga- 
 rian diet; and appearing in the midst of them 
 with her infant son in her arms, she made a heart- 
 stirring appeal to their loyalty. The Hungarian 
 nobles, drawing their swords, unanimously ex- 
 claimed, "Moriamur pro Rege nostro, Maria 
 Theresa!" "We will die for our queen, Maria 
 Theresa." And they raised an army and drove 
 the French and Bavarians out of the hereditary 
 states. What would have been their reflections 
 could those brave loyal Hungarians have foreseen 
 that, in a little over a century, a descendant of 
 this idolized queen would trample on their rights, 
 overthrow their constitution, massacre the nobles 
 and patriots, and ravage and lay waste their beau- 
 tiful land ! Well would it be for men to keep 
 always in mind the warning of the royal psalmist, 
 " Put not your trust in princes." 
 
 In the mean time, Charles Albert, Elector of 
 Bavaria, was chosen Emperor of Germany, by the 
 diet assembled at Frankfort, under the name of 
 Charles VII. 
 
 Frederic of Prussia soon made peace with Maria 
 Theresa, who was obliged to surrender Silesia to 
 him. In 1745, Charles VII. died, and Francis, 
 Maria Theresa's husband, was elected emperor. 
 In 1748, the peace of Aix-la-Chapelle terminated 
 the war of the Austrian succession, and Maria 
 Theresa was left in possession of all her hereditary 
 dominions, except Silesia. In 1756 began the 
 Seven Years' war between France, Austria, and 
 Kussia, on one side, and Prussia on the other. It 
 
 ended in 1763, leaving Austria and Prussia with 
 the same boundaries as before. In 1765, Maria 
 Theresa lost her husband, for whom she wore 
 mourning till her death. Her son Joseph was 
 elected emperor. She however retained the ad- 
 ministration of the government. 
 
 The only act of her political life with which she 
 can be reproached is her participation in the first 
 partition of Poland ; and this she did very unwil- 
 lingly, only when she was told that Russia and 
 Prussia would not regard her disapproval, and 
 that her refusal would endanger her own domi- 
 nions. 
 
 The improvements Maria Theresa made in her 
 dominions were many and important. She abolish- 
 ed torture, also the rural and personal services the 
 peasants of Bohemia owed to their feudal supe- 
 riors. She founded or enlarged in different parts 
 of her extensive dominions several academies for 
 the improvement of the arts and sciences ; insti- 
 tuted numerous seminaries for the education of 
 all ranks of people; reformed the public schools, 
 and ordered prizes to be distributed among the 
 students who made the greatest progress in learn- 
 ing, or were distinguished for propriety of beha- 
 viour, or purity of morals. She established prizes 
 for those who excelled in different branches of 
 manufacture, in geometry, mining, smelting me- 
 tals, and even spinning. She particularly turned 
 her attention to agriculture, which, on a medal 
 struck by her order, was entitled the "Art which 
 nourishes all other arts;" and founded a society 
 of agriculture at Milan, with bounties to the pea- 
 sants who obtained the best crops. She took away 
 the pernicious rights which the convents and 
 churches enjoyed of affording sanctuary to all cri- 
 minals without distinction, and in many other ways 
 evinced her regard for the welfare of the people. 
 She was a pious and sincere Roman Catholic, but 
 not a blind devotee, and could discriminate be- 
 tween the temporal and spiritual jurisdiction. She 
 put a check on the power of the Inquisition, which 
 was finally abolished during the reign of her sons. 
 She possessed the strong affections of her Belgian 
 subjects ; and never was Lombardy so prosperous 
 or tranquil as under her reign. The population 
 increased from 900,000 to 1,130,000. During her 
 forty years' reign she showed an undeviating love 
 of justice, truth, and clemency ; and her whole 
 conduct was characterized by a regard for pro- 
 priety and self-respect. 
 
 Maria Theresa was, in her youth, exceedingly 
 beautiful; and she retained the majesty, grace, 
 and elegance of queenly attractiveness to the close 
 of her life. She was strictly religious, sincere in 
 her affection for her tusband, and never marred 
 the power of her loveliness by artifice or coquetry. 
 She used her gifts and graces not for the gratifi- 
 cation of her own vanity, to win lovers, but as a 
 wise sovereign to gain over refractory subjects; 
 and she succeeded, thus showing how potent is 
 the moral strength with which woman is endowed. 
 This queen has been censured for what was styled 
 "neglect of her children." 
 
 Maria Theresa was the mother of sixteen chil- 
 dren, all born within twenty years. There is every 
 
 404 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 reason to suppose that her naturally warm affec- 
 tion, and her strong sense, would have rendered 
 her, in a private station, an admirable, an exem- 
 plary parent ; and it was not her fault, but rather 
 her misfortune, that she was placed in a situation 
 where the most sacred duties and feelings of her 
 sex became merely secondary. While her numer- 
 ous family were in their infancy, the empress was 
 constantly and exclusively occupied in the public 
 duties and cares of her high station ; the affairs 
 of government demanded almost every moment 
 of her time. The court physician. Von Swietar, 
 waited on her each morning at her levie, and 
 brought her a minute report of the health of the 
 princes and princesses. If one of them was in- 
 disposed, the mother, laying aside all other cares, 
 immediately hastened to their apartment. They 
 all spoke and wrote Italian with elegance and 
 facility. Her children were brought up with ex- 
 treme simplicity. They were not allowed to in- 
 dulge in personal pride or caprice ; their benevo- 
 lent feelings were cultivated both by precept and 
 example. They were sedulously instructed in the 
 " Lives of the Saints," and all the tedious forms 
 of unmeaning devotion, in which, according to the 
 sincere conviction of their mother, all true piety 
 consisted. A high sense of family pride, an un- 
 bounded devotion to the house of Austria, and to 
 their mother, the empress, as the head of that 
 house, was early impressed upon their minds, and 
 became a ruling passion, as well as a principle of 
 conduct with all of them. 
 
 We have only to glance back upon the history 
 of the last fifty years to see the result of this mode 
 of education. We find that the children of Maria 
 Theresa, transplanted into different countries of 
 Europe, carried with them their national and 
 family prejudices ; that some of them, in later 
 years, supplied the defects of their early educa- 
 tion, and became remarkable for talent and for 
 virtue. That all of them, even those who were 
 least distinguished and estimable, displayed occa- 
 sionally both goodness of heart and elevation of 
 character; and that their filial devotion to their 
 mother and what they considered her interests, 
 was carried to an excess, which in one or two in- 
 stances proved fatal to themselves. Thus it is 
 apparent that her maternal duties were not ne- 
 glected ; had this been the case she could never 
 have acquired such unbounded influence over her 
 children. 
 
 Maria Theresa had long been accustomed to 
 look death in the face ; and when the hour of trial 
 came, her resignation, her fortitude, and her hum- 
 ble trust in heaven, never failed her. Her agonies 
 during the last ten days of her life, were. terrible, 
 but never drew from her a single expression of 
 complaint or impatience. She was only appre- 
 hensive that her reason and her physical strength 
 might fail her together. She was once heard to 
 say, " God grant that these sufferings may soon 
 terminate, for otherwise, I know not if I can much 
 longer endure them." 
 
 After receiving the last sacraments, she sum- 
 moned all her family to her presence, and solemnly 
 recommended them to the care of the emperor 
 
 Joseph, her eldest son. " My son," said she, " as 
 you are the heir to all my worldly possessions, I 
 caimot dispose of them ; but my children are still, 
 as they have ever been, my own. I bequeath them 
 to you ; be to them a father. I shall die contented 
 if you promise to take that office upon you." She 
 then turned to her son Maximilian and her daugh- 
 ters, blessed them individually, in the tenderest 
 terms, and exhorted them to obey and honour their 
 elder brother as their father and sovereign. After 
 repeated fits of agony and suffocation, endured, to 
 the last, with the same invariable serenity and 
 patience, death, at length, released her, and she 
 expired on the 29th of November, 1780, in her 
 sixty-fourth year. She was undoubtedly the great- 
 est and best ruler who ever swayed the imperial 
 sceptre of Austria ; while, as a woman, she was 
 one of the most amiable and exemplary who lived 
 in the eighteenth century. 
 
 MAEIA ANTOINETTA AMELIA, 
 
 DtJOHESS of Saxe Gotha, daughter of Ulric of 
 Saxe Meinungen, was born in 1572. Her talents 
 as a performer on the piano, and as a composer, 
 would have been creditable to a professed artist. 
 Several of her canzoni, and also variations for the 
 piano, have been published ; but her most impor- 
 tant work is a symphony in ten parts. She died 
 towards the beginning of this century. 
 
 MAEIE ANTOINETTE JOSEPHE 
 JEANNE DE LORRAINE, 
 
 Aeohduchess of Austria and queen of France, 
 daughter of the emperor Francis I. and Maria 
 Therese, was born at Vienna, November 2d, 1755. 
 She was carefully educated, and possessed an un- 
 common share of grace and beauty. Her hand 
 was demanded by Louis XV. for his grandson, the 
 dauphin, afterwards Louis XVI., to whom she 
 was married in 1770, before she had attained her 
 fifteenth year. A lamentable accident, which oc- 
 curred during the festivities given by the city of 
 Paris to celebrate the marriage, was looked upon 
 as a sinister omen, which subsequent events hav- 
 ing confirmed, has acquired undue importance. 
 
 405 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 Owing to the injudicious arrangements for the 
 exhibition of fireworks, a great number of people 
 were thrown down and trodden to death, more 
 than three hundred persons having been killed or 
 wounded. In 1774 Louis XVI. ascended the 
 throne ; in 1778 the queen became, for the first 
 time, a mother. During the first years of her 
 residence in France, Marie Antoinette was the 
 idol of the people. After the birth of her second 
 son, when, according to usage, she went to church 
 to return thanks, the populace wished to remove 
 the horses from her carriage, and draw her through 
 the streets ; and when she alighted and walked, 
 to gratify them, they flung themselves upon their 
 knees, and rent the air with acclamations. Pour 
 years from this period, all was changed. The acts 
 of kindness and benevolence which the queen had 
 exhibited ; her grace, beauty, and claims upon the 
 nation as a woman and a foreigner, were all for- 
 gotten. Circumstances remote in their origin had 
 brought about, in France, a state of feeling fast 
 ripening to a fearful issue. The queen could no 
 longer do with impunity what had been done by 
 her predecessors. The extravagance and thought- 
 lessness of youth, and a neglect of the strict for- 
 mality of court etiquette, injured her reputation. 
 She became a mark for censure, and finally an 
 object of hatred to the people, who accused her 
 of the most improbable crimes. An extraordinary 
 occurrence added fuel to the flame of calumny. 
 The countess de la Motte, a clever but corrupt 
 woman, by a vile intrigue in which she made the 
 cardinal de Rohan her tool, purchased, in the 
 queen's name, a magnificent diamond necklace, 
 valued at an enormous sum. She imposed upon 
 the cardinal by a feigned correspondence with the 
 queen, and forged her signature to certain bills ; 
 obtained possession of the necklace, and sold it in 
 England. The plot exploded. The queen, indig- 
 nant at the cardinal, demanded a public investiga- 
 tion. The affair produced the greatest scandal 
 throughout France, connecting as it did the name 
 of the queen with such disgraceful proceedings ; 
 and though obviously the victim of an intrigue, 
 she received as much censure as if she had been 
 guilty. Accused of being an Austrian at heart, 
 and an enemy to France, every evil in the state 
 was now attributed to her, and the Parisians soon 
 exhibited their hatred in acts of open violence. 
 In May, 1789, the States-General met. In Octo- 
 ber the populace proceeded with violence to Ver- 
 sailles, broke into the castle, murdered several of 
 the body-guard, and forced themselves into the 
 queen's apartments. "When questioned by the 
 officers of justice as to what she had seen on that 
 memorable day, she replied, " I have seen all, I 
 have heard all, I have forgotten all." 
 
 She accompanied the king in his flight to Va- 
 rennes, in 1791, and endured with him with un- 
 exampled fortitude and magnanimity the insults 
 which now followed in quick succession. In April, 
 1792, she accompanied the king from the Tuille- 
 ries, where they had been for some time detained 
 close prisoners, to the Legislative Assembly, where 
 he was arraigned. Transferred to the Temple, 
 she endui'ed, with the members of the royal fa- 
 
 mily, every variety of privation and indignity. 
 On the 2l3t of January, 1793, the king perished 
 on the scaffold; the dauphin was forcibly torn- 
 from her, and given in charge to a miserable 
 wretch, a cobbler called Simon, who designedly 
 did everything in his power to degrade and bru- 
 talize the innocent child. On the 2d of August, 
 Marie Antoinette was removed to the Conciergerie, 
 to await her trial in a damp and squalid cell. On 
 the 14th of October, she appeared' before the revo- 
 lutionary tribunal. During the trial, which lasted 
 seventy-three hours, she preserved all her dignity 
 and composure. Her replies to the infamous 
 charges which were preferred against her were 
 simple, noble, and laconic. When all the ac- 
 cusations Ifad been heard, she was asked if she 
 had anything to say. She replied, "I was a 
 queen, and you took away my crown ; a wife, 
 and you killed my husband ; a mother, and you 
 deprived me of my children. My blood alone re- 
 mains : take it, but do not make me suffer long." 
 At four o'clock, on the morning of the 16th, she 
 was condemned to death by an unanimous vote. 
 She heard her sentence with admirable dignity 
 and self-possession. At half-past twelve, on the 
 same day, she ascended the scaffold. Scarcely 
 any traces remained of the dazzling loveliness 
 which had once charmed all hearts ; her hair had 
 long since become blanched by grief, and her eyes 
 were almost sightless from continued weeping. 
 She knelt and prayed for a few minutes in a low 
 tone, then rose and calmly delivered herself to the 
 executioner. Thus perished, in her thirty-seventh 
 year, the wife of the greatest monarch in Europe, 
 the daughter of the heroic Maria Theresa, a vic- 
 tim to the circumstances of birth and position. 
 No fouler crime ever stained the annals of savage 
 life, than the murder of this unfortunate queen, 
 by a people calling themselves the most civilized 
 nation in the world. 
 
 Marie Antoinette had four children. Marie 
 Therese Charlotte, the companion of her parents 
 in captivity, born 1778. In 1795 she was ex- 
 changed for the deputies whom Dumouriez had 
 surrendered to Austria, and resided in Vienna till 
 1799, when she was married by Louis XVIII. to 
 his nephew, oldest son of Charles X. Napoleon 
 said of her that " she was the only man of her 
 family." The dauphin, Louis, born in 1781, and 
 died in 1789. Charles Louis, born in 178.5; the 
 unfortunate prince who shared his parents' impri- 
 sonment for a time, and died in 1795, a victim to 
 the ill-treatment of the ferocious Simon ; and a 
 daughter who died in infancy. 
 
 MARIA LOUISA LEOPOLDINE CAROLINE, 
 
 Archduchess of Austria, duchess of Parma, 
 was the eldest daughter of Francis I., emperor of 
 Austria, by his second marriage, with Maria The- 
 resa, daughter of the king of Naples. She was 
 born in 1791, and April 1st, 1810, married Napo- 
 leon. Her son was born March 20, 1811. When 
 Napoleon left Paris to meet the allied army, he 
 made her regent of the empire. On the 29th of 
 March, 1814, she was obliged to leave Paris ; Na- 
 poleon abdicated his authority April 11th, and 
 
 406 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 Maria Louisa went to meet her father at Ram- 
 bouUlet, who would not allow her to follow her 
 husband, but sent her, with her son, to Schon- 
 brunn. When Napoleon returned from Elba, he 
 wrote to his wife to join him, but his letters re- 
 mained unanswered. In 1816 she entered upon 
 the administration of the duchies of Parma, Pia- 
 cienza, and Guastalla, secured to her by the treaty 
 of Fontainebleau. While there she privately mar- 
 ried her master of the horse, Colonel Neipperg, 
 by whom she had several children. She was ap- 
 parently amiable, but weak, self-indulgent, and 
 surrounded by artful advisers, who kept her in 
 the thraldom of sensuous pleasures till she lost the 
 moral dignity of woman. What signified her royal 
 blood and high station! She lived uflhonoured, 
 and died unwept. 
 
 MARINA, DONA, 
 
 Oelebeated for her faithfulness to the Spa- 
 niards, and for the assistance which she afforded 
 them in the conquest of Mexico, was born at 
 Painalla, in the province of Coatzacualco, on the 
 south-eastern borders of the Mexican empire. Her 
 father, a rich and powerful Cacique, died when 
 she was very young. Her mother married again ; 
 and, wishing to give her daughter's inheritance to 
 her son by the second marriage, she cruelly sold 
 her to some travelling merchants, and announcing 
 her death, performed a mock-funeral to deceive 
 those around her. These merchants sold the In- 
 dian maiden to the Cacique of Tabasco ; and when 
 the Tabascans surrendered to Cortes, she was one 
 of twenty female slaves who were sent to him as 
 propitiatory offerings. Speaking two of the Mexi- 
 can dialects, Marina was a valuable acquisition to 
 Cortes as interpreter, which value increased ten- 
 fold, when with remarkable rapidity she acquired 
 the Spanish language. Cort4s knew how to value 
 her services ; he made her his secretary, and, 
 finally won by her charms, his mistress. She had 
 a son by him, Don Martin Cortes, commendador 
 of the military order of St. James, who after- 
 wards rose to high consideration ; but finally 
 falling under suspicion of treasonable practices 
 against the government, was, in 1568, shamefully 
 subjected to the torture in the very capital which 
 his father had acquired for the Castilian crown ! 
 
 Prescott, to whose admirable work, " The Con- 
 quest of Mexico," we are chiefly indebted for this 
 memoir, describes Marina as follows: — " She is 
 said to have possessed uncommon personal attrac- 
 tions ; and her open, expressive features, indi- 
 cated her generous temper. She always remained 
 faithful to the countrymen of her adoption ; and 
 her knowledge of the language and customs of the 
 Mexicans, and often of their designs, enabled her 
 to extricate the Spaniards, more than once, from 
 the most embarrassing and perilous situations. 
 She had her errors, as we have seen; but they 
 should be rather charged to the defects of her 
 early education, and to the evil influence of him 
 to whom, in the darkness of her spirit, she looked 
 with simple confidence for the light to guide her. 
 All agree that she was full of excellent qualities ; 
 and the important services which she rendered 
 
 the Spaniards have made her memory deservedly 
 dear to them ; while the name of Malinche — the 
 name by which she is still known in Mexico — was 
 pronounced with kindness by the conquered races, 
 with whose misfortunes she showed an invariable 
 sympathy." 
 
 Cortes finally gave Marina away in marriage to 
 a Spanish knight, Don Juan Xamarillo. She had 
 estates assigned her, where she probably passed 
 the remainder of her life. Marina is represented 
 as having met and recognised her mother after a 
 long lapse of time, when passing through her na- 
 tive province. Her mother was greatly terrified, 
 fearing that Cortes would severely punish her ; 
 but Marina embraced her, and allayed her fears, 
 saying, " that she was sure she knew not what she 
 did when she sold her to the traders, and that she 
 forgave her." She gave her mother all the jewels 
 and ornaments about her person, and assured her 
 of her happiness since she had adopted the Chris- 
 tian faith. 
 
 MARINELLI, LUCREZIA, 
 Of Venice, was born in 1571. Her talents were 
 surprisingly versatile. She was learned in church 
 history, understood and practised the art of sculp- 
 ture, was skilled in music, and besides left many 
 literary productions, lives of several saints, a 
 treatise entitled " The Excellence of Women and 
 the Defects of Men ;" an epic poem ; several epis- 
 tles to the duchess d'Este ; and many other pieces 
 of poetry, both sacred and profane. She died in 
 1653. 
 
 MARINELLA, LUCRETIA, 
 
 A Venetian lady, who lived in the seventeenth 
 century, in 1601, published a book at Venice with 
 this title — " La nobilita ^ la eccellenza della donne, 
 con difetti 6 marcamenti degli uomini;" in which 
 she attempted to prove the superiority of women 
 to men. Marinella published some other works ; 
 among these, one called "La Colomba Sacra;" 
 and " The Life of the Holy Virgin, and that of St 
 Francis." 
 
 MARLBOROUGH, SARAH, DUCHESS OF, 
 Was the daughter of Mr. Jennings, a country 
 gentleman of respectable lineage and good estate. 
 She was born on the 26th of May, 1660, at Holy- 
 well, a suburb of St. Albans. Her elder sister^ 
 Frances, afterwards duchess of Tyrconnel, was 
 maid of honour to the duchess of York ; and 
 Sarah, when quite a child, was introduced at 
 court, and became the playfellow of the princess 
 Anne, who was several years younger than her- 
 self. Sarah succeeded her sister as maid of ho- 
 nour to the duchess of York ; which, however, did 
 not prevent her having constant intercourse with 
 the princess, who lived under the same roof with 
 her father, and who at that early age showed the 
 greatest preference for her. 
 
 In 1677, Sarah Jennings married, clandestinely, 
 the handsome colonel Churchill, favourite gentle- 
 man of the duke of York. Both parties being 
 poor, it was an imprudent match ; but the duchess 
 of York, whom they made the confidant of their 
 
 407 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 attachment, stood their friend, and offered her 
 powerful assistance. She gave her attendant a 
 handsome donation, and appointed her to a place 
 of trust about her person. The young couple 
 followed the fortunes of the duke of York for 
 some years, while he was a sort of honourable 
 exile from the court ; but when the establishment 
 of the princess Anne was formed, she being now 
 
 ■^y 
 
 married, Mrs. Churchill, secretly mistrusting the 
 durability of the fortunes of her early benefactress, 
 expressed an ardent wish to become one of the 
 ladies of the princess Anne, who requested her 
 father's permission to that effect, and received his 
 consent. The early regard evinced by the princess 
 Anne for Mrs. Churchill, soon ripened into a 
 romantic attachment ; she lost sight of the differ- 
 ence in their rank, and treated her as an equal, 
 desiring a like return. When apart, they corre- 
 sponded constantly under the names, chosen by 
 the princess, of Mrs. Morley and Mrs. Freeman. 
 
 No two persons could be less alike than the 
 princess and Sarah Churchill ; the former was 
 quiet, somewhat phlegmatic, easy and gentle, ex- 
 tremely well bred, fond of ceremony, and averse 
 to mental exertion ; the latter, resolute, bold, in- 
 clined to violence, prompt, unwearied and haughty. 
 Swift, who was, however, her bitter enemy, de- 
 scribes her as the victim of "three furies which 
 reigned in her breast, sordid avarice, disdainful 
 pride, and ungovernable rage." The duchess of 
 Marlborough's strongest characteristic appears to 
 have been a most powerful will. Much is said of 
 the ascendancy which a strong mind acquires over 
 a weak one ; but in many instances where this is 
 thought to be the case, the influence arises from 
 strength of will, and not from mental superiority. 
 In the present instance, this was not altogether 
 so ; for the duchess of Marlborough was undoubt- 
 edly greatly superior to queen Anne in mind, but 
 if her sense and discretion had been properly 
 exercised, in controlling that indomitable will, 
 which foamed and raged at everything which ob- 
 structed her path or interfered with her opinions, 
 her influence might have been as lasting as it was 
 once powerful. 
 
 On the accession of James II., Churchill was 
 created a baron ; but, attaching himself to the 
 Protestant cause, when the prince of Orange 
 landed, he deserted his old master and joined the 
 prince ; lady Churchill, meanwhile, aiding the 
 princess Anne in her flight and abandonment of 
 the king her father. On the accession of William 
 and Mary, in 1692, to the English throne, Churchill 
 was rewarded for his zeal by the earldom of Marl- 
 borough, and the appointment of commander-in- 
 chief of the English army in the Low Country. 
 Afterwards, falling into disgrace with the king 
 and queen, lord and lady Marlborough were dis- 
 missed the court. Princess Anne espoused the 
 cause of her favourite, and retired also ; but, npon 
 the death" of queen Mary, they were restored to 
 favour. The accession of Anne to the throne on 
 the death of William, placed lady Marlborough in 
 the position which her ambitious spirit coveted ; 
 she knew her own value and that of her gallant 
 husband. She knew that Anne not only loved but 
 feared her ; that she would require her aid, and 
 have recourse to her on all occasions of difficulty ; 
 and she felt equal to every emergency. A perusal 
 of the letters of the queen to lady Marlborough 
 at this period, is sufficient evidence of the sub- 
 jection in which she (the queen) was held by her 
 imperious favourite ; the humility which they ex- 
 press are unworthy of her as a sovereign and as a 
 woman. That Anne was already beginning to 
 writhe under this intolerable yoke, there can be 
 no doubt. From the commencement of her reign, 
 a difference in politics between herself and her 
 favourite was manifested. Lady Marlborough had 
 a strong leaning to the whig side, while the queen 
 was always attached to the tory party ; and dis- 
 sensions soon arose as to the ministers who were 
 to surround the throne. Since the advancement 
 of lord Marlborough, his lady had lost much of 
 the caressing devotion which she had hitherto 
 manifested for the queen; and exhibited to her 
 some of that overbearing arrogance with which 
 she treated the rest of her contemporaries. It is 
 not astonishing that the queen, under these cir- 
 cumstances, should have sought for sympathy in 
 one near her person who had suffered from the 
 same overbearing temper. Abigail Hill, a poor 
 relation of lady MSi-lborough's, whom she had 
 placed about the queen as bed-chamber woman, 
 was the prudent and careful recipient of her mis- 
 tress's vexations, and gradually acquired such 
 influence with her as eventually to supersede her 
 powerful relative as favourite. Much has been 
 said of the ingratitude of Mrs. Mash'am to her 
 early benefactress. As there is no evidence that 
 she had recourse to improper or dishonourable 
 means to ingratiate herself with the queen, this 
 charge cannot be substantiated. The queen's fa- 
 vour was a voluntary gift. Lady Marlborough 
 ■ alienated her mistress by her own arbitrary tem- 
 per ; and the queen only exercised the privilege 
 which every gentlewoman should possess, of se- 
 lecting her own friends and servants. Meanwhile, 
 the brilliant successes of lord Marlborough obliged 
 the queen, to suppress her estranged feelings to- 
 wards his wife, and bound her more closely to the 
 
 408 
 
Ma 
 
 MA 
 
 interests of his family. In 1702, lord Marltorougli 
 ■was created a duke ; and In 1705, after the battle 
 of Blenheim, the royal manors of Woodstock and 
 Wootton were bestowed upon him, and the palace 
 of Blenheim was erected by the nation at an enor- 
 mous cost. 
 
 The duchess of Marlborough's favour waned 
 rapidly. She began to suspect Mrs. Hill, and re- 
 monstrated angrily with the queen on the subject, 
 as if regard and affection were ever won back by 
 reproaches ! The secret marriage of Abigail Hill 
 to Mr. Masham, a page of the court, which the 
 queen attended privately, finally produced an open 
 rupture. After a protracted attempt to regain her 
 influence, during which period the queen had to 
 listen to much " plain speaking" from "the angry 
 duchess, she was forced to resign her posts at 
 court, and with her, the different members of her 
 family, who filled nearly all the situations of 
 dignity and emolument about the queen. 
 
 The duchess followed her husband abroad soon 
 after her dismissal, where they remained till the 
 death of queen Anne. George I. restored the duke 
 of Marlborough at once to his station of captain- 
 general of the land forces, and gave him other 
 appointments ; but he never regained his forme:j 
 political importance. The duchess of Marlborough 
 was the mother of five children ; her only son died 
 at the age of seventeen, of that then fatal disease, 
 the small-pox. Her four daughters, who inherited 
 their mother's beauty, married men of distinction, 
 two of whom only survived her. Lady Godolphin, 
 the oldest, succeeded to the title of the duchess 
 of Marlborough. 
 
 The duchess survived her husband twenty-three 
 years. Her great wealth brought her many suitors, 
 to one of whom, the duke of Somerset, she made 
 the celebrated reply, "that she could not permit 
 an emperor to succeed in that heart which had 
 been devoted to John duke of Marlborough." 
 
 In her eighty-second year she published her 
 vindication against all the attacks, that in the 
 course of her long life had been made against her. 
 She also left voluminous papers to serve for the 
 memoirs of her husband, as well as many docu- 
 ments since used in compiling her own life. Much 
 of her latter life was spent in wrangling and quar- 
 relling with her descendants ; with some of whom 
 she was at open war. She is said to have re- 
 venged herself upon her grand-daughter, lady 
 Anne Egerton, by painting the face of her portrait 
 black, and inscribing beneath it, " She is blacker 
 within." 
 
 The duchess of Marlborough, in a corrupt age, 
 and possessed of singular beauty, was of unble- 
 mished reputation. She had many high and noble 
 qualities. She was truthful and honourable, and 
 esteemed those qualities in others. Her attach- 
 ment to her husband was worthy of its object, 
 and of the love he bore her. A touching anecdote 
 of the duke's unfading love for her is upon record, 
 as related by herself. " She had very beautiful 
 hair, and none of her charms were so highly prized 
 by the duke as these tresses. One day, upon his 
 offending her, she cropped them short, and laid 
 them in an ante-chamber through which he must 
 
 pass to her room. To her great disappointment, 
 he passed, and repassed, calmly enough to pro- 
 voke a saint, without appearing conscious of the 
 deed. When she sought her hair, however, where 
 she had laid it, it had vanished. Nothing more 
 ever transpired upon the subject till the duke's 
 death, when she found her beautiful ringlets care- 
 fully laid by in a cabinet where he kept whatever 
 he held most precious. At this part of the story 
 the duchess always fell a crying." The duchess 
 of Marlborough died in October, 1774, at the age 
 of eighty-four, leaving an enormous fortune. 
 
 MAELEY, LOUISE FBANQOISE DE, 
 MARCHIONESS DE VIELBOURG, 
 Was a French lady of eminence for her extfen- 
 
 sive learning and great virtues. She lived about 
 
 1615. 
 
 MARON, THERESA DE, 
 A SISTER of the celebrated Raphael Mengs, was 
 born at Auszig, in Bohemia. From her earliest 
 youth she excelled in enamel, miniature, and 
 crayon paintings ; and she retained her talents in 
 full vigour till her death, at the age of eighty, in 
 1806. She married the Cavalier Maron, an Italian 
 artist of merit. 
 
 MARS, MADEMOISELLE HYPPO- 
 LITE BOUTET, 
 
 An eminent French actress, daughter of Mon- 
 vel, a celebrated French actor, was born in 1778. 
 She appeared in public in 1793, and was soon en- 
 gaged at the Theatre Frangais. 
 
 Her father, Monvel, who was an actor of great 
 celebrity, in giving her instructions had the good 
 taste and judgment not to make her a mere crea- 
 ture of art. On the contrary, he taught her that 
 much ought to be left to the inspiration of natural 
 feelings, and that art ought only to second, not to 
 supersede nature. Her original cast of parts con- 
 sisted of those which the French term ingenues — 
 parts in which youthful innocence and simplicity 
 are represented. These she performed for many 
 years with extraordinary applause. At length 
 she resolved to shine in a diametrically opposite 
 
 409 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 kind of acting — that of the higher class of co- 
 quettes. In accomplishing this, she had to en- 
 counter a violent opposition from Mademoiselle 
 Leverd, who was already in possession of this de- 
 partment ; for, in France, each actor has exclusive 
 right to a certain species of character. Made- 
 moiselle Mars succeeded, however, in breaking 
 through this rule, a great triumph for her ; and 
 in the coquette she was fully as charming and 
 successful as in personating the child of nature. 
 She pleased foreigners as well as her own coun- 
 trymen. Mr. Alison, the son of the historian, 
 spoke of her as being "probably as perfect an 
 actress in comedy as ever appeared on any stage. 
 She has (he continues) united every advantage of 
 countenance, and voice, and figure, which it is 
 possible to conceive." Mademoiselle Mars was 
 very beautiful, and retained her charms till a late 
 period in life. This beauty gave, no doubt, addi- 
 tional power to her genius, and assisted her in 
 establishing her sway over the theatrical world. 
 At Lyons she was crowned publicly in the theatre 
 with a garland of flowers, and a/lte was celebrated 
 in honour of her by the public bodies and autho- 
 rities of the city. Her last performance at the 
 theatre was at Paris, in April, 1841 ; and she died 
 in that city in 1848, aged seventy years. 
 
 MARTHA, SISTER, (ANNA BIGET,) 
 Was born on the 26th of October, 1748, at Tho- 
 raise, a pleasant village situated on the Doub, 
 near Besan9on. Her parents were poor, hard- 
 working country folks. From infancy she showed 
 an uncommonly tender and kind disposition ; al- 
 ■s-ays wishing to aid those who were in any dis- 
 tress ; ever willing to share her dinner with the 
 beggar or the wayfarer. At the age to be placed 
 in some service, she petitioned, and obtained the 
 situation of touriire sister in the convent of the 
 Visitation. This monastic establishment had been 
 founded by the baroness of Chartal ; it was chiefly 
 intended as an asylum for young ladies of high 
 birth, who needed a protecting refuge, or whose 
 piety urged them to withdraw from the world; 
 but as the delicate education and habits of such 
 ladies would render them inadequate to many 
 rough duties essential to every household, the 
 convent received poor girls from the families of 
 peasants and petty artizans, who had been used 
 from childhood to labour and fatigue. In this 
 capacity Anne Biget was received. Upon pro- 
 nouncing her vows, she took the name of Sister 
 Martha, a name ever to be remembered among 
 the benefactors of misery. The archbishop of 
 Besan9on gave her permission to visit the prisons, 
 and she devoted herself to the wretched tenants 
 with enthusiasm, when the breaking out of the 
 revolution filled them with a diff'erent and still 
 more miserable order of inhabitants. During the 
 reign of terror. Sister Martha, her convent de- 
 stroyed, her companions dispersed, remained faith- 
 ful to her vocation. She still comforted the pri- 
 soners, now prisoners of war; she dressed their 
 wounds, applied to the charitable throughout the 
 town, for the means of affording them necessary 
 comforts ; they were as her children, so active, so 
 
 devoted was her zeal in their behalf during a se- 
 ries of years. Spaniards, Englishmen, Italians, 
 all in turn experienced her tender cares. When 
 the French soldiers who were accustomed to her 
 care were wounded, and away from home, they 
 would exclaim, " Oh, where is Sister Martha? If 
 she were here, we should suffer less." When the 
 allied sovereigns were in Paris, they sent for Sister 
 Martha, and bestowed valuable gifts upon her. 
 Medals were sent her, at different times, from the 
 emperor of Russia and from the emperor of Aus- 
 tria. Nor was her benevolence confined to the 
 soldiers alone ; the poor, the suffering of every 
 description, resorted to Sister Martha, and never 
 in vain. In 1816 she visited Paris, to obtain suc- 
 cours for her poor countrymen suffering from a 
 scanty harvest, and consequent scarcity of food. 
 She was very graciously received by Louis XTIII., 
 and the giddy butterflies of the court vied with 
 each other in attentions and caresses to the poor 
 nun. Sister Martha finished a life employed in 
 good works in 1824, at the age of seventy-six. 
 
 MARTIN, ELIZABETH AND GRACE, 
 The wives of the two eldest sons of Abram 
 Martin, of South Carolina, who were engaged in 
 active service in their country's cause during the 
 war of the revolution, distinguished themselves 
 by a daring exploit. Being left at home alone 
 with their mother-in-law, Elizabeth Martin, dur- 
 ing their husbands' absence, and hearing that two 
 British oflicers, with important despatches, were to 
 pass that night along the road near their dwelling, 
 the two young women disguised themselves in their 
 husbands' apparel, and taking fire-arms, concealed 
 themselves by the road, till the courier appeared 
 with his attendant guards, when springing from 
 the bushes, they demanded the despatches. Taken 
 by surprise, the men yielded, gave up the papers, 
 and' were put on their parole. The despatches 
 were immediately sent to General Greene. 
 
 MARTIN, SARAH, 
 
 Who has won for herself the fame most desira- 
 ble for a woman, that of Christian benevolence, 
 unsurpassed in the annals of her sex, was born in 
 1791. Her father was a poor mechanic in Caister, 
 a village three miles from Yarmouth, England. 
 Sarah was the only child of her parents, who both 
 died when she was very young ; she had then to 
 depend on her grandmother, a poor old widow, 
 whose name was Bennett, and who deserves to 
 have it recorded for the kind care she took of her 
 granddaughter. 
 
 Sarah Martin's education was merely such as 
 the village school afforded. At the age of four- 
 teen, she passed a year in learning the business 
 of dress-making ; and then gained her livelihood 
 by going out and working at her trade by the day, 
 among the families of the village. In the town 
 of Yarmouth was the county prison, where crimi- 
 nals were confined; their condition is thus set 
 forth in the work* from which we gather our 
 sketch : 
 
 * Edinburg Review, 1847. 
 
 410 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 " Their time was given to gaming, swearing, 
 playing, fighting, and bad language ; and their 
 visitors were admitted from without with little 
 restrictions. There was no divine worship in the 
 jail on Sundays, nor any respect paid to that holy 
 day. There were underground cells, (these con- 
 tinued even down to 1836,) quite dark, and defi- 
 cient in proper ventilation. The prisoners de- 
 scribe their heat in summer as almost suffocating, 
 but they prefer them for their warmth in winter ; 
 their situation is such as to defy inspection, and 
 they are altogether unfit for the confinement of 
 any human being." 
 
 No person in Yarmouth took thought for these 
 poor, miserable prisoners ; no human eye looked 
 with pity on their dreadful condition ; and had 
 their reformation been proposed, it would, no 
 doubt, have been scouted as an impossibility. 
 
 In August, 1819, a woman was committed to 
 the jail for a most unnatural crime. She was a 
 mother who had "forgotten her sucking child." 
 She had not " had compassion upon the son of her 
 womb," but had cruelly beaten and ill-used it. 
 The consideration of her offence was calculated 
 to produce a great effect upon a female mind ; and 
 there was one person in the neighbourhood of Yar- 
 mouth who was deeply moved by it. Sarah Mar- 
 tin was a little woman of gentle, quiet manners, 
 possessing no beauty of person, nor, as it seemed, 
 any peculiar endowment of mind. She was then 
 just eight-and-twenty years of age, and had, for 
 thirteen years past, earned her livelihood by going 
 out to the houses of various families in the town 
 as a day-labourer in her business of dress-making. 
 Her residence was at Caister, a village three miles 
 from Yarmouth, where she lived with an aged 
 grandmother, and whence she walked to Yarmouth 
 and back again in the prosecution of her daily toil. 
 This poor girl had long mourned over the condi- 
 tion of the inmates of the jail. Even as long back 
 as in 1810, "whilst frequently passing the jail," 
 she says, "I felt a strong desire to obtain admis- 
 sion to the prisoners to read the Scriptures to 
 them ; for I thought much of their condition, and 
 of their sin before God ; how they were shut out 
 from society, whose rights they had violated, and 
 how destitute they were of the scriptural instruc- 
 tion which alone could meet their unhappy cir- 
 cumstances." The case of the unnatural mother 
 stimulated her to make the attempt, but "I did 
 not," she says, " make known my purpose of seek- 
 ing admission to the jail until the object was at- 
 tained, even to my beloved grandmother ; so sen- 
 sitive was my fear lest any obstacle should thereby 
 arise in my way, and the project seem a visionary 
 one. God led me, and I consulted none but Him." 
 She ascertained the culprit's name, and went to 
 the jail. She passed into the dark porch which 
 overhung the entrance, fit emblem of the state of 
 things within ; and no doubt with bounding heart, 
 and in a timid modest form of application, uttered 
 with that clear and gentle voice, the sweet tones 
 of which are yet well remembered, solicited per- 
 mission to see the cruel parent. There was some 
 difBoulty — there is always "a lion in the way" of 
 doing good — and she was not at first permitted to 
 
 enter. To a wavering mind, such a check would 
 have appeared of evil omen; but Sarah Martin 
 was too well assured of her own purposes and 
 powers to hesitate. Upon a second application 
 she was admitted. 
 
 The manner of her reception in the jail is told 
 by herself with admirable simplicity. The unna- 
 tural mother stood before her. She " was sur- 
 prised at the sight of a stranger." " When I told 
 her," says Sarah Martin, " the motive of my visit, 
 her guilt, her need of God's mercy, she burst into 
 tears, and thanked me !" 
 
 Her reception at once proved the necessity for 
 such a missionary, and her own personal fitness 
 for the task ; and her visit was repeated again 
 and again, during such short intervals of leisure 
 as she could spare from her daily labours. At 
 first she contented herself with merely reading to 
 the prisoners ; but familiarity with their wants 
 and with her own powers soon enlarged the sphere 
 of her tuition, and she began to instruct them in 
 reading and writing. This extension of her labour, 
 interfered with her ordinary occupations. It t)e- 
 came necessary to sacrifice a portion of her time, 
 and consequently of her means, to these new du- 
 ties. She did not hesitate. " I thought it right," 
 she says, "to give up a day in the week from 
 dress-making, to serve the prisoners. This regu- 
 larly given, with many an additional one, was not 
 felt as a pecuniary loss, but was ever followed 
 with abundant satisfaction, for the blessing of God 
 was upon me." 
 
 In the year 1826, Sarah Martin's grandmother 
 died, and she came into possession of an annual 
 income of ten or twelve pounds, derived from the 
 investment of " between two and three hundred 
 pounds." She then removed from Caister to Yar- 
 mouth, where she occupied two rooms in a house 
 situated in a row in an obscure part of the town ; 
 and, from that time, devoted herself with in- 
 creased energy to her philanthropic labours. A 
 benevolent lady, resident in Yarmouth, had for 
 some years, with a view to securing her a little 
 rest for her health's sake, given her one day in a 
 week, by compensating her for that day in the 
 same way as if she had been engaged in dress- 
 making. With that assistance, and with a few 
 quarterly subscriptions, " chiefly 2s. 6d. each, for 
 bibles, testaments, tracts, and other books for dis- 
 tribution," she went on devoting every available 
 moment of her life to her great purpose. But 
 dressmaking, like other professions, is a jealous 
 mistress ; customers fell off, and, eventually, al- 
 most entirely disappeared. A question of anxious 
 moment now presented itself, the determination 
 of which is ' one of the most characteristic and 
 memorable incidents of her life. Was she to pur- 
 sue her benevolent labours, even although they 
 led to utter poverty ? Her little income was not 
 more than enough to pay her lodging, and the ex- 
 penses consequent upon the exercise of her chari- 
 table functions: and was actual destitution of 
 ordinary necessaries to be submitted to ? She 
 never doubted ; but her reasoning upon the subject 
 presents so clear an illustration of the exalted 
 character of her thoughts and purposes, and ex- 
 
 411 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 ■hilDits so eminent an example of Christian devoted- 
 ness and heroism, that it would be an injustice to 
 her memory not to quote it in her own words : — 
 " In the full occupation of dressmaking, I had 
 care with it, and anxiety for the future ; but as 
 that disappeared, care fled also. God, who had 
 called me into the vineyard, had said, ' Whatsoever 
 is right I will give you.' I had learned from the 
 Scriptures of truth that I should be supported ; 
 God was my master, and would not forsake his 
 servant ; He was my father, fend could not forget 
 his child. I knew also that it sometimes seemed 
 good in his sight to try the faith and patience of 
 his servants, by bestowing upon them very limited 
 means of support ; as in the case of Naomi and 
 Ruth ; of the widow of Zarephath and Elijah ; 
 and my mind, in the contemplation of such trials, 
 seemed exalted by more than human energy ; for 
 I had counted the cost ; and my mind was made 
 up. If, whilst imparting truth to others, I became 
 exposed to temporal want, the privation so mo- 
 mentary to an individual, would not admit of com- 
 parison with following the Lord, in thus adminis- 
 tering to others." 
 
 Her next object was to secure the observance 
 of Sunday ; and, after long urging and recom- 
 mendation, she prevailed upon the prisoners " to 
 form a Sunday service, by one reading to the 
 rest; .... but aware," she continues, "Of the 
 instability of a practice in itself good, without any 
 corresponding principle of preservation, and think- 
 ing that my presence might exert a beneficial ten- 
 dency, I joined their Sunday morning worship as 
 a regular hearer." 
 
 After three years' perseverance in this " happy 
 and quiet course," she made her next advance, 
 which was to introduce employment, first for the 
 women prisoners, and afterwards for the men. In 
 1823, " one gentleman," she says, "presented me 
 with ten shillings, and another, in the same week, 
 with a pound, for prison charity. It then occurred 
 to me that it would be well to expend it in mate- 
 rial for baby-clothes ; and having borrowed pat- 
 terns, cut out the articles, fixed prices of payment 
 for making them, and ascertained the cost of a 
 set, that they might be disposed of at a certain 
 price, the plan was carried into effect. The pri- 
 soners also made shirts, coats, &c. * * * By 
 means of this plan, many young women who were 
 not able to sew, learned this art, and, in satisfac- 
 tory instances, had a little money to take at the 
 
 end of the term of imprisonment The 
 
 fund of £1 10s. for this purpose, as a foundation 
 and perpetual stock, (for whilst desiring its pre- 
 servation, I did not require its increase,) soon rose 
 to seven guineas, and since its establishment, above 
 £408 worth of various articles have been sold for 
 charity." 
 
 The men were thus employed : — 
 
 " They made straw hats, and, at a later period, 
 bone spoons and seals ; others made mens' and 
 boys' caps, out in eight quarters — the material, 
 old cloth or moreen, or whatever my friends could 
 find up to give me for them. In some instances, 
 young men, and more frequently boys, have learn- 
 ed to sew grey cotton shirts, or even patch-work, 
 
 with a view of shutting out idleness and making 
 themselves useful. On one occasion I showed to 
 the prisoners an etching of the chess-player, by 
 Retzsch, which two men, one a shoemaker and the 
 other a bricklayer, desired much to copy; they 
 were allowed to do so, and being furnished with 
 pencil, pen, paper, &c., they succeeded remarkably 
 well. The chess-player presented a pointed and 
 striking lesson, which could well be applied to any 
 kind of gaming, and was, on this account, suitable 
 to my pupils, who had generally descended from 
 the love of marbles and pitch-halfpenny in chil- 
 dren, to cards, dice, &c., in men. The business 
 of copying it had the advantage of requiring all 
 thought and attention at the time. The attention 
 of other prisoners was attracted to it, and for a 
 year or two afterwards many continued to copy it." 
 
 After another interval she proceeded to the for- 
 mation of a fund which she applied to the furnish- 
 ing of work for prisoners upon their discharge ; 
 " affording me," she adds, " the advantage of ob- 
 serving their conduct at the same time." 
 
 She had thus, in the course of a few years — 
 during which her mind had gradually expanded to 
 the requirements of the subject before her — pro- 
 vided for all the most important objects of prison 
 discipline ; moral and intellectual tuition, occupa- 
 tion during imprisonment, and employment after 
 discharge. Whilst great and good men, unknown 
 to her, were inquiring and disputing as to the way 
 and the order in which these very results were to 
 be attained — inquiries and disputes which have 
 not yet come to an end — ■ here was a poor woman 
 who was actually herself personally accomplishing 
 them all ! It matters not whether all her measures 
 were the very wisest that could have been imagined. 
 She had to contend with many difficulties that are 
 now unknown ; prison discipline was then in its 
 infancy ; everything she did was conceived in the 
 best spirit; and, considering the time, and the 
 means at her command, could scarcely have been 
 improved. 
 
 The full eltent to which she was personally en- 
 gaged in carrying out these objects, has yet to be 
 explained. The Sunday service in the jail was 
 adopted, as we have seen, upon her recommenda- 
 tion, and she joined the prisoners, as a fellow- 
 worshipper, on Sunday morning. Their evening 
 service, which was to be read in her absence, was 
 soon abandoned ; but, finding that to be the case, 
 she attended on that part of the day also, and the 
 service was then resumed. " After several changes 
 of readers, the office," she says, " devolved on me. 
 That happy privilege thus graciously opened to 
 me, and embraced from necessity, and in much 
 fear, was acceptable to the prisoners, for God 
 made it so ; and also an unspeakable advantage 
 and comfort to myself." These modest sentences 
 convey but a very faint notion of the nature of 
 these singular services. Fortunately, in a report 
 of captain Williams, one of the inspectors of pri- 
 sons, we have a far more adequate account of the 
 matter. It stands thus : — 
 
 "Sunday, November 29, 1885. — Attended divine 
 service in the morning at the prison. The male 
 prisoners only were assembled ; a female, resident 
 
 412 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 In the town, officiated ; her voice was exceedingly 
 melodious, her delivery emphatic, and her enun- 
 ciation extremely distinct. The service was the, 
 liturgy of the church of England ; two psalms were 
 sung by the whole of the prisoners, and extremely 
 well — much better than I have frequently heard 
 in our best-appointed churches. A written dis- 
 course, of her own composition, was read by her ; 
 it was of a purely moral tendency, involving no 
 doctrinal points, and admirably suited to the 
 hearers. During the performance of the service, 
 the prisoners paid the profoundest attention, and 
 the most marked respect ; and, as far as it is pos- 
 sible to judge, appeared to take a devout interest. 
 Evening service was read by her afterwards to the 
 female prisoners." 
 
 We believe that there are gentlemen in the 
 world who stand so stiffly upon the virtue of cer- 
 tain forms of ministerial ordination, as to set their 
 faces against all lay, and especially against all 
 female, religious teaching. We will not dispute 
 as to what may, or may not, be the precise value 
 of those forms. They ought to confer powers of 
 inestimable worth, considering how stubbornly 
 they are defended — and perhaps they do so ; but 
 every one amongst us knows and feels that the 
 power of writing or preaching good sermons is not 
 amongst the number. The cold, laboured elo- 
 quence which boy - bachelors are authorized by 
 custom and constituted authority to inflict upon 
 us — the dry husks and chips of divinity which 
 they bring forth from the dark recesses of the 
 theology (as it is called) of the fathers, or of the 
 middle ages, sink into utter worthlessness by the 
 side of the jail addresses of this poor, uneducated 
 seamstress. From her own registers of the pri- 
 soners who came under her notice, it is easy to 
 describe the ordinary members of her congrega- 
 tion : — pert London pickpockets, whom a cheap 
 steamboat brought to reap a harvest at some 
 country festival ; boors, whom ignorance and dis- 
 tress led into theft; depraved boys, who picked 
 up a precarious livelihood amongst the chances 
 of a seaport town ; sailors, who had committed 
 assaults in the boisterous hilarity consequent upon 
 a discharge with a paid-up arrear of wages ; ser- 
 vants, of both sexes, seduced by bad company 
 into the commission of crimes against their mas- 
 ters ; profligate women, who had added assault or 
 theft to the ordinary vices of a licentious life ; 
 smugglers ; a few game-law criminals ^ and pau- 
 pers transferred from a work-house, where they 
 had been initiated into crime, to a jail, where their 
 knowledge was perfected. Such were some of the 
 usual classes of persons who assembled around 
 this singular teacher of righteousness. 
 
 Noble woman ! A faith so firm, and so disinte- 
 rested, might have removed mountains ; a self- 
 sacrifice founded upon such principles is amongst 
 the most heroic of human achievements. 
 
 This appears to have been the busiest period of 
 Sarah Martin's life. Her system, if we may so 
 term it, of superintendence over the prisoners, 
 was now complete. For six or seven hours daily 
 she took her station amongst them; converting 
 that which, without her, would have been, at best, 
 
 a scene of dissolute idleness, into a hive of indus- 
 try and order. We have already explained the 
 nature of the employment which she provided for 
 them ; the manner of their instruction is described 
 as follows: "Any one who could not read, I en- 
 couraged to learn, whilst others in my absence 
 assisted them. They were taught to write also j 
 whilst such as could write already, copied extracts 
 from books lent to them. Prisoners, who were 
 able to read, committed verses from the Holy 
 Scriptures to memory every day according to their 
 ability or inclination. I, as an example, also 
 committed a few verses to memory to repeat to 
 them every day ; and the effect was remarkable ; 
 always silencing excuse when the pride of some 
 prisoners would have prevented their doing it. 
 Many said at first, ' It would be of no use ;' and 
 my reply was, ' It is of use to me, and why 
 should it not be so to you ? You have not tried 
 it, but I have.' Tracts and children's books, and 
 large books, four or five in number, of which they 
 were very fond, were exchanged in every room 
 daily, whilst any who could read more were sup- 
 plied with larger books." 
 
 There does not appear to have been any instance 
 of a prisoner long refusing to take advantage of 
 this mode of instruction. Men entered the prison 
 saucy, shallow, self-conceited, full of cavils and 
 objections, which Sarah Martin was singularly 
 clever in meeting ; but in a few days the most 
 stubborn, and those who had refused the most 
 peremptorily, either to be employed or to be in- 
 structed, would beg to be allowed to take their 
 part in the general course. Once within the circle 
 of her influence, the effect was curious. Men old 
 in years, as well as in crime, might be seen striv- 
 ing for the first time in their lives to hold a pen, 
 or bending hoary heads over primers and spelling- 
 books, or studying to commit to memory some 
 precept taken from the Holy Scriptures. Young 
 rascals, as impudent as they were ignorant, be- 
 ginning with one verse, went on to long passages ; 
 and even the dullest were enabled by perseverance 
 to furnish their minds and memories with " from 
 two to five verses every day." All these opera- 
 tions, it must be borne in mind, were canied on 
 under no authority save what was derived from 
 the teacher's innate force of character. Aware 
 of that circumstance, and that any rebellion would 
 be fatal to her usefulness, she so contrived every 
 exercise of her power as to " make a favour of it," 
 knowing well that " to depart from this course, 
 would only be followed by the prisoners' doing 
 less, and not doing it well." The ascendency she 
 thus acquired was very singular. A general per- 
 suasion of the sincerity with which " she watched, 
 and wept, and prayed, and felt for all," rendered 
 her the general depository of the little confidences, 
 the tales of weakness, treachery, and sorrow, in 
 the midst of which she stood ! and thus she was 
 enabled to fan the rising desire for emancipation, 
 to succour the tempted, to encourage the timid, 
 and put the erring in the way. 
 
 After the close of her labours at the jail, she 
 proceeded, at one time of her life, to a large school 
 which she superintended at the work-house ; and 
 
 413 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 afterwards, when that school was turned over to 
 proper teachers, she devoted two nights in the 
 week to a school for factory girls, which was held 
 in the capacious chancel of the old church of St. 
 Nicholas. There, or elsewhere, she was every- 
 thing. Other teachers would send their classes 
 to stand by and listen, whilst Sarah Martin, in 
 her striking and effective way, imparted instruc- 
 tion to the forty or fifty young women who were 
 fortunate enough to be more especially her pupils. 
 Every countenance was upon her; and, as the 
 questions went round, she would explain them by 
 a piece of poetry, or an anecdote, which she had 
 always ready at command, and, more especially, 
 by Scripture illustration. The Bible was, indeed, 
 the great fountain of her knowledge and her power. 
 For many years she read it through four times 
 every year, and had formed a most exact reference 
 book to its contents. Her intimate familiarity 
 with its striking imagery and lofty dictinn, im- 
 pressed a poetical character upon her own style, 
 and filled her mind with exalted thoughts. After 
 her class duties were over, there remained to be 
 performed many offices of kindness, which with 
 her were consequent upon the relation of teacher 
 and pupil ; there was personal communication 
 with this scholar and with that; some inquiry 
 here, some tale to listen to there ; for she was 
 never a mere schoolmistress, but always the friend 
 and counsellor, as well as the instructor. 
 
 The evenings on which there was no tuition 
 were devoted by her to visiting the sick, either in 
 the work-house, or through the town generally ; 
 and occasionally an evening was passed with some 
 of those worthy people in Yarmouth by whom her 
 labours were regarded with interest. Her ap- 
 pearance in any of their houses was the signal for 
 a busy evening. Her benevolent smile, and quick, 
 active manner, communicated her own cheerful- 
 ness and energy to every one around her. She 
 never failed to bring work with her, and, if young 
 people were present, was sure to employ them aU. 
 Something was to be made ready for the occupa- 
 tion of the prisoners, or for their instruction ; pat- 
 terns or copies were to be prepared, or old mate- 
 rials to be adjusted to some new use, in which 
 last employment her ingenuity was pre-eminent. 
 Odd pieces of woollen or cotton, scraps of paper, 
 mere litters, things which other people threw 
 away, it mattered not what, she always begged 
 that such things might be kept for her, and was 
 sure to turn them to some account. If, on such 
 occasions, whilst everybody else was occupied, 
 some one would read aloud, Sarah Martin's satis- 
 faction was complete ; and at intervals, if there 
 were no strangers present, or if such communica- 
 tion were desired, she would dilate upon the sor- 
 rows and sufferings of her guilty flock, and her 
 own hopes and disappointments in connexion with 
 them, in the language of simple, animated truth. 
 Her day was closed by no " return to a cheerful 
 fireside prepared by the cares of another," but to 
 her solitary apartments, which she had left locked 
 up during her absence, and where " most of the 
 domestic offices of life were performed by her own 
 hands." There she kept a copious record of her 
 
 proceedings in reference to the prisoners ; notes 
 of their circumstances and conduct during such 
 time as they were under her observation, which 
 generally extended long beyond the period of their 
 imprisonment; with most exact accounts of the 
 expenditure of the little subscriptions before men- 
 tioned, and also of a small annual payment from 
 the British Ladies' Society, established by Mrs. 
 Fry, and of all other money committed to her in 
 aid of any branch of her charitable labours. These 
 books of record and account have been very pro- 
 perly preserved, and have been presented to a 
 public library in Yarmouth. 
 
 In scenes like these Sarah Martin passed her 
 time, never appearing to think of herself; indeed 
 her own scanty fare was hardly better than that 
 of the poorest prisoner. Yet her soul was tri- 
 umphant, and the joy of her heart found expres- 
 sion in sacred songs. Nothing could restrain the 
 energy of her mind. In the seclusion of a lonely 
 chamber, "apart from all that could disturb, and 
 in a universe of calm repose, and peace, and 
 love ;" when speaking of herself and her condi- 
 tion, she remarked, in words of singular beauty, 
 
 " I seem to lie 
 
 So near the heavenly portals bright, 
 I catch the streaming rays that tiy 
 From eternity's own light." 
 
 Thus she cheered her solitary room with strains 
 of Christian praise and gratitude, and entered the 
 dark valley of the shadow of death with hymns of 
 victory and triumph. She died on the 15th of 
 October, 1843, aged fifty-two years. 
 
 Sarah Martin is one of the noblest of the Chris- 
 tian heroines the nineteenth century has produced. 
 The two predominant qualities of her soul were 
 love, or " the charity which hopeth all things," 
 and moral courage ; both eminently feminine en- 
 dowments. She performed her wonderful works 
 with true womanly discretion. She is, therefore, 
 an example of excellence of whom her sex should 
 be — more than proud — they should be thankful 
 for this light of moral loveliness enshrined in a 
 female form. " Her gentle disposition," says one 
 of her biographers, "never irritated by disap- 
 pointment, nor her charity straitened by ingrati- 
 tude, present a combination of qualities which 
 imagination sometimes portrays as the ideal of 
 what is pure and beautiful, but which are rarely 
 found embodied with humanity. She was no 
 titular Sister of Charity, but was silently felt and 
 acknowledged to be one, by the many outcast and 
 destitute persons who received encouragement 
 from her lips, and relief from her hands, and by 
 the few who were witnesses of her good works. 
 
 It is the business of literature to make such a 
 life stand out from the masses of ordinary exist- 
 ences, with something of the distinctness with 
 which a lofty building uproars itself in the confu- 
 sion of a distant view. It should be made to at- 
 tract all eyes, to excite the hearts of all persons 
 who think the welfare of their fellow-mortals an 
 object of interest or duty ; it should be included 
 in collections of biography, and chronicled in the 
 high places of history ; men should be taught to 
 estimate it as that of one whose philanthropy has 
 
 414 
 
MA 
 
 entitled her to renown, and children to associate 
 the name of Sarah Martin with those of Howard, 
 Buxton, Fry — the most benevolent of mankind." 
 
 MARTINEZ, MARIANNE, 
 
 Was the daughter of a gardener of Vienna. 
 One day the poet Metastasio met her in the street, 
 when she was a very little child ; she was singing 
 some popular air. Her voice, and her vivacity 
 pleased the poet, and he offered her parents to 
 educate her. They accepted his proposals, and 
 he kept his promises. Nothing was neglected to 
 make the young girl an artist. She had the good 
 fortune to receive lessons in music, and on the 
 harpsichord, from Haydn, whose genius was not 
 yet famous ; and Porpora taught her the art of 
 singing, and the science of composition. Her 
 progress was rapid ; she played with neatness and 
 grace ; she sang beautifully, and her compositions 
 showed a vigour of conception together with ex- 
 tensive learning. She reunited the qualities of 
 many distinguished artists. Dr. Burney, who 
 knew her at Venice, in 1772, speaks of her with 
 admiration. Metastasio bequeathed to her all his 
 property. In 1796 she lived at Vienna, in afflu- 
 ence, and gave weekly concerts at her house, 
 where she received all the musical celebrities. 
 Dr. Burney cites with high eulogy many of her 
 sonatas, and her cantatas on words of Metastasio. 
 She composed a miserere, with orchestral accom- 
 paniment. Gerbert had a mass and an oratorio 
 written by her. 
 
 MARTINOZZI, LAURA. 
 Francesco I., duke of Modena, became pos- 
 sessed of the sovereignty, in 1629, by the resigna- 
 tion of his father, Alphonso III., who entered a 
 convent of Capuchins, and, under the name of 
 brother Giambattesta, renounced all worldly pomps 
 and vanities. Overtures had been made to the 
 young prince, by cardinal Mazarin, for an alliance 
 vrith his niece, Laura Martinozzi. These had been 
 rather evaded ; when an autograph letter, from 
 Louis, king of France, urgently pressing the mar- 
 riage, determined the affair; and, in 1655, at- 
 tended by the most magnificent pomp, Laura was 
 received at Modena as the wife of its sovereign. 
 At the end of six years of conjugal happiness, Al- 
 fonso died, appointing his widow regent, and 
 guardian of his son and daughter. The duchess 
 held the reins of empire, for thirteen years, with 
 a firm hand, and appears to have governed with 
 more ability than her predecessor or her successor. 
 In 1676 she retired to Rome, where she lived in 
 comparative seclusion till 1687, when she died. 
 Her daughter, Mary Beatrice, was the wife of the 
 unfortunate James II., of England, whose reverses 
 and exile she shared. 
 
 MARY THERESA OF AUSTRIA, 
 
 Daughter of Philip IV. of Spain, married, in 
 1660, Louis XIV. of France, and died 1683, aged 
 forty-five. Her life was embittered by his infi- 
 delities. 
 
 MA 
 
 MARY OF CLEVES 
 Maeeied Henry I., prince of Condg. She was 
 loved so ardently by the duke of Anjou, afterwards 
 Henry III., that when called to the throne of Po- 
 land, he wrote to her, signing his name with his 
 blood. When raised to the French throne, he de- 
 termined to annul Mary's marriage ; but his mo- 
 ther, Catharine de Medicis, opposed it, and Mary 
 died suddenly, in 1574, at the age of eighteen, as 
 was supposed, by poison. 
 
 MARY I., QUEEN OF ENGLAND, 
 
 Eldest daughter of Henry VIIL, by his first 
 wife, Catharine of Spain, was born at Greenwich, 
 in February, 1517. Her mother was very careful 
 of her education, and provided her with proper 
 tutors. Her first preceptor was the famous Lin- 
 acre ; and after his death, Lewis Vires, a learned 
 Spaniard, became her tutor. She acquired, under 
 these learned men, a thorough knowledge of the 
 Latin ; so that Erasmus commends her epistles in 
 that language. 
 
 Towards the end of her father's reign, at the 
 earnest request of queen Catharine Parr, she un- 
 dertook to translate Erasmus' Paraphrase on the 
 Gospel of St. John ; but, being taken ill soon after 
 she commenced it, she left it to be finished by her 
 chaplain. It was published ; but, on Mary's ac- 
 cession to the throne, she issued a proclamation 
 suppressing it ; and it is supposed that the sick- 
 ness that seized her while translating this work 
 was affected. 
 
 Edward VI., her brother, dying July 6th, 1553, 
 she was proclaimed queen the same month, and 
 crowned in October. Upon her accession, she de- 
 clared in her speech to the council that she would 
 not persecute her Protestant subjects ; but, in the 
 following month, she prohibited preaching without 
 a special license, and in less than three months 
 the Protestant bishops were excluded the house 
 of Lords, and all the statutes of Edward VI. re- 
 specting the Protestant religion were repealed. 
 
 In July, 1554, she was married to prince Philip 
 of Spain, who was eleven years younger than her- 
 self, and by temper little disposed to act the lover. 
 
 415 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 His ruling passion was ambition, wliich his fond 
 consort was resolved to gratify. She was, how- 
 ever, less successful in this point, than in her 
 favourite wish of reconciling the kingdom to the 
 pope, which was effected in form, by the legate, 
 cardinal Pole. The sanguinary laws against he- 
 retics were renewed, and put into execution. The 
 shocking scenes which followed this determination 
 have indelibly fixed upon the sovereign the epithet 
 of " bloody queen Mary." A disappointment in a 
 supposed pregnancy, her husband's coldness and 
 uuldndness, and the discontent of her subjects, 
 aggravated her natural fretfulness. Although 
 Pole disapproved of the severity of persecution, 
 the arguments of Gardiner and others in its favour 
 suited the queen's disposition so well, that in three 
 or four years two hundred and seventy-seven per- 
 sons were committed to the flames, including pre- 
 lates, gentlemen, laymen, women, and even chil- 
 dren. The sincerity of Mary's zeal could not be 
 doubted, for she sacrificed the revenues of the 
 crown in restitution of the goods of the church ; 
 and to remonstrances on this head, she replied, 
 "that she preferred the salvation of her soul to 
 ten such kingdoms as England." She had, indeed, 
 no scruple in indemnifying herself by arbitrary 
 exactions on the property of her subjects ; and 
 her whole reign showed a marked tendency to 
 despotism. 
 
 Some have supposed that the queen was com- 
 passionate, and that most of these barbarities were 
 committed by her bishops vrithout her knowledge. 
 But among numberless proofs of the falsity of this 
 opinion, we need only mention her treatment of 
 the archbishop Cranmer, who had saved her life, 
 when her father, Henry VIII., irritated by her 
 firm adherence to her mother, and her obstinacy 
 in refusing to submit to him, had resolved to put 
 her openly to death. Cranmer alone ventured to 
 urge king Henry against such an act ; and, by his 
 argument, succeeded in saving her. In return for 
 this, he was condemned and burnt by Mary for 
 heresy. She died, November 7th, 1558, at the age 
 of forty-three, of an epidemic fever. The loss of 
 Calais, just before her death, so affected her, that 
 she remarked to her attendants that they would 
 find Calais written on her heart. 
 
 Strype preserved three pieces of her writing ; a 
 prayer against the assaults of vice ; a meditation 
 touching adversity ; and a prayer to be read at the 
 hour of death. In "Fox's Acts and Monuments" 
 are printed eight of her letters to king Edward 
 and the lords of council; and in the " Syllogse 
 Epistolorum" are several more of her letters. 
 
 Miss Strickland, in her history of the " Queens 
 of England," has collected many facts which serve 
 to soften the dark picture of Mary's reign, here- 
 tofore exhibited. We wiU quote a portion of these 
 remarks : 
 
 "Although every generous feeling is naturally 
 roused against the horrid cruelties perpetrated in 
 Mary's name, yet it is unjust and ungrateful to 
 mention her maiden reign with unqualified abhor- 
 rence ; for if the tyrannical laws instituted by her 
 father had remained a few years more in force, 
 the representative government of England would 
 
 gradually have withered under the terrors of impri- 
 sonments and executions without impartial trial, 
 and regal despotism would have been as success- 
 fully established here, as it was in France and 
 Spain, by the descendants of Henry VIII.'s asso- 
 ciates, Francis I. and Charles V. This change 
 arose from the queen's own ideas of rectitude ; 
 for the majority of her privy-councillors, judges, 
 and aristocracy, had as strong a tendency to cor- 
 rupt and slavish principles as the worst enemy to 
 national freedom could wish. 
 
 " Many wholesome laws were made or revived 
 by her ; among others, justices of the peace were 
 enjoined to take the examination of felons in 
 writing, at the same time binding witnesses over 
 to prosecute : without these regulations, a mo- 
 ment's reflection will show, that much malignant 
 accusation might take place in a justice-room, 
 unless witnesses were bound to prove their words. 
 All landholders and householders were made pro- 
 portionably chargeable to the repairs of roads. 
 The jails were in a respectable state ; since Fox 
 allows that the persons imprisoned for conscience' 
 sake were treated humanely in the prisons under 
 royal authority, while the persecuting bishops 
 made noisome conflnement part of the tortures of 
 the unhappy Protestants. 
 
 " Queen Mary is commended for the merciful - 
 provision she made for the poor ; there is, how- 
 ever, no trace of poor-rates, levied from the com- 
 munity at large, like those established by her 
 sister Elizabeth, at the close of the sixteenth cen- 
 tury. But that the poor were relieved by Mary 
 is evident, by the entire cessation of those insur- 
 rections, on account of utter destitution, which 
 took place in her father's and brother's reigns; 
 and now .and then under the sway of Elizabeth. 
 This is more singular, since corn was at famine 
 price, throughout the chief part of Mary's reign, 
 owing to a series of inclement years and wet har- 
 vests. It seems likely that part of the church 
 lands she restored were devoted to the relief of 
 the destitute, since very few monasteries were re- 
 founded. In her reign was altered that mysterious 
 law, called benefit of clergy. It had originated in 
 the earliest dawn of civilization, when the chiirch 
 snatched, from the tyranny of barbarous and igno- 
 rant chiefs, all prisoners or victims who could read, 
 and claiming them as her own, asserted the privi- 
 lege of bringing them to trial. Thus were the 
 learned judged by the learned, and the ignorant 
 left to the mercies of those savage as themselves. 
 This law tended to the encouragement of learning 
 in times when not more than one person out of 
 two thousand laymen knew a letter in the book. 
 Since the comparative cessation from civil war, 
 after the accession of queen Mary's grandfather, 
 general knowledge had surged forward in such 
 mighty waves, that the law of benefit of clergy, 
 vrith many others of high utility five centuries 
 before, were left without an object, their actual 
 purposes having ebbed away in the transitions of 
 the times." 
 
 Queen Mary, having overcome the repugnance 
 of the English to be governed by a sovereign lady, 
 was disposed to place her own sex in stations of 
 
 416 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 authority, of which there had been few examples 
 before or since. She made lady Berkley a justice 
 of the peace for Gloucestershire ; and lady Rous 
 she appointed of the quorum for Suifolk, " who 
 did usually sit on the bench at assizes and sessions, 
 among the other judges, cincta gladio, girt with 
 the sword." 
 
 MARY II., QUEEN OF ENGLAND, 
 
 And wife of William III., with whom she reigned 
 jointly, was born at St. James' palace, Westmin- 
 ster, on the 30th of April, 1662. She was the 
 daughter of James II. by Anne Hyde, his first 
 wife. She married, NoTember 4th, 1677, at the 
 age of fifteen, William, Prince of Orange, and 
 sailed two weeks after for the Hague. Here she 
 lived, fulfilling all her duties as a wife and prin- 
 cess, to the admiration of all who knew her, till 
 February 12th, 1689 ; when, accepting a solemn 
 invitation from the states of England, she followed 
 her husband, who had arrived the preceding No- 
 vember, to London. 
 
 The throne was declared vacant by the flight of 
 James II., and William and Mary were crowned 
 as next heirs, April 11th, 1689. 
 
 Though Mary was declared joint possessor of 
 the throne with her husband, king William, yet 
 the administration of the government was left en- 
 tirely to him. This arrangement cost Mary no 
 sacrifice ; indeed she desired it should be made, 
 that all rule and authority should be vested in 
 him, remarking — "There is but one command 
 which I wish him to obey ; and that is, ' Husbands, 
 love youT wives.' For myself, I shall follow the 
 injunction, ' Wives, be obedient to your husbands in 
 all things.' " She kept the promise voluntarily 
 made ; and all her efforts were directed to pro- 
 mote her husband's happiness, and make him 
 beloved by the English people. He had great 
 confidence in her abilities ; and when, during his 
 absence in Ireland and on the continent, she was 
 left regent of the kingdom, she managed parties 
 at home with much prudence, and governed with a 
 discretion not inferior to his own. 
 
 Mary was strongly attached to the Protestant 
 religion and the Church of England, and was 
 2B 
 
 evidently led to consider its preservatioli a para- 
 mount duty, even when opposed to the claims of 
 filial obedience. The unfriendly terms on which 
 she lived with her sister, afterwards queen Anne 
 have been alluded to as a blemish in the character 
 of Mary; but political jealousies, and the foolish 
 attachment of Anne to overbearing favourites, 
 may sufficiently account for this coolness. Mary 
 was, in truth, an amiable and excellent queen, 
 and by her example made industry and domestic 
 virtue fashionable. Her letter to lady Russell, in ' 
 which she deplores the bustle and pomp of royalty, 
 because it separated her so much from her hus- 
 band, is a beautiful proof how the best feelings of 
 the woman were always prominent in her heart. 
 
 Mary died of the small-pox, at Kensington, in 
 the year 1675, being in her thirty-third year. The 
 people were sincere mourners ; but to her husband 
 the blow was almost overwhelming. For several 
 weeks he was incapable of attending to business. 
 To archbishop Tennison, who was striving to con- 
 sole him, WUliam said — "I cannot do otherwise 
 than grieve, since I have lost a wife who, during 
 the seventeen years I have lived with her, never 
 committed an indiscretion." 
 
 MARY, OF HUNGARY, 
 
 Dauohtee of Philip, king of Spain, married, in 
 1521, Louis, king of Hungary, who was killed in 
 battle five years after. She was made governess 
 of the Netherlands by her brother, Charles V.,' 
 where she behaved with great courage, and op- 
 posed, successfully, Henry II. of France. She 
 was a friend to the Protestants, and a patroness 
 of literature. Her fondness for field-sports pro- 
 cured her the name of Diana ; and from her mili- 
 tary prowess, she was called the mother of the 
 camp. 
 
 Her sagacity and penetration were of singular 
 service to her brother, by whom she was consulted 
 on all affairs of government. She conducted se- 
 veral wars with glory and success, frequently 
 mingling on horseback with the troops. While 
 Charles V. was besiegHig Mentz, Mary made a 
 diversion in Picardy, to prevent the king of France 
 from succouring the besieged ; she caused, on this 
 occasion, great havoc, ruining seven or eight hun- 
 dred villages, and burning Folembrai, a royal 
 palace, built by Francis I. Henry II. of France, 
 in retaliation, burned several of the populous 
 towns of the Netherlands, and the royal palace 
 of Bains, the wonder of the age. When Mary 
 heard of this, she swore that all France should 
 repent the outrage ; and she carried out her 
 threat, even to cruelty, as far as she could. Henry 
 ardently desired to take Mary prisoner, to see 
 whether she would retain in captivity the same 
 courageous and lofty spirit. 
 
 Her person was majestic and handsome, and 
 her manners agreeable ; her court was celebrated 
 for the magnificence of its feasts, its tournaments, 
 and its spectacles. She was also fond of study, 
 particularly of the Latin authors. In 1555, she 
 left her government of the Netherlands and re- 
 turned to Spain, where she died, in 1558. 
 
 417 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 MARY LECZINSKA, 
 DAtraHTEE of Stanislaus, of Poland, married 
 Louis XV. of France, in 1725. She was an amia- 
 We and Tirtuous princess. She bore to Louis XV. 
 two sons and eight daughters ; and died, univer- 
 sally regretted, in 1768, aged sixty-five. 
 
 MARY BEATRICE D'ESTE, 
 Was the daughter of Alphonso, duke of Modena. 
 She was born, October 5th, 1658. Educated in a 
 convent, she was desirous of becoming a nun ; but 
 before she reached her fifteenth year, she was 
 married, against her will, to the duke of York, 
 afterwards James II., who was more than twenty- 
 five years older than herself. Her early repug- 
 nance to her husband soon wore off; she became 
 fondly attached to him, and her whole future life 
 marked her devotion to him. James, though a 
 kind and indulgent husband, was an unfaithful 
 one ; and it was not till the moral dignity of her 
 character became developed by the force of cir- 
 cumstances, that he learned to admire and respect 
 her as she deserved. The beauty and purity of 
 life of this princess, singular in a court so corrupt 
 as that of Charles II., won for her in the early 
 part of her married life, universal regard; but 
 the unpopularity of her husband, whose open 
 profession of the Catholic faith rendered him ob- 
 noxious to the English people, was transferred to 
 her. Even before the accession of James to the 
 throne, symptoms of an intention to throw a doubt 
 upon the title of any son borne by Mary, were 
 evident; and when, in 1688, after she became 
 queen, she gave birth to a son, she was openly 
 , charged with having imposed a spurious heir upon 
 the nation. As Mary had already been the mother 
 of four children, it is difBcult to understand how 
 any people could entertain so absurd a belief, par- 
 ticularly with the powerful evidence to the con- 
 trary before them. In this year the rebellion 
 broke out ; the Prince of Orange landed in Eng- 
 land, and Mary was obliged, to ensure her safety, 
 and that of the young prince, who was then only 
 six months old, to escape with him at midnight, 
 and embark for France. King James soon follow- 
 ed her, and they were received by Louis XIV. in 
 a spirit of noble sympathy and generosity that he 
 never failed to exhibit to the unfortunate exiles 
 during life. 
 
 It was in adversity that the virtues of queen 
 Mary shone in their brightest lustre. Louis XIV., 
 who appeared greatly struck with her conjugal 
 tenderness, said of her, " She was always a queen 
 in her prosperity, but in her adversity she is an 
 angel." 
 
 James himself frankly acknowledged that he 
 had never known what true happiness was, till 
 rendered wise by many sorrows he had learned 
 fully to appreciate the virtues and self-devotion 
 of his queen ; and was accustomed to say that, 
 " Like Jacob, he counted his sufferings for no- 
 thing, having such a support and companion in 
 them." Four years after the birth of her son, 
 Mary of Modena became the mother of a daughter. 
 She was the solace and comfort of her parents in 
 
 their sorrows, but was cut off at the early age of 
 nineteen by that grievous scourge, the small-pox. 
 James II. died at St. Germain's in 1701. Hence- 
 forward his sorrowing widow devoted herself to 
 religion ; her sole remaining tie to earth being the 
 hope of one day seeing her son — commonly called 
 the Pretender — restored to his birthright. She 
 lived to witness his failure in 1715, and died on 
 the 7th of May, 1718, in the sixtieth year of her 
 age, and the thirtieth of her exile. The political 
 events connected with the life of Mary of Modena 
 must be sought for in history. Her personal life 
 is related in a narrative of uncommon interest, in 
 Miss Strickland's " Lives of the English Queens." 
 Mary of Modena played an important, rather than 
 a conspicuous part, in the historic drama of the 
 stirring times in which her lot was cast. She 
 evinced, when called upon, a remarkable aptitude 
 for business ; but it is in her domestic character, 
 as a devoted wife and mother, and as a practical 
 Christian, that she chiefly recommends herself tu 
 our judgment and sympathies. 
 
 MARY DE MEDICI, 
 Daughter of Francis I., grand-duke of Tus- 
 cany, and of the archduchess Joan of Austria, was 
 born at Florence, in 1573, and was married, in 
 1600, to Henry IV. of France. She was hand- 
 some, and Henry was, for a time, really attached 
 to her ; but she was violent, jealous, and obsti- 
 nate, and often quarrelled with her husband, so 
 that his affections were soon alienated. But 
 the best historians acquit her of any more se- 
 rious misconduct, especially of the insinuation 
 thrown out by some writers, that she was privy 
 to the murder of her husband. Maria was weak 
 rather than wicked, and ambitious without corre- 
 sponding mental powers. After her husband's 
 death, and during the minority of Louis XIII., she 
 became regent and guardian of her son. Dis- 
 missing the great Sully, she allowed herself to be 
 guided by Italian and Spanish favourites. The 
 state lost its respect abroad, and was torn by the 
 dissensions of the nobles at home. A treaty was 
 concluded in 1614, granting to the disaffected all 
 they had required ; but this did not bring quiet. 
 
 418 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 Mary's conduct caused universal dissatisfaction, 
 as slie permitted tlie marshal d'Ancre and his wife 
 to manage the affairs of the kingdom. Louis XIII. 
 was at length persuaded to favour, if not to order, 
 the murder of d'Ancre, the shameless favourite, 
 and Mary was banished for a time ; but cardinal 
 Richelieu, in 1619, reconciled the mother and son. 
 Mary grew dissatisfied, because the terms of the 
 treaty were not fulfilled ; another civil war was 
 kindled, but, fortunately for the people, soon sub- 
 dued. The death of de Euynes, the connHahle, 
 who was the enemy of Mary, gave her the ascen- 
 dency, and she took her place at the head of the 
 council of state. In order to strengthen her au- 
 thority, she introduced Richelieu into the council ; 
 but he proved ungrateful the moment he felt his 
 power secure, and Mary then sought to effect his 
 downfall. This was no easy task. Richelieu had 
 obtained complete ascendency over the weak- 
 minded king, who resisted all the efforts of his 
 mother to draw him to her party. This contest 
 for the mastery over the king was at length de- 
 cided in favour of Richelieu, who succeeded in 
 making Louis believe his crown would be lost 
 without the support of the prime-minister. The 
 cardinal roused the apprehensions of the king, and 
 excited him against his mother the queen, by re- 
 presenting that she intended to place her second 
 son, Gaston, on the throne. Mary was therefore 
 ordered, in 1634, to retire to the castle of Com- 
 piegne, and all her adherents were either banished 
 or confined in the Bastile. Richelieu was now 
 all-powerful in the kingdom, and Mary soon felt 
 she was a prisoner at Compiegne ; she therefore 
 escaped, went to Belgium, England, and Germany, 
 wandering about from place to place in much sor- 
 row, and even want. Repeatedly she demanded 
 justice from the parliament ; but she was a weak 
 T/oman, and who would dare listen to her com- 
 plaints against the vindictive cardinal, who was 
 the real sovereign of the state? After leading 
 this miserable wandering life for about ten years, 
 the poor exiled queen died at Cologne, 1642, in 
 great poverty and sorrow. Mary was unfortunate, 
 but there is no stain of vice or cruelty on her cha- 
 racter. She did much to embellish Paris, built 
 the superb palace of Luxembourg, the fine aque- 
 ducts and public walks, called Oours-la-Reine. She 
 was jealous, and suffered deeply in her affections 
 from the licentiousness- of her husband, which 
 was, probably, the first cause of her violent tem- 
 per, so often censured. His was the fault. Had 
 Henry IV. been a faithful husband, Mary would, 
 no doubt, have been a devoted wife. " She was," 
 says one of her biographers, " ambitious from 
 vanity, confiding from want of intelligence, and 
 more avaricious of distinction than power." The 
 defects of character thus enumerated are such as 
 a bad or neglected education induces, rather than 
 the emanations of a bad heart. 
 
 MARY STUART, QUEEN OF SCOTS, 
 Celebkated for her beauty, her wit, her learn- 
 ing, and her misfortunes, was born December 3d, 
 1542, and was the daughter and sole heiress of 
 James V. of Scotland, by Marie of Lorraine, his 
 
 second queen, a French princess of the family of 
 Guise. Mary was eight days old when her father 
 died ; after many disturbances, it was agreed, that 
 the earl of Arran, the next heir to the crown, 
 should be made governor of the kingdom, and 
 guardian to the infant queen, who remained, with 
 her mother, in the royal palace of Linlithgow. 
 
 Henry VIII. wished to obtain the hand of this 
 princess for his son Edward, and it was at first 
 promised to him ; but being afterwards refused 
 by the earl of Arran, the famous battle of Mussel- 
 burgh was fought in consequence. Upon the de- 
 feat of the Scots in this battle, Mary was carried 
 by her mother to the island of Inchemahon, where 
 she laid the foundation of her knowledge in the 
 Latin, French, Spanish, and Italian tongues, which 
 Mary afterwards carried to such perfection that 
 few were found to equal her in any of them. 
 
 When the young queen was six years old, she 
 was taken by her mother to France, where she 
 was sent to a convent, in which the daughters of 
 the nobility of the kingdom were educated. She 
 wrote and spoke Latin with great ease and ele- 
 gance, and had a taste for poetry ; many of her 
 compositions were highly esteemed by Ronsard. 
 She played well on several instruments, danced 
 gracefully, and managed a horse with ease and 
 dexterity : she also spent much time in needle- 
 work. 
 
 On the 20th of April, 1558, Mary was married 
 to the dauphin, afterwards Francis II. of France, 
 who died December 5th, 1560, about six months 
 after his accession to the throne. Mary was very 
 much attached to him, and mourned his loss witli 
 sincere sorrow. She soon after left France, with 
 great reluctance, to return to her own kingdom. 
 She is said to have remained on the deck of the 
 vessel that bore her from her beloved France, 
 gazing on the shores of that country till they had 
 completely disappeared from her view ; then re- 
 tiring below, she wrote some verses on the occa- 
 sion, full of beauty and pathos. 
 
 She was welcomed with joy by her subjects, and 
 soon after her return, Charles, archduke of Aus- 
 tria, was proposed to her as a husband, by the 
 
 419 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 cardinal of Lorraine. But Elizabeth of England 
 interposed, and desired she -would not marry with 
 any foreign prince. She recommended to her 
 either the earl of Leicester, or the lord Darnley ; 
 giving her to understand, that her succession to 
 the crown of England would be very precarious if 
 she did not comply. Overawed by Elizabeth, and 
 pleased by the beauty of Darnley, she consented 
 to marry him ; and creating him earl of Ploss and 
 duke of Rothsay, July 28th, 1565, he was the 
 same day proclaimed king, at Edinburgh, and 
 married to the queen the day after : thus uniting 
 the two nearest heirs to the throne of England. 
 She had one son by Darnley, born at Edinburgh, 
 .June 19th, 1566 ; afterwards James VL of Scot- 
 land, and I. of England. 
 
 David Rizzio, son of a musician at Turin, had 
 accompanied the Piedmontese ambassador to Scot- 
 land, and gained admission into the queen's family 
 by his musical talents. His manners were insinu- 
 ating, and he crept into Mary's favour, and she 
 made him her French secretary. He afterwards 
 acquired so much consequence, that he was ap- 
 plied to by all the court suitors for his recommen- 
 dation and interest. When Darnley first became 
 a candidate for the queen's affection, he contracted 
 an intimacy with Rizzio, who assisted him, in 
 hopes of confirming his own influence. Not long 
 after the nuptials, Darnley displayed such a total 
 want of every estimable quality, and behaved with 
 ■such inattention and disrespect to his royal con- 
 sort, that her hasty love was succeeded by dislike 
 and disgust. The king disregarded the remon- 
 strances of Rizzio against his misconduct, and 
 looking with jealousy on the increasing familiarity 
 between him and the queen, resolved to get rid of 
 him by violence. Several men of high rank, re- 
 senting the insolence and arrogance of the favour- 
 ite, concurred in this plan. A conspiracy was 
 formed, and one evening in March, 1566, a band 
 •of armed men took possession of the gates of 
 iHolyrood house, while the king, with some accom- 
 ;plice3, and Lord Ruthven, in complete armour, 
 entered the room where Mary was at supper with 
 the countess of Argyle and Rizzio. The unhappy 
 victim saw his danger, and clung to the queen for 
 protection. Her tears, entreaties, and menaces, 
 were unavailing ; he was dragged from her pre- 
 sence, and murdered in the next apartment, within 
 her hearing. This savage and unmanly deed, ag- 
 gravated by the queen's situation, could never be 
 forgiven. The conspirators took possession of her 
 person, but she had still so much influence over 
 the weak king, that she contrived to detach him 
 from his associates, and persuaded him to escape 
 with her. 
 
 She retired to Dunbar, where she was soon 
 joined by some nobles with their vassals, with 
 whom she advanced towards Edinburgh. The 
 earl of Murray, her half-brother, the illegitimate 
 son of James V. and the countess of Douglas, 
 with the other exiled lords, returned to Scotland ; 
 but Mary had the address to separate them from 
 the conspirators, and the latter, destitute of every 
 resource, fled to England. Mary, now triumphant, 
 was at no pains to conceal her hatred of her hus- 
 
 band, whom she treated with every mark of aver- 
 sion and contempt ; nor did the birth of her son 
 produce any reconciliation. 
 
 At this time, a new favourite had obtained an 
 influence over her susceptible heart. This was 
 Hepburn, earl of Bothwell, a powerful nobleman, 
 who had always shown an attachment to her 
 cause, and had been a principal instrument in 
 rescuing her from the power of the conspirators. 
 The influence he obtained over her seems at first 
 to have been of a political kind ; but it cannot be 
 doubted that sentiments of a more tender nature 
 succeeded. The king, unable to endure his degra- 
 dation, formed a design of quitting Scotland, and 
 residing on the continent; and, when this was 
 prevented, he continued to live apart from the 
 queen in solitude and neglect. On removing from 
 Stirling to Glasgow in the beginning of 1567, he 
 was seized with a disorder which endangered his 
 life, and was by some attributed to poison. "When 
 he was in a state of convalescence, Mary visited 
 him at Glasgow, and, by her apparent kindness 
 and affection, so won his confidence that he con- 
 sented to accompany her to Edinburgh, that he 
 might have the benefit of her attentions, and of 
 the advice of the best physicians. 
 
 At Edinburgh he was lodged in a solitary house, 
 called Kirk of Field, at some distance from the 
 city. Mary attended to him tenderly, and slept 
 at night in the room under his apartment. On 
 February 9th, she left him at about eleven at 
 night, in order to be present at a masque in the 
 palace on the next day ; and, at two o'clock, the 
 house was blown up with gun-powder, and the 
 king's dead body found in an adjacent field. 
 
 Public opinion accused the earl of Bothwell of 
 this murder ; and the queen was suspected of be- 
 ing an accessory. After the king's father, Lennox, 
 had publicly accused Bothwell of the murder, and 
 had him brought to trial, Mary continued to admit 
 him to her intimacy, and even conferred on him 
 the command of Edinburgh castle. His trial -was 
 hurried on, without regard to the requisition of 
 Lennox for delay ; and no person appearing as his 
 accuser on the day appointed, he was necessarily 
 acquitted. Within a week after, Bothwell invited 
 all the nobles to an entertainment, when he de- 
 clared his intention of marrying the queen ; and 
 so much was the assembly swayed by dread of his 
 power, or desire of his favour, that they unani- 
 mously subscribed a paper expressing their full 
 conviction of his innocence of the murder, and 
 recommending him as a husband to the queen. 
 But the sentiments of the nation at large by no 
 means corresponded with the declaration of these 
 mean-spirited nobles ; and the projected marriage 
 was generally looked upon with detestation. Both- 
 well, therefore, resolved to effect it in a manner 
 suited to his daring and violent character. As 
 Mary was proceeding from Edinburgh to Stirling, 
 on a visit to her infant son, Bothwell suddenly 
 appeared on the road with a large body of horse, 
 dispersed without resistance her slender train, 
 and seizing the queen, with a few of her courtiers, 
 carried them to Dunbar. The queen showed nei- 
 ther terror nor indignation; and her attendants 
 
 420 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 were informed that everything was done with her 
 consent. Bothwell unfortunately had a wife al- 
 ready ; but he obtained a speedy divorce from her, 
 on the double ground of their being cousins within 
 the prohibited degrees, and of his own unfaithful- 
 ness. Mary was then taken to Edinburgl) castle, 
 where she appeared at the court of session and 
 declared herself at full liberty ; and, on May 15th, 
 little more than three months from her husband's 
 murder, this scandalous union was consummated. 
 Bothwell, without the title of king, possessed the 
 whole power of the crown ; no access was per- 
 mitted to the queen except by his creatures ; and 
 he made an unsuccessful attempt to obtain pos- 
 session of the person of the young prince. 
 
 From this time a series of misfortunes attended 
 the queen. The different views and interests of 
 the nobility, clergy, and gentry, in regard to reli- 
 gion and politics, had so disturbed the peace of the 
 kingdom, that all things appeared in the greatest 
 confusion. Bothwell, defeated in a battle, was 
 forced to fly to Denmark ; and the queen was taken 
 prisoner to Lochleven, and committed to the care 
 of Murray's mother, who, having been the mis- 
 tress of James V., insulted the unfortunate queen, 
 by pretending that she was the lawful wife of 
 James V., and that Murray was his legitimate 
 child. When queen Elizabeth heard of this treat- 
 ment of Mary, she seemed very indignant at it, 
 and sent Sir Nicholas Throgmorton into Scotland, 
 to expostulate with the conspirators, and to con- 
 sult about restoring her to liberty. But Elizabeth 
 was by no means in earnest ; and, if not the con- 
 triver of these troubles, as some have supposed her 
 to have been, she secretly rejoiced at them. When 
 Elizabeth was crowned, Mary, then in France, had 
 been persuaded by the Koman Catholics to assume 
 the arms and title of the kingdom of England ; 
 thereby declaring Elizabeth illegitimate, and her 
 title null and void. This indignity Elizabeth never 
 forgave. 
 
 Having been detained prisoner at Lochleven 
 eleven months, and most inhumanly forced to com- 
 ply with demands highly detrimental to her honour 
 and interest, she escaped. May 2d, 1568, and went 
 to Hamilton castle. Here, in an assembly of many 
 of the nobility, was drawn a sentence, declar- 
 ing that the grants extorted from her majesty in 
 prison, among which was a resignation of the 
 crown, were void from the beginning ; upon which, 
 in two or three days, more than six thousand peo- 
 ple assembled to her assistance. 
 
 Murray, who had been declared regent of the 
 kingdom, made all possible preparations ; and 
 when the two parties joined battle, the queen's 
 army, consisting of raw soldiers, were entirely 
 defeated ; and she was obliged to save herself by 
 flight, travelling sixty miles in one day, to the 
 house of Maxwell, lord Herries. Thence she des- 
 patched a messenger to queen Elizabeth, with a 
 diamond which she had formerly received from 
 her, signifying that she would come into England, 
 and asking her assistance. Elizabeth returned a 
 kind answer, with large promises ; but before the 
 messenger returned, Mary, rejecting the advice 
 of her friends, hastened into England, and land- 
 
 ing, May 17th, at Woriington, in Cumberland, she 
 wrote a long letter in French with her own hand 
 to Elizabeth, detailing her misfortunes, and asking 
 her aid. Elizabeth affected to comfort her, gave 
 her dubious promises, and commanded, under pre- 
 tence of greater security, that she should be car- 
 ried to Carlisle. 
 
 Mary immediately perceived her error. Denied 
 access to Elizabeth, she was kept wandering 'for 
 nineteen years from one prison to another, and 
 was at length tried, condemned, and beheaded, for 
 being engaged in Babingtou's conspiracy against 
 queen Elizabeth. She professed to die for the 
 Roman Catholic religion, and has been considered 
 a saint by that church. She was executed at 
 Fotheringay castle, February 8th, 1587, and met 
 her death with dignity and composure. Her re- 
 mains were interred by her son, in Westminster 
 Abbey, after his accession to the English throne. 
 
 Authors have differed about the moral character 
 of this queen ; there has been but one opinion as 
 to her charms as a woman, or the variety of her 
 accomplishments. She wrote poems in the Latin, 
 Italian, French, and Scotch languages; "Royal 
 Advice" to her son, during her imprisonment; 
 and a great number of letters, many of which are 
 now in the library at Paris. Some of them have 
 been printed. 
 
 Such were her fascinations of person and mind 
 that few could be placed under their influence 
 without becoming convinced of her innocence of 
 all the charges against her, and devoted to her 
 service. _She also possessed keen powers of irony 
 and sarcasm, which she sometimes used with too 
 little discretion. Though at' all times strongly at- 
 attached to her own faith, she is free from the 
 charges of bigotry and persecution. A melancholy 
 interest attaches every heart to the memory of 
 Mary of Scotland. It is painfully felt that fate 
 or providence had designed her for suffering. Her 
 charms of beauty and genius, that made her such 
 a fascinating woman, unfitted her for the throne 
 of a rude nation, in the most stormy period of its 
 history. She had the misfortune to live among 
 enemies paid to slander her ; and few dared de- 
 fend, while her proud and powerful rival queen 
 was watching for an opportunity to crush her. 
 "No inquiry," says Sir Walter Scott, in his his- 
 tory of Scotland, "has been able to bring us to 
 that clear opinion upon the guilt of Mary which 
 is expressed by many authors, or to guide us to 
 that triumphant conclusion in favour of her inno- 
 cence of all accession, direct or tacit, to the death 
 of her husband, which others have maintained 
 with the same obstinacy. The great error of 
 marrying Bothwell, stained as he was by universal 
 suspicion of Darnley's murder, is a spot upon her 
 character for which we in vain seek for an apology. 
 What excuse she is to derive from the brutal in- 
 gratitude of Darnley ; what from the perfidy and 
 cruelty of the fiercest set of nobles who existed 
 in any age ; what from the manners of a time in 
 which assassination was often esteemed a virtue, 
 and revenge the discharge of a debt of honour, 
 must be left to the charity of the reader." 
 
 The misfortunes of Mary have furnished a sub- 
 
 421 
 
MA 
 
 ject for the tragic muse of Schiller and Alfieri ; 
 but these are not so expressive of her feelings as 
 the two following, written by Mary during her 
 imprisonment in Fotheringay castle. The French 
 being the tongue she had used from infancy,, she 
 preferred when writing ; the hymn was in Latin, 
 as that was the language of her devotions ; this 
 was her last production, " composed and repeated" 
 by her, the day before her execution. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Ciue siiis-je, helas ! el de quoi sert la vie ? 
 J"en slljs fors qu'un corps priv6 de cueur ; 
 LTn ombre vayn, un object de malheur, 
 Uui n'a plus rien que de inourir en vie. 
 Plus ne me portez, O enemys, d'envie, 
 Qui n'a plus I'esprit a la grandeur: 
 J'ai consomme d'excessive douleur, 
 Voilre ire en bref de voir assouvie, 
 Et vous amys qui m'avez tenu chere, 
 Souvenez-vous que sans cueur, et sans santey, 
 Je ne scaurois auqun bon oeuvre faire. 
 Et que sus bas etant assez punie, 
 J'aie ma part en la joie inlinie. 
 
 Translation by a Scotch Lady. 
 
 Alas! what am I ? and in what estate? 
 
 \ wretched corse bereaved of its heart; 
 An empty shadow, lost unfortunate. 
 
 To die is now in life my only part. 
 Foes to my greatness I let your envy rest. 
 
 In me no taste for grandeur now is found ; 
 Consumed by grief, with heavy ills oppressed. 
 
 Your wishes and desires will soon be crowned. 
 And you, my friends, who still have held me dear, 
 
 Bethink you, that when health and heart are fled. 
 
 And every hope of earthly good is dead, 
 *Tis time to wish our sorrow ended here; 
 And that this punishment on earth is given 
 That my pure soul may rise to endless bliss in heaven. 
 
 O Domine Dens! speravi in te 
 
 O care mi Jesu ! nunc libera me. 
 In dura catena, in misera poena, desidero te; 
 Languendo, gemendo, et genu-fleeteiido, 
 Adoro, imploro, ut liberes me ! 
 
 Translation by Rev. Geo. W. Bethune. 
 
 My God, O Jehovah, I have trusted in thee ; 
 
 O Jesus, my Saviour, now rescue thou me ; 
 Like fetters in iron deep grieft me environ, — thy smile let 
 
 me see ! 
 With sighing and crying, at thy feet lowly lying, 
 [ adore thee, implore thee, now rescue thou me! 
 
 MASQUIERES, FRANQOISE, 
 Was the daughter of a steward of the king, and 
 was born at Paris, where she died in 1728. She 
 had a great taste for poetry, and wrote it with 
 facility. Among her poetical works are a " De- 
 scription of the Gallery of St. Cloud," and " The 
 Origin of the Lute." 
 
 MASHAM, LADY DAMARIS, 
 Was the daughter of Dr. Ralph Cudworth, and 
 born at Cambridge on the 18th of January, 1658. 
 She was the second wife of Sir Francis Masham, 
 of Gates, in the county of Essex, by whom she had 
 only one son. Her father took great pains in her 
 education ; and she was skilled in philosophy and 
 divinity. Much of her improvement was undoubt- 
 
 MA 
 
 edly owing to her intimacy with the famous Locke, 
 who lived many years in her family, and died in 
 her house at Gates. She wrote "A Discourse 
 concerning the Love of God;" and " Gccasional 
 Thoughts in reference to a Virtuous and Christian 
 Life;" and several other pamphlets which she 
 published anonymously. She died in 1708, and 
 was interred in the cathedral church at Bath, 
 where a monument is erected to her memory. 
 
 MASHAM, ABIGAIL, 
 Was the daughter of Mr. Hill, a wealthy mer- 
 chant of London, who married the sister of Mr. 
 Jennings, the father of the duchess of Marlbo- 
 rough. The bankruptcy of her father obliged her 
 to become the attendant of lady Rivers, a baronet's 
 lady, whence she removed into the service of her 
 relative, then lady Churchill, who procured her 
 the place of waiting-maid to the princess Anne. 
 The maid retained her situation after her mistress 
 ascended the throne, and gradually acquired con- 
 siderable influence over her. Abigail Hill was not 
 a woman of superior mind or attainments ; but 
 there were many points of sympathy between the 
 queen and herself, which may account for the 
 ascendency of this favourite. She possessed great 
 powers of mimicry, and considerable taste in 
 music, of which latter accomplishment the queen 
 was very fond. She also favoured the tories, to 
 which party the queen was secretly attached. 
 Subjected for years to the violent and domineering 
 temper of the duchess of Marlborough, the queen 
 turned naturally to the milder and more conciliat- 
 ing disposition of her maid in waiting for sympa- 
 thy and repose ; and she gradually superseded the 
 duchess as favourite. In 1707, Abigail Hill mar- 
 ried Mr. Masham, a man of ancient family, one 
 of the pages of the court. This marriage was, 
 performed secretly, and in the presence of the 
 queen. The duchess of Marlborough, on learning 
 these facts, gave way to such violence, that it se- 
 vered finally the tie between herself and the queen ; 
 and in a short time she was deprived of all her 
 offices and dignities at court. One of her situa- 
 tions, that of keeper of the privy-seal, was given 
 to Mrs. Masham. 
 
 Mrs. Masham leagued herself with Harley and 
 Bolingbroke, who were intriguing to remove the 
 duke of Marlborough and his adherents, and be- 
 came an instrument in their hands. In 17X1, a 
 change of ministry took place, and Mr. Masham 
 was raised to the peerage. Henceforward lady 
 Masham became involved in all the intrigues of 
 the court, especially in those of the tories in fa- 
 vour of the exiled house of Stuart, which she 
 warmly advocated. Attached to the cause of the 
 Pretender, she was the medium of communication 
 between the queen and her unfortunate young 
 brother, in the latter part of her reign, when the 
 succession was still uncertain, and when in her 
 moments of vacillation and remorse she clung to 
 the hope that her brother, by renouncing his reli- 
 gion, might succeed her. 
 
 Mrs. Masham's name occupies a prominent place 
 in the political writings of those times, connected 
 as she was with Swift, Arbuthnot, Bolingbroke, 
 
 422 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 and other eminent men. Mrs. Masham was plain 
 in appearance, and delicate in healtli. One of her 
 personal traits was a remarkably red nose, fur- 
 nishing the wits of the day with a constant subject 
 at which to level their shafts. After the death of 
 the queen she lived in great retirement, and died 
 at an advanced age. Her husband's title became 
 extinct upon the death of her only son in 1776. 
 
 MATRAINI, CLARA CANTARINI, 
 
 Was of a noble family of Lucca, and one of the 
 best poets of her time. She was living in 1562. 
 Her style is said to be pure, correct, and full of 
 force and elegance; her ideas clear, noble, and 
 ingenious ; and she particularly excels as a lyrist. 
 Many of her pieces were printed at Venice, in 
 1560. Many others were subjoined to her letters, 
 which were printed at Lucca in 1595. In these 
 she appears well instructed in sacred history, 
 and in theology in general ; one, to her son, con- 
 tains many useful maxims of manners and con- 
 duct. Her "Christian Meditations," mixed with 
 very beautiful scraps of poetry, and concluded 
 by a female's ode to the Almighty, were printed 
 there. She also wrote a life of the Virgin Mary, 
 in which are many pieces of poetry ; others are 
 found in different collections. She was well skilled 
 in the Platonic philosophy, was generally esteemed 
 by the literati of that age, and corresponded with 
 many of them. 
 
 MAUPIN, N. AUBIGNY, 
 A CELEBRATEi) singor at the Paris opera. She 
 possessed great personal courage ; and, on some 
 occasions, assumed a man's dress to avenge insults 
 offered to her. She left the stage in 1705, and 
 died in 1707, aged thirty-three. 
 
 MAYO, SARAH C. EDGARTON, 
 Was born in Shirley, Massachusetts, in 1819. 
 She began to write when very young, and for nine 
 years edited an annual called *' The Rose of Sha- 
 ron." She also edited " The Ladies' Repository," 
 published in Boston ; and wrote several works, 
 both in prose and verse ; " The Palfreys ;" " Ellen 
 Clifford;" " The Poetry of Women;" and*' Memoir 
 and Poems of Mrs. Julia H. Scott," &c. Her 
 maiden name was Edgarton. She married, in 1846, 
 the Rev. A. D. Mayo, of Gloucester, Massachu- 
 setts, and continued her literary pursuits with in- 
 creased advantages. Had her life been prolonged, 
 she gave promise of being one of our most distin- 
 guished female writers ; but death suddenly de- 
 stroyed these bright hopes of earthly usefulness. 
 She died, July 9th, 1848. The following poems 
 have a tenderness in their tone, and a delicate 
 sensibility in the feelings expressed, which were 
 characteristics of the writer. 
 
 TYPES OF HEAVEN. 
 
 Why love I the lily-bell 
 Swinging in the scented dell? 
 Why love I the wood-noles wild. 
 Where the sun hath faintly smiled? 
 Daisies, in their beds secure. 
 Gazing out so meek and pure? 
 
 Why love I the evening dew 
 In the violet's bell of blue? 
 Why love 1 the vesper star, 
 Trembling in its shrine afar? ^ 
 Why love I the summer night 
 Softly weeping drops of liglit? 
 
 Why to me do woodkind springs 
 Whisper sweet and hnly things? 
 Why does every bed of moss 
 Tell me of my Saviour's cross? 
 Why in every dimpled wave 
 Smiles the light from o'er the grave ? 
 
 Why do rainbows, seen at even, 
 Seem the glorious paths to heaven 7 
 Why are gushing streamlets fraught 
 With the notes from angels caught? 
 Can ye tell me why the wind 
 Bringeth seraphs to my mind? 
 
 Is it not that faith hath bound 
 Beauties of all form and sound 
 To the dreams that have been given 
 Of the holy things of heaven? 
 Are they not bright linky thai bind 
 Sinful souls to Sinless Mind? 
 
 From the lowly violet sod, 
 Links are lengthened unto God. 
 All of holy— stainless — sweet — 
 That on earth we hear or meet, > 
 
 Are but types of that pure love 
 Brightly realized above. 
 
 THE SHADOW -CHILD. 
 
 Whence came this little phantom 
 
 That flits about my room- 
 That 's here from early morning 
 
 Until the twilight gloom? 
 For ever dancing, dancing, 
 
 She haunts the wall and floor. 
 And frolics in the sunshine 
 
 Around the open door. 
 
 The ceiling by the table 
 
 She makes her choice retreat, 
 For there a little human girl 
 
 Is wont to have her seat. 
 They take a dance together— 
 
 A crazy little jig; 
 And sure two baby witches 
 
 Ne'er ran so wild a rig! 
 
 They pat their hands together 
 
 With' frantic jumps and springs, 
 Until you almost fancy 
 
 You catch the gleam of wings. 
 Shrill shrieks the human baby 
 
 In the madness of delight, 
 And back return loud echoes 
 
 From the little shadow sprite. 
 
 At morning by my bedside 
 
 When first the birdies sing, 
 Up starts the little phantom 
 
 With a merry laugh and spring. 
 She woos me from my pillow 
 
 With her little coaxing arms; 
 I go where'er she beckons — 
 
 A victim to her charms. 
 
 At night I still am haunted 
 
 By glimpses of her face; 
 Her features on my pillow 
 
 By moonlight I can trace. 
 Whence came this shadow-baby 
 
 That haunts my heart and home? 
 What kindly hand hath sent her, 
 
 And wherefore hath she come ? 
 
 423 
 
MA 
 
 ME 
 
 Long be her dancing image 
 
 Our guest by night and day, 
 For lonely were our dwelling 
 
 If she were now away. 
 Far happier hath our home been, 
 
 More blest than e'er before, 
 Since first that little shadow 
 
 Came gliding through our door. 
 
 MAZARIN, HORTENSE MANCINI, 
 DUCHESS OF, 
 
 Was the daughter of Lorenzo Manoini, a noble- 
 man of Rome, and Jeronina Mazarin, sister of the 
 celebrated cardinal. She was born in 1647, and 
 In 1653 was sent to France, to be educated under 
 the care of her uncle. She was distinguished for 
 her beauty, her reckless vivacity, and her great 
 wealth. In his misfortunes, Charles II. of Eng- 
 land, was a rejected suitor for her hand. In 1660, 
 Hortenae married Armand Charles de la Porte, 
 duke de Meilleraye and Mayenne, who, on his 
 marriage, took the name, title, and arms of Maza- 
 rin. Mazarin died the next year, leaving his niece 
 the sum of 1,625,000 pounds sterling. The hus- 
 band of Hortense was very unsuited to her, but 
 she lived quietly with him for six years, when she 
 suddenly left him, and attempted to obtain a sepa- 
 ration from him. Finding that she was likely to 
 be unsuccessful, she determined on flight, and dis- 
 guising herself and her maid in male attire, she 
 left Paris, June, 1667, for Switzerland, and from 
 thence rambled over most of the countries of Eu- 
 rope. In 1678, she arrived at London, and com- 
 menced an attack on the heart of Charles 11., in 
 which she soon succeeded. She became one of 
 his favourites, and he gave her apartments in St. 
 James', and a pension of £4000 a year. This was 
 afterwards withdrawn, in consequence of a par- 
 tiality she openly displayed for the prince de Mo- 
 naco, but Charles soon restored it to her. She 
 resided during the latter part of her life at Chel- 
 8ea, where her house was the resort of the gay, 
 beautiful, and intellectual. The duchess of Maza- 
 rin died at Chelsea, June 2d, 1699, in her fifty- 
 third year. She was so much in debt at the time 
 that her body was seized by her creditors. 
 
 MELLON, HARRIET, DUCHESS OP 
 ST. ALBANS, 
 
 Was born in Westminster, England, about 1775. 
 Her father was a gentleman in the service of the 
 East India Company, but died before the birth of 
 his daughter. Her mother afterwards married 
 Mr. Entwistle, a professor of music, and leader 
 of the band at the York theatre. Miss Mellon 
 was educated for the stage, and made her debiit 
 at Drury-Lane, London, in 1793; she was consi- 
 dered at the head of the second-rate actresses, 
 ajid was often intrusted with first-rate comic cha- 
 racters. In 1815, Miss Mellon married Mr. Coutts, 
 a wealthy banker, who had long been attached to 
 her; and, at his death, in 1822, he left her his 
 immense fortune. Mrs. Coutts afterwards mar- 
 ried the. duke of St. Albans, a man much younger 
 than herself. On her death, she left most of the 
 property to Miss Burdett, daughter of Sir Francis 
 Burdett, on the condition that the young lady should 
 
 bear, in addition to Burdett, the surname and 
 arms of Coutts. 
 
 MERCER, MARGARET, 
 Deseeving a place among the most distinguished 
 of her sex, for her noble philanthropy, and efforts 
 in the cause of female education, was bom at An- 
 napolis, Maryland, in 1791. The family of Mercer 
 descended from an ancient English stock, trans- 
 planted to this country soon after its colonization ; 
 
 ^? I \* - 
 
 the race has, in its new location, done honour to 
 the source from whence it was derived. The 
 father of Margaret was, at the time of her birth, 
 governor of Maryland, a man of excellent education, 
 refined taste, and large wealth. Retiring from pub- 
 lic life, governor Mercer withdrew to his estate at 
 Cedar Pork, and devoted himself to agricultural 
 pursuits, and the training of his children. Marga- 
 ret was his only daughter, and her education was 
 conducted under his immediate care, with little 
 assistance from other teachers: she often re- 
 marked, that she had been " brought up at her 
 father's feet." Margaret Mercer is another ex- 
 ample, added to the list our "Record" furnishes, 
 of the beneficial influence which thorough mental 
 training exercises on woman's character, by en- 
 abling her to make her moral power more re- 
 spected and more efi'ective. Scarcely an instance 
 can be found where a father has aided and encou- 
 raged the mental improvement of his daughter, 
 but that she has done honour to his care and 
 kindness, and been the brightest jewel in his in- 
 tellectual crown. Such was Margaret Mercer; 
 proud as the family might well be of the name 
 they bore, she has added its holiest lustre. " Her 
 character," says her biographer,* in his excellent 
 "Memoir" of this noble woman, "comprised ele- 
 ments apparently very diverse, and yet all com- 
 bined into a perfect whole, as the varied colours 
 of a ray of light. Gentle, and full of affection for 
 all, and ready to sympathize with sorrow wherever 
 met with ; feelings, the evidence of which will be 
 found scattered everywhere around these traces 
 
 * Caspar Morris, M. D. 
 
 424 
 
ME 
 
 ME 
 
 of her path through life, she yet possessed an en- 
 ergy and firmness rarely found in this connexion." 
 
 If Dr. Morris had reflected farther on the sub- 
 ject, how few girls are trained as Margaret Mercer 
 was — her mental powers developed, and directed 
 to guide and strengthen rightly those delicate 
 moral sensibilities and tender affections peculiar 
 to her sex, he would have found the reason of her 
 superiority ; and also he would have understood 
 why learning — we use the term in its widest sense 
 — is of great advantage to woman as well as to 
 man. 
 
 In another place, after giving a sketch of her 
 studies in botany, and love of gardening, &c., Dr. 
 Morris says : 
 
 "But it was not upon these sportive fancies 
 alone that her mind exerted its powers. Graver 
 subjects occupied her attention, and performed 
 their part in giving increased vigour to her rea- 
 soning faculties, whilst the others were adding to 
 the already abounding stores of her fertile imagi- 
 nation. It has been mentioned that she had ac- 
 cess to a choice collection of works on history and 
 general literature : these were her familiar com- 
 panions, and her mind was thoroughly stored with 
 their contents ; whilst we iind her sometimes deep 
 in mathematics, allowing herself but four hours' 
 rest in the twenty-four, that she might bring her 
 mind under the wholesome discipline of this pa- 
 rent of careful thought; at others, theological 
 discussions asserted an unrivalled empire over her 
 mind, and in order to drink, as she supposed, 
 more purely from the fountain itself, with less in- 
 tervention of human teaching, she devoted herself 
 with almost undivided attention to the study of 
 Hebrew ; and a short time after, we find her care- 
 fully threading the intricate mysteries of medical 
 science, that by the acquisition of correct know- 
 ledge on the nature of diseases and remedies, she 
 might enlarge the sphere of her benevolent use- 
 fulness. The deep abstractions of metaphysics 
 did not deter her from trying to fathom those 
 abysses into which the mind plunges its line in 
 vain, growing old in drawing up no certain token 
 of reaching the solid foundation over which its 
 deep waters roll so proudly. She remarks to a 
 friend : ' I do not come on very well with meta- 
 physics ; I dislike anything so inconclusive, and 
 should be tired of following an angel, if he talked 
 so in a ring.' A paper of ' Thoughts on the Mag- 
 net' proves her to have given attention to natural 
 philosophy, and at an early period to have at- 
 tempted to solve some of those mysterious truths 
 which are now but dawning upon the horizon of 
 human knowledge. But whilst on all these sub- 
 jects she could express herself with ease and elo- 
 quence, there was a simplicity and delicacy about 
 her character which separated her as widely as 
 can be conceived from that class of 'women of 
 masculine understanding,' whose assumption of 
 claims to superiority over their own sex leads 
 them to despise the refinements and delicacy which 
 communicate an appropriate and attractive grace 
 to the female character. These can never be laid 
 aside, no matter how great the positive acquire- 
 ment, without a violation of the laws of nature, 
 
 and a consequent shock to that unity of action 
 which constitutes the beauty of the works of Him, 
 who gave to each an appropriate part in the sub- 
 lime harmony of the universe, which attests His 
 wisdom and power. Never was feminine grace 
 more beautifully illustrated than in her whole ca- 
 reer. She never forgot that it is the peculiar 
 province of woman to minister to the comfort, and 
 promote the happiness, first, of those most nearly 
 allied to her, and .then of those, who by the pro- 
 vidence of God are placed in a state of dependence 
 upon her. To discharge these duties was her un- 
 ceasing object, to the accomplishing which she 
 devoted herself with entire singleness of purpose. 
 Thus she writes to a friend : ' I, like every little 
 mole toiling in hie own dark passage, have been 
 given to murmuring, and my great complaint for 
 some time past has been, that I was cut ofi' from 
 every means of usefulness, and could not find any- 
 thing on earth to do that might not as well remain 
 undone ; and while I am fretting at having nothing 
 to do, you find equal discomfort in having too 
 much. Somebody, no matter who, has said the 
 secret of happiness was that the busy find leisure, 
 and the idle find business, and it would seem so 
 between us. And yet I doubt whether happiness 
 is not a principle which belongs exclusively to 
 God, and whether we can ever be satisfied till we 
 wake up in his likeness. Whenever you can find 
 that spot, sacred to religious peace and true 
 friendship, send for me to your paradise, but re- 
 member this is the reward promised to those who 
 have gone through the struggle of our great spiritual 
 warfare.' 
 
 At this time her pencil, her pen, and her needle, 
 were all put in requisition in aid of the Greeks, in 
 their struggle for liberty. 
 
 When Margaret Mercer was about two-and- 
 twenty, she made a public profession of religion ; 
 in a letter to a friend, she thus commemorates 
 this important event : 
 
 "I was confirmed, and had the pious blessing 
 of our venerable old bishop, the day before I came 
 from home. You cannot think how humble, how 
 penitent, how happy I feel. It seems as though 
 I still feel the pressure of his hand on my head. 
 He has promised to come to see me next spring, 
 ... I do not think I was ever made for a married 
 woman ; I feel as if I was not intended to take so 
 great a share in worldly things. If I did, I should 
 forget my God, perhaps ; and may Providence 
 load me with every human misery, and deprive 
 me of every earthly good, rather than that." 
 
 And now that her fine talents had been culti- 
 vated by a liberal education and an extensive 
 course of reading, and her naturally amiable dis- 
 position warmed and purified by true piety, she 
 was ready for her work. Yet who that then looked 
 upon her would have dreamed what that work 
 was to be ! Her biographer thus describes her at 
 this period : 
 
 "In personal appearance. Miss Mercer was 
 peculiarly attractive ; her stature was originally 
 tall, her carriage graceful, her eye beaming with 
 intelligence, and her whole countenance expressive 
 of the loveliest traits of female character. Disease 
 
 425 
 
ME 
 
 ME 
 
 and care set their marks upon her face in after 
 life, and caused her form to lose its symmetry, 
 but never quenched the beaming of the eye, nor 
 darkened the radiance of her soul, which shone 
 on every feature to the very last. Her appear- 
 ance was indeed the embodiment of the ideal of 
 female loveliness and worth ; and it may be as- 
 serted with safety, that none ever approached her 
 without receiving the impression of the presence 
 of one elevated above the common grade of mortal 
 life. There was a combination of the attractive 
 graces with the impressiveness of superior power 
 which is rarely met with ; and while her manner 
 was often sportive, and she could adorn the most 
 common subjects of conversation by the most 
 graceful turns of thought and purity of language, 
 there was frequently an elevation of thought and 
 force of expression, which carried those thrown 
 into association with her, into a higher sphere 
 than that of common every-day existence. Even 
 those who could not sympathize with and appre- 
 ciate her character, were still struck with this 
 feature in it, and its influence was acknowledged 
 in the fact, that none would dare to express be- 
 fore her sentiments or opinions which would have 
 been uttered in conversation with other persons 
 without restraint." 
 
 This is the true moral influence which woman, 
 when her education is properly conducted, and 
 her position rightly understood, will exercise over 
 men, over society. That this moral power was 
 held by woman. Miss Mercer felt to be true ; and 
 hence arose her distaste for the " chatter" of the 
 vain, frivolous, accomplished young ladies, whom 
 she met in society. Thus she writes of her visit 
 at Washington : 
 
 " I acknowledge that there are many persons 
 around me vastly better than I am ; but I am 
 speaking of society, not people ; and I confess 
 that the ' unidea-ed chatter of females' is past my 
 endurance ; they are very capable of better things, 
 but what of that,? Is it not yet more annoying, 
 that they will do nothing better ? And besides all 
 this, I have more painful feelings of embarrass- 
 ment in company than I had at sixteen. I am old, 
 too ; and, when I go into gay scenes, the illusion 
 is gone, and I fancy the illuminated hall to resem- 
 ble the castle of enchantment, where Armida kept 
 all who were capable of virtue bound in the lap 
 of pleasure. I think how a M. Fellenberg has 
 devoted a noble spirit to a grand system of educa- 
 tion, and given them the model. All admire, all 
 talk of it, and no one on the wide globe follows 
 the example. Mrs. Fry opens the prison gates — 
 looses the bonds of the captive — carries healing 
 into broken hearts, or plants virtue where vice 
 was the only growth — what are all these chatter- 
 ing women about, that they cannot wear a simple 
 garb, and follow her to jails and hospitals and 
 poor-houses? No — if I cannot do good where 
 there is so much to do, I never was and never will 
 be a votary of folly." 
 
 She was now engaged in founding a Sunday 
 school. Writing to a friend, she says — "When 
 my head turns to this subject, it seems to me I 
 want forty heads, well stored with strong sense ; 
 
 forty frames supported by vigorous strength and 
 health ; and a hundred hands as organs of execu- 
 tion for the plans and projects of my head." 
 
 Miss Mercer was to have a wider sphere for the 
 of&ce of teacher, which seemed her peculiar mis- 
 sion. Her mother died when Margaret was young. 
 Her father's death, which took place at Philadel- 
 phia, whither she had accompanied him for his 
 health, proved the crisis of her life. She had been 
 accustomed to all the indulgences love and wealth 
 can bestow. From this time, she was to prove 
 what those endure who have only their faith in 
 God and their own energies on which to rely. 
 Much of her property consisted in slaves — these 
 she liberated, provided for, and sent to Liberia. 
 Thus Dr. Morris gives the summary : 
 
 " This emancipation of her slaves was one of a 
 chain of acts inseparably linked together, by which 
 she reduced herself from affluence to absolute de- 
 pendence on her own exertions for maintenance ; 
 and that not ignorantly and gradually, but in- 
 stantly, and with full knowledge of the inevitable 
 result. She therefore apologizes to Mr. Gurley 
 for doing so little for them, and remarks : ' Should 
 any think I have not done my part by these poor 
 creatures, I can but bear the blame silently. A 
 formal remonstrance against my making such a 
 disposition of my property has been addressed to 
 
 me by and , Had it been anything but 
 
 human flesh and blood, souls belonging to the God 
 that made them, I should have yielded. But I 
 have determined to abide the consequences.' These 
 consequences were anxiety, toil, and poverty, en- 
 dured without a murmur or regret, during twenty- 
 five years of life enfeebled by constant disease. 
 These sacrifices for Africa, and her efi'orts in be- 
 half of the negro race, were alone suflScient to 
 place her name high on the roll of female philan- 
 thropists." 
 
 Yes, the name of Margaret Mercer should be 
 placed among the highest. Elizabeth Fry made . 
 few, if any, pecuniary sacrifices. Sarah Martin- 
 never descended from a high social position to aid 
 the poor; but Margaret Mercer performed both 
 of these self-denying deeds of heroic virtue. 
 
 And now she was to begin the world ; she chose 
 the arduous post of teacher in a school for young 
 girls in Virginia ; but her plans of charity were 
 not given up. Thus she writes to a friend : 
 
 " I have been desiring a day or two of repose 
 that I might devote to you and your dearest mo- 
 ther. But, indeed, you have very little idea of 
 the life I lead. Saturday is as laboriously spent 
 in working for the Liberian Society, as any other 
 day in the week ; and on Sunday we have a Sun- 
 day-school, in which I have my part, and so make 
 out to employ every day fully. Drawing keeps me 
 on my feet for six hours every other day ; and at 
 first it was truly bewildering to teach twenty-three 
 children who did not know how to make a straight 
 line. You are anxious' to know all about me, and 
 you see I am free in my communication: there 
 are many encouraging circumstances in the mode 
 of life I have adopted ; for those very things that 
 are most painful prove how much there is to do ; and 
 where there is much to do, steady laborious efforts 
 
 426 
 
ME 
 
 ME 
 
 to do good will doubtless be blessed, although we 
 may in mercy be denied the luxury of seeing our 
 work under the sun prosper. Mrs. Gr. is sometimes 
 very much dispirited, at times without cause ; for 
 every little painful occurrence of misconduct in the 
 children affords opportunity of more strenuously 
 enforcing good principles. I never knew how to 
 be thankful to my parents, above all to my God, 
 for a good education, until I came to look into the 
 state of young ladies generally." 
 
 The desire to be made instrumental in training 
 souls for eternity was the ruling motive by which 
 she was influenced ; and, from the very first, her 
 chief efforts were devoted to this great end, which 
 was pursued without deviation throughout her 
 whole career, though by no means to the neglect of 
 those subsidiary acquirements which she esteemed 
 as highly as any one could do, and laboured most 
 unremittingly to communicate to her pupils. 
 
 She continued in this, her chosen profession, 
 for about twenty-five years ; established a school 
 of her own ; and her example and influence have 
 had a most salutary and wide-spread effect on 
 the coinmunity where she resided. This admirable 
 woman died in the autumn of 1846, aged fifty-five 
 years. She prepared two works for her pupils, 
 " Studies for Bible Classes," and a volume entitled 
 " Ethics ;" in the form of lectures to young ladies, 
 which she employed as a text-book in teaching 
 moral philosophy. It is admirably adapted to its 
 purpose, conveying in chaste, yet glowing lan- 
 guage, the feelings of a sanctified heart. She 
 adopts the word of God as the only source of 
 knowledge, as well of the jSraotical duties of life, 
 as of our relations to the Author of our being, and 
 endeavours to explain and enforce the principles 
 there laid down for the formation of character, 
 and the government of life. It is a work well 
 worthy of the diligent study of every woman who 
 desires to attain to a high degree of moral worth. 
 We give one extract. 
 
 CONVERSATION. 
 
 " If you are conscious that the sin of idle talk- 
 ing prevails among you ; if you are sensible of so 
 offending individually ; or, if the sad effect of this 
 low, disgraceful, and corrupting vice disturbs the 
 peace and serenity of your little circle, let me en- 
 treat you, as the most certain corrective of the 
 evil, to form some common plan for promoting the 
 perfection and happiness of your fellow-creatures. 
 Imbue your hearts with the spirit of active charity, 
 and the gossip of the worldly-minded will indeed 
 sound on your ears like idle words. No conversa- 
 tion will then appear to you worthy of notice, but 
 such as has some evident bearing upon the im- 
 provement or happiness of the human race. When 
 this has once become the main object of your 
 hopes, your fears, your labours, and your prayers, 
 it will become the most interesting subject of your 
 thoughts, and the favourite theme of your conver- 
 sations. Imagine Mr. Howard, or Mrs. Fry, to 
 return home at evening, with souls filled with 
 images of the poor prisoners they had visited, 
 hand-cuffed and chained, lying on a pile of filthy 
 «traw, perishing with cold and hunger ; or, worse, 
 
 in the horrid bondage of sin, blaspheming, drink- 
 ing and fighting in their subterrene hole. Do 
 you think they would be agreeably amused, if, 
 when their efforts were directed to ' stir up the 
 pure minds fervently,' of the young around them, 
 to aid in their noble labours, they were called 
 upon to join in the childish prattle of girls dis- 
 cussing the ribands on their hair, or the rings on 
 their fingers ; or, in the equally contemptible jar- 
 gon of young men of fashion, of their hat-rims, 
 or coat-capes, or shoe-ties, or, still worse, the 
 cruel, wicked custom, usual with both sexes, of 
 dissecting characters, and speaking evil of others, 
 merely to excite some interest in their vapid con- 
 versation ? Conversation is to works what the flower 
 is to the fruit. A godly conversation shelters and 
 cherishes the new-born spirit of virtue, as the 
 flower does the fruit from the cold, chill atmo- 
 sphere, of a heartless world ; and the beauty of 
 holiness expanding in conversation, gives rational 
 anticipation of noble-minded principles ripening 
 into the richest fruits of ^good works. You know 
 the tree as well by the flower as the fruit, and 
 never need you hope to see the fig follow the 
 thistle flower, or grapes the wild bloom of the 
 thorn tree. Honour God, then, with your bodies 
 and spirits, in your lives and conversations ; show 
 forth holiness out of a good conversation ; for the 
 king's daughter is all glorious within." 
 
 As we prefer giving the opinions of men respect- 
 ing the distinguished of our sex, rather than ex- 
 pressing our own, we will end this sketch with 
 another extract from Dr. Morris's interesting 
 work, which should be read by every American 
 woman. 
 
 " Miss Mercer was a patriot woman, and lived 
 and suffered, and virtually bled and died, in the 
 service of her country. Serving it in a sphere of 
 action the most important, yet too commonly the 
 least esteemed. Standing at the very fountain of 
 influence, and casting in there the healing branch 
 which shall cause pure waters to flow over the 
 wide domain. It is to the mothers of her sons 
 that our country looks for the impress that is to 
 make them her great and her good men, her trust- 
 ed and her honoured servants. To such women 
 as Margaret Mercer would we trust the forming 
 of the character of those who are thus to give 
 character to our country when our part in the 
 drama is performed, and we pass for ever from 
 an interest in its actings. May her example stir 
 others up to the like consecration of their powers. 
 It is the female pass of Thermopyl*. The Salamis 
 of a woman's ambition." 
 
 MERIAN, MARIA SIBYLLA, 
 
 A German artist, was born at Frankfort in 1647. 
 She was the daughter of Matthew Merian, a cele- 
 brated engraver and topographer. Miss Merian 
 became a pupil of Abraham Mingon, from whom 
 she learned great neatness of handling, and deli- 
 cacy of colour. She painted from nature, reptiles, 
 flowers, and insects, which she studied with the 
 most curious and minute observation. She fre- 
 quently painted her subjects in water-colours on 
 vellum, and finished an astonishing number of 
 
 427 
 
ME 
 
 Ml 
 
 She drew flies and caterpillars in all the 
 variety of changes and forms in which they suc- 
 cessively appear. She even undertook a voyage to 
 Surina^p to paint those insects and reptiles which 
 were peculiar to that climate ; and, on her return, 
 published two volumes of engravings after her 
 designs. Her works are still referred to by writers 
 on etymology. She died at Amsterdam, in 1717. 
 
 METRANA, ANNA, 
 An Italian lady, lived in 1718, and is mentioned 
 by Orlandi as an eminent portrait-painter. 
 
 MICHIEL, BENIEK GIUSTINA, 
 Was born 1755, in Venice. Her father, Andrea 
 Renier, was son of the last doge, save one, and 
 her mother, Cecilia Manin, was sister of the last; 
 her godfather, Foscarini, had been doge himself, 
 and was one of the principal literati of his day. 
 The princely rank and afBuence of her family, of- 
 fered every possible advantage of education : from 
 the earliest childhood she displayed a fondness for 
 study, and a dislike for needlework, and such 
 lady-like business. She was passionately fond of 
 music, and devoted a great portion of time to the 
 cultivation of that art, as well as to literary pur- 
 suits. At the age of twenty, she married Marco 
 Michiel, a gentleman of high rank. She accom- 
 panied him to Rome, where his father resided as 
 ambassador, and there she became acquainted 
 with all the most distinguished geniuses of Italy. 
 In conversing with foreigners, she felt her defi- 
 ciency in the French and English languages : to 
 these she immediately applied herself. Intimacy 
 with professors of the university, turned her atten- 
 tion to natural science : she became well acquainted 
 with geometry, physics, chemistry. She studied 
 botany, and wrote some excellent works upon it ; 
 but her most elaborate and considerable produc- 
 tion, is the " Feste Veniziane," a work of no little 
 research and learning. She lived in an extended 
 circle of society, to all of whom she was endeared 
 by her amiable qualities and superior abilities. 
 Albrizzi, who particularly describes her, represents 
 her conversation and social qualities in a very 
 charming light. She was fond of simplicity in 
 
 dress, and detested affectation in manner ; beyond 
 every thing she avoided the society of tiresome 
 and insipid persona. " For me," said she, " ennui 
 is among the worst evils — I can bear pain better." 
 Speaking of a person whom she had reason to 
 condemn, "Now he is unfortunate; justice and 
 humanity can ask no more — I forget his faults." 
 In one of her letters she writes, "It belongs to 
 my character to think well of people as long as it 
 is possible." 
 
 In her latter years she became deaf, and had 
 recourse to an ear-trumpet. Her constitutional 
 cheerfulness turned this into an advantage. Wri- 
 ting to a friend, she says, " My deafness is an in- 
 estimable advantage in company ; for with the 
 stupid and gossiping I shun all communication ; 
 their nonsense passes unheeded — but I can employ 
 my trumpet with sensible people, and often gain 
 in that way valuable knowledge." Another of her 
 opinions was, " The world improves people ac- 
 cording to the dispositions they bring into it." 
 " Time is a better comforter than reflection." 
 
 In 1808, the French government sent to the 
 municipality of Venice a writing of the engineer 
 Cabot, entitled " Statistic questions concerning 
 the city of Venice." The municipality imposed 
 the charge of answering this work to two of the 
 most distinguished men then living, the cele- 
 brated bibliopole Morelli, and the erudite Jacopo 
 Filiasi. These applied to Madame Michiel to aid 
 their labour; and it was while immersed in the 
 studies this task involved, that the idea of her 
 " Feste Veniziane," so happily executed, was 
 planned. She died in 1832, aged seventy-seven 
 years. A monument was erected to her memory, 
 with an inscription, which, though eulogistic, con- 
 sidering her life, character, and learning, was not 
 superior to her merits. 
 
 MILLER, LADY, 
 
 Resided at Bath-Easton, near Bath, in England. 
 She published " Letters from Italy," and also a 
 volume of poems. She was well known as a lite- 
 rary lady, and a patroness of literature. Her 
 death occurred in 1781. 
 
 MILTON, MARY, 
 The flrst wife of the poet Milton, was the oldest 
 daughter of Richard Powell, Esq., a magistrate 
 of Oxfordshire. In 1643, at a very early age, she 
 became the wife of John Milton, a connexion, for 
 many reasons,. very unsuitable. Mr. Powell was 
 a zealous royalist, who practised the jovial hospi- 
 tality of the country gentlemen of that period; 
 and the transition from the unrestrained freedom 
 of such a home, to the sombre restraint of Milton's 
 dull residence, in a close and confined street of 
 London — ^a constraint no doubt increased by his 
 naturally reserved and abstracted nature, and the 
 puritanic influences which surrounded him — so 
 wearied the young creature, that she sought an 
 invitation from her father, and in less than a 
 month from her marriage, returned home on a 
 visit. Here, as the summer passed on, she received 
 repeated messages and letters from her husband, 
 summoning her home, all of which were disre- 
 
 428 
 
MI 
 
 MN 
 
 garded. Milton, incensed at her disobedience, 
 viewed her conduct as a deliberate desertion, 
 which broke the marriage contract, and determined 
 to punish it by repudiation. This matrimonial 
 disagreement gave rise to his treatises on the 
 "Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce; the Judg- 
 ment of Martin Bucer concerning Divorce;" and 
 " Tetrachordon, or Expositions upon four chief 
 Places in Scripture which treat of Marriage." 
 Convinced by his own arguments, Milton began to 
 pay his addresses to a lady of gi-eat accomplish- 
 ments, which alarmed the parents of his wife, 
 and, no doubt, awoke her to a sense of the impro- 
 priety of her conduct. While on a visit to a neigh- 
 bour and kinsman, he was surprised by the sud- 
 den entrance of his wife, who threw herself at his 
 feet, and expressed her penitence. After a short 
 struggle of resentment, he again received her, and 
 sealed the reconciliation by opening his house to 
 her father and brothers, who had been driven from 
 their home by the triumph of the republican arms. 
 Mrs. Milton died young, leaving three daugh- 
 ters, who severally filled the office of amanviensis 
 and reader to their father, in his darkened old 
 age. Milton's ill luck in his first essay, did not 
 prevent his venturing twice, subsequently, into 
 the marriage state ; though it has obviously left 
 its impress upon his mind, the proper subjection 
 of woman unto man, being a subject to which he 
 never fails to give due weight. In his Paradise 
 Lost — which, strange to say, seems to have fur- 
 nished the popular conception of Adam and Eve, 
 to readers of the Anglo-Saxon race, rather than 
 their true history in the Bible — he gives Eve an 
 undue share in the " fall," investing the fact with 
 circumstances that weigh heavily and unjustly 
 upon her. The Scripture says, " She took of the 
 fruit thereof, and did eat ; and gave also unto her 
 husband with her, and he did eat." Man's supe- 
 riority to woman is but poorly illustrated in fol- 
 lowing blindly her lead. A modern husband who 
 stood beside his wife in a moment of imminent 
 peril, would ill perform his duty if he did not ex- 
 tend to her a restraining hand, or at least warn 
 her of her peril. 
 
 MINGOTTI, CATHARINE, 
 A CELEBEATED Italian singer, was born at Na- 
 ples, in 1728. After the death of her father, who 
 was a German, Catharine entered a convent, where 
 she was instructed in music. When she was four- 
 teen she left the convent, and some time after 
 married Mingotti, director of the opera at Dresden. 
 Here she was very much admired, and sang at the 
 theatre, before the king. Her reputation soon 
 extended through Europe, and under the direction 
 of the celebrated Farinelli, she visited most of the 
 principal cities on the continent, and also went to 
 London. She died at Munich, in 1807. She was 
 a highly educated and intellectual woman. 
 
 MINUTOLI, LIVIA, 
 
 Daughter to Andrea and Lucretia de Vulcano, 
 was married to. Don Louis de Silva, of the dukes 
 of Pastrano, knight of the order of St. James, and 
 commander of the castle of Capuano. When she 
 
 became a widow, Charles V., emperor of Germany, 
 chose her, on account of her virtue and good sense, 
 to conduct the education of Margaret of Austria, 
 his daughter. She lived in the sixteenth century. 
 
 MNISZECH, MARINA, 
 Czarina of Muscovy, was the daughter of a Po- 
 lish nobleman, George Mniszech, palatine of Sando- 
 mir. He was ambitious, but without the ability to 
 conduct his ambition, and he deserves the appella- 
 tion of an intriguer rather than a politician. It 
 
 has been often seen how trivial incidents sway the 
 destinies of individuals ; and a long train of events, 
 romantic and horrible, which form the destiny of 
 Marina, may be traced to the circumstance of a 
 pardon granted by the palatine to an old woman 
 condemned to death, who held the social position 
 of a wiloh. This personage being introduced into 
 the palace for the exercise of her profession, cast- 
 ing her eyes upon the extraordinary beauty and 
 grace of the daughter of George, boldly predicted 
 that she would one day occupy a throne. This 
 prediction was taken seriously ; the child was 
 educated for her future elevation, to which she 
 looked forward with confidence. A noble youth 
 called Zarucki, with whom she had been educated, 
 conceived for her a most violent passion ; but her 
 thoughts were bent upon ambitious elevation, and 
 she received his sentiments with indiflrerence. He 
 will appear at another period of her life. 
 
 To enter with understanding into the incidents 
 of her career, it is necessary to give a glance at 
 the history of Russia. Ivan IV. was the son of 
 the first monarch who took the title of Czar. He 
 ascended the throne in 1555. He was a remark- 
 able man, and had he lived at a later period, he 
 might have acted the part of Peter : like him, he 
 presented a strange mixture of talent and brutality. 
 His military and political abilities were consider- 
 able ; but he was savage and unsparing, and ac- 
 knowledged no law but his own inclinations. Ivan 
 IV. left two sons, Fedor and Demetrius. The first 
 was a sickly, weak-minded young man; and the 
 sagacity of his father, aware that he was unfit to 
 govern, led him to establish a regency, and place at 
 
 429 
 
MN 
 
 the head of it a man but too able, the boyard Bosie 
 Godonuff. Demetrius, who was of tender years, 
 was placed with his mother, Irene, in the city of 
 Uglitz, on the Volga. Bosis found it an easy 
 matter to constitute himself the efficient head of 
 the state ; but he had uneasy moments in thinking 
 of the growing advantages of Demetrius, who was 
 beautiful, intelligent, and adored by the people. 
 Bosis adopted the usual expedient under barbarous 
 and despotic administrations ; after several at- 
 tempts, rendered ineffectual by the vigilance of 
 Irene, he procured assassins, who stabbed the 
 young prince to the heart. Fedor dying naturally 
 a few months after this, Bosis became undisputed 
 czar of the country. Years rolled on, when ru- 
 mours were heard that the young Demetrius was 
 living — the murdered child, it was said, was a 
 substituted victim — and that the heir had been 
 brought up under the name of Gregory Otrepieff, 
 protected by the family of Eomanoff. For greater 
 safety, he had entered a monastery. Hearing 
 that Bosis had given orders for his apprehension, 
 Gregory fled from his monastery, and after various 
 adventures, arrived in Poland, and sought an asy- 
 lum with the palatine of Sandomir. 
 
 At this period the Jesuits were extending their 
 power, by every means, throughout the wo^'ld; 
 and a member of this society, adroit, vigilant, un- 
 scrupulous, was not wanting in Poland. Father 
 Gaspar Sawicki was in attendance upon the prince 
 Adam Wisniowiecki, when the pretender to the 
 crown of Muscovy entered the palace of George 
 Mniszech. This was a conjuncture in which the 
 spirit of intrigue could not lie dormant. The 
 young man happening to fall sick, demanded a 
 priest. Sawicki had a conference with him, and 
 communicated to the Polish grandees that this 
 was veritably the son of Ivan. Here was the way 
 to a throne, so long aspired to by Marina, plainly 
 discovered. The pretender had, by numerous 
 channels, constant communications with an exten- 
 sive party who secretly intrigued for him in Rus- 
 sia. Matters were often and freely discussed ; 
 proofs of his identity were offered by Gregory, 
 and accepted by the easy faith of the palatine and 
 his daughter. A real affection between the young 
 people appears to have cemented the political 
 union the Jesuit and the palatine were so anxious 
 to effect. A regular treaty was signed ; Marina 
 was to espouse the prince, in the event of his suc- 
 cess ; he was to cede to the palatine the duchy of 
 Novogrod ; and the Romish religion was to be in- 
 troduced into Muscovy, at whatever cost. This last 
 article was the origin of Demetrius' ruin. 
 
 A large army was soon organized; the king of 
 Poland, by the powerful intercession of Mniszech, 
 entered into secret negotiations, by which he 
 pledged himself to support the pretender, whose 
 bands were increased by recruits from every part 
 of the continent. The fame of Ivan was not for- 
 gotten, his memory was dear to his subjects. The 
 usurper, like others who have dared 
 
 "To wade through slaughter to a throne, 
 And shut the gates of mercy on mankind," 
 was odious to the people, and Demetrius entered 
 Russia not without expectations of being successful 
 
 MN 
 
 in the contest ; but every thing was changed by the 
 death of Bosis, who, like an every-day person, 
 simply died in his bed. When Demetrius pre- 
 sented himself, no opposition of any consequence 
 was offered ; and his partizans, with added enthu- 
 siasm, bore him triumphantly to the throne. His 
 success was tarnished by the brutal treatment of 
 the widow and family of Bosis, who were con- 
 signed to the executioner — the family of Godunoff 
 became thus extinct. 
 
 As soon as Demetrius had arrived at his eleva- 
 tion, he sent for his affianced bride. Marina 
 arrived after a triumphal progress, and was so- 
 lemnly crowned Czarina. The empress Irene had 
 recognized the young monarch, and declared him 
 her son. To this day the case is problemati- 
 cal. The extreme indifference of Bosis when he 
 first heard of the claims of the pretended Deme- 
 trius, and when it would have been so easy to 
 gain possession of his person, seems to argue 
 an entire certainty of his insignificance. On the 
 other hand, the tenderness manifested by Irene, 
 who could have no object, not even that of ven- 
 geance, since the race of Bosis had perished, for 
 supporting an impostor, is no unimportant argu- 
 ment in favour of the new czar. Demetrius had 
 lived too long in more civilized regions to accom- 
 modate himself to the prejudices of the Musco- 
 vites ; daily discontents arose, even from the most 
 futile causes. He would eat veal, which to the 
 superstitions of the country was an odious crime ; 
 he would wear the Polish garb, another heinous 
 offence. But the most serious of his errors, the 
 one which no doubt mainly contributed to his 
 downfall, was the furthering the schemes of the 
 Jesuits, and departing from the national religion. 
 A revolution was quietly organized; on the 16th 
 of May, 1607, the palace was entered by a mob 
 of soldiers, and of the populace under the Boyard 
 Tzwiscky. Demetrius fell, pierced by a thousand 
 weapons ; and Marina with difficulty escaped, ac- 
 companied by her father. Basilic Tzwiski placed 
 himself on the throne of his nation ; but, unwil- 
 ling to incur the enmity of Sigismond, permitted 
 all the Poles to depart uninjured. Marina, who 
 had come to Moscow guided by love, joy, ambi- 
 tion, left it like a mendicant, poor, exiled, des- 
 pised. She was, however, not destined to revisit 
 her native country. Before she left the confines 
 of Russia, she was met by an adventurer whom she 
 perfectly well knew to be a Jew named Jank^li, 
 a man in every way repulsive, morally and physi- 
 cally ; but she had quaffed the draught of ambi- 
 tion, and, to regain the vain title of queen, she 
 entered into a miserable plot with this man, every 
 •way and doubly an impostor. He was to present 
 himself as Demetrius, escaped from the blows of 
 the assassins ; already he had soldiers, had fol- 
 lowers ; it remained for her to confirm his iden- 
 tity, which she culpably did. The country now 
 became a prey to civil discords, carried on by 
 armies composed of ferocious semi-savages, and 
 conducted by no one of talents or name to mode- 
 rate or terminate such terrible contests. At length 
 Sigismond III. determined to interfere ; he assem- 
 bled his forces, easily routed the disorderly parti- 
 
 480 
 
MO 
 
 MO 
 
 7ans of Tzwiski, and as easily purchased the re- 
 nunciation of the false Demetrius. He brought 
 his son Ladislaus, and seated him on the throne 
 of Moscow. 
 
 But though the other claimants were set aside, 
 the ambitious Marina would not give up so readily 
 the aim of her life ; she dressed herself in the 
 garb of a general, mounted on horseback, put her- 
 self at the head of all the forces she could collect, 
 and manfully opposed herself to Ladislaus. A 
 powerful unwearying will, sustained by such won- 
 derful courage, obtained many adherents. She 
 made herself allies of the wandering Tartars and 
 Cossacs ; but the treachery of her pseudo-husband 
 turned these into enemies, and after incredible 
 efforts, she found herself at last in a dungeon, in 
 the power of her opponents. Disdaining to sup- 
 plicate compassion, she resigned herself to her 
 fate. She said she did not wish to live, if she 
 could not reign. But she had not come to the end 
 of her adventures. One day, the quiet of her 
 prison was broken by a noise of combatants ; the 
 doors flew open. Oh Providence ! It was Zarucki, 
 the lover of her childhood ; he had become a chief 
 of the Cossacs. After liberating her, he offered to 
 conduct her into Poland to her father. This oifer 
 she refused. Intoxicated with the ambition of 
 royalty, she exerted her influence over this devoted 
 champion to incite new and fruitless attempts at 
 recovering a sovereignty to which she had no 
 claim. She united herself to Zarucki, over whose 
 mind she obtained complete dominion ; his Cossacs 
 followed her with impetuosity, and like a devas- 
 tating torrent poured upon the east of Russia. It 
 was a,t this epoch that the patriots Kosmo, Miuin, 
 and the prince Pojarski, formed a confederacy to 
 free their country from the foreigners, who ren- 
 dered it a scene of carnage. The first to be en- 
 countered was Zarucki ; their superior forces 
 completely overpowered him ; ' and he was forced 
 to flee with Marina and their infant son among 
 the snows and wildernesses. It would be difficult 
 to describe the sufferings they encountered ; for it 
 was in the depth of winter that their wanderings 
 began. Their fate was inevitable ; they were taken 
 by a detachment of the Bussian army. Zarucki 
 fell at the feet of his wife, staining the snow with 
 his blood. Marina was considered by these men as 
 the firebrand which had brought destruction upon 
 their country. With revengeful brutality they broke 
 the ice of the river Jaick with axes, and plunged 
 the unfortunate creature into its cold waters ! 
 
 MOMORO, SOPHIE, 
 Grand-dauohter of the engraver Fournier, was 
 married, or rather united, to the celebrated Mo- 
 moro. She was chosen for her beauty to enact 
 the part of the Goddess of Reason, and appeared 
 on the altar of one of the Parisian churches, in a 
 costume entirely transparent, and surrounded by 
 two hundred young girls, to receive the homage 
 of the people, as the representative of that deity 
 to whom alone they had declared their allegiance. 
 Her husband was executed in 1793, and she was 
 imprisoned, but afterwards liberated. The time 
 of her death is not known. 
 
 MONK, THE HON. MRS., 
 
 Was the daughter of lord Molesworth, an Irish 
 nobleman, and wife of George Monk, Esq. By her 
 own unassisted efi'orts ,she learned the Spanish, 
 Italian, and Latin languages, and the art of poetry. 
 Her poems were not published till after her death, 
 when they were printed under the title of " Ma- 
 rinda; Poems and Translations on several occa- 
 sions." These writings are said to show the true 
 spirit of poetry, and much delicacy and correct- 
 ness of thought and expression. They were all 
 written while occupied with the care of a large 
 family, and without any assistance, excepting that 
 of a good library. The following is. an impromptu 
 epitaph on a " Lady of Pleasure." 
 
 O'er this marble drop a tear, 
 
 Here lies fair Rosalind; 
 All mankind were pleased with her, 
 
 And she with all mankind." 
 
 Mrs. Monk was a lady of exemplary character, 
 and greatly beloved by all who knew her. She died 
 at Bath, in 1715. 
 
 ,«\^^'^f"> 
 
 MOHALBI, GARAFILIA, 
 
 A Greek girl, was born in the island of Ipsara, 
 in 1817. Her parents were rich and respectable, 
 and among the first people in Ipsara. When Gara- 
 filia was about seven years of age, the place of 
 her nativity was totally destroyed by the Turks, 
 under the usual circumstances of horror. Saved 
 by almost a miracle from violent death, she fell 
 into the hands of the enemy, was separated from 
 her grandmother and sister, taken to Smyrna, and 
 there was ransomed by an American merchant, to 
 whose knees she clung for protection in the street. 
 This gentleman took her home with him, and be- 
 came so much engaged by her intelligence and 
 amiableness, that he determined to send her to his 
 relations in Boston, in order that she might re- 
 ceive, at his expense, an accomplished education 
 in a free and undistracted land. 
 
 Garafilia arrived in Boston in the year 1827, 
 was immediately domesticated in the family of her 
 liberator's father, and very soon found her way 
 into all their hearts. She won affections as by 
 
 431 
 
MO 
 
 MO 
 
 magic. Her protector knew no distinction, in his 
 feelings, between lier and his own daughters — he 
 was her father — they were her sisters. She was 
 so mild and gentle, so free from selfishness, so at- 
 tentive to the wants of others, so ready to prefer 
 their wishes to her oivn, so submissive and tracta- 
 ble, and withal so bright and cheerful ; the beauty 
 of her mind and morals harmonized so completely 
 with the grace and truly Grecian loveliness of her 
 person, that it was impossible to know and not 
 become strongly attached to her. Her manners 
 were much older than her years, and so considerate 
 In every respect, that, so far from being a burthen, 
 she could hardly be said to have been a care to her 
 adopted father. Without stepping over the strictest 
 bounds of truth, it may be asserted, that the first 
 grief which she brought into his house, was when 
 she sickened and died. 
 
 Her constitution had never been a strong one. 
 Toward the close of the winter of 1830, she exhi- 
 bited symptoms of a rapid decline. During her 
 illness, the singular submissiveness of her charac- 
 ter was remarkably developed. She uttered no 
 complaint, was grateful for the least attention, 
 and her only anxiety seemed to be to avoid giving 
 trouble to any one. Her mental faculties remained 
 clear to the last ; and, till within a few days of her 
 death, she read daily in her Bible, which she al- 
 ways kept close by her side or under her pillow. 
 She died, March 17th, 1830, without a struggle, 
 and apparently without a pang. 
 
 She was only thirteen years old at the time of 
 her decease, yet few of her sex have ever expe- 
 rienced such changes or such thrilling incidents 
 as had marfifid her short span. But it is not as a 
 heroine or a martyr that she finds her place in our 
 record. We give her history as an example for 
 young girls. Her amiable disposition, the lovely 
 qualities of her mind and heart, make her distin- 
 guished. Like the rose of her own island home, 
 the beauty of the blossom was brief; but the vir- 
 tues of her soul, her patience and piety, like the 
 fragrance of the flower, give a lasting charm to 
 her character, and make her memory a sweet 
 blessing to the young. 
 
 MOLSA, TARQUINIA, 
 Daughter of Camillus Molsa, knight of the 
 order of St. James of Spain, and granddaughter 
 of Francis Maria Molsa, a celebrated Italian poet, 
 was one of the most accomplished ladies in the 
 world, uniting in an extraordinary degree, wit, 
 learning, and beauty. Her father, observing her 
 genius, had her educated with her brothers, and 
 by the best masters, in every branch of literature 
 and science. Some of the most distinguished sci- 
 entific men of the time were her instructors and 
 eulogists. She was perfect mistress of Latin, 
 Greek, and the ethics of Aristotle, Plato, and Plu- 
 tarch. She also understood Hebrew and natural 
 philosophy, and vn-ote her own language, the Tus- 
 can, with ease and spirit. She played on the lute 
 and violin, and sang exquisitely. 
 
 Tarquinia Molsa wag highly esteemed by Al- 
 phonsus II., duke of Perrara, and his whole court; 
 and the city of Kome, by a decree of the senate, 
 
 in which all her excellencies were set forth, ho- 
 noured her with the title of Singular, and bestowed 
 on her, and the whole family of Molsa, the rights 
 of a Roman citizen, a very unusual honour to be 
 conferred on a woman. This decree was passed 
 December 8th, 1600. The following Is a transla- 
 tion of the grant or patent : "As Fabius Matheua 
 Franciscus Soricius, knight, and Dominicus Cocoia, 
 consul, have proposed to the senate to grant the 
 freedom of the city of Kome to Tarquinia Molsa 
 of Modena, the daughter of Camillus, the senate 
 and people of Rome have thus decreed : Though 
 it be new and uncommon for the senate to admit 
 into the number of citizens women, whose merits 
 and fame, being confined within the limits of do- 
 mestic virtues, can seldom be of public utility to 
 the commonwealth : - yet if there be among them 
 one, who surpasses not merely her own sex, but 
 even men, in almost all the virtues, it is just and 
 reasonable that, by a new example, new and un- 
 usual honours should be paid to new and unusual 
 merit. Since, therefore, Tarquinia Molsa, a na- 
 tive of Modena, a most ancient and flourishing 
 colony of the people of Rome, and daughter of 
 Camillus (who, for his merits and nobility, was 
 made knight of the order of St. James, &c.), imi- 
 tates, and by her virtues resembles, those famous 
 Roman heroines, wanting to complete her glory 
 but the honour of a citizen of Rome ; we, the 
 senate and people of Rome, have decreed to pre- 
 sent her with the freedom," &c. 
 
 Molsa was married to Paulus Porrinus, but 
 losing her husband while still very young, she 
 would never consent to be married again. She 
 grieved so much for his death, as to be called an- 
 other Artemisia. 
 
 She retained her personal charms to an ad- 
 vanced period of her life, confirming the opinion 
 of Euripides, " That the autumn of beauty is not 
 less pleasing than its spring." Although so courted 
 and extolled, she avoided notice and distinction, 
 and retained to the last her fondness for a quiet 
 and retired life. 
 
 MONTAGU, ELIZABETH, 
 
 Daughteb. of Matthew Robinson, of Horton, 
 Kent, in England, was a lady of great natural 
 abilities, which were much improved under the 
 tuition of Dr. Conyers Middleton. About 1742, 
 she married Edward Montagu, of Allesthorpe, 
 Yorkshire, son of Charles, fifth son of the first 
 earl of Sandwich. By him she had one son, who 
 died in his infancy. She ^evoted herself to lite- 
 rature, and formed a literary club, called the Blue 
 Stocking Club, from a little incident that occurred 
 there, and is thus explained by Madame D'Arblay : 
 
 " These parties were originally instituted at 
 Bath, and owed their name to an apology made 
 by Mr. Stillingfleet, in declining to accept an in- 
 vitation to a literary meeting at Mrs. Vesey's. 
 from not being, he said, in the habit of displaying 
 a proper equipment for an evening assembly. 
 ' Pho !' cried she, with her well-known, yet always 
 original simplicity, while she looked inquisitively 
 at him and his accoutrements, ' Don't mind dress ! 
 come in your blue stockings !' With which words, 
 
 432 
 
MO 
 
 MO 
 
 humourously repeating them as he entered the 
 apartment of the chosen coterie, Mr. Stillingfleet 
 claimed permission to appear, and these words, 
 ever after, were fixed in playful stigma upon Mrs. 
 Vesey's associations. 
 
 "While to Mrs. Vesey, the Bas Bleu Society 
 owed its origin and its epithet, the meetings that 
 took place at Mrs. Montagu's were soon more po- 
 pularly known by that denomination, for though 
 they could not be more fashionable, they were far 
 more splendid. 
 
 " Mrs. Montagu had built a superb new house, 
 which was magnificently fitted up, and appeared 
 to be rather appropriate for princes, nobles, and 
 courtiers, than for poets, philosophers, and blue- 
 stocking votaries. And here, in fact, rank and 
 talents were so frequently brought together, that 
 what the satirist uttered scofBngly, the author 
 pronounced proudly, in setting aside the original 
 claimant, to dub Mrs. Montagu Queen of the Blues. 
 
 " But, while the same has bleu appellation was 
 given to these two houses of rendezvous, neither 
 that, nor even the same associates, could render 
 them similar. Their grandeur or their simplicity, 
 their magnitude or their diminutiveness, were by 
 no means the principal cause of this difference ; 
 it was far more attributable to the lady presidents 
 than to their abodes ; for though they instilled 
 not their characters into their visitors, their cha- 
 racters bore so large a share in their visitors' re- 
 ception and accommodation, as to influence mate- 
 rially the turn of the discourse, and the humour 
 of the parties at their houses. 
 
 "At Mrs. Montagu's, the semicircle that faced 
 the fire retained, during the whole evening, its 
 unbroken form, with a precision that made it seem 
 described by a Brobdignagiau compass. The lady 
 of the castle commonly placed herself at the upper 
 end of the room, near the commencement of the 
 curve, so as to be courteously visible to all her 
 guests ; having the person of the highest rank or 
 consequence, properly, on one side, and the person 
 the most eminent for talents, sagaciously, on the 
 other, or as near to her chair and her converse as 
 her favouring eye, and a complacent bow of the 
 head, could invite him to that distinction. 
 
 " Her conversational powers were of a truly 
 superior order ; strong, just, clear, and often elo- 
 quent. Her process in argument, notwithstanding 
 an earnest solicitude for pre-eminence, was uni- 
 formly polite and candid. But her reputation for 
 wit seemed always in her thoughts, marring their 
 natural flow and untutored expression. No sudden 
 start of talent urged forth any precarious opinion ; 
 no vivacious new idea varied her logical course 
 of ratiocination. Her smile, though most gene- 
 rally benignant, was rarely gay ; and her liveliest 
 sallies had a something of anxiety rather than of 
 hilarity, till their success was ascertained by ap- 
 plause. 
 
 " Her form was stately, and her manners were 
 dignified; her face retained strong remains of 
 beauty throughout life ; and though its native 
 cast was evidently that of severity, its expression 
 was softened off in discourse by an almost con- 
 stant desire to please. 
 20 
 
 " Taken for all in all, Mrs. Montagu was rare 
 in her attainments, splendid in her conduct, open 
 to the calls of charity, forward to provide for those 
 of indigent genius, and unchangeably just and 
 firm in the application of her interest, her princi- 
 ples, and her fortune, to the encouragement of 
 loyalty and the support of virtue." 
 
 In 1775, the death of Mr. Montagu left Mrs. 
 Montagu a widow with an immense property ; and 
 among the earliest acts of her munificence was the 
 settling £100 per annum on her less affluent friend 
 Mrs. Carter, with whom she was on terms of af- 
 fectionate intimacy. Herself and her style of liv- 
 ing at this period are described by another of her 
 friends, who was only then beginning her subse- 
 quent career of brilliancy and utility. Hannah 
 More, at the age of thirty, thus writes of Mrs. 
 Montagu, who was then about fifty-five years of 
 age: 
 
 "Mrs. Montagu received me with the most en- 
 couraging kindness ; she is not only the finest 
 genius, but the finest lady I ever saw ; she lives 
 in the highest style of magnificence ; her apart- 
 ments and table are in the most splendid taste ; 
 but what baubles are these when speaking of u 
 Montagu! Her form (for she has no body) is 
 delicate even to fragility ; her countenance the 
 most animated in the world ; the sprightly vivacity 
 of fifteen with the judgment and experience of a 
 Nestor. But I fear she is hastening to decay very 
 fast ; her spirits are so active, that they must soon 
 wear out the little frail receptacle that holds 
 them." 
 
 Fortunately, in this, Hannah More did not evince 
 herself a true prophetess, for Mrs. Montagu's life 
 was prolonged for nearly thirty years after the 
 date of this prediction. 
 
 In 1781, she built her magnificent house in 
 Portman Square, and also continued her building 
 and planting at her country residence, Sandleford. 
 Here Mrs. Hannah More was a frequent visiter, 
 and has given some spirited sketches of their mode 
 of living, in her correspondence. Subsequently, 
 Hannah More writes as follows : — 
 
 " 1784, Sandleford. 
 
 " I write from the delightful abode of our de- 
 lightful friend. There is an irregular beauty and 
 greatness in the new buildings, and in the cathe- 
 dral aisles which open to the great gothio window, 
 which is exceedingly agreeable to the imagination. 
 It is solemn without being sad, and gothic without 
 being gloomy. Last night, by a bright moonlight, 
 I enjoyed this singular scenery most feelingly. It 
 shone in all its glory, but I was at a loss with 
 what beings to people it; it was too awful for 
 fairies, and not dismal enough for ghosts. There 
 is a great propriety in its belonging to the cham- 
 pion of Shakspeare, for, like him, it is not only 
 beautiful without the rules, but almost in defiance 
 of them. 
 
 " The fortnight spent with our friend Mrs. Mon- 
 tagu, I need not say to you, was passed profitably 
 and pleasantly, as one may say of her, what John- 
 son said of some one else, ' that she never opens 
 her mouth but to say something.' " 
 
 433 
 
MO 
 
 MO 
 
 Mrs. Montagu published an "Essay on the 
 Writings and Genius of Shakspeare," which de- 
 served and acquired great celebrity. She was an 
 intimate friend of Lord Lyttleton, and is said to 
 have assisted him in some of his writings. She 
 lost the use of her sight several years before her 
 decease, but retained her mental faculties to the 
 last. She died August 25th, 1802, in her eighty- 
 second year, and was buried in Westminster Ab- 
 bey. The body of her infant son, who had been 
 dead nearly sixty years, was, by her own desire, 
 removed out of Yorkshire, and placed in her tomb ; 
 a circumstance displaying the maternal tenderness 
 of her heart in a touching manner. 
 
 Mrs. Montagu was a woman of great talents, 
 yet notwithstanding her high attainments in lite- 
 rature, benevolence was the most striking feature 
 in her character. She was the rewarder of merit, 
 the friend of her own sex, and the poor always 
 found in her a liberal benefactress. For some 
 years before her death, she had been in the habit 
 of giving a yearly entertainment, on May-day, to 
 the chimney-sweeps of London, who mourned her 
 loss with great grief. Her published works are, 
 "Essay on the Genius and Writings of Shak- 
 speare," 1799 ; " Four Volumes of Letters," 1809 
 and 1813 ; " Dialogues of the Dead, in part," 1760. 
 
 MONTAGU, LADY MARY WORTLEY, 
 Was the oldest daughter of Evelyn, duke of 
 Kingston, and Lady Mary Fielding, daughter of 
 the earl of Denbigh. She was born at Thoresby, 
 in Nottinghamshire, about the year 1690. She 
 early gave such evidence of genius, that her father 
 placed her under the same preceptors as her bro- 
 ther, and she acquired a singular proficiency in 
 classical studies. Brought up in great seclusion, 
 she was enabled to cultivate her mind to a degree 
 rarely seen in women of that period. In 1712 she 
 became the wife of Edward Wortley Montagu, and 
 continued to live in retirement until her husband's 
 appointment, on the accession of George I., to a 
 seat in the treasury, which brought her to Lon- 
 don. Introduced at court, her wit and beauty 
 called forth universal admiration, and she became 
 familiarly acquainted with Pope, Addison, and 
 
 other distinguished writers. In 1716, Mr. Wortley 
 was appointed ambassador to the Porte, and Lady 
 Mary accompanied him. Here began that corre- 
 spondence which has procured her such wide- 
 spread celebrity, and placed her among the first 
 of female writers in our tongue ; and here, too, 
 her bold, unprejudiced mind, led her to that im- 
 portant step which has made her one of the great- 
 est benefactors of mankind. While dwelling at 
 Belgrade, during the summer months. Lady Mary 
 observed a singular custom prevalent among the 
 Turks — that of engrafting, or as it is now called, 
 inoculating, with variolous matter, to produce a 
 mild form of small-pox, and stay the ravages of 
 that loathsome disease. She examined the pro- 
 cess with philosophical curiosity, and becoming 
 convinced of its efficacy, did not hesitate to apply 
 it to her own son, a child of three years old. On 
 her return home, she introduced the art into Eng- 
 land, by means of the medical attendant of the 
 embassy; but its expediency being questioned 
 among scientific men, an experiment, by order of 
 the government, was made upon five persons under 
 sentence of death, which proved highly successful. 
 What an arduous and thankless enterprise Lady 
 Mary's was, no one, at the present day, can form 
 an idea. She lived in an age obstinately opposed 
 to all innovations and improvements, and she says 
 herself, " That if she had foreseen the vexation, 
 the persecution, and even the obloquy which it 
 brought upon her, she would never have attempted 
 it." The clamours raised against it were beyond 
 belief. The medical faculty rose up in arms, to a 
 man ; the clergy descanted from their pulpits on 
 the impiety of seeking to take events out of the 
 hands of Providence ; thus exhibiting more nar- 
 rowness than the Turks, whose obstinate faith in 
 predestination would have naturally led them to 
 this conclusion. Lady Mary, however, soon gained 
 many supporters among the enlightened classes, 
 headed by the princess of Wales, afterwards 
 queen of George II. ; and truth, as it always does, 
 finally prevailed. She gave much of her time to 
 advice and superintendence in the families where 
 inoculation was adopted, constantly carrying her 
 little daughter with her into the sick room, to 
 prove her security from infection. 
 
 The present age, which has benefited so widely 
 by this art and its improvements, can form but a 
 faint estimate of the ravages of that fearful scourge, 
 before the introduction of inoculation, when either 
 a loathsome disease, a painful death, or disfigured 
 features, awaited nearly every being born. This 
 may account, in some measure, for the absence 
 of that active gratitude which services such as 
 hers should have called forth. Had Lady Mary 
 Wortley lived in the days of heathen Greece or 
 Rome, her name would have been enrolled among 
 the deities who have benefited mankind. But in 
 Christian England, her native land, on which she 
 bestowed so dear a blessing, and through it, to all 
 the nations of the earth, what has been her recom- 
 pense ? We read of colossal endowments by the 
 British government, upon great generals ; of titles 
 conferred and pensions granted, through several 
 generations, to those who have served their coun- 
 
 434 
 
MO 
 
 MO 
 
 try ; of monuments erected by the British people 
 to statesmen, and warriors, and even to wealc and 
 vicious princes ; but where is the monument to 
 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu ? Where is recorded 
 the pension, the dignity, bestowed upon her line, 
 as a sign to future generations that she was a 
 benefactor to the human race, and that her coun- 
 try acknowledged it ? In the page of history, and 
 in the annals of medicine, her name must find its 
 place ; but there alone is the deed recorded, which 
 beneath every roof in Christendom, from the pa- 
 lace to the pauper's hut, has carried a blessing ! 
 
 On her return to England, Lady Mary Wortley 
 took up her residence, at the solicitation of Pope, 
 at Twickenham ; but their friendship did not con- 
 tinue long after. Pope, it is asserted, made a 
 violent declaration of love to her, which she treat- 
 ing with ridicule, so oifended him that he never 
 forgave her. A paper war ensued between them, 
 little creditable to either party. Lady Mary con- 
 tinued to exercise considerable influence in society 
 till 1739, when her health declining, she resolved 
 to pass the remainder of her days in the milder 
 climate of Italy. She was not accompanied by 
 her husband, which has given rise to many sur- 
 mises ; but as he always corresponded with her, 
 and gave repeated proofs of his confidence in her, 
 there is no ground for believing that there was 
 any objectionable reason for her conduct. Lady 
 Mary's correspondence during this period of her 
 life, is marked by the same wit, vivacity, and ta- 
 lents, as that of her earlier years, and is published 
 with her collected writings. The following extract 
 from one of her letters to her daughter will serve 
 to show how she passed her time : 
 
 " I generally rise at six, and as soon as I have 
 breakfasted, put myself at the head of my needle- 
 women, and work till nine. I then inspect my 
 dairy, and take a turn among my poultry, which 
 is a very large inquiry. I have at present two 
 hundred chickens, besides turkeys, geese, ducks, 
 and peacocks. All things have hitherto prospered 
 under my care : my bees and silkworms are dou- 
 bled. At eleven o'clock I retire to my books. I 
 dare not indulge myself in that pleasure above an 
 hour. At twelve, I constantly dine, and sleep 
 after dinner till about three. I then send for 
 some of my old priests, and either play at pioquet 
 or whist, till it is time to go out. One evening I 
 walk in my wood, where I often sup, take the air 
 on horseback the next, and go on the water the 
 third. The fishing of this part of the river be- 
 longs to me, and ray fisherman's little boat (to 
 which I have a green lutestring awning) serves 
 me for a barge." She adds, "I confess I some- 
 times long for a little conversation;" though, as 
 she observes, "Quiet is all the hope that can rea- 
 sonably be expected at my age, for my health is 
 so often impaired that I begin to be as weary of 
 it as mending old lace : when it is patched in one 
 place, it breaks out in another." 
 
 This once brilliant court beauty was now be- 
 come so indifferent to her personal appearance, 
 that, speaking of her looks, she says, " I know 
 nothing of the matter, as it is now eleven years 
 since I have seen my figure in a glass, and the 
 
 last reflection I saw there was so disagreeable, 
 that I .resolved to spare myself tlu mortification 
 for the future." 
 
 After an absence of twenty-two years. Lady 
 Mary returned to England, but she did not long 
 survive the removal ; she died in less than a year 
 after, at the age of seventy-two. Of her two 
 children, both of whom survived her, one was the 
 eccentric and profligate Edward Wortley Montagu, 
 who was a source of continual unhappiness to her 
 through life ; the other became the wife of the 
 marquis of Bute, a distinguished nobleman, and 
 was the mother of a large family. 
 
 Lady Montagu's letters were first printed, sur- 
 reptitiously, in 1763. A more complete edition 
 of her works was published, in five volumes, m. 
 1803 ; and another, edited by her great-grandson, 
 Lord WharnolifFe, with additional letters and in- 
 formation, in 1837. The letters from Constanti- 
 nople and France have been often reprinted. An 
 eminent British critic* thus graphically describes 
 her works : 
 
 " The wit and talent of Lady Mary are visible 
 throughout the whole of her correspondence, but 
 there is often a want of feminine softness and de- 
 licacy. Her desire to convey^scandal, or to paint 
 graphically, leads her into offensive details, which 
 the more decorous taste of the present age can 
 hardly tolerate. She described what she saw and 
 heard without being scrupulous ; and her strong 
 masculine understanding, and carelessness as to 
 refinement in habits or expressions, render her 
 sometimes apparently unamiable and unfeeling. 
 As models of the epistolary style, easy, familiar, 
 and elegant, no less than as pictures of foreign 
 scenery and manners, and fashionable gossip, the 
 letters of Lady Mary must, however, ever main- 
 tain a high place in our national literature. They 
 are truly letters, not critical or didactic essays, en- 
 livened by formal compliment and elaborate wit, 
 like the correspondence of Pope." 
 
 EXTRACTS FBOM THE LETTEBS. 
 
 To E. W. Montagu, Esq. — In prospect of Marriage. 
 
 One part of my character is not so good, nor 
 t'other so bad, as you fancy it. Should we ever 
 live together, you would be disappointed both 
 ways ; you would find an easy equality of temper 
 you do not expect, and a thousand faults you do 
 not imagine. You think if you married me I 
 should be passionately fond of you one month, 
 and of somebody else the next. Neither would 
 happen. I can esteem, I can be a friend ; but I 
 don't know whether I can love. Expect all that 
 is complaisant and easy, but never what is fond, 
 in me. You judge very wrong of my heart, when 
 you suppose me capable of views of interest, and 
 that anything could oblige me to flatter anybody. 
 Was I the most indigent creature in the world, I 
 should answer you as I do now, without adding 
 or diminishing. I am incapable of art, and 'tis 
 because I will not be capable of it. Could I de- 
 ceive one minute, I should never regain my own 
 
 * Robert Chambers. 
 
 435 
 
MO 
 
 MO 
 
 good opinion ; and who could tear to live with one 
 they despised ! 
 
 If you can resolve to live with a companion that 
 will have all the deference due to your superiority 
 of good sense, and that your proposals can be 
 agreeable to those on whom I depend, I have no- 
 tliing to say against them. 
 
 As to travelling, 'tis what I should do with great 
 pleasure, and could easily quit London upon your 
 account ; but a retirement in the country is not 
 so disagreeable to me, as I know a few months 
 would make it tiresome to you. Where people 
 are tied for life, 'tis their mutual interest not to 
 grow weary of one another. If I had all the per- 
 sonal charms that I want, a face is too slight a 
 foundation for happiness. You would be soon 
 tired with seeing every day the same thing. Where 
 you saw nothing else, you would have leisure to 
 remark all the defects ; which would increase in 
 proportion as the novelty lessened, which is always 
 a great charm. I should have the displeasure of 
 seeing a coldness, which, though I could not rea- 
 sonably blame you for, being involuntary, yet it 
 would render me uneasy ; and the more, because 
 I know a love may be revived, which absence, in- 
 constancy, or eveiv infidelity, has extinguished; 
 but there is no returning from a degout given by 
 satiety. 
 
 To the Same — On Matrimonial Happiness. 
 If we marry, our happiness must consist in 
 loving one another : 'tis principally my concern to 
 think of the most probable method of making that 
 love eternal. You object against living in London ; 
 I am not fond of it myself, and readily give it up 
 to you, though I am assured there needs more art 
 to keep a fondness alive in solitude, where it ge- 
 nerally preys upon itself. There is one article 
 absolutely necessary — to be ever beloved, one 
 must be ever agreeable. There is no such thing 
 as being agreeable without a thorough good hu- 
 mour, a natural sweetness of temper, enlivened 
 by cheerfulness. Whatever natural funds of gaiety 
 one is born with, 'tis necessary to be entertained 
 with agreeable objects. Anybody capable of tast- 
 ing pleasure, when they confine themselves to one 
 place, should take care 'tis the place in the world 
 the most agreeable. Whatever you may now think 
 (now, perhaps, you have some fondness for me), 
 though your love should continue in its full force, 
 there are hours when the most beloved mistress 
 would be troublesome. People are not for ever 
 (nor is it in human nature that they should be) 
 disposed to be fond ; you would be glad to find in 
 me the friend and the companion. To be agreea- 
 bly the last, it is necessary to be gay and enter- 
 taining. A perpetual solitude, in a place where 
 you see nothing to raise your spirits, at length 
 wears them out, and conversation insensibly falls 
 into dull and insipid. When I have no more to 
 say to you, you will like me no longer. How 
 dreadful is that view ! You will reflect, for my 
 sake you have abandoned the conversation of a 
 friend that you liked, and your situation in a 
 country where all things would have contributed 
 to make your life pass in (the true volupt6) a 
 
 smooth tranquillity. / shall lose the vivacity 
 which should entertain you, and you will have no- 
 thing to recompense you for what you have lost. 
 Very few people that have settled entirely in the 
 country, but have grown at length weary of one 
 another. The lady's conversation generally falls 
 into a thousand impertinent effects of idleness ; 
 and the gentleman falls in love with his dogs and 
 his horses, and out of love with everything else. 
 I am not now arguing in favour of the town ; you 
 have answered me as to that point. In respect 
 of your health, 'tis the first thing to be considered, 
 and I shall never ask you to do anything injurious 
 to that. But 'tis my opinion, 'tis necessary, to be 
 happy, that we neither of us think anyplace more 
 agreeable than that where we are. 
 
 To, Mr. Pope — Eastern Manners and Language. 
 
 Adkianople, April 1, 0. S., 1717. 
 
 I no longer look upon Theocritus as a romantic 
 writer ; he has only given a plain image of the 
 way of life amongst the peasants of his country, 
 who, before oppression had reduced them to want, 
 were, I suppose, all employed as the better sort 
 of them are now. I don't doubt, had he been 
 born a Briton, but his Idylliums had been filled 
 with descriptions of thrashing and churning, both 
 which are unknown here, the corn being all trod- 
 den out by oxen ; the butter (I speak it with sor- 
 row) unheard of. 
 
 I read over your Homer here with an infinite 
 pleasure, and find several little passages explained 
 that I did not before entirely comprehend the 
 beauty of ; many of the customs, and much of the 
 dress then in fashion, being yet retained. I don't 
 wonder to find more remains here of an age so 
 distant, than is to be found in any other country ; 
 the Turks not taking that pains to introduce their 
 own manners, as has been generally practised by 
 other nations, that imagine themselves more polite. 
 It would be too tedious to you to point out all the 
 passages that relate to present customs. But I 
 can assure you that the princesses and great ladies 
 pass their time at their looms, embroidering veils 
 and robes, surrounded by their maids, which are 
 always very numerous, in the same manner as we 
 find Andromache and Helen described. The de- 
 scription of the belt of Menelaus exactly resem- 
 bles those that are now worn by the great men, 
 fastened before with broad golden clasps, and em- 
 broidered round with rich work. The snowy veil 
 that Helen throws over her face is still fashiona- 
 ble ; and I never see half-a-dozen of old bashaws 
 (as I do very often) with their reverend beards, 
 sitting basking in the sun, but I recollect good 
 king Priam and his counsellors. Their manner 
 of dancing is certainly the same that Diana is sung 
 to have danced on the banks of Eurotas. The great 
 lady still leads the dance, and is followed by a troop 
 of young girls, who imitate her steps, and, if Bhe_ 
 sings, make up the chorus. The tunes are ex- 
 tremely gay and lively, yet with something in them 
 wonderfully soft. The steps are varied according 
 to the pleasure of her that leads the dance, but 
 always in exact time, and infinitely more agreea- 
 ble than any of our dances, at least in my opinion. 
 
 436 
 
MO 
 
 MO 
 
 I sometimes make one in the train, but am not 
 skilful enough to lead ; these are the Grecian 
 dances, the Turkish being very different. 
 
 I should have told you, in the first place, that 
 the eastern manners give a great light into many 
 Scripture passages that appear odd to us, their 
 phrases being commonly what we should call Scrip- 
 ture language. The vulgar Turk is very different 
 from what is spoken at court, or amongst the peo- 
 ple of figure, who always mix so much Arabic and 
 Persian in their discourse, that it may very well 
 be called another language. And 'tis as ridiculous 
 to make use of the expressions commonly used, in 
 speaking to a great man or lady, as it would be to 
 apeak broad Yorkshire or Somersetshire in the 
 drawing-room. Besides this distinction, they have 
 what they call the sublime^ that is, a style proper 
 for poetry, and which is the exact Scripture style. 
 I believe you will be pleased to see a genuine ex- 
 ample of this ; and I am very glad I have it in 
 my power to satisfy your curiosity, by sending 
 you a faithful copy of the verses that Ibrahim 
 Pasha, the reigning favourite, has made for the 
 young princess, his contracted wife, whom he is 
 not yet permitted to visit without witnesses, though 
 she is gone home to his house. He is a man of 
 wit and learning ; and whether or no he is capable 
 of writing good verse, you may be sure that on 
 such an occasion he would not want the assistance 
 of the best poets in the empire. Thus the verses 
 may be looked upon as a sample of their finest 
 poetry ; and I don't doubt you '11 be of my mind, 
 that it is most wonderfully resembling the Song 
 of Solomon, which was also addressed to a royal 
 bride. 
 
 The nightingale now wanders in the vines ; 
 Her passion is to seeic roses. 
 
 I went down to admire the beauty of the vines: 
 The sweetness of your charms has ravished my soul. 
 
 Your eyes are black and lovely, 
 
 But wild and disdainful as those of a stag.* 
 
 The wished possession is delayed from day to day ; 
 The cruel sultan Achmetwill not permit me 
 To see those cheeks, more vermilion than roses. 
 
 I dare not snatch one of your kisses ; 
 
 The sweetness of your charms has ravished my soul. 
 
 Your eyes are black and lovely, 
 
 But wild and disdainful as those of a stag. 
 
 The wretched Ibrahim sighs in these verses : 
 
 One dart from your eyes has pierced through my heart. 
 
 Ah! when will the hour of possession arrive? 
 
 Must I yet wait a long time ? 
 
 The sweetness of your charms has ravished my soul. 
 
 Ah, sultana! stag-eyed — an angel amongst angels I 
 1 desire, and my desire remains unsatisfied. 
 Can you take delight to prey upon my heart 
 
 My cries pierce the heavens! 
 
 My eyes are without sleep ! 
 
 Turn to me, sultana — let me gaze on thy beauty. 
 
 'Adieu — 1 go down to the grave. 
 
 If you call me, I return. 
 
 My heart is — hot as sulphur; sigh, and it will fiame. 
 
 * Sir W. Jones, in the Preface to his Persian Grammar, 
 objects to this translation. The expression is merely analo- 
 gous to the Boopis of Homer. 
 
 Crown of my life ! — fair light of my eyes ! 
 
 My sultana ! — my princess I 
 
 I rub my face against the earth — 1 am drowned in scalding 
 
 tears — I rave ! 
 Have you no compassion ? Will you not turn to look upon 
 
 me? 
 
 I have taken abundance of pains to get these 
 verses in a literal translation ; and if you were 
 acquainted with my interpreters, I might spare 
 myself the trouble of assuring you, that they 
 have received no poetical touches from their 
 hands. 
 
 To Mrs. S. C — Inoculation for the Small-pox. 
 Adkianople, April 1, 0. S., 1717. 
 
 Apropos of distempers, I am going to tell you a 
 thing that will make you wish yourself here. The 
 small-pox, so fatal and so general amongst us, is 
 here entirely harmless, by the invention of ingrafi- 
 inff, which is the term they give it. There is a set 
 of old women who make it their business to per- 
 form the operation every autumn, in the month of 
 September, when the great heat is abated. Peo- 
 ple send to one another to know if any of their 
 family has a mind to have the small-pox ; they 
 make parties for this purpose, and when they are 
 met (commonly fifteen or sixteen together), the 
 old woman comes with a nut-shell full of the 
 matter of the best sort of small-pox, and asks 
 what vein you please to have opetied. She imme- 
 diately rips open that you offer to her with a large 
 needle (which gives you no more pain than a com- 
 mon scratch), and puts into the vein as much 
 matter as can lie upon the head of her needle, and 
 after that binds up the little wound with a hollow 
 bit of shell ; and in this manner opens four or five 
 veins. The Grecians have commonly the supersti- 
 tion of opening one in the middle of the forehead, 
 one in each arm, and one on the breast, to mark 
 the sign of the cross ; but this has a very ill effect, 
 all these wounds leaving little scars, and is not 
 done by those that are not superstitious, who 
 choose to have them in the legs, or that part of 
 the arm that is concealed. The children or young 
 patients play together all the rest of the day, and 
 are in perfect health to the eighth. Then the fever 
 begins to seize them, and they keep their beds two 
 days, very seldom three. They have very rarely 
 above twenty or thirty in their faces, which never 
 mark ; and in eight days' time, they are as well 
 as before their illness. Where they are wounded, 
 there remain running sores during the distemper, 
 which I don't doubt is a great relief to it. Every 
 year thousands undergo this operation ; and the 
 French ambassador says pleasantly, that they take 
 the small-pox here by way of diversion, as they 
 take the waters in other countries. There is no 
 example of any one that has died in it ; and you 
 may believe I am well satisfied of the safety of 
 this experiment, since I intend to try it on my 
 dear little son. 
 
 I am patriot enough to take pains to bring this 
 useful invention into fashion in England ; and I 
 should not fail to write to some of our doctors 
 very particularly about it, if I knew any one of 
 them that I thought had virtue enough to destroy 
 such a considerable branch of their revenue for 
 
 437 
 
MO 
 
 MO 
 
 the good of mankind. But that distemper is too 
 beneficial to them, not to expose to all their re- 
 sentment the hardy wight that should undertake 
 to put an end to it. Perhaps, if I live to return, 
 I may, however, have courage to war with them. 
 Upon this occasion, admire the heroism in the 
 heart of your friend, &c. 
 
 To the Same — Consoling her in Affliction. 
 
 LocvERE, August 20, 1752. 
 
 My dear Child — 'Tis impossible to tell you to 
 what degree I share with you in the misfortune 
 that has happened. I do not doubt your own rea- 
 son will suggest to you all the alleviations that can 
 serve on so sad an occasion, and will not trouble 
 you with the commonplace topics that are used, 
 generally to no p>irpose, in letters of consolation. 
 Disappointments ought to be less sensibly felt at 
 my age than yours ; yet I own I am so far affected 
 by this, that I have need of all my philosophy to 
 support it. However, let me beg of you not to 
 indulge a useless grief, to the prejudice of your 
 health, which is so necessary to your family. Every- 
 thing may turn out better than you expect. We 
 see so darkly into futurity, we never know when 
 we have real cause to rejoice or lament. The 
 worst appearances have often happy consequences, 
 as the best lead many times into the greatest mis- 
 fortunes. Human prudence is very straitly bound- 
 ed. What is most in our power, though little so, 
 is the disposition of our own minds. Do not give 
 way to melancholy ; seek amusements ; be willing 
 to be diverted, and insensibly you will become so. 
 Weak people only place a merit in affliction. A 
 grateful remembrance, and whatever honour we 
 can pay to their memory, is all that is owing to 
 the dead. Tears and sorrow are no duties to them, 
 ajid make us incapable of those we owe to the 
 living. 
 
 I give you thanks for your care of my books. I 
 yet retain, and carefully cherish, my taste for 
 reading. If relays of eyes were to be hired like 
 poet-horses, I would never admit any but silent 
 companions ; they afford a constant variety of en- 
 tertainment, which is almost the only «ne pleasing 
 in the enjoyment, and inoffensive in the conse- 
 quence. I am sorry your sight will not permit 
 you a great use of it : the prattle of your little 
 ones, and friendship of Lord Bute, will supply the 
 place of it. My dear child, endeavour to raise 
 your spirits, and believe this advice comes from 
 the tenderness of your most affectionate mother. 
 
 To the Same — On Female Education. 
 
 LonvERE, Jan. 28, N. S., 1753. 
 Dear Child — You have given me a great deal of 
 satisfaction by your account of your eldest daugh- 
 ter. I am particularly pleased to hear she is a 
 good arithmetician ; it is the best proof of under- 
 standing ; the knowledge of numbers is one of the 
 chief distinctions between us and brutes. If there 
 is anything in blood, you may reasonably expect 
 your children should be endowed with an uncom- 
 mon share of good sense. Mr. Wortley's family 
 and mine have both produced some of the greatest 
 men that have been born in England; I mean 
 
 Admiral Sandwich, and my grandfather, who was 
 distinguished by the name of Wise William. I 
 have heard Lord Bute's father mentioned as an 
 extraordinary genius, though he had not many 
 opportunities of showing it; and his uncle, the 
 present Duke of Argyll, has one of the best heads 
 I ever knew. I will therefore speak to you as 
 supposing Lady Mary not only capable, but de- 
 sirous of learning ; in that case by all means let 
 her be indulged in it. You will tell me I did not 
 make it a part of your education ; your prospect 
 was very different from hers. As you had much 
 in your circumstances to attract the highest offers, 
 it seemed your business to learn how to live in the 
 world, as it is hers to know how to be easy out of 
 it. It is the common error of builders and parents 
 to follow some plan they think beautiful (and per- 
 haps is so), without considering that nothing is 
 beautiful which is displaced. Hence we see so 
 many edifices raised, that the raisers can never 
 inhabit, being too large for their fortunes. Vistas 
 are laid open over barren heaths, and apartments 
 contrived for a coolness very agreeable in Italy, 
 but killing in the north of Britain : thus every 
 woman endeavours to breed her daughter a fine 
 lady, qualifying her for a station in which she will 
 never appear, and at the same time incapacitating 
 her for that retirement to which she is destined. 
 Learning, if she has a real taste for it, will not 
 only make her contented, but happy in it. No 
 entertainment is so cheap as reading, nor any plea- 
 sure so lasting. She will not want new fashions, 
 nor regret the loss of expensive diversions, or 
 variety of company, if she can be amused with an 
 author in her closet. To render this amusement 
 complete, she should be permitted to learn the 
 languages. I have heard it lamented that boys 
 lose so many years in mere learning of words : 
 this is no objection to a girl, whose time is not so 
 precious : she cannot advance herself in any pro- 
 fession, and has therefore more hours to spare; 
 and as you say her memory is good, she will be 
 very agreeably employed this way. There are two 
 cautions to be given on this subject: first, not to 
 think herself learned when she can read Latin, or 
 even Greek. Languages are more properly to be 
 called vehicles of learning than learning itself, as 
 may be observed in many schoolmasters, who, 
 though perhaps critics in grammar, are the most 
 ignorant fellows upon earth. True knowledge 
 consists in knowing things, not words. I would 
 no further wish her a linguist than to enable her 
 to read books in their originals, that are often 
 corrupted, and are always injured, by translations. 
 Two hours' application every morning will bring 
 this about much sooner than you can imagine, and 
 she will have leisure enough besides to run over 
 the English poetry, which is a more important 
 part of a woman's education than it is generally 
 supposed. Many a young damsel has been ruined 
 by a fine copy of verses, which she would have 
 laughed at if she had known it had been stolen 
 from Mr. Waller. I remember, when I was a girl, 
 I saved one of my companions from destruction, 
 who communicated to me an epistle she was quite 
 charmed with. As she had naturally a good taste, 
 
 438 
 
MO 
 
 MO 
 
 she observed the lines were not so smooth as 
 Prior's or Pope's, but had more thought and spirit 
 than any of theirs. She was wondei-fuUy delighted 
 with such a demonstration of her lover's sense and 
 passion, and not a little pleased with her own 
 charms, that had force enough to inspire such 
 elegancies. In the midst of this triumph, I showed 
 her that they were taken from Randolph's poems, 
 and the unfortunate transcriber was dismissed 
 with the scorn he deservecj. To say truth, the 
 poor plagiary was very unlucky to fall into my 
 hands ; that author being no longer in fashion, 
 would have escaped any one of less universal 
 reading than myself. You should encourage your 
 daughter to talk over with you what she reads ; 
 and as you are very capable of distinguishing, 
 take care she does not mistake pert folly for wit 
 and humour, or rhyme for poetry, which are the 
 common errors of young people, and have a train 
 of ill consequences. The second caution to be 
 given her (and which is most absolutely necessary), 
 is to conceal whatever learning she attains, with 
 as much solicitude as she would hide crookedness 
 or lameness : the parade of it can only serve to 
 draw on her the envy, and consequently the most 
 inveterate hatred, of all he and' she fools, which 
 will certainly be at least three parts in four of her 
 acquaintance. The use of knowledge in our sex, 
 beside the amusement of solitude, is to moderate 
 the passions, and learn to be contented with a 
 small expense, which are the certain effects of a 
 studious life ; and it may be preferable even to 
 that fame which men have engrossed to them- 
 selves, and will not suffer us to share. You will 
 tell me I have not observed this rule myself ; but 
 you are mistaken : it is only inevitable accident 
 that has given me any reputation that way. I 
 have always carefully avoided it, and ever thought 
 it a misfortune. The explanation of this para- 
 graph would occasion a long digression, which I 
 will not trouble you with, it being my present 
 design only to say what I think useful for the 
 instruction of my grand-daughter, which I have 
 much at heart. If she has the same inclination 
 (I should say passion) for learning that I was born 
 with, history, geography, and philosophy will fur- 
 nish her with materials to pass away cheerfully a 
 longer life than is allotted to mortals. I believe 
 there are few heads capable of making Sir Isaac 
 Newton's calculations, but the result of them is 
 not difficult to be understood by a moderate capa- 
 city. Do not fear this should make her affect the 
 
 character of Lady , or Lady , or Mrs. 
 
 ; those women are ridiculous, not because 
 
 they have learning, but because they have it not. 
 One thinks herself a complete historian, after 
 reading Echard's Roman History ; another a pro- 
 found philosopher, having got by heart some of 
 Pope's unintelligible essays ; and a third an able 
 divine, on the strength of Whitfield's sermons; 
 thus you hear them screaming politics and con- 
 troversy.' 
 
 It is a saying of Thuoydides, that ignorance is 
 bold, and knowledge reserved. Indeed it is im- 
 possible to be far advanced in it without being 
 
 more humbled by a conviction of human ignorance 
 than elated by learning. At the same time I re- 
 commend books, I neither exclude work nor draw- 
 ing. I think it is as scandalous for a woman not 
 to know how to use a needle, as for a man not to 
 know how to use a sword. I was once extremely 
 fond of my pencil, and it was a great mortification 
 to me when my father turned off my master, having 
 made a considerable progress for the short time I 
 learned. My over-eagerness in the pursuit of it 
 had brought a weakness in mj' eyes, that made it 
 necessary to leave off; and all the advantage I got 
 was the improvement of my hand. I see by hers 
 that practice wiU make her a ready writer : she 
 may attain it by serving you for a secretary, when 
 your health or affairs make it troublesome to you 
 to write yourself; and custom will make it an 
 agreeable amusement to her. She cannot have too 
 many for that station of life which will probably 
 be her fate. The ultimate end of your education 
 was to make you a good wife (and I have the com- 
 fort to hear that you are one) ; hers ought to be 
 to make her happy in a virgin state. I will not 
 say it is happier, but it is undoubtedly safer, than 
 any marriage. In a lottery, where there is (at the 
 lowest computation) ten thousand blanks to a prize, 
 it is the most prudent choice not to venture. I 
 have always been so thoroughly persuaded of this 
 truth, that, notwithstanding the flattering views I 
 had for you (as I never intended you a sacrifice to 
 my vanity), I thought I owed you the justice to 
 lay before you all the hazards attending matri- 
 mony : you may recollect I did so in the strongest 
 manner. Perhaps you may have more success in 
 the instructing your daughter ; she has so much 
 company at home, she will not need seeking it 
 abroad, and will more readily take the notions 
 you think fit to give her. As you were alone in 
 my family, it would have been thought a great 
 cruelty to suffer you no companions of your own 
 age, especially having so many near relations, and 
 I do not wonder their opinions influenced yours. 
 I was not sorry to see you not determined on a 
 single life, knowing it was not your father's inten- 
 tion ; and contented myself with endeavouring to 
 make your home so easy, that you might not be 
 in haste to leave it. 
 
 I am afraid you will think this a very long in- 
 significant letter. I hope the kindness of the 
 design will excuse it, being willing to give you 
 every proof in my power that I am your most 
 affectionate mother. 
 
 From the Poems of Lady Montagu. 
 
 LINES WRITTEN SHOKTLT AFTEE HEE MARRIAGE. 
 
 Wliile thirst of praise, and vain desire of fame 
 In every age is every woman's aim ; 
 With courtship pleased, of silly trifles proud. 
 Fond of a train and happy in a crowd; 
 On each proud fop bestowing some kind glance, 
 Each conquest owing to some loose advance ; 
 While vain coquets affect to be pursued. 
 And think they're virtuous, if not grossly lewd: 
 Let this great maxim be my virtue's guide: 
 In part she is to blame who has been tried, 
 He comes too near who comes to be denied. 
 
 439 
 
MO 
 
 MO 
 
 EEPLT TO pope's IMITATION OF THE FIRST SATIEE 
 OF THE SECOND BOOK OF HORACE. 
 
 ***** 
 Thine is just such an image of his pen, 
 As thou thyself art of the sons of men: 
 Where our own species in burlesque we trace, 
 A sign-post likeneaa of the human race ; 
 That is at once resemblance and disgrace. 
 
 ***** 
 If he has thorns, they all on roses grow, 
 Thine like rude thistles and mean brambles show; 
 With this exception, that, though rank the soil, 
 Weeds as they are, they seem produced by toil. 
 Satire should, like a polished razor keen. 
 Wound with a touch that 's scarcely felt or seen ; 
 Thine is an oyster-knife, that hacks and hews ; 
 
 ***** 
 'Tis the gross lust of hate, that still annoys 
 Without distinction as gross lust enjoys: 
 Neither to folly nor to vice confined, 
 The object of thy spleen is human kind : 
 It preys on all who yield, or who resist. 
 To thee 'tis provocation to exist. 
 
 ***** 
 Not even youth and beauty can control 
 The universal rancour of thy soul; 
 Charms that might soften superstition's rage. 
 Might humble pride, and thaw the ice of age. 
 But how should'st thou by beauty's force be moved. 
 No more for loving made than to be loved? 
 It was the equity of righteous Heaven 
 That such a soul to such a form was given ; 
 And shows the uniformity of fate. 
 That one so odious should be born to hate. 
 —When God created thee, one would believe 
 He said the same as to the snake of Eve ; 
 "To human race antipathy declare, 
 'Twj,\t them and thee be everlasting war." 
 But oh! the sequel of the sentence dread. 
 And while you bruise their heel, beware your head. 
 Nor think thy weakness shall be thy defence. 
 The female scold's protection in offence. 
 Sure 'tis as fair to beat who cannot fight 
 As 'tis to libel those who cannot write; 
 And if thou draw'st thy pen against the law. 
 Others a cudgel or a rod may draw. 
 If none with vengeance yet Ihy crimes pyrsue. 
 Or give thy manifold affronts fheir due ; 
 If limbs unbroken, skin without a stain, 
 Unwhipt. unblanketed, unkicked, unslain, 
 That wretched little carcase you retain, 
 The reason is, not that the world wants eyes, 
 But thou 'rt so mean, they see and they despise 
 When fretted porcupine, with rancorous will 
 From mounted back ehools many a harmless quill, 
 Cool the spectators stand, and all the while 
 Upon the angry little monster smile: 
 Thus 'tis with thee;— while, impotently safe, 
 Vnu strike unwounding, we unhurt can laugh. 
 Who but must laugh, this bully when he sees, 
 A puny insect shivering at a breeze? 
 Or over-match'd by every blast of wind, 
 Insulting and provoking all mankind. 
 
 ***** 
 Like the first, bold assassin's, be thy lot, 
 Ne'er be thy guilt forgiven or forgot; 
 But as thou hat'st, be hated by mankind. 
 And with the emblem of thy crooked mind 
 Marked on thy back, like Cain, by God's own hand, 
 Wander like him accursed through the land. 
 
 EXPERIENCE LATE. 
 
 Wisdom, slow product of laborious years. 
 The only fruit that life's cold winter bears; 
 Thy sacred seeds in vain in youth we lay, 
 By the fierce storm of passion torn away. 
 
 Should some remain in a rich generous soil. 
 They long lie hid, and must be rais'd with toil; 
 Faintly they struggle with inclement skies. 
 No sooner born than the poor planter dies. 
 
 MONTANCLOS, MARIE EMILIB 
 MAYON, MADAME DE, 
 
 Was bom at Aix, in 1736. Her first husband 
 was Baron de Princeu, and her second, Charle- 
 magne Cuvelier Grandin de Montanclos. Being 
 left a widoTv a second time, she devoted herself to 
 literature. She wrote comedies in one act, vaude- 
 villes, and operas, and a periodical work called 
 *' The Ladies' Magazine." She died in 1812, aged 
 seventy- six. 
 
 MONTEGUT, JEANNE DE SEGLA, 
 MADAME DE, 
 
 "Was born at Toulouse, in 1709. She was mar- 
 ried, at sixteen, to M. de Mont^gut, treasurer- 
 general of the district of Toulouse. This lady 
 obtained three times the prize at the floral games 
 of Toulouse, composed odes, letters, poems, and 
 translated almost all the odes of Horace, in verse. 
 She understood Latin, Italian, and English. Her 
 works were published in Paris, in 1768. 
 
 MONTENAY, GEORGETTE DE, " 
 
 Was still young when her father, her mother, 
 and six servants in their house, died of the plague. 
 She had the good fortune to ecape, and Jeanne 
 d'Albret, queen of Navarre, took her in her service 
 as maid of honour. The reading the emblems of 
 Alciat gave this young lady the idea of composing 
 a hundred emblems on Christian or moral subjects, 
 illustrated by verses of her own, which she dedi- 
 cated to Jeanne d' Albert, and which were printed 
 in 1574. 
 
 MONTMORENCY, CHARLOTTE MARGARET, 
 The wife of Cond^, was famous for her beauty, 
 which captivated Henry IV. of France. To escape 
 the importunities of this powerful lover, her hus- 
 band carried her off, on their wedding night, to 
 Brussels, where she remained till Henry's assassi- 
 nation, in 1610. She died in 1650, aged fifty- 
 seven. Her son was the great Cond€. 
 
 MONTESPAN, ATHENAIS MORTI- 
 MER, MADAME DE, 
 
 Was wife of the Marquis de Montespan, and 
 mistress of Louis XIV. Her husband resisted the 
 
 440 
 
MO 
 
 MO 
 
 intrigue with indignation, but banishment from 
 Paris, and fear of despotic power, soon reconciled 
 liim to his disgrace, and 100,000 crowns purchased 
 his wife and his silence. From 1669 to 1675 this 
 woman exercised uncontrolled authority, by her 
 wit and beauty, over the monarch and people of 
 France ; till satiety, and the love of Madame de 
 JIaintenon, alienated the king's regard. Still, 
 however, Madame Montespan continued for some 
 time at court, deprived of her influence, but treated 
 with respect; and she passed her time between 
 her devotions, and drawing up memoirs of what- 
 ever passed at court. She had by the king a son, 
 the duke of Maine, and two daughters, one of 
 whom married the grandson of the great Cond^, 
 and the other the duke de Chartres. The last 
 years of her life were spent away from court, on 
 a pension of a thousand louis a month. She died 
 at Bourbon, 1717, at the age of sixty-six. Her 
 reign was so intolerable and fatal, that the French 
 regarded it as a judgment from heaven. 
 
 Madame de Genlis says concerning her, " Her 
 character was false and her understanding genu- 
 ine. Without sensibility, but an enthusiast, she 
 was either passionate or indifferent ; splendour 
 seemed greatness to her ; she had deep designs 
 and trivial motives ; at once insatiable and frivo- 
 lous in her wishes, she desired to govern, not from 
 ambition, but from love of display." The latter 
 part of her life was spent in expiating the sins of 
 her youth and middle age. She wore bracelets, 
 garters, and a belt with iron points ; her table 
 was frugal, and her linen coarse. She dreaded 
 death so much, that she always slept with lights 
 burning, and surrounded by women, whom she 
 urged constantly to talk, so that if she awoke in 
 the night, she would have no time for reflection. 
 She never would consent to relinquish the appear- 
 ance and state of a queen, which she had once 
 enjoyed. 
 
 MONTPENSIER, ANNE MARIE LOUISE 
 
 D'ORLEANS, DUCHESS DE, 
 Dauohtek of Gaston, duke d'Orleans, brother 
 to Louis XIII., was born 1627. She inherited 
 boldness, intrigue, and impetuosity from her fa- 
 
 ther ; and during the civil wars of the Fronde, she 
 not only embraced the party of the duke de Cond^, 
 but she made her adherents flre the cannon of the 
 Bastile on the troops of Louis XIV. This rash 
 step against the authority of her king and cousin, 
 ruined her hopes, and after in vain aspiring to the 
 hand of a sovereign prince, she, in 1669, married 
 the count de Lauzun, a man much younger than 
 herself. The king, though he had permitted the 
 union, threw obstacles in the way of the lovers, 
 and Lauzun was kept in prison for ten years ; but 
 after the cession of Dombes and Eu, of which the 
 duchess de Montpensier was the sovereign, she 
 was allowed to see her husband. But she was 
 violent and jealous, and Lauzun ungrateful and 
 faithless ; and she at last forbade him to appear 
 in her presence, and retired to a convent. She 
 wrote two romances, and some devotional books. 
 There is also a collection of letters to Madame de 
 Motteville, written by Mademoiselle Montpensier, 
 and her most important work, the " Memoirs," a 
 farrago of curious anecdotes, valuable from the 
 sincerity, good faith, and vivacity with which they 
 are written. These " Memoirs" have been and 
 will be sought for among the literary curiosities 
 of the seventeenth century, though they contain 
 much that is trifling, or rather, mere gossip. She 
 was known by the name of Mademoiselle. 
 
 ■MONTPENSIER, JACQUELIN 
 LONGYIC, DUCHESS DE, 
 
 Was the youngest daughter of John de Longvic, 
 lord of Guny, and was married, in 1538, to Louis 
 de Bourbon, the second of the name, duke de 
 Montpensier. She was a lady of great merit, and 
 a favourite of Catharine de Medicis ; and had she 
 lived, she might have, by her counsels, prevented 
 many of th^ cruel deeds of this princess ; but she 
 died in 1561. She openly avowed, in her last ill- 
 ness, what her husband had long suspected, that 
 she was a Protestant ; and two of her daughters 
 professed the same faith. 
 
 Thuanus praises this lady for her talents, pm- 
 denoe, and masculine understanding. She was 
 intelligent and skilful in the affairs of government, 
 and always solicitous for the public tranquillity. 
 It was to her that the archbishop of Vienna ad- 
 dressed himself, when, foreseeing the ruin of the 
 princes of the blood, during the reign of Francis 
 11., he told her that if she kept not her promise 
 of opposing the house of Guise, all was lost. It 
 was by her influence with Catharine de Medicis, 
 that Michael de I'Hopital was made chancellor of 
 France. " Had this been the only meritorious 
 action of her life," says Bayle, "it ought to have 
 consecrated her memory. No other person could 
 have afforded, in so dangerous a conjuncture, an 
 equal support to the monarchy. The duchess also 
 contributed to the preservation of the life of the 
 prince de Cond^. 
 
 MORATA, OLYMPIA FULVIA, 
 
 Was born at Ferrara, in 1526. Her father, 
 
 preceptor to the young princes of Ferrara, sons 
 
 of Alphonsus I., observing her genius, took great 
 
 pains in cultivating it. 01ympia\was called to 
 
 441 
 
MO 
 
 court for the purpose of studying belles-lettres 
 with the princess of Ferrara, where she astonished 
 the Italians by declaiming in Latin and Greek, 
 explaining the paradoxes of Cicero, and answering 
 any question that was put to her. Her father's 
 death, and the ill health of her mother, withdrew 
 her from court, and she devoted herself to house- 
 hold affairs, and the education of her three sis- 
 ters and a brother. A young German, named 
 Andrew Grunthler, who had studied medicine, 
 and taken his doctor's degree at Ferrara, married 
 her, and took her, with her little brother, to Ger- 
 many. 
 
 They went to Schweinfurt, in Franconia, which 
 was soon after besieged and burnt, and they barely 
 escaped with their liveS: The hardships they 
 suffered in consequence, caused Morata's death in 
 the course of a few months. She died in 1555, in 
 the Protestant faith, which she had embraced on 
 her coming to Germany. Several of her works 
 were burnt at Schweinfurt, but the remainder 
 were collected and published at Basil, 1558, by 
 Cceluis Secundus Curio. They consist of orations, 
 dialogues, letters, and translations. 
 
 MORELLA, JULIANA, 
 A NATn'E of Barcelona, was born in 1595. Her 
 father being obliged to leave Spain for a homicide, 
 fled to Lyons, where he taught his daughter so 
 well, that at the age of twelve, she publicly main- 
 tained theses in philosophy. In her tenth year, 
 she is said to have held a public disputation in 
 the Jesuits' College at Lyons. She was profoundly 
 skilled in philosophy, divinity, music, jurispru- 
 dence, and philology. She entered into the con- 
 vent of St. Prasedia, at Avignon. 
 
 MORE, HANNAH, 
 Distinguished for her talents, and the noble 
 manner in which she exerted them, was the fourth 
 daughter of Mr. Jacob More ; she was born Febru- 
 ary 2d, 1745, at Stapleton, Gloucestershire. Mr. 
 More was a schoolmaster, and gave his daughters 
 the rudiments of a classical education ; but he 
 was a narrow-minded man, and so fearful they 
 ■would become learned women, that he tried by 
 
 MO 
 
 precepts to counteract the effect of his lessons. 
 The elder daughters opened, at Bristol, a board- 
 ing-sch-ool for girls, which was for a long time 
 very flourishing, and at this school Hannah ob- 
 tained the best advantages of education she ever 
 enjoyed. How small these were compared with 
 the opportunities of young men ! And yet what 
 man of her nation and time was so influential for 
 good, or has left such a rich legacy of moral les- 
 sons for the improvement of the world as Hannali 
 More has done ? Her influence has been wonder- 
 ful in this our new world, as well as in her own 
 country ; our mothers were aided by her in teach- 
 ing us in our infancy. "We have felt the effect 
 of her writings ever since we began to reason ; in 
 the nursery, in the school-room, and even in col- 
 lege halls," says an enthusiastic American* wri- 
 ter. "Her looks, her cottage, her air and man- 
 ner, were all enquired after by every youth who 
 read her works ; and for ourselves, we can recol- 
 lect, that a favourite, pious, kind, and affectionate 
 maiden friend of our childhood, was in the exube- 
 rance of our admiration and gratitude, compared 
 in some infant attempts at verse, to Hannah More ; 
 we could go no higher." 
 
 In 1761 Hannah More wrote a pastoral drama, 
 " The Search after Happiness." She was then 
 sixteen ; and though this production was not pub- 
 lished till many years afterwards, yet she may be 
 said to have then commenced her literary career, 
 which till 1824, when her last work, " Spirit of 
 Prayer," was issued, was steadily pursued for 
 sixty-three years. The next important event of 
 her life is thus related by Mrs. Elwood : 
 
 "When about twenty-two years of age, she re- 
 ceived and accepted an offer of marriage from a 
 Mr. Turner, a gentleman of large fortune, but 
 considerably her senior. Their acquaintance had 
 commenced in consequence of some young rela- 
 tions of Mr. Turner's being at the Misses More's 
 school, who generally spent their holidays at their 
 cousin's beautiful residence at Belmont, near Bris- 
 tol, whither they were permitted to invite some 
 of their young friends ; and Hannah and Patty 
 More, being near their own age, were generally 
 among those invited. The affair was so far ad- 
 vanced that the wedding-day was actually fixed, 
 and Hannah, having given up her share in her 
 sister's establishment, had gone to considerable 
 expense in making her preparations, — when Mr. 
 Turner, who appears to have been of eccentric 
 temper, was induced to postpone the completion 
 of his engagement ; and as this was done more 
 than once, her friends at length interfered, and 
 prevailed on her to relinquish the marriage alto- 
 gether, though this waS against the wishes of the 
 capricious gentleman. 
 
 To make some amends for his thus trifling with 
 her affections, Mr. Turner insisted upon being 
 allowed to settle an annuity upon her, which she 
 at first rejected, but subsequently, through the 
 medium of her friend. Dr. Stonehouse, who con- 
 sented to be the agent and trustee, she was at 
 length prevailed on to allow a sum to be settled 
 
 * Samuel L. Knapp, in his •' Female Biography." 
 
 442 
 
MO 
 
 MO 
 
 upon her, whioli should enable her hereafter "to 
 devote herself to the pursuits of literature. 
 
 She had soon after another opportunity of mar- 
 rying, which was declined, and from this time she 
 seems to have formed the resolution, to which she 
 ever afterwards adhered, of remaining single." 
 
 In 1774 she became acquainted with the great 
 tragedian, David Garrick; he and his wife soon 
 formed a warm attachment for the young authoress, 
 invited her to their house in London, and intro- 
 duced her to the literary and fashionable world. 
 She was there presented to Sir Joshua Reynolds, 
 Edmund Burke, and Dr. Johnson; how highly 
 she prized the privilege of such acquaintances 
 may be gathered from her letters. She constantly 
 wrote to her sisters at Bristol, describing in a style 
 of easy elegance whatever interested her in London. 
 
 Speaking of letter-writing, she used to say, 
 " When I want wisdom, sentiment, or information, 
 I can find them much better in books. What I 
 want in a letter is the picture of my friend's mind, 
 and the common-sense of his life. I want to know 
 what he is saying and doing." She added, " that 
 letters among near relations were family newspa- 
 pers, meant to convey paragraphs of intelligence, 
 and advertisements of projects, and not sentimen- 
 tal essays." 
 
 Her first acquaintance with that much-abused 
 class, the publishers, is thus narrated by Mrs. 
 Elwood : 
 
 "Hannah More again visited London, in 1775, 
 and in the course of this year the eulogiums and 
 attentions she had received induced her, as she 
 observed to her sisters, to try her real value, by 
 writing a small poem and offering it to Cadell. 
 The legendary tale of ' Sir Eldred of the Bower' 
 was, accordingly, composed in a fortnight's time, 
 to which she added ' The Bleeding Rock,' which 
 had been written some years previously. Cadell 
 offered her a handsome sum for these poems, tell- 
 ing her if he could discover what Goldsmith re- 
 ceived for the ' Deserted Village,' he would make 
 up the deficiency, whatever it might be. 
 
 Thus commenced Hannah More's acquaintance 
 with Mr. Cadell, who was, by a singular coinci- 
 dence, a native of the same village with herself; 
 and her connexion with his establishment was 
 carried on for forty years." 
 
 In 1782 Hannah More's " Sacred Dramas" were 
 published, with a poem, entitled " Sensibility." 
 As we prefer to present the opinions of acknow- 
 ledged critics in literature, respecting the works 
 of the celebrated female writers, rather than our 
 own, whenever we think the former give a correct 
 and impartial estimate of character and talents, 
 we will here insert an extract from the notice of 
 Hannah More in a late and excellent publication :* 
 
 " All her works were successful, and Johnson 
 said he thought her the best of female versifiers. 
 The poetry of Hannah More is now forgotten, but 
 ' Percy' is a good play, and it is clear that the 
 authoress might have excelled as a dramatic writer, 
 had she devoted herself to that difficult species of 
 composition. In 1786 she published another vo- 
 
 * Chambers' Cyclopedia of English Literature. 
 
 lume of verse, ' Florio, a Tale for Fine Gentlemen 
 and Fine Ladies,' and ' The Bas Bleu, or Conver- 
 sation.' The latter (which Johnson complimented 
 as a great performance) was an elaborate eulogy 
 on the Bas Bleu Club,''' a literary assembly that 
 met at Mrs. Montagu's." 
 
 The following couplets have been quoted as 
 terse and pointed : 
 
 " In men this blunder still you tind, 
 All think their little set mankind." 
 
 " Small habits well pursued betimes, 
 May reach the dignity of crimes." 
 
 Such lines mark the good sense and keen observa- 
 tion of the writer, and these qualities Hannah now 
 resolved to devote exclusively to high objects. 
 The gay life of the fashionable world had lost its 
 charms, and having published her ' Bas Bleu,' 
 she retired to a small cottage and garden near 
 Bristol, where her sisters kept a flourishing board- 
 ing-school. Her first prose publication was 
 ' Thoughts on the Importance of the Manners of 
 the Great to General Society,' produced in 1788. 
 This was followed, in 1791, by an 'Estimate of 
 the Religion of the Fashionable World.' As a 
 means of counteracting the political tracts and 
 exertions of the Jacobins and levellers, Hannah 
 More, in 1794, wrote a number of tales, published 
 monthly, under the title of ' The Cheap Reposi- 
 tory,' which attained to a sale of about a million 
 each number. Some of the little stories (as the 
 ' Shepherd of Salisbury Plain') are well told, and 
 contain striking moral and religious lessons. With 
 the same object, our authoress published a volume 
 called ' Village Politics. ' Her other principal 
 works are — ' Strictures on the Modern System of 
 Female Education,' 1799 ; ' Hints towards Form- 
 ing the Character of a Young Princess,' 1805; 
 ' Coelebs in Search of a Wife, comprehending Ob- 
 servations on Domestic Habits and Manners, Reli- 
 gion and Morals,' two volumes, 1809; 'Practical 
 Piety, or the Influence of the Religion of the Heart 
 on the Conduct of Life,' two volumes, 1811 ; 
 'Christian Morals,' two volumes, 1812; 'Essay 
 on the Character and Writings of St. Paul,' two 
 volumes, 1815; and 'Moral Sketches of Prevail- 
 ing Opinions and Manners, Foreign and Domestic, 
 with Reflections on Prayer,' 1819. The collection 
 of her works is comprised in eleven volumes octavo. 
 The work entitled ' Hints towards Forming th^ 
 Character of a Young Princess,' was written with 
 a view to the education of the princess Charlotte, 
 on which subject the advice and assistance of 
 Hannah More had been requested by queen Char- 
 lotte. Of ' Coelebs,' we are told that ten editions 
 were sold in one year — a remarkable proof of the 
 popularity of the work. The tale is admirably 
 written, with a fine vein of delicate irony and sar- 
 casm, and some of the characters are well de- 
 picted, but, from the nature of the story, it pre- 
 sents few incidents or embellishments to attract 
 ordinary novel-readers. It has not inaptly been 
 styled 'a dramatic sermon.' Of the other publi- 
 cations of the authoress, we may say, with one of 
 
 * See sketch of Elizabeth Montagu, page 432. 
 
 443 
 
MO 
 
 MO 
 
 her critics, ' it would be idle in us to dwell on 
 works so well known as the " Thoughts on the 
 Manners of the Great," the " Essay on the Reli- 
 gion of the Fashionable World," and so on, which 
 finally established Miss More'a name as a great 
 moral writer, possessing a masterly command over 
 the resources of our language, and devoting a 
 keen wit and lively fancy to the best and noblest 
 of purposes.' In her latter days there was per- 
 haps a tincture of unnecessary gloom or severity 
 in her religious views ; yet, when we recollect her 
 unfeigned sincerity and practical benevolence — 
 her exertions to instruct the poor miners and cot- 
 tagers — and the untiring zeal with which she la- 
 boured, even amidst severe bodily infirmities, to 
 inculcate sound principles and intellectual cultiva- 
 tion, from the palace to the cottage, it is impossi- 
 ble not to rank her among the best benefactors of 
 mankind. 
 
 The great success of the different works of our 
 authoress enabled her to live in ease, and to dis- 
 pense charities around her. Her sisters also se- 
 cured a competency, and they all lived together 
 at Barley Grove, a property of some extent, which 
 they purchased and improved. ' From the day 
 that the school was given up, the existence of the 
 whole sisterhood appears to have flowed on in one 
 uniform current of peace and contentment, diver- 
 sified only by new appearances of Hannah as an 
 authoress, and the ups and downs which she and 
 the others met with in the prosecution of a most 
 brave and humane experiment — namely, their 
 zealous efi'ort to extend the blessings of education 
 and religion among the inhabitants of certain vil- 
 lages situated in a wild country some eight or ten 
 miles from their abode, who, from a concurrence 
 of unhappy local and temporary circumstances, 
 had been left in a state of ignorance hardly con- 
 ceivable at the present day.' These exertions 
 were ultimately so successful, that the sisterhood 
 had the gratification of witnessing a yearly festi- 
 val celebrated on the hills of Cheddar, where above 
 a thousand children, with the members of female 
 clubs of industry (also established by them), after 
 attending church service, were regaled at the ex- 
 pense of their benefactors. 
 
 Hannah More died on the 7th of September, 
 1833, aged eighty-eight. She had made about 
 £30,000 by her writings, and she left, by her will, 
 legacies to charitable and religious institutions 
 amounting to £10,000." 
 
 In 1884, " Memoirs of the Life and Correspond- 
 ence of Mrs. Hannah More," by William Roberts, 
 Esq., were published in four volumes. In these 
 we have a full account by Hannah herself of her 
 London life, and many interesting anecdotes." 
 
 From this memoir we select the estimate of 
 Hannah More's moral character : 
 
 " Her love of her country, and her love of her 
 species, were without any alloy of party feelings 
 or prejudices. To her sound and correct under- 
 standing, liberty presented itself as including 
 among its essential constituents loyalty, allegiance, 
 security, and duty. Patriotism, in this view of it, 
 should be placed in the front of her character, 
 since it really took the lead of every other temporal 
 
 object. All the powers of her mind were devoted 
 to the solid improvement of society. Her aims 
 were all practical ; and it would be difficult, per- 
 haps impossible, to name a writer who has laid 
 before the public so copious a variety of original 
 thoughts and reasonings, without any admixture 
 of speculation or hypothesis. To keep within this 
 tangible barrier, without contracting the range of 
 her imagination, or denying to truth any advan- 
 tage to which it is fairly entitled, of illustration 
 or entertainment, is a secret in the art of compo- 
 sition with which few, if any, have been so well 
 acquainted. Her indefatigable pen was ever at 
 work ; kept in motion by a principle of incessant 
 activity, never to stop but with her pulse ; never 
 to need the refreshment of change ; and never to 
 be weary in well-doing. Thus to do good and to 
 distribute was no less the work of her head than 
 of her hand, and the rich and the great were 
 among the objects of her charity. The specific 
 relief of which they stood in need she was ever 
 forward to supply ; and as she had passed so many 
 of her earliest years among them, she knew well 
 their wants, and how to administer to them. She 
 was a woman of business in all the concerns of 
 humanity, refilled or common, special or general, 
 and had a sort of righteous cunning in dealing 
 with different cases ; exposing without irritating, 
 reproving without discouraging, probing without 
 wounding; always placing duty upon its right 
 motives, and showing the perversity of error by 
 bringing it into close comparison with the loveliest 
 forms of truth and godliness." 
 
 As the writings of this excellent woman are 
 widely known, and probably more read in America 
 than England, we shall give few extracts- from her 
 prose works ; but there was one event of her life 
 which should never be forgotten ; we allude to the 
 persecution she met with when she attempted to 
 instruct the poor. The brutal ignorance and de- 
 gradation which then, fifty years ago, (is it much 
 changed now?) characterized the peasantry of 
 England were shocking; but even these do not 
 appear so utterly inhuman as the conduct of the 
 rich farmers, and particularly that of the clergy- 
 men, in Apposing all reforms. Miss More says, 
 in a letter, writing of one of her schools, " It is a 
 parish, the largest in our county or diocess, in a 
 state of great depravity and ignorance. The 
 opposition I have met with in endeavouring to 
 establish an institution for the religious instruc- 
 tion of these people would excite your astonish- 
 ment. The principal adversary is a farmer of 
 £1000 a-year, who says, the lower class are fated 
 to be wicked and ignorant, and that as wise as I 
 am I cannot alter what is decreed." 
 
 She surmounted this opposition ; but then began 
 the persecutions instituted against her by the 
 clergy. These were so vindictive that Miss More 
 appealed to the bishop of Bath and Wells, in whose 
 diocese she was labouring in this mission of cha- 
 rity. We insert a portion of her letter, which, for 
 its masterly exposition of the subject, and firm, 
 yet gentle tone of remonstrance against injustice 
 to the poor, as well as to herself, deserves to be 
 studied. We are compelled to omit the greater part. 
 
MO 
 
 MO 
 
 ***** 
 " When I settled in this country thirteen years 
 ago, I found the poor in many of the villages sunk 
 in a deplorable state of ignorance and vice. There 
 were, I think, no Sunday-schools in the whole dis- 
 trict, except one in my own parish, which had 
 been established by our respectable rector, and, 
 another in the adjoining parish of Churchill. This 
 drew me to the more neglected villages, which, 
 being distant, made it very laborious. Not one 
 school here did I ever attempt to establish without 
 the hearty concurrence of the clergyman of the 
 parish. My plan of instruction is extremely sim- 
 ple and limited. They learn, on week days, such 
 coarse works as may fit them for servants. I allow 
 of no writing for the poor. My object is not to 
 make fanatics, but to train up the lower classes 
 in habits of industry and piety. I knew no way 
 of teaching morals but by teaching principles ; 
 nor of inculcating Christian principles without a 
 good knowledge of Scripture. I own I have 
 laboured this point diligently. My sisters and I 
 always teach them ourselves every Sunday, except 
 during our absence in winter. By being out about 
 thirteen hours, we have generally contrived to 
 visit two schools the same day, and carry them to 
 their respective churches. When we had more 
 schools, we commonly visited them on a Sunday. 
 The only books we use in teaching are two little 
 trlcts called ' Questions for the Mendip Schools' 
 (to be had of Hatchard). 'The Church Cate- 
 chism' (these are framed, and half a dozen hung 
 up in the room). The Catechism, broken into 
 short questions, spelling-books, psalter, common 
 prayer, testament, bible. The little ones repeat 
 'Watts's Hymns.' The Collect is learned every 
 Sunday. They generally learn the Sermon on the 
 Mount, with many other chapters and psalms. 
 Finding that what the children learned at school 
 they commonly lost at home by the profaneness 
 and ignorance of their parents, it occurred to me 
 in some of the larger parishes to invite the latter 
 to come at six on the Sunday evening, for an hour, 
 to the school, together with the elder scholars. A 
 plain printed sermon and a printed prayer is read 
 to them, and a psalm is sung. I am not bribed by 
 my taste, for, unluckily, I do not delight in music, 
 but observing that singing is a help to devotion in 
 others, I thought it right to allow the practice. 
 
 " For many years I have given away, annually, 
 nearly two hundred bibles, common prayer books, 
 and testaments. To teach the poor to read with- 
 out providing them with safe books, has always 
 appeared to me an improper measure, and this 
 consideration induced me to enter upon the labo- 
 rious undertaking of the Cheap Eepository Tracts. 
 " Id some parishes, where the poor are numer- 
 ous, such as Cheddar and the distressed mining 
 villages of Shipham and Kowbarrow, I have insti- 
 tuted, with considerable expense to myself, friendly 
 benefit societies for poor women, which have proved 
 a great relief to the sick and lying-in, especially 
 in the late seasons of scarcity. We have in one 
 parish only, a saving of between two and three 
 hundred pounds (the others in proportion) ; this I 
 have placed out in the funds. The late Lady of 
 
 the Manor at Cheddar, in addition to her kindness 
 to my institutions there during her life, left, at 
 her death, a legacy for the club, and another for 
 the school, as a testimony to her opinion of the 
 utility of both. We have two little annual festivi- 
 ties for the children and poor women of these 
 clubs, which are always attended by a large con- 
 course of gentry and clergy. 
 
 " At one of these public meetings, Mr. Bere de- 
 clared, that since the institution of the schools he 
 could now dine in peace ; for that where he used 
 to issue ten warrants, he was not now called on 
 for two. 
 
 ***** 
 
 " My schools were always honoured with the full 
 sanction of the late bishop ; of which I have even 
 recent testimonials. It does not appear that any 
 one person who has written against them, except 
 Mr. Bere, ever saw them. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 "I need not inform your lordship why the illi- i 
 terate, when they become religious, are more 
 liable to enthusiasm than the better informed. 
 They have also a coarse way of expressing their 
 religious sentiments, which often appears to be 
 enthusiasm, when it is only vulgarity or quaint- 
 ness. But I am persuaded your lordship will 
 allow that this does not furnish a reason why the 
 poor should be left destitute of religious instruc- 
 tion. That the knowledge of the bible should lay 
 men more open to the delusions of fanaticism on 
 the one hand, or of jacobinism on the other, ap- 
 pears so unlikely, that I should have thought the 
 probability lay all on the other side. 
 
 " I do not vindicate enthusiasm ; I dread it. 
 But can the possibility that a few should become 
 enthusiasts be justly pleaded as an argument for 
 giving them all up to actual vice and barbarism ? 
 
 " In one of the principal pamphlets against me, 
 it is asserted that my writings ought to be burned 
 by the hands of the common hangman. In most of 
 them it is affirmed that my principles and actions 
 are corrupt and mischievous in no common de- 
 gree. If the grosser crimes alleged against me 
 be true, I am not only unfit to be allowed to teach 
 poor children to read, but I am unfit to be toler- 
 ated in any class of society. If, on the contrary, 
 the heavier charges should prove not to be true, 
 may it not furnish a presumption that the less are 
 equally unfounded ? There is scarcely any motive 
 so pernicious, nor any hypocrisy so deep, to which 
 my plans have not been attributed ; yet I have 
 neither improved my interest nor my fortune by 
 them. I am not of a sex to expect preferment, 
 nor of a temper to court favour; nor was I so 
 ignorant of mankind as to look for praise by a 
 means so little calculated to obtain it; though, 
 perhaps, I did not reckon on such a degree of 
 obloquy. If vanity were my motive, it has been 
 properly punished. If hypocrisy, I am hastening 
 fast to answer for it at a tribunal, compared with 
 which all human opinion weighs very light indeed : 
 in view of which the sacrifice which I have been 
 called to make of health, peace, and reputation, 
 shrinks into nothing. 
 
 "And now, my lord, I come to what has been 
 
 446 
 
MO 
 
 MO 
 
 the ultimate object of this too tedious letter — a 
 request to know "what is your lordship's pleasure ? 
 I have too high an opinion of your wisdom and 
 candour to suspect the equity of your determina- 
 tion. I know too well what I owe to the station 
 you fill, to dispute your authority or to oppose 
 your commands. If it be your will that my re- 
 maining schools should be abolished, I may lament 
 your decision, but I will obey it. My deep rever- 
 ence for the laws and institutions of my country 
 inspires me with a proportionate veneration for 
 all constituted authorities, whether in church or 
 state. If I be not permitted to employ the short 
 remnant of my life (which has been nearly de- 
 stroyed by these prolonged attacks) in being, in 
 any small measure and degree, actively useful, I 
 will at least set my accusers an example of obe- 
 dience to those superiors whom the providence of 
 God has set over me, and whom, next to Him, I 
 am boimd to obey.* 
 
 EXTRACTS FROM '* HINTS FOR FORMING THE CHA- 
 RACTER OF A YOUNa PRINCESS." 
 
 One of the first lessons that should be incul- 
 cated on the great, is, that God has not sent us 
 into this world to give us consummate happiness, 
 but to train us to those habits which lead to it. 
 High rank lays the mind open to strong tempta- 
 tions ; the highest rank to the strongest. The 
 seducing images of luxury and pleasure, of splen- 
 dour and of homage, of power and independence, 
 are only to be counteracted by a religious educa- 
 tion. The world is too generally entered upon as 
 a scene of pleasure instead of trial. The high- 
 born are taught to enjoy the world at an age when 
 they should be learning to know it ; and to grasp 
 the prize when they should be exercising them- 
 selves for the combat. They look for the sweets 
 of victory when they should be enduring the hard- 
 ness of the conflict. The exalted station of the 
 young princess, by separating her from miscella- 
 neous society, becomes her protection from many 
 of its maxims and practices. From the dangers 
 of her own peculiar situation she should be guard- 
 ed, by being early taught to consider power and 
 influence, not as exempting her from the difficul- 
 ties of life, or ensuring to her a larger portion of 
 its pleasures, but as engaging her in a peculiarly 
 extended sphere of duties, and infinitely increas- 
 ing the demands on her fortitude and vigilance. 
 
 FROM " riORIO." 
 
 Exhausted Plorio, at the age 
 
 Wlieii youth sliould rush on glory's stage, 
 
 When life should open fresh and new, 
 
 And ardent hope her schemes pursue: 
 
 Of youthful gayety bereft, 
 
 Had scarce an unhroach'd pleasure left ; 
 
 He found already to his cost 
 
 The shining gloss of life was lost, 
 
 And pleasure was so coy a prude, 
 
 She fled the more, the more pursued ; 
 
 Or if overtaken and caress'd. 
 
 He loath'd and left her when possess'd. 
 
 But Florio knew the world ; that science 
 
 Sets sense and learning at defiance; 
 
 * Notwithstanding this Christian appeal, Hannah More 
 was compelled to give up her schools. 
 
 He thought the world to him was known. 
 Whereas he only knew the town. 
 In men this blunder still you find, 
 All think their little set — mankind. 
 Though high renown the youth had gain'd, 
 No flagrant crimes his life had stain'd; 
 Though known among a certain set, 
 He did not like to be in debt ; 
 He shudder'd at the dicer's box. 
 Nor thought it very heterodox 
 That tradesmen should be sometimes paid, 
 And bargains kept as well as made. 
 His growing credit, as a sinner. 
 Was that he liked to spoil a dinner; 
 Made pleasure and made business wait, 
 And still by system came too late; 
 Yet 'twas a hopeful indication 
 On which to found a reputation ; 
 Small habits, well pursued, betimes 
 May reach the dignity of crimes; 
 And who a juster claim preferr'd 
 Than one who always broke his word? 
 
 FROM "SENSIBILITY." 
 
 Sweet Sensibility! thou keen delight! 
 Unprompted moral! sudden sense of riglff! 
 Perception exquisite! fair Virtue's seed! 
 Thou quick precursor of the libera] deed! 
 Thou hasty conscience ! reason's blushing morn ! 
 Instinctive kindness ere reflection's born I 
 Prompt sense of equity ! to thee belongs 
 The swift redress of unexamined wrongs! - 
 Eager to serve, the cause perhaps untried, 
 But always apt to choose the suffering side ! 
 To those who know thee not, no words can paint, 
 And those who know thee, know all words are faint 
 
 She does not feel thy power who boasts thy flame, 
 And rounds her every period with thy name ; 
 Nor she who vents her disproportioned sighs 
 With pining Lesbia when her sparrow dies; 
 Nor she who melts when hapless Shore expires, 
 While real misery unrelieved retires! 
 Who thinks feigned sorrows all her tears dqserve. 
 And weeps o'er IVcrtcr while her children starve. 
 
 As words are but the external marks to tell 
 The fair ideas in the mind that dwell. 
 And only are of things the outward sign, 
 And not the things themselves they but define; 
 So exclamations, tender tones, fond tears. 
 And all the graceful drapery 'Feeling wears. 
 These are her garb, not her, they but express 
 Her form, her semblance, her appropriate dress; 
 And these fair marks, reluctant 1 relate. 
 These lovely symbols may be counlerfeit. 
 
 ******* 
 O Love divine! sole source of charity! 
 More dear one genuine deed performed for thee. 
 Than all the periods Feeling e'er could turn. 
 Than all thy touching page, perverted Sterne! 
 Not that by deeds alone this love 's expressed— 
 If so, the affluent only were the blessed; 
 One silent wish, one prayer, one soothing word, 
 The page of mercy shall, well-pleased, record; 
 One soul-felt sigh by powerless pity given, 
 Accepted incense! shall ascend to heaven! 
 
 Since trifles make the sum of human things,' 
 And half our misery from our foibles springs; 
 Since life's best joys consist in peace and case, 
 And though but few can serve, yet all may please ; 
 O let the ungentle spirit learn from hence, 
 A small unkindness is a great offence. 
 To spread large bounties though we wish in vain, 
 Vet all may shun the guilt of giving pain: 
 To bless mankind with tides of flowing wealth, 
 With rank to grace them, or to crown with health, 
 Our little lot denies; yet liberal still. 
 Heaven gives its counterpoise to every ill, 
 
 446 
 
MO 
 
 MO 
 
 Nor let us murmLir at our stinted powers, 
 When kindness, love, and concord may be ours. 
 The gift of minist'ring to other's ease, 
 To all her sons impartial she decrees; 
 Tlie gentle offices of patient love, 
 Beyond all flattery, and all price above; 
 The mild forbearance at a brother's fault, 
 The angry word suppressed, the taunting thought ; 
 Subduing and subdued, the petty strife 
 Which clouds the colour of domestic life; 
 The sober comfort, all tlie peace which springs 
 From the large aggregate of little things; 
 Dn these small cares of daughter, wife, ox friend. 
 The utmost sacred joys of home depend : 
 There, Sensibility, thou best may'st reign, 
 Home is thy true, legitimate domain. 
 
 A mother's love, 
 
 A TENDER mother lives 
 
 In many lives; through many a nerve she feels; 
 Prom child to child the quick affections spread. 
 For ever wandering, yet for ever fixed. 
 Nor does division weaken, nor the force 
 Of constant operation e'er exhaust 
 Parental love. All other passions change 
 With changing circumstance; rise or fall. 
 Dependent on their object; claim returns; 
 Live on reciprocation, and expire 
 Unfed by hope. A mother's fondness reigns 
 Without a rival, and without an end. 
 
 A GOOD CONSCIENCE. 
 
 The ostentatious virtues which still press 
 For notice and for praise ; the brilliant deeds 
 Which live but in the eye of observation, 
 These have their meed at once. But there 's a joy, 
 To the fond votaries of Fame unknown— 
 To hear the still small voice of Conscience speak 
 Us whispered plaudit to the silent soul! 
 
 FAVOUR IS FLEETING. 
 
 Dost thou not know 
 
 That of all fickle Fortune's transient gifts. 
 Favour is most deceitful? 'T is a beam,, 
 Which darts uncertain brightness for a moment ! 
 The faint, precarious, fickle shine of power, 
 Given without merit, by caprice withdrawn. 
 No trifle is so small as what obtains. 
 Save that which loses favour ; 't is a breath. 
 Which hangs upon a smile ! A look, a word, 
 A frown, the air-built tower of Fortune shakes, 
 And down the unsubstantial fabric falls! 
 
 O Faith! thou wonder-working principle- 
 Eternal substance of our present hope, 
 Thou evidence of things invisible ! 
 What cannot man sustain, by thee sustained 1 
 
 Wisdom, whose fruits are purity and peace! 
 Wisdom ! that bright intelligence, which sat 
 Supreme, when with his golden compasses 
 Th' Eternal planned the fabric of the world, 
 Produced his fair idea into light, 
 And said that all was good I Wisdom, blest beam 
 The brightness of the everlasting light! 
 The spotless mirror of tlie power of God ! 
 The reflex image of the all-perfect Mind! 
 A stream translucent, flowing from the source 
 Of glory infinite — a cloudless light!— 
 Defilement cannot touch, nor sin pollute 
 Her unstained purity. Not Ophir's gold. 
 Nor Ethiopia's gems can match her price! 
 The ruby of the mine is pale before her; 
 And like the oil Elisha's bounty blessed. 
 She is a treasure which doth grow by use. 
 
 And multiply by spending. She contains, 
 Within herself, the sum of excellence. 
 
 If riches are desired, wisdom is wealth; 
 If prudence, where shall keen Invention find 
 Artificer more cunning? If renown. 
 In her right hand it comes! If piety. 
 Are not her labours virtues? If the lore 
 Which sage Experience teaches, lo I she scans 
 Antiquity's dark truths ; the past she knows. 
 Anticipates the future; not by arts 
 Forbidden, of Chaldean sorcery. 
 But from the piercing ken of deep Foreknowledge. 
 From her sui;e science of the human heart. 
 She weighs effects with causes, ends with means , 
 Resolving all into the sovereign will. 
 
 TRUST IN GOD. 
 
 Know, God is everywhere: — 
 Through all the vast infinitude of space; 
 At his command the furious tempests rise — 
 He tells the world of waters where to soar; 
 And at his bidding winds and waves are calm. 
 In Him, not in an arm of flesh, I trust; 
 In Him, whose promise never yet has failed, 
 I place my confidence. 
 
 MOTHER ANNA, or ANN OF SAXONY, 
 Was the datigliter of Christian III., king of 
 Denmark. She was born in the year 1531, and 
 as the only daughter of her mother, Dorothea, 
 became the idol of her heart. But the queen, 
 convinced that the best interest of her child must 
 be promoted by a course of education, which wasi 
 calculated to make her not only fit to be called a 
 princess, but also a housewife and a Christian, 
 confided her religious training to the worthy chap- 
 lain, and caused her to be instructed in all domes- 
 tic duties, even such as are now called menial in 
 some circles of society. 
 
 In 1648 she married the elector August of Sax- 
 ony, and became the mother of fifteen children, 
 eleven of "whom she buried before they had attained 
 a mature age. Soon after her marriage, she de- 
 voted herself with all her energy to the mental 
 and moral improvement of her subjects. On all 
 occasions she set them an example of Christian 
 faith, resignation, and patience, often sacrificing 
 her own pleasures and comforts to the welfare 
 and happiness of the people ; and so fully were 
 
 447 
 
MO 
 
 MO 
 
 they aware of it, that they called her only the 
 mother of the country. 
 
 But while she, unitedly with her husband, en- 
 deavoured to raise the standard of education, by 
 multiplying schools, and that of morals, by in- 
 creasing the number of the churches, she neglected 
 not the principal condition of the people. Waste 
 lands were cultivated by her directions, and on 
 one occasion she headed the pioneers, with a spade 
 in her hand, in order to encourage them in a task 
 which was new, and apparently unpromising to 
 them. 
 
 She devoted much of her time to the study of 
 chemistry, natural philosophy, and botany ; and 
 endeavoured, on all occasions, to make her know- 
 ledge contribute to the happiness of her people, 
 and the improvement of their lands. She aided 
 her husband in welcoming and supporting the 
 Dutch exiled cloth and cotton weavers, who had 
 been driven from their homes by religious perse- 
 cution ; and they, in their turn, tontributed to 
 perfect her own manufacturers. 
 
 She accompanied her husband upon his travels, 
 and then they were always provided with the best 
 seed for raising fruit, which they distributed 
 among the people. She induced her husband to 
 pass a law, that every new-married couple must 
 plant and graft two fruit trees during the first 
 year of their marriage. Everywhere she esta- 
 blished schools, apothecaries, and botanical gar- 
 dens. She was also an exemplary housewife, who 
 did not consider it beneath her to attend to the 
 smallest matters in housekeeping. As a specimen, 
 an anecdote is related which illustrates the feel- 
 ings with which servants too often regard a mis- 
 tress who "looks well to the ways of her house- 
 hold." The elector August arrived, one hot sum- 
 nier's day, at a seat where he knew his wife to be. 
 Thirsty and weary, he asked one of the girls, who 
 knew him not, to give him a cup of milk. The 
 girl gave him a cup of skimmed milk, and when 
 he complained of the inferior quality of the article, 
 she replied, " Our old curmudgeon compels us to 
 save the best article^ for herself, and so you must 
 be satisfied." August related this to his wife, 
 who, after she had sent for the girl, reproved her 
 for thus speaking to a stranger : but the girl re- 
 plied, "Had I known that the fellow would be 
 such a scamp as to tell on me, after I gave him 
 my milk, I would have held my tongue." August, 
 who stood behind a screen, stepped forward and 
 said laughingly, 
 
 " Then let us bear, without a grudge, 
 Both, the scamp and the curmudge." 
 
 She fell a victim to her benevolence and Chris- 
 tian duties, during the prevalence of the plague, 
 and died on the 1st of October, 1585. The lower 
 classes of Saxony still speak of her only by the 
 name of Mother Anna. 
 
 MOTTE, REBECCA, 
 Daughtek of Robert Brewton, an English gen- 
 tleman, who had emigrated to South Carolina, 
 was bom in 1738, in Charleston. When about 
 twenty, she married Mr. Jacob Motte, who died 
 soon after the commencement of the revolutionary 
 
 war. Captain McPherson, of the British army, 
 who was in command of the garrison at Fort 
 Motte, had taken possession of the large new 
 house of Mrs. Motte, and fortified it, so that it 
 was almost impregnable. Mrs. Motte herself had 
 been obliged to remove to an old farm-house In 
 
 the vicinity In order to dislodge the garrison 
 before succours could arrive, generals Marion and 
 Lee, who were commanding the American forces 
 there, could devise no means but burning the 
 mansion. This they were very reluctant to do, 
 but Mrs. Motte willingly assented to the proposal, 
 and presented, herself, a bow and its apparatus, 
 which had been imported from India, and was 
 prepared to carry combustible matter. We wiU 
 conclude this scene from the eloquent description 
 of Mrs. Ellet, to whose admirable work* we are 
 indebted for the portrait of Mrs. Motte, and the 
 materials for this sketch. 
 
 " Everything was now prepared for the con- 
 cluding scene. The lines were manned, and an 
 additional force stationed at the battery, to meet 
 a desperate assault, if such should be made. The 
 American entrenchments being within arrow-shot, 
 McPherson was once more summoned, and again 
 more confidently — for help was at hand — asserted 
 his determination to resist to the last. 
 
 The scorching rays of the noon-day sun had 
 prepared the shingle roof for the conflagration. 
 The return of the flag was immediately followed 
 by the shooting of the arrows, to which balls of 
 blazing rosin and brimstone were attached. Simms 
 tells us the bow was put into the hands of Nathan 
 Savage, a private in Marion's brigade. The first 
 struck, and set fire ; also the second and third, in 
 different quarters of the roof. McPherson imme- 
 diately ordered men to repair to the loft of the 
 house, and check the flames by knocking oflF the 
 shingles ; but they were soon driven down by the 
 fire of the six-pounder ; and no other effort to stop 
 the burning being practicable, the commandant 
 hung out the white flag, and surrendered the gar- 
 rison at discretion. 
 
 ' Women of the American Revolution." 
 443 
 
MO 
 
 NE 
 
 If ever a situation in real life aiforded a fit sub- 
 ject for poetry, by filling the mind with a sense 
 of moral grandeur, it was that of Mrs. Motte con- 
 templating the spectacle of her home in flames, 
 and rejoicing in the triumph secured to her coun- 
 trymen — the benefit to her native land, by her 
 surrender of her own interest to the public ser- 
 vice. I have stood upon the spot, and felt that it 
 was indeed classic ground, and consecrated by 
 memories which should thrill the heart of every 
 American. But the beauty of such memories 
 would be marred by the least attempt at omia,ment ; 
 and the simple narrative of that memorable oc- 
 currence has more effect to stir the feelings than 
 could a tale artistically framed and glowing with 
 the richest hues of imagination. 
 
 After the captors had taken possession, McPher- 
 son and his officers accompanied them to Mrs. 
 Motte's dwelling, where they sat down together 
 to a sumptuous dinner. Again, in the softened 
 picture, our heroine is the principal figure. She 
 showed herself prepared, not only to give up her 
 splendid mansion to ensure victory to the Ameri- 
 can arms, but to do her part towards soothing the 
 agitation of the conflict just ended. Her dignified, 
 courteous, and affable deportment adorned the 
 hospitality of her table ; she did the honours with 
 that unaffected politeness which wins esteem as 
 well as admiration; and by her conversation, 
 marked with ease, vivacity and good sense, and 
 the engaging kindness of her manners, endea- 
 voured to . obliterate the recollection of the loss 
 she had been called upon to sustain, and at the 
 same time to remove from the minds of the pri- 
 soners the sense of their misfortunes." 
 
 Another portion of her history is important, as 
 illustrating her high sense of honour, her energy, 
 and patient, self-denying perseverance. Her hus- 
 band, in consequence of the difficulties and dis- 
 tresses growing out of our war for independence,, 
 became embarrassed in his business ; and after 
 his death, and termination of the war, it was found 
 impossible to satisfy these claims. 
 
 " The widow, however, considered the honour 
 of her deceased husband involved in the responsi- 
 bilities he had assumed. She determined to de- 
 vote the remainder of her life to the honourable 
 task of paying the debts. Her friends and con- 
 nexions, whose acquaintance with her affairs gave 
 weight to their judgment, warned her of the ap- 
 parent hopelessness of such an effort. But, stead- 
 fast in the principles that governed all her con- 
 duct, she persevered. Living in an humble dwell- 
 ing, and relinquishing many of her habitual com- 
 forts, she devoted herself with such zeal, untiring 
 industry, and indomitable resolution, to the at- 
 tainment of her object, that her success triumphed 
 over every difficulty, and exceeded the expecta- 
 tions of all who had discouraged her. She not 
 only paid her husband's debts to the full, but se- 
 cured for her children and descendants a handsome 
 and unencumbered estate. Such an example of 
 perseverance under adverse circumstances, for the 
 accomplishment of a high and noble purpose, ex- 
 hibits in yet brighter colours the heroism that 
 shone in her country's days of peril !" 
 2D 
 
 Mrs. Motte died in 1815, at her plantation on 
 the Santee. 
 
 MOTTEVIELB, FRANCES BERTRAND DE, 
 AVas born in Normandy, in 1615. Her wit and 
 agreeable manners recommended her to Anne of 
 Austria, regent of France, who kept her constantly 
 near her. The jealousy of cardinal Richelieu, 
 however, caused her disgrace, and she retired, 
 with her mother, to Normandy, where she married 
 Nicolas Langlois, lord de Motteville, an old man, 
 who died two years after. On the death of Riche- 
 lieu, Anne of Austria recalled her to court. Here 
 she employed herself in writing memoirs of Anne 
 of Austria, giving an apparently correct account 
 of the minority of Louis XI V. , and the interior of 
 a court. She died at Paris, in 1689, aged seventy- 
 five. 
 
 MURATORI, TERESA, 
 Was born at Bologna, in 1662. She early 
 evinced a taste for the fine arts, particularly mu- 
 sic and drawing. She was the daughter of a 
 physician, and successively the scholar of Emilio 
 Taruffi, Lorenzo Pasinelli, and Giovanni Guiseppe 
 dal Sole. She composed many works for the 
 churches at Bologna, the most admirable of whiclf, 
 are, A Dead Child restored to life. The Disbeliefi' 
 of St. Thomas, and the Annunciation. She died, 
 in 1708. 
 
 MUSSASA, 
 A WARLIKE princess, who succeeded her father 
 Dongy, as sovereign of Congo. She dressed her- 
 self as a man, and often led her soldiers to battle 
 and victory, and extended the bounds of her em- 
 pire. She flourished in the seventeenth century. 
 
 N. 
 NEALE, ELIZABETH, 
 An artist mentioned only in De Bic's Golden 
 Cabinet, published in 1662. He speaks of her as 
 painting so well as almost to rival the famous 
 Zeghers; but he does not mention any of her 
 works, nor whether she painted in oil or water 
 colours. 
 
 NECKEB, SUZANNE, 
 Was descended, on the maternal side, from an 
 ancient family in Provence, who had taken refuge 
 in Switzerland on the revocation of the Edict of 
 Nantes. She was born at Grassy, her father, M. 
 Curchod, being the evangelical minister in that 
 little village. He was a very learned man, and 
 trained his daughter with great care, even giving 
 her the severe and classical education usually be- 
 stowed only on men. The young Suzanne Curchod 
 was renowned throughout the whole province for ■ 
 her wit, beauty, and intellectual attainments. 
 
 Gibbon, the future historian, but then an un- 
 known youth studying in Lausanne, met Made- 
 moiselle Curchod, fell in love with her, and suc- 
 ceeded in rendering his attachment acceptable to 
 
 449 
 
NE 
 
 NE 
 
 both the object of his affections and her parents. 
 When he returned, however, to England, his father 
 indignantly refused to hear of the proposed mar- 
 riage between him and the Swiss minister's por- 
 tionless daughter. Gibbon yielded to parental 
 authority, and philosophically forgot his learned 
 
 mistress. After her father's death, which left her 
 otrholly unprovided for, Suzanne Curchod retired 
 with her mother to Geneva. She there earned a 
 precarious subsistence by teaching persons of her 
 own sex. When her mother died, a lady named 
 Madame de Vermenoux induced Mademoiselle 
 •Curchod to come to Faris, in order to teach Latin 
 to her son. It was in this lady's house that she 
 met Necker. He was then in the employment of 
 Th^lusson, the banker, and occasionally visited 
 Madame de Vermenoux. Struck with the noble 
 character and grave beauty of the young governess, 
 Necker cultivated her acquaintance, and ultimately 
 ■made her his wife. Mutual poverty had delayed 
 their marriage for several years ; but it was not 
 long ere Necker rose from his obscurity. Madame 
 Jifecker had an ardent love of honourable distinc- 
 :tion, which she imparted to her husband, and 
 which greatly served to quicken his efforts ; his 
 high talents in financial matters were at length 
 recognised: he became a wealthy and respected 
 man. Shortly after her marriage, Madame Necker 
 expressed the desire of devoting herself to litera- 
 ■ture. Her husband, however, delicately hinted 
 to her that he should regret seeing her adopt such 
 a course. This sufficed to induce her to relinquish 
 her intention: she loved him so entirely, that, 
 without effort or repining, she could make his least 
 wish her law. 
 
 As Necker rose in the world, Madame Necker's 
 influence increased; but it never was an indivi- 
 dual power, like that of Madame du Deffand, or 
 of the Mar^chale de Luxembourg. Over her hus- 
 band, she always possessed great influence. Her 
 virtues and noble character had inspired him with 
 a feeling akin to veneration. He was not wholly 
 guided by her counsels, but he respected her opi- 
 nions as those of a high-minded being, whom all 
 the surrounding folly and corruption could not 
 
 draw down from her sphere of holy purity. If 
 Madame Necker was loved and esteemed by her 
 husband, she may be said to have almost idolized 
 him ; and her passionate attachment probably in- 
 creased the feelings of vanity and self-importance 
 of which Necker has often been accused. This 
 exclusive devotedness caused some wonder amongst 
 the friends of the minister and his wife ; for sel- 
 dom had these sceptical philosophers witnessed a 
 conjugal union so strict and uncompromising, and 
 yet so touching in its very severity. ■ 
 
 When Necker became, in 1776, Director-General 
 of the Finances, his wife resolved that the influ- 
 ence her husband's ofiicial position gave her should 
 not be employed in procuring unmerited favours 
 for flatterers or parasites. She placed before her- 
 self the far more noble object of alleviating misfor- 
 tune, and pointing out to her reforming husband 
 some of the innumerable abuses which then existed 
 in every department of the state. One of her first 
 attempts was to overthrow the lottery. She 
 pressed the point on Necker's attention ; but, 
 though he shared her convictions, he had not the 
 power of destroying this great evil : he did, how- 
 ever, all he could to moderate its excesses. The 
 prisons and hospitals of Paris greatly occupied the 
 attention of Madame Necker during the five years 
 of her husband's power. Her devotedness to the 
 cause of humanity was admirable, and shone with 
 double lustre amidst the heartless selfishness of 
 the surrounding world. She once happened to 
 learn that a certain Count of Lautrec had been 
 imprisoned in a dungeon of the fortress of Ham 
 for twenty-eight years ! and that the unhappy 
 captive now scarcely seemed to belong to human 
 kind. A feeling of deep compassion seized her 
 heart. To liberate a state prisoner was more than 
 her influence could command, but she resolved to 
 lighten, if possible, his load of misery. She set 
 out for Ham, and succeeded in obtaining a sight 
 of M. de Lautrec. She found a miserable-looking 
 man, lying listlessly on the straw of his dungeon, 
 scarcely clothed with a few tattered rags, and 
 surrounded by rats and reptiles. Madame Necker 
 soothed his fixed and sullen despair with promises 
 of speedy relief ; nor did she depart until she had 
 kept her word, and seen M. de Lautrec removed 
 to an abode where, if still a prisoner, he might at 
 least spend in peace the few days left him by the 
 tyranny of his oppressors. 
 
 Acts of individual benevolence were not, how- 
 ever, the only object of the minister's wife. Not- 
 withstanding the munificence of her private chari- 
 ties, she aimed none the less to effect general good. 
 Considerable ameliorations were introduced by 
 her in the condition of the hospitals of Paris. She 
 entered, with unwearied patience, into the most 
 minute details of their actual administration, and, 
 with admirable ingenuity, rectified errors or sug- 
 gested improvements. Her aim was to effect a 
 greater amount of good with the same capital, 
 which she now saw grossly squandered and mis- 
 applied. The reforms which she thus introduced 
 were both important and severe. She sacrificed 
 almost the whole of her time to this praiseworthy 
 task, and ultimately devoted a considerable sum 
 
 450 
 
NE 
 
 NE 
 
 to found the hospital which still bears her name. 
 Beyond this, Madame Neoker sought to exercise 
 no power over her husband, or through his means. 
 She loved him far too ti^uly and too well to aim at 
 an influence which might have degraded him in 
 the eyes of the world. Necker was, however, 
 proud of his noble-hearted wife, and never hesi- 
 tated to confess how much he was indebted to her 
 advice. When he retired from ofBoe, in 1781, and 
 published his famous " Compte Rendu," he seized 
 this opportunity of paying a high and heartfelt 
 homage to the virtues of his wife. "Whilst re- 
 tracing," he observes at the conclusion of his 
 work, " a portion of the charitable tasks prescribed 
 by your majesty, let me be permitted, sire, to al- 
 lude, without naming her, to a person gifted with 
 singular virtues, and who has materially assisted 
 me in accomplishing the designs of your majesty. 
 Although her name was never uttered to you, in 
 all the vanities of high ofiice, it is right, sire, that 
 you should be aware that it is known and fre- 
 quently invoked in the most obscure asylums of 
 suffering humanity. It is no doubt most fortunate 
 for a minister of finances to find, in the companion 
 of his life, the assistance he needs for so many 
 details of beneficence and charity, which might 
 otherwise prove too much for his strength and at- 
 tention. Carried away by the tumults of general 
 aifairs, — often obliged to sacrifice the feelings of 
 the private man to the duties of the citizen, he 
 may well esteem himself happy, when the com- 
 plaints of poverty and misery can be confided to 
 an enlightened person who shares the sentiment 
 of his duties." 
 
 If Madame Necker has not left so remarkable a 
 name as many women of her time ; if her contem- 
 poraries, justly, perhaps, found her too cold and 
 formal ; yet she shines, at least in that dark age, 
 a noble example of woman's virtues — devoted 
 love, truth and purity. She died in 1794, calm 
 and resigned through the most acute sufferings ; 
 her piety sustained her. The literary works she 
 left, are chiefly connected with her charities, or 
 were called forth by the events around her. 
 Among these works are the following : — " Hasty 
 Interments," "Memorial on the Establishment of 
 Hospitals," "Reflections on Divorce," and her 
 "Miscellanies." Her only child was the cele- 
 brated Madame de Stael. 
 
 NELLI, SUOR PLAUTILLA, 
 A Flobentine lady of noble extraction. A 
 natural genius led her to copy the works of Bar- 
 tolomeo di St. Marco, and she became, in conse- 
 quence, an excellent painter. After taking the 
 veil of St. Catharine at Florence, she composed 
 the "Descent from the Cross," and her pictures 
 possess great merit. She died in 1588, aged 
 sixty-five. 
 
 NEMOURS, MARIE D' ORLEANS, 
 
 DUCHESS DE, 
 Daughter of the duke de Longueville, was born 
 in 1625. She wrote some very agreeable " Me- 
 moirs of the War of the Fronde," in which she 
 
 delineates in a masterly manner the principal per- 
 sons concerned — describes transactions with great 
 fidelity, and adds many anecdotes. She married, 
 when very young, the duke de Nemours, and died 
 in 1707. By her virtues, her prudence, and her 
 sagacity in those trying and difficult times, her 
 endowment and taste for polite literature, she 
 reflected lustre on her rank and station. By her 
 address and influence, she recalled her father, 
 who had espoused the cause of the princes of the 
 blood, to his allegiance, and rescued him from his 
 dangerous position. Through all the civil conten- 
 tions that raged around her, the duchess preserved 
 her independence and neutrality. 
 
 NEUBER, CAROLINE, 
 Was born in the year 1692, the daughter of a 
 German lawyer, Weissenborn. Her father was 
 very strict with her, and in her fifteenth year she 
 ran away with a student, a Mr. Neuber, whom she 
 afterwards married. They soon after organized 
 a strolling troop of actors, with which they per- 
 formed at first in "Weissenfels. 
 
 Madame Neuber felt her calling to become the 
 regenerator of the German stage ; she placed her- 
 self at the head of her troop, made laws for it, 
 and introduced better morals among its members. 
 In 1726, she obtained a royal privilege to perform 
 in Dresden and in Leipzig ; she erected her stage 
 in the latter place, and performed the old-fashioned 
 tragedies of the German stage, such as King Octa- 
 vius. Courtship, Fate and Death, The Golden 
 Apple, Nero, &c. After the death of king Augus- 
 tus, 1733, Madame Neuber went to Hamburg. 
 In 1737, she returned to Leipzig, and assumed 
 the reform of the stage, in conjunction with the 
 celebrated author Gottsched. 
 
 The German harlequin was, after a long struggle, 
 banished from the stage, and the victory celebrated 
 by a piece called The Victory of Reason. Her 
 fame spread all over the continent. In 1740, she 
 was invited by Duke Biron, the favourite of Anne 
 of Austria, to come to Courland, and from thence 
 to Petersburg. On her return to Leipzig, she 
 quarrelled with her benefactor, Gottsched, and 
 constant and bitter recrimination was the result ; 
 she even went so far as to burlesque the person 
 of the professor on the stage. From that time, 
 fortune forsook her; she was compelled to dis- 
 band her troop, and died in great poverty, near 
 Dresden, in 1760. 
 
 NEWCASTLE, MARGARET CAVEN- 
 DISH, DUCHESS OF, 
 
 Youngest daughter of Sir Charles Lucas, was 
 born at St. John's, near Colchester, in Essex, 
 towards the latter end of the reign of James I. of 
 England. She lost her father in infancy, but her 
 mother gave her daughters a careful education. 
 Margaret early displayed a taste for literature, to 
 which she devoted most of her time. In 1643, 
 she was chosen maid of honour to Henrietta 
 Maria, wife to Charles I. The family of Lucases 
 being loyal, Margaret accompanied her royal mis- 
 tress when driven from England to her native 
 country. At Paris, she married, in 1645, the 
 
 451 
 
NE 
 
 NE 
 
 marquis of Newcastle, then a widower, and went 
 with him to Rotterdam, and afterwards to Ant- 
 werp, where they continued during the remainder 
 of the exile ; through which time they were often 
 in great distress, from the failure of the rents 
 due her husband. 
 
 On the accession of Charles II., the marquis, 
 after sixteen years' absence, returned to England. 
 The marchioness remained at Antwerp to settle 
 their affairs ; and having done this successfully, 
 she rejoined her husband, and the remainder of 
 her life was spent in tranquillity, and the cultiva- 
 tion of literature. She kept a number of young 
 ladies in her house, and some of them slept near 
 her room, that they might be ready to rise at the 
 sound of her bell, and commit to paper any idea 
 that occurred to her. She produced no less than 
 thirteen folios, ten of which are in print. She 
 says of herself, " That it pleased God to command 
 his servant. Nature, to endow her with a poetic 
 and philosophical genius even from her birth, for 
 she did write some books even in that kind before 
 she was twelve years of age." 
 
 Her speculations must at least have had the 
 merit of originality, since she was nearly forty, 
 she tells us, before she had read any philosophical 
 authors. One of her maxims was, never to revise 
 her own works, "lest it should disturb her follow- 
 ing conceptions." 
 
 Her writings, though now almost forgotten, 
 were received with the most extravagant enco- 
 miums, from learned bodies and men of eminent 
 erudition. Whatever may be the foundation of 
 this lady's pretension to philosophy, she certainly 
 added to acuteness of mind, great imagination 
 and powers of invention ; but she was deficient in 
 judgment, correctness, and cultivation. She com- 
 posed plays, poems, orations, and philosophical 
 discourses. Among these were, " The World's 
 Olio," "Nature's Picture, drawn by Fancy's Pen- 
 cil to the Life," " Orations of divers sorts, accom- 
 modated to divers places," "Plays," "Philoso- 
 phical and Physical Opinions," " Observations 
 upon Experimental Philosophy;" to which is 
 added, " The Description of a New World," 
 "Philosophical Letters," "Poems and Phancies," 
 
 " CCXI Sociable Letters," " The Life of the thrice 
 noble, high, and puissant prince, William Caven- 
 dish, duke, marquis, and earl of Newcastle ; earl 
 of Ogle, viscount Mansfield, and baron of Bolsover, 
 of Ogle, Bothal, and Hepple ; gentleman of his 
 majesty's bed-chamber; one of his majesty's most 
 honourable privy-council ; knight of the most noble 
 order of the Garter ; his majesty's lieutenant in 
 Ayre Trent North; who had the honour to be 
 governor to our most glorious king and gracious 
 sovereign in his youth, when he was prince of 
 Wales ; and soon after was made captain-general 
 of aU the provinces beyond the river of Trent, and 
 other parts of the kingdom of England, with 
 power, by a special commission, to make knights. 
 Written by the thrice noble and excellent princess, 
 Margaret, duchess of Newcastle, his wife." 
 
 This work, styled "the crown of her labours," 
 was translated into Latin, and printed in 1667. 
 She also wrote a great number of plays. The 
 duchess died in 1673, and was buried, January 7th, 
 1674, in Westminster Abbey. She was graceful 
 in her person, and humane, generous, pious, and 
 industrious, as the multitude of her works prove. 
 She says of herself, in one of her last works, " I 
 imagine all those who have read my former books 
 will say I have writ enough, unless they were 
 better; but say what you will, it pleaseth me, 
 and, since my delights are harmless, / will satisfy 
 my humour. 
 
 "For had my brain as many fancies in 'I 
 To fill the world, I'd put them all in print; 
 No matter whether they be well or ill exprest. 
 My will is done, and that please woman best." 
 
 Her prose writings are too diffuse for extracts ; 
 we might give pages to find an idea worth trans- 
 cribing. Her merits and peculiarities as a poetical 
 writer may be seen in the following selections ; 
 the first from " The Pastime and Recreation of the 
 > Queen of Fairies in Fairy-land, the centre of the 
 earth." 
 
 QtJEEN MAB. 
 
 Queen Mab and all her company 
 
 Dance on a pleasant mole hill high, 
 
 To small straw pipes wherein great pleasure 
 
 They take and keep time, just time and measure ; 
 
 All hand in hand, around, around. 
 
 They dance upon the fairy-ground ; 
 
 And when she leaves her dancing hall, 
 
 She doth for her attendants call, 
 
 To wait upon her to a bower, 
 
 Where she doth sit under a flower, 
 
 To shade her from the moonshine bright, 
 
 Where gnats do sing for her delight : 
 
 The whilst the bat doth fly about 
 
 To keep in order all the rout. 
 
 A dewy waving leaf's made fit 
 
 For the queen's bath, where she doth sit, 
 
 And her white limbs in beauty show. 
 
 Like a new fallen flake of snow ; 
 
 Her maids do put her garments on, 
 
 Made of the pure light from the sun. 
 
 Which do so many colours take. 
 
 As various objects shadows make. 
 
 MIRTH AND MELANCHOLY 
 
 Is another of these fanciful personifications. 
 The former woos the poetess to dwell with her, 
 promising sport and pleasure, and drawing a 
 
 452 
 
NE 
 
 NE 
 
 gloomy but forcible and poetical sketch of her 
 rival, Melancholy : — 
 
 Her voice is low, and gives a hollow sound ; 
 She hates the light, and is in darkness found ; 
 Or sits with blinking lamps, or tapers small, 
 Which various shadows make against the wall. 
 She loves nought else but noise which discord makes, 
 As croaking frogs whose dwelling is in lakes ; 
 The raven's hoarse, the mandrake's hollow groan, 
 And shrieking owls which fly i' the night alone ; 
 The tolling bell, which for the dead rings out; 
 A mill, where rushing waters run about; 
 The roaring winds, which shake the cedars tall, 
 Plough up the seas, and beat the rocks withal. 
 She loves to walk in the still moonshine night, 
 And in a thick dark grove she takes delight ; 
 In hollow caves, thatch'd houses, and low cells, 
 She loves to live, and there alone she dwells. 
 
 Melancholy thus describes her own dwelling : — 
 
 I dwell in groves that gilt are with the sun ; 
 
 Sit on the tianks by which clear waters run ; 
 
 In summers hot down in a shade I lie; 
 
 My music is the buzzing of a fly ; 
 
 I walk in meadows, where grows fresh green grass; 
 
 In fields, where corn is high, I often pass ; 
 
 Walk up the hills, where round I prospects see. 
 
 Some brushy woods, and some all champaigns be; 
 
 Returning back, I in fresh pastures go. 
 
 To hear how sheep do bleat, and cows do low ; 
 
 In winter coid, when nipping frosts come on. 
 
 Then I do live in a small house alone ; 
 
 Although 'tis plain, yet cleanly 'tis within. 
 
 Like to a soul that's pure, and clear from sin ; 
 
 And there I dwell in quiet and still peace. 
 
 Not filled with cares how riches to increase ; 
 
 I wish nor seek for vain and fruitless pleasures ; 
 
 No riches are, but what the mind intreasures. 
 
 Thus am I solitary, live alone. 
 
 Yet better lov'd, the more that I am known ; 
 
 And though my face ill-favour'd at first sight. 
 
 After acquaintance, it will give delight. 
 
 Refuse me not, for I shall constant be; 
 
 Maintain your credit and your dignity. 
 
 NEWELL, HARRIET, 
 
 The first American heroine of the missionary 
 enterprise, was born at Haverhill, Massachusetts, 
 October 10th, 1793. Her maiden name was At- 
 wood. In 1806, -while at school at Bradford, she 
 became deeply impressed with the importance of 
 religion; and, at the age of sixteen, she joined 
 the church. On the 9th of February, 1812, Har- 
 
 riet Atwood married the Rev. Samuel Newell, 
 missionary to the Burman empire ; and in the 
 same month, Mr. and Mrs. Newell embarked with 
 their friends, Mr. and Mrs. Judson, for India. On 
 the arrival of the missionaries at Calcutta, they 
 were ordered to leave by the East India company ; 
 and accordingly Mr. and Mrs. Newell embarked 
 for the Isle of France. Three weeks before reach- 
 ing the island she became the mother of a child, 
 which died in five days. On the 30th of Novem- 
 ber, seven weeks and four days after her confine- 
 ment, Mrs. Harriet Newell, at the age of twenty^ 
 expired, far from her home and friends. She was 
 one of the first females who ever went from this 
 country as a missionary ; and she was the first 
 who died a martyr to the cause of missions. That 
 there is a time, even in the season of youth and 
 the flush of hope, when it is " better to die than 
 to live," even to attain our wish for this world, 
 Harriet Newell is an example. Her most earnest 
 wish was to do good for the cause of Christ, and 
 be of service in teaching his gospel to the heathen. 
 Her early death has, apparently, done this, better 
 and more effectually, than the longest life and 
 most arduous labours of any one of the noble baud 
 of American women who have gone forth on this 
 errand of love and hope. In the language of a 
 recent writer on this subject, "Heroines of the 
 Missionary Enterprise," Harriet Newell was the 
 great proto-martyr of American missions. She 
 fell, wounded by death, in the very vestibule of 
 the sacred cause. Her memory belongs, not to 
 the body of men who sent her forth, not to the 
 denomination to whose creed she had subscribed, 
 but to the church, to the cause of missions. With 
 the torch of Truth in her hand, she led the way 
 down into a valley of darkness, through which 
 many have followed. Her work was short, her 
 toil soon ended ; but she fell, cheering by her 
 dying words and her high example, the missiona- 
 ries of all coming time. She was the first, but not 
 the only martyr. Heathen lands are dotted over 
 with the graves of fallen Christians ; missionary 
 women sleep on almost every shore, and the bones 
 of some are whitening in the fathomless depths 
 of the ocean. 
 
 Never will the influence of the devoted woman 
 whose life and death are here pourtrayed, be esti- 
 mated properly, until the light of an eternal day 
 shall shine on all the actions of men. We are to 
 measure her glory, not by what she suff'ered, for 
 others have suff'ered more than she did. But we 
 must remember that she went out when the mis- 
 sionary enterprise was in its infancy, — when even 
 the best of men looked upon it with suspicion. 
 The tide of opposition she dared to stem, and with 
 no example, no predecessor from American shores, 
 she went out to rend the veil of darkness which 
 gathered over all the nations of the Bast. 
 
 Things have changed since then. Our mission- 
 aries go forth with the approval of all the good ; 
 and the odium which once attended such a life is 
 swept away. It is to some extent a popular thing 
 to be a missionary, although the work is still one 
 of hardship and suffering. It is this fact which 
 gathers such a splendour around the name of 
 
 453 
 
NO 
 
 OB 
 
 Harriet Newell, and invests her short eventful 
 life with such a charm. She went when no foot 
 had trodden out the path, and was the first Ame- 
 rican missionary ever called to an eternal reward. 
 While she slumbers in her grave, her name is 
 mentioned with affection by a missionary church. 
 And thus it should be. She has set us a glorious 
 example ; she has set an example to the church in 
 every land and age, and her name will be mingled 
 with the loved ones who are falling year by year ; 
 and if when the glad millennium comes, and the 
 earth is converted to God, some crowns brighter 
 than others shall be seen amid the throng of the 
 ransomed, one of those crowns will be found upon 
 the head of Harriet Newell." 
 
 " History is busy with us," said Marie Antoi- 
 nette ; and the hope that her heroic endurance 
 of ignominy and suffering would be recorded, and 
 ensure the pity and admiration of a future age, 
 doubtless nerved her to sustain the dignity of a 
 queen throughout the deep tragedy of her fate. 
 
 The noblest heroism of a woman is never thus 
 self-conscious. The greatest souls, those who 
 elevate humanity and leave a track of light — " as 
 stars go down" — when passing away from earth, 
 never look back for the brightness. A woman 
 with such a soul is absorbed in her love for others, 
 and in her duty towards God. She does what she 
 can, feeling constantly how small is the mite she 
 gives ; and the worth which it is afterwards disco- 
 vered to bear would, probably, astonish the giver 
 far more than it does the world. 
 
 Harriet Newell died at the early age of twenty, 
 leaving a journal and a few letters, the record of 
 her religious feelings and the events of her short 
 missionary life. These fragments have been pub- 
 lished, making a little book. Such is her contri- 
 bution to literature ; yet this small work has been 
 and is now of more importance to the intellectual 
 progress of the world than all the works of Ma- 
 dame de Stael. The writings of Harriet Newell, 
 translated into several tongues, and published in 
 many editions, have reached the heart of society, 
 and assisted to build up the throne of woman's 
 power, even the moral influence of her sex over 
 men ; and their intellect can never reach its high- 
 .est elevation but through the medium of moral 
 cultivation. 
 
 NOEDEN-FLEICHT, CHEDERIG 
 CHAKLOTTE DE, 
 
 A NATIVE of Stockholm, Sweden, celebrated 
 among her countrymen for her poems. Besides 
 an ingenious "Apology for Women," a poem, she 
 wrote " The Passage of the Belts," two straits in 
 the Baltic, over which, when frozen, king Charles 
 GustavuB marched his army in 1658. She died, 
 June 29th, 1793, aged forty-four. 
 
 NORTON, LADY FRANCES 
 Was descended from the Frekes of Dorsetshire, 
 England, and married Sir George Norton, of So- 
 mersetshire, by whom she had three children. On 
 the death of her daughter, who had married Sir 
 Richard Gethin, she wrote " The Applause of 
 Virtue," and "Memento Mori, or Meditations on 
 
 Death." She took for her secmd husband Colonel 
 Ambrose Norton, and for her fliird Mr. Jones, and 
 died in 1720, aged about seventy. 
 
 0. 
 
 OBERLIN, MADELINE SALOME, 
 
 Distinguished for her intelligence, piety, and 
 the perfect unison of soul which she enjoyed with 
 her husband, the good and great John Frederic 
 Oberlin, was born at Strasburg, in France. Her 
 father, M. Witter, a man of property, who had 
 married a relative of the Oberlin family, gave 
 his daughter an excellent education. John James 
 Oberlin was the pastor of Waldbach, a small vil- 
 lage in the Ban de la Roche, or Valley of Stones, 
 a lonely, sterile place, in the north-eastern part 
 of France. Here he devoted himself to the duties 
 of his holy office, doing good to all around him. 
 Under his care and instruction, the poor ignorant 
 peasantry became pious, industrious, and happy. 
 In all his actions he followed what he believed to 
 be a divine influence, or the leadings of provi- 
 dence ; and his courtship and marriage were 
 guided by his religious feelings. Oberlin's sister 
 resided with him at Waldbach, and managed his 
 house. Madeleine Witter came to visit Sophia 
 Oberlin. Miss Witter was amiable, and her mind 
 had been highly cultivated ; but she was fond of 
 fashion and display. Twice had Frederic Oberlin 
 declined to marry young ladies who had been 
 commended to him, because he had felt an inward 
 admonition that neither of these was for him. 
 But now, when Madeleine came belbre him, the 
 impression was different. Two days prior to her 
 intended departure, a voice seemed to whisper 
 distinctly, "Take her for thy partner!" "It is 
 impossible," thought he ; " our dispositions do 
 not agree." Still the secret .voice whispered, 
 " Take her for thy partner !" He slept little that , 
 night; and in his morning prayer, he earnestly 
 entreated God to give him a sign whether this 
 event was in accordance with the Divine wiU ; 
 solemnly declaring that if Madeleine acceded to 
 the proposition with great readiness, he should 
 consider the voice he had heard as a leading of 
 Providence. 
 
 He found his cousin ia the garden, and imme- 
 diately began the conversation by saying, " You 
 are about to leave us, my dear friend. I have 
 received an intimation that you are destined to be 
 the partner of my life. Before you go, will you 
 give me your candid opinion whether you can re- 
 solve upon this step ?" 
 
 With blushing frankness, Madeleine placed her 
 hand within his ; and then he knew that she would 
 be his wife. 
 
 They were married on the 6th of July, 1768. 
 Miss Witter had always resolved not to marry a 
 clergyman ; but she was devotedly attached to her 
 excellent husband, and cordially assisted in all his 
 plans. No dissatisfaction at her humble lot, no 
 complaints of the arduous duties belonging to their 
 peoullar eituation, marred their mutual happiness., 
 a, > 454 
 
OB 
 
 ON 
 
 They were far remoTed from the vain excitements 
 and tinsel splendour of the world ; they were sur- 
 rounded by the rude, illiterate peasantry; and 
 every step in improvement was contested by igno- 
 rance and prejudice ; but they were near each 
 other, and both were near to God. 
 
 The following prayer, written soon after their 
 union, shows what spirit pervaded their peaceful 
 dwelling. 
 
 Prayer of Oberlin and his Wife, for the Blessing and 
 Grace of God. 
 
 " Holy Spirit ! descend into our hearts ; assist 
 us to pray with fervour from our inmost souls. 
 Permit thy children, Oh, gracious Father, to pre- 
 sent themselves before thee, in order to ask of 
 thee what is necessary for them. May we love 
 each other only in thee, and in our Saviour Jesus 
 Christ, as being members of his body. Enable us 
 at all times, to look solely to thee, to walk before 
 thee, and to be united together in thee ; that thus 
 we may grow daily, in the spiritual life. 
 
 " Grant that we may be faithful in the exercise 
 of our duties, that we may stimulate each other 
 therein, warning each other of our faults, and 
 seeking together for pardon in the blood of Jesus 
 Christ. When we pray together, (and may we 
 pray much and frequently,) be thou, Lord Jesus, 
 with us ; kindle our fervour, Heavenly Father, 
 and grant us, for the sake of Jesus Christ, what- 
 ever thy Holy Spirit shall teach us to ask. 
 
 " Seeing that in this life, thou hast placed the 
 members of our household under our authority, 
 give us wisdom and strength to guide them in a 
 manner conformable to thy will. May we always 
 set them a good example, following that of Abra- 
 ham, who commanded his children and his house- 
 hold after him, to keep the way of the lord, in 
 doing what is right. If thou givest us children, 
 and preservest them to us, grant us grace to 
 bring them up tq thy service, to teach them early 
 to know, to fear, and to love thee, and to pray to 
 that God who has made a covenant with them, 
 that, conformably to the engagement which will 
 be undertaken for them at their baptism, they 
 may remain faithful from the cradle to the grave. 
 Heavenly Father, may we inculcate thy word, 
 according to thy will, all our lives, with gentle- 
 ness, love and patience, both at their rising up 
 and lying down, at home and abroad, and under 
 all circumstances ; and do thou render it meet for 
 the children to whom thou" hast given life only as 
 a means of coming to thee. 
 
 "And when we go together to the Holy Supper, 
 ever give us renewed grace, renewed strength, 
 and renewed courage, for continuing to walk in 
 the path to heaven ; and, as we can only approach 
 thy table four times in the year, grant that in 
 faith we may much more frequently be there, yes, 
 every day and every hour ; that we may always 
 keep death in view, and always be prepared for 
 it ; and if we may be permitted to solicit it of 
 thee, grant that we may not long be separated 
 from each other, but that the death of the one 
 may be speedily, and very speedily, followed by 
 that of the other. 
 
 " Hear, gracious Father, in the name of Jesus 
 Christ, thy well-beloved son. And, merciful 
 Redeemer, may we both love thee with ardent 
 devotion, always walking and holding communion 
 with thee, not placing our confidence in our own 
 righteousness and in our own works, but only in 
 thy blood and in thy merits. Be with us ; pre- 
 serve us faithful ; and grant. Lord Jesus, that we 
 may soon see thee. Holy Spirit, dwell always in 
 our hearts ; teach us to lift our thoughts continu- 
 ally to our gracious Father ; impart to us thy 
 strength, or thy consolation, as our wants may be. 
 And to thee, to the Father, and to the Son, be 
 praise, honour, and glory, for ever and ever. 
 Amen." 
 
 For sixteen years Mrs. Oberlin was a beloved 
 friend and useful assistant to her husband. In 
 their tastes and pursuits, in their opinions and 
 feelings, they became entirely one. She managed 
 his household discreetly, educated their children 
 judiciously, and entered into all his benevolent 
 plans with earnestness and prudence. 
 
 She died suddenly, in January, 1784, a few 
 weeks after the birth of her ninth and last child. 
 Her death was deeply mourned in the Ban de la 
 Roche, for her assistance and sympathy had al- 
 ways been freely oifered to the poor and the 
 afflicted. 
 
 Oberlin survived his wife forty-two years ; but 
 never separated himself from her memory. He 
 devoted several hours every day to thoughts of 
 her ; and held, as he thought, communion with 
 her soul. Thus holy and eternal may be the true 
 love of husband and wife. 
 
 OLDFIBLD, ANNE, 
 
 A CELEBKATED English actress, was born in 
 Pall-Mail in 1683. Her father, an oflcer in the 
 army, left her poor ; but the sweetness of her 
 voice, and her inclination for the stage noticed by 
 Farquhar, the comic writer, decided her destiny. 
 She became the mistress of Mr. Maynwaring, and 
 after his death, of General Churchill. But, not- 
 withstanding these derelictions, she w^s humane 
 and benevolent in the highest degree, and a real 
 friend to the indigent Savage, on whom she be- 
 stowed an annuity, although he had not the most 
 remote claim upon her beyond his poverty and his 
 genius. She died in 1730, and was buried in 
 Westminster Abbey with great pomp. She left 
 two sons, one by each of the gentlemen with whom 
 she lived, and to whom she behaved with the duty, 
 fidelity, and attachment of a wife. 
 
 O'NEILL, MISS, 
 
 Was born in Ireland, about 1791. Her father 
 was the stage-manager of the Drogheda theatre ;. 
 and she was introduced on the boards at an early 
 age. When quite young she went to Dublin, where 
 her personation of Juliet, in Shakspeare's play of 
 Romeo and Juliet, established her reputation. She 
 was engaged at one of the principal London thea- 
 tres ; and she soon became one of the most popu- 
 lar actresses of the day. At the time of her leaving, 
 the stage, on her marriage with W. Beoher, Esq.,. 
 M. P., she was in the receipt of £12,000 a-year;. 
 
OP 
 
 OP 
 
 the whole profits of which she is said to have dis- 
 tributed among her numerous relations. 
 
 OPIE, AMELIA, 
 
 Was born in Norwich, England, in 1771. Her 
 father was Dr. Alderson, a distinguished physician. 
 She evinced her talents at a very early age, but 
 published very little before her marriage, which 
 took place in 1798, when she espoused Mr. Opie, 
 the celebrated portrait-painter. In 1801, she 
 wrote " The Father and Daughter," which went 
 through many editions, and is still popular. In 
 1802, she wrote a volume of poems; and after- 
 wards, "Adeline Mowbray, or the Mother and 
 Daughter," "Simple Tales," "Dangers of Co- 
 quetry," and " Warrior's Return, and other 
 Poems." Her husband died in 1808; after which, 
 she published his lectures, with a memoir of his 
 life, and a novel called " Temper, or Domestic 
 Scenes." Mrs. Opie was a pleasing poetess ; many 
 of her songs attained great popularity, though 
 now nearly forgotten. She joined the Quakers or 
 Friends, and withdrew partially from society, after 
 1826; but visiting Paris, she was induced to fix 
 her residence in that gay city. Miss Sedgwick, 
 in her "Letters from Abroad," published in 
 1841, thus notices Mrs. Opie, whom she met in 
 Paris: — ■ 
 
 " I owed Jlrs. Opie a grudge for having made 
 me in my youth cry my eyes out over her stories ; 
 but her fair, cheerful face forced me to forget it. 
 She long ago forswore the world and its vanities, 
 and adopted the Quaker faith and costume ; but 
 I fancied that her elaborate simplicity, and the 
 fashionable little train to her pretty satin gown, 
 indicated how much easier it is to adopt a theory 
 than to change one's habits." 
 
 In 1828, Mrs. Opie published a moral treatise, 
 entitled "Detraction Displayed," in order to ex- 
 pose that " most common of aU vices," which she 
 says justly is found "in every class or rank in 
 society, from the peer to the peasant, from the 
 master to the valet, from the mistress to the maid, 
 from the most learned to the most ignorant, from 
 the man of genius to the meanest capacity." The 
 tales of this lady have been thrown into the shade 
 by the brilliant fictions of Scott, the stronger moral 
 delineations of Miss Edgeworth, and the generally 
 masculine character of our more modern literature. 
 She is, like Mackenzie, too uniformly pathetic and 
 tender. " She can do nothing well," says Jeffrey, 
 "that requires to be done with formality, and 
 therefore has not succeeded in copying either the 
 concentrated force of weighty and deliberate rea- 
 son, or the severe and solemn dignity of majestic 
 virtue. To make amends, however, she represents 
 admirably every thing that is amiable, generous, 
 and gentle." Perhaps we should add to this the 
 power of exciting and harrowing up the feelings 
 in no ordinary degree. Some of her short tales 
 are full of gloomy and terrific painting, alternately 
 resembling those of Godwin and Mrs. Eadcliffe. 
 Mrs. Opie died in 1849. 
 
 The following extract from "A Wife's Duty," 
 gives a good idea of her style and manner of 
 story-telling, which is the true title of her prose 
 
 productions. Seymour and Helen Pendarves had 
 married for love. 
 
 TWO TEARS or WEDDED LIFE. 
 
 The first twelve months of my wedded life (the 
 wife tells the story) were halcyon days ; and the 
 first months of marriage are not often such — per- 
 haps they never are — except where the wedded 
 couple are so young that they are not trammelled 
 in habits which are likely to interfere with a spirit 
 of accommodation ; nor even then, probably, un- 
 less the temper is good, and yielding on both 
 sides. It usually takes some time for the husband 
 and wife to know each other's humours and habits, 
 and to find what surrender of their own they can 
 make with the least reluctance for their mutual 
 good. But we had youth, and (I speak it not as 
 a boast) we had good temper, also. Seymour, 
 you know, was proverbially good-natured ; and I, 
 though an only child, had not had my naturally 
 happy temper ruined by injudicious indulgence. 
 
 You know that Seymour and I went to Paris, 
 and thence to Marseilles, not very long after we 
 married, and returned in six months to complete 
 the alterations which we had ordered to be made 
 in our house, under the superintendence of my 
 mother. 
 
 We found the alterations really deserving the 
 name of improvements, and Seymour enthusiastic- 
 ally exclaimed, "0, Helen! never, never will we 
 leave this enchanting place. Here let us live, my 
 beloved, and be the world to each other." 
 
 My heart readily assented to this delightful pro- 
 position, but even then my judgment revolted at it. 
 
 I felt, I knew that Pendarves loved, and was 
 formed for society. I was sure, that by beginning 
 our wedded life with total seclusion, we should 
 only prepare the way for utter distaste to it ; and, 
 concealing my own inclinations, I told him I must 
 stipulate for three months of London every spring. 
 My husband started with surprise and mortifica- 
 tion at this un-romantic reply to his sentimental 
 proposal, nor could he at all accede to it ; but he 
 complained of my passion for London to my mother, 
 while the country, with me for his companion, was 
 quite sufficient for his happiness. 
 
 " These are early times yet," replied my mother, 
 coldly ; and Seymour was not satisfied with the 
 mother or the daughter. 
 
 " Seymour," said I, one day, "since you have 
 declared against keeping any more terms, and will 
 therefore not read much law till you become a 
 justice of the peace, tell me how you mean to 
 employ your time ?" 
 
 "Why, in the first place," said he, "I shall read 
 or write. But my first employment shall be to 
 teach you Spanish. I cannot endure to think that 
 De Walden taught you Italian, Helen." 
 
 " But you taught me to love, you know; there- 
 fore you ought to forgive it." 
 
 " No ; I cannot rest till I have helped to com- 
 plete your education." 
 
 "Well, but I cannot be learning Spanish all 
 day." 
 
 "No; so perhaps I shall set about writing a 
 great work." 
 
 456 
 
OP 
 
 OR 
 
 " The very thing I was going to propose, though 
 not exactly a great work. What think you of a 
 life of poor Chatterton, with critical remarks on 
 his poems ?" 
 
 "Excellent! Twill doit." 
 
 And now having given him a pursuit, I ventured 
 to indulge some reasonable hopes that home and 
 the country might prove as delightful to him as 
 he fancied they would be ; and what with study- 
 ing Spanish, with building a green-house, with 
 occasional writing, with getting together materials 
 for this life, and writing the preface, time fled on 
 very rapid pinions ; and after we had been mar- 
 ried two years, and May arrived a second time, 
 Seymour triumphantly exclaimed — 
 
 "There, Helen! I believe that you distrusted 
 my love for the country ; but have I once expressed 
 or f«lt a wish to go to London?" 
 
 " The Ides of March are come, but not gone," 
 I replied ; " and, surely, if I wish to go, you will 
 not deny me." 
 
 "No, Helen, certainly not," said he, in a tone 
 of mortification, " if I am no longer all-sufficient 
 for your happiness." 
 
 Alas ! in the ingenuousness of my nature, I gave 
 way when he said this to the tenderness of my 
 heart, and assured him that my happiness de- 
 pended wholly on the enjoyment of his society ; 
 and I fear it is too true that men soon learn to 
 slight what they are sure of possessing. Had I 
 been an artful woman, and could I have conde- 
 scended to make him doubtful of the extent of my 
 love, by a few woman's subterfuges; could I have 
 feigned a desire to return to the world, instead of 
 owning, as I did, that all my enjoyment was com- 
 prised in home and him, I do think that I might 
 have been, for a much longer period, the happiest 
 of wives ; but then I should have been, in my own 
 eyes, despicable as a woman ; and I was always 
 tenacious of my own esteem. 
 
 May was come, but not gone, when I found my 
 husband was continually reading to me, after 
 having read to himself, the accounts in the papers 
 of the gaieties of London. 
 
 (And so to London they went.) 
 
 From Mrs. Opie's Poems. 
 THE ORPHAN BOY*S TALE. 
 
 Stay, lady, stay, for mercy's sake, 
 
 And hear a helpless orphan's tale; 
 Ah! sure my looks must pity wake, 
 
 'Tis want that makes my cheek so pale. 
 Vet I was once a mother's pride. 
 
 And my brave father's hope and joy ; 
 But in the Nile's proud fight he died, 
 
 And I am now an orphan boy. 
 
 Poor foolish child I how pleased was I, 
 
 When news of Nelson's victory came. 
 Along the crowded streets to fly. 
 
 And see the lighted windows flame ! 
 To force me home, my mother sought. 
 
 She could not bear to see my joy ; 
 For with my father's life 'twas bought. 
 
 And made me a poor orphan boy. 
 
 The people's shouts were long and loud, 
 My mother, shuddering, closed her ears ; 
 
 " Rejoice ! rejoice I" still cried the crowd ; 
 My mother answered with her tears. 
 
 "Why are you crying thus," said I, 
 " While others laugh and shout with joy ?" 
 
 She kissed me — and with such a sigh I 
 She called me her poor orphan boy. 
 
 " What is an orphan boy ?" I cried. 
 
 As in her face I look'd, and smiled ; 
 My mother through her tears replied, 
 
 " You '11 know too soon, ill-fated child !" 
 And now they've toll'd my mother's knell, 
 
 And I'm no more a parent's joy ; ^ 
 O, lady, 1 have learn'd too well 
 
 What 'tis to be an orphan boy ! 
 
 Oh ! were I by your bounty fed ! 
 
 Nay, gentle lady, do not chide — 
 Trust me, I mean to earn my bread; 
 
 The sailor's orphan boy has pride. 
 Lady, you weep ! — ha !— this to me ? 
 
 You 'II give ine clothing, food, employ ? 
 Look down, dear parents ! look, and see, 
 
 Your happy, happy orphan boy J 
 
 Go, youth belov'd, in distant glades, 
 "Ng-w friends, new hopes, new joys to find ; 
 
 Yet sometimes deign, 'midst fairer maid?. 
 To think on her thou leavest behind. 
 
 Thy love, thy fate, dear youth, to share, 
 Must never be my happy lot ; 
 
 But thou mayest grant this humble prayer. 
 Forget me not, Forget me not ! 
 
 Yet should the thought of my distress 
 
 Too painful to thy feelings be. 
 Heed not the wish I now express, 
 
 Nor ever deign to think of me. 
 But oh ! if grief thy steps attend, 
 
 If want, or sickness be thy lot. 
 And thou require a soothing friend. 
 
 Forget me not, Forget me not I 
 
 1 know you false, I know you vain, 
 Yet still I cannot break my chain ; 
 Though with those lips so sweetly smiling, 
 Those eyes so bright and so beguiling, 
 On every youth by turns you smile, 
 And every youth by turns beguile. 
 Yet still enchant and still deceive me, 
 Do all things, fatal fair, but leave me. 
 
 Still let me in those sparkling eyes 
 
 Trace all your feelings as they rise ; 
 
 Still from those lips in crimson swelling. 
 
 Which seem of soft delights the dwelling. 
 
 Catch tones of sweetness which the soul 
 
 In fetters ever need control — 
 
 Nor let my starts of passion grieve thee, 
 
 'T were death to stay, 't were death to leave thee. 
 
 ORLANDINE, EMILIA OF SIENA, 
 Flourished in 1726. One of her sonnets ia 
 very celebrated — "Love is a Great Folly." It 
 would seem that the poetess felt, in the depths of 
 her soul, this bitter truth. She has left many 
 poemsj full of energy and sentiment, which are 
 dispersed in various collections. 
 
 ORLEANS, ELIZABETH CHARLOTTE, 
 DUCHESS OF, 
 
 Only daughter of the elector Charles Louis of 
 the Palatinate, was born at Heidelberg, in 1652. 
 She was a princess of distinguished talents and cha- 
 racter, and lived for half a century in the coiu't of 
 Louis XIV. without changing her German habits or 
 manners. She was carefully educated at the court 
 of her aunt, afterwards the electress Sophia of 
 
 457 
 
OS 
 
 Hanover, and when nineteen, married duke Philip 
 of Orleans, from reasons of state policy. She was 
 without personal charms, but her understanding 
 was strong, and she was celebrated for her wit. 
 Madame de Maintenon was her implacable enemy ; 
 but Louis XIV. was attracted by her frankness, 
 integrity, and vivacity. She often attended him 
 to the chase. She has described herself and her 
 situation with much life and humour in her 
 "German Letters." The most valuable of these 
 are contained in the "Life and Character of the 
 Duchess Elizabeth Charlotte of Orleans," by Pro- 
 fessor Schiitze, published at Leipzic, in 1820. 
 Her second son was made regent, after Louis 
 XIV.'s death. Her own death occurred in 1722. 
 
 OSGOOD, FRANCES SABGENT, 
 
 One of the most gifted daughters of song Ame- 
 rica has produced, was born in Boston, Massa- 
 chusetts, about the year 1812. Her father, Mr. 
 Joseph Locke, was a merchant, and her mother a 
 woman of cultivated taste ; both parents encou- 
 raged and aided the education of their children. 
 They were a talented family; but no other one 
 had the genius with which Frances was endowed. 
 Her poetical faculty was an endowment of nature, 
 not an acquired art ; nor in our research through 
 the annals of female genius have we found another 
 instance, among the Anglo-Saxon race, of the true 
 improvisatrice, such aa Mrs. Osgood certainly was. 
 
 Mrs. Hemans studied her art passionately, and 
 profited greatly by her learning ; Miss Landon 
 had motives, encouragements and facilities, which 
 carried her onward in her literary career. But 
 Mrs. Osgood never required study or encourage- 
 ment; she poured out her strains as the birds 
 carol, because her heart was filled with song, and 
 must have utterance. Her first specimens of 
 poetry were almost as perfect, in what are called 
 the rules of the art, as her later productions. 
 Khyme, and the harmonies of language, came to 
 her as intuitively as the warm emotions of her 
 heart, or the bright fancies of her imagination. 
 
 Her first printed productions appeared in the 
 " Juvenile Miscellany," a little work, but an ex- 
 cellent one for the young, edited by Mrs. Maria 
 
 OS 
 
 L. Child. In 1831, Miss Locke, who had chosen 
 "Florence" as her nam de plume, began to write 
 for the "Ladies' Magazine,"* the first periodical 
 established in America for ladies, and then under 
 the care of Mrs. Sarah J. Hale, the present editor 
 of the "Lady's Book." 
 
 In 1835, Miss Locke married Mr. S. S. Osgood, 
 a painter by profession, who has since reached a 
 high rank as an artist ; he was also a man of lite- 
 rary taste, who appreciated the genius and lovely 
 qualities of his gifted wife. The young couple 
 went to London soon after their marriage, where 
 Mr. Osgood succeeded well, and Mrs. Osgood made 
 many friends, and her talents became known by her 
 contributions to several of the English periodicals. 
 While there, she published a small volume, " The 
 Casket of Fate," which was much admired; and 
 she was persuaded to collect her poems, under the 
 title of "A Wreath of Wild Flowers from New 
 England." This volume was published in London, 
 1838, and was favourably noticed by several of 
 the leading journals in that metropolis. 
 
 In 1840, after an absence of more than four 
 years, Mr. Osgood returned to Boston with his 
 wife and their little daughter Ellen, (the pet of 
 many poems,) and opened a studio in that city. 
 Mrs. Osgood devoted her leisure to literary pur- 
 suits, and prepared several works — " The Poetry 
 of Flowers and Flowers of Poetry," and "The 
 Floral Offering," besides contributing to nearly 
 all the literary magazines and the annuals of every 
 season. She often wrote in prose, because prose 
 was required. Many of her sketches and stories 
 are charming, from their playful vivacity and fan- 
 ciful descriptions ; yet the poetical spirit always 
 predominating, shows that she would gladly have 
 rhymed the article, had she been permitted. ■ 
 Poetry was, in truth, her native language ; on the 
 wing of versification she moved gracefully as a 
 bird, and always in a region of light and love. 
 This healthy, hopeful, happy spirit, is the distin- 
 guishing characteristic of her productions. Dark 
 fancies never haunted her pure mind ; misanthropy 
 never laid its cold, withering hand on her heart ; 
 nor is there a single manifestation of bitter memo- 
 ries and disappointed feelings in her poems. This 
 buoyancy of disposition was her American heritage ; 
 and we agree with a discriminating writer,-]- that, 
 " Of all American female authors, Mrs. Osgood 
 is the most truly feminine in her delineation of 
 the affections. Without rising ever to the dignity 
 of passion, she portrays the more tender and deli- 
 cate lights and shadows of woman's heart, with an 
 instinctive fidelity. We -might instance some 
 charming improvisations in a peculiar vein of sub- 
 dued and half-capricious gayety, which can hardly 
 be surpassed. In all her social relations, the 
 readiness with which her buoyant and vivacious 
 nature ran into verse, was made a source of end- 
 less amusement and pleasure. Many of her most 
 sprightly and graceful poems were produced in 
 this manner, with no other object than the tem- 
 
 * In 1837 the " Ladies' Magazine" wag united witli the 
 "Lady's Book," which is now the oldest literary periodical 
 in the United States. 
 
 t In the New York Trib'ane. 
 
 458 
 
OS 
 
 OS 
 
 porary gratification of her friends, and then thrown 
 aside and forgotten." 
 
 That with such a cheerful, kind, affectionate 
 genius, as well as heart, Mrs. Osgood should have 
 been tenderly beloved by her own family and fa- 
 miliar friends, would be expected; but she had 
 made thousands of friends who never looked on 
 her pleasant face ; and when the tidings of her 
 death went forth, she was mourned as a light 
 withdrawn from many a home where her rhymed 
 lessons had added a charm to household affections, 
 and made more beautiful the lot of woman. Mrs. 
 Osgood had resided for several years in the city 
 of New York, and there she died. May 12th, 1850, 
 of pulmonary consumption, enduring her wasting 
 disease with sweet patience, even playful cheer- 
 fulness. The last stanza she wrote, or rather 
 rhymed, alluded to the near approach of her fate : 
 
 "I'm going through th' Eternal Gates 
 Ere June's sweet roses blow; 
 Death's lovely angel leads me there, 
 And it is sweet to go." 
 
 She died a few days after, being yet young for 
 one who had written so much — hardly thirty-eight. 
 Two of her three daughters survive her h*reparable 
 loss : her husband returned from California to 
 watch over her last months of sickness, but he 
 could not save her. She was a devoted wife and 
 mother, as lovely in her daily life as in her poeins. 
 The paper we have already quoted gives this true 
 summary of her literary character : 
 
 *'As a writer, Mrs. Osgood enjoyed, while liv- 
 ing, the full measure of her fame. The character- 
 istic beauties of her poems were very generally 
 appreciated, while the careless freedom of her 
 words were so interwoven with subtle and exqui- 
 site cadences of sound, that the critical reader 
 forgot her want of constructive power. "VVe do 
 not think that more severe study would have en- 
 abled her to accomplish better or more lasting 
 things. Her nature found its appropriate expres- 
 sion, and any reaching after the higher forms of 
 poetry would have checked that child4ike spirit 
 which was its greatest charm. Some of our pre- 
 sent female writers may be awarded loftier ho- 
 nours, but no one, we think, will win a wider 
 circle of friends, or leave behind a more cherished 
 memory." 
 
 In 1849, the poems of Mrs. Osgood, superbly 
 illustrated, in one volume, were published in 
 Philadelphia. 
 
 In order to mark the progress of Mrs. Osgood's 
 mind, we give, first, some poems of her girlhood, 
 then of her motherhood, and last, a few of those 
 which are more purely imaginative ; the same 
 grace of expression and delicacy of moral feeling 
 pervades all she ever wrote. 
 
 First Fart 
 
 MAT-DAT IN NEW ENGLAND. 
 
 Can this be May? Can this be May? 
 
 We have not found a flower to-day ! 
 
 We roamed the wood — we climbed the hill — 
 
 We rested by the rushing rill— 
 
 And lest they had forgot the day, , 
 
 We told them it was May, dear May! 
 
 We called the sweet, wild blooms by name- 
 
 We shouted, and no answer came ! 
 
 From smiling field, or solemn hill— 
 
 From rugged rock, or rushing rill— 
 
 We only bade the petty pets 
 
 Just breathe from out their hiding-places; 
 
 We told the little, light coquettes 
 
 They needn't show their bashful faces,— 
 
 "One sigh," we said, "one fragrant sigh, 
 
 We'll soon discover where you lie!" 
 
 The roguish things were still as death — 
 
 They wouldn't even breathe a breath. 
 
 Alasl there's none so deaf, 1 fear, 
 
 As those who do not choose to hear ! 
 
 We wandered to an open place, 
 
 And sought the sunny buttercup, 
 
 That, so delighted, in your face 
 
 Just like a pleasant smile looks up. 
 
 We peeped into a shady spot. 
 
 To find the blue "Forget-me-not!" 
 
 At last a far-off voice we heard, 
 
 A voice as of a fountain-fall. 
 
 That softer than a singing-bird. 
 
 Did answer to our merry call ! 
 
 So wildly sweet the breezes brought 
 
 That tone in every pause of ours. 
 
 That we, delighted, fondly thought 
 
 It must be talking of the flowers! 
 
 We knew the violets loved to hide 
 
 The cool and lulling wave beside: — 
 
 With song, and laugh, and bounding feet, 
 
 And wild hair wandering on the wind, 
 
 We swift pursued the murmurs sweet; 
 
 But not a blossom could we find; — 
 
 The cowslip, crocus, columbine, 
 
 The violet, and the snow-drop fine, 
 
 The orchis 'neath the hawthorn tree, 
 
 The blue-bell and anemone. 
 
 The wild-rose, eglantine, and daisy, 
 
 Where are they all ? — they must be lazy ! 
 
 Perhaps they're playing "Hide and seek" — 
 
 Oh, naughty flowers! why don't you speak? 
 
 We have not found a flower to-day, — 
 
 They surely cannot know 'tis May! 
 
 You have not found a flower to-day I — 
 What's that upon your cheek, I pray? ^ 
 A blossom pure, and sweet, and wild. 
 And worth all Nature's blooming wealth; 
 Not all in vain your search, my child!— 
 You've found at least the rose of health ! 
 Tlie golden buttercup, you say. 
 That like a smile illumes the .way. 
 Is nowhere to be seen to-day. 
 Fair child! upon that beaming face 
 A softer, lovelier smile I trace; 
 A treasure, as the sunshine bright, — 
 A glow of love and wild delight 1 
 Then pine no more for Nature's toy — 
 You've found at least the flower of joy. 
 Yes! in a heart so young, and gay, 
 And kind as yours, 'tis always May! 
 For gentle feelings, love, are flowers 
 That bloom thro' life's most clouded hours! 
 Ah! cherish them, my happy child, 
 And check the weeds that wander wild ! 
 And while their stainless wealth is given, 
 In incense sweet, to earth and heaven, 
 No longer will you need to say— 
 "Can this be May? Can this be May ?" 
 
 Wiien the warm blessed spirit that lightens the sky 
 Hath darkened his glory, and furled up his wing, 
 
 And Nature forgets the sweet smile, that her eye 
 Was wont on that radiant spirit to fling, — 
 
 I turn from the world without, calm and content, 
 And find in my own heart a day-dream as bright; 
 
 And dearer, far dearer than that which is lent 
 To illumine creation with glorj' and li^ht. 
 
 459 
 
OS 
 
 OS 
 
 There 'a a thought in that heart it can never forget- 
 There 's a ray in that heart that will lighten my doom ; 
 
 Through many a Borrow they linger there yet, 
 And, holy and beautiful, smile through the gloom. 
 
 Rut they say that the garland Affection is wreathing, 
 Will fade ere the morrow has wakened its bloom — 
 
 'J'liey say the wild blossoms where young Hope is breathing, 
 Their beauty, their fragrance are all for the tomb. 
 
 They tell me the vision of Blis? that is "glinting," 
 My heart's star of promise in gloom wilt decline; 
 
 And the far scene that Fancy, the fairy, is tinting. 
 Will lose all its sunny glow ere it is mine. 
 
 Oh! if Love and Life be but a fairy illusion, 
 
 And the cold future bright but in Fancy's young eye, 
 
 Still, stiJl let me live in the dreamy illusion, 
 And, true and unchanging, hope on till I die ! 
 
 LINES 
 
 On a picture of a young girl weighing Cupid and a butter- 
 fly :— the winged boy rises, as he should, and the motto 
 beneath is, "Love is the lightest." 
 
 *'LOVE THE LIGHTEST." 
 
 Silly maiden ! weigh them not; 
 
 Butterflies are earthly things: 
 Thou forget'st their lowly lot, 
 
 Gazing on their glittering wings. 
 
 Find a star-beam from the sky — 
 Find a glow-worm in the grass — 
 
 Will the earth-lamp rise on high? 
 Will that heaven-ray downward pass? 
 
 Love — ethereal, holy love, 
 Light, perchance, and proud, and free, 
 
 Maiden— see ! it soars above 
 Worldly pride and vanity I 
 
 Drooping to its native earth. 
 
 Sinks the gilded insect-fly; 
 Love, of holier, heavenlier birth, 
 
 Eises towards his home on high. 
 
 Maiden, throw the scales away ! 
 
 Never weigh poor Love again: 
 Even the doubt has dimmed the ray 
 
 On his pinions with its stain I 
 
 See! he lifts his wondering eye, 
 
 Half reproachfully to thee— 
 " Measured with a butterfly .'" 
 
 rd try my wings, if I were he. 
 
 THE STAR OF PROMISE. 
 
 When kneeling sages saw of yore 
 
 Their orb of promise rise for them. 
 How Learning's lamp grew dim, before 
 
 The heaven-born Star of Bethlehem,^ 
 How faltered Wisdom's haughty tone, 
 
 When, led by God's exulting choir, 
 His radiant herald glided on, 
 
 The darkling heathen's beacon-fire! 
 
 When sweet, from many an angel voice. 
 While rung the viewless harps of heaven. 
 
 He heard the song of love—" Rejoice, 
 For peace on earth and sins forgiven !" 
 
 The Chaldean flung his scroll aside, 
 The Arab left his desert-tent— 
 
 Their hope, their trust— that silver guide- 
 Till low at Mary's feet they bent; 
 
 Ayl Asia's wisest knelt around. 
 
 Forgetting Fame's too earthly dream, 
 While, bright upon the hallowed ground, 
 
 Their golden gifts— a mockery— gleam. 
 There vainly too, their censers breathed; 
 
 Ohl what were incense— gems— to Him, 
 Around whose brow a glory wreathed, 
 
 That made their sun-god's splendour dim ! 
 
 To Him o'er whose blest spirit came 
 
 The fragrance of celestial flowers. 
 And light from countless wings of flame 
 
 That flashed thro' heaven's resplendent bowers ! 
 To "kneeling Faith's" devoted eye, 
 
 [t shines — that " star of promise," now, 
 Fair, as when, far in Asia's sky. 
 
 It lit her sage's lifted brow ! 
 
 No sparkling treasure we may bring, 
 
 No " gift of gold," nor jewel'Stone ; 
 - The censer's sweets we may not fling, 
 
 For incense round our Saviour's throne : 
 But when, o'er sorrow's clouded view. 
 
 That planet rises to our prayer. 
 We, where it leads, may follow too, 
 
 And lay a contrite spirit there ! 
 
 Second Part. 
 
 THE BABY OF SIX MONTHS OLD BLOWING BACK 
 THE WIND. 
 
 The breeze was high, and blew her sun-brown tresses 
 
 About her snowy brow and violet eyes ; 
 
 And she— my Ellen— brave and sweetly wise. 
 In gay defiance of its rough caresses, 
 With rosy, pouting mouth, essayed at length 
 To blow the rude wind back, that mocked her baby-strength. 
 
 Ah ! thus when Fortune's storms assail thy soul, 
 Yield not, nor shrink! but bear thee bravely still 
 Against their fury I With thine own sweet will 
 And childlike faith, oppose their fierce control. 
 So shall thou bloom at last, my treasur'd flower. 
 Unharmed by tempest-shock, in Heaven's calm summer 
 bower I 
 
 Ellen's first tooth. 
 
 Your mouth is a rose-bud, 
 
 And in it a pearl 
 Lies smiling and snowy. 
 
 My own little girl ! 
 Oh! pure pearl of promise ! 
 
 It is thy first tooth- 
 How closely thou shuttest 
 
 The rose-bud, forsooth 1 
 But let me peep in it. 
 
 The fair thing to view- 
 Nay ! only a minute — 
 
 Dear Ellen 1 now dol 
 You won't? little miser, 
 
 To hide the gem so! 
 Some day you'll be wiser. 
 
 And show them, I know ! 
 How dear is the pleasure— 
 
 My fears for thee past — 
 To know the white treasure 
 
 Has budded at last I 
 Fair child I may each hour 
 
 A rose-blossom be. 
 And hide in its flower 
 
 Some jewel for thee I 
 
 THE LITTLE SLUMBERER. 
 
 The child was weary, and had flung herself 
 In beautiful abandonment, to rest. 
 Low on the gorgeous carpeting, whose hues 
 Contrasted richly with her snow-white robe : 
 One dimpled arm lay curving o'er the head. 
 Half buried in its glossy, golden curls, 
 Moist and disordered by her graceful play; 
 The other pressed beneath her cheek, did make 
 With small round fingers dimples in the rose,— 
 Where lashes soft as floss were darkly drooping,— 
 Her red lips parted slightly, while the breath. 
 Pure as a blossom's sigh, came sweet and still; 
 Loosely the robe from one white shoulder fell ; 
 And so she lay, and slumbered 'mid the hues, 
 The orient richness of the downy carpet,— 
 Like a young flower, drooping its dewy head. 
 And shutting its soft petals on the breast 
 Of Bummer-mantled earth. 
 
 460 
 
OS 
 
 OS 
 
 THE CHILD PLAYING WITH A WATCH. 
 
 Art thou playing with Time in thy sweet baby-glee? 
 Will he pause on his pinions to frolic with thee? 
 Oh, show him those shadowless, innocent eyes, 
 That smile of bewildered and beaming surprise ; 
 Let him look on that cheek where thy rich hair repnsrs, 
 Where dimples are playing " bopeep" with the roses : 
 His wrinkled brow press with light kisses and warm, 
 And clasp his rough neck with thy soft wreathing arm. 
 Perhaps thy bewitching and infantine sweetness 
 May win him, for once, to delay in his fleetness— 
 To pause, ere he rifle, relentless in flight, 
 A blossom so glowing of bloom and of light : 
 Then, then would 1 keep thee, my beautiful child, 
 With thy blue eyes unshadowed, thy blush undefiled— 
 With thy innocence only to guard thee from ill, 
 In life's sunny dawning, a lily-bud still! 
 Laugh on, my own Ellen ! that voice, which to me 
 Gives a warning so solemn, makes music for thee ; 
 And while I at those sounds feel the idler's annoy, 
 Thou hear'st but the tick of the pretty gold toy ; 
 Thou seest but a smile on the brow of the churl — 
 May his frown never awe thee, my own baby-girL 
 And oh, may his step, as he wanders with thee, 
 Light and soft as thine own little fairy tread be! 
 While still in all seasons, in storms and fair weather, 
 May Time and my Ellen be playmates together. 
 
 LITTLE CHILDREN. 
 *' Of such is the kingdom of heaven." 
 
 And yet we check and chide 
 The airy angels as they float about us, 
 With rules of so-called wisdom, till they grow 
 The same tame slaves to custom and the world. 
 And day by day the fresh frank soul that looked 
 Out of those wistful eyes, and smiling played 
 With the wild roses of that changing cheek. 
 And modulated all those earnest tones, 
 And danced in those light foot-falls to a tune 
 Heart-heard by them, inaudible to us. 
 Folds closer its pure wings, whereon the hues 
 They caught in heaven already pale and pine. 
 And shrinks amazed and scared back from our gaze. 
 And so the evil grows. The graceful flower 
 May have its own sweet way in bud and bloom — 
 May drink, and dare with upturned gaze the light. 
 Or nestle 'neath the guardian leaf, or wave 
 Irs fragrant bells to every roving breeze, 
 Or wreathe with blushing grace the fragile spray 
 In bashful loveliness. The wild wood-bird 
 May plume at will his wings, and soar or sing; 
 The mountain brook may wind where'er it would. 
 Dash in wild music down the deep ravine, 
 Or, rippling drowsily in forest haunts, 
 Dream of the floating cloud, the waving flower, 
 And murmur to itself sweet lulling words 
 In broken tones so like the faltering speech 
 Of early childhood: but our human flowers. 
 Our soul-birds, caged and pining— they must sing 
 And grow, not as their own but our caprice 
 Suggests, and so the blossom and the lay 
 Are but half bloom and music at the best. 
 And if by chance some brave and buoyant soul, 
 More bold or less forgetful of the lessons 
 God taught them first, disdain the rule— the bar— 
 And, wildly beautiful, rebellious rise. 
 How the hard world, half startled from itself, 
 Frowns the bright wanderer down, or turns away 
 And leaves her lonely in her upward path. 
 Thank God ! to such his smile is not denied. 
 
 Third Part 
 
 TO MY PEN. 
 
 Dost know, my little vagrant pen, 
 That wanderest lightly down the paper, 
 
 Without a thought how critic men 
 May carp at every careless caper ? 
 
 Dost know, twice twenty thousand eyes, 
 
 If publishers report them truly, 
 Each month may mark the sportive lies 
 
 That track, oh shame ! thy steps unruly ? 
 
 Now list to me, my fairy pen, 
 And con the lessons gravely over; 
 
 Be never wild or false again, 
 But " mind your Ps and Q,s," you rover t 
 
 While tripping gayly to and fro, 
 Let not a thought escape you lightly, 
 
 But challenge all before they go. 
 And see them fairly robed and rightly. 
 
 You know that words but dress the frame. 
 And thought 's the soul of verse, my fairy ! 
 
 So drape not spirits dull and tame, 
 In gorgeous robes or garments airy. 
 
 I would not have my pen pursue 
 The " beaten track"— a slave for ever ; 
 
 No! roam as thou wert wont to do, 
 In author-land, by rock and river. 
 
 Be like tUe sunbeam's burning wing, 
 Be like the wand in Cinderella — 
 
 And if you touch a common thing, 
 Ah, change to gold the pumpkin yellow ! 
 
 May grace come fluttering round your steps. 
 Whene'er, my bird, you light on paper, 
 
 And music murmur at your lips, 
 And truth restrain each truant caper. 
 
 Let hope paint pictures in your way, 
 And love his seraph-lesson teach you ; 
 
 And rather calm with reason stray, 
 Than dance with folly — I beseech you ! 
 
 In Faith's pure fountain lave your wing. 
 And quaff" from feeling's glowing chalice; 
 
 But touch not falsehood's fatal spring, 
 And shun the poisoned weeds of malice. 
 
 Firm be the web you lightly spin. 
 From leaf to leaf, thougli frail in seeming. 
 
 While Fancy's fairy dew-gems win 
 The sunbeam Truth to keep them gleaming. 
 
 And shrink not thou when tyrant wrong 
 O'er humble suffering dares deride thee; 
 
 With lightning step and clarion song. 
 Go ! take the field, with Heaven beside thee. 
 
 Be tuned to tenderest music, when 
 Of sin and shame thou 'rt sadly singing ; 
 
 But diamond be thy point, my pen. 
 When folly's bells are round thee ringing ! 
 
 And^so, where'er you stay your flight, 
 To plume your wing or dance your measure. 
 
 May gems and flowers your pathway light, 
 For those who track your tread, my treasure ! 
 
 But what is this? you've tripped about. 
 While I the mentor grave was playing; 
 
 And here you've written boldly oat 
 The very words that I was saying ! 
 
 And here, as usual, on you've flown 
 From right to left — flown fast and faster. 
 
 Till even while you wrote it down, 
 Vou 've missed the task you ought to master. 
 
 THE soul's lament FOR HOME. 
 
 As 'plains the homesick ocean-sliell 
 
 Far from its own remembered sea, 
 Repeating, like a fairy spell 
 
 Of love, the charmed melody 
 It learned within that whispering wave, 
 
 Whose wondrous and mysterious tone 
 Still wildly haunts its winding cave 
 
 Of pearl, with softest music-moan — 
 
 461 
 
OS 
 
 OS 
 
 So asks my homesick soul below, 
 
 For something loved, yet undefined ; 
 So mourns to mingle with the flow 
 
 Of music, from the Eternal Mind; 
 So murmurs, with its childlike sigh. 
 
 The melody it learned above, 
 To which no echo may reply, 
 
 Save from thy voice. Celestial Love! 
 
 NEW ENGLAND'S MOUNTAIN CHILD. 
 
 Where foams the fall — a tameless storm- 
 Through Nature's wild and rich arcade. 
 
 Which forest trees, entwining, form, 
 There trips the mountain maid. 
 
 She binds not her luxuriant hair 
 With dazzling gem or costly plume. 
 
 But gayly wreathes a rosebud there. 
 To match her maiden bloom. 
 
 She clasps no golden zone of pride 
 Her fair and simple robe around; 
 
 By flowing riband, lightly tied. 
 Its graceful folds are bound. 
 
 And thus attired — a sportive thing. 
 
 Pure, loving, guileless, bright, and wild- 
 Proud Fashion ! match me in your ring, 
 New England's mountain child! 
 
 She scorns to sell her rich, warm hearl 
 
 For paltry gold or haughty rank, 
 But gives her love, untauglit by art. 
 
 Confiding, free, and frank. 
 
 And, once bestowed, no fortune change 
 That high and generous faith can alter ; 
 
 Through grief and pain, too pure to range, 
 She will not fly or falter. 
 
 Her foot will bound as light and free 
 
 In lowly hut as palace hall; 
 Her sunny smile as warm will be. 
 
 For love to her is all. 
 
 Hast seen where in our woodland gloom 
 The rich magnolia proudly smiled ? — 
 
 So brightly doth she bud and bloom, 
 New England's mountain child 1 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 The Father spake I In grand reverberations 
 Through space rolled on the mighty music-tide. 
 
 While to its low, majestic modulations, 
 The clouds of chaos slowly swept aside. 
 
 The Father spake — a dream, that had been lying 
 Hushed from eternity in silence there. 
 
 Heard the pure melody and low replying, 
 Grew to that music in the wondering air — 
 
 Grew to that music — slowly, grandly waking, 
 Till bathed in beauty — it became a world ! 
 
 Led by his voice, its splieric pathway taking, 
 While glorious clouds their wings around it furled. 
 
 Nor yet has ceased that sound — his love revealing, 
 Though, in response, a universe moves by! 
 
 Throughout eternity, its echo pealing— 
 World after world awakes in glad reply I 
 
 And wheresoever, in his rich creation. 
 Sweet music breathes— in wave, or bird, or soul— 
 
 'Tis but the faint and far reverberation 
 Of that great tune to which the planets roll ! 
 
 GARDEN GOSSIP, 
 
 ACCOUNTINa FOB. THE COOLNESS BETWEEN THE LILY 
 
 AND VIOLET. 
 
 " I will tell you a secret," the honeybee said, 
 To a violet drooping her dew-laden head; 
 "The lily's in love I for she listened last night, 
 While her sisters all slept in the holy moonlight, 
 To a zephyr that just had been rocking the rose, 
 Where, hidden, I hearkened in seeming repose. 
 
 "I would not betray her to any but you, 
 But the secret is safe with a spirit so true- 
 It will rest in your bosom in silence profound." 
 The violet bent her blue eye to the ground: 
 A tear and a smile in her loving look lay. 
 While the light-winged gossip vi^ent whirring away. 
 
 " I will tell you a secret," the honeybee said, 
 And the young lily lifted her beautiful head— 
 " The violet thinks, with her timid blue eye, 
 To pass for a blossom enchantingly shy; 
 But for all her sweet manners, so modest and pure. 
 She gossips with every gay bird that sings to her. 
 
 " Now let me advise you, sweet flower, as a friend, 
 Oh, ne'er to such beings your confidence lend ; 
 It grieves me to see one, all guileless like you, 
 Thus wronging a spirit so trustful and true : 
 But not for the world, love, my secret betray 1" 
 And the little light gossip went buzzing away. 
 
 A blush in the lily's cheek trembled and fled: 
 "I'm sorry he told me," she tenderly said; 
 ' If I may n't trust the violet, pure as she seems, 
 I must fold in my own heart my beautiful dreams.'" 
 Was the mischief well managed ? fair lady is 't true ? 
 Did the light garden gossip take lessons of you ! 
 
 THE UNEXPECTED DECLARATION. 
 
 "Azure-eyed Eloise, beauty is thine, 
 Passion kneels to thee, and calls thee divine ; 
 Minstrels awaken the lute with thy name; 
 Poels have gfaddened the world with thy fame ; 
 Painters, half holy, thy loved image keep; 
 Beautiful Eloise, why do you weep?" 
 Still bows the lady her fight tresses low — 
 Fast the warm tears from her veiled eyes flow. 
 
 "Sunny-haired Eloise, wealth is thine own ; 
 Rich is thy silken robe — bright is thy zone; 
 Proudly the jewel illumines thy way; 
 Clear rubies rival thy ruddy lip's play; 
 Diamonds like star-drops thy silken braids deck ; 
 Pearls waste their snow on thy lovelier Uijck; 
 Luxury softens thy pillow for sleep ; 
 Angels watch over it : why do you weep ?" 
 Bovi^s the fair lady her light tresses low — 
 Faster the tears from her veiled eyes flow 
 
 "Gifted and worshipped one, genius and grace 
 Play in each motion, and beam in thy face: 
 When from thy rosy lip rises the song, 
 Hearts that adore thee the echo prolong ; 
 Ne'er in the festival shone an eye brighter. 
 Ne'er in the mazy dance fell a foot lighter. 
 One only spirit thou 'st failed to bring down • 
 Exquisite Eloise, why do you frown?" 
 Swift o'er her forehead a dark shadow stole. 
 Sent from the tempest of pride in her soul. 
 
 " Touched by thy sweetness, in love with thy grace, 
 Charmed by the magic of mind in thy face. 
 Bewitched by thy beauty, e'en his haughty strength, 
 The strength of the stoic, is conquered at length : 
 Lo! at thy feet — see him kneeling the while — 
 Eloise, Eloise, why do you smile?" 
 The hand was withdrawn from her happy blue eyes, 
 She gazed on her lover with laughing surprise ; 
 While the dimple and blush, stealing soft to her cheek. 
 Told the tale that her tongue was too timid to speak. 
 
 beauty's PRAYER. 
 
 Round great Jove his lightning shone, 
 
 Rolled the universe before him, 
 Stars, for gems, lit up his throne, 
 
 Clouds, for banners, floated o'er him. 
 
 With her tresses all untied, 
 Touched with gleams of golden glory, 
 
 Beauty came, and blushed, and sighed, 
 While she told her piteous story. 
 
 462 
 
OS 
 
 OS 
 
 "Hear! oh, Jupiter! thy child: 
 
 Right my wrong, if thou dost love me ! 
 
 Beast and bird, and savage wild, 
 All are placed in power above me. 
 
 " Each his weapon thou hast given, 
 Each the strength and skill to wield it. 
 
 Why bestow — Supreme in heaven 1 
 Bloom on me with naught to shield it? 
 
 "Even the rose — the wild-wood rose, 
 Fair and frail as I, thy daughter, 
 
 Safely yields to soft repose, 
 With her lifeguard thorns about her." 
 
 As she spake in music wild. 
 Tears within her blue eyes glistened. 
 
 Yet her red lip dimpling smiled. 
 For the god benignly listened. 
 
 "Child of Heaven!" he kindly said, 
 "Try the weapons Nature gave thee ; 
 
 And if danger near thee tread. 
 Proudly trust to them to save thee. 
 
 "Lance anil talon, thorn and spear: 
 Thou art armed with triple power, 
 
 In that blush, and smile and tear! 
 Fearless go, my fragile flower. 
 
 "Yet dost thou, with all thy charms. 
 Still for something more beseech ine ?— 
 
 Skill to use thy magic arms? 
 Ask of Love — and Love will teach thee !" 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Bliould all who throng, with gift and song. 
 And for my favour bend the knee. 
 
 Forsake the shrine they deem divine, 
 I would not stoop my soul to thee ! 
 
 The lips, that breathe the burning vow. 
 By falsehood base unstained must be ; 
 
 The heart, to which mine own shall bow. 
 Must worship Honour more than me. 
 
 The monarch of a world wert thou. 
 And I a slave on bended knee, 
 
 Though tyrant chains my form might bow, 
 My soul should never stoop to thee ! 
 
 Until its hour shall come, my heart 
 I will possess, serene and free ; 
 
 Though snared to ruin by thine art, 
 'T would sooner break than bend to thee! 
 
 TO THE SPIRIT OF POETRY. 
 
 Leave me not yet ! Leave me not cold and lonely, 
 
 Thou dear idol of my pining heart! 
 Thou art the friend — the beautiful — the only. 
 
 Whom 1 would keep, though all the world depart. 
 Thou, that dost veil the frailest flower with glory. 
 
 Spirit of light, and loveliness, and truth! 
 Thou that didst tell me a sweet, fairy story, 
 
 Of the dim future, in my wistful youth ; 
 Thou, who canst weave a halo round the spirit, 
 
 Throuj^h which naught mean or evil dare intrude. 
 Resume not yet the gift, which I inherit 
 
 From Heaven'and thee, that dearest, holiest good 
 Leave me not now! Leave me not co!d and lonely. 
 
 Thou starry prophet of my pining heart ! 
 Thou art the friend — the tenderest — the only, 
 
 With whom, of all, 't would be despair to part. 
 
 Thou that cam'st to me in my dreaming childhood. 
 Shaping the changeful clouds to pageants rare. 
 
 Peopling the smiling vale and shaded wildwood 
 With airy beings, faint yet strangely fair; 
 
 Telling me all the seaborn breeze was saying, 
 Whjle it went whispering thro' the willing leaves, 
 
 Bidding me listen to the light rain playing 
 
 Its pleasant tune about the household eaves; 
 Tuning the low, sweet ripple of the river, 
 
 Till its melodious murmur seemed a song, 
 A tender and sad chant, repeated ever, 
 
 A sweet, impassioned plaint of love and wrong — 
 Leave me not yet ! Leave me not cold and lonely, 
 
 Thou star of promise o'er my clouded path ! 
 Leave not the life that borrows from thee only 
 
 All of delight and beauty that it hatli. 
 
 Thou, that when others knew not how to love me, 
 
 Nor cared to fathom half my yearning soul. 
 Didst wreathe thy flowers of light around, above me. 
 
 To woo and win me from my grief's control ; 
 By all my dreams, the passionate and holy, 
 
 When thou hast sung love's lullaby to me. 
 By all the childlike worship, fond and lowly, 
 
 Which 1 have lavished upon thine and thee; 
 By all the lays my simple lute was learning. 
 
 To echo from thy voice, stay with me still ! 
 Once flown — alas! for thee there 'a no returning 
 
 The charm will die o'er valley, wood, and hill. 
 Tell me not Time, whose wing my brow has shaded, 
 
 Has withered spring's sweet bloom within my heart . 
 Ah, no! the rose of love is yet unfaded. 
 
 Though hope and joy, its sister flowers, depart. 
 
 Well do 1 know that I have wronged thine altar 
 
 With the light offerings of an idler's mind. 
 And thus, with shame, my pleading prayer I falter. 
 
 Leave me not, spirit ! deaf, and dumb, and blind : 
 Deaf to the mystic harmony of Nature, 
 
 Blind to the beauty of her stars and flowers ; 
 Leave me not, heavenly yet human teacher, 
 
 Lonely and lost in this cold world of ours. 
 Heaven knows I need thy music and thy beauty 
 
 Still to beguile me on my weary way. 
 To lighten to my soul the cares of duty. 
 
 And bless with radiant dreams the darkened day . 
 To charm my wild heart in the worldly revel. 
 
 Lest 1, too, join the aimless, false, and vain; 
 Let me not lower to the soulless level 
 
 Of those whom now 1 pity and disdain. 
 
 When from our northern woods pale summer, flying. 
 Breathes her last fragrant sigh — her low farewell — 
 
 WJiile her sad wild flowers' dewy eyes, in dying. 
 Plead for her stay, in every nook and dell, 
 
 A heart, that loved too tenderly and truly. 
 Will break at last — and in some dim, sweet shade, 
 
 They'll smooth the sod o'er her you prized unduly. 
 And leave her to the rest for which she prayed. 
 
 Ah! trustfully, not mournfully, they 'II leave her, 
 Assured tliat deep repose is welcomed well ; 
 
 The pure, glad breeze can whisper naught to grieve her 
 The brook's low voice no wrongful tale can tell. 
 
 They'll hide her where no false one's footstep, stealing. 
 Can mar the chastened meekness of her sleep : 
 
 Only to Love and Grief her grave revealing, 
 A nd they will hush their chiding then — to weep ! 
 
 And some — for though too oft she erred, too blindly. 
 She was beloved, how fondly and how well I— 
 
 Some few, with faltering feel, will linger kindly. 
 And plant dear flowers within that silent dell. 
 
 I know wliose fragile hand will bring the blnnm , 
 Best loved by both— the violet — to that bower; 
 
 And one will bid white lilies bless the gloom ; 
 And one, perchance, will plant the passion-flower ! 
 
 Then do thou come, when all the rest have parted— 
 Thou, who alone dost know her soul's deep gloom. 
 
 And wreathe above the lost, the broken-hearted. 
 Some idle weed — that knew not how to bloom. 
 
 463 
 
OS 
 
 OS 
 
 SILENT LOVE. 
 
 Ah! let our love be still a folded flower, 
 A pure, moss rostibiid, blushing to be seen. 
 
 Hoarding its balm and beauty for that hour 
 When souls may meet without the clay between I 
 
 Let not a breath of passion dare to blow 
 Its tender, timid, clinging leaves apart; 
 
 Let not the sunbeam, with too ardent glow. 
 Profane the dewy freshness at its heart ! 
 
 Ah! keep it folded like a sacred thing— 
 With tears and smiles its bloom and fragrance nurse; 
 
 Still let the modest veil around it cling, 
 Nor with rude touch its pleading sweetness curse. 
 
 Be thou content, as I, to kvow, not see. 
 The glowing life, the treasured wealth within — 
 
 To feet our spirit flower still fresh and free, 
 And guard its blush, its smile, from shame and sin ' 
 
 Ah, keep it holy! once the veil withdrawn— 
 Once the rose blooms — its balmy soul will fly, 
 
 As fled of old in sadness, yet in scorn, 
 Th' awakened god from Psyche's daring eye ; 
 
 CAPRICE. 
 
 Rf^prove me not that still I change 
 
 With every changing hour, 
 For glorious Nature gives me leave 
 
 In wave, and cloud, and flower. 
 
 And you and all the world would do— 
 
 If all but dared — the same; 
 True to myself— if false to you. 
 
 Why should I reck your blame. 
 
 Then cease your carping, cousin mine. 
 
 Your vain reproaches cease; 
 I revel in my right divine— 
 
 I glory in caprice! 
 
 Yon soft, light cloud, at morning hour, 
 Looked dark and full of tears : 
 
 At noon it seemed a rosy flower- 
 Now, gorgeous gold appears. 
 
 So yield I to the deepening light 
 
 That dawns around my way; 
 Because you linger with the night. 
 
 Shall I my noon delay? 
 
 No! cease your carping, cousin mine— 
 Your cold reproaches cease ; 
 
 The chariot of the cloud be mine- 
 Take thou the reins. Caprice ! 
 
 'Tis true you played on Feeling's lyre 
 
 A pleasant tune or two. 
 And oft beneath your minstrel fire 
 
 The hours in music flew; 
 
 But when a hand more skilled to sweep 
 
 The harp, its soul allures, 
 Shall it in sullen silence sleep 
 
 Because not touched by yours ? 
 
 Oh, there are rapturous tones in mine 
 That mutely pray release; 
 ' They wait the master-hand divine- 
 So tune the chords, Caprice ! 
 
 (Jo — strive the sea-wave to control; 
 
 Or, wouldst thou keep me thine, 
 He thou all being to my soul, 
 
 And fill each want divine; 
 
 Play every string in Love's sweet lyre- 
 Set all its music flowing; 
 
 Bf air, and dew, and light, and fire, 
 To kpnp the soul-flower growing- ' 
 
 Be leas — ihou art no love of mine, 
 
 So leave my love in peace; 
 'Tis helpless woman's right divine— 
 
 Her only right — caprice! 
 
 And I will mount her opal car, 
 And draw the rainbow reins, 
 
 And gayly go from star to star, 
 Till not a ray remains; 
 
 And we will find all fairy flowers 
 
 That are to mortals given. 
 And wreathe the radiant, changing hours. 
 
 With those "sweet hints" of heaven. 
 
 Her humming-birds are harnessed there— 
 Oh I leave their wings in peace; 
 
 Like "flying gems'' they glance in air — 
 We '11 chase the light, Caprice ! 
 
 ASPIKATIONS. 
 
 1 waste no more in idle dreams 
 
 My life, my soul away; 
 I wake to know my better self— 
 
 I wake to watch and pray. 
 Thought, feeling, time, on idols vain, 
 
 I've lavished all too long: 
 Henceforth to holier purposes 
 
 I pledge myself, my song I 
 
 Oh! still within the inner veil, 
 
 Upon the spirit's shrine, 
 Still unprofaned by evil, bums 
 
 The one pure spark divine. 
 Which God has kindled in us all, 
 
 And be it mine to tend 
 Henceforth, with vestal thought and c-ire. 
 
 The light that lamp may lend. 
 
 I shut mine eyes in grief and shame 
 
 Upon the dreary past — 
 My heart, my soul poured recklessly 
 
 On dreams that could not last : 
 My bark was drifted down the stream, 
 
 At will of wind or wave — 
 An idle, light, and fragile thing, 
 
 That few had cared to save. 
 
 Henceforth the tiller Truth shall hold. 
 
 And steer as Conscience tells, 
 And 1 will brave the storms of Fate, 
 
 Though wild the ocean swells. 
 [ know my soul is strong and high, 
 
 If once I give it sway : 
 [ feel a glorious power within. 
 
 Though light I seem and gay. 
 
 Oh, laggard Soul ! unclose thine eyes — 
 
 No more in luxury soft 
 Of joy ideal waste thyself: 
 
 Awake, and soar aloft! 
 Unfurl this hour those falcon wings 
 
 Which thou dost fold too long; 
 Raise to the skies thy lightning gaze, 
 
 And sing thy loftiest song! 
 
 LABOUK. 
 
 Pause not to dream of the future before us. 
 
 Pause not to weep the wild cares that come o'er us , 
 
 Hark, how Creation's deep, musical chorus, 
 
 Unintermitting, goes up into Heaven! 
 Never the ocean-wave falters in flowing; 
 Never the little seed stops in its growing; 
 More and more richly the Roseheart keeps glowing. 
 
 Till from its nourishing stem it is riven. 
 
 " Labour is worship!" — the robin is singing: 
 *' Labour is worship !"— the wild bee is ringing : 
 Listen ! that eloquent whisper upspringing, 
 Speaks to thy soul from out nature's great heart. 
 
 464 
 
OS 
 
 PA 
 
 Prom the dark cloud flows the life-giving shower ; 
 Prom the rough sod blows the soft breathing flower ; 
 From the small insect, the rich coral bower ; 
 Only man, in the plan, shrinks from his part. 
 
 Labour is life !— 'T is the still water faileth ; 
 
 Idleness ever despaireth, bewaileth ; 
 
 Keep the watch wound, for the dark rust assaileth ! 
 
 Flowers droop and die in the stillness of noon. 
 Labour is glory 1— the flying cloud lightens ; 
 Only the waving wing changes and brightens ; 
 Idle hearts only the dark future frightens : 
 
 Play the sweet keys, wouldst thou keep them in tune I 
 
 Labour is rest— from the sorrows that greet us ; 
 Rest from all petty vexations that meet us. 
 Rest from sin-promptings that ever entreat us, 
 
 Rest from world-syrens that lure us to ill. 
 Work— and pure slumbers shall wait on thy pillow ; 
 Work— thou Shalt ride over Care's coming billow; 
 Lie not down wearied 'neath Wo's weeping willow ! 
 
 Work with a stout heart and resolute will! 
 
 Labour is health— Lo! the husbandman reaping. 
 How through his veins goes the life-current leaping ! 
 How his strong arm in its stalwart pride sweeping. 
 
 True as a sunbeam the swift sickle guides. 
 Labour is wealth— in the sea the pearl groweth ; 
 Rich the queen's robe from the frail cocoon floweth; 
 Prom the fine acorn the strong forest bloweth ; 
 
 Temple and statue the marble block hides. 
 
 Droop not though shame, sin and anguish are round thee ! 
 Bravely fling off" the cold chain that hath bound thee ' 
 Look to yon pure heaven smiling beyond thee: 
 
 Rest not content in thy darkness— a clod ! 
 Work — for some good, be it ever so slowly ; 
 Cherish some flower, be it ever so lowly ; 
 Labour ! — all labour is noble and holy : 
 
 Let thy great deeds be thy prayer to thy God. 
 
 OSTERWTK, MARIA VAN, 
 
 A Dutch artist, gave such early proofs of her 
 genius, that her father was induced to place her 
 under the direction of John David de Heem, at 
 Utrecht. She studied nature attentively, and im- 
 proved so much by her master's precepts, that, in 
 a short time, her works rivalled his. Her favourite 
 subjects . were flowers and still-life, which she 
 painted in a delicate manner, and with great free- 
 dom of hand. She had so much skill as to adapt 
 her touch to the different objects she imitated. 
 She grouped her flowers with taste, and imitated 
 their freshness and bloom admirably. Louis XIY. 
 was exceedingly pleased with her performances, 
 and honoured one with a place in his cabinet ; as 
 also did the emperor and empress of Germany, 
 who sent to this artist, their own miniatures set 
 in diamonds, as a mark of their esteem. King 
 William III. gave her nine hundred florins for one 
 picture, and she was much more highly rewarded 
 for another by the king of Poland. As she spent 
 a great deal of time over her works, she could 
 finish but few comparatively, which has rendered 
 her paintings extremely scarce and valuable. 
 
 P. 
 
 PAKINGTON, LADY DOROTHY, 
 
 Dauohtee of Lord Coventry, and wife of Sir 
 John Pakington, was eminent for her learning 
 and piety, and ranked among her friends several 
 2E 
 
 celebrated divines. " The Whole Duty of Man" 
 was ascribed to her at first, though the mistake 
 has been discovered. Her acknowledged works 
 are, "The Gentlemen's Calling," "The Ladies' 
 Calling," "The Government of the Tongue," "The 
 Christian's Birthright," and " The Causes of the 
 Decay of Christian Piety." Her theological works 
 are strictly orthodox, and evince ardent piety of 
 feeling. She was, at the time of her decease, en- 
 gaged in a work entitled " The Government of the 
 Thoughts," which was praised, in high terms, by 
 Dr. Fell ; but this work she did not finish. Lady 
 Pakington had received a learned education, which 
 was not at that time uncommon to give to women 
 of high rank ; that she used her talents and learn- 
 ing wisely and well, we have this testimony in the 
 writings of Dr. Fell. He says of her, "Lady 
 Pakington was wise, humble, temperate, chaste, 
 patient, charitable, and devout ; she lived a whole 
 age of great austerities, and maintained in the 
 midst of them an undisturbed serenity." She 
 died May 10th, 1679. 
 
 PALADINI, ARCHANGELA, 
 An Italian historical painter, was born at Pisa, 
 in 1599, and died in 1622, aged twenty-three. 
 She was the daughter of Filippo Paladini, an emi- 
 nent artist of that city, who instructed her in the 
 art. She attained great excellence in portrait- 
 painting, and also excelled in embroidery and 
 music, and sang exquisitely. These uncommon 
 talents, imited with an agreeable person, procured 
 her the friendship of Maria Magdalena, arch- 
 duchess of Austria, who lived at Florence, and in 
 whose court this artist spent the last years of her 
 life. 
 
 PANZACCHIA, MARIA ELENA, 
 Was born at Bologna, in 1668, of a noble fa- 
 mily. She learned design under Emilio Taruffi, 
 and in a few years acquired great readiness in 
 composition, correctness of outline, and a lovely 
 tint of colouring. Besides history, she also ex- 
 celled in painting landscapes ; and by the beauty 
 of her situations and distances, allured and enter- 
 tained the eye of every beholder. The figures 
 which she inserted had abundance of grace ; she 
 designed them with becoming attitudes, and gave 
 them a lively and natural expression. Her merit 
 was incontestably acknowledged, and her wo^ks 
 were so much prized as to be exceedingly scarce, 
 few being found out of Bologna. She died in 
 1709. 
 
 PAOLINI, MASSIMI PETRONELLA, 
 Or Tagliacozzo, a province of Aquila, was bom 
 in 1663. She passed her life principally at Rome, 
 and dedicated it to the cultivation of letters. She 
 wrote in prose and in verse with equal facility 
 and elegance. She has been eulogized by Cres- 
 cembini, by Muratori, and by Salvini, and was a 
 member of the Arcadia, under the name of Fidelma 
 Partenide. She died 1726. Her renlaining works 
 are two dramas, " Tomici," and " La Donna lUus- 
 tre." She produced beside many canzonetts and 
 sonnets, and poems in various collections. 
 
 465 
 
PA 
 
 PARADIES, MABIA THERESA, 
 Born at Vienna, 1753, equally as remarkable 
 for her life as for her distinguished musical talent. 
 At the early age of four years and eight months, 
 she was, by a rheumatic apoplexy, totally depriTcd 
 of her eyesight. 'When seven years old, she was 
 taught -on the piano and in singing ; and three 
 years after, she sang the Stabat Mater of Perga- 
 lesi, in the church of St. Augustin, at Vienna, 
 accompanying herself on the organ. The empress, 
 Maria Theresa, who was present at the perform- 
 ance, gave her immediately an annuity of two 
 hundred florins. Soon the young musician ad- 
 vanced so far, as to play sixty concertas with the 
 greatest accuracy. In the year 1784, she set out 
 on a musical journey, and wherever'she appeared, 
 but especially in London, (1785,) she excited, by 
 her rare endowments, as well as by her misfor- 
 tune, admiration and interest. She often moved 
 her audience to tears by a cantate, the words of 
 which were vrritten by the blind poet Pfeffel, in 
 which her own fate was depicted. Her memory 
 was astonisliing ; she dictated all her compositions 
 note by note. She was also well versed in other 
 sciences, as geography, arithmetic. In company, 
 she was cheerful, entertaining, witty, and highly 
 interesting. During the latter part of her life she 
 presided over an excellent musical institution in 
 Vienna. 
 
 PABTHENAY, ANNE DE, 
 
 A LADT of great genius and learning, who lived 
 in the sixteenth century. She married Anthony 
 de Pons, count of Marennes, and was one of the 
 brightest ornaments of the court of Ferrara. She 
 was a Calvinist. 
 
 Her mother was Michelli de Sorbonne, a lady 
 of Bretagne, a woman of uncommon talents, lady 
 of honour to Anne of Bretagne, wife to Louis XII., 
 by whom she was appointed governess to her 
 daughter, Benata, duchess of Ferrara. Anne, 
 under the superintendence of her mother, received 
 a learned education, and made great progress in 
 the knowledge of the languages, and in theology, 
 and was also skilled in music. She had so great 
 an influence over her husband, that while she lived 
 he was distinguished as a lover of truth and vir- 
 tue, and instructed himself, his officers and sub- 
 jects at Pons, in the Scriptures ; but after her 
 death, he married one of the pleasure-loving ladies 
 of the court, and became, from that time, an 
 enemy and persecutor of the truth. 
 
 PABTHENAY, CATHABINE DE, 
 NiEOE to Anne de Parthenay, and daughter and 
 heiress of John de Parthenay, lord of Soubise, 
 inherited her father's devotion to the cause of 
 Calvinism. She published some poems in 1572, 
 when she was only eighteen; and is thought to 
 be the author of an "Apology for Henry IV.," a 
 concealed but keen satire, which is considered an 
 able production. She also wrote tragedies and 
 comedies ; her tragedy of " Holofernes" was acted 
 in Eochelle, in 1574. In 1568, when only four- 
 teen, she was married to Charles de Quellenoe, 
 
 PA 
 
 baron de Pont, in Brittany, who, upon this mar- 
 riage, took the name of Soubise. He fell a sacri- 
 fice to his religion, in the general massacre of the 
 Protestants, at Paris, on St. Bartholomew's day, 
 1571. 
 
 In 1575, his widow married Benatus, viscount 
 Rohan; who dying in 1586, when she was only 
 thirty-two, she resolved not to marry again, but 
 to devote herself to her children. Her eldest son 
 was the celebrated duke de Bohan, who main- 
 tained the Protestant cause with so much vigour 
 during the civil wars in the reign of Louis XIII. 
 Her second son was the duke de Soubise. She 
 had also three daughters; Henriette, who died 
 unmarried ; and Catharine, who married a duke 
 de Deux-ponts, 1605. It was this lady who made 
 the memorable reply to Henry IV., when, at- 
 tracted by her beauty, he declared a passion for 
 her; "I am too poor, sire, to be your wife, and 
 too nobly born to be your mistress." The third 
 daughter was Anne, who never married, but lived 
 with her mother, and bore with her aU the cala- 
 mities of the siege of Bochelle. The mother was 
 then in her seventy-fifth year, and they were re- 
 duced, for three months, to living on horse-flesh 
 and four ounces of bread a day ; yet she wrote to 
 her sou, "not to let the consideration of their 
 extremity, prevail on him to do anything to the 
 injury of his party, how great soever their suffer- 
 ings might be." She and her daughter refused 
 to be included in the articles of capitulation, and 
 were conveyed prisoners to the castle of Niort, 
 where she died in 1631, aged seventy-seven. 
 
 PEABSON, MABGABET, 
 
 Was an English lady, daughter of Samuel Pat- 
 terson, an eminent book-auctioneer. She disco- 
 vered early a taste for the fine arts ; and on marry- 
 ing Mr. Pearson, a painter on glass, she devoted 
 herself to that branch of the art, in which she 
 attained peculiar excellence. Among other fine 
 specimens of her skill were two sets of the oar- 
 toons of Baphael, one of which was purchased by 
 the Marquis of Lansdowne, and the other by Sir 
 Gregory Page Turner. She died in 1823. 
 
 PENNINGTON, LADY, 
 Wife of Sir Joseph Pennington, was separated, 
 by family misunderstandings, from her children, 
 for whose benefit she wrote " An Unfortunate Mo- 
 ther's Advice to her Absent Daughters," a work 
 of great merit. She died in 1783. 
 
 PETIGNY, MABIA-LOUISE, BOSE 
 LEVBSQUE, 
 Was born at Paris in 1768. Her father, Charles 
 Peter Levfesque, was a well-knovni French writer 
 on history and general literature, and became a 
 member of the National Institute. His daughter, 
 educated by him, displayed a genius for poetry ; 
 her "Idylles" and fugitive pieces were highly 
 praised by Palesot and Florian. Gessner called 
 her his "petite fille." She married M. Petigny, 
 of Saint-Bomain. The time of her death is not 
 mentioned. The following piece is fanciful and 
 pretty: — 
 
PE 
 
 PH 
 
 LE PAPIILOK. 
 
 due ton sort est digne d'envie, 
 Papillon heureux et 16ger! 
 Le desir seul regie ta vie, 
 Et comme lui tu peux changer. 
 
 La fleur qui recoit ton hommage 
 Te c6de son plus doux tr6sor, 
 Et jamais un dur esclavage 
 N'arrete ton joyeux essor. 
 
 Je sais qu'une lueur troinpeuse 
 T'attire souvent a la mort; 
 Q,ue ton imprudence amoureuse 
 D6s le soir va finir ton sort. 
 
 Mais sans crainte, sans pr6voyance, 
 Tu vis jusqu'au dernier soupir, 
 Et, dans ton heureuse ignorance, 
 Sans le savoir, tu vas mourir. 
 
 PEBCY, ELIZABETH, 
 Was the only child and heir of Jooelyn Percy, 
 last Earl of Northumberland. Her mother was 
 Elizabeth Wriothesly, the sister of Lady Kachel 
 Eussel. Upon the death of her husband, she 
 married Mr. Montague ; and the young Elizabeth 
 was given in charge to her paternal grandmother, 
 but with the pledge that she was not to contract 
 any marriage without the consent of her mother, 
 who entered into a similar engagement with the 
 grandmother. Notwithstanding these promises, at 
 the age of eleven, Elizabeth Percy was, in 1679, 
 made the wife of Henry Cavendish, Earl of Ogle, 
 only son of the last Cavendish, Duke of Newcastle, 
 without the knowledge of her mother. The youth- 
 ful husband died the following year, leaving her 
 again an object of intrigue and speculation. She 
 had scarcely been a widow a twelvemonth, when 
 she was again, through the management of her 
 grandmother, married to Thomas Thynne, Esq., 
 of Longleat, remarkable for his large fortune. 
 Though still a child in the nursery, the little 
 beauty had learned to have a will of her own ; 
 and while she was made the tool of others, con- 
 ceived so violent a dislike to her future husband, 
 that she made her escape to Holland. Young as 
 she was, the fame of her beauty, as well as her 
 great wealth, attracted universal attention. Ad- 
 miration and cupidity combined, caused a plan to 
 be laid to set her free from the trammels that 
 bound her, and leave her at liberty to make a new 
 choice. The celebrated Count Koningsmark, whose 
 beauty and daring had made him the theme of con- 
 versation and scandal from one end of Europe to 
 the other, cast his eyes on the fair Elizabeth, and 
 marked her for his own. He hired three bravos, 
 and to these he gave commission to assassinate 
 Mr. Thynne. This audacious project they boldly 
 carried into execution. While their victim was 
 driving through Pail-Mall, they stopped his horses, 
 and fired at him through the carriage-window. 
 The first shot was fatal ; five balls entered his 
 body, and he expired in a few hours. The heiress, 
 now a second time a widow, though still little 
 more than fifteen, was again disposed of; her 
 third husband being Charles Seymour, commonly 
 called the proud Duke of Somerset, of whom the 
 tale is told of his repressing the familiarity of his 
 
 second wife, Lady Charlotte Finch, when she 
 tapped him upon the shoulder with her fan, 
 " Madam," he said, turning haughtily round to 
 the presuming beauty, with a frowning brow, 
 "my first wife was a Percy, and she never took 
 such a liberty." The Duke of Somerset was, at 
 the period of his marriage, just twenty, hand- 
 some, commanding in his person, and with many 
 good qualities. Nothing appears to have inter- 
 rupted this marriage, or its subsequent harmony. 
 The period of the Duchess of Somerset's death is 
 unrecorded. The Duke's marriage with his second 
 wife took place in 1726. The Duchess of Somer- 
 set was Groom of the Stole to Queen Anne. She 
 succeeded the Duchess of Marlborough in that 
 office, and was henceforward an object of dislike 
 and vituperation to that power-loving duchess, 
 who possessed in an eminent degree the quality 
 so commended by Doctor Johnson, being " a good 
 hater." 
 
 PHILIPS, CATHARINE, 
 Was the daughter of Mr. Fowler, a merchant 
 of London, and was bom there in 1631. She was 
 educated at a boarding-school in Hackney, where 
 she distinguished herself by her poetical talents. 
 She married James Philips, Esq., of the Priory of 
 Cardigan ; and afterwards went with the viscountess 
 of Dungannon into Ireland. She translated from 
 the French, Corneille's tragedy of Pompey, which 
 was acted several times in 1663 and 1664. She 
 died in London of the small-pox, in 1664, to the 
 regret of all ; "having not left," says Langbaine, 
 " any of her sex her equal in poetry." Cowley 
 wrote an ode on her death ; and Dr. Jeremy Tay- 
 lor addressed to her his " Measures and Offices 
 of Friendship." She vfrote under the name of 
 Orinda ; and, in 1667, her works were printed as 
 " Poems by the most deservedly admired Mrs. 
 Catharine Philips, the matchless Orinda. To 
 which is added several translations from the 
 French, with her portrait." 
 
 AQAINST PLEASURE — AN ODE. 
 
 There 's no such thing as pleasure here, 
 
 'Tis all a perfect cheat, 
 Which does but shine and disappear, 
 
 Whose charm is but deceit ; 
 The empty bribe of yielding souls. 
 Which first betrays and then controls. 
 
 'Tis true, it looks at distance fair; 
 
 But if we do approach. 
 The fruit of Sodom will impair, 
 
 And perish at a touch ; 
 It being than in fancy less, 
 And we expect more than possess. 
 
 For by our pleasures we are cloyed 
 
 And so desire is done ; 
 Or else, like rivers, they make wide 
 
 The channels where they run ; 
 And either way true bliss destroys, 
 Making us narrow, or our joys. 
 
 We covet pleasure easily, \ 
 
 But ne'er true bliss possess; 
 For many things must make it be. 
 
 But one may make it less; 
 Nay, were our state as we could choose u 
 'T would be consumed by fear to lose it. 
 
 4(57 
 
PI 
 
 What art thou, then, thou winged air, 
 More wealt and swift than fame ! 
 
 Whose next successor is despair. 
 And its attendant shame. 
 
 Th' experienced prince then reason had. 
 
 Who said of Pleasure — " It is mad." 
 
 A COUNTKT LIFE. 
 
 How sacred and how innocent 
 
 A country life appears. 
 How free from tumult, discontent. 
 
 From flattery or fears ! 
 
 This was the first and happiest life. 
 When man enjoyed himself, 
 
 Till pride exchanged peace for strife. 
 And happiness for pelf 
 
 'T was here the poets were inspired, 
 Here taught the multitude ; 
 
 The brave they here with honour lired. 
 And civilized the rude. 
 
 That golden age did entertain 
 
 No passion but of love : 
 The thoughts of ruling and of gain 
 
 Did ne'er their fancies move. 
 
 Tliem that do covet only rest, 
 
 A cottage will suffice ; 
 It is not brave to be possessed 
 
 Of earth, but to despise. 
 
 Opinion is the rate of things. 
 From hence our peace doth flow ; 
 
 I have a better fate than kings. 
 Because I think it so. 
 
 When all the stormy world doth roar. 
 
 How unconcerned am I! 
 I cannot fear to tumble lower. 
 
 Who never could be high. 
 
 Secure in these unenvied walls, 
 
 I think not on the slate. 
 And pity no man's ease that falls 
 
 From his ambition's height. 
 
 Silence and innocence are safe ; 
 
 A heart that's nobly true. 
 At all these little arts can laugh. 
 
 That do the world subdue I 
 
 PICHLER, CAROLINE, 
 
 AVas born in Vienna, in 1769. This very pro- 
 lific and elegant writer has left an autobiography, 
 under the title of " Review of my Life ;" from this 
 source have been gleaned the facts 'which form 
 this sketch. As a specimen of her turn of thought, 
 and style, the introductory remarks to her " Re- 
 view," &c., are translated. 
 
 " A hundred times has life been compared to a 
 journey, a pilgrimage, and the comparison sus- 
 tained poetically, and sometimes unpoetically. 
 Without pursuing this allegory in its details, I 
 may be allowed to adopt the idea of man as a tra- 
 veller, who often, from weariness, stops a day to 
 recruit, or from the desire to pause on some beau- 
 tiful spot, lingers an hour. At such stages he 
 naturally turns back his thoughts to the places he 
 has passed through ; the persons he has encoun- 
 tered ; the days of pleasure, and also the incon- 
 veniences, the storms, the difficulties, which have 
 varied his route. Certain epochs arrive in life 
 answering to these stages of the traveller, when it 
 
 PI 
 
 seems natural and salutary to throw a glance back 
 upon the path we have traversed, and take an ac- 
 count of the schoolings of our minds, and the con- 
 duct we have pursued. The fiftieth year appears 
 to be such an anniversary, when it is time to turn 
 the thoughts backwards, and review the circum- 
 stances gone by. With heartfelt enjoyment the 
 matron goes back to the days when she as a maid- 
 en, as a bride, as a young wife, has, with God's 
 blessing, tasted so much good. With tender re- 
 gret she reverently recalls many lost and distant 
 affections, and thanks Providence even for those 
 dark hours, which, like the shades in a picture, 
 rather heighten the bright tints of her life's pic- 
 ture — clouds that have taught her to estimate the 
 sunshine. What she has done and felt as a daugh- 
 ter, wife, and mother, can only interest the circle 
 whose affection draws them close around her ; but 
 an account of the progress of her career as an 
 author may be not uninteresting to the reading 
 public, and may, without impropriety, be adjoined 
 to this last collected edition of her works." 
 
 Her mother was the orphan of an officer who 
 died in the service of the empress Maria Theresa, 
 who took very gracious nottce of the young lady, 
 gave her a good education, and retained her near 
 her person as a reader, until she was very re- 
 spectably and happily married to an aulick coun- 
 sellor. After their marriage, their tastes being 
 congenial, they drew round them a circle of mu- 
 sical and literary celebrities; and their position 
 at court being an elevated one, their house became 
 the centre of the best society, in every sense of the 
 word. Caroline, from her babyhood, breathed an 
 atmosphere of literature ; she was accustomed to 
 hear the first men in science and in politics discuss 
 interesting subjects, and converse upon elevated 
 topics. Among many German professors and 
 poets whose names are less familiar to the English 
 reader, Maffei and Metastasio may be mentioned 
 as intimates of this family. AVhen it became time 
 to give their son a Latin master, the parents of 
 Caroline were assailed by the savants who visited 
 their house, with the assurance that the little girl 
 must share in this advantage — they had perceived 
 
 468 
 
PI 
 
 PI 
 
 the mtelligenoe of her mind, and were desirous of 
 cultivating it. The diseuasion ended by these 
 gentlemen offering to teach her themselves, and 
 the most eminent men of Vienna vied with one 
 another in awakening the intellect and training 
 the understanding of this fortunate young lady. 
 After studying the classic tongues, she acquired 
 the French, Italian, and English. Even in orna- 
 mental accomplishments she enjoyed very extraor- 
 dinary advantages ; for the great Mozart, who 
 visited them frequently, though he gave lessons 
 to nobody, condescended, from friendship, to ad- 
 vise and improve Caroline. Her brother appears 
 to have partaken of the family taste for literature, 
 though his sister's superiority has alone redeemed 
 him from oblivion. He associated himself in a 
 literary club of young men, who amused them- 
 selves with producing a sort of miscellany, made 
 up of political essays, poems, tales, or whatever 
 was convenient. To this Caroline contributed 
 anonymously, and derived great benefit from the 
 exercise in composition which it demanded. It 
 was through this association that she became ac- 
 quainted with her husband, one of its members. 
 She was married in 1796, and lived for forty years 
 in the enjoyment of a happy union. It was her 
 husband who induced her to come before the pub- 
 lic as a writer : he was proud of her abilities, and 
 argued with her that her productions might be of 
 service to her own sex. In 1800, she appeared in 
 the republic of letters, and was received with 
 much applause. Klopstock and Lavater both 
 wrote her complimentary and encouraging letters. 
 She describes her celebrated novel " Agathocles" 
 to have been written after her perusal of Gibbon's 
 "Decline and Fall," the sophistry and unfairness 
 of which, with respect to Christianity, roused her 
 indignation, and urged her to attempt a work in 
 which a true picture of the early Christians should 
 be pourtrayed according to really authentic ac- 
 counts. 
 
 The disasters which attended the house of Aus- 
 tria at this period affected her powerfully. Ani- 
 mated with feelings of loyalty and patriotism, she 
 determined to undertake a tragedy, which should 
 breathe the German spirit of resistance to foreign 
 invasion. " Heinrich von Hohenstaufen" appeared 
 in 1812. It was received with warm enthusiasm, 
 and procured for the author the acquaintance of 
 several literary ladies — Madame von Baumberg, 
 Madame Weisenthurn, and some others. Madame 
 Piehler had but one child, a daughter, to whom 
 she was tenderly devoted, and who rewarded her 
 maternal cares by her goodness and filial piety. 
 Caroline Piehler died in 1843. 
 
 As some of her best works we mention her 
 "Agathocles," "The Siege of Vienna," "Dignity 
 of Woman," and "The Rivals." Her works re- 
 commend themselves, by warm feeling, pure mo- 
 rals, and well-digested thoughts, as well as by a 
 perfect style, and vivid descriptive powers. We 
 would particularly mention "Agathocles," which 
 is considered the most important on account of 
 the matter, its subject being the struggles of new- 
 bom Christianity against the religion of Kome and 
 Greece. 
 
 PIENNE, JOAN DE HALLUIN, 
 Maid of honour to Catharine de Medicis, was 
 passionately beloved by Francis de Montmoreuci, 
 eldest son of the constable, Aun de Montmorenci. 
 He engaged himself to her, but his parents opposed 
 it, as they wished him to marry the widow of the 
 duke de Castro, Henry's natural daughter. They 
 sent to pope Paul IV., to obtain a dissolution of 
 the engagement, which he would not grant, as he 
 wished the duchess de Castro to marry a nephew 
 of his. Henry II. then published an edict declar- 
 ing clandestine marriages null and void, and or- 
 dered the lady de Pienncf to be shut up in a mo- 
 nastery, and Francis de Montmorenci married the 
 duchess. The lady de Pienne was married some 
 time after, to a man inferior in rank to her first 
 lover. 
 
 PILKINGTON, LETITIA, 
 Was the daughter of Dr. Van Lewen, a Dutch 
 gentleman, who settled in Dublin, where she was 
 bom, in 1712. She wrote verses when very young, 
 and this, with her vivacity, brought her many 
 admirers. She married the Rev. Matthew PU- 
 kington ; but, she says, that soon after their mar- 
 riage he became jealous of her abilities, and her 
 poetical talents. However, it is said, that she 
 gave him other and strong grounds for jealousy ; 
 so that, after her father's death, having no farther 
 expectation of a fortune by her, Mr. Pilkington 
 took advantage of her imprudence to obtain a 
 separation from her. 
 
 She then came to London, where, through Col- 
 ley Cibber's exertions, she was for some time sup- 
 ported by contributions from the great; but at 
 length these succours failed, and she was thrown 
 into prison. After remaining there nine weeks, 
 she was released by Gibber, who had solicited 
 charity for her ; and, weary of dependence, she 
 resolved to employ her remaining five guineas in 
 trade ; and, taking a shop in St. James' street, 
 she furnished it with pamphlets and prints. She 
 seems to have succeeded very well in this occupa- 
 tion ; but she did not live long to enjoy her com- 
 petence, for she went to Dublin, and died there, 
 in her thirty-ninth year. 
 
 She wrote besides poems, her own memoirs, a 
 comedy called " The Turkish Court, or London 
 Apprentice," and a tragedy called " The Roman 
 Father." 
 
 PINCKNEY, MARIA. 
 
 This lady (in every sense of the venerated title) 
 was the eldest daughter of Gen. Charles Cotes- 
 worth Pinckney, of South Carolina ; her mother, 
 a sister of the Hon. Arthur Middleton, of Middle- 
 ton Place, South Carolina, another of the signers 
 of American independence. Education, together 
 vrith excellent natural abilities, combined to form 
 Miss Pinckney's very superior character ; while 
 the promptings of a truly benevolent heart always 
 directed her hand to relieve the necessitous, and 
 in every instance, to promote the comfort and 
 welfare of others, making generous allowance for 
 all human frailty. Warm were her friendships, 
 
 469 
 
PI 
 
 PI 
 
 and never did a shadow of caprice disturb their 
 harmony, or mar the happiness of domestic life. 
 Religiously and morally, she was a bright example 
 unto death. Miss Pinckney was peculiarly im- 
 pressed with love of country, but more especially 
 her native state ; she therefore deeply felt and 
 weighed every movement derogatory, in her opi- 
 nion, to its interests ; so that, when South Caro- 
 lina exhibited nullification principles, she took a 
 strong and leading stand in favour of those prin- 
 ciples, presenting to the public a very energetic 
 and weD-written work upon the subject. Its point 
 was so full of effect as to cause an eminent states- 
 man at Washington to Acclaim, " That the nullifi- 
 cation party of South Carolina was consolidated 
 hy the nib of a lady' s pen." 
 
 Perhaps Miss Pinckney might have fairly taken 
 for the motto of her publication — viewing the partial 
 imposition of certain taxation in the light in which 
 the party and herself beheld it — her father's never- 
 to-be-forgotten, patriotic sentiment, in reply to 
 the unjust demand made upon the United States 
 by France—" Millions for defence, but not a cent 
 for tribute." Miss Pinckney died a few years 
 ago. 
 
 PINELLA, ANTONIA, 
 
 Was born at Bologna, and obtained the know- 
 ledge which she possessed of the art of painting 
 from Lodovico Caracci, to whose style she ad- 
 hered. Her principal works are in the different 
 churches of her native city. She died there, in 
 1640. 
 
 PIOZZI, or THRALE, ESTHER LYNCH, 
 
 DiSTiNGDiSHED for her intimacy with Dr. John- 
 son, was the daughter of John Salusbury, Esq., 
 of Bodvel, in Carnarvonshire, England, where she 
 was born, in 1739. In 1763, she married Henry 
 Thrale, an opulent brewer in Southwark. Her 
 beauty, vivacity and intelligence, made her house 
 the resort of nearly all the literati of her time, 
 and Dr. Samuel Johnson was almost domesticated 
 with them. The following is Mrs. Thrale's own 
 account of the manner in which they became ac- 
 quainted with the author of the "Rambler:" 
 
 " The first time I ever saw this extraordinary 
 man was in the year 1764, when Mr. Murphy, who 
 had long been the friend and confidential intimate 
 of Mr. Thrale, persuaded him to wish for John- 
 son's conversation, extolling it in terms which that 
 of no other person could have deserved, till we 
 were only in doubt how to obtain his company, 
 and find an excuse for the invitation. The cele- 
 brity of Mr. Woodhouse, a shoemaker, whose verses 
 were at that time the subject of common discourse, 
 soon afforded a pretence, and Mr. Murphy brought 
 Johnson to meet him, giving me general cautions 
 not to be surprised at his figure, dress, or beha- 
 viour. What I recollect best of the day's talk was 
 his earnestly recommending Addison's works to 
 Mr. Woodhouse as a model for imitation. ' Give 
 nights and days, sir,' said he, ' to the study of 
 Addison, if you mean either to be a good writer, 
 or, what is more worth, an honest man.' When I 
 saw something like the same .expression in his 
 
 criticism on that author, lately published, I put 
 him in mind of his past injunctions to the young 
 poet, to which he replied, ' That he wished the 
 shoemaker might have remembered them as well.' 
 Mr. Johnson liked his new acquaintance so much, 
 however, that, from that time, he dined with us 
 on every Thursday through the winter, and, in 
 the autumn of the next year, he followed us to 
 Brighthelmstone, whence we were gone before his 
 arrival ; so that he was disappointed and enraged, 
 and wrote us a letter expressive of anger, which 
 we were desirous to pacify, and to obtain his com- 
 pany again if possible. Mr. Murphy brought him 
 back to us again very kindly, and from that time 
 his visits grew more frequent, till, in the year 
 1766, his health, which he had always complained 
 of, grew so exceedingly bad, that he could not stir 
 out of his room in the court he inhabited for many 
 weeks together — I think months. * * 
 
 " Mr. Thrale's attentions and my own now be- 
 came so acceptable to him, that he often lamented 
 to us the horrible condition of his mind, which he 
 said was nearly distracted. * * * 
 
 " Mr. Thrale went away soon after, leaving me 
 with him, and bidding me prevail on him to quit 
 his close habitation in the court, and come to us 
 at Streatham, where I undertook the care of his 
 health, and had the honour and happiness of con- 
 tributing to its restoration." 
 
 Dr. Johnson appears to have enacted the mentor 
 as well as the friend at Streatham, perhaps rather 
 oftener than was quite agreeable to his lively 
 hostess, who has, however, with perfect candour, 
 mentioned some instances of his reproofs, in her 
 amusing anecdotes of his life, even when the story 
 told against herself. On one occasion, on her ob- 
 serving to a friend that she did not like goose, — 
 " One smells it so while it is roasting," said she. 
 
 "But you, madam," replied the doctor, "have 
 been at all times a fortunate woman, having 
 always had your hunger so forestalled by indul- 
 gence, that you never experienced the delight of 
 smelling your dinner beforehand." 
 
 On another occasion, during a very hot and dry 
 summer, when she was naturally but thoughtlessly 
 wishing for rain, to lay the dust, as they drove 
 along the Surrey roads. " I cannot bear," replied 
 he, with some asperity, and an altered look, "when 
 I know how many poor families wUl perish next 
 winter for want of that bread which the present 
 drought will deny them, to hear ladies sighing for 
 rain, only that their complexions may not suffer 
 from the heat, or their clothes be incommoded by 
 the dust. For shame ! leave off such foppish 
 lamentations, and study to relieve those whose 
 distresses are real." 
 
 Mr. Thrale died in 1781, and his widow retired 
 with her four daughters to Bath. In 1784, she 
 married Gabriel Piozii, an Italian music-master ; 
 and this caused a complete rupture between her 
 and Johnson, who had tried in vain to dissuade 
 her from this step. After Johnson's death, Mrs. 
 Piozzi published, in 1786, a volume, entitled 
 "Anecdotes of Dr. Samuel Johnson, during the 
 last Twenty Years of his Life." Many things in 
 this work gave great offence to Boswell and other 
 
 470 
 
PI 
 
 PI 
 
 friends of Johnson. But Mrs. Piozzi, notwith- 
 standing, soon published another work, called 
 " Letters to and from Johnson." 
 
 But though seemingly devoted to literature and 
 society, she never neglected her children. In a 
 letter to Miss Burney she says, " I have read to 
 them the Bible from beginning to end, the Roman 
 and English histories, Milton, Shakspeare, Pope, 
 and Young's works from head to heel; Warton 
 and Johnson's Criticisms on the Poets ; besides a 
 complete system of dramatic writing ; and classical 
 — I mean the English classics — they are most per- 
 fectly acquainted with. Such works of Voltaire, 
 too, as were not dangerous, we have worked at ; 
 Rollin des Belles Lettres, and a hundred more." 
 
 A friend, who, in an agreeable little work, 
 called "Piozziana," has recorded several interest- 
 ing anecdotes of the latter days of this celebrated 
 lady, has given the following account of Mrs. 
 Piozzi, quite late in life : 
 
 "She was short, and, though well-proportioned, 
 broad, and deep-chested. Her hands were mus- 
 cular and almost coarse, but her writing was, even 
 in her eightieth year, exquisitely beautiful ; and 
 one day, while conversing with her on the subject 
 of education, she observed that ' All misses now- 
 a-days write so like each other, that it is pro- 
 voking ;' adding, ' I love to see individuality of 
 character, and abhor sameness, especially in what 
 is feeble and flimsy.' Then spreading her hand, 
 she said, ' I believe I owe what you are pleased to 
 call my good writing to the shape of this hand, for 
 my uncle, Sir Robert Cotton, thought it too manly 
 to be employed in writing like a boarding-school 
 girl ; and so I came by my vigorous, black manu- 
 script.' " 
 
 From this "Pozziana" we will give a few anec- 
 dotes, which paint the character of Mrs. Piozzi 
 better than would an elaborate description. 
 
 At Bath, she sat to Eoche for her portrait, re- 
 quiring him to make the painting in all respects 
 a likeness ; to take care to show her face deeply 
 rouged, which it always was ; and to introduce a 
 trivial deformity of the lower jaw on the left side, 
 where she had been severely hurt by her horse 
 treading on her, as she lay prostrate, after being 
 thrown in Hyde Park. This miniature her friend 
 states to be, "in the essential of .resemblance, 
 perfect ; as all who recollect the original, her very 
 erect carriage, and most expressive face, could 
 attest." 
 
 When looking at "her little self," as she called 
 the picture, she would speak droUy of what she 
 once was, as if talking of some one else. One 
 day, turning to her friend, she said, "No; I 
 never ^as handsome, I had always too many 
 strong points in my face for beauty." 
 
 " I ventured to express a doubt of this," con- 
 tinues the narrative, "and said that Dr. Johnson 
 was certainly an admirer of her personal charms. 
 She replied, she believed his devotion was at least 
 as warm towards the table and the table-talk at 
 Streatham. I was tempted to observe that I 
 thought, as I still do, that Johnson's anger on the 
 event of her second marriage was excited by some 
 
 feeling of disappointment, and that I suspected he 
 had formed hopes of attaching her to himself. It 
 would be disingenuous on my part to attempt to 
 repeat her answer ; I forget it ; but the impression 
 on my mind is, that she did not contradict me." 
 
 On her friend's telling her, he wondered she 
 should so far sacrifice to fashion, as to take the 
 trouble of wearing rouge, which she carefully put 
 on her cheeks every day before she went out, and 
 generally before she would admit a visitor, her 
 answer was, "that her practice of painting did 
 not proceed from any silly compliance with Bath 
 fashion, or any fashion ; stiU less, if possible, from 
 the desire of appearing ^younger than she was ; 
 but from this circumstance, that in early life she 
 had worn rouge, as other young persons did in 
 her day, as a part of dress ; and after continuing 
 the habit for some years, she discovered that it 
 had introduced a dead yeUow into her complexion, 
 quite unlike that of her natural skin, and that she 
 wished to conceal the deformity." 
 
 In defiance of the prevailing weaknesses among 
 old people, that of supposing every thing worse 
 now than it was formerly, she always maintained 
 that "nothing but ignorance or forgetfulness of 
 what our grandfathers and grandmothers gene- 
 rally did and sufli'ered, not politically, but in mat- 
 ters of dress, behaviour, &c., could incline any one 
 to entertain a doubt as to the fact of modern im- 
 provement in most of the essentials of life. This," 
 she would say, " was especially true with regard 
 to our habiliments;" and she used to expatiate 
 very agreeably, not only on the absurdities of the 
 habits usually worn in her early days, but on the 
 consequent embarrassment in which the artists 
 of the age were involved. 
 
 " Mrs. Piozzi's nature was one of kindness," 
 observes her friend; "she derived pleasure from 
 endeavouring to please ; and if she perceived a 
 moderate good quality in another, she generally 
 magnified it into an excellence ; whilst she ap- 
 peared blind to faults and foibles which could not 
 have escaped the scrutiny of one possessing only 
 half her penetration. But, as I have said, her 
 disposition was friendly. It was so ; and to such 
 an extent, that during several years of familiar 
 acquaintance with her, although I can recite many 
 instances, I might say, hundreds, of her having 
 spoken of the characters of others, I never heard 
 one word of vituperation from her lips, of any 
 person who was the subject of discussion, except 
 once when Baretti's name was mentioned. Of 
 him, she said that he was a bad man ; but on my 
 hinting a wish for particulars, after so heavy a 
 charge, she seemed unwilling to explain herself, 
 and spoke of him no more." 
 
 She preserved, unimpaired to the last, her 
 strength and her faculties of body and mind.. 
 When pstet eighty, she would describe minute fea- 
 tures in a distant landscape, or touches in a paint- 
 ing, which even short-sighted young persons failed 
 to discover till pointed out to them. 
 
 When her friends were fearful of her over-ex- 
 citing herself, she would say, " This sort of thing 
 is greatly in the mind, and I am almost tempted 
 
 471 
 
PI 
 
 PI 
 
 to say the same of growing old at all, especially 
 as it regards those of the usual concomitants of 
 age, viz., laziness, defective sight, and ill-temper: 
 sluggishness of soul and acrimony of disposition, 
 commonly begin before the encroachments of in- 
 firmity ; they creep upon us insidiously, and it is 
 the business of a rational being to watch these 
 beginnings, and counteract them." 
 
 On the 27th of January, 1820, Mrs. Piozzi gave 
 a sumptuous entertainment at the Town Assembly 
 Rooms, Bath, to between seven and eight hundred 
 friends, whom, assisted by Sir John and Lady 
 Salusbury, she received with a degree of ease, 
 cheerfulness, and polite hospitality, peculiarly her 
 owu. This fete, given upon the completion of her 
 eightieth year, was opened by herself in person 
 dancing with Sir John Salusbury, with extraordi- 
 nary elasticity and dignity, and she subsequently 
 presided at a sumptuous banquet, supported by a 
 British Admiral of the highest rank on each side, 
 " with her usual gracious and queen-like deport- 
 ment." 
 
 A friend calling on her one day by appointment, 
 she showed him a number of what are termed 
 pocket-books, and said she was sorely embarrassed 
 on a point on which she requested his advice. 
 
 "You see in this collection," said she, ** a diary 
 of mine of more than fifty years of my life : I have 
 scarcely omitted any thing which occurred to me 
 during the time I have mentioned ; my books con- 
 tain the conversation of every person of almost 
 every class with whom I have held intercourse; 
 my remarks on what was said ; downright facts, 
 and scandalous on dits ; personal portraits, and 
 anecdotes of the character concerned, criticisms 
 on the publications and authors of the day, &c. 
 Now I am approaching the grave, and agitated by 
 doubts as to what I should do — whether burn my 
 manuscripts, or leave them to posterity? Thus 
 far, my decision is to destroy my papers ; shall I, 
 or shall I not?" 
 
 The advice given was by no means to do an act 
 which, when done, could not be amended-^ — to keep 
 the papers from prying eyes, and to trust them to 
 the discretion of survivors. "Whereupon, she re- 
 placed the numerous voliunes in her cabinet, ob- 
 serving, that "for the present they were rescued 
 from destruction." 
 
 If this diary has not been destroyed, there 
 would, doubtless, be found portions of it well 
 worth publishing. Dr. Johnson said of Mrs. 
 Piozzi, that " she was, if not the wisest woman in 
 the world, undoubtedly one of the wittiest." 
 
 Mrs. Piozzi died May 2d, 1821, aged eighty-one 
 years. Her last words were, "I die in the trust 
 and in the fear of God." Her remains were con- 
 veyed to North Wales, and interred in the burial- 
 place of the Salusbury family. The following are 
 her published works : — " Anecdotes of Dr. John- 
 son's Life;" "Travels," two volumes; "Letters to 
 and from the late Samuel Johnson, LL.D.," two 
 volumes; "British Synonymy," two volumes; 
 "Retrospection, or Review of the Most Striking 
 and Important Events which the last Eighteen 
 Hundred Tears have Presented," &c., two vo- 
 lumes. 
 
 Her first printed piece has been considered by 
 
 many critics her best. We subjoin it. 
 
 THE THREE WARNINGS. 
 
 The tree of deepest root is found 
 Least willing still to quit the ground; 
 'Twas therefore said by ancient sages, 
 
 That love of life increased with years 
 So 'much, that in our latter stages, 
 When pains grow sharp, and sickness rages, 
 
 The greatest love of life appears. 
 This great affection to believe, 
 Which all confess, but few perceive, 
 If old assertions can't prevail. 
 Be pleased to hear a modern tale.* 
 
 When sports went round, and all were gay. 
 On neighbour Dodson'a wedding-day, 
 Death called aside the jocund groom 
 With him into another room. 
 And looking grave — " You must," says he, 
 " Q,uit your sweet bride, and come with me.' 
 "With you! and quit my Susan's side? 
 With you !" the hapless husband cried ; 
 "Young as I am, 'tis monstrous hard! 
 Besides, in truth, I'm not prepared: 
 My thoughts on other matters go ; 
 This is my wedding-day, you know." 
 
 What more he urged 1 have not heard. 
 
 His reasons could not well be stronger; 
 So death the poor delinquent spared. 
 
 And left to live a little longer. 
 Yet calling up a serious look, 
 His hour-glass trembled while he spoke — 
 " Neighbour," he said, " farewell ! no more 
 Shall Death disturb your mirthful hour; 
 And farther, to avoid all blame 
 Of cruelty upon my name. 
 To give you time for preparation, 
 And fit you for your future station. 
 Three several warnings you shall have. 
 Before you 're summoned to the grave ; 
 Willing for once I'll quit my prey, 
 
 And grant a kind reprieve; 
 In hopes you '11 have no more to say ; 
 But, when I call again this way. 
 
 Well pleased the world will leave." 
 To these conditions both consented, 
 And parted perfectly contented. 
 
 What next the hero of our tale befell. 
 How long he lived, how wise, how well. 
 How roundly he pursued his course. 
 And smoked his pipe, and stroked his horse. 
 
 The willing muse shall tell : 
 He chaffered, then he bought and sold, 
 Nor once perceived his growing old. 
 
 Nor thought of Death as near: 
 His friends not false, his wife no shrew. 
 Many his gains, his children few, 
 
 Ele passed his hours in peace. 
 But while he viewed his wealth increase. 
 While thus along life's dusty road, 
 The beaten track content he trod, 
 Old Time, whose haste no mortal spares. 
 Uncalled, unheeded, unawares. 
 
 Brought on his eightieth year. 
 And now, one night, in musing mood, 
 
 As all alone he sate, 
 The unwelcome messenger of Fate 
 
 Once more before him stood. 
 
 Half-killed with anger and surprise, 
 " So soon returned !" old Dodson cries. 
 "So soon d'ye call it?" Death replies: 
 " Surely, my friend, you 're but in jest ! 
 
 Since I was here before 
 'Tis six-and-thirty years at least, 
 
 And you are now fourscore." 
 
 472 
 
PI 
 
 PI 
 
 ♦' So much the worse," the clown rejoined ; 
 "To spare the aged would be kind: 
 However, see your search be legal ; 
 And your authority — is 't regal? 
 Else you are come on a fool's errand, 
 With but a secretary's warrant. 
 Beside, you promised me Three Warnings, 
 Which I have looked for nights and mornings; 
 But for that loss of time and ease, 
 1 can recover damages." 
 
 *' I know," cries Death, " that at the best, 
 I seldom am a welcome guest ; 
 But don't be captious, friend, at least ; 
 1 little thought you 'd still be able 
 To stump about your farm and stable : 
 Your years have run to a great length ; 
 1 wish you joy, though, of your strength !" 
 
 " Hold." says the farmer, " not so fast ! 
 I have been lame these four years past." 
 
 " And no great wonder." Death replies : 
 " However, you still keep your eyes ; 
 And sure to see one's loves and friends, 
 For legs and arras would make amends." 
 
 " Perhaps," says Dodson, " so it might, 
 But latterly I've lost my sight." 
 
 " This is a shocking tale, 'tis true ; 
 But still there 's comfort left for you : 
 Each strives your sadness to amuse ; 
 I warrant you hear all the news." 
 
 •'There 's none," cries he ; " and if there were, 
 I 'm grown so deaf, I could not hear." 
 
 "Nay, then," the spectre stern rejoined, 
 These are unjustifiable yearnings; 
 
 If you are lame, and deaf, and blind. 
 You 've had your Three sufficient Warnings ; 
 So come along, no more we "11 part :" 
 He said, and touched him with his dart. 
 And now Old Dodson, turning pale. 
 Yields to his fate —so ends my tale. 
 
 PIPELET, CONSTANCE MARIE DE 
 THEI8, 
 
 Was born at Nantes in 1768, of a distinguished 
 family. She married, in 1789, M. Pipelet, an 
 eminent surgeon in Paris ; and, after his death, 
 she married, in 1802, the Prince de Salm-Dyck. 
 Madame Pipelet devoted herself, when very young, 
 to the study of literature and the arts ; and her 
 poems are quite numerous, and almost invariably 
 excellent. She also wrote an opera, entitled 
 "Sappho;" a drama, several romances, and other 
 prose works ; and belonged to sevei-al academies. 
 Madame Pipelet maintained the theory of the 
 original equality of the sexes ; and one of her 
 most elaborate poems is devoted to this subject. 
 We give a few extracts from this. 
 
 EpItEE AT7X FEMMES. 
 
 Si la nature a fait deux sexes diff^rens, 
 Elle a change la forme et non les elemens. 
 Meme loi, meme erreur, meme ivresse les guide . 
 Jj'un et I'autre propose, execute ou d6cide : 
 Les charges, les devoirs, entre eux deux divis6s, 
 Par un ordre immuable y restent balances. 
 I Tons deux pensent r6gner, et tous deux obeissent : 
 Ensemble ils sont heureux; a^par^s, ils languissent: 
 Tour a tour I'un de I'autre, enfin, guide et soutien, 
 Meme en ae donnant tout, ils ne se doivent rien. 
 
 ****** 
 Sciences, po6sie, arts qu'ils nous interdisent. 
 Sources de volupt6s qui les immortalisent, 
 Venez, et faites voir A la post6rit6 
 Q,u'il est aussi pour nous une immortaIit6 ! 
 Mais d6ja mille voix ont blam6 notre audace: 
 Ou s'^tonne, on murmure, on s'agite, on menace, 
 
 On veut nous arracher la plume et lea pinceaux; 
 Cbacun a contre nous sa chanson, ses bons mots. 
 L'un, ignorant et sot, vient avec ironie 
 Nous citer do MoliSre un vers qu'il estropie ; 
 L'autre, vain par syst6me et jaloux par m6iier, 
 Dit d'un air dfidaigneux : Elle a son teinturier. 
 Des jeunes gens, A peine 6chapp6s du college, 
 Discutent hardiment nos droits, leur privilege ; 
 Et leurs arrets, dict6s par la fatuitfi, 
 La mode, Tignorance et la futiliti^, 
 Il6p6t6s en 6chos par ces juges imberbes, 
 Apr§s deux ou trois joura sont passes en proverbes. 
 En vain I'homme de bien (car il en est toujours). 
 En vain Vhomme de bien vient A notre aecoura, 
 Leur prouve de noa cceurs.la force, le courage, 
 Leur montre nos laurlers conserves d'age en Sge, 
 Leur dit qu'on peut unir graces, talens, vertus, 
 Q.ue Minerve 6toit femme aussi bien que V6nus: 
 Rien ne peut ramener cette foule en delire : 
 L'honnete homme se tait, nous regarde et soupire. 
 
 PISCOPIA, CORNARO ELENE, 
 
 Was born at Venice, 1646. This lady was re- 
 markable for her learning. Her erudition was 
 very highly appreciated by the scholars of that 
 age, and there are many records of great praise 
 being offered her by distinguished men. She un- 
 derstood Greek, Latin, Hebrew, Spanish, French, 
 and Arabic. She was a professor of philosophy, 
 mathematics, theology, and astronomy. She was 
 presented with the wreath and dignity of laureate, 
 in the Duomo of Padua, in 1678. To these grave 
 acquirements she added skill in music and poetry, 
 with a talent for improvisation. Early in child- 
 hood she announced a determination against mat- 
 rimony, in which she persevered, though greatly 
 opposed by her parents, who were desirous and 
 urgent that she should form some illustrious con- 
 nexion ; but the duties of the married life she 
 thought would be incompatible with her engross- 
 ing love for study. She possessed sincere piety, 
 a little too much tinctured with ascetic supersti- 
 tion as regarded herself, but drawing forth most 
 benevolent and kindly dispositions towards her 
 relations, dependants, and the indigent populace. 
 For the most part of her life she was a patient 
 martyr to*acute disease, and died in 1684. 
 
 Her works which remain are, "Eulogiums on 
 several illustrious Italians," written in Latin, 
 Latin epistles, academical discourses in the ver- 
 nacular tongue, a translation from the Spanish of 
 Lanspergio, besides a volume of poems. 
 
 PIX, MARY, 
 By birth Mary Griffith, was the daughter of a 
 clergyman, and was born in Yorkshire, in the 
 reign of William III. of England. She was a con- 
 temporary of Mrs. Manley and Mrs. Cockburne, 
 and was satirized with them in a little dramatic 
 piece, called the " Female Wits." She was the 
 author of a number of plays, published between 
 1696 and 1705. 
 
 PIZZOLI, MARIA LUIGIA, 
 
 Was born at Bologna, in 1817, the only off- 
 spring of Luigi Pizzoli, a gentleman of that city. 
 Her parents perceiving early indications of un- 
 common abilities, gave her every means of instruc- 
 tion within their reach; these she improved to 
 such advantage that she soon became quite noted 
 
 473 
 
PI 
 
 PO 
 
 for the extent of her information, and the variety 
 - of her aocomplishmenta. The most learned men 
 in the society she frequented, would appeal to her 
 in any "historic doubts," and so clear was her 
 knowledge on such points, and so accurate her 
 memory in dates, that she never was at fault in 
 deciding the question. But far from assuming 
 any unseemly arrogance, her manners were distin- 
 guished by an amiable simplicity. Her predomi- 
 nant passion was music ; her father gave her as a 
 master Pilotti, an excellent professor of counter- 
 point ; he was, in a short time, so struck with the 
 talents of his scholar, that drawing her father 
 aside, " Sir," said he, " your daughter is a genius; 
 the love I bear to my art makes me entreat you 
 to allow me to instruct her in counterpoint j her 
 success is infallible." This business undertaken, 
 Luigia applied herself with the tenacity that is 
 inspired by the passionate love of the science. As 
 a pianist she soon ranked among the first ; but a 
 much higher praise awaited her as a composer. 
 In 1836 the newspaper of Bologna published the 
 following paragraph : 
 
 " The very beautiful symphony written by the 
 young amateur Luigia Pizzoli, was executed by 
 our orchestra, and received most favourably. It 
 is calculated to please all persons of taste, for 
 combined with much learning, and studied elabo- 
 rations, we find that gracious melody the Italian 
 ear demands." 
 
 Soon after this she was invited by the musical 
 academy of Bologna, to accompany the greatest 
 harpist of Italy at a musical festival. She made 
 her first appearance, not only as a performer, but 
 as a composer ; for besides accompanying the 
 harp in a most admirable manner, she played a 
 sonata for four hands, composed by herself ; the 
 well-known CorticelU took the bass. The follow- 
 ing day the papers abounded with panegyrics on 
 this young lady. In the midst of her rising fame, 
 consumption, vrith which she had once been threat- 
 ened, came to tear this beloved and charming girl 
 from the arms of her parents. Her last illness 
 presented a model of Christian piety and resigna- 
 tion, together with the utmost cheerfulness, and 
 tender efforts to soften the blow to her wretched 
 father and mother. In her dying state, she was 
 stiU an artist ; her last wishes and acts were to 
 encourage and improve the art she so loved. She 
 obtained from her father permission to endow a 
 perpetual foundation for a yearly prize, to be 
 given by the Philharmonic Society of Bologna, to 
 any of the young students, not excluding women, 
 who shall produce the best fugue ; the decision to 
 rest with the presiding professors of counterpoint. 
 
 Three days after, the 10th of January, 1838, 
 Luigia expired. The number of her works, in so 
 short a period, is a reproach to those who live 
 long, and accomplish nothing. An edition of these 
 was printed at Milan, in 1840. After her death, 
 her symphony was executed by the professors of 
 that city. 
 
 PLUMPTEE, ARABELLA, 
 Niece of the Rev. Dr. Plumptre, for many years 
 president of Queen's College, Cambridge, wrote a 
 
 number of books for the young, which were well 
 received. Among these were, " The Mountain Cot- 
 tage," a tale; "The Foresters," a drama ; "Do- 
 mestic Stories from various Authors ;" " The 
 Guardian Angel," a tale, translated from the Ger- 
 man of Kotzebue; "Montgomery, or Scenes in 
 Wales," two volumes ; " Stories for Children," &c. 
 
 PLUNKETT, MRS., ' 
 
 Whose maiden name was Gunning, an English 
 writer, acquired considerable celebrity as an inge- 
 nious novelist. She published " The Packet," 
 four volumes ; "Lord Fitzhenry," three volumes ; 
 " The Orphans of Snowden," three volumes ; " The 
 Gipsy Countess," four volumes; "The Exiles of 
 Erin," three volumes; "Dangers through Life," 
 three volumes ; " The Farmer's Boy," four vo- 
 lumes ; " Malvina," three volumes ; " Family Sto- 
 ries for Young Persons," two volumes; "The 
 Village Library for the Use of Young Persons," 
 three volumes ; and " Memoirs of a Man of Fa- 
 shion." 
 
 POCAHONTAS, 
 The daughter of Powhatan, a celebrated Indian 
 chief of Virginia, was born about the year 1594. 
 According to a custom common among the In- 
 dians, of bestowing upon their children several 
 symbolic names, she was sometimes called Ma- 
 toaka. When the well-known and adventurous 
 Captain John Smith came to this continent, for 
 the purpose of promoting its settlement by the 
 English, while exploring the James river, he was 
 taken prisoner by some of the warriors of the 
 tribes under Powhatan, and brought before this 
 powerful chief to be disposed of. The fame and 
 exploits of Smith had reached Powhatan, and he 
 was considered too dangerous an enemy to be 
 permitted to live. A council was called, and his 
 fate decided ; he was condemned to be bound and 
 placed upon the earth, with his head upon a stone, 
 and his brains beaten out vrith clubs. Pocahon- 
 tas, though but a child of twelve or thirteen years, 
 was present at this council, and heard the sen- 
 tence; but when it was about to be executed, 
 yielding to the generous impulses of her nature, 
 
 474 
 
PO 
 
 PO 
 
 she flung herself upon the body of Smith, beneath 
 her father's uplifted club, Jind protected his life 
 at the risk of her own. Touched by this act of 
 heroism, the savages released their prisoner, and 
 he became an inmate of the wigwam of Powhatan, 
 who soon after gave him his liberty. 
 . About two years later, the Indians, alarmed at 
 the .extraordinary feats of Smith, and fearing his 
 increasing influence, began to prepare for hostili- 
 ties, and laid a plan for entrapping him. When 
 on the eve of effecting their object, while Smith 
 was on a visit to Powhatan for the purpose of 
 procuring provisions, he was preserved from this 
 fate by the watchful care of Pocahontas, who ven- 
 tured through the woods more than nine miles, at 
 midnight, to apprise him of his danger. For this 
 service. Smith offered her some trinkets, which, 
 to one of her age, sex, and nation, must have been 
 strongly tempting ; but she refused to accept any 
 thing, or to partake of any refreshment, and hur- 
 riedly retraced her steps, that she might not be 
 missed by her father or his wives. 
 
 For three or four years after this, Pocahontas 
 continued to assist the settlers in their distresses, 
 and to shield them from the effects of her father's 
 animosity. Although a great favourite with her 
 father, he was so incensed against her for favour- 
 ing the whites, that he sent her away to a chief 
 of a neighbouring tribe, Jopazaws, chief bf Po- 
 towmao, for safe keeping; or, as some suppose, 
 to avert the anger of her own tribe, who might be 
 tempted to revenge themselves upon her for her 
 friendship to the English. Here she remained 
 some time, when Captain Argall, who ascended 
 the Potomac on a trading expedition, tempted the 
 chief by the offer of a large copper kettle, of which 
 he had become enamoured, as the biggest trinket 
 he had ever seen, to deliver her to him as a pri- 
 soner ; Argall believing, that by having her in his 
 possession as a hostage, he could bring Powhatan 
 to terms of peace. But Powhatan refused to ran- 
 som his daughter upon the terms proposed; he 
 offered five hundred bushels of corn for her, but 
 it was not accepted. 
 
 Pocahontas was well treated while a prisoner, 
 and Mr. Thomas Eolfe, a pious young man, and a 
 brave oflicer, who had undertaken to instruct her 
 in English, became attached to her, and offered 
 her his hand. The offer was communicated to 
 Powhatan, who gave his consent to the union, and 
 she was married to Eolfe, after the form of the 
 church of England, in presence of her uncle and 
 two brothers. This event relieved the colony from 
 the enmity of Powhatan, and preserved peace for 
 many years between them. 
 
 In the year 1616, Pocahontas accompanied her 
 husband to England, where she was presented at 
 coiirt, and became an object of curiosity and in- 
 terest to all classes ; her title of princess causing 
 her to receive much attention. Though the period 
 of her conversion is disputed, it is generally be- 
 lieved that she was baptized during this visit to 
 England, when she received the name of Rebecca. 
 In London, she was visited by captain Smith, 
 whom, for some unknown purpose, she had been 
 taught to believe was dead. When she first beheld 
 
 him, she was overcome with emotion ; and turning 
 from him, hid her face in her hands. Many sur-. 
 mises have been hazarded upon the emotion exhi- 
 bited by Pocahontas in this interview. The solu- 
 tion of the mystery, however, is obvious ; the 
 dusky maiden had no doubt learned to love the 
 gallant soldier whom she had so deeply benefited ; 
 and upon his abandonment of the country, both 
 the colonists and her own people, aware of her 
 feelings, and having some alliance in view for her 
 to the furthering of their own interests, had im- 
 posed upon her the tale of his death. Admitting 
 this to be the case, what could be more natural 
 than her conduct, and what more touching than 
 the picture which this interview presents to the 
 imagination ? 
 
 Captain Smith wrote a memorial to the queen 
 in her behalf, setting forth the services which the 
 Indian princess had rendered to himself and the 
 colony, which secured her the friendship of the 
 queen. Pocahontas survived but little more than 
 a year after her arrival in England. She died 
 in 1617, at Gravesend, when about to embark for 
 her native laud, at the age of twenty-two or three. 
 She left one son, who was educated in England by 
 his vmole, and afterwards returned to Virginia, 
 where he became a wealthy and distinguished 
 character, from whom has descended several well- 
 known families Of that state. 
 
 Pocahontas has been the heroine of fiction and 
 of song ; but the simple truth of her story is more 
 interesting than any ideal description. She is 
 another proof to the many already recorded in 
 this work, of the intuitive moral sense of woman, 
 and the importance of her aid in carrying forward 
 the progress of human improvement. 
 
 Pocahontas was the first heathen who became 
 converted to Christianity by the English settlers ; 
 the religion of the Gospel seemed congenial to her 
 nature ; she was like a guardian angel to the white 
 strangers who had come to the land of the red 
 men ; ' by her the races were united ; thus proving 
 the unity of the human family through the spi- 
 ritual nature of the woman ; ever, in its highest 
 development, seeking the good and at " enmity" 
 with the evil ; the preserver, the iuspirer, the ex- 
 emplar of the noblest virtues of humanity. 
 
 POICTIERS, DIANA DE, DUCHESS 
 OF VALENTINOIS, 
 
 Was born March 31st, 1500. When her father, 
 the count of St. Vallier, was condemned to lose 
 his head for favouring the escape of the constable 
 Bourbon, Diana obtained hia pardon by throwing 
 herself at the feet of Francis I. St. Vallier was, 
 however, sentenced to perpetual confinement ; and 
 the horror he experienced at this fate brought on 
 a fever, of which he died. 
 
 Diana de Poictiers married, in 1521, Louis de 
 Breze, grand-marshal of Normandy ; by him she 
 had two daughters, whom she married very advan- 
 tageously. She must have been at least thirty- 
 five years of age, when the duke of Orleans, after- 
 wards Henry II. of France, at the age of seventeen 
 became deeply attached to her ; and she maintain- 
 ed her ascendency over him till his death, in 1559. 
 
 475 
 
PO 
 
 PO 
 
 Henry seemed to delight in giving testimonies of 
 his attachment, hoth in public and private. The 
 palaces, puhlic edifices, and his own armour, were 
 all ornamented with " the moon, bow and arrows," 
 the emblems and device of his mistress. Her in- 
 fluence, both personal and political, was carried 
 to an unbounded extent. She may be said to have 
 divided the crown with her lover, of whose council 
 she was the directing principal, and of whose at- 
 tachment she was the sole object. The young 
 queen, Catharine de Medicis, not inferior in ge- 
 nius, taste, and beauty, to Diana, was obliged to 
 act a subordinate part. 
 
 Diana was made duchess de Valentinois in 1549. 
 In 1552, she nursed the queen in a dangerous 
 illness, notwithstanding their bitter feeling towards 
 each other. She preferred the interest of the state 
 to the aggrandizement of her family ; and she 
 loved the glory of her king. Her charities were 
 immense ; and every man distinguished for genius 
 was sure of her support. Yet she did not always 
 make a good use of her power ; for she persuaded 
 Henry to break the truce with Spain, which was 
 the source of many evils to Prance. She did this 
 at the instigation of the cardinal of Lorraine ; but 
 he, with the rest of the Guises, no sooner saw the 
 result, than the;jf leagued with Catharine de Me- 
 dicis to ruin Diana, if she would consent to the 
 marriage of their ni^ce, Mifry, queen of Scotland, 
 to the dauphin.' *f his was done, and the duchess 
 remained without support ; but she did not lose 
 her firmness ; the king promised to inform her of 
 all the plots of her enemies ; but he died soon 
 after of a wound he received in a tournament, 
 where he had worn her colours, black and white, 
 as usual. 
 
 Catharine sent , her an order to deliver up the 
 royal jewels, and retire to one of -her castles. " Is 
 the king dead?" asked she. " No, Madame," re- 
 plied the messenger, "but he cannot live till 
 night." " Then," said Diana, " I have as yet no 
 master. When he shall be no more, should I be 
 so unfortunate as to survive him long, I shall be 
 too wretched to be sensible of their malice." 
 
 Catharine, however, was persuaded not to per- 
 secute the duchess, who, in return for being 
 allowed to retain the superb gifts of the king, 
 presented her with a magnificent palace. Diana 
 retired to Anet, a palace built for her by Henry 
 II. ; but was recalled, in 1561, by Catharine, to 
 detach the constable de Montmorency from his 
 nephews, the ChatUlons, which service her great 
 influence over him enabled her to perform. 
 
 She died in 1566, at the age of sixty-six, re- 
 taining her beauty to the last. 
 
 Miss Pardee, in her History of Francis I., thus 
 describes Diana : — " Her features were regular 
 and classical ; her complexion faultless ; her hair 
 of a rich purple-black, which took a golden tint 
 in the sunshine ; while her teeth, her ankles, her 
 hands and arms, and her bust, were each in their 
 turn the theme of the court poets. That the ex- 
 traordinary and almost fabulous duration of her 
 beauty was in a great degree due to the precau- 
 tions which she adopted, there can be little doubt, 
 for she spared no effort to secure it; she was jea- 
 
 lously careful of her health, and in the most severe 
 weather bathed in cold water; she suffered no 
 cosmetic to approach her, denouncing every com- 
 pound of the kind as worthy only of those to whom 
 nature had been so niggardly as to compel them 
 to complete her imperfect work ; she rose every 
 morning at six o'clock, and had no sooner left her 
 chamber than she sprang into the saddle; and 
 after having galloped a league or two, returned to 
 bed, where she remained until midday engaged in 
 reading. The system appears a singular one, but 
 in her case it undoubtedly proved successful, as, 
 after having enslaved the duke d'Orleaus in her 
 thirty-fifth year, she still reigned in absolute so- 
 vereignty over the heart of the king of France 
 when she had nearly reached the age of sixty ! It 
 is certain, however, that the magnificent Diana 
 owed no small portion of this extraordinary and 
 unprecedented constancy to the charms of her 
 mind and the brilliancy of her intellect." 
 
 "Six months before her death," says Brantome, 
 " I saw her so handsome, that no heart of adamant 
 could have been insensible to her charms, though 
 she had some time before broken one of her limbs 
 upon the paved stones of Orleans. She had been 
 riding on horseback, and kept her seat as dex- 
 terously and well as she had ever done. One 
 would have thought that the pain of such an acci- 
 dent would have made some alteration in her lovely 
 face ; but this was not the case ; she was as beau- 
 tiful, graceful, and handsome in every respect, as 
 she had ever been." 
 
 She was the only mistress whose medal was 
 struck. This was done by the city of Lyons, where 
 the duchess was much beloved. On one side was 
 her effigy, with this inscription : Diana, Dux Va- 
 lentinorum Clarissima; and on the reverse, Omnium 
 VictOTum Via: " I have conquered the conqueror 
 of all ;" alluding to Henry II. The king had an- 
 other medal struck in 1552, where she is repre- 
 sented as Diana, with these words: Nomen ad 
 Astra. The H.'s and D.'s cyphered in the Louvre, 
 are still greater proofs of the passion of the prince. 
 She told Henry, when he wished to acknowledge a 
 daughter he had by her, " I was born of a family, 
 the old counts of Poictiers, which entitled me to 
 have legitimate children by you ; I have been your 
 mistress, because I loved you ; but I will not suffer 
 any arret to declare me so." This reply proves 
 her sense of the superior dignity of virtue over 
 vice. She would not glory in her shame ; she felt 
 she had degraded the race from which she sprang. 
 
 POLLEY, MARGARET, • 
 Was one of those who suffered martrydom for 
 their religious opinions in the reign of Mary, 
 queen of England. She was burned at Tunbridge, 
 July, 1555. 
 
 POMPADOUR, JEANNE ANTOINETTE 
 POLISSON, MARCHIONESS DE, 
 The celebrated mistress of Louis XV., was the 
 illegitimate daughter of a financier, and early dis- 
 tinguished for her beauty and talents. She was 
 married to a M. d'Etioles, when she attracted the 
 king's notice, and becoming his mistress, was cre- 
 
 476 
 
PO 
 
 PO 
 
 ated marchioness de Pompadour, in 1745. She 
 had great influence over the king, and she em- 
 ployed it at first in patronizing arts and literature. 
 But when her charms began to fade, she turned 
 her attention to state affairs, and produced many 
 of those evils which afterwards contributed to 
 
 bring on the revolution of 1792. She was the 
 chief instigator of the war between France and 
 Prussia, to cause which, Maria Theresa of Austria 
 wrote her a letter with her own hand. Madame 
 de Pompadour died in 1764, at the age of forty- 
 foui, little regretted, even by the king. 
 
 POOL, RACHEL VAN, 
 Was born at Amsterdam, in 1664. Her father 
 was the famous professor of anatomy, Kuysch, 
 and her instructor in the art of painting was Wil- 
 liam Van Aelst, whom she soon equalled in the 
 representation of flowers and fruit. She studied 
 nature so closely, and imitated her so well, that 
 she was thought almost a prodigy, and allowed to 
 be the most able artist of her time in that line. 
 Her choice of subjects was judicious ; her manner 
 of painting them exquisite ; and she contrasted 
 them in all her compositions with unusual beauty 
 and delicacy; and they appeared so natural,, that 
 every plant, flower, or insect, would deceive the 
 eye with the semblance of reality. Her reputa- 
 tion extended all over Europe, and she was ap- 
 pointed painter to the elector palatine, who, as a 
 testimony of respect, sent her a complete set of 
 silver for her toilette, consisting of twenty-eight 
 pieces, and six candlesticks. He also engrossed 
 the greater part of her works, paying for them 
 with princely generosity. In early life she mar- 
 ried Juria Van Pool, an eminent portrait-painter, 
 with whom she lived very happily. She continued 
 to paint to the last period of a long life ; and her 
 pictures, at the age of eighty, were as neatly and 
 carefully worked as when she was thirty. Her 
 paintings are uncommonly rare, being treasured 
 up as curiosities in Holland and Germany. She 
 died at Amsterdam, in 1750, at the age of eighty- 
 six. She was as highly esteemed for her character 
 as her talents. Her genius developed itself very 
 
 early, and she had become somewhat celebrated 
 for it before she received any instruction. 
 
 POPE, MAEIA, 
 An actress, was the daughter of Mr. Campion, 
 a respectable merchant of Waterford, Ireland. 
 The family being left in reduced circumstances 
 by Mr. Campion's death, Maria went on the stage, 
 and soon, as a tragic actress, attained great emi- 
 nence, especially by her personation of Juliet. 
 In 1798, she married Mr. Pope, the actor. 
 
 POPELINIEKE, MADAME DE, 
 Was the daughter of an actress. Her mother 
 educated her for the stage ; but M. de Popelinifere, 
 an opulent financier, fascinated by her beauty and 
 elegant wit, made her his mistress. Mademoiselle 
 Daucour represented herself to Madame de Tencin 
 as having been seduced by her lover, and so inte- 
 rested her protectress, that she mentioned her 
 case to the prime minister. The act of openly 
 keeping a mistress was a luxury as yet scarcely 
 authorized among the bourgeoisie : vice was still 
 considered the privilege of the noble and great. 
 Fleury exacted that M. de Popelinifere should 
 marry Mademoiselle Daucour, on pain of a with- 
 drawal of the lease which he held from the king, 
 of farmer-general. M. de Popelinifere complied, 
 but he never forgave his mistress the means she 
 had taken to secure the rank of his wife. Madame 
 de Popelinifere soon became one of the most ad- 
 mired women of the Parisian world. She adapted 
 herself to her new position with singular ease and 
 tact. Men of the world mingled with singers, 
 musicians, painters, and poets, in her drawing- 
 room. Her wit and taste became celebrated ; the 
 latter quality was especially displayed in the judg- 
 ments which she passed on all works of art or 
 literature submitted to her ; she was soon thought 
 infallible in such matters. The success of Madame 
 de Popelinibre was short-lived. She engaged in 
 an intrigue with the duke of Richelieu, which her 
 husband discovered. He made her a handsome 
 allowance, but would no longer suffer her to reside 
 under his roof. Madame de Popelinifere was thus 
 excluded for ever from that elegant society over 
 which she had ruled with so much grace. A 
 painful illness cut her off in the flower of her 
 youth. 
 
 PORTER, ANNA MARIA, 
 Was the daughter of an Irish ofiicer, who died 
 soon after her birth, leaving a widow and several 
 children, with but a small patrimony for their 
 support. Mrs. Porter took her family to Scotland 
 soon after, and there, with her only and elder 
 sister, Jane, and their brother. Sir Robert Ker 
 Porter, she received the rudiments of her educa- 
 tion. Sir Walter Scott, when a student at college, 
 was intimate with the family, and, we are told, 
 " was very fond of either teasing the little female 
 student when very gravely engaged with her book, 
 or more often fondling her on his knees, and tell- 
 ing her stories of witches and warlocks, till both 
 forgot their former playful merriment in the mar- 
 vellous interest of the tale." Mrs. Porter removed 
 
 477 
 
PO 
 
 PO 
 
 to Ireland, and subsequently to London, chiefly 
 with a view to the education of her children. 
 
 Anna Maria became an authoress at the age of 
 twelve. Her first work was called "Artless Tales," 
 and was published in 1793. "Don Sebastian, or 
 the House of Braganza," is considered her best 
 novel. Some of her others are, " The Lake of 
 Killarney," " A Sailor's Friendship and a Soldier's 
 Love," " The Hungarian Brothers," " Ballad Ro- 
 mances, and other Poems," " The Recluse of 
 Norway," "The Knight of St. John," "Roche 
 Blanche," and " Honour O'Hara." Miss Porter 
 died at Bristol, while on a visit to her brother. Dr. 
 Porter, on the 2l3t of June, 1832, aged fifty-two. 
 
 The number of her novels is really astonishing, 
 more than fifty volumes were the product of her 
 pen. In all her works. Miss Anna Maria Porter 
 portrays the domestic afiFectiona, and the charms 
 of benevolence and virtue, with that warmth and 
 earnestness which interests the feelings ; but in 
 "Don Sebastian" we have an interesting plot, and 
 characters finely discriminated and drawn. The 
 author has, therefore, shown a higher order of 
 genius in this novel than in her others, because 
 she has displayed more constructive power. 
 
 PORTER, JANE, 
 Was sister of the preceding, and the oldest of 
 the two, though she did not commence her career 
 of authorship so early, nor did she write such a 
 multitude of novels as her sister, yet she has suc- 
 ceeded in making a deeper impression of her genius 
 on the age. She was the first who introduced that 
 beautiful kind of fiction, the historical romance, 
 which has now become so popular. Her " Thad- 
 deus of Warsaw" was published in 1803, and " The 
 Scottish Chiefs" in 1810; both were highly popu- 
 lar, but " Thaddeus of Warsaw" had unprecedented 
 success. It was translated into most of the Con- 
 tinental languages, and Poland was loud in its 
 praise. Kosciusko sent the author a ring, con- 
 taining his portrait. General Gardiner, the Bri- 
 tish minister at Warsaw, could not believe that 
 any other than an eye-witness had written the 
 story, so accurate were the descriptions, although 
 Miss Porter had not then been in Poland. She 
 
 was honoured publicly by having the title of Cha- 
 noiness of the Polish order of St. Joachim con- 
 ferred upon her after the publication of "Thad- 
 deus of Warsaw." 
 
 In regard to the "Scottish Chiefs," that this 
 romance was the model of the historical class, is 
 beyond doubt ; Sir Walter Scott acknowledged that 
 this work was the parent in his mind of the Wa- 
 verly Novels. In a letter, written by Miss Porter 
 about three months previous to her death, she 
 thus alludes to these works : — 
 
 "I own I feel myself a kind of sibyl in these 
 things ; it being full fifty years ago since my 
 ' Scottish Chiefs' and ' Thaddeus of Warsaw' came 
 into the then untrodden field. And what a splen- 
 did race of the like chroniclers of generous deeds 
 have followed, brightening the track as they havt 
 advanced ! The author of ' Waverley,' and all hip 
 soul-stirring ' Tales of my Landlord,' &c. Then 
 comes Mr. James, with his historical romances on 
 British and French subjects, so admirably uniting 
 the exquisite fiction with the fact, that the whole 
 seems equally verity. But my feeble hand" (Miss 
 Porter was ailing when she wrote the letter) " wiU 
 not obey my wish to add more to this host of 
 worthies. I can only find power to say with my 
 trembling pen, that I cannot but esteem them as 
 a respected link with my past days of lively inte- 
 rest in all that might promote the virtue and true 
 honour of my contemporaries from youth to age." 
 
 Miss Porter's last work was " The Pastor's Fire- 
 side;" and she also wrote, in conjunction with her 
 sister, " Tales round a Winter's Hearth." She 
 contributed to many periodicals ; and her " Bio- 
 graphical Sketch of Colonel Denham, the African 
 Traveller," in the " Naval and Military Journal," 
 was much admired. The genius of both these 
 ladies was similar in kind ; they described scenery 
 vividly, and in appeals to the tender and heroic 
 passions, were effective and successful ; but their 
 works want the permanent interest of real life, 
 variety of character, and dialogue. 
 
 The career of Miss Porter was not marked 
 by any striking event ; she won her celebrity by 
 her genius, and the excellence of her character 
 brightens the picture, and makes her fame a bless- 
 ing to her sex. Miss Porter died May 24th, 1850, 
 at the residence of her brother. Dr. Porter, (the 
 last survivor of the family,) in Bristol. She was 
 nearly seventy-four years of age. The following 
 is a vivid description of the first meeting between 
 William Wallace and Helen Mar : — 
 
 FEOM " THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS." 
 
 They proceeded in silence through the curvings 
 of the den, till it opened into a most hazardous 
 path along the top of a far extending cliff which 
 overhung and clasped in the western side of a 
 deep loch. As they mounted the pending wall of 
 this immense amphitheatre, Helen watched the 
 sublime uprise of the king of light issuing from 
 behind the opposite citadel of rocks, and borne 
 aloft on a throne of clouds that streaked the whole 
 horizon with floating gold. The herbage on the 
 cliffs glittered with liquid emeralds as his beams 
 kissed their summits ; and the lake beneath spar- 
 
 478 
 
PO 
 
 PO 
 
 kled like a sea of molten diamonds. All nature 
 seemed to rejoice at the presence of this magnifi- 
 cent emblem of the Most High. Her heart swelled 
 with devotion, and a prompt thanksgiving to God 
 breathed from her lips. 
 
 Such, thought she, Sun, art thou ! — The re- 
 splendent imqge of the Giver of All Good. Thy 
 cheering beams, like His All-cheering Spirit, per- 
 vades the very soul, and drives thence the despond- 
 ency of cold and darkness. But, bright as thou 
 art, how does the similitude fade before god- 
 like man, the true image of his Maker ! how far 
 do his protecting arms extend over the desolate ; 
 how mighty is the power of his benevolence to 
 dispense -succour, and to administer consolation ! 
 
 As she thus mused, her eyes fell on the noble 
 mien of the knight, who, wrapped in his dark 
 mantle of mingled greens, his spear in his hand, 
 led the way with a graceful but rapid step along 
 the shelving declivity. Turning suddenly to the 
 left, he struck into a broad defile between the pro- 
 digious craggy mountains, whose brown cheeks 
 trickled with ten thousand rills from the recent 
 rains, seemed to weep over the deep gloom of the 
 valley beneath. Scattered fragments of rooks 
 from the cliffs above covered with their huge and 
 almost impassable masses the surface of the 
 ground. Not an herb was to be seen ; all was 
 black, barren, and terrific. On entering this hor- 
 rid pass, where no trace of human footstep was 
 to be seen, Helen would have shuddered had she 
 not placed implicit confidence in her conductor. 
 
 As they advanced, the vale gradually narrowed, 
 and at last shut them in between two beetling 
 rocks, that seemed just separated a-top to admit 
 a few rays of the sun. A small river flowed at 
 the bottom, amid which the bases of the moun- 
 tains showed their union by the malignity of many 
 a rugged cliff projecting upwards in a variety of 
 strange and hideous forms. Among this chaos of 
 nature, the men who carried Helen with difficulty 
 found a safe footing. However, after frequent 
 stops and unremitted caution, they at last extri- 
 cated themselves from the most intricate path, 
 and more lightly followed their chief into a less 
 gloomy part of this valley of stones. The knight 
 stopped, and approaching the bier, told Helen 
 they had arrived at the end of their journey. 
 
 "In the heart of that cliff," said he, "is the 
 hermit's cell ; a desolate shelter, but a safe one. 
 Old age and poverty yield no temptations to the 
 enemies of Scotland." 
 
 As he spoke, the venerable man, who had heard 
 voices beneath, appeared on the rock ; and while 
 his tall and majestic figure, clad in grey, moved 
 forward, and his long silver beard flowed from his 
 saintly countenance, and streamed upon the air, 
 he seemed the bard of Morven, issuing from his 
 cave of shells to bid a hero's welcome to the young 
 and warlike Oscar. 
 
 " Bless thee, my son," cried he, as he descended, 
 "what good or evil accident hath returned thee 
 so soon to these solitudes ?" 
 
 The knight briefly replied, "After I left you 
 yester-night, and had again gained the heights 
 over Hay's cottage, I was leading my men along 
 
 their brow, when I heard a woman scream. I 
 listened for a moment ; the shrieks wereTcdoubled. 
 The sound proceeded from the other side of the 
 chasm ; I remembered having in the morning seen 
 a felled tree over it, and now rushing across, by 
 Heaven's assistance freed this lady from a ravish- 
 er ; and I bring her to you for protection." 
 
 Helen stepped off the bier ; the hermit took her 
 by the hand, and graciously promised her every 
 service in his power. He then preceded the knight, 
 whose firmer arm supported her up the rock, to 
 the outer apartment of the cell. 
 
 A holy awe struck her as she entered this place, 
 dedicated wholly to God. A stone altar stood 
 before her, supporting a wooden crucifix, and a 
 superb illuminated missal which lay open upon it. 
 In a basin cut in a rock, was the consecrated 
 water, with which every night and morn this pious 
 man, in emblem of the purifying blood of Christ, 
 (the Living Fountain of Salvation,) was accus- 
 tomed, with mingled tears of penitence, to wash 
 away the sins of the day. Helen bowed and 
 crossed herself as she entered. And the hermit 
 observing her devotion, blessed her, and bade her 
 welcome to the abode of peace. 
 
 "Here, daughter," said he, "has one son of 
 persecuted Scotland found a refuge. There is 
 nought alluring in these wilds to attract the 
 spoiler. The green herb is all the food they af- 
 ford, and the limpid water the best beverage." 
 
 "Ah!" returned Helen, with grateful anima- 
 tion, "I would to heaven that all who love the 
 freedom of Scotland were now within this glen! 
 The herb and the stream would be to them the 
 sweetest luxuries, when tasted in liberty and hope. 
 My father, his friend" — she stopped, suddenly 
 recollecting that she had almost betrayed the se- 
 crecy she meant to maintain, and looking down, 
 remained in confused silence. The knight gazed 
 on her, and much wished to penetrate what she 
 concealed ; but delicacy forbade him to urge her 
 again. He spoke not ; but the hermit being igno- 
 rant of her reluctance to reveal her family, re- 
 sumed. 
 
 " I do not express wonder, gentle lady, that you 
 spake in terms which tell me that even your sex 
 feels the galling chains of Edward. Who is there 
 in Scotland that does not? The whole coimtry 
 groans beneath the weight of his oppressions ; and 
 the cruelty of his agents makes its rivulets run 
 with blood. Six months ago I was abbot of Scone ; 
 and because I refused to betray my trust, and re- 
 sign the archives of the kingdom, lodged there by 
 our devout king David, Edward, the rebel anointed- 
 of-the-Lord, the profaner of the sanctuary, sent 
 his emissaries to sack the convent; to tear the 
 holy pillar of Jacob from its shrine, and to wrest 
 from my grasp records I refused to deliver. All 
 was done as the usurper commanded. I and my 
 brethren were turned out upon the waste. We 
 retired to the monastery of Cambus-Eenneth : but 
 there the tyrant found us. Cressingham, his 
 treasurer, having seized on other religious houses, 
 determined to make the plunder of this convent 
 swell the hoards of his spoil. In the dead of night 
 his men attacked it: the brethren fled, but not 
 
 479 
 
PO 
 
 until the ferocious wolves, though glutted with 
 useless slaughter, had slain several, even at the 
 very foot of the altar. All being dispersed, I knew 
 not whither to go. But determined to fly far from 
 the tracks of men, I took my course over the hUls, 
 discovered this valley of stones ; and finding it fit 
 for my purpose, have for two months lived alone 
 in this wilderness." 
 
 "Unhappy Scotland!" ejaculated Helen. Her 
 eyes had followed the chief, who during this nar- 
 rative leaned against the open entrance of the 
 cave. His eyes were cast upwards with an ex- 
 pression that made her heart vibrate with the ex- 
 clamation which had just escaped her. The knight 
 turned towards her, and approached. "You hear 
 from the lips of my venerable friend," said he, 
 "a direful story; happy then am I, gentle lady, 
 that you and he have a shelter, though a rough 
 one. The hours wear away, and I must tear my- 
 self from this tranquillity to scenes better befitting 
 a younger son of the country he deplores. To 
 you, my good father," continued he, addressing 
 the hermit in a lowered voice, "I commit this 
 sacred charge ; Heaven sent me to be her tempo- 
 rary guardian ; and. since she allows me to serve 
 her no farther, I confide her to you." 
 
 Helen felt unable to answer. But the Abbot 
 spoke : " Then am I not to see you any more ?" 
 
 " That is as heaven wills," replied he ; " but. as 
 it is not likely on this side the grave, my best 
 pledge of friendship is this lady. To you she may 
 reveal what she has withheld from me ; but in 
 either case she is secure in your goodness." 
 
 " Rely on my faith, my son ; and may the Al- 
 mighty's shield hang on your steps !" 
 
 Th« knight kissed the reverend man's hand ; 
 and turning to Helen, "Farewell, sweet lady!" 
 said he. She trembled at the words, and hardly 
 conscious of what she did, held out her hand to 
 him. He took it, and drew it towards his lips, 
 but checking himself, he only pressed it ; and in a 
 mournful voice added — • " In your prayers, some- 
 times remember the most desolate of men !" 
 
 A mist seemed to pass over the eyes of lady 
 Helen. She felt as if on the point of losing some- 
 thing most precious to her. " My prayers for my 
 preserver and my father's," hardly articulated 
 she, " shall ever be mingled. And, if ever it be 
 safe to remember me — should heaven indeed arm 
 the patriots hand — then ray father may be proud 
 to know and thank the brave deliverer of his 
 child." 
 
 The knight paused, and looked with animation 
 upon her. " Then your father is in arms, and 
 against the tyrant ! Tell me where ? and you see 
 before you a man who, with his followers, is ready 
 to join him, and lay down his life in the just 
 cause !" 
 
 At this vehement declaration, lady Helen's full 
 heart gave way, and she burst into tears. He 
 drew towards her, and in a moderated voice con- 
 tinued — " My men, though few, are brave; they 
 are devoted to their country, and are willing for 
 her sake to follow me unto victory or death. As I 
 am a knight, I am sworn to defend the cause of 
 right ; and where shall I so justly find it as on the 
 
 PO 
 
 side of bleeding, wasted Scotland ? How shall I 
 so well begin my career, as in the defence of her 
 injured sons ? Speak, gentle lady ! trust me with 
 your noble father's name, and he shall not have ■ 
 cause to blame the confidence you repose in a 
 true, though wandering Scot !" 
 
 " My father," replied Helen, weeping afresh, 
 " is not where your generous services can reach 
 him. Two brave chiefs, one a kinsman of my own, 
 and the other his friend, are now coUeagued to 
 free him. If they fail, my whole house falls in 
 blood ; and to add another victim to the destiny 
 which in that case vrill overwhelm me, the thought 
 is beyond my strength." Faint with agitation and 
 the fears which now awakened, struck her with 
 consternation, she stopped; and then added in a 
 suppressed voice, "Farewell." 
 
 " Not till you hear me further," replied he. " I 
 repeat, I have now a scanty number of followers ; 
 but I leave these mountains to gather more. Tell 
 me then where I may join these chiefs you speak 
 of; give me a pledge to them that I come from 
 you ; and, whoever may be your father, be he but 
 a true Scot, I will compass his release or die in 
 the attempt. ' 
 
 " Alas ! generous stranger," cried she, " to what 
 would you persuade me ? You have kindred, you 
 say ! What right have I to dispose of a life that 
 must be so dear to them ? Alas, you know not 
 the peril that you ask !" 
 
 " Nothing is perilous to me," replied he, vrith a 
 heroic smile, "that is to serve my country. I 
 have no interest, no joy but in her. Give me, 
 then, the only happiness of which I am capable, 
 and send me to serve her by freeing one of her 
 defenders." 
 
 Helen hesitated. The tumult of her mind dried 
 her tears. 
 
 She looked up with all these inward agitations 
 painted on her cheeks> His beaming eyes were 
 full of patriotic ardour, while his fine countenance, 
 composed into a heavenly calmness by the sublime 
 sentiments of unselfish bravery which occupied his 
 soul, made him appear to her, not as a man, but 
 as a god. 
 
 "Fear not, lady," said the hermit, "that you 
 plunge your deliverer into any extraordinary dan- 
 ger, by involving him in what you might call a 
 rebellion against the usurper. He is already out- 
 lawed by Edward's representative ; and knowing 
 that, fear not to confide your father's fate to 
 him." 
 
 " He too, outlawed !" exclaimed she ; "wretched 
 indeed is my country when her noblest spirits are 
 denied the right to live ! Unhappy are her chil- 
 dren, when every step they take to regain what 
 has been torn from them only involves them in 
 deeper ruin!" 
 
 " No country is wretched, sweet lady," returned 
 the knight, " till by a dastardly acquiescence it 
 consents to its own slavery. Bonds and death are 
 the utmost of our enemy's malice ; the one is be- 
 yond their power to inflict, when a man is deter- 
 mined to die or live free ; and for the other, which 
 of us will think that ruin which leads us into the 
 blessed freedom of paradise ?" 
 
 480 
 
PO 
 
 BA 
 
 Helen looked on the chief as she used to look 
 on her cousin, when expressions of virtuous en- 
 thusiasm burst from his lips ; but now it was 
 rather with the gaze of admiring awe, than the 
 exultation of one youthful mind sympathizing 
 with another. "You ■would teach confidence to 
 despair herself," returned she ; " again I hope, 
 for God does not create in vain ! You shall know 
 my father ; but first, generous stranger, let me 
 apprise you of every danger with which that know- 
 ledge is surrounded. He is hemmed in by ene- 
 mies. Alas, how closely are they connected with 
 him ! Not the English only are leagued against 
 him, but the most powerful of his own country- 
 men join in the confederation. My unhappy self 
 is the victim of a horrid coalition between a 
 Southron chief and two rebel Scots ; rebels to 
 their country ! for they sold my father to capti- 
 vity and perhaps death ; and I, wretched I, was 
 the price. To free him, the noblest of Scottish 
 knights is now engaged ; but such hosts impede 
 him, that hope hardly dares hover over his tre- 
 mendous path." 
 
 " Then," cried the stranger, " send me to him. 
 Let my arm be second to his in the great achieve- 
 ment. My heart yearns to meet a brother in arms 
 who feels for Scotland what I do ; and with such a 
 coadjutor as you speak of, I dare promise your 
 father liberty, and that the power of England 
 shall be shaken." 
 
 Helen's heart beat violently at these words. " I 
 would not refuse the union of two such minds ; go 
 then to the remotest point in Cartlane craigs. But 
 alas! how can I direct you?" cried she, hastily 
 interrupting herself ; "the passes are beset with 
 English ; and heaven knows whether at this mo- 
 ment the brave Wallace survives to be again the 
 deliverer of my father !" 
 
 PORTSMOUTH, LOUISE DE QUB- 
 BOUALLE, DUCHESS OF, 
 
 One of the mistresses of Charles II. of England, 
 was of a noble family in Lower Brittany, and ac- 
 companied the duchess of Orleans from France, 
 when she went to visit the court of her brother in 
 1670. Louise was at this time about twenty-five, 
 and very beautiful. Her appearance, agreeable 
 manners, and her wit, soon fascinated Charles ; 
 and she remained with him, ostensibly as his mis- 
 tress, but in reality as a spy on his factions in the 
 French interests. There is no disgraceful action 
 in the last years of her royal lover, in which she 
 does not appear as a principal mover. She was 
 raised to the highest honours of the land by 
 Charles, while the French king also bestowed on 
 her the duchy of Aubign^ in France. Her pen- 
 sions and profits were enormous. In 1675, her 
 young son was created duke of Richmond and 
 Lennox. Her influence over the heart and politics 
 of Charles continued unshaken to the last. On 
 his death, in 1685, the duchess went to Paris, 
 where her extravagance finally ruined her, and 
 she had to depend for subsistence on a pension 
 from the French government. She died at Au- 
 bigui? in France, 1794, in her ninetieth year; a 
 1 P 
 
 long life of sin and shame, in which not an act is 
 recorded that excites our pity or admiration. 
 
 POZZO, ISABELLA DAL, 
 Was a native of Turin, where, in the church of 
 St. Francesco, is a picture painted by her, repre- 
 senting the Virgin and Child, with several Saints. 
 The date of this piece is 1666 and it is highly 
 esteemed. 
 
 PRIE, N. DE BERTELOT, MAR- 
 CHIONESS DE, 
 
 Was mistress to the duke of Bourbon, kinsman 
 and prime minister to Louis XV. The passions 
 of this prince were stronger than his judgment ; 
 they had rendered him the slave of his beautiful 
 mistress, who governed in his name. Madame de 
 Prie's ambition had first induced her to endeavour 
 to fascinate the regent ; but on learning that he 
 allowed his mistresses no political influence, she 
 directed all her powers of seduction towards the 
 duke of Bourbon. Jealous of the influence of 
 Fleury, bishop of Frejus, over his pupil, the young 
 Louis XV., she induced her lover to remove him 
 from the court. Louis fell into a deep melancholy 
 when he discovered that his beloved preceptor was 
 gone ; but upon being reminded by a courtier that 
 he could recall him, the king took the hint, and 
 Fleury returned from exile. Prompted by his per- 
 sonal fears, as well as by a sense of duty, Fleury 
 exposed to his pupil the conduct of the duke of 
 Bourbon and his mistress, and they were sent to 
 different places of exile. Madame de Prie sur- 
 vived her exile only one week. She died in 1727, 
 according to Voltaire of ennui ; according to other 
 accounts of poison, administered by her own'hand. 
 
 PRITCHARD, HANNAH, 
 
 An eminent English actress, whose maiden name 
 was Vaughan, was born about 1711. She went on 
 the London stage when very young, and excelled 
 in both tragedy and comedy, especially the latter. 
 She died in 1768. 
 
 K. 
 
 RADCLIFFE, ANN, 
 
 A CELEBKATED romauce writer, whose genius 
 and amiability adds lustre to the glory of her sex, 
 was born in London, July 9th, 1764. She was the 
 only child of respectable parents, William and 
 Ann Wood ; and in her twenty-third year married 
 Mr. William Radcliffe, who was brought up to the 
 bar, but subsequently became proprietor and editor 
 of the English Chronicle. The peculiar bent of 
 the genius of Mrs. Radcliffe was not manifested 
 till after her marriage ; though she had, from 
 childhood, displayed extraordinary powers of 
 mind. That her husband encouraged and pro- 
 moted her literary pursuits is probable, indeed 
 certain ; with her love of home and delicacy of 
 moral sentiment, she would never have pressed 
 onward in a career of public authorship which he 
 
KA 
 
 RA 
 
 Jid not approve. Her first, " The Castles of 
 Athlin and Dunbayne," was published in 1789, 
 two years after her marriage. This romance did 
 not indicate very high talent ; but " The Sicilian 
 Eomance," published the following year, showed 
 a decided development of intellectual power. It 
 excited deep interest, attracting by its romantic 
 and numerous adventures, and its beautiful de- 
 scriptions of scenery. The "Romance of the Fo- 
 rest" appeared in 1791 ; and " The Mysteries of 
 Udolpho" in 1794. This was the most popular of 
 her performances, and is generally considered her 
 best. " The Italian" was publidied in 1797. 
 
 In examining these varied productions, all writ- 
 ten in the course of ten years, we are struck with 
 the evident progress of her mind, and the gradual 
 mastery, her will obtained over the resources of 
 ■ her imagination. She had invented a new style 
 of romance, equally distinct from the old tales of 
 chivalry and magic, and from modern representa- 
 tions of credible incidents and living manners. 
 Her works exhibit, in part, the charms of each 
 species of composition, interweaving the miracu- 
 lous with the probable in consistent narrative, and 
 breathing a tenderness and beauty peculiarly her 
 own. She occupies that middle region between 
 the mighty dreams of the heroic ages and the 
 realities of her own, which remained to be pos- 
 sessed, filled it with glorious imagery, and raised 
 it to the sublimity of Fancy's creative power by 
 the awe of the supernatural, which she, beyond 
 any writer of romances, knew how to inspire. 
 
 One of her biographers had well observed, that 
 "her works, in order to produce their greatest 
 impression, should be read first, not in childhood, 
 for which they are too substantial ; nor at mature 
 age, for which they may seem too visionary ; but 
 at that delightful period of youth, when the soft 
 twilight of the imagination harmonizes with the 
 luxurious and uncertain light cast on their won- 
 ders. By those who come at such an age to their 
 perusal, they will never be forgotten." 
 
 In the summer of 1794, she made a tour, in 
 company with her husband, through Holland and 
 the western frontier of Germany, returning down 
 the Rhine. This was the first and only occasion 
 on which she quitted England, though the vivid- 
 ness of her descriptions of Italy, Switzerland, and 
 the south of France, in which her scenes are prin- 
 cipally laid, induced a general belief that she had 
 visited those countries. After their return from 
 the continent, she made a tour to the English 
 lakes, and published her notes in a quarto volume, 
 which met with a favourable reception. 
 
 The great and almost universal popularity of 
 her writings, never inflated the vanity of Mrs. 
 Radoliffe ; her private life seems to have been 
 peculiarly calm and sequestered. Declining the 
 personal notoriety that usually attaches in the 
 society of London to literary merit, she sought 
 her ohief pleasures and occupations in the bosom 
 of her family. After the publication of her last 
 novel, " The Italian," in 1797, she retired from 
 the world of letters, and for the remainder of her 
 life persisted in refusing to write, or at any rate 
 to publish another. The report that she was de- 
 
 ranged, in consequence of an excited imagination, 
 was founded simply on her love of home and 
 quietude. She was beautiful in her person, and 
 much beloved by those who were favoured by her 
 intimacy. Educated in the principles of the 
 church of England, she was pious and sincere in 
 her attachment to the services of religion. During 
 the last twelve years of her life, she suffered much 
 from a spasmodic asthma, which gradually under- 
 mined her health. She died February 7th, 1823, 
 aged fifty-eight. 
 
 The poetic richness of Mrs. Radoliffe's genius 
 has been acknowledged by many literary names 
 of eminence. In her own time, the author of 
 " The Pursuits of Literature," a critic usually very 
 sparing of praise, gave her the very highest tri- 
 bute of admiration, pronouncing her a poetess the 
 Florentine muses would have honoured ; and Sir 
 Walter Scott, in quoting this eulogium, confirms it 
 with his own opinion. Lord Byron, speaking of 
 his early poetical associations with Venice, puts 
 her in the same line with the most illustrious 
 bards — 
 
 " And Otway, Radcliffc, Schiller, Shakspeare's art, 
 Had stamped her image in me." 
 
 But Lord Byron paid her a still higher compli- 
 ment than this ; he adopted some of her images, 
 and incorporated them in Childe Harold ; and in 
 that beautiful poem, the passages inspired by Mrs. 
 RadolifiFe are not the least to be admired. Who- 
 ever will read the account of Emily's arrival at 
 Venice, and then will turn to the opening of the 
 fourth canto of Childe Harold, will see how the 
 romance has "stamped" its impressions on the 
 author of the " Romauut." 
 
 Let us cite from the very first stanza : 
 " I saw from out the wave her structures rise. 
 As from tlie stroke of an enchanter^s wand.'' 
 
 Now from the "Mysteries of Udolpho:" 
 " Its terraces, crowned with airy yet majestic fabrics, ap- 
 peared as if they had been called up from the ocean by the 
 wand of an enchanter.'' 
 
 STANZA TWENTY-SEVEN. 
 
 " The moon is up, and yet it is not night- 
 Sunset divides the day with her; a sea 
 Of glory streams along the Alpine height 
 
 Of blue Friuli's mountains:" 
 
 ifi * * * * 
 
 Byron's exquisite description is too well Icnown 
 to need the entire transcription ; but after his ad- 
 mirable picture of "contending day and night," 
 he says ; 
 
 " Gently flows 
 The deep-dyed Brenta, where their hues instil 
 The odorous purple of a new-horn rose, 
 Which streams upon her stream, and glassed within it 
 glows — 
 ****** 
 Filled with the face of heaven, which, from afar, 
 Comes down upon the waters; all its hues, 
 From the rich sunset to the rising stars, 
 Their magical variety diffuse. 
 And now they change ; a paler shadow strew^s 
 Its mantle o'er the mountains. Parting day — " &c. &;c. 
 
 " The sun sinking in the west, tinted the waves and lofty 
 mountains of Friuli, which skirt the northern shores of the 
 Adriatic, with a satfron glow, while on the marble porticos 
 and colonnades qf St. Mark were thrown the rich lights and 
 shades of evening." 
 
 ****** 
 
 482 
 
RA 
 
 RA 
 
 " The 'shadow of the earth stole gradually over the waves, 
 and then up the towering sides of the mountains, till it ex- 
 tinguished even the last upward beams that had lingered on 
 their summits, and the melancholy purple of evening drew 
 over them like a thin veil. How deep, how beautiful was 
 the tranquillity that wrapped the scene ! All nature seemed 
 to repose '."—Mysteries of Udolplio. chap. 15. 
 
 The poetical thought of a landscape seen hy the 
 dying day and rising eve, was due to Mrs. Kad- 
 oliife, the localities being the same with those of 
 Byron. Unquestionably his picture is more rich 
 in imagery, more glowing and more detailed, and 
 has the added charm of rhythm ; but Mrs. Eadcliffe 
 suggested the train of fancy, and her passage may 
 be allowed pretty well for a woman. 
 
 DESCEIPTION OP THE CASTLE OF UDOLPHO. 
 
 Towards the close of the day, the road wound 
 into a deep valley. Mountains, whose shaggy 
 steeps appeared to be inaccessible, almost sur- 
 rounded it. To the east a vista opened, and exhi- 
 bited the Apennines in their darkest horrors ; and 
 the long perspective of retiring summits rising 
 over each other, their ridges clothed with pines, 
 exhibited a stronger image of grandeur than any 
 that Emily had yet seen. The sun had just sunk 
 below the top of the mountains she was descend- 
 ing, whose long shadow stretched athwart the 
 valley ; but his sloping rays, shooting through an 
 opening of the cliffs, touched with a yellow gleam 
 the summits of the forest that hung upon the op- 
 posite steeps, and streamed in full splendour upon 
 the towers and battlements of a castle that spread 
 its extensive ramparts along the brow of a preci- 
 pice above. The splendour of these illumined 
 objects was heightened by the contrasted shade 
 which involved the valley below. 
 
 " There," said Montoni, speaking for the first 
 time in several hours, "is Udolpho." 
 
 Emily gazed with melancholy awe upon the 
 castle, which she understood to be Montoni's ; for, 
 though it was now lighted up by the setting sun, 
 the Gothic greatness of its features, and its moul- 
 dering walls of dark gi-ey stone, rendered it a 
 gloomy and sublime object. As she gazed, the 
 light died away on its Walls, leaving a melancholy 
 purple tint, which spread deeper and deeper as 
 the thin vapour crept up the mountain, while the 
 battlements above were still tipped with splendour. 
 From these, too, the rays soon faded, and the 
 whole edifice was invested with the solemn duski- 
 ness of evening. Silent, lonely, and sublime, it 
 seemed to stand the sovereign of the scene, and 
 to frown defiance on all who dared to invade its 
 solitary reign. As the twilight deepened, its fea- 
 tures beca,me more awful in obscurity, and Emily 
 continued to gaze till its clustering towers were 
 alone seen rising over the tops of the woods, be- 
 neath whose thick shade the carriages soon after 
 began to ascend. 
 
 The extent and darkness ef these tall woods 
 awakened terrific images in her mind, and she 
 almost expected to see banditti start up from un- 
 der the trees. At length the carriages emerged 
 upon a heathy rook, and soon after reached the 
 castle gates, where the deep tone of the portal 
 bell, which was struck upon to give notice of their 
 
 arrival, increased the fearful emotions that had 
 assailed Emily. While they waited till the servant 
 within should come to open the gates, she anxiously 
 surveyed the edifice ; but the gloom that overspread 
 it allowed her to distinguish little more than a 
 part of its outline, with the massy walls of the 
 ramparts, and to know that it was vast, ancient, 
 and dreary. From the parts she saw, she judged 
 of the heavy strength and extent of the whole. 
 The gateway before her, leading into the courts, 
 was of gigantic size, and was defended by two 
 round towers, crowned by overhanging turrets, 
 embattled, where, instead of banners, now waved 
 long grass and wild plants that had taken root 
 among the mouldering stones, and which seemed 
 to sigh, as the breeze rolled past, over the desola- 
 tion around them. The towers were united by a. 
 curtain, pierced and embattled also, below which 
 appeared the pointed arch of a huge portcullis 
 surmounting the gates ; from these the walls of 
 the ramparts extended to other towers, overlooking 
 the precipice, whose shattered outline, appearing 
 on a gleam that lingered in the west, told of the 
 ravages of war. Beyond these all was lost in the 
 obscurity of evening. 
 
 From " The Italian." 
 
 ENGLISH TEAVELLEBS VISIT A NEAPOLITAN 
 
 OHUKCH. 
 
 Within the shade of the portico, a person with 
 folded arms, and eyes directed towards the ground, 
 was pacing behind the pillars the whole extent of 
 the pavement, and was apparently so engaged by 
 his own thoughts as not to observe that strangers 
 were approaching. He turned, however, suddenly, 
 as if startled by the sound of steps, and then, 
 without farther pausing, glided to a door that 
 opened into the church, and disappeared. 
 
 There was something too extraordinary in the 
 figure of this man, and too singular in his conduct, 
 to pass unnoticed by the visitors. He was of a tall 
 thin figure, bending forward from the shoulders ; 
 of a sallow complexion and harsh features ; and 
 had an eye which, as it looked up from the cloak 
 that mufiled the lower part o^ his countenance, 
 was expressive of uncommon ferocity. 
 
 The travellers, on entering the church, looked 
 round for the stranger who had passed thither 
 before them, but he was nowhere to be seen ; and 
 through all the shade of the long aisles only one 
 other person appeared. This was a friar of the 
 adjoining convent, who sometimes pointed out to 
 strangers the objects in the church which v/ere 
 most worthy of attention, and who now, with this 
 design, approached the party that had just en- 
 tered. 
 
 When the party had viewed the diflFerent shrines, 
 and whatever had been judged worthy of observa- 
 tion, and were returning through an obscure aisle 
 towards the portico, they perceived the person 
 who had appeared upon the steps passing towards 
 a confessional on the left ; and as he entered it, 
 one of the party pointed him out to the friar, and 
 enquired who he was. The friar, turning to look 
 after him, did not immediately reply ; but on the 
 question being repeated, he inclined his head as 
 
 483 
 
RA 
 
 RA 
 
 in a kind of obeisance, and calmly replied, " He 
 Is an assassin." 
 
 "An assassin!" exclaimed one of the English- 
 men ; " an assassin, and at liberty ?" 
 
 An Italian gentleman who "was of the party 
 smiled at the astonishment of his friend. 
 
 " He has sought sanctuary here," replied the 
 friar ; " within these walls he may not be hurt." 
 
 "Do your altars, then, protect a murderer?" 
 said the Englishman. 
 
 " He could find shelter nowhere else," answered 
 the friar meekly. 
 
 * « * » * 
 
 " But observe yonder confessional," added the 
 Italian, " that beyond the pillars on the left of the 
 aisle, below a painted window. Have you disco- 
 vered it ? The colours of the glass throw, instead 
 of a light, a shade over that part of the church, 
 which perhaps prevents your distinguishing what 
 I mean." 
 
 The Englishman looked whither his friend point- 
 ed, and observed a confessional of oak, or some 
 very dark wood, adjoining the wall, and remarked 
 also that it was the same which the assassin had 
 just entered. It consisted of three compartments, 
 covered with a black canopy. In the central divi- 
 sion was the chair of the confessor, elevated by 
 several steps above the pavement of the church ; 
 and on either hand was a small closet or box, with 
 steps leading up to a grated partition, at which 
 the penitent might kneel, and, concealed from ob- 
 servation, pour into the ear of the confessor the 
 consciousness of crimes that lay heavy at his heart. 
 
 "You observe it?" said the Italian. 
 
 "I do," replied the Englishman; "it is the 
 same which the assassin had passed into, and I 
 think it one of the most gloomy spots I ever be- 
 held ; the view of it is enough to strike a criminal 
 with despair." 
 
 " We in Italy are not so apt to despair," replied 
 the Italian, smilingly. 
 
 " Well, but what of this confessional ?" inquired 
 the Englishman. " The assassin entered it." 
 
 " He has no relation with what I am about to 
 mention," said the Italian; "but I wish you to 
 mark the place, because some very extraordinary 
 circumstances belong to it." 
 
 "What are they?" said the Englishman. 
 
 " It is now several years since the confession 
 which is connected with them was made at that 
 very confessional," added the Italian; "the view 
 of it, and the sight of the assassin, with your sur- 
 prise at the liberty which is allowed him, led me 
 to a recollection of the story. When you return 
 to the hotel I will communicate it to you, if you 
 have no pleasanter mode of engaging your time." 
 
 "After I have taken another view of this so- 
 lemn edifice," replied the Englishman, "and par- 
 ticularly of the confessional you have pointed to 
 my notjoe." 
 
 While the Englishman glanced his eye over the 
 high roofs and along the solemn perspectives of 
 the Santa del Pianto, he perceived the figure of 
 the assassin stealing from the confessional across 
 the choir, and, shocked on again beholding him, 
 he turned his eyes and hastily quitted the church. 
 
 The friends then separated, and the Englishman 
 soon after returning to his hotel, received the vo- 
 lume. He read as follows. 
 
 After such an introduction, who could fail to 
 continue the perusal of the story ? Scott has said 
 that one of the fine scenes in " The Italian," where 
 Schedoni the monk (an admirably-drawn charac- 
 ter) is " in the act of raising his arm to murder 
 his sleeping victim, and discovers her to be hia 
 own child, is of a new, grand, and powerful cha- 
 racter ; and the horrors of the wretch who, on the 
 brink of murder, has just escaped from committing 
 a crime of yet more exaggerated horror, constitute 
 the strongest painting which has been produced 
 by Mrs. Radcliffe's pencil, and form a crisis well 
 fitted to be actually embodied on canvass by some 
 great master." This has been done by an Ameri- 
 can artist, the late Washington Allston. The pic- 
 ture is one of great merit, effect, and beauty. 
 
 BAMBOUILLET, CATHARINE DE TIVONNE, 
 MARCHIONESS DE, 
 Was the wife of Charles d'Angennes, marquis 
 de Rambouillet. She was virtuous and intellec- 
 tual, and her house the resort of all men of learn- 
 ing. There the great Corneille read his tragedies, 
 and there Bossuet, at the age of sixteen, displayed 
 those oratorical talents for which he afterwards 
 became so celebrated. She lived in the seven- 
 teenth century. 
 
 RAMSAY, MARTHA LAURENS, 
 Was bom in Charleston, S. C, November 3d, 
 1759. She was the daughter of Henry Laurens, 
 whose ancestors were Huguenots. She spent ten 
 years in England and France, during the latter 
 part of which time she resided at Paris with her 
 father, who was acting there as minister pleni- 
 potentiary from this country. While there, her 
 father gave her five hundred guineas, the greater 
 part of which she employed in purchasing French 
 Testaments for distribution, and in establishing a 
 school. She returned to Charleston in 1785, and 
 in 1787 married Dr. David Ramsay. ' Mrs. Ram- 
 say was a woman of piety, learning, and great 
 benevolence. She assisted her husband in hia 
 literary pursuits, fitted her sons for college, and 
 performed all her domestic duties in the most 
 exemplary manner, showing herself a pattern for 
 her sex, and proving how salutary the enlightened 
 moral influence of woman may become. She died 
 in June, 1811, aged fifty-one. 
 
 From her published correspondence, we give a 
 few 
 
 I.ETTERS TO HER SON AT COLLEQE. 
 
 June 13, 1810. 
 An open, candid disposition endears a young 
 person much to his friends, and must make him 
 very comfortable to himself. That sort of reserve 
 which arises from a consciousness of having wasted 
 the time which ought to have been devoted to 
 study ; and being consequently unprepared for an- 
 swering any questions proposed ; or from a sullen, 
 unyielding temper, which shrinks from investiga- 
 
 484 
 
EA 
 
 RA 
 
 tion, except when, proceeding from tutors and 
 masters, it cannot be avoided, is a reserve so un- 
 lovely that I witness it with pain, and I do most 
 earnestly beseech you to strive against such a 
 temper, which, if unresisted and unsubdued, will 
 show itself on a thousand occasions besides that 
 specified above. Even an incorrect answer, if 
 given in an amiable tone of voice, indicating a de- 
 sire to be set right if found in error, is preferable 
 to silence, or to an unwilling reply, even if a cor- 
 rect one. God has given you an excellent under- 
 standing. Oh, make use of it for wise purposes ; 
 acknowledge it as his gift; and let it regulate 
 your conduct, and harmonize your passions. Be 
 industrious ; be amiable. Every act of self-denial 
 will bring its own reward with it, and make the 
 next step in duty and in virtue easier and more 
 pleasant than the former. 
 
 ***** 
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 July ]8, 1810. 
 
 From the tenor of your last letter, it may be 
 fairly inferred that you are dissatisfied with the 
 strictness of a collegiate course ; and if you should 
 not go through a collegiate course, what then ? 
 Can you go through any virtuous course without 
 economy, industry, and self-denial ? Can you fit 
 yourself for usefulness on earth, or happiness in 
 heaven, in any other way than doing your duty in 
 the station in which God has placed you? And 
 if your chief ambition is, without caring whether 
 you are as wise or good, to wish at least to be 
 richer than your father and mother, will not a 
 diligent attention to collegiate studies and duties 
 be the readiest method to fit you for such emi- 
 nence, in whatever profession you choose, as shall 
 enable you to attain this golden treasure ? I as- 
 sure you, many young men with less means than 
 you have, or are likely to have, (for nothing really 
 necessary or comfortable, I trust in Providence, 
 shall be wanting to you,) have felt it a great pri- 
 vilege to go through a collegiate course, and have 
 afterward come to be eminent, respectable, and 
 wealthy. 
 
 I would never wish my judgment to be warped 
 by my feelings, especially by offended feelings, to 
 do any thing harsh. I would rather even have it 
 blinded by such affection for my dear children, as 
 would make my tenderness overstep, perhaps, the 
 exact bound of maternal prudence ; both extremes 
 would be best avoided. " Give me thine heart, 
 my son," is the language of Scripture; and where 
 there is any heart worth giving or worth having, 
 I believe it is seldom refused to the authors of our 
 being, the protectors of our infancy ; to the father, 
 whose fond ambition it is to see his son distin- 
 guished in life ; the mother, who, with a throbbing 
 heart and moistened eye, is continually addressing 
 the throne of heaven for the welfare of her dear 
 child ; and to the sisters, ever ready to reciprocate 
 the tender charities of domestic endearment, and 
 ever cheerfully sacrificing something of their own 
 convenience for the advancement of their brothers. 
 I pray God to bless you, and to give you grace to 
 make a good use of an understanding, which I am 
 
 sure you possess, to give a right bias to energies 
 and sensibilities, which, wrongly directed, will 
 make you foolish and miserable. With sincere 
 prayers for your improvement in wisdom and vir- 
 tue, wishing you an affectionate heart and indus- 
 trious habits, I remain your faithful friend, your 
 tender mother. 
 
 ***** 
 
 FEOM SEVERAL LETTERS TO THE SAME. 
 
 Your vacation is now at no great distance. I 
 hope you are not trifling away this prime of your 
 days, content with such attainments as will excuse 
 you from censure ; but emulous of ranking with 
 the most studious, most prudent, and most vir- 
 tuous of your companions. I wish I could inspire 
 you with a laudable ambition, and with feelings 
 that would make you avoid any unnecessary inter- 
 course with the bucks, the fops, the idlers of col- 
 lege ; and think that the true intention of going 
 to a seminary of learning is to attain science, and 
 fit you hereafter to rank among men of literary 
 and public consequence. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Could you know my anxiety about you, inde- 
 pendently of nobler motives, I think even a spirit 
 of compassion for an afilicted friend would make 
 you conduct yourself wisely. In the course of a 
 life, not yet very long, I have seen many young 
 persons, with every possible advantage for culti- 
 vating their talents, improving their minds, and 
 becoming estimable members of society, lost to 
 themselves, a disgrace to their friends, plagues to 
 society, or mere cyphers in it, from indolence, a 
 slight manner of pursuing their studies, smoking, 
 drinking, an excessive love of finery, of trifling 
 company, or some similar evil indulged in, be- 
 tween the age of fifteen and twenty. Oh, how I 
 shudder, and what a death-like faintness and op- 
 pression seizes my poor heart, at the thoughts of 
 how I stand in the persons of sons exposed to 
 such a calamity ! With bended knees and stream- 
 ing eyes, I pray my God send me help, and ward 
 off such a stroke. I have also seen those who, 
 with very scanty means, and almost under every 
 possible disadvantage, have, under the smiles of 
 heaven, been friends, money, advice to themselves, 
 and have risen to shine as lights in the world. 
 Others, again, T have seen, who, not having to 
 struggle like these last, constantly against wind 
 and tide, and supported only by their own efforts, 
 but situated like yourself under happier circum- 
 stances, have repaid the labours of a father, and 
 the tender exertions of a mother, by doing their 
 part well, and returning home from their different 
 seminaries of education, just such as their parents 
 could wish. Oh, my God, grant that this may be 
 the case with us. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Your time for improvement will be quickly past ; 
 if it is not improved, you will find yourself grown 
 up with the pride of what you call a gentleman ; 
 you will have no patrimony to lean upon ; your 
 natural talents will be of comparatively little con- 
 sequence to you, and you will have no talents so 
 cultivated, and ready to be brought into action, as 
 
 485 
 
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 to make you capable of building up a fortune for 
 yourself; and of all the mean objects in creation, 
 a lazy, poor, proud gentleman, especially if he is 
 a dressy fellow, is the meanest ; and yet this is 
 generally the character of young men of good 
 family and slender fortunes, unless they take an 
 early turn to learning and science. 
 
 * * -» * » 
 
 I could "wish to write you many little local and 
 domestic matters of news or amusements, but 
 terrified as I am by hearing nothing from you — 
 nothing from you, and interpreting this, no news 
 from a cherished son, as bad news — my mind is 
 quite out of tune for any thing of the lighter kind. 
 I was so much attached to my father, and to the 
 uncle and aunt who brought me up, that I lived 
 in the habit of the greatest intimacy with them ; 
 your sisters can hardly enjoy a girlish note, or a 
 party of pleasure, unless mamma shares in it or 
 knows all about it ; and this is so generally the 
 case with Tirtuous and affectionate children, that 
 wherever there is silence, I dread lest there should 
 be also mystery. I shall rejoice to find it other- 
 wise in your case ; and longing to hear from you, 
 and committing the- guidance of your youthful 
 steps to that God to whom I pray for you by day 
 and by night. 
 
 RANCOURT, SOPHIE, 
 An eminent French actress, the daughter of an 
 actor, was born at Nancy, 1756. She appeared 
 at Paris in 1772, and soon acquired great celebrity 
 in her profession. She was imprisoned during 
 the French revolution, in 1793, for six months. 
 After Napoleon's accession to power, he took her 
 under his protection. She died January 15th 
 1815. 
 
 RAVIRA, FELETTO ELEONORA, OF 
 CASALE, 
 
 AVas the wife of George Feletto, cormsellor of 
 Villa and lord of Melazzo. She was very much 
 praised liy contemporary authors, and has left 
 many small poems, remarkably well written. She 
 flourished in 1559 ; but no dates of the events of 
 her life are to be obtained. 
 
 BEAD, CATHARINE, 
 Was an English lady, who distinguished herself 
 by portrait-painting, both in oil and crayons. One 
 of her first and best performances, was the like- 
 ness of Queen Charlotte, painted immediately after 
 her arrival in England. Another remarkable por- 
 trait of her painting, was that of the female histo- 
 rian, Mrs. Macaulay, represented in the character 
 of a Roman matron, weeping over the lost liberties 
 of her country. About 1770, Miss Bead went to 
 the East Indies, where she resided some years ; 
 but on her return, still continued to exercise her 
 profession to extreme old age. She died about 
 1786. 
 
 RECAMIER, JEANNE FRANgOISE JULIE 
 ADELAIDE BERNARAL, 
 Was born at Lyons in 1778, and was probably 
 the most beautiful and graceful woman of her day. 
 
 She married in 1795, M. Recamier, a man of large 
 fortune. Her house, at that time, was resorted to 
 by all the marked characters of Europe ; and her 
 drawing-room celebrity is perhaps the first of the 
 age. Her father was imprisoned for some trea- 
 sonable dealings with the Chouans, in his capacity 
 of administrator of the ports. Madame Recamier 
 solicited his pardon from Napoleon, who granted 
 his acquittal, but refused to reinstate him. This 
 fascinating woman was accustomed to obtain every- 
 thing she asked for, and she never could forgive 
 Bonaparte for resisting her, though on a point 
 where, what her party termed his severity, seemed 
 reasonable and necessary. Her friends deny this 
 statement, and declare that she never demanded 
 more than her father's liberty ; and that the real 
 origin of the animosity manifested by her to the 
 hero was an ill-conditioned jealousy on his part, 
 which made him vexed at all admiration bestowed 
 on others, even when a pretty woman was its ob- 
 ject. Madame Recamier was fondly attached to 
 the celebrated Madame de Stael, and courageously 
 proved her fi-iendship by going to Coppet at a 
 time when it was intimated to her that this mea- 
 sure would prevent her returning to Paris ; as 
 Napoleon included the friends of Madame de Stael 
 among his own enemies. It was at Coppet that 
 prince Augustus of Prussia, brother of the late 
 king, became violently enamoured of the beautiful 
 Frenchwoman ; he even attempted to persuade 
 her to obtain a divorce from M. Recamier, that 
 she might become his princess. Her religious 
 principles would not allow her to listen with ap- 
 proval to this proposal. After leaving Coppet, 
 Madame Recamier resided at Lyons two years. As 
 she determined to take no steps for the repeal of 
 her exile, she decided upon a journey to Italy. 
 There, as everywhere else, she was received with 
 universal and lively admiration. Painters copied 
 her loveliness ; Canova has perpetuated her fea- 
 tures in marble. Madame Becamier's sentence 
 of banishment was never reversed. She returned 
 to Paris with the Bourbons. After the death of 
 Madame de Stael she took up her residence at the 
 abbaye aux Bois, where, though out of the tumult 
 of dissipated society, she enjoyed the intimate 
 friendship and constant visits of an extended circle 
 of literary and otherwise distinguished persons. 
 Among these may be mentioned Chateaubriand 
 and Guizot. For some years before her death she 
 became blind, an affliction which she bore with 
 the most gracious serenity ; never complaining of 
 it, except as it prevented her attentions to her 
 friends. She died on the 10th of May, 1849, of 
 the cholera. Her distinguishing traits were an 
 extreme sweetness of disposition and tenderness 
 of heart, which obtained her the affection of all 
 about her. It should be noted that she was quite 
 unspoiled by the homage that was always paid to 
 her extraordinary beauty. 
 
 REEVE, CLARA, 
 
 A NOVELIST, born in 1738, at Ipswich, was the 
 
 daughter of a clergyman, who gave her a good 
 
 education. Her first work was a translation of 
 
 Barclay's "Argenis," published in 1772. Her 
 
 486 
 
RE 
 
 KE 
 
 subsequent productions are, " The Old English 
 Baron ;" " The Two Mentors ;" " The Progress of 
 Romance;" "The Exile;" and "Memoirs of Sir 
 Roger de Clarendon." Her novels are all marked 
 hy good sense and pure morality, and were well 
 received at the time they were written, especially 
 " The Old English Baron," on which her fame now 
 almost exclusively rests. 
 
 Mr. Chambers asserts that an early admiration 
 of " The Castle of Otranto," induced Miss Reeve 
 to imitate it in her " Gothic Story." He adds — 
 "In some respects the lady has the advantage of 
 Walpole ; her supernatural machinery is better 
 managed, so as to produce a mysteriousness and 
 effect ; but her style has not the point or elegance 
 df her prototype." Passing strange it would have 
 been, had this retired country maiden, who had 
 only an imperfect education, the few works and 
 opportunities of knowledge accessible to a woman 
 in a provincial town, equalled Horace "Walpole in 
 the art of composition, which he had studied and 
 practised with all appliances and means men of 
 station and wealth can command, from his youth 
 till he was nearly fifty, before he produced " The 
 Castle of Otranto." That she has not failed, but 
 rather excelled him, where genius only was con- 
 cerned, is sufficient to ensure her fame. She was 
 much respected and beloved, and led a very retired 
 quiet life. She died in 1803. 
 
 REISKE, ERNESTINE CHRISTINE, 
 Whose maiden name was Miiller, was the wife 
 of Johann Jacob Reiske. She was born, April 2d, 
 1735, at Kumberg, a small town near "Wittemberg, 
 in Prussian Saxony. In 1755, she became ac- 
 quainted with Reiske at Leipzic, where she was 
 making a visit. Her beauty, modesty, goodness, 
 and love of literature, attracted the eminent scho- 
 lar, and, although he was twenty years her senior, 
 they became very much attached to each other ; 
 but, owing to the war then raging in Saxony, they 
 were not married till 1764. In order to help her 
 husband in his literary labours, Christine acquired 
 under his instructions a thorough knowledge of 
 Latin and Greek, which rendered her of the great- 
 est assistance to him. She copied and collated his 
 manuscripts, arranged the various readings that 
 he had collected, and read and corrected the proof- 
 sheets of his works. Her attachment for him and 
 her respect for his memory are strongly shown in 
 the supplement to his autobiography, which she 
 completed from the 1st of January, 1770, till his 
 death on the 14th of August, 1774. The gratitude 
 of Reiske, and the ardour of his aifection, are not 
 less strongly expressed, both in the autobiography 
 just mentioned and in the prefaces to some of his 
 works. After the death of Reiske, his wife pub- 
 lished several works that he had left unfinished, and 
 also two works of her own, one called "Hellas," 
 in 1778; and the other, entitled "Zur Moral: aus 
 dem Grieohischen ubersatzt von E. C. Reiske;" a 
 work containing translations from the Greek to the 
 German. After her husband's death she lived suc- 
 cessively at Leipzic, Dresden, and Brunswick ; and 
 died at Kamberg, July 27th, 1798, aged sixty-three. 
 
 RENARD, CECILE. 
 
 The history of this young girl exhibits the 
 moral phenomenon of the apathy to all that human 
 nature usually shrinks from, which may be pro- 
 duced by living in the constant atmosphere of 
 danger and dismay. Her fate and conduct some- 
 what, at first sight, resemble those of Charlotte 
 Corday; but upon examination, nothing can be 
 more different. Charlotte Corday, enthusiastic, 
 animated, energetic, set about her purpose in the 
 most sanguine hopes of sacrificing herself for her 
 country ; while the aimless act of Cecile seemed 
 produced by disgust of life, and despair of im- 
 provement in public affairs. She was born at 
 Paris, the daughter of a stationer. She and her 
 eldest brother occupied themselves in the business 
 of the shop, while the two others were enlisted in 
 the army. Without possessing remarkable beauty, 
 her appearance was very striking and agreeable. 
 She was twenty years of age when she stepped 
 out of the obscurity of private life, and brought 
 herself into the history of Robespierre. It has 
 been said that her hatred to the latter arose from 
 his causing the execution of a young man to whom 
 she was attached ; this is an anecdote that wants 
 confirmation, and it is impossible to admit it as a 
 fact. The truth is, she was educated in an aver- 
 sion to the terrible order of things then prevalent ; 
 her imagination was struck with the torrents of 
 blood, the frightful shocks, that daily occurred ; 
 and her family, attached to the royalist party, 
 made its losses, and the horrors of the existing 
 government, a constant theme of their private 
 conversations. Her fancy became morbid, her 
 reason perverted, until she considered life an in- 
 suiferable burden ; and she resolved to free her- 
 self from it, in a way that should manifest her 
 opinions. With this object, on the 23d of May, 
 1794, she went to the house of Robespierre, car- 
 rying a bundle. When they told her he was Out, 
 she declared he neglected his duties, and that for 
 her part she would give all she possessed to have 
 a king. This, in those days, was enough to have 
 cost her a hundred lives, if she had had themi 
 She was taken to the eomitij, and asked what she 
 wanted with Robespierre ? "I wanted to see how 
 a tyrant looks." Why she wanted a king ? "Be- 
 cause we have five hundred tyrants, and I prefer 
 one king." Why she carried a bundle? "Be- 
 cause, as I expected to go to prison, I wanted a 
 change of clothes." Two knives were found in 
 her bundle — she was asked if she intended to as- 
 sassinate Robespierre ? She said, "No; that she 
 always carried a knife, and in this case had taken 
 the second by mistake ; but that they might think 
 as they pleased about it." Being asked who were 
 her accomplices, she denied having any, or the 
 existence of any plot. An old aunt of Cecile, an 
 ex-nun, together with her father and brothers, 
 were involved in her condemnation. Cecile, 
 dragged to the scaffold, never wavered an instant 
 in her firmness ; this girl of twenty met death 
 with the resolution and unmoved demeanour of a 
 stoic. 
 
 487 
 
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 EI 
 
 RENEE DE FRANCE, DUCHESS OF 
 FEREARA, 
 
 Born at Blois, in 1510, was the daughter of 
 Louis XII. aud Anne of Brittany. She was mar- 
 ried, in 1527, to Hercules II. of Este, duke of 
 Ferrara. She was a princess of great capacity 
 and thirst of Isnowledge, and much interested in 
 the religious controversies of the times. Calvin, 
 who went in disguise from France to Italy to see 
 her, brought her over to his opinions, and her 
 court at Ferrara became the refuge of all those 
 suspected of heresy. Her conduct so displeased 
 the court of France, that the king, Henry II., sent 
 the following instructions to the duke of Ferrara ; 
 
 " If the duchess persists in her errors, she must 
 be separated from all conversation ; her children 
 must be taken from her ; and all her domestics, 
 who are greatly suspected of heresy, must be pro- 
 secuted. With regard to the princess herself, the 
 king refers to the prudence of her husband." 
 
 Her four children were, therefore, successively 
 taken from her and brought into France, to be 
 educated in the Roman Catholic faith. After the 
 duke's death, in 1559, the princess returned to 
 France, to reside in her castle of Montargig. The 
 duke of Guise having summoned her to deliver up 
 some Protestants who had taken refuge with her, 
 she replied, " That she would not deliver them, 
 and that if he should attack the castle, she would 
 be the first to place herself in the breach, to see 
 if he would dare to kill a king's daughter." She 
 was obliged to send away four hundred and sixty 
 persons, to whom she had given asylum ; she 
 parted from them in tears, after providing for the 
 expenses of their journey. This princess died at 
 Montargis, in 1575. She was slightly deformed 
 in her person, but elegant manners, and graceful 
 eloquence, more than compensated for this disad- 
 vantage. 
 
 RICCOBONI, MARIE LABOEAS- 
 MEZIERES, 
 
 Was born at Paris, in 1714. She married Luigi 
 Riccoboni, an actor, and also an author of several 
 successful comedies, and of various works on the 
 literature of the drama. He was considered the 
 first among the Italian comedians, but he retired 
 from the stage, owing to religious scruples. His 
 wife contributed, by her taste and her advice, to 
 the success of his productions. Before Madame 
 Riccoboni, the novels of the abbS Prevost enjoyed 
 a great reputation ; doubtless these gave the im- 
 pulse to this lady when she timidly presented to 
 the public works of the same description, but 
 which were destined entirely to eclipse the tedious 
 commonplaces and unnatural incidents which make 
 up the "Dean of Coleraine," the "Adventures of 
 a Man of Quality," &c. 
 
 Madame Riccoboni has written quite a numerous 
 collection of fictitious histories, the least interest- 
 ing of which would not sufiFer in comparison with 
 any of the contemporary novels ; the best is 
 usually considered to be "Juliette de Catesby;" 
 it is written with grace and vivacity, the thoughts 
 are true and well expressed, and the details natu- 
 
 ral and interesting. She also translated Fielding's 
 "Amelia," and made a continuation of Marivaux's 
 " Mariano," with a most successful imitation of 
 the style and manners of that author. Madame 
 Riccoboni died in poverty, at the age of sixty- 
 eight, in 1762. With her abilities, her worth, 
 and her amiable disposition, she deserved a hap- 
 pier fate. 
 
 RICH, FRANCES, 
 Youngest daughter of Oliver Cromwell, was 
 born in December, 1638. She was probably hand- 
 some, as she received many splendid offers of 
 marriage; among others, one from Charles II. 
 himself, then in exile. Cromwell refused, saying 
 that " Charles would never forgive the death of 
 his father." The duke d'Enghien, eldest son of 
 the prince de Cond6, was another suitor of Fran- 
 ces Cromwell. On the 11th of November, 1657, 
 she married Robert Rich, grandson and heir to 
 Robert, earl of Warwick, the protector settling 
 £15,000 on his daughter. Mr. Eich died three 
 months after the marriage, and some time after, 
 Mrs. Rich married Sir John Russel, by whom she 
 had several children. She died Jan. 27th, 1721, 
 at the age of eighty-four. 
 
 RICHMOND, DUCHESS OF, 
 A BEAUTIFUL and noble lady, who lived during 
 the reign of James I., was the daughter of the 
 earl of Binden. Her two grandfathers, the duke 
 of Norfolk and duke of Buckingham, had both lost 
 their lives for aspiring to the throne. She fell in 
 love with a vintner, of the name of Prannel, and 
 married him. He died in a few years after their 
 marriage, leaving her a beautiful and wealthy 
 widow. She was next engaged to Sir George 
 Rodney, but dismissing him for the earl of Hert- 
 ford, Sir George committed suicide. This, how- 
 ever, had little effect upon her. Her conduct was 
 marked with great levity, and she was suspected 
 of several intrigues. After the death of the earl, 
 she married the duke of Richmond ; and after his 
 death she aspired but unsuccessfully, to the hand 
 of James I. 
 
 EIEDESEL, FEEDERICA, BARONESS DE, 
 Was the daughter of Masson, the Prussian mi- 
 nister of state, and was born in Brandenburgh, in 
 1746. In 1763, she married lieutenant-colonel 
 Baron de Riedesel, who was appointed, in 1777, 
 to the command of the Brunswick forces in the 
 British service in America, and his wife accompa- 
 nied him to this country with her three young 
 children. She was with that part of the army 
 commanded by General Burgoyne, during all their 
 disasters, till the defeat at Saratoga, exposed often 
 to privations and dangers from which many of the 
 soldiers would have shrunk. After the capitula- 
 tion of Burgoyne, Riedesel, who was taken pri- 
 soner, was sent to Cambridge, and afterwards to 
 Virginia, but in 1779, was allowed to go to New 
 York. His wife accompanied him in all his 
 wanderings. In 1780, General Riedesel was 
 exchanged; in 1781, they went to Canada; and 
 in 1783, they returned to Germany, where the 
 
 488 
 
KO 
 
 RO 
 
 hustand died, in 1800. After this event, the ba- 
 roness resided in Berlin, where she died, in 1808. 
 She founded there an asylum for military orphans, 
 and an alms-house for the poor in Brunswick. 
 
 KOCHE, MARIE SOPHIE DE LA, 
 
 A VERT talented German authoress, was born on 
 the 6th of December, 1731, at Kaufbeuren. Her 
 father, Von Gutermann, a very learned physician, 
 educated her with great care. When she was only 
 five, Sophie had read the Bible through. Von 
 Gutermann removed from Kaufbeuren to Augs- 
 burg, where he was appointed town-physician, and 
 dean of the medical faculty, when his daughter 
 was sixteen. Here she had a better opportunity 
 to cultivate her mind, io which attempt she re- 
 ceived great assistance from Dr. Biancani, of Bo- 
 logna, physician to the prime bishop of Augsburg. 
 He became very much attached to, and wished to 
 marry her ; but the father of Sophie opposed the 
 match, on account of the difference of religious 
 opinions, Biancani being a Roman Catholic and 
 Von Gutermann a Lutheran. This disappointment 
 so affected Sophie, that she wished to enter a 
 convent, but was prevented by her father. From 
 this time, she devoted herself to study and read- 
 ing, and soon after, with her two sisters and her 
 brother, she went to Riberach, to reside with her 
 grandfather, a senator in that city. After his 
 death, she removed to the house of Wieland, a 
 relation of hers, then curate of St. Maria Magda- 
 lena, but afterw;ards senior of the ministry. 
 
 Here Sophie became acquainted with young 
 Wieland, who drew her attention to German lite- 
 rature. A strong attachment sprung up between 
 them, and they became engaged. He went to 
 Switzerland, to obtain some employment that 
 might enable them to marry, and was obliged to 
 remain there eight years. During this long ab- 
 sence, misunderstandings, arising from the noblest 
 motives, estranged them; and when, in 1760, Wie- 
 land returned to Riberach to assume his new ofEce 
 of counsellor, he found Sophie the wife of M. de 
 la Roche, counsellor of state, in Maine, and super- 
 intendent of the estates of Count Stadion. The 
 friendship of Wieland and Sophie was resumed, 
 and continued uninterrupted till their death, a 
 period of more than fifty years. She also con- 
 tinued her studies with unabated zeal. 
 
 La Roche, after the death of Count Stadion, 
 removed to Coblentz, where he lived for ten years 
 as counsellor of state. From some unknown cause, 
 perhaps some letters on monkery, of which La 
 Roche was said to be the author, he fell into dis- 
 grace ; and from that time they lived a very re- 
 tired life, first at Speier, afterwards at Offenbach, 
 where M. de la Roche died, in 1789. In 1791, 
 Madame de la Roche lost a son, Francis, whose 
 death caused her the deepest sorrow. She her- 
 self survived till 1807. 
 
 Sophie was a tender and an affectionate wife and 
 mother, and a warm philanthropist. She wrote a 
 number of works, which showed her to be a wo- 
 man of intellect, knowledge, and experience. Her 
 favourite studies were philosophy and the abstruse 
 sciences. In writing, however, she succeeded best 
 
 in romances, in which she showed great powers 
 of imagination and knowledge of the human heart. 
 Her principal works are, " History of the Lady of 
 Sternberg," to which Wieland wrote a preface; 
 "Letters of Rosalie," "My Writing-Desk," "Po- 
 mona," "Rosalie and Cleeberg," "Letters to 
 Lina," "Letters on Mannheim," " History of Miss 
 Leni," "Apparitions on Lake Oneida," "Moral 
 Stories," "New Stories," "Fanny and Julia," 
 " The Beautiful Picture of Resignation," " Love 
 Cottages," "Autumn Days;" the last work she 
 published, is called ',' Melusina's Summer-Night." 
 She then shut up her desk, that she might not 
 survive herself as an authoress. Wieland also 
 wrote a preface to this worlc ; having introduced 
 her in the commencement of her literary career, 
 he accompanied her to the close. 
 
 ROCHES, MESDAMES DES, 
 Were two celebrated ladies of Poitiers, in 
 France, who lived in the sixteenth century. The 
 elder was named Madeleine Neveu, wife of Andrfi 
 Fradonet, seigneur Des Roches, and her daughter, 
 Catharine. They were very learned, wise, and 
 virtuous. Madame des Roches became a widow 
 fifteen years after her marriage, and devoted her- 
 self entirely to the education of her daughter, in 
 whom she found a very dear friend, and a rival 
 who excelled her. They devoted themselves prin- 
 cipally to writing poetry ; and their verses show 
 their great attachment to each other, and also 
 that they met with many sorrows. Catharine was 
 so attached to her mother, that she would never 
 marry, although she had many worthy suitors. 
 They express, in their writings, a strong desire 
 not to survive each other; and their wish was 
 gratified ; for they died the same day, of a plague 
 that ravaged Poitiers, in 1587. Madame des 
 Roches was born in 1531. 
 
 ROHAN, ANNE DE, 
 Daughter of Catharine de Parthenai, heiress 
 of the house of Soubise, was born in 1562, and 
 acquired, like her mother, a high reputation in 
 the literary world. She would have been one of 
 the greatest poetesses of her age, but her devoted 
 piety turned her talent into another channel. She 
 died unmarried, in 1646. She was a Protestant, 
 and was celebrated for her courage, as well as her 
 learning. 
 
 ROHAN, FRANCES DE, LADY DE 
 LA GAENACHE, 
 
 Was daughter to Renatus de Rohan and Isa- 
 bella d'Albret, daughter of John d'Albret, king of 
 Navarre, and was, consequently, cousin-german 
 to Joan d'Albret, mother to Henry IV. She was 
 betrothed to the duke de Nemours, by whom she 
 had a son ; but he becoming tired of her, obtained 
 from the pope a dissolution of his engagement, as 
 the lady de Rohan had declared herself a Protest- 
 ant, and married the widow of the duke of Guise. 
 The lady de la Garnache, or the duchess de Lou- 
 donnois, as she was sometimes called, maintained 
 herself dexterously in her estate during the civil 
 wars. 
 
 489 
 
ao 
 
 RO 
 
 ROHAN, MARIE ELEONORE DE, 
 
 Celebbated for her piety and talents, was the 
 daughter of Hereule de Rohan-Gugmeni, duke de 
 Montbazon. She was born in 1628, and educated 
 in a convent. Of high birth and fortune, beautiful 
 and accomplished, Eleonore, at the age of eighteen, 
 notwithstanding the tears of her father, and the 
 entreaties of her friends, resolved to enter a con- 
 vent. She became a member of the Benedictine 
 convent at Montargis, and was soon after named 
 abbess La Trinity de Caen. This dignity she 
 wished to decline, but was compelled to accept it. 
 She fulfilled all the duties of this office with gen- 
 tleness, propriety, and wisdom. She gave singular 
 proofs of her mild firmness in maintaining the 
 rights and privileges of the abbey. 
 
 Her health obliged her to remove to Malnoue, 
 near Paris ; and in 1669, she was solicited to take 
 upon herself also the government of another com- 
 munity. In the intervals of her duties, she ap- 
 plied herself to study. She composed a paraphrase 
 on the Proverbs, called " Morale de Solomon ;" "A 
 Discourse on Wisdom," and several other tracts. 
 To the modesty and gentleness of her own sex, 
 she united the wisdom and learning of the other. 
 She died in 1681. 
 
 ROLAND, MARIE JEANNE, 
 Wife of the celebrated patriot of that name, 
 was born at Paris, in 1754. Her father, M. Phi- 
 lipon, was an engraver of much talent, her mother 
 was a woman of an uncommonly elevated character. 
 The little Manon, as Madame Roland was called 
 when a child, showed her peculiarly ardent and 
 enthusiastic temperament very early. Happily 
 for her, she was surrounded from her youth by 
 those pure and religious influences which, not- 
 withstanding the skepticism of the age, still lin- 
 gers in the humble home of the bourgeoise. Na- 
 turally reserved, though animated and eager, she 
 required constant occupation ; she never remem- 
 bered having learned to read; by the time she 
 was four, all the trouble of her education was 
 over ; it was only necessary to keep her well sup- 
 plied with books. Flowers were the only thing 
 
 that could make her voluntarily give up her read- 
 ing. But her mother, to prepare her for her 
 future duties, often required her to leave her 
 studies, and assist her in all the household occu- 
 pations. Dancing, music, drawing, geography, 
 and even Latin, she acquired readily ; and rising 
 at five in the morning, she stole, half dressed, to 
 her studies. As to books, none came amiss to her. 
 She devoured alike, the Bible, romances. Lives of 
 the Saints, or " Memoirs of Mademoiselle de Mont- 
 pensier." 
 
 But Plutarch was her chief delight ; at the age 
 of nine, she carried it to church with her secretly, 
 and from that time she dated her first republican 
 feelings and opinions. When she was about eleven, 
 she became very religious ; and at the time of her 
 first communion, always a ceremony of necessity 
 and importance in the Roman Catholic church, 
 she was so carried away by her religious emotions, 
 that she threw herself at her parents' feet, and 
 with torrents of tears, begged them to allow her 
 to go to a convent to prepare for the great event. 
 Her request was granted ; and her gravity, her 
 devotion, and her great quickness in learning, 
 soon made her a favourite among the community 
 in which she was placed. Upon the day when 
 she was to take the sacrament for which she had 
 prepared, by her seclusion, long prayers, and 
 meditation, her excited imagination, and her ex- 
 cessive devotion, made it necessary for her to be 
 almost carried to the altar by one of the nuns. 
 In this retreat, she formed a friendship with a 
 young girl of her own age, Sophie Canet, which 
 lasted during her whole life. Though the reli- 
 gious sentiments she then experienced yielded at 
 a later period to the skepticism of the age, theh' 
 purifying influence is to be traced through every 
 stage of her existence. The philosophic and popu- 
 lar spirit which had been gradually descending 
 through every class of the nation, began to per- 
 vade the bourgeoise, and, in spite of the obacurity 
 of her birth and station, Manon could not feel 
 indifferent to the welfare of her country; she 
 adopted eagerly the popular doctrines of equality 
 and brotherhood. 
 
 She was not insensible to the charms of pomp 
 and splendour, but she was indignant that its 
 chief object was to elevate still higher persons 
 already too powerful, and who had nothing com- 
 mendable in themselves. In a visit she paid to 
 the court, she became soon disgusted with it. "If 
 I remain much longer," said she to her mother, 
 while urging her to depart, "I shall soon detest 
 the people I see so much, that I shall not be able 
 to control my hatred." " What injury have they 
 done you ?" " They make me feel their injustice 
 and their absurdity." These republican senti- 
 ments increased the stoical nature of her charac- 
 ter ; she looked upon life as a struggle and a duty. 
 Her beauty attracted many admirers, but she re- 
 fused all offers ; her superiority to those of her 
 own rank rendering her naturally repugnant to 
 marriage. 
 
 M. Philipon was not kind to his wife. The 
 ascendency which his daughter had over him, en- 
 abled her to control his ebullitions of temper, so 
 
 490 
 
RO 
 
 EO 
 
 that after she was grown, her mother was in a 
 great measure protected from them. In 1775, 
 she lost this adored mother, and her grief on the 
 occasion nearly cost her her life. For two weeks 
 she lay in terrible convulsions, struggling all the 
 time with a sense of sutfocation. A letter from 
 her friend, Sophie Canet, at length enabled her 
 to weep, an effect the physicians had been trying 
 in vain to produce, and she recovered. 
 
 After her mother's death, her father became 
 careless and dissipated, and nearly ruined himself. 
 Mademoiselle Philipon took refuge in her books 
 from her troubles ; the works of Rosseau especially 
 interested her. At the same time, Sophie Canet 
 wrote to her often about a man whom she had 
 met in the society near Amiens, where she resided; 
 and when this gentleman, M. Roland, went to 
 Paris, she gave him a letter to Mademoiselle Phi- 
 lipon. They were mutually pleased with each 
 other, and corresponded from that time till their 
 marriage, five years after, in 1789. 
 
 M. Roland was a manufacturer of Lyons, a 
 grave, severe man, then on the verge of fifty. 
 Reserved and abrupt in his manners, few would 
 have thought him likely to fascinate a young and 
 beautiful woman. Nor was it love that attracted 
 her to him. Love she looked upon — it was thought 
 through the influence of some youthful disappoint- 
 ment — as a beautiful chimera. Beneath the aus- 
 tere aspect of Roland, she saw and admired a soul, 
 in its stern and unyielding virtues, worthy of an 
 ancient philosopher. In her enthusiasm, she over- 
 rated his qualities ; he proved a selfish, exacting 
 husband ; but her sense of duty, and the high es- 
 teem she felt for his qualities, enabled her to bear 
 her lot with cheerfulness. 
 
 The opening of the French revolution drew her 
 from the retirement of private life. She accom- 
 panied her husband, in 1791, to Paris, upon his 
 being sent there by the municipality of Lyons. 
 Her beauty, enthusiasm, and eloquence, soon ex- 
 ercised a powerful fascination over her husband's 
 friends. P^thion, Buzot, Brissot, and Robespierre, 
 met constantly at her house, and she was a deeply 
 interested observer of all that passed. Madame 
 Roland had little faith in constitutional monarchy ; 
 her aspirations were for a republic, pure, free, 
 and glorious as her ideal. Without seeking it, 
 she found herself the nucleus of a large and pow- 
 erful party. The singular and expressive beauty 
 of her face and person, the native elegance and 
 dignity of her manners, her harmonious voice and 
 flowing language, and above all, the fervour and 
 eloquence of her patriotism, seemed to mark her 
 out for the part which had been instinctively as- 
 signed to her. She presided over political meet- 
 ings with so much tact and discretion as to appear 
 a calm spectator ; whilst she, in reality, imbued 
 with her own fervent enthusiasm all those who 
 came near her. This enthusiasm she had imparted 
 to the colder mind of her husband, and the promi- 
 nent part which he took in the important events 
 of the ■ period, may unquestionably be attributed 
 to her. In 1792, when the Girondist ministry 
 was formed, Roland was named minister of the 
 interior; and in her new and elevated position, 
 
 Madame Roland influenced not only her husband, 
 but the entire Girondist party. Dismissed from 
 his post, in consequence of his celebrated letter 
 of remonstrance to the king — which letter was, in 
 fact, written by his wife — Roland, upon the down- 
 fall of the monarchy, was recalled to the ministry. 
 This triumph was but short-lived. The power 
 which had been set in motion could not be arrested 
 in its fearful course — the Girondist party fell be- 
 fore the influence of their blood-thirsty opponents. 
 Protesting against the Reign of Terror, they fell 
 its victims. Madame Roland, whose opposition 
 to the massacres had influenced her party, drew 
 down upon her husband and herself the hatred of 
 Marat and Danton, and their lives were soon 
 openly threatened. Roland, who was kept in con- 
 cealment by a friend, escaped ; but Madame Ro- 
 land was arrested, and thrown into prison. Here 
 during a confinement of several months, she pre- 
 pared her memoirs, which have since been given 
 to the world. 
 
 On the 10th of November, 1793, she was re- 
 moved to the Conciergerie, and her trial, as a Gi- 
 rondist, commenced. She was closely questioned, 
 not only about 'herself, but her husband. She 
 refused to say anything that might criminate him, 
 or give them a clue as to his present hiding-place. 
 She was condemned to death, and November 10th, 
 1793, she ascended the fatal cart, dressed in white, 
 as an emblem of her purity of mind, and went 
 calmly through the crowd which followed the pro- 
 cession. The mass of the people, moved by pity 
 and admiration, were generally silent, but some 
 of the more furious ones cried out, " To the guil- 
 lotine! to the guillotine!" "I shall soon be 
 there," said Madame Roland; "but those who 
 send me there will follow themselves ere long. I 
 go there innocent, but they will go as criminals ; 
 and you, who now applaud, will also applaud 
 then." When she arrived in front of the statue 
 of liberty, she bent her head to it, exclaiming, 
 " Oh liberty, how many crimes are committed in 
 thy name !" At the foot of the scaffold, she said 
 to her companion, an old and timid man, whom 
 she had been encouraging on the way, " Go first ; 
 I can at least spare you the pain of seeing my 
 blood flow." She died at the age of thirty- 
 nine. 
 
 She had predicted that her husband would not 
 survive her : her prediption was fulfilled. The 
 body of Roland was found seated beneath a tree, 
 on the road to Rouen, stabbed to the heart. Fast- 
 ened to his dress was a paper, upon which a few 
 lines were inscribed, asserting that "upon learn- 
 ing the death of his wife, he could not remain a 
 day longer in a world so stained with crime." 
 That M. Roland was unable to survive his wife, 
 is the strongest proof of the powerful influence 
 which she exercised over him. It has been aptly 
 said, that of all modern men, Roland most resem- 
 bled Cato. It was to his wife that he owed his 
 courage, and the power of his talents. 
 
 They left one daughter, Eudora, who was 
 brought up by Madame Champayneux, a friend 
 of Madame Roland ; and the son of this friend 
 married Eudora. 
 
 491 
 
RO 
 
 ROPER, MARGARET, 
 
 Eldest daughter of Sir Thomas More, was a 
 woman of fine mind and charming disposition, tlie 
 delight and comfort of her celebrated father. The 
 greatest care was taken in her education ; and she 
 became learned in Greek, Latin, many of the sci- 
 ences, and music. Erasmus wrote a letter to her, 
 as a woman famous not only for virtue and piety, 
 but for solid learning. Cardinal Pole was so de- 
 lighted with the elegance of her Latin style, that 
 he could not believe it was the production of a 
 woman. She married William Roper, Esq., of 
 Well-hall, in the parish of Eltham, in Kent ; she 
 died in 1544, and was buried at St. Dunstan's 
 church, in Canterbury, with her father's head in 
 her arms ; for she had procured it after it had 
 remained fourteen days on London bridge, and 
 had preserved it in a leaden box, till there was an 
 opportunity of conveying it to Canterbury, to the 
 burial-place of the Ropers. She had five children, 
 one of whom, Mary, was nearly as famous as 
 herself. 
 
 Mrs. Roper wrote, in reply to Quintilian, an 
 oration in defence of the rich man, whom he ac- 
 cuses of having poisoned, by venomous flowers in 
 his garden, the poor man's bees. This perform- 
 ance is said to have rivalled Quintilian's in elo- 
 quence. She also wrote two declamations, and 
 translated them into Latin, and composed a trea- 
 tise " Of the Four Last Things," in which she 
 showed so much strong reasoning and justness of 
 thought, as obliged Sir Thomas to confess its su- 
 periority to a discourse in which he was himself 
 employed on the same subject. The ecclesiastical 
 history of Eusebius was translated by this lady 
 from the Greek into Latin. 
 
 ROSALBA, CARRIERA, 
 Was born in 1675, at Chiozza, near Venice ; 
 and was instructed by Giovanni Diamentini, from 
 whom she learned design, and also the art of 
 painting in oil. In that kind of colouring, she 
 copied several of the works of the best masters ; 
 but at last applied herself to miniature with ex- 
 traordinary diligence, being ambitious to arrive 
 at such a degree of perfection in it as might en- 
 able her to contribute to the support of her pa- 
 rents. She succeeded to her wish ; but after 
 practising miniature-painting with great reputa- 
 tion, she quitted it for crayons, which art she 
 carried to a degree of perfection that few artists 
 have ever been able to attain. In 1709, Frederic 
 IV., king of Denmark, passing through Venice, 
 sat to Rosalba for his portrait, of which, by his 
 order, she made several copies, very highly fin- 
 ished. Soon after, the same monarch employed 
 her to paint twelve portraits of Venetian ladies, 
 which she performed so much to his satisfaction, 
 that he showed her particiilar marks of his favour, 
 and, besides gifts of great value, paid her with a 
 truly royal munificence. She visited France in 
 company with Pelligrini, who had married her 
 sister ; and at Paris had the honour to paint the 
 royal family, with most of the nobility, and other 
 persons of distinction. During her residence there. 
 
 RO 
 
 she was admitted into the academy, to which she 
 presented a picture of one of the muses. On her 
 return to Venice, she continued her profession 
 until she was seventy, when, by incessant appli- 
 cation, she lost her sight. She died in 1757. The 
 portraits of Rosalba are full of life and spirit, ex- 
 ceedingly natural, with an agreeable resemblance 
 to the persons represented. Her colouring is 
 soft, tender, and delicate ; her tints clear and well 
 united ; and she generally gave a graceful turn to 
 the heads, especially to those of her female figures. 
 
 ROSA, ANNA DI, 
 SuKNAMED Annella de Massina, from the name 
 of her master, painted historical pieces with the 
 greatest success. She perished at the age of 
 thirty-six, a victim to the unjust jealousy of her 
 husband. 
 
 ROSE, SUSAN PENELOPE, 
 An English portrait-painter, was bom in 1652, 
 She was the daughter of Gibson the dwarf, and 
 painted in water-colours with great freedom. The 
 ambassador from Morocco sat to her and to Sir 
 Godfrey Kneller at the same time. She also paint- 
 ed Bishop Burnet in his robes, as Chancellor of 
 the Garter. She died in 1 700, aged forty-eight. 
 
 ROWE, ELIZABETH, 
 Was the daughter of Mr. Walter Singer, a dis- 
 senting minister, and was born at Ilchester, in 
 Somersetshire, England, September 11th, 1674. 
 Her father possessed an estate near Frome in that 
 county ; but he married and settled at Ilchester. 
 Miss Singer gave early promise of genius, and 
 began to write verses when she was only twelve, 
 and ajlso excelled in music and painting. She was 
 very pious, and at the request of bishop Ken, 
 wrote her paraphrase on the 38th chapter of Job. 
 In 1696, she published a volume of poetry, en- 
 titled, " Poems on Several Occasions, by Philo- 
 mela." 
 
 Her merit and personal attractions procured 
 her many admirers, among whom was Prior the 
 poet ; but she married, in 1709, Mr. Thomas Rowe, 
 and for five years lived with him very happily. 
 He died in 1715, at the age of twenty-eight, 
 and Mrs. Rowe retired to Frome, and spent the 
 remainder of her life in the greatest seclusion. 
 Here she composed most of her works ; some of 
 which were " Friendship in Death, or Letters from 
 the Dead to the Living." The intention of this 
 work is to impress the idea of the soul's immor- 
 tality, without which all virtue and religion, with 
 their temporal and eternal consequences, must 
 fall to the ground. About three years afterwards 
 she published " Letters, Moral and Entertain- 
 ing;" "The History of Joseph," a poem; and, 
 after her death, in 1736, the Rev. Dr. AVatts, 
 agreeably to her request, revised and published a 
 work she left, called " Devout Exercises of the 
 Heart, in Meditation and Soliloquy, Praise and 
 Prayer." 
 
 She possessed a sweetness and serenity of tem- 
 per that nothing could ruffle, and great benevo- 
 lence and gentleness of character. She was un- 
 
 492 
 
RO 
 
 KO 
 
 assuming and lovely in her deportment ; and her 
 charities bordered on excess. She died, February 
 20th, 1737, aged sixty-three. 
 
 After her death, there were found in her room 
 several letters addressed to her most intimate 
 friends, with this aifecting superscription — "Not 
 to be delivered until after my death." These 
 letters breathed those sentiments of piety and 
 affection, that peculiarly marked every action of 
 her life. In them she expressed a hope of enjoy- 
 ing eternal happiness through the mediation and 
 intercession of Jesus Christ. Her person is thus 
 described by a relative : — " Her stature was mo- 
 derate ; her hair of a fine auburn ; her eyes dark 
 grey, rather inclinable to blue, full of sweetness 
 and expression ; her complexion naturally fair ; 
 and her countenance animated by a beautiful 
 bloom. She spoke gracefully, and her voice was 
 at once harmonious and sweet, suited to the lan- 
 guage which flowed from her lips. The softness 
 and benevolence of her aspect were beyond all 
 description; it at once inspired veneration and 
 love ; and it was impossible to behold her without 
 feeling regard and esteem." 
 
 Mrs. Kowe was exemplary in all her relations ; 
 but in her deportment as a wife and an author, 
 she is worthy of especial regard. She felt it no 
 disparagement to her mind, but rather an increase 
 of glory, when she honoured her husband. Her 
 esteem and affection appeared in all her conduct 
 to Mr. Rowe ; and by the most gentle and obliging 
 manners, and the exercise of every social virtue, 
 she confirmed the empire she had gained over his 
 heart. She made it her duty to soften the anxie- 
 ties, and heighten all the satisfactions, of his life. 
 Her capacity for superior things did not tempt 
 her to neglect the less honourable cares which the 
 laws of custom and decency impose on the female 
 sex, in the connubial state ; and much less was 
 she led by a sense of her own merit, to assume 
 anything to herself inconsistent with that duty 
 and submission which the precepts of Christian 
 piety so expressly enjoin. 
 
 From "Meditations." 
 
 " With every sacrament let me remember my 
 strength, and with the bread of life receive im- 
 mortal vigour. Let me remember thy vows, 
 God ! and, at my return to the world, let me com- 
 mit my ways to thee. Let me be absolutely re- 
 signed to thy providence, nor once distrust thy 
 goodness and fidelity. Let me be careful for no- 
 thing, but with prayer and supplication make my 
 wants known to thee. Let the most awful sense 
 of thy presence dwell on my heart, and always 
 keep me in a serious disposition. Let me be mer- 
 ciful and just in my actions, calm and regular in 
 my thoughts ; and do thou set a watch on my 
 mouth, and keep the door of my lips ! let me 
 speak evil of no man ; let me advance the reputa- 
 tion of the virtuous, and never be silent in the 
 praise of merit. Let my tongue speak the lan- 
 guage of my heart, and be guided by exact truth 
 and perfect sincerity. Let me open my hands 
 wide to the wants of the poor, in full confidence 
 
 that my heavenly father will supply mine, and 
 that the high possessor of heaven and earth wiU 
 not fail to restore, in the hour of my distress, 
 what I have parted with for his sake. let thy 
 grace be sufficient for me, and thy strength be 
 manifest in weakness ! Be present with me in the 
 hour of temptation, and confirm the pious resolu- 
 tions thou hast enabled me to perform." 
 
 From " Poems." 
 ODE TO LOVE. 
 
 Assist niy doubtful muse, propitious Love, 
 Let all my soul the sacred impulse prove ; ^ 
 
 For thine 's a holy unpolluted flame, 
 Howe'er the libertines profane thy name ; 
 Hou'e'er with impious cant, hypocrisy 
 And senseless superstition blemish thee, 
 The pure result of sober reason thou ; 
 Thy laws the strictest honour must allow; 
 
 Thy laws each vicious thought control : 
 From thee devotion takes its flaming wings : 
 
 Thou giv'st the noblest motion to the soul. 
 And govern'st all its springs. 
 To great attempts thou gen'rous minds dost move. 
 And only such are privileged to love; 
 Th' heroic race, the brightest names of old. 
 Were all thy glorious votaries enrolled. 
 
 Without thee, human life 
 A tedious round of circling cares would be, 
 
 A cursed fatigue, continual strife, 
 And tiresome vanity. 
 
 Thy charms our restless griefs control. 
 And calm the stormy motions of the soul : 
 
 Before thee pride and enmity. 
 
 With all infernal passions, fly. 
 
 And couldst thou in the realms below. 
 But once display thy beauteous face. 
 
 The damned a short redress might know. 
 And ev'ry terror fly the place. 
 
 From thee one bright unclouded smile 
 
 Would all the torments there beguile; 
 Thy snjiles th^ eternal tempests could assuage. 
 
 And make the damned forget their rage; 
 
 The sulph'rous waves would cease to roar. 
 And calmly glide along the silent shore. 
 
 No fabled Venus gave thee birth. 
 At Cyprus yet the goddess was not named. 
 Nor at Idalia, nor at Paphos famed ; 
 
 Nor yet was feigned from foaming seas to rise ; 
 For yet no seas appeared, or foimtains flowed : 
 
 Nor yet distinguished in the skies, 
 Her radiant planet glowed. 
 But thou wast long ere motion sprung its race. 
 Ere chaos, and immeasurable space 
 Kesigned their useless rights to elemental place; 
 
 Before the sparkling lamps on high 
 Were kindled up, and hung around the sky ! 
 Before the sun led on the circling hours. 
 Or vital seeds produced their active powers; 
 Before the first intelligences strung 
 Their golden harps, and soft preludiums sung 
 To Love, the mighty cause whence their existence 
 sprung, 
 Th' ineffable Divinity, 
 His own resemblance meets in thee. 
 By this thy glorious lineage thou dost prove 
 Thy high descent; for GOD himself is Love. 
 
 ROWSON, SUSANNAH, 
 
 "Was the daughter of Lieutenant Haswell, of the 
 British navy, who was sent to New England in 
 1769, when his daughter was about seven years 
 old. On the breaking out of the revolution, lieu- 
 tenant Haswell returned to London with his family, 
 where, in 1786, Miss Haswell was married to Wil- 
 liam Rowson. While in England she published 
 several novels, of which the only one that is now 
 
 493 ■ 
 
BO 
 
 RU 
 
 known is the one entitled " Charlotte Temple." 
 Mrs. Eowson returned to the United States in 
 1793, and was engaged as an actress in the thea- 
 tres of Boston and Philadelphia for the next three 
 years ; and was also diligently occupied with her 
 literary pursuits. In 1797, she opened a school 
 for girls in Boston, which succeeded extremely 
 well. She died in that city in 1824. She was con- 
 sidered a poetess as well as a novelist, though but 
 few of her poems are now known. Her writings 
 are very voluminous. 
 
 ROZEE, MADEMOISELLE. 
 This extraordinary lady was horn at leyden in 
 1632. Koubraken says he cannot tell how she 
 managed her work, nor with what instruments ; 
 but that she painted on the rough side of the 
 panel, in such tints, and in such a manner, that, 
 at a competent distance, the picture had all the 
 effect of the neatest pencil and high finishing. 
 Other writers, however, affirm, that she neither 
 used oil nor water-colours in her performances ; 
 and only worked on the rough side of the panel 
 with a preparation of silk floss, selected with great 
 care, and disposed in different boxes, according to 
 the several degrees of bright and dark tints, out 
 of which she applied whatever colour was requi- 
 site for her work ; and blended, softened, and 
 united them with such inconceivable art and judg- 
 ment, that she imitated the warmth of flesh with 
 as great a glow of life as could be produced by 
 the most exquisite pencil in oil. Nor could the 
 nicest eye discern, at a proper distance, whether 
 the whole was not the work of the pencil. But 
 by whatever art her pictures were wrought, they 
 were exquisitely beautiful, and perfectly natural. 
 Her portraits were remarkably faithful, and every 
 object was a just imitation of the model, whether 
 the subject was animal life, architecture, land- 
 scape, or flowers. As her manner of working 
 could not well be accounted for, she was distin- 
 guished by the name of the Sorceress. One of her 
 landscapes is said to have been sold for five hun- 
 dred florins ; and though the subject was only the 
 trunk of an old tree covered with moss, and a 
 large spider finishing its web among the leaves 
 and branches, every part appeared with so great 
 a degree of force of relief and expression, that it 
 was beheld with astonishment. One of her prin- 
 cipal performances is in the cabinet at Florence, 
 and is considered a singular curiosity in that col- 
 lection. She died in 1680. 
 
 RUSSEL, LADY ELIZABETH, 
 Daughter of Sir Anthony Cook, married Sir 
 Thomas Hobbey, and afterwards Lord John Rus- 
 sel, son and heir of Francis, second Earl of Bed- 
 ford. She was a woman of well-cultivated mind, 
 and translated from the French a religious book 
 on the Sacrament. She died about 1600, aged 
 seventy-one. She lived to write the epitaphs in 
 Greek, Latin, and English, for both her husbands. 
 
 RUSSELL, LADY RACHEL, 
 
 Second daughter of Thomas Wriothesley, Earl 
 of Southampton, was born in 1636. She married 
 
 first. Lord Vaughan ; and after his death she mar- 
 ried, in 1669, William, Lord Russell, third son of 
 William, first duke of Bedford. One son and two 
 daughters were the fruits of this union, which was 
 a very happy one, though Lady Rachel was four 
 or five years older than her husband. Lord Rus- 
 
 sell, being implicated in a conspiracy with the 
 duke of Monmouth, natural sou of Charles II., 
 Algernon Sidney, John Hampden, grandson to the 
 celebrated patriot of that name, Essex, and How- 
 ard, to prevent the succession of the duke of York 
 to the throne, was arrested and sent to the Tower. 
 Monmouth fled ; Howard saved himself by reveal- 
 ing his accomplices ; and Essex, Sidney, and Hamp- 
 den, were apprehended on his evidence. They 
 were also accused of conspiring against the life 
 of Charles II., which was not true. The Protestant 
 succession, and the prevention of encroachments 
 on the liberties of the people, were their chief 
 objects. 
 
 The day previous to the trial of Lord Russell, 
 he had asked leave of the court that notes of the 
 evidence might be taken for his use. He was in- 
 formed that he might have the assistance of one 
 of his servants. " I ask no assistance," said he, 
 " but that of the lady who sits by me." The spec- 
 tators, seeing the daughter of the virtuous South- 
 ampton thus' assisting her husband in his distress, 
 melted into tears. The duke of Bedford offered 
 the duchess of Portsmouth one hundred thousand 
 pounds to procure her interest with the king for 
 the pardon of his son. But every application 
 proved vain. The independent spirit, patriotism, 
 popularity, courage, talents, and virtues of the 
 prisoner, were his most dangerous off'ences, and 
 became so many arguments against his escape. 
 
 Lady Russell threw herself at the feet of the 
 king, and pleaded with tears the merits and loy- 
 alty of her father, as an atonement for her hus- 
 band's offences. But Charles remained unmoved, 
 and even rejected her petition for a respite of a 
 few weeks. On finding every effort 'fruitless for 
 saving the life of her husband, she collected her 
 courage, and fortified her mind for the fatal sti'oke, 
 confirming by her example the resolution of her 
 
 -194 
 
RU 
 
 EU 
 
 husband. His courage never appeared to falter, 
 but when he spoke of his wife ; his eyes would 
 then fill with tears, and he appeared anxious to 
 avoid the subject. When parting from Lady Rus- 
 sell, they mutually preserved a solemn silence; 
 and when she left him, he said, " The bitterness 
 of death was past." He then expressed his grati- 
 tude to Providence that had given him a wife who, 
 to birth, fortune, talents, and virtue, united sensi- 
 bility of heart ; and whose conduct, in this trying 
 crisis, had even surpassed all her other virtues. 
 
 Lord Russell was executed, July 21st, 1683. 
 His widow proved the faithful guardian of his 
 honour, a wise and active mother to his children, 
 and the friend and patroness of his friends. 
 
 Her letters, written after her husband's death, 
 give a touching picture of her conjugal affection 
 and fidelity ; but no expression of resentment or 
 traces of a vindictive spirit mingle with the senti- 
 ment of grief by which they are pervaded. 
 
 Her only son, Wriothesley, duke of Bedford, 
 died in 1711, of the small-pox; and soon after 
 her daughter, the duchess of Rutland, died in 
 childbed. Her other daughter, the duchess of 
 Devonshire, was also in childbed at the time of 
 her sister's death ; and Lady Russell again was 
 called upon to give new proofs of her self-control. 
 After beholding one daughter in her coffin, she 
 went to the chamber of the other with a tranquil 
 countenance. The duchess of Devonshire earnestly 
 inquiring after her sister. Lady Russell calmly 
 replied, " I have seen your sister out of bed to- 
 day." 
 
 Some years after her husband's death, she was 
 under apprehensions of an entire loss of sight; 
 but this was prevented by an operation. Lady 
 Russell died, September 29th, 1723, aged eiglity- 
 seven. About fifty years afterwards her letters 
 were collected and published, which established 
 her fame in literature as one of the most elegant 
 writers of her time. In whatever light we consi- 
 der her character, its moral excellence appears 
 perfect. Such an example shows the power of 
 female influence to promote good and resist evil. 
 Even the noble Lord Russell was made better by 
 his union with her. Amiable and prudent, as well 
 as lovely, she was the means of reclaiming him 
 from some youthful follies into which he had 
 plunged at the time of the Restoration. With such 
 a guardian angel by his side, no wonder he was 
 strengthened to act his lofty part, and die a pa- 
 triot martyr. His widow wore her weeds to the 
 close of her life ; their conjugal union of hearts 
 was never broken, as the following extracts from 
 her letters will show : 
 
 TO DB. riTZWILLlAM — ON HER SOKKOW. 
 
 I am sure my heart is filled with the obligation, 
 how ill soever my words may express it, for all 
 those hours you have set apart (in a busy life) for 
 my particular benefit, for the quieting my distract- 
 ed thoughts, and reducing them to a just measure 
 of patience for all I have or can suffer. I trust I 
 shall with diligence, and some success, serve those 
 ends they were designed to. They have very punc- 
 tually, the time you intended them for, the last 
 
 two sheets coming to my hands the 16th of this 
 fatal month; it is the 21st completes my three 
 years of true sorrow, which should be turned 
 rather into joy ; as you have laid it before me, 
 with reasons strongly maintained, and rarely illus- 
 trated. Sure he is one of those has gained by a 
 dismission from a longer attendance here : while 
 he lived, his being pleased led me to be so too, 
 and so it should do still ; and then my soul should 
 be full of joy ; I should be easy and cheerful, but 
 it is sad and heavy ; so little we distinguish how, 
 and why we love, to me it argues a prodigious 
 fondness of one's self; I am impatient that is hid 
 from me I took delight in, though he knows much 
 greater than he did here. All I can say for myself 
 is, that while we are clothed with flesh, to the per- 
 fectest, some displeasure will attend a separation 
 from things we love. This comfort I think I have 
 in my affliction, that I can say, unless thy law had 
 been my delight, I should have perished in my 
 trouble. The rising from the dead is a glorious 
 contemplation, doctor ! nothing raises a drooping 
 spirit like it ; his Holy Spirit, in the mean time, 
 speaking peace to our consciences, and through 
 all the gloomy sadness of our condition, letting us 
 discern that we belong to the election of grace, 
 that our persons are accepted and justified. But 
 still I will humble myself for my own sins, and 
 those of our families, that brought such a day 
 on us. 
 
 I have been under more than ordinary care for 
 my eldest girl ; she has been ill of St. Anthony's 
 fire, as we call it, and is not yet free from it. I 
 had a doctor down with her, but he found her so 
 likely to do well he stayed only one day. I have 
 sent you these Gazettes, and will send no more, 
 for I reckon you will be in your progress of visits. 
 
 I wish with you Lord Campdeu would marry ; 
 but I want skill to prevail by what I can say. I 
 hope I need employ none to persuade Dr. Fitz- 
 william that I am very acknowledging, and very 
 sincerely, &o. 
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 ■Jr -Tt ^ ^- -^ 
 
 If I could contemplate the conducts of Provi- 
 dence with the uses you do, it would give ease 
 indeed, and no disastrous events should much af- 
 fect us. The new scenes of each day make me 
 often conclude myself very void of temper and 
 reason, that I still shed tears of sorrow and not 
 of joy, that so good a man is landed safe on the 
 happy shore of a blessed eternity ; doubtless he 
 is at rest, though I find none without him, so true 
 a partner he was in all my joys and griefs ; I trust 
 the Almighty will pass by this my infirmity ; I 
 speak it in respect to the world, from whose en- 
 ticing delights I can now be better weaned. I 
 was too rich in possessions whilst I possessed him : 
 all relish is now gone, I bless God for it, and pray, 
 and ask of all good people (do it for me from such 
 you know are so) also to pray that I may more 
 and more turn the stream of my affections up- 
 wards, and set my heart upon the ever-satisfying 
 perfections of God; not starting at his darkest 
 providences, but remembering continually either 
 
 495 
 
RU 
 
 KU 
 
 hia glory, justice, or power is advanced by every 
 one of them, and that mercy is over all his works, 
 as we shall one day with ravishing delight see : 
 in the mean time, I endeavour to suppress all wild 
 imaginations a melancholy fancy is apt to let in ; 
 and say with the man in the gospel, "I believe, 
 help thou my unbelief." 
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 Never shall I, good Doctor, I hope, forget your 
 work (as I may term it) of labour and love : so in- 
 structive and comfortable do I find it, that at any 
 time, when I have read any of your papers, I feel 
 a heat within me to be repeating my thanks to 
 you anew, which is all I can do towards the dis- 
 charge of a debt you have engaged me in; and 
 though nobody loves more than I do to stand free 
 from engagements I cannot answer, yet I do not 
 wish for it here ; I would have it as it is ; and 
 although I have the present advantage, you will 
 have the future reward ; and if I can truly reap 
 what I know you design me by it, a religious and 
 quiet submission to all providences, I am assured 
 you will esteem to have attained it here in some 
 measure. Never could you more seasonably have 
 fed me with such discourses, and left me with ex- 
 pectations of new repasts, in a more seasonable 
 time, than these my miserable months, and in 
 those this very week in which I have lived over 
 again that fatal day that determined what fell out 
 a week after, and that has given me so long and 
 so bitter a time of sorrow. But God has a com- 
 pass in his providences, that is out of our reach, 
 and as he is all good and wise, that consideration 
 should in reason slacken the fierce rages of grief. 
 But sure. Doctor, 't is the nature of sorrow to lay 
 hold on all things which give a new ferment to it, 
 then how could I choose but feel it in a time of 
 so much confusion as these last weeks have been, 
 closing so tragically as they have done ; and sure 
 never any poor creature, for two whole years to- 
 gether, has had more awakers to quicken and re- 
 vive the anguish of its soul than I have had ; yet 
 I hope I do most truly desire that nothing may be 
 so bitter to me, as to think that I have in the least 
 offended thee, my God ! and that nothing may 
 be so marvellous in my eyes as the exceeding love 
 of my Lord Jesus: that heaven being my aim, 
 and the longing expectations of my soul, I may go 
 through honour and dishonour, good report and 
 bad report, prosperity and adversity, with some 
 evenness of mind. The inspiring me with these 
 desires is, I hope, a token of his never-failing love 
 towards me, though an unthankful creature for 
 all the good things I have enjoyed, and do still in 
 the lives of hopeful children by so beloved a hus- 
 band. 
 
 TO THE EARL OF GALWAY — ON EBIENDSHIP. 
 
 I have before me, my good lord, two of your 
 letters, both partiaily and tenderly kind, and 
 coming from a sincere heart and honest mind (the 
 last a plain word, but, if I mistake not, very sig- 
 nificant), are very comfortable to me, who, I hope, 
 have no proud thoughts of myself as to any sort. 
 The opinion of an esteemed friend, that one is not 
 
 very wrong, assists to strengthen a weak and wil- 
 ling mind to do her duty towards that Almighty 
 Being, who has, from infinite bounty and goodness, 
 so chequered my days on this earth, as I can 
 thankfully reflect I felt many, I may say many 
 years of pure, and, I trust, innocent, pleasant 
 content, and happy enjoyments as this world can 
 aflFord, particularly that biggest blessing of loving 
 and being loved by those I loved and respected ; 
 on earth no enjoyment certainly to be put in the 
 balance with it. All other are like wine, intoxi- 
 cates for a time, but the end is bitterness, at least 
 not profitable. Mr. Waller (whose picture you 
 look upon) has, I long remember, these words: 
 All we know they do above 
 Is, that they sing, and that they love. 
 
 The best news I have heard is, you have two 
 good companions with you, which, I trust, will 
 contribute to divert you this sharp season, when, 
 after so sore a fit as I apprehend you have felt, 
 the air even of your improving pleasant garden 
 cannot be enjoyed without hazard. 
 
 TO LADY SUNDERIAND — ON HEALTH, FRIENDSHIP, 
 LOVE. 
 
 Your kind letter, madam, asks me to do much 
 better for myself and mine, than to scribble so 
 insignificantly as I do in a piece of paper ; but for 
 twenty several reasons you must have the advan- 
 tage you ofi'er me with obliging earnestness a 
 thousand times greater than I deserve, or there 
 can be cause for, but that you have taken a reso- 
 lution to be all goodness and favour to me. And 
 indeed what greater mark can you almost give 
 than remembering me so often, and letting me re- 
 ceive the exceeding advantage of your doing so, 
 by reading your letters, which are all so edifying ? 
 When I know you are continually engaged in so 
 great and necessary employments as you are, and 
 have but too imperfect health, which to any other 
 in the world but Lady Sunderland would unfit for 
 at least so great despatches as you are charged 
 with. These are most visible tokens of Provi- 
 dence, that every one that aims to do their duty 
 shall be enabled to do it. 
 
 I hope your natui'al strength is so great, that it 
 will in some time, if you do your part, master 
 what has been accidentally in the disorder of it. 
 Health, if one strictly considers, is the first of 
 earthly blessings ; for even the conversation of 
 friends, which as to spiritual profits, as you ex- 
 cellently observe, is the nearest approach we can 
 make to heaven while we live in these tabernacles 
 of clay ; so it is in a temporal sense also, the most 
 pleasant and the most profitable improvement we 
 can make of the time we are to spend on earth. 
 But, as I was saying, if our bodies are out of tune, 
 how ill do we enjoy what in itself is so precious ? 
 and how often must we choose, if we can attain it, 
 a short slumber, that may take off our sense of 
 pain, than to accept what we know in worth ex- 
 cels almost to infiniteness ? No soul can speak 
 more feelingly than my poor self on this subject ; 
 who can truly say, my friendships have made all 
 the joys and troubles of my life; and yet who 
 would live and not love? Those who have tried 
 
SA 
 
 SA 
 
 the insipidness of it would, I believe, never choose 
 it. Mr. Waller says— "'T is (with singing) all 
 we know they do above." And it is enough; for 
 if there is so charming a delight in the love, and 
 suitableness in humours, to creatures ! what must 
 it be to our clarified spirits to love in the presence 
 of God ! Can there be a greater contemplation 
 to provoke to diligence for our preparation to that 
 great change, where we shall be perfected, and so 
 continue for ever ! I see I have scribbled a great 
 deal of paper ; I dare not read it, lest I should be 
 sorry Lady Sunderland should ; and yet can now 
 send her nothing if not this, for my eyes grow ill 
 so fast, I resolve to do nothing of this sort by can- 
 dle-light. 
 
 RUYSCH, EACHEL, 
 A OELEEEATED artist, was born at Amsterdam, 
 in 1664. She excelled in painting flowers and 
 fruits. She died in 1750. 
 
 RYVES, ELIZA, 
 An Irish lady, known for her literary abilities. 
 Having lost her property by a lawsuit, she sub- 
 sisted by the labours of her pen. She wrote the 
 " Hermit of Snowden," a novel ; besides some 
 translations from the French, and frequent con- 
 tributions to the annual registers. She died in 
 London, in 1797. 
 
 SABLIEKE, MADAME DE LA, 
 
 A French poetess, was the friend and benefac- 
 tress of La Fontaine, who lived in her house for 
 twenty years. Her husband was also a poet, and 
 she is said to have assisted him in his writings. 
 She was not, however, always faithful to her hus- 
 band ; but she expiated this sin, in the opinion of 
 her contemporaries, by retiring to a convent, and 
 consecrating the rest of her life to taking care of 
 the sick. She died at Paris in the latter part of 
 the seventeenth century. 
 
 ST. LEGER, HON. ELIZABETH, 
 
 The only female that ever was initiated into the 
 mystery of freemasonry, was the daughter of Lord 
 Doneraile, a very zealous freemason. She obtain- 
 ed this' honour by contriving to place herself so as 
 to watch the manner in which a new member was 
 initiated. Being discovered just before the termi- 
 nation of the ceremonies, she was at first threat- 
 ened with death, but saved by the entreaties of 
 her brother, on condition that she would go through 
 the whole of the solemn ceremonies. This she 
 consented to, and sometimes afterwards joined in 
 their processions. This lady was a cousin to Ge- 
 neral Anthony St. Leger, and married Richard 
 Aldworth, Esq., of New Market. 
 
 SAINTE-NECTAIRE, MAGDALENE DE, 
 
 Widow of Guy de St. Exuperi, was a Protestant 
 heroine, who distinguished herself in the civil 
 wars of France. After the death of her husband, 
 2G 
 
 she retired to her ch§,teau at Miremont, in the 
 Limousin, where, with sixty young men, well 
 armed, she was accustomed to make excursions on 
 the Catholic armies in her neighbourhood. In 
 1575, M. Mental, governor of the province, having 
 had his detachments often defeated by Madame 
 de Sainte-Nectaire, resolved to besiege her in her 
 chateau, with fifteen hundred foot and fifty horse. 
 Sallying out upon him, she defeated his troops ; 
 but finding, on her return, her chateau in posses- 
 sion of the enemy, she galloped to Turenne, a 
 neighbouring town, to procure a reinforcement. 
 Mental awaited her in a defile, but was vanquish- 
 ed and mortally wounded by her troops. The time 
 of her death is not recorded. 
 
 SAINTE-PHALIER, FRANgOISE THERESE 
 AUMILE DE, 
 
 A Feenoh lady, who wrote " The Confident Ri- 
 val," a comedy, and some other poetical pieces. 
 She died at Paris in 1757. 
 
 SALVIONI, ROSALBA MARIA, 
 Was born at Rome in 1658. She studied the 
 art of painting under Sebastian Conea, but devoted 
 herself wholly to portraiture, in which she ex- 
 celled. She died in 1708. 
 
 SAMSON, DEBORAH, 
 Was the child of very poor parents, of Ply- 
 mouth, Massachusetts. She was received into a 
 respectable family, where she was kindly treated, 
 but where her education was entirely neglected. 
 She, however, contrived to teach herself to read 
 and write ; and, as soon as she was able, earned 
 money enough to pay for her own schooling for a 
 short time. When she was about twenty, the Re- 
 volutionary war in America commenced ; and De- 
 borah, disguising herself in man's apparel, and 
 going to the American camp, enlisted, in 1778, 
 for the whole term of the war, under the name of 
 Robert Shirtlifi'e. Accustomed to out-door labour, 
 she was enabled to undergo the same fatigues and 
 exercises as the other soldiers. Her fidelity and 
 zeal gained her the confidence of the oflScers, and 
 she was a volunteer in several hazardous enter- 
 prises. She was twice wounded, at first in the 
 head, and afterwards in the shoulder; but she 
 managed to preserve the secret of her sex unsus- 
 pected. However, she was seized with a brain- 
 fever in Philadelphia, and the physician who was 
 attending her discovered her sex, and took her to 
 his own house. When her health was restored, 
 her commanding ofiicer, to whom the physician 
 had revealed his discovery, ordered her to carry a 
 letter to General Washington. Certain now of a 
 fact of which she had before been doubtful, that 
 her sex was known, she went with much reluctance 
 to fulfil the order. Washington, after reading the 
 message with great consideration, without speak- 
 ing a word, gave her her discharge, together with 
 a note containing a few words of advice, and some 
 money. She afterwards married Benjamin Gan- 
 nett, of Sharon, Massachusetts. She received a 
 pension, with a grant of land, for her services as 
 a revolutionary soldier. 
 
 *fl7 
 
sc 
 
 sc 
 
 SARTE, DAUPHINE DE, 
 A Fkenoh lady, wife of the Marquis de Robias, 
 wrote treatises on philosophy, and was distin- 
 guished for her mathematical knowledge. She 
 excelled in music, and had a particular talent for 
 composing it. She died at Aries, in 1685. 
 
 SCALIGERI, LUCIA, 
 Was horn at Venice in 1637. She ^eoame 
 distinguished by her knowledge of the learned 
 languages, and her skill in music and painting. 
 Several of her pictures are in the churches of 
 Venice, where she died in 1700. 
 
 SCHOPENHAUER, JOHANNA FROSINA, 
 
 Born in the year 1770, at Dantzic, where her 
 father, Henry Frosino, was senator, showed at an 
 early age a decided talent for drawing and paint- 
 ing, as well as for languages. After having re- 
 ceived in her parental home a careful education, 
 and enjoyed a happy youth, she married Henry 
 Flaris Schopenhauer, who accompanied his young 
 wife through Germany to France, thence to Lon- 
 don, where they remained a long time ; and after- 
 wards through Brabant, Flanders, and Germany, 
 back to Dantzic. There she lived until the capture 
 of this free city by the Prussians, in 1793. The 
 next ten years she spent with her husband in 
 Hamburg. In 1803, they visited Holland, the 
 North of France, England, Scotland, and went 
 from Holland to Paris. There she had the good 
 fortune to be thoroughly taught, by the celebrated 
 Augustin, in miniature painting, which had always 
 been her favourite occupation. From Paris, the 
 travellers went over the South of France to Ghent, 
 wandered through Switzerland, saw Munich, Vi- 
 enna, (where they remained some time,) Presburg, 
 Silesia, Bohemia, Saxony, Brandenburg, touched 
 Dantzic, and after three years came back to Ham- 
 burg, where a sudden death snatched away Mr. 
 Schopenhauer. She then fixed (1806) her abode 
 in Weimar, where a highly refined social circle 
 surrounded her, to which Goethe, Wieland, Henry 
 Meier, Fernow, Bertuch, Falk, Fr. Mayer, and 
 many literary women, belonged, of whom this city 
 may well be proud. Every suitable foreigner was 
 her welcome guest. Between her and Fernow (of 
 whom she learned the Italian language) existed an 
 ideal friendship, which death interrupted two years 
 after. G. V. Kiigelgen had at that time arrived 
 in Weimar to take Goethe's, Wieland's, Schiller's, 
 and Herder's portraits. A description of these 
 four portraits, a.nd of several oil-paintings by the 
 landscape painter Frederic, were the first publica- 
 tions of which Mrs. S. acknowledged herself to 
 be the authoress. She was induced by Cotter to 
 write Fernow's life. This work appeared in 1810. 
 Two years later, she published " Remembrances 
 of a Tour through England;" 1816, followed a 
 volume of "Novels;" 1817, the "Trip to the 
 Rhine and its Nearest Environs;" and 1818, the 
 "Journey through the South of France." The 
 writer has obtained a just approval for her nice 
 observations, joined to an easy and graceful style. 
 Her last work is the popular novel, " Gabrielle." 
 
 Her novels show great powers of observation, and 
 a thorough knowledge of the world and men. 
 
 Madame Schopenhauer died at Jena, in April, 
 1838. 
 
 SCOTT, LADY ANNE, 
 
 Was the only daughter of Francis, Earl of Buc- 
 cleugh, and the greatest heiress in the three king- 
 doms. When she was but thirteen, she was 
 selected by Charles II. to be the wife of his son, 
 the unfortunate duke of Monmouth, who was only 
 a year older than his bride. These early marriages 
 were the vice of the times, and rarely produced 
 satisfactory results ; and this one was not an ex- 
 ception. Brave to a fault, exquisitely handsome, 
 courted, flattered, caressed by the court, and 
 adored by the people, Monmouth ran, even in his 
 boyish days, a career of vice and profligacy which 
 appears to have been the almost inevitable conse- 
 quence of his bringing up. Anne Scott possessed 
 many estimable qualities, but she was unable to 
 attach the heart of her fickle husband. She was a 
 woman of taste and accomplishments ; the encou- 
 rager of learning and genius ; and the patroness 
 of men of letters. Without possessing beauty, she 
 had an agreeable countenance ; and her wit, virtue, 
 and good sense, rendered her attractive. The tur- 
 bulence of her husband, the dangers he was con- 
 tinually hurrying into, imposed upon the duchess 
 a life of anxiety, privation, and sorrow. She was 
 for ever at her post as mediator with Charles II. 
 and king James ; and to the last strove to inter- 
 pose her influence for his safety. When he was 
 condemned to death, she visited him in the Tower. 
 He exonerated her from all blame or knowledge 
 of his rebellious schemes, paid a just tribute to 
 her virtues and excellence, and recommended their 
 children to her care ; but exhibited no tenderness 
 towards her, his whole affections being absorbed 
 in his romantic attachment to Lady Henrietta 
 Wentworth, who he professed to consider his wife 
 in the eyes of God. His duchess he said he had 
 married when a child; she was his wife by the 
 law of the land ; the other was his true wife in 
 the sight of heaven. 
 
 The duchess of Buccleugh was the mother of 
 six children, three of whom died in infancy. Her 
 oldest son inherited the title and estates, which 
 had been confirmed to the children of Monmouth 
 by James II. The present duke of Buccleugh is a 
 lineal descendant of the neglected duchess and her 
 ill-fated lord. Three years after the death of Mon- 
 mouth, the duchess became the second wife of 
 Charles, third Lord Cornwallis. By this marriage 
 she was the mother of three children, who all died 
 unmarried. The duchess died on the 6th of Feb- 
 ruary, 1732, in her eighty-first year. 
 
 SCHROEDER, SOPHIA, 
 Engaged at the Imperial theatres of Vienna, , 
 was born in Paderborn, in 1781. Her father's 
 name was Burger. Her mother, after the death . 
 of her first husband, married the celebrated actor 
 Keilholz, and went with her daughter to St. Pe- 
 tersburg. Sophia had not been destined for the 
 stage ; yet, as the company of players in St. Pe- 
 
 498 
 
sc 
 
 sc 
 
 tersburg was very limited, and by the death of 
 Mrs. Stallmers the juvenile parts had become 
 vacant, she yielded to the entreaties of the director, 
 and began her theatrical course in the charming 
 little opera, " The Bed Cap." When fourteen 
 years old, she married the actor Stallmers. In 
 Reval, she was introduced to Kotzebue, by whose 
 recommendation she received an engagement at 
 the theatre of Vienna. She performed exclusively 
 comic and naif parts, and was much applauded as 
 Margaret in the " Affinities." After twelve months, 
 she left Vienna to go to Breslau, where she was 
 engaged for the opera. In the part of Hulda, in 
 the "Nymph of the Danube," she was very suc- 
 cessful. In 1801, she was invited to Hamburg. 
 There she entered on a new career, in which she 
 shone like a star of the first magnitude ; for she 
 devoted herself entirely to tragedy. Domestic 
 grief had turned her cheerful spirits into melan- 
 choly ; and the slumbering spark of her genius 
 kindled into a mighty blaze. In 1804, she married 
 her second husband, Schroeder, (director of the 
 Hamburg theatre,) and lived twelve years in Ham- 
 burg, under the most favourable auspices, until the 
 warlike events of 1813 compelled her to leave this 
 city. After having made a journey, on which she 
 everywhere gained laurels, she accepted an en- 
 gagement in Prague, where she remained two 
 years. When the time of her contract had elapsed, 
 she returned to Vienna. Her characters of Phe- 
 dra. Lady Macbeth, Merope, Sappho, Johanna von 
 Montfaucan, are masterly performances, and ex- 
 cited unbounded admiration. 
 
 SCHURMAN, ANNA MAKIA, 
 
 A MOST extraordinary German lady, was the 
 daughter of parents who were both descended 
 from noble Protestant families, and was born at 
 Cologne in 1607. At six years of age she could 
 cut with her scissors all kinds of figures out of 
 paper, without any model ; and at eight, she learn- 
 ed in a few days to draw flowers admirably ; two 
 years after, she was but three hours in learning 
 to embroider. Afterwards, she was taught vocal 
 and instrumental music, painting, sculpture, and 
 engraving ; and succeeded equally well in all these 
 arts. Her handwriting in all languages was inimi- 
 table ; and some curious persons have preserved 
 specimens of it in their cabinets. She painted her 
 own portrait, and made artificial pearls so like 
 natural ones, that they could be distinguished only 
 by pricking them with a needle. 
 
 The powers of her understanding were#not in- 
 ferior to her dexterity ; for, at eleven, when her 
 brothers were examined in their Latin, she often 
 prompted them in whispers, though she had only 
 heard them say their lessons en passant. Her 
 father, observing this, applied himself to the culti- 
 vation of her mind; and the Latin, Greek, and 
 Hebrew languages became so familiar to her, that 
 she not only wrote but spoke them in a manner 
 which surprised the most learned men. She made 
 great progress also in several Oriental languages, 
 as the Syriac, Chaldee, Arabic, and Ethiopic ; she 
 also understood, and spoke readily, French, Eng- 
 \ish, and Italian. She was well versed in geogra- 
 
 phy, astronomy, philosophy, and the sciences ; 
 but, not satisfied with these acquisitions, she turn- 
 ed her attention to the study of theology, and be- 
 came very religious. 
 
 Her father had settled at Utrecht when she was 
 an infant; and afterwards removed to Francker 
 for the more convenient education of his children, 
 where he died in 1623. His widow then returned 
 to Utrecht, where Anna Maria continued her stu- 
 dies, ger devotion to her intellectual and religious 
 cultivation undoubtedly prevented her marrying ; 
 as Mr. Cats, a celebrated poet, and several others, 
 proposed to her. Her modesty, which equalled 
 her acquirements, made her shrink from notoriety ; 
 but Rivetus, Spanheim, and Vossiue, brought her 
 into notice contrary to her own inclination. Sal- 
 masius, Beverovicius, and Huygens, also main- 
 tained a literary correspondence with her ; and by 
 showing her letters, spread her fame into foreign 
 countries. At last she became so celebrated that 
 persons of the highest rank visited her ; and car- 
 dinal Richelieu showed her marks of esteem. 
 
 About 1650, she made a great alteration in her 
 religious system. She no longer attended church, 
 but performed her devotions in private, and at- 
 tached herself to Labadie, the famous religious 
 enthusiast, accompanying him wherever he went. 
 She lived some time with him at Altena, in Hol- 
 stein ; and after his death, in 1677, she retired to 
 Wivert, in Friesland, where WiUiam Peun visited 
 her. She died there in 1678. 
 
 She wrote " De Vitas Humanse Termino ;" " Dis- 
 sertatio de ingeuii muliebris ad doctrinam et me- 
 liores literas aptitudine." These two essays, with 
 letters in French, Greek, Latin, and Hebrew, to 
 her learned correspondents, were printed in 1648. 
 She wrote afterwards, "Eukleria, seu melioris 
 partis electio." This is a defence of her attach- 
 ment to Labadie. She chose for her device the 
 words of St. Ignatius, ^^Amor mens crucifiztis est." 
 " My love is, crucified." 
 
 SCUDERI, MAGDALEINE DE, 
 A WOMAN of more wit and talent than taste, was 
 born in 1607, at Havre de Grace. She went whei( 
 very young to Paris, where her brother, George 
 de Scuderi, also an eminent French writer, was 
 living ; and her wit and acquirements soon gained 
 her admission into the best literary society of that 
 day. Being obliged to support herself, she resolved 
 to do so by her pen ; and the taste of that age 
 being for romances, she turned her attention that 
 way, and succeeded wonderfully. Her books were 
 eagerly sought, and her reputation became very 
 great. She was chosen to succeed the learned 
 Helena Cornaro, by the celebrated academy of the 
 Ricovrati at Padua. Several great personages 
 gave her many marks of their regard ; among 
 others, Christina of Sweden often wrote to her, 
 settled on her a pension, and sent her her picture ; 
 Cardinal Mazarin left her an annuity by his will ; 
 and, in 1683, Louis XIV., at the solicitation of 
 Madame de Maintenon, settled a good pension on 
 her. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Scuderi corresponded vrith 
 many learned men ; and her house at Paris was a 
 
 499 
 
SE 
 
 SE 
 
 kind of little court, to which all persons of genius, 
 learning, or wit, were accustomed to resort. At 
 her death, two churches contended fiercely for the 
 honour of possessing her remains. She was a very 
 voluminous writer, and obtained the first prize 
 of eloquence bestowed by the academy of Paris. 
 Her principal romances were entitled "Almahide ;" 
 "Artamenes;" "Clelia;" "Le Grand Cyrus;" and 
 "Ibrahim." She also wrote fables and poetry, 
 and a work called " Conversations." Her^narra- 
 tives are tedious and prolix; but the praise of 
 ingenuity, of elevated sentiment, and of purifying 
 and ennobling the particular species of writing to 
 which she devoted herself, cannot be denied to 
 her. She was very plain in person, and this, joined 
 with her wit, gained for her the name of Sappho. 
 
 A curious incident happened to this lady in a 
 journey she took with her brother. At a great 
 distance from Paris, their conversation one even- 
 ing, at an inn, turned upon a romance they were 
 jointly composing, the hero of which they had 
 called Prince Mazare. "What shall we do with 
 Prince Mazare?" said Mademoiselle Scuderi; "is 
 it not better that he should die by poison than the 
 sword ?" 
 
 " It is not yet time," replied her brother, " for 
 that business ; when it is necessary, we can de- 
 spatch him as we please ; but at present we have 
 not quite done with him." 
 
 Two merchants, in the next room, overhearing 
 this conversation, concluded they had conspired 
 to murder some prince, whose real name was 
 concealed under that of Mazare. They imparted 
 their suspicions to the host, who sent for the ofii- 
 eers of the police. M. and Mademoiselle Scuderi 
 were arrested, and sent back under a strong escort 
 to Paris, where, after much trouble and expense, 
 they procured their liberty. Mademoiselle Scu- 
 deri died in 1701, aged ninety-four. 
 
 SEGUIER, ANNE DE, 
 
 Daughteb to Pierre Seguier, whose family gave 
 to France so many illustrious magistrates, married 
 Francis du Prat, baron de Thiers, by whom she 
 had two daughters, Anne and Philippine, who 
 were educated in the court of Henry III. of France. 
 Anne de Seguier was a celebrated poetess ; she 
 was living in 1573. Her daughters, also, were 
 distinguished for their literary attainments, and 
 for their skill in the Greek and Latin languages. 
 
 SEIDELMANN, APOLLONIA, 
 
 The wife of James Seidelmann, Professor of the 
 Fine Arts at the academy of Dresden. In Venice, 
 her native city, she had received instructions in 
 drawing, and afterwards perfected herself in this 
 accomplishment under the direction of her hus- 
 band. In the year 1790, she went with him to 
 Italy, where she devoted herself for three years 
 to miniature painting, assisted by the celebrated 
 Teresa Maron, sister of Raphael Mengs. After 
 her return to Dresden, she painted more after the 
 manner of her husband, and showed herself a 
 rare artist, by her fine copies of the best pictures 
 
 of the academy. One of her master copies is the 
 Madonna of Baphael. The eminent talent of this 
 artistic couple for conversation deserves to be 
 mentioned likewise ; their soirees, which they gave 
 abroad and at home, and to which their charming 
 daughter, Luise Seidelmann, aided greatly by her 
 musical powers, were the delight of all who loved 
 genius and art. 
 
 SEEMENT, LOUISE ANASTASIE, 
 
 Born at Grenoble in 1642, was admitted to the 
 academy of the Ricovrati at Padua, and acquired 
 great celebrity by her learning. She also wrote 
 poems in French and Latin ; and it was said that 
 all the best part of the operas of Quinault was 
 her work. She died in 1692. 
 
 SESSI, MARIANNE and ANNA MARIA, 
 BoBE a name well known in the annals of mo- 
 dem music, and celebrated by several vocalists 
 of Italian origin. Of five sisters of this name, 
 Marianne Sessi was the oldest. She was engaged, 
 in 1793, at the opera seria of Vienna, went in 1804 
 to Italy, and then for a longer period to London. 
 In 1817 and 1818, she visited the north of Ger- 
 many, Leipzic, Dresden, Berlin, Hamburg, &c. 
 and went finally from Copenhagen to Stockholm, 
 where she remained. The second of the sisters. 
 Imperatrice Sessi, has acquired the greatest repu- 
 tation of all. Her talent was cultivated in Vienna. 
 In 1804 she went to Venice, where, during the 
 carnival, she enjoyed the highest triumph. She 
 enchanted the audience so much, that sonnets of 
 all colours and shapes were thrown on the stage ; 
 her likeness was handed around among the spec- 
 tators ; a bouquet in a richly decorated golden 
 vase was presented to her ; and at the close she 
 was crowned with a wreath of laurel. She died 
 in October, 1808, in her twenty-eighth year, of 
 consumption, at Florence, deeply mourned by all 
 lovers of music. The talent of her younger sister, 
 Anna Maria Sessi, developed itself early. She 
 was born at Rome in 1793, but came to Vienna in 
 the first year of her existence, where she modelled 
 her art after that of her sisters. In Florence, she 
 devoted herself still more thoroughly to the culti- 
 vation of her voice ; and there laid the foundation 
 of a true Italian singer. In 1813, she was married 
 at Vienna ; and on all her subsequent travels was 
 welcomed everywhere as a rare phenomenon of 
 song. It is said, that in the recitative she had no 
 rival, even among the Italians. 
 
 The fourth and fifth of these sisters, Vittoria 
 and Caroline, of whom the former was married in 
 Vienna, and the latter in Naples, are less generally 
 known. A cousin of the above-named sisters, 
 Maria Theresa Sessi, was also noted for her 
 talent in music. 
 
 SETURNAN, MADAME, 
 A NATIVE of Cologne, excelled in the arts, and 
 acquired a wide reputation. She was a painter, 
 musician, engraver, sculptor, philosopher, geome- 
 trician, and a theologian. She understood and 
 spoke nine languages. 
 
 600 
 
SE 
 
 SE 
 
 SEVIGNE, MAKIE DE EUBUTIN CHANTAL, 
 MARCHIONESS OF, 
 Daughtek of the tiaron de Chantal, was born, 
 in 1627, at Bourbilly, in Burgundy, and was early 
 left an orphan. Her maternal uncle, Christopher 
 de Coulanges, brought her up, and she was taught 
 by Menage and Chapelain. At the age of eighteen 
 she married the Marquis de S^vign^, who was 
 
 killed in a duel seven years afterwards. Left with 
 a son and daughter, she devoted herself entirely 
 to their'education. To her daughter, who, in 1669, 
 married the Count de Grignan, governor of Pro- 
 vence, she was particularly attached ; and to "her 
 was addressed the greater part of those letters 
 which have placed the Marchioness de S^vign^ in 
 the first rank of epistolary writers. This illus- 
 trious lady was acquainted with all the wits and 
 learned men of her time ; and she is said to have 
 decided the famous dispute between Perrault and 
 Boileau, concerning the preference of the ancients 
 to the moderns, saying, "the ancients are the 
 finest, and we are the prettiest." 
 
 " Her letters," says Voltaire, " filled with anec- 
 dotes, written with freedom, and in a natural and 
 animated style, are an excellent criticism upon 
 studied letters of wit ; and still more upon those 
 fictitious letters, which aim to imitate the episto- 
 lary style, by a recital of false sentiments and 
 feigned adventures to imaginary correspondents." 
 She died in 1696, in her seventy-first year, at 
 her daughter's residence in Provence, of a fever 
 brought on in consequence of the anxiety she had 
 endured during a dangerous illness of Madame de 
 Grignan. 
 
 Tenderness and sensibility are characteristic of 
 her letters, and were displayed by her during her 
 whole life. "The true mark of a good heart," 
 says Madame de S^vign^, " is its capacity for 
 loving." 
 
 Letter 11. 
 
 TO M. DE OOULANQES. 
 
 Paris, Monday, 15 Dec, 1670. 
 I am going to tell you a thing that is the most 
 astonishing, the most surprising, the most mar- 
 
 vellous, the most miraculous, the most supreme, 
 the most confounding, the most unheard, the most 
 singular, the most extraordinary, the most incre- 
 dible, the most unforseen, the greatest, the least, 
 the rarest, the most common, the most public, the 
 most private, till to-day ; the most brilliant, the 
 most to be envied ; in short, a thing of which there 
 has been but one example for ages past, and that 
 not a just one neither ; a thing that we cannot 
 believe at Paris ; how then will it gain credit at 
 Lyons? A thing which makes every body cry. 
 Lord have mercy upon us ! a thing which causes 
 the greatest joy to Madame de Rohan and Madame 
 de Hauterive ; a thing, in fine, which will be done 
 on Sunday next, when those who are present at it 
 will think they see double. A thing which will 
 be done on Sunday, and yet perhaps not finished 
 on Monday. I cannot bring myself to tell it you : 
 can't you guess ? I give you three times to do it 
 in. What, not a word to throw at a dog ? Well 
 then, I find I must tell it you. Monsieur de Lau- 
 zun is to be married next Sunday at the Louvre, 
 
 to guess whom ! I give you four times to do 
 
 it in, I give you six, I give you a hundred. Says 
 Madame de Coulanges, it is really very hard to 
 guess : perhaps it is Madame de la Valiere. In- 
 deed, Madame, it is not. It is Mademoiselle de 
 Retz, then. No, nor yet her; you are violently 
 provincial. Lord bless me, says you, what stupid 
 wretches we are ; it is Mademoiselle de Colbert all 
 the while. Nay, now you are still further from 
 the mark. Why then it must certainly be Made- 
 moiselle de Crequy. You have it not yet : well, I 
 find I must tell you at last. He is to be married 
 next Sunday, at the Louvre, with the king's leave, 
 to Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle de . . . . Made- 
 moiselle guess her name. He marries Ma- 
 demoiselle, the great Mademoiselle ; Mademoiselle, 
 daughter of the late MONSIEUR ; Mademoiselle, 
 grand-daughter of Henry IV. ; Mademoiselle d'Eu, 
 Mademoiselle de Dombes, Mademoiselle de Mont- 
 pensier. Mademoiselle d'Orleans, Mademoiselle, 
 the king's cousin-german ; Mademoiselle, destined 
 to the throne ; Mademoiselle, the only match that 
 was worthy of MONSIEUR. Here is a glorious 
 matter for talk. If you should cry out, if you are 
 beside yourselves, if you say we have told you a 
 lie, that it's all false, that we are making a jest 
 of you, that it is a very pretty joke indeed ! that 
 the invention is dull and flat, in short, if you abuse 
 us, we shall think you quite in the right ; for we 
 have done just the same ourselves. Farewell ; 
 you will find from the letters you receive this post 
 whether we tell you the truth or not. 
 
 Letter 12. 
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 Pakis, Friday, 19 Dec, 1670. 
 What is called falling from the clouds, or from 
 a pinnacle, happened last night at the Thuilleries ; 
 but I must take things farther back. You have 
 already shared in the joy, the transport, and ec- 
 stacies of the princess and her happy lover. It 
 was just as I told you ; the affair was made public 
 on Monday. Tuesday was passed in talking, as- 
 tonishment, and compliments. Wednesday, Ma- 
 
 501 
 
SE 
 
 SE 
 
 demoiselle made a deed of gift to Monsieur de 
 Lauzun, investing him -with certain titles, names, 
 and dignities, necessary to be inserted in the mar- 
 riage-contract, which yras drawn up that day. 
 She gave him then, till she could give him some- 
 thing better, four duchies ; the first was that of 
 count d'Eu, which entitles him to rank as first 
 peer of France ; the dukedom of Montpensier, 
 which title he bore all that day ; the dukedom de 
 Saint Fargeau ; and the dukedom de Chatellerault ; 
 the whole valued at twenty-two millions of livres. 
 The contract was then drawn up, and he took the 
 name of Montpensier. Thursday morning, which 
 was yesterday. Mademoiselle was in expectation 
 of the king's signing the contract, as he had said 
 he would ; but about seven o'clock in the evening, 
 the queen. Monsieur, and several old dotards that 
 were about him, had so persuaded his majesty 
 that his reputation would suffer in this affair, that, 
 after sending for Mademoiselle and Monsieur de 
 Lauzun into his presence, he declared unto them, 
 before the prince, that he absolutely forbade there 
 to think any farther about this marriage. Mon- 
 sieur de Lauzun received this order with all the 
 respect, all the submission, all the firmness, and, 
 at the same time, all the despair, that could be 
 expected in so great a reverse of fortune. As for 
 Mademoiselle, being under no restraint, she gave 
 a loose to herself, and burst forth into tears, cries, 
 lamentations, and the most violent expressions of 
 grief ; she keeps her bed all day long, and takes 
 nothing within her lips but a little broth. What 
 a fine dream is here! what a glorious subject for 
 a tragedy, or a romance, but especially for an 
 eternity of talk and reasoning ! This is what we 
 do day and night, morning and evening, without 
 end or ceasing : we hope you do the like. S frd 
 tanto vi haccio le mani. 
 
 Letter 138. 
 
 TO MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 
 
 Paris, Tuesday, 4 March, 1672. 
 
 You say then, my dear child, that you cannot 
 possibly keep hatred alive for so long a time. 
 You are in the right of it : it is much the same 
 with me ; but then guess what I do in the room 
 of it : why I can love as strongly, and for as long 
 a time, a certain person that you know. You 
 seem to give way to a''negligence that gives me a 
 deal of concern. You seldom want an excuse for 
 it, it is so much your natural inclination ; but you 
 know I always found fault with you for it, and do 
 so still. One might make an excellent mean of 
 Madame du Fresnoy and you : both of you are in 
 the extreme ; but certainly yours may be better 
 borne with than hers. I wonder, sometimes, at 
 the many nothings that drop from my pen : I 
 never curb it, but am extremely happy that such 
 trifles amuse you. They would be very disagree- 
 able to many people ; but I beg you will not re- 
 gret the want of them when you have me with 
 you, or I shall grow jealous of my own letters. 
 
 The dinner that M. de Valavoire gave, entirely 
 eclipsed ours : not for the quantity, but extreme 
 delicacy of the dishes. My dear child, how you 
 look ! Madame de Lafayette will scold you with- 
 
 out mercy. For God's sake, dress your head to- 
 morrow; excessive negligence eclipses beauty; 
 and you carry your dullness beyond bounds. I 
 have made your compliments ; those that are sent 
 you in return surpass in number the stars of the 
 sky. A propos of stars : La Gouville was the 
 other day at Madame de St. Lou's, who has just 
 lost her old page. La Gouville, among other 
 things, was talking of her star; and her star did 
 this, and her star did that : and at length Segrais, 
 who was there, rousing himself, as if he had been 
 asleep, says to her, " Dear Madam, do you think 
 you have a star to yourself? I hear nothing but 
 people talking about their stars. Why, do you 
 know, Madam, that there are but one thousand 
 and twenty-two in all ? How then do you think 
 every one can have a star to himself ?" This was 
 spoken in such a comical manner, and with so 
 serious a countenance, that it put an end to all 
 their sorrow in a trice. Your letters were given 
 to Madame de Vaudemont by d'Hacqueville. To 
 tell you the truth, I see him very seldom now. 
 The great fish swallow up the little ones, you 
 know. Farewell, my dearest love : I am getting 
 Bajazet and la Fontaine's Fables, to send you for 
 your amusement. 
 
 Letter 159. 
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 Paris, Friday, 30 May, 1672. 
 
 I had no letter from you yesterday, my dear 
 child: your journey to Monaco had put you quite 
 out of sorts : I was afraid of some such accident. 
 I now send you news from M. de Pomponne : the 
 fashion of being wounded is begun already : my 
 heart is very heavy with the fears of this cam- 
 paign. My son writes by every opportunity ; he 
 is hitherto in good health. 
 
 My aunt is still in a deplorable condition ; and 
 yet we have the courage to think of appointing a 
 day for parting hence, assuming a hope which in 
 reality we cannot entertain. I cannot yet forbear 
 thinking there are certain things not ranged in 
 good order, among the various events of life ; they 
 are, as it were, rugged stones lying across our 
 way, too unwieldy to be removed, and which we 
 must get over as we can, though it is not without 
 pain and difficulty. 
 
 We have a very tragical history to communicate 
 to you from Livri. Do you remember that pre- 
 tended devote, who walked so steadily, without 
 turning his head, that you would have thought he 
 was carrying a vessel full of water ? His devotion 
 has turned his brain. One night he gave himself 
 five or six stabs with a knife, and fell on his knees 
 in his cell, all naked, and weltering in his blood. 
 They come in, and find him in this posture. " Bro- 
 ther, what have you done ? Who has left you in 
 such a condition?" He replies very calmly, "Fa- 
 ther, I am doing a little penance." He faints 
 away; they lay him on a bed; they dress his 
 wounds, which are found very dangerous; he is 
 recovered with much difiiculty, and sent to his 
 friends. 
 
 If you do not think such a head sufficiently dis- 
 ordered, tell me so, and you shall have, instead of 
 
 502 
 
SE 
 
 SF 
 
 it, that of Madame Paul, who is fallen desperately 
 in love with a great booby, whom she had taken as 
 her gardener. This lady has managed her affairs 
 admirably ; she has married him. The fellow is a 
 mere brute, and has not common sense ; he will 
 beat her soon, and has already threatened to do 
 it ; no matter, she was resolved to have him. I 
 have never seen so violent a passion ; there is all 
 the fine extravagance of sentitoents imaginable, 
 were they but rightly applied : it is like the rough 
 sketch of an ill painting ; all the colours are there ; 
 they want only to be properly disposed. I am ex- 
 tremely diverted with the caprices of love ; but 
 really I tremble for myself, when I reflect on such 
 an attempt as this. What insolence was it in this 
 passion, to attack Madame Paul ? that is, to at- 
 tack rigid, austere, antiquated virtue herself in 
 person. Alas ! where can we hope to find security ? 
 This is a pleasant piece of news indeed, after the 
 agreeable relations you have given us. I beg you 
 not to forget M. de Harouis, whose heart is a 
 master-piece of perfection, and who adores you. 
 I am very impatient to hear of you and your little 
 son. The weather must be extremely hot in the 
 climate you are in : I fear this season for him, and 
 for you much more ; for I have never yet had any 
 reason to think it possible to "love anything be- 
 sides, in an equal degree with you. 
 
 SEWARD, ANNA, 
 
 Dadohtek of the Rev. Thomas Seward, was 
 born, in 1747, at Eyam, in Derbyshire. Very 
 early in life she manifested a talent for poetry, 
 which her father in vain tried to discourage. She 
 acquired considerable reputation as a poet; and 
 also wrote "A Life of Dr. Darwin," in which she 
 claims the first fifty lines of his "Botanic Garden" 
 as her own. 
 
 In 1754, Mr. Seward removed with his family 
 to Lichfield, the birth-place of Johnson and Gar- 
 rick, and the residence of Dr. Darwin ; and Miss 
 Seward continued to live there till her death in 
 1809. Her only sister dying in 1764, just as she 
 was on the eve of marrying Dr. Porter, step-son 
 to Dr. Johnson, Anna found her society so indis- 
 pensable to her parents, that she rejected all offers 
 of matrimony on their account ; although, being 
 young, beautiful, and an heiress, she was of course 
 much sought. She was remarkable for the ardour 
 and constancy of her friendships, as well as for 
 her filial devotion. 
 
 Her sonnets have procured her the greater part 
 of her celebrity as a poetess ; though her poetical 
 novel, entitled " Louisa," was very favourably re- 
 ceived at the time of its publication. Miss Seward 
 died in 1809, aged sixty-two years. Among her 
 publications were six volumes of " Letters." The 
 "Description of the Life of an English Country 
 Clergyman some eighty or ninety years ago," is a 
 fair specimen of her prose, which we think is su- 
 perior to her poetry. 
 
 FKOM A LETTER DATED 1767. 
 
 The convenient old parsonage is uncommonly 
 light and cheerful. Its fire-places have odd little 
 extra windows near them, which are the blessings 
 
 of employment in cold or gloomy days. A rural 
 walk encircles the house. In its front, a short 
 flagged walk divides two grass-plots, and leads to 
 a little wicket gate, arched over with ivy, that 
 opens into the fold-yard. A narrow gravel-walk 
 extends along the front of the house, and under 
 the parlour-windows. Opposite them, and on the 
 larger grass-plot, stands the venerable and expan- 
 sive mulberry-tree. * * * We rise at seven. At 
 eight, my aunt and cousin, my mother, Honora, 
 and myself, meet at our neat and cheerful break- 
 fast. That dear, kind-hearted saint, my uncle, 
 has his milk earlier, and retires, for the morning, 
 to his study. At nine, we adjourn to my aunt's 
 apartment above stairs, where one reads aloud to 
 the rest, who are at work. At twelve, my uncle 
 summons us to prayers in the parlour. When 
 they are over, the family disperses, and we young 
 ones either walk or write till dinner. That ap- 
 pears at two, At four, we resume my aunt's apart- 
 ment. * * * When we quit this dear apartment 
 to take an evening walk, it is always with a de- 
 gree of reluctance. At 'half-past ten, he calls in 
 his servants to join our vesper devotions, which 
 close the peaceful and unvaried day, resigning us 
 to sleep as tranquil as itself. * * * The village 
 has no neighbourhood, and in itself no prospect. 
 The roads are deep and dirty, in winter scarce 
 passable. My fair cousin. Miss Marten, is com- 
 pletely buried through the dreary months. * * * 
 She tells us she weeps for joy at the sight of the 
 first daisy, and welcomes and talks to and hails the 
 little blessed harbinger of brighter days, her days 
 of liberty as well as of peace. 
 
 SEYMOUR, ANNE, MARGARET, and JANE, 
 Daughters of Edward, duke of Somerset, were 
 known for their poetical talents. Their one hun- 
 dred and four Latin distichs on the death of Mar- 
 garet of Valois, queen of France, were translated 
 into French, Greek, and Italian, and printed in 
 Paris in 1551, but possess little merit. Anne 
 married the Earl of Warwick, and afterwards Sir 
 Edward Hunter. Margaret and Jane died single. 
 Jane was maid of honour to queen Elizabeth of 
 England, and died in 1560, at the age of twenty. 
 
 SEYMOUR, JANE, 
 Was married to Henry VIII., in May, 1536, the 
 day after Anne Boleyn was beheaded, and died, 
 October, 1537, two days after the birth of her son, 
 Edward VI. Henry is said to have been very 
 much attached to her during their brief union ; 
 but she seems to have been cold and insipid in 
 her character, retaining his affections more by her 
 yielding disposition, than by any other quality. 
 She never interfered in state affairs. She was 
 maid of honour to Anne Boleyn at the time that 
 Henry fell in love with her ; and witnessed Anne's 
 fall and death without the slightest appearance of 
 sensibility. 
 
 SFORZA, BONA, 
 
 Queen of Poland, was born in Naples, in 1501. 
 She was the daughtej' of Isabella of Aragon, and of 
 Servanni Galeozzo Sforza, nephew of the founder of 
 
 503 
 
SP 
 
 SH 
 
 the Sforsa dynasty in Milan. She lost her father 
 in very tender infancy, and was brought up with 
 great cave by her mother. In 1518, she was mar- 
 ried by proxy to Sigismond I., king of Poland, 
 over whom she obtained the greatest influence, 
 which she used to advantage in prompting and 
 
 causing to be executed, plans for the prosperity 
 of the kingdom. She inspired the administration 
 with an activity unknown before in Poland ; and 
 while she resided there, was a patron of many 
 useful and magnifipent undertakings. On the death 
 of her husband, she became disgusted with a ma- 
 trimonial misalliance contracted by her son, the 
 reigning monarch. She returned to her native 
 country, where she was received with the highest 
 honours. In her little sovereignty of Bar, she 
 occupied herself with useful establishments, ac- 
 cording to her means, and took particular delight 
 in the society and encouragement of men of letters. 
 She died in 1557. 
 
 SFOEZA, CRISTIERNA, DUCHESS 
 OF MILAN, 
 Was the daughter of Christian II., king of Den- 
 mark, a prince who was expelled by his subjects, 
 and died in exile. Her mother was Isabella, sister 
 of Charles V. Left an orphan in infancy, she was 
 tenderly educated by her aunt, the dowager queen 
 of Hungary, and, by her beauty and pleasing man- 
 ners, having gained the favour of Charles V., was 
 adopted by that sovereign, who carried her with 
 him to the court of Madrid. In 1530, she espoused 
 Francesco Sforza, duke of Milan. His death, 
 which took place three years afterwards, left her 
 a young and beautiful widow, richly endowed with 
 the gifts of fortune. Among many suitors, she se- 
 lected Francesco I., duke of Lorena; refusing the 
 proposals of Henry VIII., of England, who had 
 demanded her hand of Charles V. At the end of 
 four years of domestic happiness, death deprived 
 her of Francesco, and after that she refused to 
 enter into any new matrimonial connexion, but 
 devoted herself to the care of her children and of 
 the Lorenese states, of which she had been left 
 regent. Here it is that she merits other praise 
 
 than that of a good mistress of a family : for she 
 evinced so much sagacity, so much good feeling 
 and activity, that, by judicious management, she 
 rendered Lorena the most flourishing and prosper- 
 ous duchy in that province. But no wisdom, no 
 courage, could defend this little state from the 
 rapacity of a mighty monarch, who had cast upon 
 it a covetous eye. Henry II., king of France, 
 partly by craft, and partly by force, found means 
 to seize upon the government. The heir was taken 
 to Paris, and the regent banished. Ambition was 
 not her master passion, and she willingly retired 
 into private life, when an opportunity occurred for 
 revealing great force of character, joined with tact, 
 intelligence, and many other admirable qualities, 
 and in a way peculiarly congenial to a woman. 
 She perceived that France and Spain, wearied of 
 the long turbulence and continual war in which 
 they had been engaged, were both inclined to 
 peace, and needed only some mediator to bring 
 about that blessing. Inspired by a generous wish 
 to benefit her fellow-creatures, she undertook this 
 affair; active, industrious, eloquent, persuasive, 
 she made repeated journeys between Paris and 
 Madrid, and rested not till she had obtained from 
 the two monarchs a promise that they would meet 
 in a congress. In 1555, Charles and Henry had 
 an interview at Chateau Cambresis ; and then the 
 lady overpowered every body by her ready wit, 
 her seducing eloquence, and her profound views 
 of policy. Peace was the result of her efl'orts. 
 
 Cristierna passed the rest of her life in a modest 
 seclusion, where She exhibited aU the virtues of 
 private life. She died of paralysis, in the city of 
 Tortona, in the year 1590. 
 
 SHEREEN, or SCHIRIN, or SIRA, 
 Was an Armenian princess, second wife of 
 Chosroes II., king of Persia in the seventeenth 
 century. She was very beautiful, intellectual, and 
 accomplished, and is the heroine of many of the 
 Turkish and Persian romances. Her husband was 
 murdered by his own son by a former wife, and 
 Shereen killed herself on his tomb to escape the 
 love of the murderer. 
 
 SHERIDAN, FRANCES, 
 WiTE of Thomas Sheridan, M. A., was born in 
 Ireland, in 1724, but descended from a good Eng- 
 lish family, which had removed there. Her maiden 
 name was Chamberlaine. She wrote a little pam- 
 phlet at the time of a violent party-dispute about 
 the theatre in which Mr. Sheridan had just em- 
 barked his fortune. He, by accident, discovered 
 his defender, and soon afterwards married her. 
 She was a very charming woman, and fulfilled all 
 her duties with the greatest propriety. She died 
 at Blois, in I'rance, in 1767. Her " Sydney Bid- 
 dulph," is a very well- written novel ; and her little 
 romance called "Nourjahad," shows a very fertile 
 imagination. She also wrote two comedies, en- 
 titled " The Discovery," and " The Dupe." 
 
 Although not handsome, Mrs. Sheridan is de- 
 scribed as having had an intelligent countenance, 
 fine dark eyes and hair, with a particularly fair 
 complexion. 
 
 504 
 
SH 
 
 SH 
 
 In her dress Mrs. Sheridan waa somewhat plain, 
 though she did not affect that negligence which 
 was adopted by some of the literary ladies of that 
 day, who were accused of studiously neglecting 
 the Graces to pay homage to the Muses. 
 
 Mrs. Sheridan was as much beloved in her own 
 family as she was admired by her cotemporaries ; 
 and she was even more famed for her colloquial 
 powers than for her literary talents. Her temper 
 was good, though warm, of which infirmity she 
 was herself aware. From her works, it is evident 
 she had a strong sense of religion; and in her 
 principal performance, " Sidney Biddulph," she 
 portrays it as the only consolation her heroine re- 
 ceives during her misfortunes. 
 
 SHREWSBUKY, ELIZABETH, 
 
 COUNTESS OF, 
 Was the daughter of John Hardwiok, of Hard- 
 wick, a gentleman of ancient family and fortune 
 in Derbyshire. At a very early age she married, 
 not without some suspicions of interested motives, 
 a gentleman of fortune, named Barlow, in delicate 
 health. Before his marriage, to prove his devo- 
 tion,. he made a will, in which he secured to her, 
 and her heirs, almost the whole of his vast estates. 
 A sfiort time after their marriage he died. She 
 soon contracted a second marriage, with Sir Wil- 
 liam Cavendish, to whom she appears to have been 
 really attached. He was a widower for the third 
 time when he married her, and seems to have re- 
 turned her affection sincerely, denying her nothing, 
 and anticipating her wishes. To gratify her, he 
 sold his estates in the south of England, and pur- 
 chased lands in her native county ; and here he 
 began, by her desire, the building of Chatsworth, 
 a mansion, since one of the most magnificent and 
 celebrated in the kingdom, on which a mine of 
 wealth has been spent at different times. Her 
 great passion seems to have been to erect great 
 mansions in evesry part of her large estates ; as 
 Chatsworth, Hardwiok, Oldcotes, and others, prove. 
 Tradition has preserved a prophecy that she would 
 not die while she continued to build. Sir William 
 Cavendish did not live to see the finishing of his 
 splendid mansion. Upon his widow this task de- 
 
 volved, as well as the bringing up of their six 
 children, to whom she was fondly attached, and to 
 whose interests she was devoted. Through these 
 children, she became the ancestress of more than 
 one noble and distinguished family. Her oldest 
 son died childless ; the second, William, became 
 the first earl of Devonshire ; the third, Charles, 
 was the ancestor of the dukes of Newcastle. Her 
 oldest daughter, Frances, married Sir Henry 
 Pierrepoint, ancestor of the dukes of Kingston, 
 by which alliance we perceive that " old Bess of 
 Hardwiok" was an ancestress of lady Mary Wort- 
 ley Montague. Elizabeth, the second daughter, 
 married Charles Stuart, duke of Lennox, brother 
 of Darnley, who became father of the unfortunate 
 Arabella Stuart, the victim of state policy. Mary, 
 the third daughter, married Gilbert, the oldest 
 son of Elizabeth's fourth husband, and arrived at 
 the same dignity of Countess of Shrewsbury. 
 
 With a splendid fortune, and unimpaired beauty, 
 the attractive widow retained her liberty some 
 time, till at length she was prevailed upon to 
 change her state again, in favour of Sir William 
 St. Lo, of Tormarton, in Gloucestershire, captain 
 of the guard to queen Elizabeth, and grand butler 
 of England. He was wealthy, and had broad 
 lands in Gloucestershire ; and these circumstances 
 weighed with the acute widow and careful mother, 
 who determined, before she ventured to alter her 
 position, to secure as much as possible of his pos- 
 sessions to herself and children. She was suc- 
 cessful, and Sir William settled the whole of his 
 fortune upon her and her heirs, to the exclusion 
 of his children by a former marriage. The en- 
 amoured captain did not survive long to enjoy his 
 happiness. Elizabeth was for the third time left 
 a widow, with a fortune considerably increased, 
 and no heirs of St. Lo to take any thing from her 
 family of Cavendish. 
 
 Wealth had been her object in her last match, 
 and as her appetite seemed to " grow with what 
 it fed on," she resolved to give the reins, not only 
 to her desire of gain, but to the ambition which 
 led her step by step till she had established her- 
 self in the precincts of the court. It was not long 
 before she made a new selection. George, earl 
 of Shrewsbury, was no longer a young man, but 
 he was rich, of exalted rank, and the greatest sub- 
 ject in the realm ; high in favour with the queen, 
 and trusted beyond any other noble in her court, 
 independent, magnificent, and powerful, and a. 
 widower, with sons and daughters unmarried. In 
 an evil day.,for him, the earl of Shrewsbury sub- 
 mitted his fate to the guidance of the successful 
 widow. A magnificent jointure was settled upon 
 the bride, and it was agreed, not only that her 
 eldest son should espouse his daughter, but that 
 her youngest daughter, Mary, should become the 
 wife of his heir, Gilbert. The earl of Shrewsbury's 
 good genius must have forsaken him at this event- 
 ful period of his life : for soon after his marriage 
 he voluntarily undertook the guardianship of Mary, 
 queen of Scots, who, in May, 1568, landed in 
 England, and threw herself upon the protection 
 of queen Elizabeth, who immediately made her a 
 state prisoner : an act of treachery that has found 
 
 505 
 
SH 
 
 SI 
 
 a parallel in English history of modern times. It 
 appears that both the earl and countess eagerly 
 sought the office of head jailers to the unfortunate 
 Mary. 
 
 At this period of their married life, the earl and 
 countess seemed to live on terms of affectionate 
 confidence; but from the first entrance of the 
 queen of Scots into their family, disturbances 
 began to occur. What the ambitious and danger- 
 ous schemes of the countess may have been, can- 
 not now, with certainty, be Isnown ; but it is likely 
 that she endeavoured to secure Mary as her friend, 
 in case of a failure with Elizabeth ; or, in modern 
 parlance, she deemed it wisest, in the game she 
 was playing, to "hedge!" The earl was accused 
 of a tender leaning towards his captive; "a 
 scandal" which he has himself recorded in his own 
 epitaph. That his wary mistress, queen Elizabeth, 
 distrusted him somewhat, is evident from the part 
 which she afterwards played when the earl and 
 countess began to quarrel. In 1574, the countess 
 took the daring step of marrying her daughter 
 Elizabeth to the earl of Lennox, brother of Darn- 
 ley. This alliance with the family of the royal 
 captive, gave great offence to the queen, and we 
 find the earl of Shrewsbury writing to her and 
 protesting his ignorance of this act of his wife's. 
 The object of this turmoil, Elizabeth Cavendish, 
 seems to have derived little happiness from her 
 marriage ; blamed, imprisoned, persecuted, and 
 reproached, she had small cause to congratulate 
 herself on the dangerous elevation to which her 
 mother's ambition had raised her; and, after a 
 brief space, the husband, on whom so many hopes 
 ■ were fixed, fell a victim to sicltness or sorrow, and 
 she became a widow, with one child, Arabella, the 
 heiress of her griefs and all the misfortunes of the 
 devoted race of Stuart. 
 
 The earl of Shrewsbury's office of custodian to 
 the royal Mary was prolific of troubles ; the 
 queen's suspicions aroused, his wife's jealousy 
 excited, his own liberty necessarily restrained, a 
 responsible office, and expensive establishment, 
 for which he was inadequately paid, to support, 
 all combined to render his situation little to be 
 envied. In the year 1577, the first shade is evi- 
 dent that appears to have clouded the domestic 
 sky of the earl and countess, and henceforth their 
 disunion increased till it amounted to open re- 
 vilings. The earl's children sided with their step- 
 mother, whose resolute will gave her unbounded 
 sway over all within her influence. Notwithstand- 
 ing that, the earl accuses her of a desire to gain 
 possession of his estates and revenues for the 
 benefit of her own children. The poor earl seems 
 to have been sorely ill treated by both the women 
 who ruled him ; for we find .him making applica- 
 tion to the queen, "for the hundreth time," for 
 payment of his just dues in keeping the queen of 
 Scots. At length, the sorrows and troubles of 
 the earl of Shrewsbury were brought to a close. 
 He died in November, 1590. During the follow- 
 ing seventeen years of widowhood, Elizabeth of 
 Shrewsbury devoted herself to building ; and 
 there is no knowing how many more mansions 
 she would have erected if her life had been spared. 
 
 The story goes, that in 1607 a hard frost set in, 
 which obliged her workmen to stop suddenly; 
 " the spell was broken, the astrologer's prediction 
 verified, Elizabeth of Hardwick could build- no 
 longer, and she died." Her death occurred at 
 Hardwick Hall, in February, 1607, in the 87th 
 year of her age. During the latter part of her 
 life, the affection which the countess entertained 
 for her grand-daughter, Arabella Stuart, was one 
 of the master passions of her mind. It was-well 
 for her proud spirit that she was spared the pain 
 of witnessing the downfall of her ambitious hopes, 
 and the melancholy fate of one so dear to her. 
 
 This countess of Shrewsbury is a remarkable 
 instance of the worldly-wise woman, approaching, 
 both in the powers of her intellect and the manner 
 in which she directed her talents, very nearly the 
 masculine type of mind. Calm, prudent, energetic, 
 but politic, selfish, hard, she stands out from our 
 pictures of true feminine character like an oak 
 among laurels, willows and magnolias. Happily, 
 for the moral welfare of our race, there are few- 
 women like " Bess of Hardwick." 
 
 SIDDONS, SARAH, 
 The most eminent English tragic actress, was 
 born, in 1755, at Brecknock, and was the daughter 
 of Roger Kemble, manager of a company of itine- 
 rant players. At the age of fifteen she became 
 attached to Mr. Siddons ; and her parents refusing 
 their consent to her marriage, she went to reside 
 with Mrs. Greathead, of Guy's Cliff, as an humble 
 companion. In her eighteenth year she married 
 Mr. Siddons, and returned to the stage. In 1775, 
 she made her first appearance on the London 
 boards, but was unsuccessful. Time, however, 
 matured her powers ; and, after an absence of 
 seven years, spent partly at Bath, where she was 
 much admired, she reappeared at Drury Lane in 
 1782 ; and from that time her course was a perpe- 
 tual triumph. In 1812, having acquired an ample 
 fortune, she withdrew into private life. She died, 
 June 9th, 1831. Mrs. Siddons possessed consi- 
 derable talents as a sculptor. A medallion of her- 
 self, and a bust of her brother, John Kemble, are 
 among her works. Her character was irreproach- 
 able. 
 
 SIRANI, ELISABETTA, 
 Was born in Bologna, in 1638. Her father, 
 Gian Andrea Sirani, was a painter of some repu- 
 tation, and had been a favourite scholar of Guide, 
 and successful imitator of his style. The manifest- 
 ations of real genius are usually to be discovered 
 at the earliest age ; and Elisabetta, when almost 
 an infant, excited attention by her attempts at 
 drawing. These baby pencillings, though they 
 attracted the notice of her father, did not give 
 him the idea of instructing her, because she was a 
 girl. Fortunately, a visiter at the house, count 
 Canpnico Malvasia, a man of cultivated mind and 
 enlarged views, used his influence with Sirani, and 
 represented to him the culpability of stifling the 
 rare talent that was developing itself in the little 
 maiden. From this time she was educated for her 
 future profession, and every study was attended 
 
 506 ■ 
 
SI 
 
 SM 
 
 to that could be useful to improve her genius. Her 
 delight in intellectual cultivation was only equalled 
 by her conscientious industry ; the most complete 
 success crowned her application. As a painter, 
 her works take place among the best Italian 
 masters. She has also left some very excellent 
 
 engravings, and displayed no mean ability in mo- 
 delling in plaster. Before she had attained her 
 .eighteenth year, she had painted many large his- 
 torical pieces, which were regarded with admira- 
 tion, and obtained an honourable situation in the 
 various churches. Besides this, the young artist 
 was a very excellent musician, singing beautifully, 
 and playing with grace upon the harp. She was 
 as remarkable for her plain good sense and amja- 
 ble disposition, as for her talents. The solace and 
 support of her invalid father, she put into his 
 hands all the money she received for her pictures. 
 Her mother having become paralytic, the house- 
 hold affairs devolved upon her ; and her attention 
 to the minutise of inferior occupations, as well as 
 her motherly care of her younger sisters, proved 
 that the brilliant exercise of the most refined ac- 
 complishments and the most intellectual attain- 
 ments is by no means incompatible with the perfect 
 discharge of those menial employments to which 
 the wisdom of some Solomons would limit the 
 faculties of woman. 
 
 It would be impossible to enumerate the works 
 of this indefatigable artist. She was admired and 
 visited by the great of that day, who vied with one 
 another in the desire to obtain specimens of her 
 pencil. At one time, a committee appointed to 
 order a large picture of the baptism of Jesus, to 
 be placed opposite a Holy Supper in the church 
 of the Certosini, called upon her. Kadiant with 
 inspiration, the girl, then scarcely twenty, took a 
 sheet of paper, and, before the eyes of the aston- 
 ished beholders, with the utmost promptness, drew 
 in Indian ink, that composition so rich in figures, 
 so spirited in its details, and so grand in its en- 
 semble. As soon as it was finished, it was hung 
 where it now stands, and drew an immense con- 
 course of admiring spectators. The drawing, the 
 colouring, the harmony of the psfrts, have obtain- 
 
 ed the praise and enthusiastic tributes of all suc- 
 ceeding artists. Her fame was spread throughout 
 Italy, and foreign courts became desirous of ex- 
 tending to her their patronage. A large picture 
 was bespoken by the empress Eleonora, widow of 
 Ferdinand III., when she was assailed by a disease 
 of the stomach, which, after a few months of slight 
 indisposition, attacked her so violently, that in less 
 than twenty-four hours she was reduced to extre- 
 mity. She received the sacrament, and died on 
 the 28th of August, her birth-day. She was 
 twenty-seven years of age. As she was apparently 
 robust and of good constitution, suspicions arose 
 of poison having been administered to her ; but, 
 upon a post mortem examination, no conclusive 
 evidence could be found ; and as the suspected 
 individual (a servant) was acquitted in the legal 
 scrutiny which took place, we are not warranted 
 in the idea that her death was otherwise than a 
 natural one. 
 
 There was a universal mourning among her fel- 
 low-citizens ; all funereal honours were given to 
 her remains, which were deposited near those of 
 Guido, in the church of San Domenico. 
 
 SIRIES, VIOLANTE BEATRICE, 
 Was born at Florence, in 1710. She was a pupil 
 of Giovanna Fratellini, who at that time lived in 
 high esteem in Florence ; by whose instruction she 
 made an extraordinary proficiency in water-colour 
 and crayon painting, till she was sixteen, when she 
 went, with her father, to Paris, where he was ap- 
 pointed goldsmith to the king of France. Here 
 she continued for five years, and studied under an 
 eminent Flemish artist. She painted portraits of ' 
 several of the nobility with such beauty and fide- 
 lity, that she was invited to take likenesses of the 
 royal family ; but she was under the necessity of 
 declining this honour, as she was about to return 
 with her father to Florence, where he had a very 
 lucrative employment conferred on him by the 
 Grand Duke. 
 
 The Grand Duke professed great esteem for this 
 artist, and ordered her portrait to be placed in the 
 gallery of artists at Florence. To perpetuate her 
 father's memory, she introduced his portrait with 
 her own, giving at once a proof of her filial piety 
 and distinguished merit. She painted equally well 
 in oil and with crayons ; but most of her works 
 are in oil, and are principally from historical sub- 
 jects. She also painted fruit and flowers; and 
 executed every subject with extraordinary taste, 
 truth, and delicacy. She died in 1760. 
 
 SMITH, CHARLOTTE, 
 Eldest daughter of Nicholas Turner, Esq., of 
 Surrey, in England,- was born in London, May 4th, 
 1749. She lost her mother when she was only 
 three years old, and the charge of her education 
 devolved on her aunt. Miss Turner was carefully 
 instructed in all the accomplishments of the day, 
 but she afterwards regretted that her attention 
 had not been directed more to the solid branches 
 of learning. She began to write when very young, 
 and was always extravagantly fond of reading, 
 especially poetry and romances. At the early age 
 
 507 
 
SM 
 
 S M 
 
 of twelve she left school, and from that time -was 
 accustomed to frequent public amusements with 
 her family, and even appear in society with them. 
 She was beautiful, animated, and attractive, and 
 appeared so much older than she really was, that 
 at fourteen she received proposals of marriage, 
 which were refused, and at fifteen she was mar- 
 ried to Mr. Smith, son of Richard Smith, a West 
 India merchant, and Director of the East India 
 Company. 
 
 Mr. Smith's great inferiority to his wife, both 
 in mind and principles, was more and more appa- 
 ' rent every year, which Mrs. Smith felt keenly as 
 she grew older ; yet never to her most confidential 
 friends did she allow a complaint or severe remark 
 to escape her lips. Her father-in-law fully appre- 
 ciated her, and often employed her pen on matters 
 of business, and confided to her all his anxieties. 
 He often remarked that she could expedite more 
 business in an hour, from his dictation, than any 
 one of his clerks could perform in a day. This 
 affords a strong instance of the compass of her 
 mind, which could adapt itself with equal facility 
 to the charms of literature and the dry details of 
 commerce. 
 
 In 1776, the death of her father-in-law, who 
 left an incomprehensible will which kept them for 
 some time involved in law-suits, occasioned the 
 final ruin of their fortunes. Their estate in Hamp- 
 shire was sold, and they removed to Sussex. Mrs. 
 Smith never deserted her husband for a moment 
 during the period of his misfortunes. While suf- 
 fering from the calamities he had brought on him- 
 self and his children, she exerted herself with as 
 much energy as though his conduct had been un- 
 exceptionable, made herself mistress of his affairs, 
 and finally succeeded in settling them. 
 
 Mr. Smith found it expedient, in 1783, to retire 
 to the continent, where his wife joined him with 
 their children. They resided near Dieppe; and 
 here her youngest son was born. She translated 
 while there the novel called " Manon I'Escaut." 
 In 1785, she returned to England ; and soon after 
 published " The Romance of Real Life," a trans- 
 
 lation of some of the most remarkable trials, from 
 "ies Causes CilSbres," 
 
 In 1786, Mrs. Smith, finding it impossible to live 
 longer with any degree of comfort with her hus- 
 band, resolved to separate from him ; and, with 
 the approbation of all her most judicious friends, 
 she settled herself in a small house near Chiches- 
 ter. Her husband, becoming involved in fresh 
 difficulties, again retired to the continent, after 
 some ineffectual attempts to induce her to return 
 to him. They sometimes met after this, and con- 
 stantly corresponded, Mrs. Smith never relaxing 
 her efforts to afford him assistance, or bring the 
 family affairs to a final arrangement; but they 
 never afterwards resided together. 
 
 In her seclusion at Wyhe, her novels of "Em- 
 meline," " Ethelinde," and " Celestina," were 
 written. These were very successful. In 1791, 
 she went to reside near London ; and, during the 
 excitement caused by the French revolution, she 
 wrote "Desmond," which was severely censured 
 for its political and moral tendency. "But she 
 regained public favour," says Mr. Chambers, "by 
 her tale, the ' Old Manor House,' " which is the 
 best of her novels. Part of this work was written 
 at Eartham, the residence of Hayley, during the 
 period of Cowper's visit to that poetical retreat. 
 "It was delightful," says Hayley, "to hear her 
 read what she had just written ; for she read, as 
 she wrote, with simplicity and grace." Cowper- 
 was also astonished at the rapidity and excellence 
 of her composition. Mrs. Smith continued her 
 literary labours amidst private and family distress. 
 She also wrote a "History of England," and a 
 "Natural History of Birds," in 1807; "Conver- 
 sations," and several other works. Her first pub- 
 lication was a volume of elegiac " Sonnets" and 
 other Essays, in 1784. She died at Tilford, Oc- 
 tober 28th, 1806, in her fifty-eighth year. Her 
 husband had died the preceding year. As a mo- 
 ther, she was most exemplary. 
 
 Mr. Chambers thus sums up his opinion of her 
 writings : — " The poetry of Mrs. Smith is elegant 
 and sentimental, and generally of a pathetic cast. 
 She wrote as if ' melancholy had marked her for 
 her own.' The keen satire and observation evinced 
 in her novels do not appear in her verse ; but the 
 same powers of description are displayed. Her 
 sketches of English scenery are true and pleasing." 
 
 Sir Walter Scott also gives "high praise to the 
 sweet and sad effusions of Mrs. Smith's pen ;" but 
 observes, " We cannot admit that by these alone 
 she could ever have risen to the height of eminence 
 which we are disposed to claim for her as authoress 
 of her prose narratives." 
 
 Prom " Poems." 
 flora's hoeologb. 
 In every copse and sheltered dell, 
 Unveiled to the observant eye, 
 Are faithful monitors who tell 
 How pass the hours and seasons by. 
 
 The green-robed children of the spring 
 
 Will mark the periods as they pass, 
 Mingle with leaves Time's feathered wing, 
 
 And bind with flowers his silent glass. 
 508 
 
SM 
 
 SM 
 
 Mark where transparent waters glide, 
 Soft flowing o'er their tranquil bed ; 
 
 There, cradled on the dimpling tide, 
 Nymphtea rests her lovely head. 
 
 But conscious of the earliest beam, 
 She rises from her humid nest, 
 
 And sees, reflected in the stream, 
 The virgin whiteness of her breast. 
 
 Till the bright day-star to the west 
 Declines, in ocean's surge to lave; 
 
 Then, folded in her modest vest, 
 She slumbers on the rocking wave. 
 
 See Hieracium's various tribe, 
 Of plumy seed and radiate flowers. 
 
 The course of Time their blooms describe. 
 And wake or sleep appointed hours. 
 
 Broad o'er its imbricated cup 
 The goatsbeard spreads its golden rays, 
 
 But shuts its cautious petals up. 
 Retreating from the noontide blaze. 
 
 Pale as a pensive cloistered nun. 
 The Bethlem star her face unveils, 
 
 W})en o'er the mountain peers the sun, 
 But shades it from the vesper gales. 
 
 Among the loose and arid sands 
 
 The humble arenaria creeps; 
 Slowly the purple star expands. 
 
 But soon within its calyx sleeps. 
 
 And those small bells so lightly rayed 
 With young Aurora's rosy hue, 
 
 Are to the noontide sun displayed, 
 But shut their plaits against the dew 
 
 On upland slopes the shepherds mark 
 The hour when, as the dial true, 
 
 Cichorium to the towerinfi lark 
 Lifts her soft eyes serenely blue. 
 
 And thou, "Wee crimson-tipped flower," 
 Gatherest thy fringed mantle round 
 
 Thy bosom at the closing hour, 
 When night-drops bathe the turfy ground. 
 
 Unlike silene, who declines 
 The garish noontide's blazing light; 
 
 But when the evening crescent shines, 
 Gives all her sweetness to the night. 
 
 Thus in each flower and simple bell. 
 That in our path betrodden lie. 
 
 Are sweet remembrancers who tell 
 How fast their winged moments fly. 
 
 THE CBICKET. 
 
 Little inmate, full of mirth. 
 Chirping on my humble hearth; 
 Wheresoe'er be thine abode. 
 Always harbinger of good. 
 Pay me for thy warm retreat 
 With a song most soft and sweet; 
 In return thou shalt receive 
 Such a song as I can give. 
 
 Though in voice and shape they be 
 Formed as if akin to thee. 
 Thou surpassest, happier far. 
 Happiest grasshoppers that are; 
 Their's is but a summer-song. 
 Thine endures the winter long, 
 Unimpaired, and shrill and clear, 
 Melody throughout the year. 
 
 Neither night nor dawn of day 
 Puts a period to thy lay, 
 Then, insect ! let thy simple song 
 Cheer the winter evening long; 
 While, secure from every storm, 
 In my cottage stout and warm, 
 Thou Shalt my merry minstrel be, 
 Aud I delight to shelter thee. 
 
 On the Departure of the J^igHivgale. 
 Sweet poet of the woods, a long adieu I 
 
 Farewell soft minstrel of the early year! 
 Ah ! 'twill be long ere thou shalt sing anew, 
 
 And pour thy music on the night's dull ear. 
 Whether on spring thy wandering flights await, 
 
 Or whether silent in our groves you dwell. 
 The pensive muse shall own thee for her mate. 
 
 And still protect the song she loves so well. 
 With cautious step the love-lorn youth shall glide 
 
 Through the lone brake that shades thy mossy nest; 
 And sheplierd girls from eyes profane shall hide 
 
 The gentle bird who sings of pity best : 
 For still thy voice shall soft affections move, 
 And still be dear to sorrow and to love ! 
 
 Written at the Close of Spring. 
 
 The garlands fade that Spring so lately wove ; 
 
 Each simple flower, which she had nursed in dew, 
 Anemonies that spangled every grove. 
 
 The primrose wan, and harebell mildly blue. 
 No more shall violets linger in the dell. 
 
 Or purple orchis variegate the plain, 
 Till Spring again shall call forth every bell, 
 
 And dress with humid hands her wreaths again. 
 Ah, poor humanity I so frail, so fair, 
 
 Are the fond visions of thy early day. 
 Till tyrant passion and corrosive care 
 
 Bid all thy fairy colours fade away! 
 Another May new buds and flowers shall bring; 
 
 Ah! why has happiness no second Spring? 
 
 TO NIGHT. 
 
 I love thee, mournful sober-suited night. 
 When the faint moon, yet lingering in her .vane. 
 
 And veiled in clouds, with pale uncertain light 
 Hangs o'er the waters of the restless main. 
 
 In deep depression sunk, th' enfeebled mind 
 Will to the deaf, cold elements complain. 
 And tell th' embosomed grief, however vain, 
 
 To sullen surges and the viewless wind ; 
 
 Though no repose on thy dark breast I find, 
 I still enjoy thee, cheerless as thou art ; 
 For in thy quiet gloom th' exhausted heart 
 
 Is calm, though wretched ; hopeless, yet resigned ; 
 
 While to the winds and waves its sorrows given, 
 
 May reach — though lost on earth— the ear of Heaven. 
 
 TO TRANQUILLITT. 
 
 In this tumultuous sphere, for thee unfit. 
 
 How seldom art thou found — Tranquillity I 
 
 Unless 't is when with mild and downcast eye 
 By the low cradles thou delight'st to sit 
 Of sleeping infants, watcliing the soft breath, 
 
 And bidding the sweet slumberers easy lie. 
 Or sometimes hanging o'er the bed of death, 
 
 Where the poor languid sufferer hopes to die. 
 O beauteous sister of the halcyon peace ! 
 
 I sure shall find thee in that heavenly scene 
 Where care and anguish shall their power resign ; 
 
 Where hope alike and vain regret shall cease ; 
 
 And Memory, lost in happiness serene, 
 Repeat no more — that misery has been mine! 
 
 SMITH, ELIZABETH, 
 
 Was born, in 1776, at the family seat of Burnhall, 
 in the county of Durham. She understood mathe- 
 matics, drawing, Hebrew, Syi-iac, Arabic, Persian, 
 Greek, Latin, Italian, Spanish, German, and 
 French. Her " Fragments," ** Translation of 
 Job," and " Translation of the Life of Klopstock," 
 have been published. She also wrote poetry. 
 She died in 1806, aged thirty years. 
 
 609 
 
SM 
 
 SM 
 
 SMITH, SARAH LOUISA P., 
 Was born at Detroit, in 1811, -while her maternal 
 grandfather, Major-General William Hull, so well 
 known for his patriotism and his misfortunes, was 
 governor of the territory of Michigan. Her father's 
 name was Hickman ; he died when Louisa was an 
 infant; and her mother, returning to her own 
 home at Newton, Massachusetts, there educated 
 her two daughters. The uncommon quickness of 
 talent exhibited by Louisa, soon attracted the at- 
 tention of her instructors. She had a most won- 
 derful memory, and gathered knowledge without 
 any apparent effort — yet was she ever among the 
 most active in mental pursuits. And the ease with 
 which she acquired information was not more re- 
 markable than the modesty which accompanied 
 her superiority. She began to write when a mere 
 child, and these juvenile productions were often so 
 excellent, as to elicit great commendations from 
 her family and their confidential friends ; yet this 
 praise never fostered pride or self-confidence in 
 the youthful poetess. She wrote from the sponta- 
 neous overflowing of her own heart, which seemed 
 filled with thoughts of beauty, and all tender and 
 sweet emotions. By the persuasion of her friends, 
 she was induced to send some of her effusions, 
 anonymously, to different periodicals. These were 
 greatly admired, and often reprinted. Before she 
 was fifteen, her name had become known, and she 
 was distinguished as a young lady of uncommon 
 powers of intellect. She was soon an object of 
 attention. Her personal appearance was very 
 prepossessing. She had a countenance bright with 
 the "light of mind," a soft and delicate complex- 
 ion, a "large loving eye," and a head of that fine 
 " spiritual form," which at once impresses the 
 beholder with the majesty and purity of the mind 
 within. 
 
 In 1828, Miss Hickman was married to Mr. S. J. 
 Smith, then the editor of a literary periodical in 
 Providence. Soon after her marriage, her husband 
 published a volume of her poems ; some collected 
 from the literary journals, and others written as 
 the book was passing through the press. She was 
 then but " careless seventeen," as she says of her- 
 self ; and it was a hazardous experiment to give a 
 volume of poetry, which must have been, however 
 highly imbued with genius, more fraught with the 
 feelings and sentiments of others, than with those 
 teachings of truth and nature which experience 
 in the real world can only bestow. But the book 
 was popular ; and though she would, had she lived 
 till the maturity of her powers, no doubt greatly 
 excelled her early writings, yet, as the blossoms 
 of an original and extraordinary genius, these 
 poems will ever be admired. 
 
 And yet it is not as an authoress that she is re- 
 membered and lamented by her intimate friends, 
 or by those who had the pleasure of a brief per- 
 sonal acquaintance. " Any literary reputation that 
 she might have acquired, could never have been 
 thought of in her presence," is the testimony of 
 one who knew her. " It was the confiding since- 
 rity of her manners, the playfulness of her con- 
 versation, her enthusiastic and devoted assiduity 
 
 to those she loved, which made her presence a 
 perpetual delight." In her own home she was a 
 model of discretion, cheerfulness and kindness. 
 Her husband was always her lover, and her two 
 little sons she cherished with that peculiar tender- 
 ness which only those endowed with the finest 
 sensibilities can feel. Yet, amid all her maternal 
 and household cares, her mind was rapidly gather- 
 ing strength for higher literary pursuits. She was, 
 at the time of her decease, engaged in reviewing 
 her early opinions on literature, and her early 
 productions, pointing out, and acknowledging her 
 errors and deficiencies, with the most frank ho- 
 nesty ; and preparing by study and reflection to 
 make her genius the faithful interpreter of nature 
 and the human heart. What she has written is 
 marked by ease, grace, and that intuitive percep- 
 tion of the beautiful and good, which shows that 
 her imagination was a blessing to herself, as well 
 as a pleasure to others. And with the refinement 
 of taste and warmth of affections which Mrs. Smith 
 possessed, was united pure, ardent, and unaffected 
 piety. The hope of immortality was to her a glo- 
 rious hope ; and the benevolence which the Gospel 
 inculcates, was her cherished feeling. 
 
 She died, February, 1832, in the twenty-first 
 year of her age. 
 
 The following are considered among her best 
 poems : — 
 
 THE HUMA. 
 
 ''A bird peculiar to the East. It is supposed to fiy constantly 
 
 in the air and never touch the ground." 
 Fly on 1 nor touch thy wing, bright bird, 
 
 Too near our shaded earth, 
 Or the warbling, now so sweetly heard. 
 
 May lose its note of mirth. 
 Fly on — nor seek a place of rest 
 
 In the home of "care-worn things;" 
 'T would dim the light of thy shining crest 
 
 And thy brightly burnished wings, 
 To dip them where the waters glide 
 That flow from a troubled earthly tide. 
 
 The fields of upper air are thine, 
 
 Thy place where stars sliine free : 
 1 would thy home, bright one, were mine. 
 
 Above life's stormy sea. 
 I would never wander, bird, lilte thee. 
 
 So near this place again, 
 With wing and spirit once light and free — 
 
 They should wear no more the chain 
 With which they are bound and fettered here, 
 For ever struggling for skies more clear. 
 
 There are many things like thee, bright bird, 
 
 Hopes as thy plumage gay; 
 Our air is with them for ever stirred, 
 
 But still in air they stay. 
 And happiness, like thee, fair one. 
 
 Is ever hovering o'er. 
 But rests in a land of brighter sun, 
 
 On a waveless, peaceful shore. 
 And stoops to lave her weary wings. 
 Where the fount of " living waters" springs. 
 
 THE heart's TEEASUKES. 
 
 Know ye what things the heart holds dear 
 
 In its hidden cells? 
 'Tis never the beam of careless smiles, 
 Nor riches wafted fl-om far-off isles ; 
 The light that cheers it is never shed 
 From the jewelled pomp of a regal head, 
 
 N.ot there it dwells. 
 
 510 
 
SM 
 
 SM 
 
 Gay things, the loved of worldly eyes, 
 
 Enchain it not; 
 It suns its blossoms in fairer skies, 
 The dewy beam of affection's eyes; 
 The spell is there that can hold it fast, 
 When earthly pride in its pomp is past, 
 
 And all forgot. 
 
 Thoughts that come from their far, dim rest, 
 
 Woke by a smile — 
 Tlie memory sweet of a youthfnl hour, 
 The faded hue of a cherished flower, 
 Or parting tones of a far-off friend, 
 It loves in melody soft to blend 
 
 With hi[n the while. 
 
 Know ye what things the heart holds dear : 
 
 Its buried loves! 
 Those that have wrung from it many a tear. 
 Gone where the leaves never fall or sear, 
 Gone to the land that is sought in prayer, 
 The trace of whose step is fairest, where 
 
 Fond memory roves. 
 
 The sound of music at even-fall, 
 
 Filling its springs 
 With a flow of thought, and feeling sweet 
 As summer winds, when at eve they meet. 
 And lips that are loved, breathe forth the song 
 When day with its troubled sounds is gone — 
 
 To these it clings. 
 
 And nature's pleasant murmurings. 
 
 So sweet to hear; . 
 Her bowers of beauty, and soft-shed gleams 
 Of light arid shadow on forest streams. 
 Her mossy rocks and places rude. 
 The charm of her breathing solitude — 
 
 These it holds dear. 
 
 TRUST IN HEAVEN. 
 
 ' fhr He hath said, I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.'" 
 
 Yes, He hath said, whose word hath power, 
 
 Nor may his children fear 
 The clouds that on their pathway lower. 
 With this high promise near. 
 
 When He, whose arm sends o'er the deep 
 
 The shades of falling night, 
 And calls the morning sun to steep 
 
 The isles of earth in light. 
 
 Is o'er their path, and guarding still 
 Those whom lie knows are frail; 
 
 When gathering clouds of worldly ill 
 Cause human strength to fail. 
 
 The spirit hath a chord that clings 
 
 To lights that must grow dim. 
 And places trust in fragiJe things, 
 
 That should be placed on Him. 
 
 But when that hold is severed— then. 
 
 In sorrow's hour of night— 
 When the plant has lost its earthly stem, 
 
 He sends his own clear light. 
 
 And in those words of truth and power 
 
 Is the sacred promise given ; 
 Which has lifted many a drooping flower 
 
 To the still clear air of heaven. 
 
 SMITH, SARAH LANMAN, 
 "Was born in Norwich, Connecticut, June 18, 
 1802. Her father was Jabez Huntington, Esq. 
 Her biographer, Rev. Edward W. Hooker, saya of 
 her^early years, after describing her sufferings 
 from ill health during childhood, and also from 
 the severity of a school-mistress, which circum- 
 
 stances, added to the death of her mother, had the 
 effect to bring out great decision and sometimes 
 wilfulness of character : . 
 
 '* But with these things in childhood, showing 
 that she was a subject of that native depravity in 
 which all the human race are ' guilty before God,' 
 
 she exhibited, as she was advancing in the years 
 of youth, many of the virtues which are useful and 
 lovely ; and probably went as far in those excel- 
 lences of natural character on which many en- 
 deavour to build their hope of salvation, as almost 
 any unconverted persons do ; carrying with her, 
 however, the clear and often disturbing conviction, 
 that the best virtues which she practised were not 
 holiness, nor any evidence of fitness for heaven. 
 
 She was exceedingly attached to her friends. 
 Her father was almost her idol. The affection for 
 her mother, who was so early removed by death, 
 she transferred, with exemplary tenderness, to her 
 step-mother ; and it is believed the instances are 
 rare in which the parties are uniformly happier 
 in each other, in that relation, than were Mrs. 
 Huntington and this daughter. Her warmth and 
 tenderness of affection as a sister were also pe- 
 culiar and exemplary. Her childhood and youth 
 were marked with great delicacy of mind and 
 manners; diligence, promptitude, and efficiency 
 in her undertakings ; love of system and fondness 
 for study, improvement, and the acquirement of 
 useful knowledge, joined with a great desire to 
 answer the wishes and expectations of her friends. 
 Butifulness and respect for her parents and grand- 
 parents ; reverence for her superiors generally; 
 readiness to receive advice or admonition ; a just 
 appreciation of the good influence of others, and 
 a spirit of cautiousness respecting whatever might 
 be injurious to her own character, were also pro- 
 minent traits in her habits. Disinterestedness and 
 self-denial for the benefit of others were conspicu- 
 ous. Long before she became a subject of divine 
 grace, she took an interest in various objects of 
 benevolence, particularly Sabbath schools ; and 
 exhibited that spirit of enterprise, patience, and 
 perseverance, in aiding the efforts of others, which 
 constituted so prominent an excellence in her cha- 
 
 511 
 
!M 
 
 SM 
 
 raoter in the later years of her life. Self-govern- 
 ment ; economy in the use of her time and pocket- 
 money; tastefulness in dress, -vpithout extrava- 
 gance ; and a careful and conscientious considera- 
 tion of her father's resources, also were observable 
 in her early habits. These traits are not mentioned 
 because they are not found in many other young 
 persons, but because they appeared in her in an 
 uncommon degree." 
 
 The virtues and graces of character enumerated 
 do not, it is true, constitute the holiness of a 
 Christian — that is, the especial gift of the Holy 
 Spirit, to sanctify the heart ; but they do show a 
 state of feeling naturally inclined to the moralities 
 of life, to which sin, acted out, would have been 
 at "enmity." Her "moral sense" was refined 
 and enlightened ; she only needed the breath of 
 divine grace to turn her' heart to God ; all her 
 ways were in harmony with his laws ; while con- 
 verted men have, usually, the whole inner course 
 of their lives to alter, or at least to put off the 
 "old man with his deeds;" which is the struggle 
 of a carnal nature women do not often have to 
 undergo. Mrs. Smith is a true and lovely illus- 
 tration of the noblest type of feminine nature. 
 She commenced her office as teacher in a Sunday- 
 school, at the age of fourteen, before she was a 
 convert to Jesus ; that is, before she had yielded 
 her will to the convictions of her reason and the 
 promptings of her best feelings, and determined 
 to live the life of duty, and seek her own happi- 
 ness in doing good to others. This change took 
 place when she was about eighteen years old; 
 from that time all was harmony in her soul ; she 
 had found the true light, and she followed it till 
 she entered heaven. In 1833, Miss Huntington 
 was married to the Rev. Eli Smith, of the Ameri- 
 can mission at Beyroot, Syria ; and she went to 
 that remote region as the " help meet" for a hum- 
 ble missionary;, She was singularly fitted for this 
 important station, having been a voluntary mis- 
 sionary to the miserable remnant of a tribe of the 
 Mohegan Indians ; she had thus tested her powers 
 and strengthened her love for this arduous work 
 in the cause of doing good. Her letters to her 
 father and friends, while reflecting on this im- 
 portant step of a foreign mission, will be intensely 
 interesting to those who regard this consecration 
 of woman to her of5ce of moral teacher as among 
 the most efficient causes of the success of the 
 Gospel. The literary merits of her writings are 
 of a high order; we venture to say, that, com- 
 pared with the "Journals" and "Letters" of 
 the most eminent men in the missionary station, 
 those of Mrs. Smith will not be found inferior 
 in merits of any kind. Her intellect had been 
 cultivated; she could, therefore, bring her rea- 
 soning powers, as well as her moral and religious 
 sentiments, to bear on any subject discussed; 
 the following is proof in point. The powerful 
 competition which the missionary cause held in 
 Miss Huntington's affections, with her home and 
 all its pleasant circumstances, may be learned 
 from two or three sentences in one of her letters, 
 written a few months before she left her country. 
 " To make and receive visits, exchange friendly 
 
 salutations, attend to one's wardrobe, cultivate a 
 garden, read good and entertaining books, and 
 even attend religious meetings for one's own en- 
 joyment ; all this does not satisfy me. I want to 
 be where every arrangement will have unreserved 
 and constant reference to eternity. On missionary 
 ground I expect to find new and unlooked-for trials 
 and hinderances ; still it is my choice to be there. 
 And so far from looking upon it as a difBcult task 
 to sacrifice my home and country, I feel as if I 
 should 'flee as a bird to her mountain.' "- 
 
 Such are the helpers Christian men may sum- 
 mon to their aid, whenever they will provide for 
 the education of woman and give her the office of 
 teacher, for which God designed her. 
 
 Mrs. Smith accompanied her husband to Bey- 
 root, and was indeed his "help" and good angel. 
 She studied Arabic ; established a school for girls ; 
 exerted her moral and Christian influence with 
 great effect on the mixed population of Moslems, 
 Syrians, Jews ; visiting and instructing the mo- 
 thers as well as the children ; working with all 
 her heart and soul, mind and might ; and the time 
 of her service soon expired. She died September 
 30th, 1836, aged thirty-four ; a little over three 
 years from the time she left her own dear land.— 
 She died at Boojah, near Smyrna; and in the 
 burial-ground of the latter her precious dust re- 
 poses, beneath a monument which does honour to 
 America, by showing the heroic and holy character 
 of her missionary daughters. We must give some 
 extracts from her " Journal" and excellent " Let- 
 ters," collected and published since her decease: 
 
 From " Letters," written before her Marriage. 
 INFLUENCE OF THANKFULNESS AND CHEERFULNESS. 
 
 When is your Thanksgiving? Do you*recollect 
 that our ancestors, after appointing a number of 
 fasts, in the midst of their perplexities, resolved 
 that they would appoint a day of thanksgiving, to 
 acknowledge their mercies, as well as deplore their 
 misfortunes, and it seemed to be accepted ? Do, 
 my dear sister, strive to keep from despondency, 
 and enjoy, with your husband and children, the 
 domestic blessings which surround you. It may 
 prove a permanent injury to your children, if the 
 sunshine of a mother's face, which often furnishes 
 such delightful associations, is clouded by depressed 
 feelings. Once, since my return home, when an 
 unconscious shade passed over my face, Elizabeth 
 came to me and scrutinized my countenance with 
 much intenseness. I was led to feel that children 
 notice the expression very readily ; their own is 
 moulded by that of others with whom they asso- 
 ciate constantly. 
 
 SATISFACTION IN EMPLOYMENT. 
 
 I am happy and cheerful in the attempted dis- 
 charge of duty; and have no time to cultivate 
 morbid sensibility. And at night, when I lay my 
 weary head upon the pillow of repose, my rest is 
 rendered doubly sweet by a busy day. 
 
 WRITINGS OF JANE TATLOB. k 
 
 I agree fully with Mrs. C. in regard to Jane 
 Taylor's writings. She is so natural and simple. 
 
 512 
 
SM 
 
 SM 
 
 Have you seen " Display," a tale by her, which is 
 truly experimental ? She does not give, like Mrs. 
 Sherwood, such importance to personal beauty, in 
 heroines. All Mrs. Sherwood's are conspicuous 
 for that, while Miss Taylor attaches but little im- 
 portance to it, and seldom gives a novelist's de- 
 scription of beauty. As young people attach so 
 much value to it, to the neglect of other graces, I 
 have admired the manner in which Miss Taylor 
 treats the subject. Still I am a great admirer of Mrs. 
 Sherwood. 
 
 QUIET USEFULNESS. 
 
 A well-regulated mind will never form plans 
 which require the agitation of hurry in their exe- 
 cution. I am anxious to fill up life with useful- 
 ness, that God may be honoured, and my fellow- 
 creatures not be the worse for my existence ; and 
 by curtailing my own wants, in the pursuance of 
 a systematic plan, I try to avoid that bustling 
 course which is so uncomfortable to surrounding 
 persons, and distracting to one's self. I know of 
 no better preparation for life or for death. From 
 the midst of usefulness, I wish to be called to the 
 reward which is " of grace, not of debt." 
 
 EXCITEMENT. 
 
 The old-fashioned quietude of domestic life, in 
 this region at least, seems much interrupted by 
 the bustle and excitement of the present day. Do 
 you not think that it is injurious to the character 
 to live upon excitement ? I think, if I had any 
 superintendence of girls, I should strive to have 
 it avoided in their education. It produces an 
 artificial stimulus, which, sooner or later, must 
 end in reaction, leaving the character tame and 
 spiritless. Fixed principles of action, having their 
 foundation in truth, will animate the soul suffi- 
 ciently, and give permanent cheerfulness, instead 
 of being lost by effervescence. Excitement, how- 
 ever, is the order of the day, and I do not consider 
 myself free from its injurious influence. 
 
 SELFISHNESS. 
 
 It is useful to go abroad occasionally ; but if 
 we fix our thoughts, habitually, upon the interests 
 of Christ's kingdom, which are occupying the 
 heavenly world, we cannot be "selfish;" and for 
 myself, I do not wish to be in any place where 
 these are not the predominant subjects. Did you 
 ever notice particularly, that in the Lord's prayer 
 the petitions relative to his kingdom are placed 
 before our own individual wants ? Would it not 
 be profitable to follow this arrangement in our 
 closet duties, and thus in our prayers "seek first 
 the kingdom of God ?" and possibly it might have 
 an effect to weaken our attachment to the things 
 of the world, and to our private interests. 
 
 A THOUGHT IN EKOADWAT. 
 
 New York seems pleasant to me, and quite like 
 home. In Broadway it seems as if people were 
 hurrying to eternity, as fast as possible. Each 
 one seems intent upon something, nobody can tell 
 what, as though it were the last day of existence. 
 And I hurry on, in the same apparently selfish 
 manner. 
 
 2H 
 
 ' ANXIETY BESPECTINQ PUBLIC INTEKESTS. 
 
 Do you not tremble for our country ? My heart 
 sickens with apprehension. A crisis seems to be 
 approaching ; and statesmen as well as Christians 
 seem to fear. The whole earth seems to " reel to 
 and fro like a drunken man." Personal interests 
 seem to dwindle to insignificance in the contrast. 
 I never perused newspapers with such eagerness 
 as I do now ; and I find matter enough for prayer ; 
 and oh ! for a wrestling spirit ! 
 
 SIDEBOAKD OENAMENTS. 
 
 I have taken pains to adorn the sideboard with 
 flowers — ornaments which the God of nature has 
 provided to our hands, without expense or anxiety. 
 I believe you will not think me visionary when I 
 say that, in the Millennium, his works will be ad- 
 mired more than those of art — nor call it very 
 improperly odd, if I try to turn our thoughts from 
 the last, to the contemplation of his glorious works. 
 
 EXPENSIVE CHUBOHES. 
 
 I have been for some time decidedly of the 
 opinion, that while Christ's last command remains 
 unfulfilled, splendid churches are not an acceptable 
 offering to Him. The temple of Solomon has pro- 
 bably been a criterion, while it seems to have been 
 forgotten that its magnificence was typical. 
 
 MEANS OF HAPPINESS. 
 
 All our years would be happier, if we could 
 make the service of God continually our supreme 
 delight, our meat and our drink. Trials we must 
 have, for our Master had them. 
 
 SELF-INDULGENCE. 
 
 At our preparatory lecture, last evening, I was 
 much struck with the 27th hymn — 
 
 "Gold mountains and the midnight air 
 Witnessed the fervour of thy prayer: 
 The desert thy temptation linew, 
 Thy conflict and thy victory too." 
 
 Shame upon the Christian who would prefer his 
 own ease to the honour and service of his Saviour. 
 And yet this is too much the case with us all. 
 My earnest petition is, " Deliver me from self." 
 
 BEINO OF GOD. 
 
 I was this morning contemplating the being of 
 God. For a moment I felt bewildered with the 
 incomprehensibility of the subject, and all finite 
 things appeared unworthy of a thought. But I 
 soon felt that these were more suited to the strength 
 of our minds than the secret things which belong 
 to God only ; and I felt that I ought to be grateful 
 to Him, that my attention was divided between 
 things real and spiritual ; or rather things earthly 
 and heavenly. We could not bear an uninterrupted 
 meditation on these great subjects; we should: 
 
 soon be in 's case. Our minds are prone to 
 
 speculate, and sometimes unprofitably. 
 
 CONTENTMENT. 
 
 I have thought, to-day, of the text, " Godliness 
 with contentment is great gain." It does not say 
 
 513 
 
SM 
 
 !M 
 
 riches, or honoiir, or pleasure with contentment, 
 but "godliness." Let us live for God's glory, rise 
 above trifles as far as possible, (and all things 
 merely worldly are trifles,) and exercise strong 
 faith. " Rejoice in the Lord, ye righteous ; and 
 again I say, Rejoice." 
 
 HABITS OF THOnOHT KESPECTINQ CHEIST. 
 
 I am sensible that I do not regard Christ as 
 much as I ought ; and I wish you would pray for 
 me, that he may be more clearly revealed to my 
 soul. 
 
 I am trying to learn that earthly hopes and de- 
 pendences have no permanence ; and whenever I 
 part with Christian friends, I console myself with 
 the anticipation of time and opportunity in heaven. 
 
 I am overwhelmed with cares and burdens, be- 
 caxise I am pleased to undertake considerable. 
 But the burdens and cares of this life will make 
 ieaven sweet. There, dear sister, we shall unite, 
 without separation. Let us live for this end, and 
 be happy. 
 
 I do love to think of heaven. I seem to feel a 
 spirit within me that says, there is unmingled 
 happiness in store for the immortal mind. Oh ! 
 how soon, if faithful, shall we find ourselves upon 
 those happy shores, disembodied, disenthralled, 
 and holding converse with Christ, with angels, 
 with our departed ones ! 
 
 "Letters" from abroad. 
 STATE OF WOMEN IN STEIA. 
 
 These weak-minded Syrian females are not at- 
 tentive to personal cleanliness ; neither have they 
 a neat and tasteful style of dress. Their apparel 
 is precisely such as the apostle recommended that 
 ' I!)hri8tian females should avoid ; while the orna- 
 ment of a meek and quiet spirit is thrown wholly 
 • out of the account. They have no books, and no 
 means of moral or intellectual improvement. It 
 is considered a disgrace for a female to know how 
 to read and write, and a serious obstacle to her 
 marriage, which is the principal object of the pa- 
 rent's heart. This abhorrence of learning in fe- 
 males, exists most strongly in the higher classes. 
 Nearly every pupil in our school is very indigent. 
 (Jf God's word they know and understand nothing ; 
 for a girl is taken to church perhaps but once a 
 year, where nothing is seen among the women but 
 talking and trifling; of course, she attaches no 
 solemnity to the worship of God. No sweet do- 
 mestic circle of father, brother, mother, and sister, 
 all capable of promoting mutual cheerfulness and 
 improvement, greets her in her own house. I do 
 not mean to imply, that there exists no family af- 
 fection among them, for this tie is often very 
 strong; but it hiis no foundation in respect, and 
 is not employed to promote elevation of character. 
 The men sit and smoke their pipes in one apart- 
 »ment, while in another the women cluster upon 
 the floor, and with loud and vociferous voices gos- 
 sip with their neighbours. The very language of 
 the females is of a lower order than that of the 
 ancn; which renders it almost inipossi'de for them 
 
 to comprehend spiritual and abstract subjects, 
 when first presented to their minds. I know not 
 how often, when I have attempted to converse with 
 them, they have acknowledged that they did not 
 understand me, or have interrupted me by alluding 
 to some mode or article of dress, or something 
 quite as foolish. 
 
 QUALIFICATIONS FOB. AN AMERICAN FEMALE MI8- 
 SIONAKY. 
 
 Strength of character, discipline of mind, stea- 
 diness of faith, patience, perseverance, and self- 
 denial, are the requisite qualifications. I need 
 not remind you that ardent piety lies at the foun- 
 dation of the whole. This you must cultivate 
 upon the altar of devotion in your closets. Com- 
 mune with God there, respecting your feelings and 
 purposes, more than any where else. He will feed 
 and cause them to grow and expand ; and in due 
 time will furnish you with a sphere in which to 
 exercise them. You need not wait to get upon 
 missionary ground, before becoming an accepted 
 missionary with God. Ere I left my father's 
 house, I was convinced of the truth, and am now 
 confirmed in it, that within the walls of her own 
 dwelling, a young lady may cultivate and exhibit 
 all the qualifications of a devoted missionary. As 
 a daughter, sister, friend, she may be so faithful, 
 humble, obliging, and self-denying, and may ac- 
 quire such self-control, that even should she die 
 before entering upon a wider sphere, she would 
 merit the commendation, "She hath done what 
 she could." Therefore be not impatient and un- 
 easy, while you are providentially detained, amid 
 every-day duties, within a narrow circle; but 
 "whatever your hand findeth to do there, do it," 
 at the same time cherishing the determination to 
 assume greater responsibilities, and more self- 
 denial, whenever God shall give the opportunity. 
 
 Next to piety, the most important qualification 
 for active usefulness, is habitual self-control. 
 " He that ruleth his own spirit, is greater than he 
 that taketh a city." Perhaps you are exposed to 
 some trials of temper now ; but on missionary 
 ground they will be increased a hundred fold, 
 where every thing is crooked and wrong ; where 
 ignorance, stupidity, insolence, and deceit, provoke 
 the corresponding emotions of pride, impatience, 
 contempt, imperiousness, and dislike. 
 
 Avoid all habits of particularity and daintiness, 
 which will prevent your assimilating readily to 
 new and unlooked-for circumstances in which you 
 may be placed, prove a source of uneasiness to 
 yourselves, and interfere with your usefulness to 
 others. Learn the happy, yet difficult art of for- 
 getting yourselves, in all unimportant things. 
 Much general knowledge and discipline of mind 
 are essential in preparing you to do good to your 
 fellow-beings ; but if you choose a foreign station, 
 the first mental qualification necessary, is a taste 
 for acquiring languages, and the knowledge of 
 several. This accomplishment, and-valuable qua- 
 lification, has been too much overlooked by young 
 ladies in Anlerica, and I hope to hear of a change 
 in this respect. The greatest obstacle and most 
 painful discouragement on missionary ground, 
 
 614 
 
so 
 
 so 
 
 arises from the want of language by irhicli to ex- 
 press the common sympathies of our nature, and 
 to impart instruction in a thousand nameless ways, 
 aside from formal exhortation and preaching. 
 
 SOMMERY, N. FONTELLE DE, 
 A LADY whose parentage is unknown, as she 
 was secretly entrusted to the care of a convent. 
 She possessed great powers of mind, with inoffen- 
 sive gaiety. Her society was sought by philoso- 
 phers and men of letters. She died about 1792, 
 at an advanced age. She wrote, "Doutes sur les 
 Opinions regues dans la Societe^^^ and "L'Oreillo" 
 an Asiatic romance. 
 
 SOPHIA OF WOLFENBUTTEL, 
 
 Baptized Carolina Christina Sophia, distin- 
 guished for her sufferings and her beautiful femi- 
 nine traits of character, sister of the wife of 
 Charles VI., emperor of Germany, was united in 
 marriage to the prince Alexis, son and presump- 
 tive heir of Peter the Great, czar of Muscovy. In 
 her were mingled the fairest gifts of nature and 
 education: lovely, graceful, with a penetrating 
 and cultivated mind, and a soul tempered and 
 governed by virtue ; yet with all these rare gifts, 
 which softened and won every other heart, she 
 was nevertheless an object of aversion to Alexis, 
 the most brutal of mankind. More than once the 
 unfortunate wife was indebted for her life to the 
 use of antidotes to counteract the insidious poisons 
 administered to her by her husband. At length 
 the barbarity of the prince arrived at its climax. 
 By an inhuman blow she was left for dead. He 
 himself fully believed that which he so ardently 
 desired, and tranquilly departed for one of his 
 villas, calmly ordering the funeral rites to be duly 
 celebrated. 
 
 But the days of the unfortunate princess were 
 not yet terminated. Under the devoted care of 
 the countess of Konigsmark, her lady of honour, 
 who had been present at the horrible event, she 
 slowly regained health and strength, while her 
 fictitious obsequies were magnificently performed 
 and honoured throughout Muscovy, and nearly all 
 the European courts assumed mourning for the 
 departed princess. This wise and noble countess 
 of Konigsmark, renowned as the mother of the 
 brave marshal of Saxony, perceived that by not 
 seconding the fortunate deceit of the prince Alexis, 
 and the nation in general, and by proclaiming her 
 recovery, the unhappy princess Sophia would ex- 
 pose herself to perish sooner or later by a more 
 certain blow. She therefore persuaded her wretch- 
 ed mistress to seek refuge in Paris, under the 
 escort of an old man, a German domestic. Having 
 collected as much money and jewellery as she was 
 able, the princess set out with her faithful servant, 
 who remained with her in the character of father, 
 which he sustained during his life ; and truly he 
 possessed the feelings and tenderness, as well as 
 the semblance, of a parent. 
 
 The tumult and noise of Paris, however, ren- 
 dered it a place of sojourn ill adapted to Sophia, 
 and her desire of concealment. Her small estab- 
 lishment having been increased by a single maid- 
 
 servant, she accordingly embarked for Louisiana, 
 where the French, who were then in possession 
 of this lovely portion of America, had formed 
 extensive colonies. Scarcely was the young and 
 beautiful stranger arrived at New Orleans, than 
 she attracted the attention of every one. There 
 was in that place a young man, named Moldask, 
 who held an office in the colony ; he had travelled 
 much in Russia, and believed that he recognised 
 the fair stranger ; but he knew not how to per- 
 suade himself that the daughter-in-law of the czar, 
 Peter, could in reality be reduced to so lowly a 
 condition ; and he dared not betray to any one his 
 suspicions of her identity. He offered his friend- 
 ship and assistance to her supposed father ; and 
 soon his attentive and pleasing manners rendered 
 him so acceptable to both, that a mutual intimacy 
 induced them to join their fortunes, and establish 
 themselves in the same habitation. 
 
 It was not long before the news of the death of 
 Alexis reached them through the public journals. 
 Then Moldask could no longer conceal his doubts 
 of the true condition of Sophia ; and finding that 
 he was not deceived, he offered with respectful 
 generosity to abandon his pursuits, and to sacrifice 
 private fortune, that he might reconduct her to 
 Moscow. But the princess, whose bitterest mo- 
 ments had been there passed, preferred to live far 
 from the dazzling splendour of the court, in tran- 
 quillity and honourable obscurity. She thanked 
 the noble-hearted Moldask ; but implored him, in- 
 stead of such splendid offers, to preserve her secret 
 inviolable, so that nothing might trouble her pre- 
 sent felicity. He promised, and he kept his pro- 
 mise ; his heart ardently desired her happiness, in 
 which his own felicity was involved. Living under 
 the same roof, in daily communion, their equal age 
 and ardent feelings kindled in the young man's 
 soul a livelier flame than mere friendship ; but re- 
 spect controlled it, and he concealed his love in 
 his own bosom. 
 
 At length the old domestic, who, in the charac- 
 ter of father, had shielded the princess, died, and 
 was followed to the tomb by the sincere grief of 
 his grateful mistress — a just recompense for such 
 fidelity. Propriety forbade that Moldask and So- 
 phia should inhabit together the same dwelling 
 after this event. He loved her truly, but loved 
 her good fame more, and explained to her, not 
 without grief, that it was necessary he should seek 
 another abode, unless that she, who had already 
 renounced all thoughts of pride and rank, were 
 content to assume a name dearer and more sacred 
 still than that of friend. ' He gave her no reason 
 to doubt that vanity, instead of love, was the origin 
 of this proposal, since the princess herself was 
 firm in her desire to remain happy in private life. 
 With all delicacy he sought to assure her that he 
 could not but remember, in case of a refusal, that 
 it was scarcely undeserved. Nor could he ever 
 forget how much was exacted from him, by the 
 almost regal birth of her to whose hand he thus 
 dared aspire. 
 
 Love, and her desolate and defenceless condition, 
 induced the princess willingly to consent ; and, in 
 constituting his felicity, she increased her own. 
 
 •516 
 
so 
 
 Heaven blessed so happy a union ; and, in due 
 time, an infant bound still closer the marriage tie. 
 Thus, the princess Sophia, born of noble blood, 
 destined to enjoy grandeur, homage, even a throne, 
 having abandoned the magnificence of her former 
 state," in private life fulfilled all the duties of na- 
 ture and of society. 
 
 Tears passed happily on, until Moldask was at- 
 tacked with disease, which required the aid of a 
 skilful surgeon, Sophia was unwilling to confide 
 a life so precious and beloved to the care of sur- 
 geons of doubtful skill, and therefore resolved to 
 visit Paris. She persuaded her husband to sell 
 all their possessions and embark. The medical 
 skill of Paris restored Moldask to health. Being 
 now perfectly cured, the husband sought to obtain 
 employment in the island of Bourbon, and was 
 successful. 
 
 Meanwhile, the wife was one day walking with 
 her graceful little girl in a public garden, as was 
 her wont. She sat down on a green bank, and 
 conversed with her child in German, when the 
 marshal of Saxony passing by, was struck with 
 the German accent, and stayed to observe them. 
 She recognised him immediately ; and, fearing the 
 same from him, bent her eyes to the ground. Her 
 blushes and confusion convinced the marshal that 
 he was not mistaken ; and he cried out, " How, 
 Madame ? What do I see ? Is it possible ?" So- 
 phia suffered him not to proceed, but drawing him 
 aside, she declared herself, praying him to keep 
 sacred the needful secret, and to return with her 
 to her dwelling, where she might with greater 
 care and security explain her situation. The 
 marshal was faithful to his promise ; visited the 
 princess many times, though with all due precau- 
 tion, and heard and admired her history. He 
 wished to inform the king of France, that this 
 august lady might be restored to her rightful 
 honours and rank, and that he himself might thus 
 complete the good work begun by his mother, the 
 countess of Konigsmark. He did inform the em- 
 press, Maria Theresa, who wished to restore her 
 to her former rank. Sophia refused all these sug- 
 gestions and offers. "I am so used," she said to 
 the officer who proposed to reconduct her to the 
 court — " I am so used to this domestic and private 
 life, that I will never change it. Neither to be 
 near a throne, nor to receive the greatest homage, 
 nor to enjoy riches, nor even to possess the uni- 
 verse, would give me the shadow of the pleasure 
 and delight I feel at this moment." So saying, 
 she tenderly embraced the one and the other of 
 Jier dear family. 
 
 She lived long with her husband and daughter, 
 serene and contented, dividing her cares and occu- 
 pations between assisting and amusing the one, 
 and educating the mind and the heart of the other. 
 Death snatched from her, within a short interval, 
 these two beloved ones, who had filled her heart 
 with sweet emotions ; and for a long time that 
 heart was a prey to one only sentiment of the 
 deepest grief. Yet not even this sorrow affected 
 her BO much, but that she believed the unhappi- 
 ness of grandeur to bo still greater. She constantly 
 refused the repeated invitations to Vienna ; and. 
 
 SO 
 
 accepting only a small pension from the liberality 
 of the empress, she retired to Vitry, near Paris, 
 where she wished still to pass under the name of 
 Madame Moldask ; but it was impossible any 
 longer to conceal her high birth and illustrious 
 ancestry. Notwithstanding this, she never aban- 
 doned her accustomed simplicity and retirement 
 of life, in which alone she had begun to find, and 
 found to the last, true felicity. 
 
 SOUTHCOTT, JOANNA, 
 A TANATic, was born, in April, 1750, in the west 
 of England. Her parents were poor, and she was 
 for many years a servant. Early in life she in- 
 dulged in visionary feelings ; but when she was 
 forty-two, she claimed the character of a pro- 
 phetess. For more than twenty years from that 
 time, she continued to pour forth unintelligible 
 rhapsodies, by which she succeeded in making 
 many dupes. At length, mistaking disease for 
 pregnancy, she announced that she was to be the 
 mother of the promised Shiloh ; and great prepa- 
 rations were made for his reception by her deluded 
 followers. She, however, died of the malady, De- 
 cember 27, 1814. Her sect is not even yet extinct. 
 
 SOUZA, MARIA FLAHAULT DE, 
 Was born at Paris. . She married the Chevalier 
 de Souza, ambassador from Portugal to the court 
 of France, and editor of a fine edition of Camoens. 
 Madame de Souza, at that time a widow, was 
 among the noble emigrants who sought shelter in 
 England, from the revolutionary storms of 1789. 
 She had been admired as a brilliant woman of 
 fashion ; and it has been said of her, that it was 
 only "necessity, the mother of invention,^' that 
 had converted her into a successful author. 
 
 Her earliest work, "Charles and Marie," was 
 published, by subscription, in London, and was, 
 in point of time, one of the very first fictions no- 
 ticed by the Edinburgh Review. Madame de 
 Souza, being on terms of intimacy with Talley- 
 rand, obtained permission to return to France. 
 On being presented to Napoleon, he graciously 
 asked which among her works was her favourite. 
 " Mon meilleur ouvrage, sire, le voici," she re- 
 plied, introducing her son, the handsome and ani- 
 mated Charles de Flahault, who was soon after- 
 wards appointed aid-de-camp to the emperor, and 
 accompanied him through all his campaigns. The 
 most esteemed of Madame de Souza's novels are, 
 " Eugfene de Rothelin," and "Adfelede Senange," 
 both distinguished for moral purity, and a parti- 
 cular delicacy of thought ; these books were much 
 admired by the celebrated Charles James Fox. 
 Madame de Souza was educated at that period 
 preceding the revolution, when ladies of rank 
 were taught, at their convents, very little more 
 than to shine in a drawing-room. Madame de 
 Genlis relates, in her entertaining memoirs, the 
 pains she took to induce the duchess de Chartres, 
 and some other court dames, to learn a little or- 
 thography. Their expressions were choice, and 
 their style in speaking faultless ; but alas ! they 
 could not spell. Madame de Souza used, ingenu- 
 ously, to avow that this defect of her early edu- 
 
 516 
 
ST 
 
 ST 
 
 cation she had never heen able to remedy. At the 
 same time, the critics allow that her French is a 
 model of ease and purity. She died in 1836, at 
 her hotel. Faubourg St. Honor*;, surrounded by 
 many attached friends and relatives, having lived 
 to see her grand-children grown up, and her son 
 reinstated in his rank, at the court of the Tuil- 
 leries. 
 
 SPILBERG, ADRIANA, 
 
 Was born at Amsterdam, in 1646. She was 
 taught painting by her father, John Spilberg, an 
 eminent historical and portrait painter. Her best 
 works were portraits in crayon, though she some- 
 times painted in oil. Her eminent abilities caused 
 her to be invited to the court of the electress, at 
 Dusseldorp, where she was received with marks 
 of respect and honour. She married the celebrated 
 painter, Eglon Yander Neer. 
 
 SPILIMBERGO, IRENE DI, 
 
 Was. of a noble family at Venice, and is said to 
 have been instructed by Titian, whose style she 
 certainly followed. She painted merely for amuse- 
 ment; and flourished about 1560. Titian, who 
 lived on terms of friendship with her family, drew 
 her portrait. 
 
 STAAL, MADAME DE, 
 Whose maiden name was De Launai, was born, 
 in 1693, at Paris, and was the daughter of an 
 artist. She received an excellent education in the 
 convent of St. Sauveur, in Normandy, and dis- 
 played precocious talents. For many years she 
 was waiting- woman to the duchess of Maine; and 
 having been privy to some of the duchess's politi- 
 cal intrigues, which she refused to betray to the 
 government, she was, for two years, imprisoned in 
 the Bastile ; for which honourable fidelity she was 
 but ill rewarded. She married the baron de Staal, 
 and died in 1750. She wrote her own memoirs, 
 letters, and two comedies. 
 
 STAEL, ANNE LOUISE GERMAIN, 
 MADAME DE, 
 Was born, April 22d, 1766, at Paris. She was 
 the daughter of the well-known French financier, 
 Necker. Her parents being protestants, instead 
 of receiving her education, like most young ladies 
 of the period, in the seclusion of a convent, she 
 was reared at home, and allowed to mingle freely 
 with the talented guests who assembled in her mo- 
 ther's drawing-room. Already a precocious child, 
 this produced in her a premature development of 
 intellect. Some of the gravest men who visited 
 Madame Necker, when her daughter had scarcely 
 emerged from childhood, discerned her intellectual 
 power, and found pleasure in conversing with her ; 
 the acuteness of her judgment already revealing 
 what she would one day become. From her mo- 
 ther she imbibed a strong religious feeling, which 
 never abandoned her ; Necker imparted to her his 
 ambitious love of political popularity ; and the 
 society in which she was brought up strengthened 
 her passion for literature, and fed tlje burning 
 flame of her genius. Her life and writings bear 
 
 deep traces of these three powerful principles. 
 As a talker she has never perhaps been surpassed. 
 Clear, comprehensive, and vigorous, like that of 
 man, her language was also full of womanly pas- 
 sion and tenderness. Her affection for her father 
 was enthusiastic, and her respect for him bordered 
 
 upon veneration. The closest and most unreserved 
 friendship marked their intercourse through life. 
 Mademoiselle Necker was heir to immense wealth ; 
 and at the age of twenty, through the interposi- 
 tion of Marie Antoinette, a marriage was brought 
 about between her and the baron de Stael Holstein, 
 then Swedish ambassador at the court of France. 
 M. de Stael was young, handsome, and cultivated ; 
 he had no fortune, but he was a Lutheran; and as 
 M. Necker had no inclination to see his fortune 
 pass into the hands of a catholic, his consent was 
 easily obtained. 
 
 Neither the disposition or situation of Madame 
 de Stael would allow her to remain indilferent to 
 the general agitation which prevailed in France. 
 Enthusiastic in her love of liberty, she gave all the 
 weight of her influence to the cause. Her father's 
 banishment in 1787, and his triumphant return in 
 1788, deeply affected her ; and when he was obliged 
 to retire from public life, it was a source of deep 
 grief and disappointment to her. During Robes- 
 pierre's ascendency, she exerted herself, at the 
 hazard of her life, to save his victims, and she 
 published a powerful and eloquent defence of the 
 queen. On the 2d of September, when the tocsin 
 called the populace to riot and murder, she fled 
 from Paris, with great difficulty, and took refuge 
 with her father, at Coppet. When Sweden re- 
 cognised the French republic, she returned to Paris 
 with her husband, who was again appointed Swed- 
 ish ambassador. Her influence, social, literary, 
 and political, was widely extended. On Talley- 
 rand's return from America, in 1796, she.obtained, 
 through Barras, his appointment to the ministry 
 of foreign affairs. To this period also belongs two 
 political pamphlets, containing her views respect- 
 ing the situation of France in 1795, which express 
 the remarkable opinion that France could arrive at 
 limited monarchy only through military despotism. 
 
 517 
 
ST 
 
 ST 
 
 In 1798, M. de Stael died ; her connexion with 
 her hushand had not been a happy one. When 
 she became desirous of saving her children's pro- 
 perty from the effects of his lavish expenditure, 
 a separation took place ; but when his infirmities 
 required the kind offices of friends, she returned 
 to him, and was with him when he died. 
 
 Madame de Stael first saw Napoleon in 1 797. His 
 brilliant reputation excited her admiration, but this 
 sentiment soon gave way to fear and aversion ; her 
 opposition offended Napoleon, and she was ban- 
 ished from Paris. She resided with her father at 
 Coppet, where she devoted herself to literature. 
 After the death of her father, in 1803, she visited 
 Italy and Germany ; which visits produced her two 
 most remarkable works, "Corinne," and "Ger- 
 many." The latter, when printed in Paris, was 
 seized and destroyed by the minister of police ; 
 and her exile from Paris was extended to banish- 
 ment from France. During her residence on her 
 father's estate, Madame de Stael contracted a 
 marriage with a young officer, in delicate health, 
 by the name of de Rocca, which continued a secret 
 tin her death. Notwithstanding she was twice 
 the age of her husband, this marriage was very 
 happy. M. de Rocca loved her with romantic 
 enthusiasm ; and she realized, in his aifection, 
 some of the dreams of her youth. He survived 
 her only six months. Banished from France, Ma- 
 dame de Stael wandered over Europe ; her suf- 
 ferings she has embodied in her " Ten Years of 
 Exile." In 1814 she returned to Paris, and was 
 treated with great distinction by the allied princes. 
 On the return of Napoleon from Elba, she retired 
 to Coppet. It is said that he invited her to return 
 to Paris, and that she refused to do so. After the 
 restoration, she received from the government two 
 millions of francs ; the sum which her father had 
 left in the royal treasury. Surrounded by a happy 
 domestic circle, esteemed and courted by the most 
 eminent men of the capital, Madame de Stael re- 
 sided in Paris till her death, which took place in 
 July, 1817. Madame de Stael has been called the 
 greatest female writer of all ages and countries. 
 She was certainly the most distinguished for 
 talents among the women of her age. Since 
 Rousseau and Voltaire, no French writer has dis- 
 played equal power. Her works are numerous 
 — "Corinne," "Delphine," "Germany," "Ten 
 Years of Exile," and " Considerations on the 
 French Revolution," are the most noted. In 
 making selections from this distinguished writer, 
 we have chosen that which we consider her great- 
 est work ; its moral tone elevates its philosophy, 
 while the religious sentiment adds a refinement to 
 the speculations which might otherwise be thought 
 too bold for a woman. 
 
 From "Germany." 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 Nature and society give to woman a habit of 
 endurance ; and I think it can hardly be denied 
 that, in our days, they are generally worthier of 
 moral esteem than the men. At an epoch when 
 selfishness is the prevailing evil, the men, to whom 
 all positive Interests have relation, must necessa- 
 
 rily have less generosity, less sensibility, than the 
 women. These last are attached to life only by 
 the ties of the heart ; and even when they lose 
 themselves, it is by sentiment that they are led 
 away ; their selfishness is extended to a double 
 object, while that of man has himself only for its 
 end. Homage is rendered to them according to 
 the affections which they inspire, but those 
 which they bestow are almost always sacrifices. 
 The most beautiful of virtues, self-devotion, is 
 their enjoyment and their destiny ; no happiness 
 can exist for them but by the reflection of another's 
 glory and prosperity ; in short, to live independ- 
 ently of self, whether by ideas or by sentiments, 
 or, above all, by virtues, gives to the soul an ha- 
 bitual feeling of elevation. 
 
 In those countries where men are called upon, 
 by political institutions, to the exercise of' all the 
 military and civil virtues which are inspired by 
 patriotism, they recover the superiority which be- 
 longs to them ; they reassume, with dignity, their 
 rights, as masters of the world ; but when they 
 are condemned, in whatever measure, to idleness 
 or to slavery, they fall so much the lower as they 
 ought to rise more high. The destiny of women 
 always remains the same ; it is their soul alone 
 which creates it ; political circumstances have no 
 influence upon it. When men are either ignorant 
 or incapable of the means of employing their lives 
 with dignity or propriety. Nature revenges herself 
 upon them for the very gifts which they have re- 
 ceived from her ; the activity of the body contri- 
 butes only to the sloth of the mind ; the strength 
 of soul degenerates into coarseness ; and the day 
 is consumed in vulgar sports and exercises, horses, 
 the chase, or entertainments which might be suit- 
 able enough in the way of relaxation, but seem 
 merely degrading as occupations. Women, the 
 while, cultivate their understanding; and senti- 
 ment and reflection preserve in their souls the 
 image of all that is free and generous. 
 
 CONVEKSATION. 
 
 It seems to me an acknowledged fact that Paris 
 is, of all cities of the world, that in which the 
 spirit and taste for conversation are most gene- 
 rally diffused ; and that disorder which they call 
 the mal du pays, that undefinable longing for our 
 native land, which exists independently even of 
 the friends we have left behind there, applies par- 
 ticularly to the pleasure of conversation which 
 Frenchmen find nowhere else in the same degree 
 as at home. Volney relates, that some French 
 emigrants began, during the revolution, to esta- 
 blish a colony and clear some lands in America ; 
 but they were continually quitting their work to 
 go and talk, as they said, in town — and this town, 
 New Orleans, was distant six hundred leagues 
 from their place of residence. The necessity of 
 conversation is felt by all classes of people in 
 France : speech is not there, as elsewhere, merely 
 the means of communicating, from one to another, 
 ideas, sentiments, and transactions ; but it is an 
 instrument on which they are fond of playing, and 
 which animates the spirits, like music among somet 
 people, an'd strong liquors among others. 
 
 618 
 
ST 
 
 ST 
 
 That sort of pleasure -which is produced by an 
 animated conversation, does not precisely depend 
 on the nature of that conversation ; the ideas and 
 knowledge which it developes do not form its prin- 
 cipal interest; it is a certain manner of acting 
 upon one another, of giving mutual and instanta- 
 neous delight, of speaking the moment one thinks, 
 of acquiring immediate self-enjoyment, of receiv- 
 ing applause without labour, of displaying the un- 
 derstanding in all its shades, by accent, gesture, 
 look; of eliciting, in short, at will, the electric 
 sparks which relieve many by the very excess of 
 their vivacity, and serve to awaken others out of 
 a state of painful apathy. 
 
 The spirit of conversation is sometimes attended 
 with the inconvenience of impairing the sincerity 
 of character ; it is not a combined, but an unpre- 
 meditated deception. The French have admitted 
 into it a gaiety which renders them amiable ; but 
 it is not the less certain that all that is most sacred 
 in this world has been shaken to its centre by grace, 
 at least by that sort of grace that attaches import- 
 ance to nothing, and turns all things into ridicule. 
 
 ECDeAtlOM. 
 Education, conducted by way of amusement, 
 dissipates the reasoning powers : pain, in all the 
 concerns of life, is one of the great secrets of na- 
 ture : the understanding of the child should ac- 
 custom itself to the eiforts of study, as our soul 
 accustoms itself to suffering. It is a labour which 
 leads to the perfection of our earlier, as grief to 
 that of our later age : it is to be wished, no doubt, 
 that our parents, like our destiny, may not too 
 much abuse this double secret ; but there is no- 
 thing important in any stage of life but that which 
 acts upon the very central point of existence, and 
 we are too apt to consider the moral being in de- 
 tail. You may teach your child a number of things 
 with pictures and cards, but you will not teach 
 him to learn ; and the habit of amusing himself, 
 which you direct to the acquirement of knowledge, 
 will soon follow another course when the child is 
 no longer under your guidance. 
 
 The gift of revealing by speech the internal 
 feelings of the heart, is very rare ; there is, how- 
 ever, a poetical spirit in all beings who are capable 
 of strong and lively affections : expression is want- 
 ing to those who have not exerted themselves to 
 find it. It may be said that the poet only disen- 
 gages the sentiment that was imprisoned in his 
 soul. Poetic genius is an internal disposition, of 
 the same nature with that which renders us capable 
 of a generous sacrifice. The composition of a fine 
 ode, is a heroic trance. If genius were not ver- 
 satile, it would as often inspire fine actions as 
 affecting expressions ; for they both equally spring 
 from a consciousness of the beautiful that is felt 
 within us. 
 
 Those who think themselves in possession of 
 taste, are more proud of it than those who believe 
 that they possess genius. Taste is, in literature. 
 
 what the bon ton is in society. We consider it as 
 a proof of fortune and of birth, or, at least, of the 
 habits which are found in connection with them ; 
 while genius may spring from the head of an arti- 
 zan who has never had any intercourse with good 
 company. In every country where there is vanity, 
 taste will be placed in the highest rank of qualifi- 
 cations, because it separates difi'erent classes, and 
 serves as a rallying point to all the individuals of the 
 the first class. In every country where the power 
 of ridicule is felt, taste will be reckoned as one of 
 first advantages ; for, above all things, it teaches 
 us what we ought to avoid. 
 
 But taste, in its application to the fine arts, dif- 
 fers extremely from taste as applied to the rela- 
 tions of social life ; when the object is to force 
 men to grant us a reputation, ephemeral as our 
 own lives, what we omit doing is at least as ne- 
 cessary as what we do ; for the higher orders of 
 society are naturally so hostile to all pretensions, 
 that very extraordinary advantages are requisite 
 to compensate that of not giving occasion to the 
 world to speak about us. Taste in poetry de- 
 pends on nature, and, like nature, should be crea- 
 tive; the principles of this taste are therefore 
 quite different from those which depend on our 
 social relations, 
 
 STANHOPE, LADY HESTER, 
 Was the oldest daughter of the earl of Stanhope, 
 well known for his eccentricities and democratic 
 sentiments. Her mother was sister of the cele- 
 brated William Pitt. Lady Hester early lost her 
 mother, and, under the nominal guidance of a 
 young and gay step-mother, she received an ill- 
 directed and inappropriate education. She was 
 very precocious — the genius of the family, and 
 the favourite of her father, with whom she took 
 great liberties. She relates, herself, that upon one 
 occasion, when the earl, in a democratic fit, put 
 down his carriage, she brought him round again 
 by an amusing practical appeal. "I got myself 
 a pair of stilts," she said, "and out I stumped 
 down a dirty lane, where my father, who was 
 always spying about through a glass, could see 
 me." The experiment had the desired effect; her 
 father questioned her good-humouredly upon her 
 novel mode of locomotion, and the result was a 
 new carriage. Unlike her father, Lady Hester 
 was a violent aristocrat, boasting of her nobility, 
 and priding herself upon those mental and phy- 
 sical peculiarities which she considered the marks 
 of high birth. At an early age, she established 
 herself in the family of her uncle, Mr. Pitt, for 
 the purpose, she asserted, of guarding the inte- 
 rests of her family during a perilous political 
 crisis. She resided with Mr. Pitt till his death, 
 courted and flattered by the most distinguished 
 people in England, and enjoying all the advan- 
 tages which her position as mistress of his house 
 afforded her. She represents herself as having, 
 possessed considerable influence with Mr. Pitt ;. 
 sharing his confidence, and exercising a large 
 amount of control over the patronage belonging 
 to his post. 
 After the death of Mr. Pitt, she obtained from 
 
 519 
 
ST 
 
 ST 
 
 George III. a pension of £1500. On this she tried 
 to maintain her former rank and style ; but, find- 
 ing it impossible, she removed to Wales, and finally, 
 in 1810, to the East. In 1813, she settled near 
 Sidou ; and soon afterwards removed to Djoun, 
 her celebrated Syrian residence. Here she erected 
 extensive buildings for herself and suite, in the 
 Oriental style, with several gardens laid out with 
 good taste. Money goes very far in the East, and 
 the munificence which she exhibited, added to her 
 well-known rank, acquired for her an influence 
 which her personal character soon established ; 
 and she exercised a degree of power and control 
 over the neighbouring tribes and their chiefs, for 
 which their ignorance and superstition can alone 
 account. Lady Hester here promulgated those 
 peculiar religious sentiments which she continued 
 to hold to the last. The words of St. John, " But 
 there is one who shall come after me, who is greater 
 than I am," she with a most extraordinary care- 
 lessness attributes to Christ ; and upon this pro- 
 mise she founded her belief in the coming of an- 
 other Messiali, whose herald she professed to be. 
 She kept in a luxurious stable, carefully attended 
 to by slaves devoted solely to that purpose, two 
 mares, one of which, possessing a natural defect 
 in the back, she avowed was born ready saddled 
 for the Messiah ; the other, kept sacred for her- 
 self, she was to ride upon at his right hand, when 
 the coming took place. 
 
 It is impossible to say what Lady Hester's faith 
 really was. She professed to believe in astrology, 
 magic, necromancy, demonology, and in various 
 extravagances peculiarly her own. This mysti- 
 cism was well adapted to the people among whom 
 she dwelt, and may in a great measure have been 
 assumed to impose upon and confirm her influence 
 with them. Possessing in a high degree the spirit 
 of intrigue, she exercised her powers in fomenting 
 or allaying the disturbances among the neighbour- 
 ing tribes. With the emir Beshyr, prince of the 
 Druses, whom she braved, she kept up an un- 
 ceasing hostility ; her enmity was also violently 
 displayed towards the whole consular body, who 
 she said "were intended to regulate merchants, 
 and not to interfere with or control nobility." 
 On the other hand, she was profuse in her bounty, 
 ajid charitable to the poor and afflicted of every 
 faith. Her residence was a place of refuge to all 
 the persecuted and distressed who sought her pro- 
 tection. When news arrived of the battle of Na- 
 varino, all the Franks in Sayda fled for refuge to 
 her dwelling ; and, after the siege of Acre, she 
 relieved and sheltered several hundred persons. 
 Nor was her generosity confined to acts like these ; 
 she loaned large sums to chiefs and individuals, 
 who, in their- extremity, applied to her; and, to 
 save whole families from the miseries of the con- 
 scription, she furnished the requisite fines. This 
 .profuse expenditure, added to the charge of her 
 household, which was seldom composed of less, 
 than forty persons, without counting the various 
 ihangers-on from without, soon crippled her means. 
 She took up money at an enormous interest, and 
 ■became involved in pecuniary difSculties. Upon 
 application made by one of her creditors to the 
 
 British government, in 1838, Lord Palmerston 
 issued an order to the consuls, forbidding them to 
 sign the necessary certificates of Lady Hester's 
 still being alive ; and this high-handed measure 
 being carried out, she was henceforward deprived 
 of all use of her pension. 
 
 Lady Hester's suite comprised only two Euro- 
 peans : Miss Williams, an English lady, who was a 
 sort of humble companion, and died some years 
 before Lady Hester ; and her physician who ac- 
 companied her abroad. Dr. M. remained with 
 her till 1817 ; and at two different periods he 
 again rejoined her for the space of a year or two 
 at a time. It is to the Journal kept by the latter 
 that we are chiefly indebted for the information 
 we have obtained regarding her singular life in the 
 East ; the accounts given of her by the numerous 
 travellers who visited her, affording but very par- 
 tial insight into her character and pursuits. By 
 many. Lady Hester Stanhope is looked upon as an 
 insane person ; that her mind was diseased there 
 can be very little doubt. Even admitting that much 
 which she professed to believe was assumed to 
 mislead others, the very desire to give such im- 
 pressions betrays an ill-balanced mind. 
 
 Lady Hester's ruling passion was an inordinate 
 love of power. She exercised the most despotic 
 dominion over all connected with her, which trait 
 may account for her choice of residence ; as no 
 Christian followers would have submitted to her 
 tyranny. Her will was the law ; she allowed no 
 one to make a suggestion or venture an opinion in 
 her presence. Even her doctor's opinions she dis- 
 puted on his own ground, quarrelling with Ijim for 
 not taking her prescriptions, though she refused 
 to follow his ! Her temper was violent in the ex- 
 treme, and she did not confine herself to words 
 when under its influence. One of the marked 
 characteristics of her mind was the necessity she 
 was under of incessantly talking. Her physician, 
 who describes her eloquence at times as something 
 wonderful, relates that he has sat thirteen hours 
 at a time listening to her ; that a gentleman once 
 remained from three in the afternoon till break of 
 day, tete-i-t&te with her; and " Miss Williams," 
 he also adds, " once assured me that Lady Hester 
 kept Mr. N. , an English gentleman, so long in dis- 
 course that he fainted away ! 
 
 Her ladyship's readiness in exigencies may be 
 exemplified by what occurred on that occasion. 
 When she had rung the bell, and the servants had 
 come to her assistance, she said very quietly to 
 them, that in listening to the state of disgrace to 
 which England was reduced by the conduct of the 
 ministers, his feelings of shame and grief had so 
 overwhelmed him that he had fainted. Mr. N., 
 however, declared to Miss Williams, that it was 
 no such thing, but that he absolutely swooned 
 away from fatigue and constraint. 
 
 Tormented by her creditors, and enraged at the 
 treatment she had received from her own govern- 
 ment. Lady Hester renounced her allegiance, re- 
 fusing ever again to receive her pension. She 
 ■walled up her gate-way, determining to have no 
 commiinication with any one without; and dis- • 
 missed her physician, though she was in an ad- 
 
 520 
 
ST 
 
 ST 
 
 vanced stage of pulmonary disease. Dr. M. left 
 her in August, 1838. Her last letter to him is 
 dated May, 1839 ; and, on the 23d of June, 1839, 
 attended by a few slaves, and ■without a single 
 European or Christian near her, she breathed her 
 last, aged sixty-three years. Mr. Moore, the Eng- 
 lish consul at Beyrout, and Mr. Thompson, an 
 American missionary, hearing of her deaih, pro- 
 ceeded to Djoun, and performed the last sad ofEces 
 to her remains, burying her at midnight in her 
 own garden. 
 
 STEELE, MRS. ANNE, 
 Was the daughter of the Kev. Mr. Steele, a 
 dissenting minister at Broughton, in Hampshire, 
 England. She is the authoress of many of the 
 most popular hymns sung in churches. She also 
 wrote a version of t\e Psalms, which showed great 
 talent. She died in 1779. 
 
 STEPHENS, KATH'ARINE, 
 The daughter of a carver and gilder, was born 
 in London, September 18th, 1794. She gave early 
 proofs of her musical abilities, and on the 23d of 
 September, 1813, made her d^but on the stage, at 
 Covent Garden Theatre, as a vocalist, and was re- 
 ceived with great applause. She continued for a 
 long time the principal female singer on the Eng- 
 lish stage. Her character was always unim- 
 peachable. 
 
 STEWART, HARRIET BRADFORD, 
 Was born near Stamford, in Connecticut, on 
 the 24th of June, 17^8. Her father, Colonel Tif- 
 fany, was an officer during the revolutionary war, 
 but he died while his daughter was very young, 
 and her youth was passed principally at Albany 
 and Cooperstown, in New York. In 1822, Miss 
 Tiffany married the Rev. C. S. Stewart, mission- 
 ary to the Sandwich Islands, and accompanied 
 him, to those distant and uncultivated regions. 
 She had previously, in 1819, passed through that 
 mysterious change denominated regeneration. 
 " Repeated afflictions," says her biographer, Rev. 
 Mr. Eddy, " the death of friends, and her own 
 sickness, led her to feel the need of a strong arm 
 
 and a sure hope. She turned to Him who can 
 give support to the soul in the hours of its dark 
 night, and guide it amid the gloom." 
 
 The great subject of a missionary life was pre- 
 sented to her view, connected with a proposal to 
 accompany Rev. C. S. Stewart to the Sandwich 
 Islands, as his assistant and companion. With 
 trembling anxiety she submitted the case to the 
 wise discretion of her Father in heaven ; — on earth 
 she had none. As may be supposed, it was no 
 easy thing for a young lady of high and honour- 
 able connexions, who had always been surrounded 
 with friends, and educated in the circle of refine- 
 ment and luxury, to leave all these. There were 
 tender ties to be riven, fond associations to be 
 broken up, dear friends to part with, and a loved 
 home to leave behind ; and when the momentous 
 question was brought distinctly before her mind, 
 it required a strong faith, a firm dependence on 
 God, an entire submission to his will, to induce 
 her to take the solemn and important step ; but 
 believing herself called upon by God, she decided 
 in his favour, and lost sight of the sacrifice and 
 self-denial of the undertaking. 
 
 She resolved to go ; — to go, though home was 
 to be abandoned, friends to be left, loved scenes 
 deserted, and a life of toil to be endured. She 
 resolved to go; — to go, though she might pass 
 through a sea of tears, and at last leave her en- 
 feebled body upon a couch that would have no 
 kind friends to surround it when she died. She 
 resolved to go, though she should find in savage 
 lands a lowly grave. 
 
 She married Mr. Stewart, and they sailed in 
 company with a large number of others who were 
 destined for the same laborious but delightful ser- 
 vice. The sun of the nineteenth of November, 1822, 
 went down on many homes from which glad spirits 
 had departed, on their errand of mercy to a dying 
 world ; and on that day the eye of many a parent 
 gazed upon the form of the child for the last time. 
 Nor could a vessel leave our shores having on her 
 decks nearly thirty missionaries, without being 
 followed by the prayers of more than the relatives 
 of those who had departed. There was mingled 
 joy and sorrow throughout the churches of New 
 England, as the gales of winter wafted the gospel- 
 freighted vessel to her distant destination. 
 
 They arrived, in April of the following year, at 
 Honolulu ; and after a residence of a few days, 
 Mr. and Mrs. Stewart located themselves at La- 
 haiua, a town containing about twenty-five thou- 
 sand inhabitants, who were mostly in a degraded 
 condition. Here they found but few of the con- 
 veniences of life, and were obliged to live in little 
 huts, which afiforded but slight shelter from the 
 scorching heat or the pelting rain. In these 
 miserable tenements did the child of luxury and 
 wealth reside, and in perfect contentment perform 
 the duties of her station. She suflfered, but did 
 not complain ; she laboured hard, but was not 
 weary ; and cheerful in her lot, smiled even at her 
 privations and sorrows. 
 
 In 1825, her health began to fail. Unable 
 longer to labour for her perishing heathen sisters, 
 she sailed for England, in order to enjoy medical 
 
 521 
 
ST 
 
 ndTice and care ; but instead of improving by the 
 voyage, she continued to decline, until the hope- 
 lessness of her case became apparent. She em- 
 barked for America in July, 1826, her residence 
 of a few months in England having rendered her 
 no permanent benefit. In her low state the voyage 
 ■was anything but agreeable, and she arrived 
 among her friends the mere shadow of what she 
 was when, a few years before, she had gone forth 
 in the flush of youth and the vigour of health. 
 
 For a time after her arrival, strong hopes were 
 cherished that she might recover. The balmy 
 breezes of her own native valley, the kind con- 
 gratulations of friends, the interest and excite- 
 ment of a return to the scenes of youth, gave 
 colour to her cheek, and life to her step. But 
 this expectation, or rather hope, proved delusive ; 
 she died January, 1830, aged thirty-eight. 
 
 STUART, ARABELLA, 
 
 Was the daughter of Charles Stuart, earl of 
 Lennox, brother of Darnley, the husband of Mary 
 queen of Scots, and Elizabeth Cavendish, daughter 
 of the countess of Shrewsbury, commonly called 
 "Old Bess of Hard wick." She was born about 
 the year 1577. Her aflJnity to the throne made 
 her an object of jealousy, even in'infanoy, to queen 
 Elizabeth, who took great offence at the marriage 
 of her parents. She, however, permitted her to 
 remain under the charge of the old countess of 
 Shrewsbury, her grandmother, who brought her 
 up, her parents having both died early. Arabella, 
 when quite a child, was made the object of dark 
 intrigues ; the Catholic party plotting to carry her 
 off, and educate her in that faith, for the purpose 
 of placing her on the throne upon the death of 
 Elizabeth. An active watch was in consequence 
 constantly kept over her during that queen's reign, 
 who nevertheless frequently threw out hints that 
 she intended to declare the lady Arabella her suc- 
 cessor. Upon the accession of James to the throne, 
 the lady Arabella was received at the new court, 
 and treated as one of the family. James, how- 
 ever, in the position in which she stood, could not 
 fail to look upon her with eyes of suspicion, which 
 must have been confirmed by the breaking out of 
 
 ST 
 
 that unfortunate conspiracy, into which Raleigh 
 was accused of having entered, the main object 
 of which was to place her on the throne. Her 
 innocence was proved upon the trial, and it ap- 
 pears that the king was persuaded of her igno- 
 rance of the plot. James, after he ascended the 
 throne, seems to have adopted the policy of queen 
 Elizabeth, in desiring to prevent the marriage of 
 the lady Arabella. Many offers of marriage were 
 made to her, many alliances proposed, to none of 
 which he gave heed. Surrounded by numerous 
 difficulties, alone, with no one to enter into her 
 interests — for her grandmother was now dead — 
 Arabella accepted the hand of Sir William Sey- 
 mour, second son of Lord Beauchamp, and grand- 
 son of the earl of Hertford, to whom she was 
 warmly attached. Anticipating the king's denial, 
 they took the rash step of marrying privately. It 
 was not long before their secret was divulged: 
 the bride was placed in safe keeping, and the 
 bridegroom was hurried to the Tower. The un- 
 happy pair were not kept so closely confined as to 
 prevent their secretly corresponding; but when 
 this was discovered by the king, he angrily ordered 
 Arabella to be removed to a place of greater se- 
 curity. On her journey to Durham, Arabella was 
 taken ill, and while resting on the road, she con- 
 trived to escape, to communicate with her lover, 
 who also escaped, and get on board a vessel bound 
 to France. Here, while waiting to be joined by 
 her husband, she was taken prisoner by one of the 
 king's ships in pursuit of her, and re-conducted 
 to London, where she was placed under strict 
 guard in the Tower ; Seymour meanwhile escaping 
 safely to Flanders, where he remained for many 
 years a voluntary exile. The unhappy Arabella, 
 unpitied by the king, languished in prison, the 
 victim of deferred hope, till her reason sank under 
 her accumulated sorrows. She died in the Tower, 
 a maniac, after four years' confinement, on the 
 27th of September, 1615. Her unfortunate hus- 
 band, Seymour, though he afterwards married 
 again, preserved inviolably his tender affection for 
 his first lov&, and gave her name to his daughter, 
 who was called Arabella Stuart, in memory of his 
 attachment and misfortunes. 
 
 STUART, FRANCES, DUCHESS OF 
 RICHMOND, 
 
 Commonly called La Belle Stuart, was the 
 daughter of Walter Stuart, son of lord Blantyre, 
 who stood in a distant degree of relationship to 
 the royal family. She was born about 1647, and 
 was educated in France, from whence she accom- 
 panied her mother to England. Soon after her 
 arrival she was appointed maid of honour to queen 
 Catherine. Her remarkable beauty attracted the 
 attention of Charles II., who is said to have been 
 BO much distracted at her rejection of his advances, 
 that he contemplated divorcing his queen, that he 
 might marry her. La Belle Stuart, though so 
 highly favoured as regards personal charms, is 
 described as a frivolous, vain beauty. She had 
 many admirers ; among them, Francis Digby, son 
 of the earl of Bristol, who threw away his life in 
 despair, in a naval engagement, for her sake. 
 
 522 
 
su 
 
 su 
 
 However " empty" may have been her head, she 
 had principle and strength of mind sufBoient to 
 resist the overtures of the king, in a court where 
 evil example surrounded her, and where infamy 
 in high places was so gilded as to lose all its 
 loathsomeness. Perceiving that scandal was al- 
 ready attacking her, in consequence of the king's 
 open pursuit, she determined to marry, and ac- 
 cepted the oSFer of the duke of Richmond, who 
 was one of her most devoted lovers ; she eloped 
 from Whitehall, and was privately married to the 
 duke. The king, highly incensed, forbid them 
 both the court. Charles, however, with his usual 
 placability, soon forgave them, and in less than a 
 year she was appointed lady of the bed-chamber 
 to queen Catherine. The beauty which had turned 
 so many heads was destined to suffer a speedy 
 eclipse ; the duchess caught the small-pox when 
 she had only been a wife two years, and though 
 she recovered her health, her beauty had disap- 
 peared forever. The king appears to have retained 
 a regard and respect for the duchess ever after. 
 She continued to remain at court, always in favour, 
 and is mentioned as one of the witnesses present 
 at the birth of the unfortunate prince of Wales, 
 the son of James II. She died in 1702, a devout 
 catholic, having survived her husband thirty years. 
 She had no children, and bequeathed a consider- 
 able fortune to her nephew, lord Blantyre. 
 
 SUFFOLK, HENKIETTA, COUNTESS OF. 
 
 To the divinity that "hedges a king," there are 
 few now in the world willing to pay blind admira- 
 tion. Looking back only to the last century, it 
 is wonderful to note what a faint shadow of per- 
 sonal merit was magnified into virtue and excel- 
 lence, when it fell upon royalty ! How the vilest 
 faults were not only overlooked, but fostered by 
 otherwise worthy persons. Unquestionably one 
 of the most pernicious errors — vices it should be 
 said — that royal privileges introduced into society, 
 and varnished with the appearance of respecta- 
 bility, was conjugal infidelity. That two women, 
 such as queen Caroline and lady Suffolk, should 
 have been brought to stifle their natural virtues, 
 abate their pride, and lower their intellects to 
 minister to the evil propensities of so coarse, nar- 
 row-minded, and unfeeling an animal as George 
 II., is an instance of the corrupting influence of 
 ill-placed power scarcely to be comprehended by 
 an American woman. 
 
 Henrietta Hobart was the eldest daughter of 
 Sir Henry Hobart. She was born about 1688, and 
 was left an orphan at quite an early age ; — her 
 eldest brother being but fifteen, she was in a very 
 unprotected situation, and as a matter rather of 
 expediency than of prudence or affection, married 
 Charles Howard, who subsequently, by the deaths 
 of his two elder brothers and their sons, became 
 earl of Suffolk. Mr. Howard is spoken of, by 
 Horace Walpole, as every thing that was worth- 
 less and contemptible : and he appears to have 
 tormented his wife to the utmost of his ability, as 
 long as he lived, although a formal separation be- 
 tween them took place long before that event oc- 
 cvixred. At the accession of George I., Mr. Ho- 
 
 ward was appointed groom of the chamber to the 
 king ; and Mrs. Howard named one of the bed- 
 chamber women to the princess of Wales, Caroline 
 of Anspach. In this situation she obtained the 
 highest favour with the princess, who appeared to 
 value her society, and her many estimable quali- 
 ties. Unfortunately she attracted the admiration 
 of the prince, and has been " damned to everlast- 
 ing fame," by the disgraceful ambition of possess- 
 ing what was called the heart of a stupid and 
 licentious monarch. 
 
 Here may be recalled an anecdote lord Hervey 
 relates : that the daughters of George II., express- 
 ing their gratification, when lady Suffolk was dis- 
 missed from court, that their mother's rival was 
 abandoned, qualified their triumph by lamenting 
 that "Poor mamma would have to endure so many 
 more hours of his majesty's tediousness." The 
 decorum and propriety of lady Suffolk's conduct, 
 in this unworthy situation, it must be allowed 
 were great ; since some memoir writers are yet 
 found who would vindicate her from more than a 
 Platonic attachment to the king. This all the 
 best contemporary authorities disprove ; and yet, 
 as the shadow of virtue is better than the ostenta- 
 tion of vice, we must grant it as much favour as 
 it deserves. That lady Suffolk formed friendships 
 with all the most remarkable characters of her 
 circle, is not to be wondered at, during the period 
 that she possessed court favour ; but that she re- 
 tained these friends after her retirement, must bo 
 ascribed to her own merits. The happiest period 
 of her life must have been after she left the slavery 
 of the court and established herself at Marble 
 Hill, an estate which she derived from the gift 
 of the king. Lord Suffolk died in 1733 ; and in 
 1734 she resigned her of&ce and formally retired 
 from court, fully understanding that it was a mea- 
 sure desired by both the king and queen. 
 
 In 1735, the countess of Suffolk married the 
 Hon. George Berkley, youngest son of the earl 
 of Berkley ; in which union, which was entirely 
 one of inclination, she appears to have enjoyed the 
 utmost domestic happiness. By her first husband, 
 the earl of Suffolk, she had one son, who succeeded 
 his father as tenth earl, and was the last of his 
 branch. Lady Suffolk died in 1767, surviving 
 both her son and Mr. Berkley. Her sweetness 
 of disposition and equanimity of mind appear to 
 have furnished her with a cheerful and pleasant 
 existence, though she was afflicted with many 
 constitutional infirmities. She had been troubled 
 with deafness at the most brilliant period of her 
 life. Living in the neighbourhood of Twickenham, 
 she saw a great deal of Pope ; and in her latter 
 years maintained a close intimacy with Horace 
 Walpole. Her correspondence, published in 1824, 
 shows the very high estimation in which she was 
 held by all the illustrious, the noble, and the lite- 
 rary characters of consequence, who lived at that 
 time. Swift, Chesterfield, the great lord Chatham, 
 Gay ; in short, a list of her friends would be but a 
 list of the great men of England, in the reign of 
 George II. 
 
 Horace Walpole, in his reminiscences, speaks 
 of her remarkable beauty, which never entirely 
 
 623 
 
TA 
 
 TA 
 
 deserted her, even in old age showing its traces ; 
 he commends her amiable disposition and prudence, 
 in the same work. We will finish this sketch by- 
 quoting from a letter he wrote to lord Strafford, 
 in which, after giving an account of her death, he 
 proceeds to these encomiums : — " I can give your 
 lordship strong instances of the sacrifices she tried 
 to make to her principles. I own I cannot help 
 wishing that those who had a regard for her, may 
 now, at least, know how much more she deserved 
 it than even they suspected. In truth, I never 
 knew a woman more respectable for her honour 
 and principles ; and have lost few whom I shall 
 miss so much." 
 
 SUZE, HENRIETTA COLIGNY DE LA, 
 Was the daughter of the marechal de Coligny. 
 She was born in 1613, and was one of the most 
 admired poetesses of her day. She was particu- 
 larly praised for her elegies. Mademoiselle de 
 Scuderi has given her the most high-flown eulo- 
 giums, in her romance of "Clelia;" and she. re- 
 ceived tributes from all the beaux esprits; some 
 Latin poems among others. It is said that, being 
 engaged in a lawsuit with Madame de Chatillon, 
 Madame de la Suze met that lady in the vestibule 
 of the court of parliament, escorted by M. de la 
 Feuillade, while she herself was accompanied by 
 the poet Benserade. " Madame," said her adver- 
 sary, " you have rhyme on your side, and we have 
 reason upon ours." 
 
 " It cannot be alleged," retorted iladame de la 
 Suze, " that we go to law without rhyme or rea- 
 son." 
 
 Nothing could exceed the want of order in which 
 she lived, nor her apathetic negligence of her 
 affairs. One morning, at eight o'clock, her house- 
 hold goods were seized for debt ; she was not up, 
 and she begged the ofiicer on duty to allow her to 
 sleep a couple of hours longer, as she had been 
 up late the night before. He granted her request, 
 and took his seat in the ante-room. She slept 
 comfortably till ten, when she arose, dressed her- 
 self for a dinner-party to which she was engaged, 
 walked in to the officer, thanked him, and made 
 him a great many compliments on his politeness 
 and good manners; and coolly adding, "I leave 
 you master of everything," she went out. She 
 and her husband lived very unhappily ; they were 
 Protestants. Madame de la Suze, having become 
 a Roman Catholic, queen Christina of Sweden 
 said she did so, that she might not meet her hus- 
 band in the other world. She obtained a divorce 
 from him at the sacrifice of a large sum of money. 
 Madame de la Suze died in 1673. 
 
 T. 
 
 TAGGART, CYNTHIA, 
 
 Has won herself a place among those who de- 
 serve to be remembered, by her serene patience 
 under the severest bodily sufferings, and the moral 
 energy whereby she made these sufferings serve 
 
 as instructors to her own mind, and to the hearts 
 of pious Christians who may read her sorrowful 
 story. The father of Cynthia Taggart was a sol- 
 dier in our war for independence. During this 
 struggle his property was destroyed ; and, dying 
 in poverty, he had nothing to leave for the support 
 of his daughters. They resided in Rhode Island, 
 about six miles from Newport ; and there, in a 
 little cottage, this poor girl was born, about the 
 year 1804. Her training was religious, though 
 she had few opportunities of learning ; and when, 
 at the age of nineteen, her strength became utterly 
 prostrated by severe sufferings from a chronic dis- 
 ease of the bones and nerves, or rather of her 
 whole physical system, she began her intellectual 
 life, self-educated by her own sensations and re- 
 flections ; and her soul was sustained in this conflict 
 of bodily pain with mental power, by her strong 
 and ardent faith in her Saviour. She enumerates 
 among her greatest sufferings, her inability to 
 sleep. For many years she was unable to close 
 her eyes in slumber, except when under the pow- 
 erful effect of anodynes ; and it was during these 
 long, dark watches of the night, when every pulse 
 was a throb of pain, and every breath an agony 
 of suffering, that she composed her soul to con- 
 templations of the goodness of God and the beau- 
 ties of nature, and breathed out her strains of 
 poetry. 
 
 Her poems were collected and published in 1834, 
 with an autobiography sadly interesting, because 
 it showed the hopeless as well as helpless condition 
 of Miss Taggart; enduring death in life. The 
 work has passed through several editions. Miss 
 Taggart has been released from her unparalleled 
 sufferings. She died in 1849. Her poetry will 
 have an interest for the afflicted ; and few there 
 are who pass through the scenes of life without 
 feeling a chord of the heart respond to her sor- 
 rowful lyre. 
 
 THE HAPPINESS OP E.IBLY TEARS. 
 
 Dear days! in rapid pleasures past, 
 Whene'er I glance my longing eyes 
 Back o'er these joys too fair to last, 
 My aching heart within me dies. 
 
 The waves melodious flow the same, 
 The joyful birds still wake the song. 
 The morn and evening gales stilt breathe 
 Their balmy odours pure along. 
 
 The flow.'ry landscape bloonis as fair, 
 The foliage waves as graceful now, 
 As when each breezy breath of air 
 Fanned fragrance o'er this peaceful brow. — 
 
 Gone are the bright, the rosy smile, 
 The raptured bosom's thrilling glow, 
 The peace, the joy, that breathed the while, 
 Sofl as the warbling rnusicls flow. 
 
 Where calmly spreads the embowering shade, ' 
 That oft this gliding form hath traced. 
 When laughing joy and pleasure strayed, 
 And innocence and peace embraced. 
 
 Still nature wears her sweetest charms ; 
 And wooingly each loved retreat 
 Seems opening, as afl'ection's arms. 
 The long-expected guest to meet. 
 
 524 
 
TA 
 
 TA 
 
 Far from each bright, each flowery scene. 
 In solemn silence now reclined, 
 No hope, no joy, ao smile serene. 
 Revives this blighted form and mind. 
 
 Though nature smile with aspect sweet. 
 And varying seasons circle round, 
 No more the struggling captive's feet 
 Can 'scape affliction's prison bound. 
 
 The refluent tide, the rolling wave 
 Alternate on llie peaceful shore, 
 That oft to this glad spirit gave 
 A pensive rapture, now no more. 
 
 ODE TO THE POPPY. 
 
 Through varied wreaths of myriad hues. 
 
 As beams of mingling light. 
 Sparkle replete with pearly dews. 
 Waving their tinted leaves profuse, 
 
 To captivate the sight; 
 Though fragrance, sweet exhaling, blend 
 
 With the soft, balmy air, 
 And gentle zephyrs, wafting wide 
 
 Their spicy odours bear; 
 While to the eye, 
 Delightingly, 
 
 Each floweret laughing blooms, 
 And o'er the fields 
 Prolific, yields 
 
 Its increase of perfumes; 
 Yet one alone o'er all the plain. 
 
 With lingering eye, I view; 
 Hasty I pass the brightest bower, 
 Heedless of each attractive flower, 
 
 Its brilliance to pursue. 
 
 No odours sweet proclaim the spot 
 
 Where its soft leaves unfold ; 
 Nor mingled hues of beauty bright 
 Charm and allure the captive sight 
 With forms and tints untold. 
 
 One simple hue the plant portrays 
 
 Of glowing radiance rare, 
 Fresh as the roseate morn displays, 
 
 And seeming sweet and fair. 
 
 But closer pressed, an odorous breath 
 
 Repels the rover gay ; 
 And from her hand with eager haste 
 
 'Tis careless thrown away; 
 And thoughtless that in evil hour 
 Disease may happiness devour, 
 And her fairy form, elastic now, 
 To Misery's wand may helpless bow. 
 
 Then Reason leads wan Sorrow forth 
 
 To seek the lonely flower; 
 And blest Experience kindly proves 
 
 Its mitigating power. 
 
 Then its bright hue the sight can trace, 
 
 The brilliance of its bloom; 
 Though misery veil the weeping eyes. 
 Though sorrow choke the breath with sighs. 
 
 And life deplore its doom. 
 
 This magic flower 
 
 In desperate hour 
 
 A balsam mild shall yield, 
 
 When the sad, sinking heart 
 * Feels every aid depart, 
 And every gate of hope for ever sealed. 
 
 Then still its potent charm 
 
 Each agony disarm, 
 And its all-heaiing power shall respite give : 
 
 The frantic sufferer, then. 
 
 Convulsed and wild with pain, 
 Shall own the sovereign remedy, and Jive. 
 
 The dews of slumber now 
 
 Rest on her aching brow, 
 And o'er the languid lids balsamic fall ; 
 
 While fainting Nature hears, 
 
 With dissipated fears, 
 The lowly accents of soft Somnus' call. 
 
 Then will Afiection twine 
 
 Around this kindly flower; 
 And grateful Memory keep 
 How. in the arms of Sleep, 
 
 Affliction lost its power. 
 
 TALBOT, CATHAEINE, 
 
 Was lineally descended from the noble family 
 of Talbots, earls of Shrewsbury, and was niece tu 
 Lord Talbot, created earl of Chancellor in 1733. 
 Her father, Mr. Edward Talbot, married the 
 daughter of the Rev. George Martin, and died 
 suddenly before the birth of Catharine. The 
 fatherless daughter and her mother found a home, 
 in every sense of the word, with Dr. Seeker, arch- 
 bishop of Canterbury, whose wife was the friend 
 of Mrs. Talbot. This worthy prelate, having no 
 children, bestowed much affection on Catharine, 
 and took great pleasure in cultivating her mind 
 and encouraging her literary tastes. By con- 
 stantly associating with him, she reaped all the 
 advantages of his extensive learning, accurate 
 knowledge of the Scriptures, and his critical ac- 
 quaintance with the sciences and languages con- 
 nected with that important study. 
 
 But the circumstance which had the greatest 
 influence in stimulating the talents of Miss Talbot, 
 (for we do not think that she possessed what is 
 termed genius,) was her early acquaintance and 
 intimate friendship with Mrs. Elizabeth Carter. 
 This acquaintance began when Elizabeth Carter 
 was twenty-three and Catharine Talbot twenty 
 years of age, and continued till the death of the 
 latter, at the age of forty-eight. Miss Talbot and 
 Mrs, Carter corresponded for many years ; and 
 these letters show that the former had an excel- 
 lent understanding, and a heart warm with piety. 
 After her death, her manuscripts were collected 
 and published, under the supervision of Mrs, 
 Carter. These, works are, " Reflections on the 
 Seven Days of the Week," "Essays and Miscel- 
 laneous Works," and "Correspondence between 
 Mrs. Carter and Miss Talbot." In estimating the 
 character of this excellent woman, we will abide 
 by the opinion of her friend, Mrs. Carter, who/ 
 says of Miss Talbot: — "Never, snrely, was there 
 a more perfect pattern of evangelical goodness, 
 decorated by all the ornaments of a highly im- 
 proved understanding ; and recommended by a 
 sweetness of temper, and an elegance and polite- 
 ness of manners, of a peculiar and more engaging 
 kind, than in any other character I ever knew." 
 
 TALLIEN, THERESA, 
 
 Was the daughter of Count Cabarrus, a French 
 gentleman, established in Spain. His wife, the 
 mother of Th^r^sa, was a native of that country. 
 Thdr^sa was married, at an early age, to M. de 
 Fontenay. During the reign of terror, while on 
 their way to Spain, M. de Fontenay was arrested 
 at Bordeaux, and thrown into prison. Madame 
 
 625 
 
TA 
 
 TA 
 
 de Fontenay remained at Bordeaux, in the hope 
 of effecting his liberation, -where she became ac- 
 quainted with M. Tallien, who, under the direction 
 of the Convention, was persecuting the Girondists. 
 All unite in representing the beauty and grace of 
 Madame de Fontenay as extraordinary ; she added 
 
 to these attractions, wit, great fascination, and a 
 compassionate and tender heart. Tallien became 
 passionately enamoured of her, and Madame de 
 Fontenay was frail enough to accept his homage. 
 Her husband was released, and favoured in his 
 retreat to Spain. Th^r^sa remained behind, and 
 procured a divorce, to enable her to marry Tallien. 
 Meanwhile, she exerted her influence over her 
 lover to stay the course of bloodshed. Tallien 
 could not resist her tears and entreaties, and daily 
 some family had to thank her for a member saved 
 from the guillotine. In the town where her lover 
 reigned, she received the name of " Our Lady of 
 Mercy." 
 
 The leniency of Tallien was condemned in Paris. 
 He was recalled, and ThiSr^sa was thrown into 
 prison, where she shared the room of Josephine, 
 future empress of France. Tallien was unable to 
 procure the release of the woman he adored. Ex- 
 pecting daily to be summoned to the fatal tribunal, 
 she energetically urged him from her prison to 
 save her — to overthrow Robespierre, and deliver 
 France from the reign of terror. Love inspired 
 Tallien. The ninth Thermidor delivered France 
 from Robespierre ; the prison doors were thrown 
 open, and Th^rSsa was free. A few days after, 
 Tallien and Th^r^sa confirmed their union at the 
 altar. 
 
 Madame Tallien had the most beneficent influ- 
 ence over her husband's public life, and all her 
 efforts were exerted to assist the unfortunate suf- 
 ferers from the revolution. By her political influ- 
 ence and beauty, she attracted the attention of 
 all Paris ; Josephine de Beauharnais and herself 
 being the principal ornaments of the splendid 
 circle of Barras. Gratitude to her husband, did 
 not prevent her from entering into other passing 
 connexions. Tallien, who followed Napoleon to 
 Egypt, was forgotten, and, on her application, she 
 
 was formally divorced from him. Napoleon, who 
 had been one of her intimates, after his marriage 
 with Josephine, broke off all intercourse with her, 
 and could never be persuaded to grant her admis- 
 sion to court. She was thus thrown into the op- 
 position, which led to her connexion with Madame 
 de Stael and her third husband, the prince of Chi- 
 may, whom she married in 1805. As she could 
 not obtain admittance to the Tuilleries during 
 Napoleon's administration, she was obliged to con- 
 tent herself with forming a little court of her own, 
 at Chimay, where she died in 1835. 
 
 TAMBRONI, CLOTILDE, 
 Was born at Bologna, in 1758. Her childhood 
 offered indications of superior intelligence. Which 
 were observed by every one who knew her ; but 
 disregarding these, her mother, far from attempt- 
 ing to cultivate her mind, required her to devote 
 herself to household duties, and to useful needle- 
 work, and the various humble labours demanded 
 of girls in their modest station in society. The 
 distinguished Hellenist, Emanuele Aponte, lodged 
 with the Tambroni family ; and while Clotilde eat 
 apparently busied with her work, she was atten- 
 tively listening to the Greek lessons given by that 
 professor to various classes. One day, as he was 
 examining an ill-prepared scholar, to his great 
 surprise, the little girl prompted the blunderer, 
 giving him exactly the right sentence in excellent 
 Greek. Delighted and astonished, Aponte per- 
 suaded the mother to allow him to cultivate this 
 decided inclination for study. Her facility of ac- 
 quirement was wonderful ; to a general acquaint- 
 ance with elegant literature, she added a know- 
 ledge of mathematics, and of the Latin tongue ; 
 but her most remarkable accomplishment was her 
 very uncommon learning in Greek. At the re- 
 
 >"»'*,///) 
 
 commendation of Aponte, she was, while yet a 
 girl, appointed to the Greek chair in the junior 
 department of the University of Bologna. Political 
 circumstances caused her family to leave Italy at 
 one time, and she remained for a short period in 
 Spain ; but subsequently returning home, she 
 was received by her countrymen with the highest 
 
 526 
 
TA 
 
 TA 
 
 honours, and was appointed by the government 
 of Milan, professor' of Greek in the University of 
 Bologna — a situation which she held with credit 
 to herself, and advantage to the college. She 
 lived in a lettered seclusion, dividing her leisure 
 between study and the society of a few congenial 
 and erudite persons. She died, at the age of fifty, 
 in the year 1817. She has left several translations 
 from the Greek, and some Greek poems ; besides 
 an oration, which she delivered in Latin, on the 
 inauguration of the doctor JIaria Dalle-Donne 
 into the college honours. 
 
 TARABOTI, CATERINA, 
 Was born at Venice, in 1582, and was taught 
 the. art of painting by Alessandro Varotari. She 
 profited so well by his instructions, as to be dis- 
 tinguished in her native city above many of the 
 most considerable artists in history. She died 
 there in 1631. 
 
 TARRAKANOFF, N., PRINCESS OF, 
 Daughtee of Elizabeth, empress of Russia, by 
 Alexis Rozoumofi'ski, whom she had secretly mar- 
 ried, was carried away, in 1767, at the age of 
 twelve, by prince Eadzivil, and concealed in a 
 convent at Rome. This singular step was taken 
 by the dissatisfied noble to curb the ambition of 
 Catharine ; but it failed, and her favourite, Alexis 
 Orloif, pretending great discontent against the 
 government of Catharine, prevailed on the prin- 
 cess, in the absence of Eadzivil, to marry him, 
 and, by her presence, to excite a new insurrection 
 in Russia. The young and unsuspecting princess 
 no sooner placed herself in his power, than she 
 was seized in the bay of Leghorn, where she had 
 been conducted on pretence of paying her military 
 honoiirs, bound in chains, and carried to St. Pe- 
 tersburg. In December, 1777, a violent rising of 
 the Neva suddenly forced the waters into her pri- 
 son, and she was drowned before assistance could 
 be obtained. 
 
 TAYLOR, JANE, 
 Was born in London, September 23d, 1783, 
 where her father, a respectable engraver, then 
 resided. Being also a dissenting minister, Mr. 
 Taylor accepted, in 1792, an invitation from a 
 congregation at Colchester, and carried his daugh- 
 ters there with him, superintending himself their 
 education, and teaching them his own art. It was 
 in the intervals of these pursuits that Jane Taylor 
 found leisure to write ; and on a visit to London, 
 in 1802, she and her sister were induced to join 
 several other young ladies in contributing to the 
 "Minor's Pooket-Book," a small publication, in 
 which her first work, " The Beggar Boy," ap- 
 peared, in 1804. The success of this little poem 
 encouraged her to proceed, and she continued to 
 publish occasional miscellaneous pieces in prose 
 and verse ; the principal of which were, ' ' Original 
 Poems for Infant Minds," and " Rhymes for the 
 Nursery." In 1815, she published a prose com- 
 position of higher pretensions, called " Display," 
 which was very successful. Her last and principal 
 work, published while she was living, consists of 
 
 "Essays in Rhymes, on Morals and Manners." 
 The latter part of her life was passed principally 
 at Ongar, where her family had resided since 1810. 
 She died of an aifection of the lungs, in April, 
 1823. After her decease, her prose writings, con- 
 sisting of " Contributions of Q. Q. to a Periodical," 
 and her "Correspondence," consisting chiefly of 
 letters to her intimate friends, were collected and 
 published. No one who reads her works, and 
 those of Cowper, but must, we think, notice the 
 likeness in the character of their minds. Miss 
 Taylor possessed, like Cowper, a vein of playful 
 humour, that often gave point and vividness to 
 the most sombre sentiment, and usually animated 
 the strains she sung for children ; but still, there 
 was often over her fancy, as over his, a deep shade 
 of pensiveness, — "morbid humility," she some- 
 times calls it, — and no phrase could better express 
 the state of feeling which frequently oppressed 
 her heart. The kind and soothing domestic influ- 
 ences which were always around her path in life, 
 prevented the sad and despairing tone of her mind 
 from ever acquiring the predominance, so as to 
 unfit her for her duties ; in this respect she was 
 much more favoured than the bard of Olney. But 
 we are inclined to think that, had she met with 
 severe trials and misfortunes, the character of her 
 poetry would have been more elevated, and her 
 language more glowing. The retiring sensitive- 
 ness of her disposition kept down, usually, that 
 energy of thought and elevation of sentiment, 
 which, from a few specimens of her later writings, 
 she seemed gifted to sustain, could she only have 
 been incited to the effort. Her piety was deep 
 and most humble : diffidence was usually in all 
 things the prevailing mood of her mind ; and this 
 often clouded her religious enjoyment. But she 
 triumphed in the closing scene ; those " unreal 
 fears" were, in a great measure, removed, and she 
 went down to the "cold dark grave" with that 
 firm trust in her Redeemer which disarmed death 
 of its terrors. The first specimen is in her devo- 
 tional strain; the others are in the moral and 
 playful mood. 
 
 "THE THINGS THAT AEE UNSEEN AKE ' ETERNAL." 
 
 There is a state unknown, unseen, 
 
 Where parted souls must tie: 
 And but a step may be between 
 
 That world of souls and me. 
 
 The friend I loved has thither fled. 
 
 With whom I sojourned here ; 
 I see no sight — T liear no tread. 
 
 But may she not be near? 
 
 I see no light — I hear no sound. 
 When midnight shades are .'spread; 
 
 Yet angels pitch their tents around, 
 .^nd guard my quiet bed. 
 
 Jesus was wrapt from mortal gaze. 
 And clouds conveyed him hence; 
 
 Enthroned amid the sapphire blaze, 
 Beyond our feeble sense. 
 
 Vet say not— Who shall mount on high 
 
 To bring him from above? 
 For lo! the Lord is always nigl) 
 
 The children of his love. 
 
 527 
 
TA 
 
 TA 
 
 The Saviour, whom I long have sought, 
 And would, but cannot see — 
 
 And id he here ? O wondrous thought ! 
 And will he dwell with me? 
 
 I ask not with my mortal eye 
 
 To view the vision bright; 
 1 dare not see Thee, lest I die; 
 
 Vet, Lord, restore my sight! 
 
 Give me to see Thee, and to feel — 
 
 The mental vision clear; 
 The things unseen reveal! reveal! 
 
 And let me know them near. 
 
 I seek not fancy's glittering height. 
 That charmed my ardent youth; 
 
 But in thy light would see the light, 
 And learn thy perfect truth. 
 
 The gathering clouds of sense .dispel, 
 
 That wrap my soul around; 
 In heavenly places make me dwell, 
 
 While treading earthly ground. 
 
 Illume this shadowy soul of mine, 
 
 That still in darkness lies; 
 O let the light in darkness shine, 
 
 And bid the day-star rise! 
 
 Impart the faith that soars on high. 
 
 Beyond this earthly strife, 
 That holds sweet converse with the sky, 
 
 And lives Eternal Life! 
 
 EXPERIENCE. 
 
 How false is found, as on in life we go, 
 Our early estimate of bliss and wo ! 
 —Some spakrling joy attracts us, that we faiJi 
 Would sell a precious birth-right to obtain. 
 There all our hopes of happiness are placed; 
 Life looks without it like a joyless waste; 
 No good is prized, no comfort sought beside ; 
 Prayers, tears implore, and will not be denied. 
 Heaven pitying hears the intemperate, rude appeal, 
 And suits its answer to our truest weal. 
 The self-sought idol, if at last bestowed, 
 Proves, what our wilfulness required— a goad ; 
 Ne'er but as needful chastisement, is given 
 The wish thus forced, and torn, and stormed from heaven ; 
 But if withheld, in pity, from our prayer, 
 We rave, awhile, of torment and despair, 
 Refuse each proffered comfort with disdain, 
 And slight the thousand blessings that remain. 
 Meantime, Heaven bears the grievous wrong, and waits 
 In patient pity till the storm abates ; 
 Applies with gentlest hand the healing balm, 
 Or speaks the ruffled mind into a calm ; 
 Deigning, perhaps, to show the mourner soon, 
 'T was special mercy that denied the boon. 
 
 Our blasted hopes, our aims and wishes crossed, 
 Are worth the tears and agonies they cost ; 
 When the poor mind, by fruitless efforts spent 
 With food and raiment learns to be content. 
 Bounding with youthful hope, the restless mind 
 Leaves that divine monition far behind ; 
 But tamed at length by sufftiring, comprehends 
 The tranquil liappiness to which it tends, 
 Perceives tlie high-wrought bliss it aimed to share, 
 Demands a richer soil, a purer air; 
 That 't is not fitted, and would strangely grace 
 Tlie mean condition of our mortal race : 
 And all we need, in this terrestrial spot, 
 Is calm contentment with " the common lot." 
 
 THE philosopher's SCALES. 
 
 In days of yore, as Gothic fable tells, 
 When learning dimly gleamed from grated cells 
 
 When wild Astrology's distorted eye 
 Shunned the fair field of true philosophy, 
 And, wandering through the depths of mental night, 
 Sought dark predictions 'mid the worlds of light ; — 
 When curious Alchymy, with puzzled brow, 
 Attempted things that Science laughs at now, 
 Losing the useful purpose she consults, 
 In vain chimeras and unknown results: — 
 In those gray times there lived a reverend sage, 
 Whose wisdom shed its lustre on the age. 
 A monk he was, immured in cloistered walls, 
 Where now the ivied ruin crumbling falls. 
 'T was a profound seclusion that he chose ; • 
 
 The noisy world disturbed not that repose ; 
 The flow of murmuring waters, day by day. 
 And whistling winds that forced their tardy way 
 Through reverend trees, of ages growth, that made 
 Around the holy pile a deep monastic shade ; 
 The chanted psalm, or solitary prayer — 
 Such were the sounds that broke the silence there. 
 ***** 
 'T was here, when his rites sacerdotal were o'er. 
 In the depth of the cell with its stone-covered floor, 
 Resigning to thought his chimerical brain, 
 He formed the contrivance we now shall explain : 
 But whether by magic, or alchymy's powers, 
 We know not — indeed 't is no business of ours : 
 Perhaps it was only by patience and care. 
 At last, that he brought his invention to bear. 
 In youth, 'twas projected; but years stole away. 
 And ere 't was complete he was wrinkled and gray. 
 But success is secure unless energy fails ; 
 And at length he produced The P kilos op her'' s Scales. 
 
 What were they ? — you ask : you shall presently see ; 
 Tliese scales were not made to weigh sugar and tea ; 
 O no; — for such properties wondrous had they, 
 That qualities, feelings, and thoughts they could weigh 
 Together with articles small or immense. 
 From mountains or planets, to atoms of sense ; 
 Nought was there so bulky, but there it could lay: 
 And nought so ethereal, but there it would stay ; 
 Ajid nought so reluctant, but in it must go; 
 All which some examples more clearly will show. 
 
 The fifst thing he tried was the head of Voltaire, 
 Which retained all the wit that had ever been there ; 
 As a weight, he threw in a torn scrap of a leaf,. 
 Containing the prayer of the penitent thief; 
 When the skull rose aloft with so sudden a spell, 
 As to bound like a ball on the roof of the cell. 
 
 Next time he put in Jilexavder the Qrcat, 
 With a garment that Dorcas had made— for a weight ; 
 And though clad in armour from- sandals to crown, 
 The hero rose up, and the garment went down. 
 
 A long row of alms-houses, amply endowed. 
 By a well-esteemed pharisee, busy and proud, 
 Now loaded one scale, while the other was prest 
 By those mites the poor widow dropped into f?he chest ; — 
 Up flew the endowment, not weighing an ounce. 
 And down, down, the farthing's worth came with a bounce. 
 
 Again, he performed an experiment rare; 
 A monk, with austerities bleeding and bare, 
 Climbed into his scale; in the other was laid 
 The heart of our Howard, now partly decayed ; 
 When he found, with surprise, that the whole of his brother 
 Weighed less, by some pounds, than this bit of the other. 
 
 By further experiments (no matter how) 
 He found that ten chariots weighed less than one plough ; 
 A sword, with gilt trappings, rose up in the scale, 
 Though balanced by only a ten-penny nail; 
 A shield and a helmet, a buckler and spear. 
 Weighed less than a widow's uncrystallized tear. 
 A lord and a lady went up at full sail, 
 When Q bee chanced to light on the opposite scale. 
 Ten doctors, ten lawyers, two courtiers, one earl, 
 Ten counsellors' wigs full of powder and curl, 
 All heaped in one balance, and swinging from thence. 
 Weighed less than some atoms of candour and sense ; 
 
 528 
 
TE 
 
 TB 
 
 A first-waier diamond, with brilliants begirt, 
 Tlian one good potato, just washed from the dirt ; 
 Yet, not mountains of silver and gold would suffice 
 One pearl to outweigh— 't was the " pearl of great price." 
 
 At last the whole world was bowled in at.the grate, 
 With the soul of a beggar to serve for a weight ; 
 When the former sprang up with so strong a rebuff. 
 That it made a vast rent, and escaped at the roof; 
 Whence, balanced in air, it ascended on high. 
 And sailed np aloft a balloon in the sky; 
 While the scale with the soul in so mightily fell. 
 That it jerked the philosopher out of his cell. 
 
 Moral. 
 
 Dear reader, if e'er self-deception prevails, 
 We pray you to try The Philosopher's Scales. 
 But if they are lost in the ruins around. 
 Perhaps a good substitute thus may be found; — 
 Let judgment and ccmscience in circles be cut. 
 To which strings of thought may be carefully put : 
 Let these be made even with caution extreme. 
 And impartiality use for a beam : 
 Then bring those good actions which pride overrates, 
 And tear up your motives to serve for the weights. 
 
 TENCIN, MADAME DE, 
 
 Was born at Grenoble, in 1681. She was com- 
 pelled by her father to take the veil at an early 
 age. The gay and worldly life led by the inmates 
 of the convent where she was placed, called down 
 great scandal ; and it was in the large and bril- 
 liant circle which there surrounded her, that the 
 attractions, both mental and personal, of Made- 
 moiselle de Tencin first became known. She was 
 fascinating rather than beautiftil. Her manners 
 were pliant and insinuating, and her tact wiis un- 
 erring. The fascination which she exercised over 
 the abbess and her confessor, procured her un- 
 usual freedoms ; and the more she saw of the 
 world, the more she longed to enter it. She pro- 
 tested against her vows, and succeeded in gaining 
 her liberty ; the obligation of celibacy being the 
 only one not dispensed with. Madame de Tencin, 
 for she henceforth assumed that name, took up 
 her residence with her brother, the abbe de Tencin, 
 in Paris, where she soon became surrounded by a 
 host of admirers. She had several intrigues, one 
 of which ended in the birth of a son, who was ex- 
 posed upon the steps of a church, on the 17th of 
 November, 1717. The child, thus forsaken, was 
 found and brought up by a poor glazier's wife, and 
 proved to be the future great mathematician, 
 D'Alembert. She never provided for It ; the fear 
 of future detection outweighing every other con- 
 sideration. 
 
 Madame de Tencin soon began to take an ac- 
 tive part in her brother's political intrigues. 
 After a vain attempt to influence the regent, she 
 formed a degrading connexion with cardinal Du- 
 bois. He admired her talents, and, at a time 
 when Madame du Maine was enlisting society 
 against the regent, he felt the value of Madame 
 de Tencin's influence over the brilliant and select 
 circle which assembled at her house. Madame 
 de Tencin possessed a deep knowledge of human 
 nature, especially of its evil side, and a keen per- 
 ception of character. Few women understood so 
 well as she did the art of drawing together men 
 of the most varied tastes and opinions ; or of in- 
 21 
 
 fluencing them without their even suspecting her 
 power. Men of science and daring thought, ga- 
 thered around her ; and, after acting the part of a 
 profligate intrigante under the regency, Madame 
 de Tencin, under the ministry of Henry, seemingly 
 gave up her intrigues, and was satisfied with 
 keeping one of the earliest and most celebrated 
 "bureaux d'Esprits" of the eighteenth century. 
 Henry, though he feared and disliked her, did not 
 venture to oppose this branch of her power. This 
 society was at one period disturbed to its centre, 
 by an unfortunate incident which involved Ma- 
 dame de Tencin. La Frenaye, councillor to the 
 king, one of her lovers, shot himself at her house, 
 in a fit of jealousy or despair. In an incoherent 
 document which he left, he declared her to be the 
 cause of his death. This accusation was taken in 
 a literal sense, and she was thrown into the Bas- 
 tile, whence, however, she was soon released. It 
 was in the brilliant society of Madame de Tencin, 
 and under her superintendence, that the germ of 
 the future encyclopsBdists was slowly developed. 
 A mind so keen and clear sighted, so deeply versed 
 in the details of political life as Madame de Ten- 
 cin's, could not but be disgusted with the disorder 
 of every thing in the state. Disappointed ambi- 
 tion converted this feeling into one of secret, but 
 dangerous, opposition ; and she became the reci- 
 pient of the covert indignation which the condition 
 of France was then beginning to inspire. The 
 first attacks on absolute monarchy, in favour of 
 constitutional liberty, which characterized the 
 eighteenth century, originated in her drawing- 
 room. It was an intellectual movement, and Ma- 
 dame de Tencin was one of the first women who' 
 laid the b^sis of this formidable power. " Unless," 
 she said, " God visibly interferes, it is physically 
 impossible that the state should not fall to pieces ;" 
 a pithy prophecy, which may be quoted as a proof 
 of her political sagacity and foresight. Tie nature 
 of her influence over her contemporaries may be 
 traced in two important works, which, if they do 
 not owe their existence to her, were inspired by 
 the tone of her society, viz.: Montesquieu's "Es- 
 prit des Lois," and Helvetius's "De I'Esprit." 
 
 As she advanced in age her conduct became 
 more correct, and the attractions of her mind and 
 conversation procured her more admirers than she 
 had formerly obtained by the charms of her person. 
 The immorality of Madame de Tencin was no dis- 
 qualification for her becoming the advocate of 
 enlightened freedom. It was a characteristic fea- 
 ture of the eighteenth century, that all those who 
 prepared the great, but short-lived, triumph of 
 liberty, with which it closed, participated, from 
 Madame de Tencin down to Mirabeau, in the im- 
 morality of the age. Her intrigues procured her 
 brother the highest dignities of the church ; but 
 she did not succeed in raising him to the rank of 
 minister, her constant aim. The writings with 
 which she amused her old age, are calculated to 
 give a high idea of her intellect, as well as of a 
 nobleness and delicacy contradicted by her life. 
 She wrote, " Memoires de Comminges," " The 
 Siege of Calais," " Anecdotes of Edward II.," and 
 a collection of letters. 
 
 529 
 
TH 
 
 TH 
 
 TEODORO, DANTI, 
 
 Of Perugia, was born in 1498. She was a pro- 
 found scholar in the exact sciences, and well 
 acquainted with physics and painting. Never 
 intending to marry, she employed herself in in- 
 tellectual pursuits and was honoured with general 
 esteem. 
 
 She has left an elaborate commentary on Euclid ; 
 also a treatise on painting, and several poems of 
 an agreeable style. She died in 1573. 
 
 TERRACINA, LAURA, 
 Of Naples, was born in 1500. She was much 
 praised by the contemporary literati. She met 
 with a violent death, — being killed by her hus- 
 band, Bocoalini Mauro, in 1595. Four editions 
 of her works were printed at Venice ; these are 
 principally poems. 
 
 THEOT, CATHARINE, 
 
 Was born, in 1725, at Baranton, a village in the 
 diocess of Avranches. She came, when young, to 
 Paris, to obtain means of subsistence, and lived in 
 a menial capacity in several places, the last of 
 which was the convent of the Miramions, which 
 she left in 1779, as she had discovered that she 
 possessed the gift of seeing visions and of pro- 
 phecy. From that time she published openly her 
 reveries, calling herself, sometimes a second Eve, 
 sometimes the mother of God, and at last, a mes- 
 siah, who was to regenerate the human race. Her 
 pretensions attracted the attention of the police, 
 and she was confined in the Bastile, but at the end 
 of five weeks was transferred to the hospital of 
 Salp§tri(Sre, where she remained tiU 1782. 
 
 In 1794, having made a convert of dom Gerle, 
 a priest, and member of the constituent assembly, 
 a man of learning and merit, but whose mind had 
 been affected by his austerities and solitary life, 
 she again openly proclaimed herself the mother 
 of God, and promised eternal life to her adherents. 
 Her followers became very numerous, and even 
 extended into Germany. She received from them 
 the homage due only to God, and her revelations 
 were regarded as divine. She was soon, however, 
 Iftken prisoner, together with dom Gerle and a 
 number of her adherents, and tried before the 
 convention; but being protected by Robespierre, 
 she and all her friends were acquitted. She died 
 in five weeks after her arrest. 
 
 THERESA, SAINT, 
 
 Was bom at Avila, in Spain, in 1515. While 
 reading the lives of the saints, when very young, 
 she became possessed with a desire for martyrdom, 
 , and ran away from her parents, hoping to be taken 
 by the Moors. But she was discovered, and was 
 obliged to return, when she persuaded her father 
 to build her a hermitage in his garden, where she 
 might devote herself to her religious duties. In 
 1537, Theresa took the veil at the convent of the 
 Carmelites at Avila, where her religious zeal led 
 her to undertake the restoration of the original 
 severity of the order. In pursuance of this object, 
 in 1562, she founded a convent of reformed Car- 
 
 melite nuns at Avila ; and in 1568, a monastery 
 of friars, or barefooted Carmelites, at Dorvello. 
 She died at Alba, October 1582, but before her 
 death there were thirty convents founded for her 
 followers. She was canonized by pope Gregory 
 XV. She left an autobiography, and several other 
 works. 
 
 THEROIGNE, ANNE JOSEPH, 
 
 SuENAMED La Liegoise, was born in 1759, at 
 the village of Mericourt, near the city of Liege. 
 Her parents were honest labourers ; but her intel- 
 lect, grace, and beauty rendering her their idol, 
 she was brought up as delicately and carefully as 
 most children in a much higher rank. When she 
 was about seventeen, the son of a nobleman, whose 
 estate was near the humble abode of the beautiful 
 girl, saw her, fell violently in love with her, se- 
 duced her, and then coldly abandoned her. This 
 cruel treatment, and her subsequent disgrace, 
 created in her breast a resentment that was ex- 
 tinguished many years after only in the blood of 
 her seducer. 
 
 Soon after the abandonment of Thgroigne by 
 her lover, she went to England, and we have no 
 accurate account of her manner of life there, 
 though it is said that she made a conquest of the 
 prince of Wales, and she certainly lived in luxury. 
 At the end of three months she went to Paris, 
 bringing with her letters from the duke of Orleans ; 
 and for some time she was the reigning beauty in 
 that city. Her tall, well-formed figure, brilliant 
 eye, and expressive countenance, making her every 
 where conspicuous. Upon the first breaking out 
 of the revolution, she embraced the cause of the 
 people, more to revenge herself on the class to 
 which her seducer belonged than from any other 
 motive, and, adopting the dress of a soldier, she 
 led those savage hordes of -men and women who 
 sacked the Hotel des Invalides, burnt the Bastile, 
 and murdered all, on whom the slightest suspicion 
 of aristocracy rested, who crossed their paths. 
 She gave orders to these ferocious crowds, and 
 was obeyed without the slightest opposition. She 
 spoke at the clubs and revolutionary festivals, and 
 always with great effect. She was present at 
 those dreadful scenes of blood at the Abbey, at 
 La Force, at Bic§tre; and meeting, among the 
 doomed prisoners at the Abbey, the young noble- 
 man who had seduced her, she plunged her sword 
 into his breast. 
 
 At the taking of the Bastile, she had formed a 
 strong attachment to Brissot, which was the cause 
 of her ruin ; for he became very unpopular, and 
 she attempted in vain to defend him, and at one 
 time, when Brissot was assailed by a mob of fu- 
 rious women, in the garden of the Tuilleries, she, 
 rushing forward to save him, was seized by them 
 and publicly whipped. 
 
 This disgrace was so deeply felt by the proud 
 amazon as to make her deranged ; she was con- 
 fined in the Salpetrif^re, an asylum for the insane, 
 and never afterwards appeared in public, though 
 she lived till 1817. She was fifty-eight years of 
 age, and preserved her great beauty, in a mea- 
 sure, to the last ; although a greater part of the 
 
TH 
 
 TI 
 
 time a raving maniac. Her ferocity survived her 
 intellect. ' 
 
 THICKNESSE, ANNE, 
 Was born in the Temple, in London, in 1737. 
 Her beauty and talents early introduced her into 
 the vrorld of fashion. She gave three concerts on 
 her own account, having left her father's house to 
 avoid being forced into a marriage. By her con- 
 certs she is said to have realized £1500 ; and ac- 
 quiring the patronage of lady Betty Thioknesse, 
 became domesticated in her family. On the death 
 of this lady, she married governor Thicknesse, 
 and accompanied her husband on various journeys. 
 She was with him in France when he died, in 
 1792, and narrowly escaped execution ; Robes- 
 pierre having sent an order to that effect. On 
 her liberation she returned to England, and died 
 at her house, on the Edgeware Road, in 1824. 
 Her principal works are, " Biographical Sketches 
 of Literary Females of the French Nation," and 
 " The School of Fashion," a novel. 
 
 THOMAS, ELIZABETH, 
 
 Known under the name of Corinna, was born 
 in 1675 ; and, after a life of ill health and misfor- 
 tunes, died February 3d, 1730, and was buried in 
 the church of St. Bride. She was only a second- 
 rate writer ; but her poetry is soft and delicate, 
 and her letters sprightly and entertaining. She 
 incurred, in some way, Pope's displeasure, and he 
 placed her in his " Dunciad." 
 
 THYNNE, FRANCES, DUCHESS OF 
 SOMERSET, 
 
 Was born near the close of the eighteenth cen- 
 tury. Walpole says of her, "she had as much 
 taste for the writings of others as modesty about 
 her own," and might have obtained fame for her 
 talents, had not her retiring disposition and affec- 
 tionate piety led her to prefer the society of well- 
 chosen friends, to the applause of the world. Her 
 attainments were considerable, which she employed 
 in the careful education of her children, the charge 
 of whom, and devoted attendance by the sick-bed 
 of her husband, occupied the best part of her life. 
 She was fond, however, of literary society, as is 
 shown by her friendship for Mrs. Rowe, (she was 
 the authoress of the letter signed Cleora, in Mrs. 
 R.'s collection) ; Thomson, whom she kindly pa- 
 tronized, (who dedicated to her the first edition 
 of his "Spring"); Dr. Watts, (who dedicated to 
 her his " Miscellaneous Thoughts in Prose and 
 Verse ") ; and Shenstone, (who addressed to her 
 his ode on " Rural Elegance.") She died in 1754. 
 No collection of her poems has been made, though 
 a number are preserved in Bingley's "Corre- 
 spondence of the Countess of Pomfret" with our 
 authoress. The specimen given is found in Dr. 
 Watt's Miscellanies, ascribed to Eusehia. 
 
 THE DTma chkistian's hope. 
 
 When faint, and si. iking to the tjhades of death, 
 I gasp with pain for ev'ry lah'ring breath, 
 O may my soul by some blest foretaste know 
 That she 's deliver'd from eternal woe I 
 
 May hope in Christ dispel each gloomy fear, 
 And thoughts like these my drooping spirits cheer. 
 What the' my sins are of a crimson stain. 
 My Saviour's blood can wash me white again: 
 Tho' numerous as the twinkling stars they be, 
 Or sands along the margin of the sea ; 
 Or as smooth pebbles on some beachy shore, 
 Tile mercies of th' Almighty still are more: 
 He looks upon my soul with pitying eyes, 
 Sees all my fears, and listens to my cries : 
 He knows the frailty of each human breast. 
 What passions our unguarded hearts molest. 
 And for the sake of his dear dying Son, 
 Will pardon all the ills that 1 have done. 
 ArmM with so bright a hope, I shall not fear 
 To see my death hourly approach more near; 
 But my faith strength'ning as my life decay. 
 My dying breath shall mount to heav'n in praise. 
 
 TIBERGEAU, MARCHIONESS DE, 
 
 Was sister of the marquis de Phisieulx, and the 
 beloved niece of Rochefoucauld, author of the 
 celebrated " Maxims." Her maiden name was 
 Sillery. She early showed a decided inclination 
 for poetry. It was to Mademoiselle de Sillery 
 that La Fontaine addressed several fables, and of 
 her he spoke when he said, 
 
 " aui dit Sillery, dit tout." 
 
 She married the marquis de Tibergeau, and con- 
 tinued till her death the constant friend and pro- 
 tector of literary men. She encouraged Destou* 
 ches in writing for the theatre, and induced M. 
 Phisieulx to take him for his secretary when he 
 went as ambassador to Sweden. Destouches often 
 consulted Madame de Tibergeau concerning the 
 plans of his different plays. She preserved all 
 her quickness and vivacity of mind to the last. 
 When she was more than eighty, being at Sillery 
 with her brother and her young nieces and their 
 husband, one evening, after she had retired, there 
 was a long dispute as to whether it showed greater 
 tenderness of feeling to write to one's lover or 
 mistress in prose or verse. It was agreed to refer 
 the decision of this important point to Madame de 
 Tibergeau ; and they went to awaken her for that 
 purpose. She sent for her writing-desk, and wrote 
 immediately : 
 
 " Non, ce n'est point en vers qu'un tendre amour s'exprime : 
 II ne doit point rfiver pour trouver ce qu'il dit, 
 Et tout arrangement de mpsure et de rime, « 
 
 Ote toujours au cceur ce qu'il donne a I'esprit." 
 
 She died at the age of eighty. She lived in the 
 seventeenth century. 
 
 TIGHE, MARY, 
 
 Was the daughter of the Rev. William Blach- 
 ford, county of Wicklow, Ireland. Mary Blachford 
 was born in Dublin, in 1774; and in 1793, when 
 but nineteen years old, she married her cousin, 
 Henry Tighe, of Woodstock, M. P. for Kilkenny, 
 in the Irish parliament, and author of a " County 
 History of Kilkenny." The family of Mrs. Tighe 
 were consumptive, and she inherited the delicacy 
 of organization which betokens a predisposition to 
 this fatal disease. From early womanhood she 
 suffered from deprei^sion of mind and languor of 
 frame, which probably gave that " tone of melan- 
 choly music" to her celebrated poem, "which 
 seemed the regretful expression of the conscious- 
 
TI 
 
 TI 
 
 ness of a not far-off death." Well she might feel 
 sad when this thought was pressing on her heart ; 
 for she was most happily married, beloved and 
 cherished by her husband, and surrounded with 
 all the luxuries of life ; dwelling 
 
 " The glorious bowers of earth among." 
 
 Yet she felt that all these loved and lovely bless- 
 ings of earth were passing swiftly away. She 
 died in 1810, aged thirty-five, after six years of 
 protracted suffering. Her husband, though he 
 survived her some years, never married again. 
 She left no children ; but the scenes of her bridal 
 happiness,* and of her lamented death,| will bear 
 the memory of her beauty, genius, and virtues, 
 while her "Psyche" is read, and the names of 
 those who have celebrated her merits in their 
 songs are remembered. And she has left an en- 
 during monument of her goodness, which gives 
 lustre to her genius. From the profits of her 
 poem, " Psyche," which ran through, four editions 
 during her life-time, she built an addition to the 
 orphan asylum in Wioklow, thence called the 
 " Psyche Ward." 
 
 An English critic thus testifies to the merits of 
 her great work : — " Her poem of ' Psyche,' found- 
 ed on the classic fable related by Apuleius, of the 
 loves of ' Cupid and Psyche,' or the allegory of 
 ' Love and the Soul,' is characterised by a graceful 
 voluptuousness and brilliancy of colouring rarely 
 excelled. It is in six cantos, and wants only a 
 little more concentration of style and description 
 to be one of the best poems of the period."J 
 
 " None but Spenser himself," says William 
 Howitt, in his popular work, ' Homes and Haunts 
 of the most Eminent British Poets,' "has excelled 
 Mrs. Tighe in the field of allegory." But the 
 most full and free acknowledgment of her merits 
 has been given by an eminent American scholar 
 and divine, Eev. Dr. Bethune, who has recorded 
 his opinion in his " British Female Poets." He 
 says, "Perhaps Mrs. Tighe has been too diff'use; 
 
 * RoBanria, in Wicklow, 
 
 t Woodstock, in Kilkenny. 
 
 I See *' Cyclopedia of English Literature." 
 
 but, taking her altogether, she is not equalled in 
 classital elegance by any English female, and not 
 excelled (in that particular) by any male English 
 poet. She has the rare quality for a poetess of 
 not sparing the pumice-stone, her verses being se- 
 dulously polished to the highest degree. She 
 shows also her great taste in omitting obsolete 
 words, the affectation of which so frequently dis- 
 figures imitations of the great master of English 
 allegory. Her minor pieces are far inferior to her 
 main work, though graceful, but pervaded by a 
 painful, often religionless, despondency. It is of 
 Mrs. Tighe that Moore writes in his touching 
 song: 
 
 " I saw thy form in youthful prime." 
 We give a few selections from "Psyche." 
 
 THE MAERIAGE OF CUPID AND PSYCHE IK THE 
 PALACE OF LOVE. 
 
 The sun looks glorious 'mid a sky serene, 
 And bids bright lustre sparkle o'er the tide ; 
 The clear blue ocean at a distance seen. 
 Bounds the gay landscape on the western side, 
 While closing round it with majestic pride, 
 The lofty rocks 'mid citron groves arise ; 
 "Sure some divinity must here reside," 
 As tranced in some bright vision, Psyche cries, 
 And scarce believes the bliss, or trusts her charmed eyes. 
 
 When lo! a voice divinely sweet she hears, 
 From unseen lips proceeds the heavenly sound ; 
 " Psyche approach, dismiss thy timid fears, 
 At length his bride thy longing spouse has found. 
 And bids for thee immortal joys abound ; 
 For thee the palace rose at hi3 command, 
 For thee Ills love a bridal banquet crowned ; 
 He bids attendant nymphs around thee stand. 
 Prompt every wish to serve — a fond obediejit band." 
 
 Increasing wonder filled her ravished soul, 
 For now the pompous portals opened wide. 
 There, pausing oft, with timid foot she stole 
 Through halls high-domed, enriched with sculptured pride, 
 While gay saloons appeared on either side, 
 In splendid vista opening to her sight; 
 And all with precious gems so beautified. 
 And furnished with such exquisite delight. 
 That scarce the beams of heaven emit such lustre bright. 
 
 The amethyst was there of violet hue, 
 And there the topaz shed its golden ray. 
 The chrysoberyl, and the sapphire blue 
 As the clear azure of a sunny day, 
 Or the mild eyes where amorous glances play : 
 The snow-white jasper, and the opal's tlame, 
 The blushing ruby, and the agate gray. 
 And there the gem which bears his luckless name 
 Whose death, by Phoebus mourned, insured him deathless 
 fame. 
 
 There the green emerald, there cornelians glow. 
 And rich carbuncles pour eternal light, 
 With all that India and Peru can show, 
 Or Labrador can give so flaming bright 
 To the charmed mariner's half-dazzled sight ; 
 The coral-paved baths with diamonds blaze ; 
 And all that can the female heart delight 
 Of fair attire, the last recess displays, 
 And all that luxury can ask, her eye surveys. 
 
 Now through the hall melodious music stole, 
 And self.prepared the splendid banquet stands, 
 Self-poured the nectar sparkles in the bowl. 
 The lute and viol, touched by unseen hands, 
 Aid the soft voices of the choral bands ; 
 O'er the full board a brighter lustre beams 
 Than Persia's monarch at his feast commands: 
 For sweet refreshment all inviting seems 
 To taste celestial food, and pure ambrosial streams. 
 
 532 
 
TI 
 
 TI 
 
 But when meek eve hung out her dewy star, 
 And gently veiled with gradual hand the sky, 
 Lol the bright folding doors retiring far, 
 Display to Psyche's captivated eye 
 All that voluptuous ease could e'er supply 
 To soothe the spirits in serene repose: 
 Beneath the velvet's purple canopy, 
 Divinely formed, a downy couch arose, 
 While alabaster lamps a milky light disclose 
 
 Once more she hears the hymeneal strain ; 
 Far other voices now attune the lay; 
 The swelling sounds approach, awhile remain. 
 And then retiring, faint dissolved away; 
 The expiring lamps emit a feebler ray. 
 And soon in fragrant death extinguished lie: 
 Then virgin terrors Psyche's soul dismay. 
 When through the obscuring gloom she nought can spy, 
 But softly rustling sounds declare some being nigh. 
 
 Oh, you for whom 1 write ! whose hearts can melt 
 At the soft thrilling voice whose power you prove. 
 You know what charm, unutterably felt, 
 Attends the unexpected voice of love: 
 Above the lyre, the lute's soft notes above. 
 With sweet enchantment to the soul it steals, 
 And bears it to Elysium's happy grove; 
 You best can tell the rapture Psyche feels. 
 When Love's ambrosial lip the vows of Hymen seals. 
 
 "'Tis he, 'tis my deliverer! deep imprest 
 Upon my heart those sounds I well recall," 
 The blushing maid exclaimed, and on his breast 
 A tear of trembling ecstasy let fall. 
 But, ere the breezes of the morning call 
 Aurora from her purple, humid bed. 
 Psyche in vain explores the vacant hall ; 
 Her tender lover from her arms is fled, 
 While sleep his downy wings had o'er heir eyelids spread. 
 
 PSYCHE GAZES ON LOVE WHILE ASLEEP, AND IS 
 BANISHED. 
 
 And now with softest whispers of delight, 
 Love welcomes Psyche still more fondly dear; 
 Not unobserved, though hid in deepest night, 
 The silent anguish of her secret fear. 
 He thinks that tenderness excites the tear. 
 By the late image of her parent's grief. 
 And half offended seeks in vain to cheer ; 
 Yet, while he speaks, her sorrows feel relief, 
 Too soon more keen to sting from this suspension brief! 
 
 Allowed to settle on celestial eyes, 
 Soft sleep, exulting, now exerts his sway. 
 From Psyche's anxious pillow gladly flies 
 To veil those orbs, whose pure and lambent ray 
 The powers of heaven submissively obey. 
 Trembling and breathless then she softly rose, 
 And seized the lamp, where it obscurely lay. 
 With hand too rashly daring to disclose 
 The sacred veil which hung mysterious o'er her woes. 
 
 Twice, as with agitated step she went. 
 The lamp expiring shone with doubtful gleam, 
 As though it warned her from her rash intent : 
 And twice she paused, and on its trembling beam 
 Gazed with suspended breath, while voices seem 
 With murmuring sound along the roof to sigh ; 
 As one just waking from a troublous dream. 
 With palpitating heart and straining eye. 
 Still fixed with fear remains, still thinks the danger nigh. 
 
 Oh, daring Muse! wilt thou indeed essay 
 To paint the wonders which that lamp could show ? 
 And canst thou hope in living words to say 
 The dazzling glories of that heavenly view? 
 Ah! well I ween, that if with pencil true 
 That splendid vision could be well expressed, 
 The fearful awe imprudent Psyche knew 
 Would seize with rapture every wondering breast, 
 When Love's all-potent charms divinely stood confessed. 
 
 All imperceptible to human touch. 
 His wings display celestial essence light; 
 The clear eflTulgence of the blaze is such. 
 The brilliant plumage shines so heavenly bright. 
 That mortal eyes turn dazzled from the sight ; 
 A youth he seems in manhood's freshest years; 
 Round his fair neck, as clinging with delight, 
 Each golden curl resplendently appears. 
 Or shades his darker brow, which grace majestic wears'; 
 
 Or o'er his guileless fi-ont the ringlets bright 
 Their rays of sunny lustre seem to throw, 
 That front than polished ivory more white! 
 His blooming cheeks with deeper blushes glow 
 Than roses scattered o'er a bed of snow ; 
 While on his lips, distilled in balmy dews, 
 (Those lips divine, that even in silence know 
 The heart to touch), persuasion to infuse. 
 Still hangs a rosy charm that never vainly sues. 
 
 The frtendly curtain of indulgent sleep 
 Disclosed not yet his eyes' resistless sway. 
 But from their silky veil there seemed to peep 
 Some brilliant glances with a softened ray. 
 Which o'er his features exquisitely play. 
 And all his polished limbs suffuse with light. 
 Thus through some narrow space the azure day. 
 Sudden its cheerful rays diffusing bright, 
 Wide darts its lucid beams, to gild the brow of night 
 
 His fatal arrows and celestial bow 
 Beside the couch were negligently thrown, 
 Nor needs the god his dazzling arms to show 
 His glorious birth; such beauty round him shone 
 As sure could spring from Beauty's self alone ; 
 The bloom which glowed o'er all of soft desire 
 Could well proclaim him Beauty's cherished son : 
 And Beauty's self will oft those charms admire. 
 And steal his witching smile, his glance's living fire. 
 
 Speechless with awe, in transport strangely lost. 
 Long Psyche stood with fixed adoring eye; 
 Her limbs immovable, her senses tossed 
 Between amazement, fear, and ecstasy, 
 She hangs enamoured o'er the deity. 
 Till from her trembling hand extinguished falls 
 The fatal lamp — he starts — and suddenly 
 Tremendous thunders echo through the halls. 
 While ruin's hideous crash bursts o'er the aflTrighted walls. 
 
 Dread horror seizes on her sinking heart, 
 A mortal chillness shudders at her breast, 
 Her soul shrinks fainting from death's icy dart, 
 The groan scarce uttered dies but half expressed, 
 And down she sinks in deadly swoon oppressed • 
 But when at length, awaking from her trance. 
 The terrors of her fate stand all confessed, 
 In vain she casts around her timid glance; 
 The rudely frowning scenes her former joys enhance. 
 
 No traces of those joys, alas, remain! 
 A desert solitude alone appears; 
 No verdant shade relieves the sandy plain. 
 The wide-spread waste no gentle fountain cheers ; 
 One barren face the dreary prospect wears ; 
 Nought through the vast horizon meets her eye 
 To calm the dismal tumult of her fears; 
 No trace of human habitation nigh; 
 A sandy wild beneath, above a threatening sky. 
 
 JEALOUSY. 
 
 Her spirits die, she breathes polluted air. 
 And vaporous visions swim before her sight ! 
 His magic skill the sorcerer bids her share. 
 And lo ! as in a glass, she sees her knight 
 In bower remembered well, the bower of loose delight. 
 
 But oh I what words her feelings can impart ! 
 Feelings to hateful envy near allied ! 
 While on her knight her anxious glances dart : 
 His plumed helmet, lo! he lays aside; 
 His face with torturing agony she spied, 
 
 533 
 
Tl 
 
 TI 
 
 Yet cannot from the sight her eyes remove ; 
 No mortal knight she sees had aid supplied, 
 No mortal knight in her defence had strove; 
 'T was Love ! 't was Love himself, her own adored Love. 
 
 Poured in soft dalliance at a lady's feet, 
 In fondest rapture he appeared to lie. 
 While her fair neck with inclination sweet, 
 Bent o'er his gracefnl form her melting eye. 
 Which his looked up to meet in ecslasy. 
 Their words she heard not; words had rie'er exprest, 
 What well her sickening fancy could supply. 
 All that their silent eloquence confest. 
 As breathed the sigh of fire from each impassioned breast. 
 
 While thus she gazed, her quivering lips turn pale; 
 Contending passions rage within her breast, 
 Nor ever had she known such bitter bale, 
 Or felt by such fierce agony opprest. 
 Oft had her gentle heart been sore distrest. 
 But meekness ever has a lenient power 
 From anguish half his keenest darts to wrest; 
 Meekness for her had softened sorrow's hour. 
 Those furious fiends subdued which boisterous souls devour. 
 
 For there are hearts that, like some sheltered lake. 
 Ne'er swell with rage, nor foam with violence ; 
 Though its sweet placid calm the tempests shake, 
 Vet will it ne'er with furious impotence 
 Dash its rude waves against the rocky fence. 
 Which nature placed the limits of its reign ; 
 Thrice blest I who feel the peace which flows from hence, 
 Whom meek-eyed gentleness can thus restrain ; 
 Whate'er the storms of fate, with her let none complain ! 
 
 lovers' QUAllRELS. 
 
 Oh I fondly cherish then the lovely plant 
 Which lenient heaven hath given thy pains to ease 
 Its lustre shall thy summer hours enchant, 
 And load with fragrance every prosperous breeze, 
 And when rude winter shall thy roses seize. 
 When nought through all thy bowers but thorns remain. 
 This still with undeciduous charms shall please. 
 Screen from the blast and shelter from the rain, 
 And still with verdure cheer the desolated plain. 
 
 Through the hard season Love with plaintive note 
 Like the kind red-breast tenderly shall sing, 
 Which swells 'mid dreary snows its tuneful throat, 
 Brushing the cold dews from its shivering wing. 
 With cheerful promise of returning spring 
 To the mute tenants of the leafless grove. 
 Guard thy best treasure from the venomed sting 
 Of baneful peevishness: oh! never prove 
 How soon ill-temper's power can banish gentle Love ! 
 
 Repentance may the storms of passion chase. 
 And Love, who shrunk affrighted from the blast, 
 May hush his just complaints in soft embrace, 
 And smiling wipe his tearful eye at last : 
 Yet when the wind's rude violence is past. 
 Look what a wreck the scattered fields display ! 
 See on the ground the withering blossoms castl 
 And hear sad Philomel with piteous lay 
 Deplore the tempest's rage that swept her young away. 
 
 The tears capricious beauty loves to shed, 
 The pouting lip, the sullen silent tongue, 
 May wake the impasBioned lover's tender dread, 
 And touch the spring that clasps his soul so strong ; 
 But at), beware 1 the gentle power too long 
 Will not endure the frown of angry strife; 
 He shuns contention, and the gloomy throng 
 Who blast the joys of calm domestic life. 
 And flies when discord shakes her brand with quarrels rife. 
 
 Oh I he will tell you that these quarrels bring 
 
 The ruin, not renewal of his flame ; 
 
 If oft repeated, lo ! on rapid wing 
 
 He flies to hide his fair but tender frame ; 
 
 From violence, reproach, or peevish blame 
 
 Irrevocably flies. Lament in vain ! 
 
 Indiflference comes the abandoned heart to claim. 
 Asserts for ever her repulsive reign, 
 Close followed by disgust and all her chilling train. 
 
 Indifference, dreaded power! what art shall save 
 The good so cherished from thy grasping hand ? 
 How shall young Love escape the untimely grave 
 Thy treacherous arts prepare 7 or how withstand 
 The insidious foe, who with her leaden band 
 Ertthains the thoughtless, slumbering deity? 
 Ah, never more to wake ! or e'er expand 
 His golden pinions to the breezy sky, 
 Or open to the sun his dim and languid eye. 
 
 Who can describe the hopeless, silent pang 
 With which the gentle heart first marks her sway? 
 Eyes the sure progress of her icy fang 
 Resistless, slowly fastening on her prey ; 
 See rapture's brilliant colours fade away, 
 And all the glow of beaming sympathy ; 
 Anxious to watch the cold averted ray 
 That speaks no more to the fond meeting eye 
 Enchanting tales of love, and tenderness, and joy. 
 
 Too faithful heart! thou never canst retrieve 
 Thy withered hopes: conceal the cruel pain! 
 O'er thy lost treasure sti!l in silence grieve; 
 But never to the unfeeling ear complain : 
 From fruitless struggles dearly bought refrain ! 
 Submit at once— the bitter task resign. 
 Nor watch and fan the expiring flame in vain : 
 Patience, consoling maid, may yet be thine, 
 Go seek her quiet cell, and hear her voice divine I 
 
 DEIAT OF LOVE COMPENSATED. 
 
 Two tapers thus, with pure converging rays. 
 In momentary flash their beams unite, 
 Shedding but one inseparable blaze 
 Of blended radiance and eff'ulgence bright, 
 Self-lost in mutual intermingling light ; 
 Thus, in her lover's circling arras embraced, 
 The fainting Psyche's soul, by sudden flight. 
 With his its subtlest essence interlaced; 
 Oh ! bliss too vast for thought ! by words how poorly trace 
 
 Fond youth! whom Fate hath summoned to depart. 
 And quit the object of thy tenderest love, 
 How oft in absence shall thy pensive heart 
 Count the sad Ijours which must in exile move. 
 And still their irksome weariness reprove ; 
 Distance with cruel weight but loads thy chains 
 With every step which bids thee farther rove, 
 While thy reverted eye, with fruitless pain, 
 Shall seek the trodden path its treasure to regain. 
 
 For thee what rapturous moments are prepared ! 
 For thee shall dawn the long-expected day 1 
 And he who ne'er thy tender woes hath shared, 
 Hath never known the transport they shall pay, 
 To wash the memory of those woes away : 
 The bitter tears of absence thou must shed. 
 To know the bliss which tears of joy convey. 
 When the long hours of sad regret are fled, ■ 
 And in one dear embrace thy pains compensated! 
 
 Even from afar beheld, how eagerly 
 With rapture thou shalt hail the loved abode! 
 Perhaps already, with impatient eye. 
 From the dear casement she hath marked thy road. 
 And many a sigh for thy return bestowed; 
 Even there she meets thy fond enamoured glance ; 
 Thy soul with grateful tenderness o'erflowed. 
 Which firmly bore the hand of hard mischance, 
 Faints in the stronger power of joy's o'erwhelming trance. 
 
 TINTORETTO, MARIETTA, 
 Was born in Venice, in 1560, and was instructed 
 in the art of painting by her father, Giacomo. 
 She showed an early genius for music, as well as 
 for painting, and performed remarkably well on 
 several instruments ; but her predominant incli- 
 nation to the art in which her father was so emi- 
 
 534 
 
TO 
 
 TO 
 
 nent, determined her to quit all other studies, and 
 apply herself entirely to it. By the direction of 
 Giacomo, she studied design, composition, and 
 colouring ; and drew after the antique, and finest 
 models, till she had obtained a good taste and 
 great readiness of hand. But though she was well 
 qualified to make a considerable appearance in 
 historical, she devoted her talents wholly to por- 
 trait-painting. Her father, who was accounted 
 little inferior to Titian, if not his equal in that 
 line, took great pains to direct her judgment and 
 skill in that branch of art, till she gained an easy 
 elegance in her manner of design, and an admira- 
 ble tint of colour. Her pencil was free, her touch 
 light and full of spirit ; and she received deserved 
 applause, not only for the beauty of her work, but 
 for the exactness of resemblance. Most of the 
 nobility of Venice sat to her ; and she was soli- 
 cited by the emperor Maximilian, Philip 11., king 
 of Spain, and by the archduke Ferdinand, to visit 
 their courts ; but sucli was her affectionate attach- 
 ment to her father, that she declined these ho- 
 nours, and continued at Venice, where she mar- 
 ried ; but died young, in 1590. 
 
 TISHEM, CATHARINE, 
 
 Said to have been an Englishwoman, married 
 Gualtherus Gruter, a burgomaster of Antwerp, to 
 whom she bore a son, James Gruter, celebrated 
 for his erudition. Being persecuted, on account 
 of her religion, by Margaret, duchess of Parma, 
 she took refuge with her son in England, in 1565. 
 She was one of the most learned women of the 
 age ; was well acquainted with the ancient and 
 modern languages, and read Galen in Greek, which 
 few physicians were then able to do. She was 
 her son's chief instructor, and continued to super- 
 intend his studies during his residence in Cam- 
 bridge. She was living in 1579. 
 
 TOLLET, ELIZABETH, 
 
 An English lady, eminent for her knowledge of 
 mathematics, history, French, Latin, and Italian. 
 She published among other poems, " Susannah, 
 or Innocence Preserved." Her talents were care- 
 fully cultivated by her father, under whose su- 
 perintendence she received every advantage of 
 education. Sir Isaac Newton was an intimate 
 friend of hers, and an admirer of her genius. 
 Several of her poems display profound thought. 
 She also had great taste and skill in music and 
 drawing. She was never married. She died 
 February 1st, 1T54, at the age of sixty. 
 
 TOMLINS, ELIZABETH S., 
 
 An ingenious English poetess, novelist, and 
 miscellaneous writer, was born in London, in 1768. 
 Her father was Thomas Tomlins, Esq., an eminent 
 solicitor. She sliowed an early talent for poetry ; 
 but afterwards turning her attention to the com- 
 position of tales and novels, she published suc- 
 cessively several works, the most popular of which 
 was, " The Victim of Fancy," and a ballad, enti- 
 tled "Connell and Mary." Miss Tomlins also 
 translated the first history of Napoleon Bonaparte. 
 She died at her residence atChalden,in Surrey, 1826. 
 
 TONNA, CHARLOTTE ELIZABETH, 
 
 Better known simply as Charlotte Elizabeth, 
 was the only daughter of the Rev. Mr. Browne, an 
 Episcopal clergyman at Norwich, England. She 
 was born in the latter part of the eighteenth cen- 
 tury ; when about six years old, intense applica- 
 tion to study brought on a total blindness, which 
 lasted for several months. When about ten yeo,rs 
 old, she was afiiicted with an illness, which, to- 
 getlier with the severe remedy (calomel) used by 
 the physicians, brought on the total loss of her 
 hearing, which she never recovered, though she 
 retained the faculty of speech all her life. Her 
 enthusiastic nature was shown when she was very 
 young, in her ardent pursuit of knowledge and 
 her intense love of poetry. When she was about 
 eighteen, her father died. She married Dr. Phelan, 
 a surgeon in the British army, whom she followed 
 to Halifax, Nova Scotia. This union proved an 
 unhappy one, and, after nearly three years' absence, 
 Charlotte Elizabeth returned to England. She soon 
 after went to Ireland, where her husband was then 
 engaged in a law-suit. While there, she became 
 very much interested in the Irish people, and 
 formed a strong attachment to them which lasted 
 all her life ; and what was of greater importance 
 to herself and the world, she also became deeply 
 and truly religious. 
 
 In 1821, she went to the county of Kilkenny, 
 where she resided for three years. While here, 
 she became deeply interested in a little ignorant 
 dumb boy, whom she took and educated, so that 
 he proved a useful and pious member of society 
 till his early death. In 1824, she returned to 
 England, taking her little mute with her, and for 
 the next year she resided at Clifton, near Bristol, 
 where she formed an acquaintance with Mrs. 
 Hannah More. Her only and dearly beloved 
 brother returning at that time from Portugal, 
 where he had been for some time as an officer in 
 the British army, she accompanied him and his 
 family to Sandhurst. In the course of the little 
 more than two years that she passed with her 
 brother, Charlotte Elizabeth wrote " The Rockite," 
 "The System," "Izram," "Consistency," "Per- 
 severance," "Allen McLeod," and more than 
 thirty other little books and tracts, besides con- 
 tributions to various periodicals. 
 
 In 1828, her brother, captain Murray Browne, 
 was ordered to Ireland, where he was drowned 
 while fishing. After five years' residence at Sand- 
 hurst, where Charlotte Elizabeth had been zealous 
 and untiring in every good and benevolent work, 
 she removed to London, where she continued her 
 career of active usefulness, both with her pen and 
 by her personal exertions. She established schools 
 for the poorest of the poor, in the wretched district 
 of St. Giles, and taught in them herself a great 
 part of the day. In 1836 she removed to Black- 
 heath; and in 1837 she again visited Ireland. In 
 the same year she heard of the death of captain 
 Phelan, and in 1841 she married L. H. I. Tonna. 
 In 1841 she also undertook the editorship of the 
 "Protestant Magazine," which she continued till 
 1844. Her last work of fiction was entitled, 
 
 535 
 
TO 
 
 TO 
 
 " Judah's Lion." In 1842 she wrote "Principal- 
 ities and Powers in Heavenly Places." " Con- 
 formity," and "Dangers and Duties," also ap- 
 peared daring this year. In 1843 she wrote " The 
 Wrongs of Women," " The Church Visible in all 
 Ages," and " The Perils of the Nation." In 1845 
 she wrote " Judea Capta;" and in the same year 
 removed to London. Soon after she went to 
 Eamsgate, for the benefit of the sea-air, but re- 
 turned in a short time to London. She afterwards 
 returned to Kamsgate, where she died of a cancer, 
 July 12th, 1846. She wrote several other works, 
 which are not enumerated here. 
 
 The life and writings of Charlotte Elizabeth af- 
 ford remarkable proofs of the advantages of female 
 education, and the usefulness of female talents. 
 No other English writer has, within the last fifty 
 years, done so much to promote the cause of 
 evangelical piety in the English Church as this 
 deaf woman. And her pen, reaching across the 
 Atlantic, has instructed thousands of Christians 
 of America in the better understanding, or doing, 
 of their work of love. 
 
 It is impossible to estimate the good which has 
 been, and will be, effected by the earnest, active, 
 instructed mind of this woman, devoting herself 
 and her genius to God and his cause on earth. 
 Though she is dead her works live, and their po- 
 tent and persuasive manner of setting forth the 
 truths of the Bible, will maintain their popularity 
 with those who value the Word of God above the 
 traditions of men. This adherence to the doc- 
 trines of the Bible, and constant reference to the 
 sacred book, as the source of all true wisdom, we 
 consider the most striking and beautiful charac- 
 teristic of her works. As these are extensively 
 known, we choose our selections from her "Auto- 
 biography," which, as unveiling the secret sources 
 of her uncommon energies, and her wonderful 
 power to move the hearts of her readers, should 
 be studied by all who are interested by her 
 writings. 
 
 ' THE ADVANTAQES OP ORDEK. 
 
 How very much do they err who consider the 
 absence of order and method as implying greater 
 liberty or removing a sense of restraint ! Such 
 freedom is galling to me ; and in my eyes the 
 want of punctuality is a want of honest principle ; 
 for however people may think themselves author- 
 ised to rob God and themselves of their own time, 
 they can plead no right to lay a violent hand on 
 the time and duties of their neighbour. I say it 
 deliberately, that I have been defrauded of hun- 
 dreds of pounds, and cruelly deprived of my ne- 
 cessary refreshment in exercise, in sleep, and even 
 in seasonable food, through this disgraceful want 
 of punctuality in others, more than through any 
 cause whatsoever besides. It is also very irritat- 
 ing ; for a person who would cheerfully bestow a 
 piece of gold, does not like to be swindled out of 
 a piece of copper ; and many an hour have I been 
 ungenerously wronged of, to the excitement of 
 feelings in themselves far from right, when I would 
 gladly have so arranged my work as to bestow 
 upon the robbers thrice the time they made me 
 
 wantonly sacrifice. To say, " I will come to you 
 on such a day," leaving the person to expect you 
 early, and then, after wasting her day in that un- 
 comfortable, unsettled state of looking out for a 
 guest, which precludes all application to present 
 duties, and to come late in the evening — or to 
 accept an invitation to dinner, and either break 
 the engagement or throw the household into con- 
 fusion by making it wait — to appoint a meeting, 
 and fail of keeping your time — all these, and 
 many other effects of this vile habit are exceed- 
 ingly disgraceful, and wholly opposed to the scrip- 
 tural rules laid down for the governance of our 
 conduct one to another. I say nothing of the in- 
 sult put upon the Most High, the daring presump- 
 tion of breaking in upon the devotions of his 
 worshippers, and involving them in the sin of 
 abstractedness from the solemn work before them, 
 by entering late into the house of prayer. Such 
 persons may one day find they have a more serious 
 account to render on the score of their contempt 
 of punctuality than they seem willing to believe. 
 
 BKOTHEBS AND SISTERS. 
 
 How strong, how sweet, how sacred is the tie 
 that binds an only sister to an only brother, when 
 they have been permitted to grow up together, 
 untrammelled by the heartless forms of fashion ; 
 unrivalled by alien claimants in their confiding 
 affection ; undivided in study, in sport, and in 
 interest. Some object, that such union renders 
 the boy too effeminate and the girl too masculine. 
 In our case it did neither. He was the manliest, 
 the hardiest, most decided, most intrepid character 
 imaginable ; but in manners sweet, gentle, and 
 courteous, as they will be who are accustomed to 
 look with protecting tenderness on an associate 
 weaker than themselves. And as for me, though 
 I must plead guilty to the charge of being more 
 healthy, more active, and perhaps more energetic 
 than young ladies are usually expected to be, still 
 I never was considered unfeminine ; and the only 
 peculiarity resulting from this constant compan- 
 ionship with one of the superior sex, was to give 
 me a high sense of that superiority, with a habit 
 of deference to man's judgment, and submission 
 to man's authority, which I am quite sure God 
 intended the woman to yield. Every way has this 
 fraternal tie been a rich blessing to me. The love 
 that grew with us from our cradles never knew 
 diminution from time or distance. Other ties 
 were formed, but they did not supersede or weaken 
 this. Death tore away all that was mortal and 
 perishable, but this tie he could not sunder. As 
 I loved him while he was on earth, so do I love 
 him now that he is in heaven ; and while I cherish 
 in his boys the living likeness of what he was, my 
 heart ever more yearns towards him where he is, 
 anticipating the day when the Lord shall come, 
 and bring that beloved one with him. 
 
 Parents are wrong to check as they do the out- 
 goings of fraternal affection, by separating those 
 whom God has especially joined as the offspring 
 of one father and one mother. God has beauti- 
 fully mingled them, by sending now a babe of one 
 sex, now of the other, and suiting, as any careful 
 
 636 
 
TO 
 
 TO 
 
 observer may discern, their various characters to 
 form a .domestic whole. The parents interpose, 
 packing the boys to some school where no softer 
 influence exists to round off, as it were, the rugged 
 points of the masculine disposition, and iniiere 
 they soon lose all the delicacy of feeling peculiar 
 to a brother's regard, and learn to look on the 
 female character in a light wholly subversive of 
 the frankness, the purity, the generous care for 
 which earth can yield no substitute, and the loss 
 of which only transforms him who ought to be the 
 tender preserver of woman into her heartless de- 
 stroyer. The girls are either grouped at home, 
 with the blessed privilege of a father's eye upon 
 them, or sent away in a different direction from 
 their brothers, exposed, through unnatural and 
 unpalatable restraints, to evils not perhaps so 
 great, but every whit as wantonly incurred as the 
 others. 
 
 THE EVILS or TI.QHT LAOINO. 
 
 One morning, when I was about eight years old, 
 my father came in, and found sundry preparations 
 going on, the chief materials for which were buck- 
 ram, whalebone, and other stiff articles : while the 
 young lady was under measurement by the hands 
 of a female friend. 
 
 " Pray what are you going to do to the child ?" 
 
 " Going to fit her with a pair of stays." 
 
 " For what purpose ?" 
 
 "To improve her figure; no young lady can 
 grow up properly without them." 
 
 " I beg your pardon ; young gentlemen grow 
 up very well without them, and so may young 
 ladies." 
 
 " Oh, you are mistaken. See what a stoop she 
 has already ; depend on it this girl will be both a 
 dwarf and a cripple if we don't put her into 
 stays." 
 
 " My child may be a cripple, ma'am, if such is 
 God's will ; but she shall be one of his making, not 
 our's." 
 
 All remonstrance was vain; stays and every 
 species of tight dress was strictly prohibited by 
 the authority of one whose will was, as every 
 man's ought to be, absolute in his own household. 
 He also carefully watched against any evasion of 
 the rule ; a riband drawn tightly round my waist 
 would have been cut without hesitation, by his 
 determined hand ; while the little girl of the anx- 
 ious friend, whose operations he had interrupted, 
 enjoyed all the advantages of that system from 
 which I was preserved. She grew up a wand-like 
 figure, graceful and interesting, and died of decline 
 at nineteen, while I, though not able to compare 
 shapes with a wasp or an hour-glass, yet passed 
 muster very fairly among mere human forms, of 
 God's moulding ; and I have enjoyed to this hour 
 a rare exemption from headaches, and other lady- 
 like maladies, that appear the almost exclusive 
 privilege of women in, the higher classes. 
 
 This is no trivial matter, believe me ; it has fre- 
 quently been the subject of conversation with pro- 
 fessional men of high attainment, and I never met 
 with one among them who did not, on hearing that 
 I never but once, and then only for a few hours, 
 
 submitted to the restraint of these unnatural ma- 
 chines, refer to that exemption, as a means, the 
 free respiration, circulation, and powers both of 
 exertion and endurance with which the Lord has 
 most mercifully gifted me. There can be no 
 doubt that the hand which first encloses the waist 
 of a girl in these cruel contrivances, supplying her 
 with a fictitious support, where the hand of God 
 has placed bones and muscles that ought to be 
 brought into vigorous action, that hand lays the 
 foundation of bitter sufferings ; at the price of 
 which, and probably of a premature death, the 
 advantage must be purchased of rendering her 
 figure as unlike as possible to all the models of 
 female beauty, universally admitted to be such, 
 because they are chiselled after nature itself. I 
 have seen pictures, and I have read harrowing de- 
 scriptions, of the murderous consequences of thus 
 fiying in the face of the Creator's skill, and pre- 
 suming to mend — to improve — his perfect work; 
 but my own experience is worth a thousand trea- 
 tises and ten thousand illustrations, in bringing 
 conviction to my mind. 
 
 EMPLOYMENT. 
 
 How is it that Christians so often coipplain they 
 can find nothing to do for their Master ? To hear 
 some of them bemoaning their unprofitableness, we 
 might conclude that the harvest indeed is small, 
 and the labourers many. So many servants out 
 of employ, is a bad sign ; and to obviate this difS- 
 culty complained of, I purpose showing you two 
 or three ways in which those who are so inclined 
 may bestir themselves for the good of others. 
 What a blessing were a working church ! and by 
 a church, I mean " the company of all faithful 
 people," whomsoever and wheresoever they be. 
 
 In the village where I lived, there was a very 
 good national-school, well attended: also a Sun- 
 day-school ; and the poorer inhabitants generally 
 were of a respectable class, with many of a higher 
 grade — such as small tradesmen, and the families 
 of those in subordinate offices about the Military 
 College. I always took a great interest in the 
 young ; and as love usually produces love, there 
 was no lack of affectionate feeling on their part. 
 It occurred to me, as the Sunday was much de- 
 voted by most of them to idling about, that assem- 
 bling such of them as wished it at my cottage, 
 would afford an opportunity for scriptural instruc- 
 tion ; and without anything resembling a school, 
 or any regular proposal, I found a little party of 
 six or seven children assembled in the afternoon, 
 to hear a chapter read, answer a few questions 
 upon it, and join in a short prayer. Making it as 
 cheerful and unrestrained as possible, I found my 
 little guests greatly pleased ; and on the next Sab- 
 bath my party was doubled, solely through the 
 favourable report spread by them. One had asked 
 me, "Please, ma'am, may I bring my little sister?" 
 and on the reply being given, "You may bring any- 
 body and everybody you like," a general beating 
 up for recruits followed. In three or four weeks, 
 my assemblage amounted to sixty, only one half 
 of whom could be crowded into the parlour of my 
 small cottage. What was to be done ? The work 
 
 537 
 
TO 
 
 TR 
 
 was rather arduous ; but as I too had been com- 
 plaining not long before of having little to do for 
 the Lord, except with the pen, I resolved to brave 
 a little extra labour. I desired the girls to come 
 at four, the boys at six ; and allowing an interval 
 of half an hour between, we got through it very 
 well. A long table was set across the room, from 
 corner to corner ; round this they were seated, 
 each with a Bible, I being at the head of the table. 
 I found this easy and sociable way of proceeding 
 highly gratified the children : they never called, 
 never thought it a school — they came bustling in 
 with looks of great glee, particularly the boys, 
 and greeted me with the aifectionate freedom of 
 young friends. A few words of introductory 
 prayer were followed by the reading of one or 
 more chapters, so that each had a verse or two ; 
 and then we talked over the portion of Scripture 
 very closely, mutually questioning each other. 
 Many of the girls were as old as sixteen or seven- 
 teen, beautiful creatures, and very well dressed ; 
 and what a privilege it was so to gather and so to 
 arm them, in a place where, alas ! innumerable 
 snares beset their path ! We concluded with a 
 hymn ; and long before the half-hour had expired 
 that preceded the boys' entrance, they were clus- 
 tering like bees at the gate, impatient for the joy- 
 ous rush ; and to set themselves round their dear 
 table, with all that free confidence, without which 
 I never could succeed in really commanding the 
 attention of boys. 
 
 Our choice of chapters was peculiar ; I found 
 they wanted stirring subjects, and I gave them 
 Gideon, Samson, Jonathan, Nehemiah, Boaz, Mor- 
 decai, Daniel — all the most manly characters of 
 Old Testament history, with the rich gospel that 
 lies wrapped in every page of that precious volume. 
 Even in the New Testament, I found that indivi- 
 dualizing, as much as possible, the speaker or the 
 narrative, produced great effects. Our blessed 
 Lord himself, J»hn the Baptist, Paul — all were 
 brought before them as vividly as possible ; and 
 I can assure those who try to teach boys as they 
 would teach girls, that they are pursuing a wrong 
 method. Mine have often coaxed an extra hour 
 from me ; and I never once saw them willing to 
 go, during the fifteen months of our happy meet- 
 ings. If the least symptom of unruliness appeared, 
 I had only to tell them they were my guests ; and 
 I appealed to their feelings of manliness, whether 
 a lady had not some claim to forbearance and 
 respect. Nothing rights a boy of ten or twelve 
 years like putting him on his manhood ; and, 
 really, my little lads became gentlemen in mind 
 and manners, while, blessed be God! not a few 
 became, I trust, wise unto salvation. 
 
 IHE BIBLE. 
 
 Those who received the gospel by man's preach- 
 ing, may doubt and cavil : I took it simply from 
 the Bible, in the words that God's wisdom teacheth, 
 and I thus argued: — " Jesus Christ came into the 
 world to save sinners : I am a sinner : I want to 
 be saved: he will save me." There is no pre- 
 sumption in taking God at his word : not to do so, 
 is very impertinent : I did it, and I was happy. 
 
 I confess myself very little under the influence 
 of human teachers ; my being thrown exclusively 
 on the Bible for a scheme of doctrine, not only fur- 
 nished me with a satisfactory one, but showed me 
 so much of the inexhaustible treasures of wisdom 
 and knowledge hid in Christ, and of the Holy 
 Spirit's all-sufficiency to take of those things, and 
 show them unto the humble, diligent, prayerful 
 enquirer, that, in most cases of difficulty, instead 
 of asking, "What say the commentators?" or 
 "What says Mr. so and so?" I put the question, 
 "What says the Lord ?" For an answer, I search 
 his written word ; and for a commentary upon it, 
 I study his visible works. 
 
 TOREELLA, IPPOLITA, 
 Was the wife of the celebrated Baldassane Cas- 
 tigliona, and was born at Reggio. Little is known 
 of her life, except that she was a friend of the 
 learned and virtuous Olimpia Morati. She has 
 left some excellent Latin poems — the following 
 translation of one by Moore, may serve as a spe- 
 cimen. It is addressed to her husband, absent at 
 the court of Leo X. 
 
 They tell me thou 'rt the favour'd guest 
 Of every gay and brilliant throng; 
 
 No wit like thine to point the jest, 
 
 No voice like thine to breathe the song — 
 
 And none could tell, so gay thou art. 
 
 That thou and I are far apart. 
 
 Alas, alas! how different flows, 
 With thee and nie, the time away ! 
 
 Not that I wish thee sad, heaven knows; 
 Still, if thou canst be light and gay, 
 
 I only know that without thee, 
 
 The sun himself is dark to me. 
 
 Do I thus haste to hall and bower. 
 Among the gay and fair to shine? 
 
 Or deck my hair with gem and flower. 
 To flatter other eyes than thine? 
 
 Ah, no! with me, love's smiles are past— 
 
 Thou had'st the first, thou had'st the last. 
 
 TOSINI, EUTEOPIA, 
 Was born in Ferrara. The works of this au- 
 thoress have survived but in part, as they were 
 suppressed by the censors of the press, the sub- 
 jects being deemed detrimental to the existing 
 church. She was a nun of the Augustine order. 
 Those poems which have been preserved, are in 
 the collection of BergalU, and are very beautiful. 
 
 TRANTHAM, BETSEY, 
 Celebrated for her longevity, was a German 
 by birth, and emigrated to the British colonies of 
 North America in 1710, and died in Maury county, 
 Tennessee, in 1834, at the great age of 154. 
 
 TRIMMER, SARAH, 
 The daughter of Mr. Kirby, who wrote on Per- 
 spective, was born at Ipswich, in England, in 1741. 
 She prepared several useful works to promote the 
 diffusion of education, at a period when for a wo- 
 man to devote herself to such a task was uncom- 
 mon and unpopular. Mrs. Hannah More was, it is 
 true, in the field of literature ; but she had gained 
 powerful friends and supporters ; nor did she aim 
 
 538 
 
TR 
 
 UL 
 
 so maoli at opening and clearing. the sources of 
 education for the young and ignorant, as in inte- 
 resting and improving those who were already 
 educated, or giving a moral direoti'on to minds 
 which could not be kept quiet in their ignorance. 
 But Hannah More could not do everything which 
 
 was then needed in literature for her ses and for 
 children; she, probably, effected more good than 
 any other writer of her time ; and among her kind 
 feelings and noble acts, was the regard she mani- 
 fested for Mrs. Trimmer, and the efforts she used 
 to serve this more humble, but useful literary 
 contemporary, as the following letter proves : — 
 
 TEOM Mas. TEIMMER TO MISS H. MOEE. 
 
 May 10, 1787. 
 
 Dear Madam : — I feel myself inexpressibly ob- 
 liged by your kind attention. It would appear 
 like flattery to say how much I value your good 
 opinion, but indeed it has long been the secret 
 wish of my heart to obtain it. Your kind mention 
 of my works to the bishop of Salisbury, I esteem 
 a high obligation. I cannot but be proud of his 
 approbation, though I must consider it as a proof 
 of his regard to religion, which induces him to 
 countenance any attempt, however feeble, to pro- 
 mote its interests. I could wish you, dear madam, 
 to assure his lordship that his kind notice gives 
 fresh animation to my zeal, and that I shall be 
 highly gratified if he does me the honour of call- 
 ing on me. 
 
 I have been favoured with a most friendly letter 
 from Dr. Stonehouse, and a present of all his 
 Tracts, &c. My best thanks are due to you, 
 madam, for the obliging representations which 
 have procured me the notice of this venerable 
 gentleman, who would otherwise have overlooked 
 me and my humble performances. I need not say 
 that it is a great satisfaction to me to be regarded 
 in so favourable a light by the good and the wise ; 
 for you have had such full experience of this kind 
 of pleasure, that you can easily conceive what I 
 enjoy from this circumstance. 
 
 AVhen I see new editions of your publications 
 advertised, I sincerely rejoice that there is so 
 
 much taste remaining in the world. I hope your 
 useful pen does not lie idle. Surely, you mean 
 to favour the public with something more, shortly. 
 I have long been in hopes of seeing another volume 
 of "Sacred Dramas." Indeed, my dear madam, 
 you should go on with them ; they are so extremely 
 engaging to young minds, and the sentiments so 
 agreeable to Scripture, that they cannot fail of 
 producing the happiest effects. You know that I 
 read the sacred volume frequently ; I may truly 
 say, it is my highest entertainment to do so, and I 
 can assure you that your "Sacred Dramas" excite 
 in my mind the same kind of devotional feeling as 
 the Scriptures themselves. 
 
 I avail myself of your kind permission to submit 
 the beginning of my new edition of " Sacred His- 
 tory" to your inspection, and should esteem my- 
 self greatly obliged if you would favour me with 
 your sincere opinion whether I have improved 
 upon the former one or not. I send with it a spe- 
 cimen of the Psalms, which I mentioned when I 
 had the pleasure of seeing you. I believe I must 
 endeavour to do them in a more concise way for 
 Sunday-schools ; but at present the revision of 
 " Sacred History" .employs all my time. 
 
 In conformity with your friendly counsel, I 
 wrote to my publisher about three weeks ago, 
 desiring that he would settle my account in the 
 course of this month, which he has promised to do 
 without fail. At present, I am a mere bookseller's 
 fag, but hope to have resolution enough to disen- 
 tangle myself. 
 
 When, my dear madam, may I hope for the 
 favour of your company ? I long to introduce my 
 family to you ; they are impatient to see a lady 
 whose character and writings they so highly es- 
 teem. I wish to show you the spinning-wheel ; 
 it is really a most interesting sight to see twelve 
 little girls so usefully and so agreeably employed. 
 I shall experience so great a disappointment if I 
 should chance to be out when you come, that I 
 hope you will be able to fix the time. I cannot 
 be satisfied with a mere call — surely you can spare 
 me a day. I have a bed at your service, if you 
 can be prevailed on to accept it. 
 
 Mrs. Trimmer died in 1810, aged sixty-nine. 
 
 u. 
 
 ULRICA, ELEONOEA, 
 Second daughter of Charles XI. of S'yreden, was 
 born 1688, and governed the kingdom during the 
 absence of her brother, Charles XII. ; after his 
 death, she was proclaimed queen, 1719. The fol- 
 lowing year she resigned the crown to her hus- 
 band, Frederic of Hesse-Cassel, with whom she 
 shared the honours of royalty ; but such was the 
 ascendency of the nobles, that they obliged their 
 sovereigns to acknowledge their right to the throne 
 as the unbiassed election of the people. Ulrica, 
 by a wise administration, contributed to restore 
 peace and prosperity to the nation, and was greatly 
 beloved and respected. She died in 1741. Her 
 mother, the wife of Charles XI., also bore the 
 
 539 
 
UR 
 
 UB 
 
 name of Ulrica, and died in consequence of the 
 chagrin which her husband's brutal treatment had 
 occasioned. 
 
 TJRSINS, ANNE MARIE DE LA 
 
 TREMOUILLE, PRINCESS, 
 Married, in youth, Tallegran, prince de Cha- 
 lais ; and afterwards, the duke de Bracciano, of 
 the house of Orsino : but as this celebrated woman 
 has always borne the name ia the French style, 
 des Ursins, it would only lead to uncertainty to 
 adopt any other. She became a widow, for the 
 second time, in 1698 ; and the dukedom of Brac- 
 ciano being sold to pay the debts of the family, 
 she took the name of princess des Ursins. At the 
 marriage of Philip V. of Spain, grandson of the 
 French king, Louis XII., with the daughter of 
 Victor Amadeus, of Savoy, the princess of Ursins 
 was placed in the household of the new queen, by 
 the influence of Madame de Maintenon, who flat- 
 tered herself she could direct the affairs of Spain 
 through a correspondence with one whom she con- 
 sidered her creature, and whose domineering and 
 intriguing spirit, she felt assured, would soon ob- 
 tain unbounded influence over Philip and his young 
 wife. In the latter particular she was not mis- 
 taken. Philip y. was not without natural under- 
 standing, but his education had been worse than 
 neglected. He had, in common with all the junior 
 members of the royal family of France, been taught 
 to distrust his own judgment; to lean upon the 
 opinions of others ; and never to fancy himself 
 capable of directing the most trivial matter, with- 
 out advice: besides, all knowledge of business, 
 or of anything practical, had been discouraged, as 
 almost trea;sonable, and his attention had been 
 entirely wasted on attainments the most futile. 
 This was a bad preparation for the head of a great 
 nation, and left the young sovereign at the mercy 
 of any artful flatterer who might be near his per- 
 son. Such a one was the princess des Ursins. 
 Supple, insinuating, entertaining, resolute, she 
 soon became the real governor of the kingdom ; 
 neither the king nor queen could live without her 
 advice and companionship. Inflated by her new 
 elevation, her insolence and enterprise became 
 unbounded. Not even the despatches of the French 
 ambassador were sacred ; she searched them, and 
 had the effrontery to add marginal comments, and 
 send them on. The extreme boldness of this mea- 
 sure, in a Frenchwoman, can only be estimated, 
 when we consider how Louis idolized his dignity, 
 and how unsparing he was to the smallest breach 
 of etiquette. On this occasion he was justly in- 
 censed, and exacted the banishment of Madame 
 des Ursins from the Spanish court. After a time, 
 however, Madame de Maintenon, who missed her 
 Spanish correspondence, persuaded Louis to par- 
 don the offender. The king and queen of Spain 
 evidently longed for her return, and when it took 
 place, she obtained higher authority than ever. 
 When she made a journey, she was escorted by a 
 body of royal guards. No affair of importance 
 was undertaken without her suggestion, and no- 
 thing signed without her permission. She hin- 
 dered the ratification of a treaty of peace, which 
 
 was important to the most considerable powers of 
 Europe, merely to favour an underhanded intrigue 
 to obtain some personal advantages. 
 
 The queen of Spain died in 1714. Madame des 
 Ursins immediately conceived the idea of stepping 
 into her place ; and such was her power over the 
 feeble mind of Philip, that her bold expectations 
 might have been answered, but for the interven- 
 tion of the king's confessor. Madame des Ursins 
 finding her views defeated of placing herself on 
 the throne, determined, as the next best thing, to 
 choose a wife for Philip who should be entirely in 
 her dependence ; for this purpose, she thought of 
 Elizabeth Farnese, niece of the duke of Parma. 
 She imagined a young princess brought up without 
 education, in the little court of Parma, would be 
 merely a tool in her hands. For this purpose, 
 she engaged in the negotiation the abb^ Julio Al- 
 beroni, agent of the duke of Parma at Madrid. 
 This man, afterwards the well-known cardinal Al- 
 beroni, saw, at a glance, to what this marriage 
 might lead him. He spoke of the princess of 
 Parma as exactly the insignificant person de- 
 manded ; determining, at the same time, his own 
 plan of conduct. Madame des Ursins, sure of 
 making the king accept whomsoever she wished, 
 caused the proposal to be made in form. After 
 it had gone, and matters were dravring to a con- 
 clusion, she was told that Elizabeth, though with- 
 out education, had good natural abilities, and a 
 decided character. This alarmed the princess ; 
 she immediately despatched a courier to suspend 
 everything. He arrived the very day that the 
 nuptials were to be celebrated by proxy. The 
 uncle and niece determined at once what to do. 
 The courier was arrested : he was offered the 
 choice of instant death, or a considerable sum to 
 remain hidden till the next day, and then to ap- 
 pear as just arrived. Of course the courier did 
 not hesitate as to his choice. The marriage was 
 celebrated, and the princess of Parma set out for 
 Spain. On arriving at Pampeluna she met Albe- 
 roni, and told him she was resolved to get rid of 
 Madame des Ursins the moment she saw her. 
 Alberoni bade her be wary, and tried to dissuade 
 her from this bold step ; but she had made her 
 determination, and abided in it. The king, who 
 knew nothing of Madame des Ursin's courier — 
 whose errand had so deeply incensed the queen — 
 advanced to meet her at Guadalaxara, twelve miles 
 from Madrid. It is impossible to know what 
 apologies Madame des Ursins had framed to ap- 
 pease the royal bride ; probably she had been so 
 long used to absolute domination, and to -have her 
 reasonings accepted without demur, that she 
 thought to carry everything off by high-handed 
 insolence : she seemed to think herself as much 
 above attack as if she had been born to the throne. 
 Whatever were her views, she constituted herself 
 camerera-mayor of the new queen, as she had 
 been of the former, and went to pay her court, to 
 meet her at Quadraca, seven miles farther onward 
 than Guadalaxara. As soon as she presented her- 
 self; the attendants retired, to permit a free con- 
 versation. Very soon, loud words were heard; 
 the queen called her officers to arrest this imper- 
 
 640 
 
VA 
 
 VA 
 
 tinent woman, who behaved to her with disrespect. 
 Madame des Ursins, thunderstruck, asked in what 
 she had been disrespectful — what was her crime ? 
 The queen, without answering her, ordered the 
 commandant of her guards to put this woman in 
 a carriage with two trusty officers, to set out im- 
 mediately, and to convey her beyond the frontiers 
 of Spain. The commandant, scarcely believing 
 what he heard, timidly represented that such an 
 order could only come from the king. 
 
 " And has he not given you one," said the queen, 
 haughtily, "to obey me in everything, without 
 reserve, or dispute?" 
 
 He had such an order, though nobody but the 
 queen was acquainted with it. Madame des Ur- 
 sins was accordingly placed in a carriage, with a 
 chambermaid and two guards. It was a cold night 
 in December; she was allowed no preparations, 
 nor time even to change her attire ; but in the 
 unseasonable trappings of a court dress, no cover- 
 ing for her arms or head, travelled the whole 
 night. Too proud to complain, not a sigh, not a 
 word escaped her — the revolution was too sudden 
 for belief — nor did she cease indulging in hopes 
 that the king would send after her, tiU she arrived 
 at Chalais, where she was joined by her nephew, 
 bearing a letter from Philip, in which he said he 
 was very sorry for her, but that he could not re- 
 sist the queen. 
 
 Under this blow, Madame des Ursins at least 
 maintained her dignity, for she preserved an un- 
 altered mien, and said nothing. Her conductors, 
 who were accustomed to view her with fear and 
 respect, were, though with different emotions, as 
 much confounded as herself : they set her free at 
 St. Jean-de-Luz. Finding that all was over for 
 her in Spain, she attempted to make her court in 
 France. Louis, who was at the close of his career, 
 consented to see her, at the request of Madame de 
 Maintenon, but received her coldly ; and the rising 
 sun, the future regent, having received from Spain 
 ample testimony of the calumnies with which the 
 dethroned favourite had, aspersed him, obtained 
 from the king an order that she should never ap- 
 pear in his presence, or in that of any of his fa- 
 mily. Those who have been long accustomed to 
 the life of a court, can only live in its atmosphere, 
 at whatever expense of dignity. Madame des 
 Ursins, unable to obtain the reality, caught at its 
 image. She attached herself to the household of 
 the pretender James III., where she did the ho- 
 nours, and regulated the etiquette. She died in 
 1722, having lived more thai} eighty years. 
 
 UTTMAN, BARBARA, 
 A GrEEMAN, the inventor of the method of weav- 
 ing lace, in 1561. Nothing of her private history 
 is recorded. 
 
 VALLEERE, LOUISE FRANgOISE, DUCHESSE 
 DE LA, 
 
 A Fkenoh lady of an ancient family, and maid 
 of honour to Henrietta of England, wife of the 
 
 duke of Orleans, became the mistress of Louis 
 XIV. of France, by whom she had a son and a 
 daughter. She is thus described by contemporary 
 writers. " She was a most lovely woman ; the 
 lucid whiteness of her skin, the roses on her 
 cheeks, her languishing blue eyes, and her fine 
 silver-coloured hair were altogether captivating." 
 To her Choisy applies the following line : 
 
 "And grace still more charming than beauty." 
 
 " That La Valli^re," (says Auguetil, m his Me- 
 moirs), "who was so engaging, so winning, so 
 tender, and so much ashamed of her tenderness ; 
 who would have loved Louis for his own sake had 
 he been but a private man ; and who sacrificed to 
 her affection for him her honour and conscientious 
 scruples, with bitter regret." In a fit of mingled 
 repentance and jealousy, she one day left the 
 court, and retired to a convent at St. Cloud. The 
 king, when informed of this, seized the first horse 
 that came to hand, and rode hastily after her. He 
 at length prevailed over her pious resolutions, and 
 carried her back in triumph. "Adieu, sister," 
 said she to the nun who opened the gate for her ; 
 "you shall soon see me again." From that time 
 La Valli^re, shunning the public gaze, lived in re- 
 tirement ; and consequently the king mingled but 
 little with the circles of the court. In 1666, how- 
 ever, in obedience to her lover, and from tender- 
 ness to her children, she ventured once more to 
 appear in public, and accepted the title and ho- 
 nours of duchess. 
 
 Some time after, the beauty, wit, and vivacity 
 of Madame de Montespan, acquired for her such 
 an ascendency over the fickle monarch, that La 
 Valli^re was again driven by her jealousy to the 
 convent ; and she was again induced, by the tears 
 and entreaties of Louis, to return. But, being 
 convinced that his affections were irretrievably 
 lost, she resolved finally to carry out her purpose, 
 and took the vows in the presence of the whole 
 court, under the name of sister Louise, of the 
 order of Mercy, June 4th, 1675. She survived 
 this sacrifice for thirty-six years, devoted to the 
 performance of the austerities of a conventual 
 life. It was proposed to elevate her to those dig- 
 
 541 
 
VA 
 
 VA 
 
 nitiea consistent with her retirement, but she de- 
 clined, saying, " Alas ! after having shown myself 
 incapable to regulate my own conduct, shall I pre- 
 tume to direct that of others ?" 
 
 Madame de Montespan went sometimes to see 
 her. "Are you really as happy," asked she, at 
 one time, " as people say?" 
 
 " I am not happy," replied the gentle Carmelite, 
 "but content." 
 
 Her daughter. Mademoiselle de Blois, was mar- 
 ried to the prince of Conti ; her son, Louis of 
 Bourbon, count of Vermandois, died at the siege 
 of Courtrai, in 1683. "Alas, my God!" said La 
 Valli^re, when informed of her misfortune, "must 
 I weep for his death, before my tears have ex- 
 piated his birth ?" She died in 1710, at the age 
 of sixty-six. 
 
 She was much beloved for her meekness, gentle- 
 ness, and beneficence. She is considered the au- 
 thor of " Reflexions sur la Mis^ricorde de Dieu." 
 
 VANHOMRIGH, ESTHER, or VANESSA, 
 
 The name given in playfulness to Miss Van- 
 homrigh, by Dean Swift, and by which, through 
 her connexion with him, she will descend to future 
 times. Esther Vanhomrigh was the daughter of a 
 widow lady in afluent circumstances, in whose 
 house Swift was domesticated when he was in 
 London. Of her personal charms little has been 
 said ; Swift has left them unsung, and other au- 
 thorities have rather depreciated them. When 
 Swift became intimate in the family, she was not 
 twenty years old ; lively and graceful, yet with a 
 greater inclination for reading and mental cultiva- 
 tion, than is usually combined with a gay temper. 
 This last attribute had fatal attractions for Swift, 
 who, in intercourse with his female friends, had a 
 marked pleasure in directing their studies, and 
 acting as their literary mentor ; a dangerous cha- 
 racter for him who assumes it, when genius, doci- 
 lity, and gratitude are combined in a young and 
 interesting pupil. Miss Vanhomrigh, in the mean- 
 while, sensible of the pleasure which Swift re- 
 ceived from her society, and of the advantages of 
 youth and fortune which she possessed, and igno- 
 rant of the peculiar circumstances which bound him 
 to another, yielded to the admiration with which 
 he had inspired her, and naturally looked forward 
 to becoming his wife. Swift, however, according 
 to that singular and mysterious line of conduct 
 which he had laid down for himself, had no such 
 intention of rewarding her affection ; he afi^ected 
 blindness to her passion, and persisted in placing 
 their intercourse upon the footing of friendship — 
 the regard of pupil and teacher. 
 
 The imprudence — to use no stronger term — of 
 continuing such an intercourse behind the specious 
 veil of friendship, was soon exhibited. Miss Van- 
 homrigh, a woman of strong and impetuous feel- 
 ings, rent asunder the veil, by intimating to Swift 
 the state of her affections. In his celebrated poem, 
 in which he relates this fact, he has expressed the 
 " shame, disappointment, guilt, surprise," which 
 he experienced at this crisis ; but, instead of an- 
 swering it with a candid avowal of his engage- 
 ments with Stella — or other impedimenta, which 
 
 prevented his accepting her hand and fortune ^- 
 he answered the confession, . at first in raillery, 
 and afterwards by an offer of devoted and ever- 
 lasting friendship, founded on the basis of vir- 
 tuous esteem. Vanessa was neither contented nor 
 silenced by the result of her declaration ; but, 
 almost to the close of her life, persisted in endea- 
 vouring, by entreaties and arguments, to extort a 
 more lively return to her passion. The letters of 
 Vanessa to Swift, after his return to Ireland, are 
 filled with reproaches for his coldness and indif- 
 ference, combined with the most open and pas- 
 sionate expressions of attachment; whilst his 
 replies betray evident annoyance, and a settled 
 purpose, to repress these unreserved proofs of de- 
 votion. It is impossible to read these letters with- 
 out feeling the profoundest pity for the woman 
 who could so far lose sight of all self-respect :as 
 to continue such professions of regard to a man 
 whose conduct to her was marked by such cruel 
 and heartless selfishness. Her passion appears to 
 have been so resistless as to have borne before it 
 all sense of humiliation — every feeling of womanly 
 pride. 
 
 The circumstances of Vanessa, by a singular co- 
 incidence, were not dissimilar to those of Stella. 
 Her parents died, and she became mistress of her 
 own fortune. Some of her estates being in Ire- 
 land, it became necessary to look after them ; and 
 she, induced, no doubt, as much by a desire to be 
 near Swift as by this object, repaired to Ireland. 
 This step placed Swift in a very unpleasant posi- 
 tion ; he dreaded having the rivals on the same 
 ground, and was terrified at the vehemence of 
 Vanessa's passion, which she was at no pains to 
 conceal. She took possession of her small pro- 
 perty at Cellbridge, and her letters to Swift be- 
 came more and more embarrassing to him. The 
 jealousy of Stella was now awakened by rumours 
 that had reached her, and her health and spirits 
 rapidly declined. The marriage of Swift and 
 Stella, is still a disputed question ; but the most 
 recent researches upon the subject, serve to con- 
 firm this belief. It is asserted, that alarmed at 
 the state of Stella's health, Swift employed his 
 friend, the bishop of Clogher, to ask, what he 
 dared not question himself, the cause of her me- 
 lancholy. The answer was such as his conscience 
 must have anticipated. Swift, to appease her, 
 consented to go through the form of marriage 
 with her, provided it was kept a secret from the 
 world, and that they should continue to live apart 
 as before p and they were married at the deanery, 
 by the bishop of Clogher. 
 
 Notwithstanding the new obligation which he 
 had imposed upon himself, to act with uprightness 
 to Vanessa, Swift still continued to visit her as 
 before; he professed to discourage her attach- 
 ment, and even advised her to marry one of her 
 suitors ; but, by his warm interest in her and her 
 affairs, secretly confirmed her feelings. Vanessa 
 had now become aware of Swift's connexion with 
 Stella, whose declining health alone had prevented 
 her asking an explanation of Swift, as to the real 
 state of his position with her. Impatience at 
 length prevailed ; and, in an evil hour, she wrote 
 
VA 
 
 VE 
 
 to Stella, requesting to be informed of the true 
 state of the case. Stella, without hesitation, in- 
 formed her of her marriage, with the dean, and 
 enclosing to him Vanessa's letter, she left her own 
 abode in indignation, and retired to the house of 
 a friend. Enfuriated against the woman whose 
 rashness had betrayed his treachery, Swift pro- 
 ceeded to the dwelling of "Vanessa ; he entered her 
 presence, and casting upon her a withering glance 
 of scorn and rage, threw the letter which she had 
 written to Stella upon the table, and, without a 
 word, rushed from the house, mounted his horse, 
 and returned to Dublin. 
 
 Vanessa, horror-stricken, saw that her fate was 
 sealed, and she sank under the weight of her 
 despair. This cruel act of her lover, however, at 
 last restored her to reason ; she revoked a will 
 made in his favour, and left it in charge to her 
 executors, to publish all the correspondence be- 
 tween her and Swift ; which, however, never ap- 
 peared. Vanessa survived this fatal blow only 
 fourteen months ; she died in 1723. On hearing 
 of her death, Swift, it is said, seized with remorse, 
 and overcome with shame and self-reproach, with- 
 drew himself from society, and for two months 
 the place of his retreat was unknown. Thus two 
 noble-hearted women, true and disinterested in 
 their affection for him, were sacrificed to his self- 
 ish vanity and worldly wisdom. 
 
 VAN NESS, MARCIA, 
 
 Was the only daughter and heiress of David 
 Burns, Esq., of Maryland. She was carefully edu- 
 cated, and was distinguished for her loveliness of 
 person and her benevolence of character. In 1802, 
 at the age of twenty, she married the Hon. John 
 P. Van Ness, by whom she had only one child, a 
 daughter. The sudden death of this daughter, 
 soon after her marriage to Arthur Middleton, of 
 South Carolina, was a sad affliction ; but she re- 
 signed herself to the will of God, and devoted her 
 energies to the cause of charity. She was the 
 leader in those plans of benevolence, in the city 
 of Washington, managed by ladies. A society was 
 incorporated for establishing a Female Orphan 
 Asylum, and Mrs. Van Ness gave the grounds ne- 
 cessary for the erection of such an edifice ; and 
 she was one of the most efiicient agents in pro- 
 moting the success of this charitable institution. 
 United with lady-like manners, she displayed 
 sound sense and great decision of character, and 
 was honoured and respected by all classes of 
 people who knew her deeds, and were admitted 
 to her society. 
 
 Mrs. Van Ness died on the ninth of September, 
 1832, and the announcement of her decease oast 
 a gloom over the whole city. The citizens, with- 
 out distinction of political party or religious creeds, 
 had a meeting to express their grief at her depar- 
 ture from her labours of charity and piety, and 
 to fix on some method of bearing testimony to her 
 worth. The citizens voted to procure a plate to 
 be put on her colfin, with an inscription," detailing 
 her virtues and expressing their gratitude. This 
 was done ; and the whole city may be said to have 
 attended her funeral. This is the first instance 
 
 on record in the United States, in which the people 
 of a city or a town were called together to devise 
 funeral honours for a woman. 
 
 VAROTARI, CHIARA, 
 Was born at Verona, in 1582. She was the 
 daughter of the celebrated artist, Drio Varotari, 
 by whom she wa^ instructed in the art of painting. 
 Her portraits were considered very excellent. She 
 died at Verona, in 1639. 
 
 VARNHAGEN, RACHEL LEVIN, or 
 ROBERT, 
 
 Was born at Berlin, in 1771. She was a Jewess 
 by birth ; and with no outward advantages to com- 
 pensate for this grand mischance, she nevertheless 
 raised herself by degrees — and without seeking it, 
 but by sheer instinctive elasticity — to be a queen 
 of thought and taste in the most intellectual coun- 
 try of Europe. Her early education seems to have 
 been much neglected ; but, with the strength and 
 compass of soul with which she was gifted, this 
 absence of external influence only caused the in- 
 ternal might to develope itself with more fresh- 
 ness and originality. 
 
 In the year 1815, after a long-continued strug- 
 gle with herself, she felt constrained to make 
 an open profession of Christianity; in the same 
 year, she married K. A. Varnhagen von Ense, 
 and their union was a pre-eminently happy one, 
 although she was several years older than her 
 husband. Her husband published her letters and 
 biography after her death. As an authoress, she 
 is only known through her letters ; every one of 
 which breathes a spirit of purity, devotion, and 
 Christian humility, that makes them worthy of a 
 place in every Christian library. She was ac- 
 quainted and corresponded with most of the dis- 
 tinguished persons in Germany. Schleienmacher, 
 Frederick Shlegel, Prince Louis Ferdinand of Prus- 
 sia, and Gentz, the famous historian, all knew and 
 acknowledged the Berlin Jewess, as Pope Paul V. 
 did Cardinal Perron: — "May God inspire that 
 man with good thoughts, for whatsoever he says, 
 we must do it!" She was noted for her great 
 strength, vigour, and activity of mind ; for her 
 ardent love of truth, and her strong, resolute, and 
 vehement contempt for falsehood or shams of all 
 kinds ; and also for the truly womanly grace and 
 kindliness which marked all her actions. Amid 
 the horrors of war in Berlin in 1813, and the 
 greater horrors of pestilence in 1831, she moved 
 about like a beneficent Valkyrie, and exclaimed 
 triumphantly, " My whole day is a feast of doing 
 good !" She died in 1838, at Berlin. 
 
 VBRDIEB, MADAME DE, 
 Was a French poetess from Uz6s. ■ Her poetical 
 epistle entitled " The Bondage of Love," was 
 crowned by the Academy at Toulouse, in 1769. 
 She wrote several other poems which were highly 
 praised. 
 
 VERELST, MADEMOISELLE, 
 
 A Flemish historical and portrait painter, was 
 born in 1630. She was niece of Simon Verelst, 
 
VI 
 
 VI 
 
 and was taught painting by her father, Herman 
 Verelst, hut afterwards lived entirely with her 
 uncle, who gave her the beat instructions in his 
 power. She was a fine performer on several mu- 
 sical instruments, and spoke and wrote the Ger- 
 man, Italian, Latin, English, and French languages 
 with fluency and elegance. She painted with genius 
 and spirit, and was admired for the delicacy of her 
 touch, and the neat manner of her finishing. The 
 time of her decease is not recorded. 
 
 VERNEUIL, CATHARINE HENRIETTA DE 
 BALZAC, MARQUISE DE, 
 
 A French lady, who so captivated Henry IV. 
 that he promised to marry her. His subsequent 
 marriage with Maria de Medicis, so offended his 
 haughty mistress, that she conspired with the 
 Spanish court to dethrone him, and place the 
 crown of France on the head of the son she had 
 borne to Henry. Their intrigues were discovered, 
 and her accomplices punished. She died in exile, 
 1633, aged fifty-four. 
 
 VERRUE, COUNTESS OP, 
 
 Was one of the most accomplished and beautiful 
 women of Parisian society. She belonged to the 
 proud and ancient family of Luynes, and was early 
 married to the count de Verrue, who took her to 
 Turin. Her great beauty attracted the attention 
 of Amad^e Victor, duke of Savoy and king of 
 Sicily. She long resisted his addresses, with a 
 constancy and virtue rare for the age in which she 
 lived. The persecution of her husband's relatives, 
 whose protection she implored in vain, and the 
 temptation of ruling over a court where her virtue 
 only excited ridicule, at length proved stronger 
 than her scruples : she became the mistress of the 
 prince. His love was very ardent and sincere ; it 
 only increased with years ; and it ended by heartily 
 wearying Madame de Verrue. Her children by 
 her lover, the power she exercised at his court, 
 the wealth she enjoyed, could not fix her affections. 
 She eloped with her brother. A great quantity 
 of valuable medals disappeared with her from the 
 Duke's palace. She led an elegant and luxurious 
 life in Paris. She was rich and prodigal, and 
 spent upwards of a hundred thousand livres a 
 year on curiosities and rare books. Her library 
 was, in plays and novels, the most complete a 
 private person had then possessed. She loved 
 company ; and Voltaire admired and flattered 
 her. It is said that she never spoke of her former 
 lover, or of her children, or expressed the least re- 
 gret for the step she had taken. She was gene- 
 rally considered attractive and agreeable, and was, 
 probably, as much so as a heartless woman with- 
 out faith, love, or purity can ever be. 
 
 VIEN, MADAME, 
 Wife and pupil of the celebrated French artist, 
 Joseph Marie Vien, was a distinguished painter of 
 objects of still-life. She depicted birds, shells, 
 and flowers, with exquisite skill. Her domestic 
 virtues equalled her talents. She died in 1805, 
 at the age of seventy-seven. 
 
 VIGNE, ANNE DE LA, 
 
 Was born in 1G34, at Vernon, in Normandy 
 She was the daughter of one of the king's physi- 
 cians, and was one of the most beautiful and in- 
 tellectual persons of her time. Her extreme de- 
 votion to study brought on a disease of which she 
 died, at Paris, in 1684. She belonged to the 
 academy of the Ricovrati at Padua ; and was the 
 intimate friend of Mademoiselle de Scuderi and 
 Marie Dapr^. She was distinguished for her po- 
 etical talents, and her scientific attainments. Her 
 ode, entitled " Monseigneur le Dauphin au Roi," 
 obtained great reputation. 
 
 VIGRI, OATERINA, 
 
 Was born at Bologna, in 1413, and was so highly 
 esteemed for her piety, as well as her talents, that 
 the name of Santa Caterina di Bologna was con- 
 ferred upon her. She seldom painted in oil, but 
 was principally employed in illuminating missals, 
 and executing religious subjects in miniature. 
 She died in 1463. 
 
 VILLEBRUNE, MART DE, 
 Was a portrait-painter, of whom but little is 
 known. She exhibited at the Royal Academy, in 
 London, from 1770 to 1782. She is supposed to 
 have married a man named De Noblet. 
 
 VILLLEDIEU, MARIE CATHARINE 
 HORTENSE DE, 
 Daughter of the provost of Alenfon in France, 
 was born there, in 1632. Her second husband 
 was M. de Chatte, and her third, M. des Jardins. 
 This lady wrote various works, both in prose and 
 verse ; her fugitive poems are most highly esteemed. 
 She also wrote a number of romances. She died 
 in 1683. The following is a specimen of her 
 poetry : 
 
 MADEIGAL. 
 Cluand on voit deux amants d'esprit assez vulgaire, 
 Trouver dans leurs discoui's de quoi se satisfaire, 
 Et se parler incessament, 
 Les beaux esprits, de langue Men disante, 
 Disent avec 6tonnement; 
 due pout dire cette innocente? 
 £t que rgpond ce sot amant? 
 Taisez-vous, beaux esprits, voire erreur est extreme ; 
 lis se disent cent fois tour a tour; Je vous aime. 
 En amour, c'est parler assez gli^gamment. 
 
 VILLENEUVE, GABRtELLE SUSANNE 
 BABBUT DE, 
 
 A OELBBBATED noTcl-writer, was the widow of 
 J. B. Gaalon de VUleneuve, lieutenant-colonel of 
 infantry in the service of France. She began to 
 write late in life, and produced about twelve vo- 
 lumes. She died at Paris, December 29th, 1755. 
 None of her works are now read ; the fashion of 
 novels changes with each generation ; and works 
 of fiction which only illustrate the manners' and 
 sentiments of the writer's own times can hardly 
 be expected to be read but by contemporaries. 
 
 VIOT, MARIE ANNE HENRIETTE, 
 
 A NATIVE of Dresden, Prussia, was distinguished 
 
 for her wit, learning, and the versatility of her 
 
 644 
 
WA 
 
 WA 
 
 genius. Her father, M. de I'Estang, removed to 
 France when she -was a child. At the age of 
 twelve she married d'Antremont, who left her a 
 widow in four years. She then married de Bour- 
 dio, of Nismes. After his decease she again mar- 
 ried ; her third husband was M. Viot, commissary 
 of the IntSrieures at Barcelona. Madame Viot 
 was honoured with a seat in the academy of Nismes, 
 and read, on her admission, an eulogy on her 
 favourite, Montaigne. She wrote an " Ode to 
 Silence," "The Summer," "Fauvette," a romance, 
 " La Foret de Brama," an opera, &c. This ex- 
 cellent and accomplished lady died near Bagnols, 
 in 1802, aged fifty-six. 
 
 W. 
 WALTERS, HENRIETTA, 
 
 An artist, was born at Amsterdam, in 1692. 
 She was first instructed by her father, Theodore 
 Van Pee, but afterwards by the best artists in the 
 city. After copying some of the works of Chris- 
 topher Le Blond, she became desirous of having 
 him for an instructor, which favour, with great 
 difficulty, she obtained ; his compliance being al- 
 most entirely owing to the extraordinary talents 
 he discovered in her. In the manner of Le Blond, 
 she painted portraits in small ; and copied a por- 
 trait and a St. Sebastian, after Vandyck, which 
 exceedingly advanced her reputation, as her copies 
 resembled the originals to an astonishing degree. 
 
 She gradually rose to such a reputation, that 
 Peter the Great of Russia offered her a large pen- 
 sion, to engage her in his service at St. Peters- 
 burgh ; but no inducements were sufficient to 
 make her leave her own country, where she was 
 so highly esteemed. The czar sat to her for his 
 picture, but he had not patience to have it finished, 
 as she usually required twenty sittings, of two 
 hours each, for every portrait. She was after- 
 wards honoured with a visit from the king of 
 Prussia, who solicited her to reside at his court ; 
 but his generous proposal was also rejected. She 
 died at Amsterdam, in 1741, aged forty-nine years. 
 
 WAKEFIELD, PRISCILLA, 
 An Englishwoman, well known for the useful 
 and ingenious works she has written for the in- 
 struction of youth. She is said to be the original 
 promoter of banks for the savings of the poor, 
 which are now so general. §ome of her works 
 are, "Juvenile Improvement," "Leisure Hours," 
 " An Introduction to Botany," " Mental Improve- 
 ment," " Reflections on the Present Condition of 
 the Female Sex, with Hints for its Improvement," 
 "A FamUiar Tour through the British Empire," 
 " Excursions in North America," " Sketches of 
 Human Manners," "Variety," "Perambulations 
 in London," " Instinct Displayed," " The Traveller 
 in Africa," "Introduction to the Knowledge of 
 Insects," and " The Traveller in Asia." Mrs. 
 Wakefield was one of those useful writers, whose 
 talents, devoted to the cause of education, have 
 been a moral blessing to the youth of England. 
 2K 
 
 Her first work was published in 1795, her last in 
 1817 ; thus, for more than twenty years, she kept 
 her post in the cause of improvement. 
 
 WARE, KATHARINE AUGUSTA, 
 
 Daughtee, of Dr. Rhodes, of Quincy, Massachu- 
 setts, was born in 1797. In 1819, she married 
 Charles A. Ware, of the navy. She is principally 
 known as a poetical contributor to periodicals. 
 She also edited, for a year or two, a magazine called 
 " The Bower of Taste," published at Boston. She 
 went to Europe, in 1839, and died at Paris, in 
 1843. A collection of her poems was published 
 in London, not long before her death. The two 
 following, if not her most finished poems, are the 
 most pleasing, from their tender and true wo- 
 manly sentiment. 
 
 A NEW-VEAR WISH. 
 TO A CHILD AGED FIVE TEARS. 
 
 Dear one, while bending o'er thy couch of rest, 
 I've looked on thee as thou wert calmly sleeping. 
 
 And wished — Oh, couldst thou ever be as blest 
 As now. when haply all thy cause of weeping 
 
 Is for a truant bird, or faded rose I 
 Though these light griefs call forth the ready tear, 
 
 They cast no shadow o'er thy sot\ repose- 
 No trace of care or sorrow lingers here. 
 
 With rosy cheek upon the pillow prest, 
 
 To me thou seem'st a cherub pure and fair. 
 With thy sweet smile and gently heaving breast, 
 
 And the bright ringlets of thy clustering hair. 
 What shall I wish thee, little one? Smile on 
 
 Through childhood's morn— through life's gay spring— 
 For oh, too soon will those bright hours be gone ! — 
 
 In youth time flies upon a silken wing. 
 
 May thy young mind, beneath the bland control 
 
 Of education, lasting worth acquire ; 
 May Virtue stamp her signet on thy soul. 
 
 Direct thy steps, and every thought inspire ! 
 Thy parents' earliest hope — be it their care 
 
 To guide thee through youth's path of shade and flowers. 
 And teach thee to avoid false pleasure's snare- 
 Be thine, to smile upon their evening hours. 
 
 LOSS OF THE FIE3T-B0KN. 
 
 I saw a pale young mother bending o'er * 
 
 Her first-born hope. Its soft blue eyes were closed. 
 Not in the balmy dream of downy rest. 
 
 In Death's embrace the shrouded babe reposed ; 
 It slept the dreamless sleep that wakes no more. 
 
 A low sigh struggled in her heaving breast, 
 But yet she wept not : hers was the deep grief 
 
 The heart, in its dark desolation, feels ; 
 Which breathes not in impassioned accents wild. 
 
 But slowly the warm pulse of life congeals ; 
 A grief which from the world seeks no reliefs— 
 
 A mother's sorrow o'er her first-born child. 
 She gazed upon it with a steadfast eye. 
 
 Which seemed to say, " Oh, would I were with thee 1" 
 As if her every earthly hope were fled 
 
 With that departed cherub. Even he— 
 Her young heart's choice, who breathed a father's sigh 
 
 Of bitter anguish o'er the unconscious dead 
 Felt not, while weeping by its funeral bier. 
 One pang so deep as hers, who shed no tear. 
 
 WARNE, ELIZABETH, 
 
 One of the martyrs to religious opinions, during 
 the reign of Mary of England, was burned at Strat- 
 ford-le-Bow, August, 1555. Her husband had 
 been executed before. 
 
 545 
 
WA 
 
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 WAEREN, MERCY, 
 One of the first American female poets, and 
 a historian who still holds a high place among 
 the American writers of her day, was born in 
 Barnstable, in the old colony of Plymouth, in 1728. 
 She was the daughter of Colonel James Otis, and 
 received her instruction principally from the Rev. 
 
 .Jonathan Russel, the clergyman of the village, as 
 schools were then almost unknown. About 1754, 
 Miss Otis married James Warren, a merchant of 
 Plymouth, who encouraged her in literary pur- 
 suits. She was one of the first female poets of 
 America, and many of her poems, especially her 
 satires, received great applause, and were said to 
 have had great influence. She entered warmly 
 into the contest between England and America, 
 and corresponded with Samuel and John Adams, 
 Jefferson, Dickinson, Gerry, Knox, and many other 
 leading men of the time ; these often consulted her, 
 and acknowledged the soundness of her judgment, 
 on many of the important events before and after 
 the war. Mrs. Warren often changed her resi- 
 dence dtring the war, but always retained her 
 habits of hospitality. She wrote two tragedies, 
 "The Sack of Rome," and "The Ladies of Cas- 
 tile," many of her other poems, and a satire called 
 "The Group," to alleviate the pangs of suspense, 
 while her friends were actively engaged, during 
 the revolution. She was particularly celebrated 
 for her knowledge of history ; and Rochefoucauld, 
 in his " Travels in the United States," speaks of 
 her extensive reading. Mrs. Warren died October 
 19th, 1814, in the eighty-seventh year of her age. 
 Her writings were published in 1805, under the 
 title of " The History of the Rise, Progress, and 
 Termination of the Ataerican Revolution, inter- 
 spersed with Biographical, Political, and Moral 
 Observations," in three volumes. This work she 
 dedicated to Washington ; and it is now considered 
 valuable as a record of the events and feelings of 
 those revolutionary times. Mr. Griswold, in his 
 "Female Poets of America," makes these just 
 remarks on his selections from her writings: 
 -' Her tragedies wore written for amusement, in 1 
 
 the solitary hours in which her friends were 
 abroad, and they are as deeply imbued with the 
 general spirit as if their characters were acting in 
 the daily experience of the country. They have 
 little dramatic or poetic merit, but many passages 
 are smoothly, and some vigorously written — as the 
 following, from ' the Sack of Rome.' " 
 
 SUSPICION. 
 
 I think some latent mischief lies concealed 
 Beneath the vizard of a fair pretence; 
 My heart ill brooked the errand of the day, 
 Vet I obeyed— though a strange horror seized 
 My gloomy mind, and shook my frame 
 As if the moment murdered all my joys 
 
 EEMORSE. 
 
 The bird of death that nightly pecks the roof. 
 Or shrieks beside the caverns of the dead ; 
 Or paler spectres that infest the tombs 
 Of guilt and darkness, horror or despair. 
 Are far more welcome to a wretch like me 
 Than yon bright rays that deck the openiiig moni. 
 
 FOETnNE, 
 
 The wheel of fortune, rapid in its flight. 
 Lags not for man, when on its swift routine ; 
 Nor does the goddess ponder unresolved ; 
 She wafts at once, and on her lofty car 
 Lifts up her puppet — mounts him to the skies. 
 Or from the pinnacle hurls headlong down 
 The steep abyss of disappointed hope. 
 
 AEDELIA. 
 
 She was, for innocence and truth. 
 For elegance, true dignity, and grace. 
 The fairest sample of that ancient worth 
 Th' illustrious matrons boasted to the world 
 When Rome was famed for every glorious deed. 
 
 BECLINE or PUBLIC VIETUE. 
 
 That dignity the gods themselves inspired. 
 When Rome, inflamed with patriotic zeal, 
 Long taught the world to tremble and admire, 
 Lies faint and languid in the wane of fame. 
 And must expire in Luxury's lewd lap 
 If not supported by some vigorous arm. 
 
 From " The Ladies of Castile.'* 
 CIVIL WAE. 
 
 'Mongst all the ills that hover o'er mankind. 
 Unfeigned, or fabled in the poet's page. 
 The blackest scrawl the sister furies hold, 
 For red-eyed Wrath or Malice to fill up. 
 Is incomplete to sum up human wo. 
 Till Civil Discord, still a darker fiend. 
 Stalks forth unmasked from his infernal den. 
 With mad Alecto's torch in his right hand. 
 
 THE COURAGE OF VIETUE. 
 
 .\ soul, inspired by freedom's genial warmth, 
 Expands, grows firm, and by resistance, strong ; 
 The most successful prince that offers life, 
 And bids me live upon ignoble terms, 
 - Shall learn from me that virtue seldom fears. 
 Death kindly opes a thousand friendly gates. 
 And Freedom waits to guard her votaries through 
 
 WARWICK, MARY, COUNTESS OF, 
 
 Was the thirteenth of the fifteen children of the 
 
 great earl of Cork, founder of the illustrious house 
 
 of Boyle. Mary married Charles, earl of War- 
 
 wfck, whom she survived five years. From her 
 
 546 
 
WA 
 
 WA 
 
 liberality to the poor, her husband was said to 
 have left his estate to charitable uses. The fame 
 of her hospitality and benevolence, advanced the 
 rent of the houses in her neighbourhood, where 
 she was the common arbitress of all differences. 
 Her awards, by the judgment and sagacity they 
 displayed, prevented many law-suits. She died 
 April, 1678. 
 
 WASHINGTON, MRS. MARY 
 
 Mother of George Washington, the hero of the 
 American revolutionary war, and the first presi- 
 dent of the United States, claims the noblest dis- 
 tinction a woman should covet or can gain, that 
 of training her gifted son in the way he should go, 
 ■ and inspiring him by her example to make the 
 way of goodness his path to glory.* 
 
 ' ' Mrs. Washington was descended from the very 
 respectable family of Ball, who settled as English 
 colonists, on the banks of the Potomac. Bred in 
 those domestic and independent habits, which 
 graced the Virginia matrons in the old days of 
 Virginia, this lady, by the death of her husband, 
 became involved in the cares of a young family, 
 at a period when those cares seem more especially 
 to claim the aid and control of the stronger sex. 
 It was left for this eminent woman, by a method 
 the most rare, by an education and discipline the 
 most peculiar and imposing, to form in the youth- 
 time of her son those great and essential qualities 
 which gave lustre to the glories of his after-life. 
 If the school savoured the more of the Spartan 
 than the Persian character, it was a fitter school 
 to form a hero, destined to be the ornament of the 
 age in which he flourished, and a standard of ex- 
 cellence for ages yet to come. 
 
 It was remarked by the ancients, that the mo- 
 ther always gave the tone to the character of the 
 child ; and we may be permitted to say, that since 
 the days of old renown, a mother has not lived 
 better fitted to give the tone and character of real 
 greatness to her child, than she whose remarkable 
 life and actions this reminiscence will endeavour 
 to illustrate. . 
 
 At the time of his father's death, George Wash- 
 ington was only ten years of age. He has been 
 heard to say that he knew little of his father, ex- 
 cept the remembrance of his person, and of his 
 parental fondness. To his mother's forming care 
 he himself ascribed the origin of his fortunes and 
 his fame. 
 
 The home of Mrs. Washington, of which she was 
 always mistress, was a pattern of order. There 
 the levity and indulgence common to youth was 
 tempered by a deference and well-regulated re- 
 straint, which, while it neither suppressed nor 
 condemned any rational enjoyment usual in the 
 spring-time of life, prescribed those enjoyments 
 within the bounds of moderation and propriety. 
 Thus the chief was taught the duty of obedience, 
 which prepared him to command. Still the mother 
 
 * This biography was wjitten by George W. P. Custis, 
 grandson of Mrs. Martha Washington. As Mr. Custis had 
 the best opportunities of Icnowing the character and merits 
 of the subject of our sketch, we give his own published tes- 
 timony of her rare merits. 
 
 held in reserve an authority which never departed 
 from her, even when her son had become the most 
 illustrious of men. It seemed to say, " I am your 
 mother, the being who gave you life, the guide 
 who directed your steps when they needed a guar- 
 dian ; my maternal affection drew forth your love ; 
 my authority constrained your spirit ; whatever 
 may be your success or your renown, next to your 
 God, your reverence is due to me." Nor did the 
 chief dissent from these truths; but to the last 
 moments of his venerable parent, yielded to her 
 will the most dutiful and implicit obedience, and 
 felt for her person and character the highest re- 
 spect, and the most enthusiastic attachment. 
 
 Such were the domestic influences under which 
 the mind of Washington was formed ; and that he 
 not only profited by, but fully appreciated their 
 excellence and the character of his mother, his 
 behaviour towards her at all times testified. Upon 
 his appointment to the command-in-chief of the 
 American armies, previously to his joining the 
 forces at Cambridge, he removed his mother from 
 her country residence to the village of Fredericks- 
 burg, a situation remote from danger, and conti- 
 guous to her friends and relatives. 
 
 It was there the matron remained during nearly 
 the whole of the trying period of the revolution. 
 Directly in the way of the news, as it passed from 
 north to south, one courier would bring intelligence 
 of success to our arms ; another, "swiftly coursing 
 at his heels," the saddening reverse of disaster 
 and defeat. While thus ebbed and flowed the for- 
 tunes of our cause, the mother, trusting to the 
 wisdom and protection of divine providence, pre- 
 served the even tenour of her life ; affording an 
 example to those matrons whose sons were alike 
 engaged in the arduous contest ; and showing that 
 unavailing anxieties, however belonging to nature, 
 were unworthy of mothers, whose sons were com- 
 bating for the inestimable rights of man, and the 
 freedom and happiness of the world. 
 
 When the comforting and glorious intelligence 
 arrived of the passage of the Delaware, (Decem- 
 ber, '76,) an event which restored our hopes from 
 the very brink of despair, a number of her friends 
 waited upon the mother with congratulations. She 
 received them with calmness, observed that it was 
 most pleasurable news, and that George appeared 
 to have deserved well of his country for such sig- 
 nal services ; and continued, in reply to the gratu- 
 lating patriots, (most of whom held letters in their 
 hands, from which they read extracts,) " But, my 
 good sirs, here is too much flattery — still George 
 will not forget the lessons I early taught him — he 
 will not forget himself, though he is the subject of 
 so much praise." 
 
 During the war, and indeed during her useful 
 life, up to the advanced age of eighty-two, until 
 within three years of her death, (when an afllictive 
 disease prevented exertion,) the mother set a most 
 valuable example in the management of her do- 
 mestic concerns, carrying her own keys, bustling 
 in her household affairs, providing for her family, 
 and living and moving in all the pride of inde 
 pendence. She was not actuated by that ambition 
 for show which pervades lesser minds ; and the 
 
 547 
 
WA 
 
 peculiar plainness and dignity of her raanners be- 
 came in nowise altered, when the sun of glory 
 arose upon her house. There are some of the 
 aged inhabitants of Fredericksburg, who well re- 
 member the matron, as seated in an old-fashioned 
 open chaise, she was in the habit of visiting, almost 
 daily, her little farm in the vicinity of the town. 
 When there, she would ride about her fields, giving 
 her orders, and seeing that they were obeyed. 
 
 Her great industry, with the well-regulated 
 economy of all her concerns, enabled the matron 
 to dispense considerable charities to the poor, al- 
 though her own circumstances were always far 
 from rich. All manner of domestic economies, so 
 useful in those times of privation and trouble, met 
 her zealous attention ; while everything about her 
 household bore marks of her care and manage- 
 ment, and very many things the impress of her 
 own hands. In a very humble dwelling, and suf- 
 fering under an excruciating disease, (cancer of 
 the breast,) thus lived this mother of the first of 
 men, preserving unchanged her peculiar nobleness 
 and independence of character. 
 
 She was always pious, but in her latter days 
 her devotions were performed in private. She 
 was in the habit of repairing every day to a se- 
 cluded spot, formed by rocks and trees, near her 
 dwelling, where, abstracted from the world and 
 worldly things, she communed with her Creator, 
 in humiliation and prayer. 
 
 After an absence of nearly seven years, it was 
 at length, on the return of the combined armies 
 from Yorktown, permitted to the mother again to 
 see and embrace her illustrious son. So soon as 
 he had dismounted, in the midst of a numerous 
 and brilliant suite, he sent to apprise her of his 
 arrival, and to know when it would be her plea- 
 sure to receive him. And now mark the force of 
 early education and habits, and the superiority of 
 the Spartan over the Persian school, in this inter- 
 view of the great Washington with his admirable 
 parent and instructor. No pageantry of war pro- 
 claimed his coming, no trumpets sounded, no ban- 
 ners waved. Alone and on foot, the marshal of 
 France, the general-in-chief of the combined ar- 
 mies of France and America, the deliverer of his 
 country, the hero of the age, repaired to pay his 
 humble duty to her whom he venerated as the au- 
 thor of his being, the founder of his fortune and 
 his fame. For full well he knew that the matron 
 would not be moved by all the pride that glory 
 ever gave, nor by all the " pomp and circumstance" 
 of power. 
 
 The lady was alone, her aged hands employed 
 in the works of domestic industry, when the good 
 news was announced ; and it was further told that 
 the victor chief was in waiting at the threshold. 
 She welcomed him with a warm embrace, and by 
 the well-remembered and endearing name of his 
 childhood ; enquiring as to his health, she remark- 
 ed the lines which mighty cares and many trials 
 had made on his manly countenance, spoke much 
 of old times and old friends, but of his glory — 
 not one word! 
 
 Meantime, in the village of Fredericksburg, all 
 was joy and revelry f the town was crowded with 
 
 WA 
 
 the oflcers of the French and American armies, 
 and with gentlemen from all the country around, 
 who hastened to welcome the conquerors of Corn- 
 wallis. The citizens made arrangements for a 
 splendid ball, to which the mother of Washington 
 was specially invited. She observed, that although 
 her dancing days were pretty well over, she should 
 feel happy in contributing to the general festivity, 
 and consented to attend. 
 
 The foreign officers were anxious to see the 
 mother of their chief. They had heard indistinct 
 rumours respecting her remarkable life and cha- 
 racter ; but, forming their judgments from Euro- 
 pean examples, they were prepared to expect in 
 the mother that glare and show which would have 
 been attached to the parents of the great in the 
 old world. How were they surprised, when the 
 matron, leaning on the arm of her son, entered 
 the room ! She was arrayed in the very plain, 
 yet becoming garb worn by the Virginia lady of 
 the olden time. Her address, always dignified 
 and imposing, was courteous, though reserved. 
 She received the complimentary attentions, which 
 were profusely paid her, without evincing the 
 slightest elevation ; and, at an early hour, wishing 
 the company much enjoyment of their pleasures, 
 observing that it was time for old people to be at 
 home, retired. 
 
 The foreign officers were amazed to behold one 
 whom so many causes contributed to elevate, pre- 
 serving the even tenour of her life, while such a 
 blaze of glory shone upon her name and offspring. 
 The European world furnished no examples of 
 such magnanimity. Names of ancient lore were 
 heard to escape from their lips ; and they observed, 
 that, "if such were the matrons of America, it 
 was not wonderful the sons were illustrious." 
 
 It was on this festive Occasion that general 
 Washington danced a minuet with Mrs. WiUis. It 
 closed his dancing days. The minuet was much 
 in vogue at that period, and was peculiarly calcu- 
 lated for the display of the splendid figure of the 
 chief, and his natural grace and elegance of air 
 and manner. The gallant Frenchmen who were 
 present, of which fine people it may be said that 
 dancing forms one of the elements of their exist- 
 ence, so much admired the American performance, 
 as to admit that a Parisian education could not 
 have improved it. As the evening advanced, the 
 commander-in-chief, yielding to the gaiety of the 
 scene, went down some dozen couple in the contra- 
 dance, with great spirit and satisfaction. 
 
 The marquis de Lafayette repaired to Frede- 
 ricksburg, previous to his departure for Europe, 
 in the fall of 1 784, to pay his parting respects to 
 the mother, and to ask her blessing. 
 
 Conducted by one of her grandsons, he ap- 
 proached the house, when the young gentleman 
 observed, " There, sir, is my grandmother." La- 
 fayette beheld, working in the garden, clad in 
 domestic-made clothes, and her grey head covered 
 in a plain straw hat, the mother of "his hero!" 
 The lady saluted him kindly, observing — "Ah, 
 marquis ! you see an old woman — but come, I can 
 make you welcome to my poor dwelling, without 
 the parade of changing my dress." 
 
 548 
 
WA 
 
 WA 
 
 The marquis spoke of the happy effects of the 
 revolution, and the goodly prospect which opened 
 upon independent America ; stated his speedy de- 
 parture for his native land ; paid the tribute of 
 his heart, his love and admiration of her illustrious 
 son ; and concluded by asking her blessing. She 
 blessed him ; and to the encomiums which he had 
 lavished upon his hero and paternal chief, the 
 matron replied in these words : "I am not sur- 
 prised at what George has done, for he was always 
 a very good boy." 
 
 In her person, Mrs. Washington was of the 
 middle size, and finely formed ; her features pleas- 
 ing, yet strongly marked. It is not the happiness 
 of the writer to remember her, having only seen 
 her with infant eyes. The sister of the chief he 
 perfectly well remembers. She was a most ma- 
 jestic woman, and so strikingly like the brother, 
 that it was a matter of frolic to throw a cloak 
 around her and place a military hat upon her 
 head; and, such was the perfect resemblance, 
 that, had she appeared on her brother's steed, 
 battalions would have presented arms, and senates 
 risen to do homage to the chief. 
 
 In her latter days, the mother often spoke of 
 her own good boy ; of the merits of his early life ; 
 of his love and dutifulness to herself; but of the 
 deliverer of his country, the chief magistrate of 
 the great republic, she never spoke. Call you 
 this insensibility ? or want of ambition ? Oh, no ! 
 her ambition bad been gratified to overflowing. 
 She had taught him to be good; that he became 
 great when the opportunity presented, was a con- 
 sequence, not a cause. 
 
 Mrs. Washington died, at the age of eighty- 
 seven, soon after the decease of her illustrious 
 son. She was buried at Fredericksburg, and for 
 many years her grave remained without a memo- 
 rial-stone. But the heart of the nation acknow- 
 ledged her worth, and the noble spirit of her na- 
 tive Virginia was at length aroused to the sacred 
 duty of perpetuating its respect for the merits of 
 its most worthy daughter. On the seventh of May, 
 1833, at Fredericksburg, the corner-stone of her 
 monument was laid by Andrew Jackson, then the 
 President of the United States. The public oflicers 
 of the general government, and an immense con- 
 course of people from every section of the country, 
 crowded to witness the imposing ceremonies. Mr. 
 Barrett, one of the Monument Committee of Vir- 
 ginia, delivered the eulogy on Mrs. Washington, 
 and then addressed the President of the United 
 States. In his reply. General Jackson paid a 
 beautiful tribute to the memory of the deceased, 
 which, for its masterly exposition of the effect of 
 maternal example, and of the importance of female 
 influence, deserves to be preserved in this "Record 
 of Women." We give a few sentences : — 
 
 " In tracing the recollections which can be 
 gathered of her principles and conduct, it is im- 
 possible to avoid the conviction, that these were 
 closely interwoven with the destiny of her son. 
 The great points of his character are before the 
 world. He who runs may read them in his whole 
 career, as a citizen, a soldier, a magistrate. He 
 possessed an unerring judgment, if that term can 
 
 be applied to human nature; great probity of 
 purpose, high moral principles, perfect self-pos- 
 session, untiring application, an enquiring mind, 
 seeking information from every quarter, and arriv- 
 ing at its conclusions with a full knowledge of the 
 subject; and he added to these an inflexibility of 
 resolution, which nothing could change but a con- 
 viction of error. Look back at the life and con- 
 duct of his mother, and at her domestic govern- 
 ment, and they will be found admirably adapted 
 to form and develop the elements of such a cha- 
 racter. The power of greatness was there ; but 
 had it not been guided and directed by maternal 
 solicitude and judgment, its possessor, instead of 
 presenting to the world examples of virtue, pa- 
 triotism, and wisdom, which will be precious in all 
 succeeding ages, might have added to the number 
 of those master spirits, whose fame rests upon the 
 faculties they have abused, and the injuries they 
 have committed. 
 
 " How important to the females of our country, 
 are these reminiscences of the early life of Wash- 
 ington, and of the maternal care of her upon 
 whom its future course depended! Principles less 
 firm and just, an affection less regulated by dis- 
 cretion, might have changed the character of the 
 son, and with it the destinies of the nation. We 
 have reason to be proud of the virtue and intelli- 
 gence of our women. As mothers and sisters, as 
 wives and daughters, their duties are performed 
 with exemplary fidelity. They, no doubt, realize 
 the great importance of the maternal character, 
 and the powerful influence it must exert upon the 
 American youth. Happy is it for them and our 
 country, that they have before them this illus- 
 trious example of maternal devotion, and this 
 bright reward of filial success ! The mother of a 
 family, who lives to witness the virtues of her 
 children and their advancement in life, and who 
 is known and honoured because they are known 
 and honoured, should have no other wish, on this 
 side the grave, to gratify. The seeds of virtue 
 and vice are early sown, and we may often antici- 
 pate the harvest that will be gathered. Changes, 
 no doubt, occur, but let no one place his hope 
 upon these. Impressions made in infancy, if not 
 indelible, are effaced with difficulty and renewed 
 with facility ; and upon the mother, therefore, 
 must frequently, if not generally, depend the fate 
 of the son. 
 
 " Fellow-citizens — At your request, and in your 
 name, I now deposit this plate in the spot destined 
 for it ; and when the American pilgrim shall, in 
 after ages, come up to this high and holy place, 
 and lay his hand upon this sacred column, may 
 he recall the virtues of her who sleeps beneath, 
 and depart with his affections purified and his 
 piety strengthened, while he invokes blessings 
 upon the Mother of Washington." 
 
 This monument bears the simple but touching 
 inscription, Maet, the Mother of Washington. 
 
 WASHINGTON, MARTHA, 
 Wife of General George Washington, was born 
 in the county of New Kent, Virginia, in May, 1732. 
 Her maiden name was Martha Dandridge ; at the 
 
 549 
 
WA 
 
 WA 
 
 age of seventeen, she married Colonel Daniel Parke 
 Custis, of the White House, county of New Kent, 
 by whom she had four children : a girl, who died 
 in infancy ; a son named Daniel, whose early death 
 is supposed to have hastened his father's; Martha, 
 who arrived at womanhood, and died in 1770 ; and 
 John, who perished in the service of his country, 
 at the siege of Yorktown, aged twenty-seven. 
 
 Mrs. Custis was left a young and very wealthy 
 widow, and managed the extensive landed and 
 pecuniary concerns of the estates with surprising 
 ability. In 1759, she was married to George 
 AVashington, then a colonel in the colonial service, 
 and soon after, they removed permanently to 
 Mount Vernon, on the Potomac. Upon the elec- 
 tion of her husband to the command-in-chief of 
 the armies of his country, Mrs. or Lady Washing- 
 ton, as she was generally called, accompanied the 
 general to the lines before Boston, and witnessed 
 its siege and evacuation ; and was always constant 
 in her attendance on her husband, when it was 
 possible. After General Washington's election to 
 the presidency of the United States, in 1787, Mrs. 
 Washington performed the duties belonging to the 
 wife of a man in that high station, with great 
 dignity and ease ; and on the retirement of Wash- 
 ington, she still continued her unbounded hos- 
 pitality. The decease of her venerated husband, 
 who died December 14th, 1799, was the shock 
 from which she never recovered, though she bore 
 the heavy sorrow with the most exemplary resig- 
 nation. She was kneeling at the foot of his bed 
 when he expired, and when she found he was 
 gone, she said, in a calm voice, " 'Tis well ; all is 
 now over ; I shall soon follow him ; I have no more 
 trials to pass through." Her children were all 
 deceased — her earthly treasures were withdrawn; 
 but she held firm her trust in the Divine Mercy 
 which had ordered her lot. For more than half a 
 century, she had been accustomed to passing an 
 hour every morning alone in her chamber, en- 
 gaged in reading the Bible and in prayer. She 
 survived her husband a little over two years, dying 
 at Mount Vernon, aged seventy. 
 ' In person Mrs. Washington was well formed. 
 
 though somewhat below the middle sire. A por- 
 trait, taken previous to her marriage, shows that 
 she must have been very handsome in her youth ; 
 and she retained a comeliness of countenance, as 
 well as a dignified grace of manner, during life. In 
 her home she was the presiding genius that kept 
 action and order in perfect harmony ; a wife in 
 whom the heart of her husband could safely trust. 
 The example of this illustrious couple ought to 
 have a salutary influence on every American 
 family ; the marriage union, as it subsisted be- 
 tween George and Martha Washington, is shown 
 to be the happiest, as well as holiest, relation in 
 which human beings can be united to each other. 
 The delicacy of Mrs. Washington's nature, which 
 led her, just before her decease, to destroy the 
 letters that had passed between her husband and 
 herself, proves the depth and purity of her love 
 and reverence for him. She could not permit that 
 the confidences they had shared together should 
 become public ; it would be desecrating their 
 chaste loves, and, perhaps, some word or expres- 
 sion might be misinterpreted to his disadvantage. 
 One only letter from Washington to his wife was 
 found among his papers; — the extracts we give 
 from this letter indicate clearly the character of 
 their correspondence. 
 
 Philadelphia, June 18th, 1775. 
 
 My Dearest, — I am now set down to write you 
 on a subject which fills me with inexpressible con- 
 cern ; and this concern is greatly aggravated and 
 increased, when I reflect upon the uneasiness I 
 know it will give you. It has been determined in 
 Congress, that the whole army raised for the de- 
 fence of the American cause shall be put under 
 my care, and that it is necessary for me to proceed 
 immediately to Boston, and take upon me the 
 command of it. 
 
 You may believe me, dear Patsy, when I assure 
 you, in the most solemn manner, that, so far from 
 seeking this appointment, I have used every en- 
 deavour in my power to avoid it, not only from 
 my unwillingness to part with you and the family, 
 but from a consciousness of its being a trust too 
 great for my capacity, and that I should enjoy 
 more real happiness in one month with you at 
 home, than I have the most distant prospect of 
 finding abroad, if my stay were to be seven times 
 seven years. But as it has been a kind of destiny 
 that has thrown me upon this service, I shall hope 
 that my undertaking it is designed to answer some 
 good purpose. 
 
 * * * * X 
 
 I shall rely, therefore, confidently on that Pro- 
 vidence, which has heretofore preserved and been 
 bountiful to me, not doubting but that I shall re- 
 turn safe to you in the fall. I shall feel no pain 
 from the toil or the danger of the campaign ; my 
 unhappiness will flow from the uneasiness I know 
 you will feel from being left alone. I therefore 
 beg that you will summon your whole fortitude, 
 and pass your time as agreeably as you can. 
 Nothing will give me so much sincere satisfaction 
 as to hear this, and to hear it from your own pen. 
 ***** 
 650 
 
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 WE 
 
 He then goes on to say that, as life was always 
 uucertain, he had had his will drawn up, and en- 
 closed the draft to her ; by this will he gave her 
 the use and control of all his estates and property 
 during her life-time ; which will was observed on 
 his decease. Such was the love the greatest man 
 the world ever saw, cherished towards his wife ; 
 and she was worthy of his love. What higher 
 celebrity could a woman desire ? 
 
 WASSER, ANNA, 
 
 Was born at Zurich, in Switzerland, in 1679 ; 
 being the daughter of Rodolph Wasser, a person 
 of considerable note in his own country, and a 
 member of the council of Zurich. Anna had the 
 advantage of a polite education ; and as she showed 
 a lively genius, particularly in designing, she was 
 placed under the direction of Joseph Werner, at 
 Berne. He made her study after good models, 
 and copy the best paintings he could procure. 
 After having instructed her for some time, on see- 
 ing a copy which she had finished of a flora, it 
 astonished him to find such correctness and colour- 
 ing in so young an artist, she being then but thir- 
 teen years of age. She painted at first in oil, but 
 afterwards applied herself entirely to miniature, 
 for which, indeed, nature seemed to have furnished 
 her with peculiar talents. Her works in that 
 style procured her the favour of most of the 
 princes of Germany ; and the duke of Wirtemberg, 
 in particular, sent his own portrait and that of his 
 sister to be copied in miniature by her hand ; in 
 which performance she succeeded so admirably, 
 that her reputation was effectually established 
 through all Germany. The Margrave of Baden- 
 Durlach was another of her early patrons ; and 
 she also received many commissions from the first 
 personages in the Low Countries. Though, by the 
 influence of her father, she was prevailed upon to 
 devote most -of her time to portrait painting, yet 
 her favourite subjects were those of the pastoral 
 kind, in which she displayed the delicacy of her 
 taste in invention and composition, in the elegance 
 of her manner of designing, and in giving so much 
 harmony to the whole, as invariably to aff'ord 
 pleasure to the most judicious beholders. In all 
 her subjects, indeed, she discovered a fine genius, 
 an exceedingly good taste, and an agreeable co- 
 louring. She died, unmarried, in 1713. 
 
 WATTS, JANE, 
 Was the daughter of George Waldie, Esq., of 
 Hendersyde Park, Scotland. Before she was five 
 years old_she showed much fondness for drawing, 
 and she very early painted landscapes in oil, which 
 were greatly admired. She was almost wholly 
 self-taught, yet her pictures, when exhibited at 
 the Koyal Academy and the British Institution, 
 commanded universal applause. In literature she 
 displayed equal talent. This accomplished woman 
 died in 1826, at the age of thirty-seven. 
 
 WEISSERTHURN, JOHANNA F. V. VON, 
 
 BoKN 1773, at Cobleuz, was the daughter of 
 the play-actor, Griinberg. Before she was twelve 
 
 years old, she became, encouraged by her step- 
 father, Teichman, the director of a little troup, 
 the members of which were her brothers and 
 sisters and cousins, and with it she performed, at 
 a private theatre, a number of pieces expressly 
 written for children. In 1787, an engagement 
 was oifered to her at the Munich theatre; in 1789, 
 she exchanged this for one that was ofi'ered to her 
 by her step-brother, the director of the theatre at 
 Baden; in 1790, she was called to the Imperial 
 Court Theatre, at Vienna. Here she mai-ried, in 
 1791, Von Weisserthurn. Shortly after her mar- 
 riage, she published a few plays, which were so 
 well received, that, encouraged by it, she con- 
 tinued to write for the stage, and became quite a 
 prolific author. In 1817, she lost her husband ; 
 and in 1841, she withdrew from the stage, and 
 died in 1845. 
 
 Her dramatic writings have been published in 
 three parts: the first, in Vienna, 1804, under the 
 title of "Plays," six volumes; the second, 1817, 
 under the title "New Plays," two volumes; the 
 third, 1823-31, under the title "Latest Plays," 
 five volumes. Her best pieces are, "The Forest 
 near Hermanstown," "Which is the Bridegroom," 
 " The Heirs," and " The Last Resort." 
 
 WELSEE, PHILIPPINA, 
 
 Daughter of Francis, and niece of Bartholomew 
 Welser, the opulent privy-councillor of Charles V. 
 of Germany, was a beautiful and accomplished 
 woman. Ferdinand, son of the archduke (after- 
 wards emperor) Ferdinand, and nephew of Charles 
 v., fell violently in love with her, in 1547, at 
 Augsburg. She refused all his ofi'ers, except on 
 condition of marriage, and the ceremony was per- 
 formed privately, in 1550. When the archduke 
 heard of it, he was very much incensed, and for 
 eight years h'e refused to see his son. Philippina 
 died in 1580, at Innspruck. Her husband had a 
 medal struck in her honour, with the inscription, 
 Divm Philippina;. She had two sons, who both 
 died without children. 
 
 WEST, ELIZABETH, 
 Was born at Edinburgh, 1672, of respectable 
 parents, and was well educated. In youth, she 
 imbibed notions somewhat similar to those of the 
 mystics, and was frequently led into extrava- 
 gancies. She was reputed the female saint of her 
 day, and married Mr. Brie, minister of Saline, in 
 Fifeshire ; but she did not live happily with him. 
 She wrote her own memoirs, and died in Saline, 
 in 1735, aged sixty- three. 
 
 WEST, JANE, 
 
 Was the wife of a farmer, in Northamptonshire, 
 England. She received but a scanty education ; 
 still she applied herself very closely to study, and 
 was known as an amusing and moral writer. She 
 lived in the latter part of the eighteenth, and the 
 early part of the present century. Her principal 
 works are, "A Gossip Story," "a Novel," "A 
 Tale of the Times," " Poems and Plays," " Letters 
 to a Young Man," "Letters to a Young Lady," &c. 
 
 551 
 
WH 
 
 WH 
 
 WESTMORELAND, JANE, COUNTESS OF, 
 
 Eldest daughter of Henry, earl of Surrey, who 
 was beheaded in 1547, was the wife of Charles, 
 earl of Westmoreland, by whom she had four 
 daughters. This lady made such progress in 
 Latin and Greek, under the instruction of Fox, 
 the martyrologist, that she might compete with 
 the most learned men of the age. The latter part 
 of her life was rendered very unhappy by her 
 husband's conduct ; for he was engaged in an in- 
 surrection. In 1569, and, in consequence, his pro- 
 perty was confiscated, and he himself sentenced to 
 death, which he escaped by leaving the country, 
 and remaining a long time in exile. 
 
 WESTON, ELIZABETH JANE, 
 Was born about 1558. She left England very 
 young, and settled at Prague, in Bohemia, where 
 she passed the rest of her life. She was a woman 
 of fine talents, which were highly cultivated ; she 
 was skilled in various languages, especially Latin, 
 in which she wrote several works, both in prose 
 and verse, highly esteemed by some of the most 
 learned men of her time. They were published 
 in 1606. She was married to John Leon, a gen- 
 tleman belonging to the emperor's court, and was 
 living in 1605, as appears by a letter written by 
 her in that year. She was commended by Scali- 
 ger, and complimented by Nicholas May in a Latin 
 epigram. She is ranked with Sir Thomas Moore, 
 amd the best Latin poets of the sixteenth century. 
 
 WHARTON, ANNE, COUNTESS OF, 
 Daughter of Sir Henry Lee, of Oxfordshire, 
 England, married Thomas, earl of Wharton, and 
 distinguished herself by her learning and poetical 
 works. She died in 1685. One of her plays was 
 entitled, " Love's Martyr, or Wit above Crowns." 
 Many of her poems are printed in the collections 
 of Dryden and Nichols. She had no children. 
 
 WHEATLEY, PHILLIS, 
 Was brought from Africa, to Boston, Massa- 
 chusetts, in 1761, when she was six years old, and 
 
 sold in the slave-market, to Mrs. 3 ohn Wheatley, 
 wife of a merchant of that city. This lady, per- 
 ceiving her natural abilities, had her carefully 
 educated, and she acquired a thorough knowledge 
 of the English and Latin languages. She wrote 
 verses with great ease and fluency, frequently 
 rising in the night to put down any thought that 
 had occurred to her. In 1772, she accompanied 
 a son of Mr. Wheatley to England, for her health, 
 where she received a great deal of attention from 
 the people in the higher ranks of life. Her poems 
 were published in London, 1773, while she was in 
 that city. She was then nineteen years of age. 
 The volume was dedicated to the countess of Hun- 
 tingdon ; and in the preface are the names of the 
 governor of Massachusetts, and several other emi- 
 nent gentlemen, bearing testimony to their belief 
 of her having been the genuine writer. Mr. 
 Sparks, who gives these particulars in his "Life 
 and Writings of George Washington," from which 
 the letter quoted below is taken, observes: "In 
 whatever order of merit these poems may be 
 ranked, it cannot be doubted that they exhibit the 
 most favourable evidence on record, of the capa- 
 city of the African intellect for improvement. The 
 classical allusions are numerous, and imply a wide 
 compass of reading, a correct judgment, good 
 taste, and a tenacious memory. Her deportment 
 is represented to have been gentle and unpretend- 
 ing, her temper amiable, her feelings refined, and 
 her religious impressions strong and constant." 
 
 After her return, Phillis married a coloured 
 man, named Peters, who proved unworthy of her, 
 and made the rest of her life very unhappy. She 
 died at Boston, in great poverty, in 1784, leaving 
 three children. She was but thirty-one years old 
 at the time of her decease. An edition of her 
 poems was published in 1773, and another, with a 
 biography of her, in 1835. Besides these poems, 
 she wrote many which were never published ; and 
 one of these, addressed and sent to General Wash- 
 ington, soon after he took command of the American 
 army, gives her a more enduring fame than all her 
 printed pieces. In the following letter from that 
 great man, we see how kind was the soul whose 
 energies were then carrying forward the destinies 
 of the new world, and shaking the dynasties of 
 the old. 
 
 Cambridge, February 28th, 1776. 
 
 Miss Phillis : Your favour of the 26th of Oc- 
 tober did not reach my hands till the middle of 
 December. Time enough, you will say, to have 
 given an answer ere this. Granted. But a variety 
 of important ocourfences, continually interposing 
 to distract the mind and withdraw the attention, 
 I hope will apologize for the delay, and plead my 
 excuse for the seeming but not real neglect. I 
 thank you most sincerely for your polite notice of 
 me, in the elegant lines you enclosed ; and how- 
 ever .undeserving I may be of such encomium and 
 panegyric, the style and manner exhibit a striking 
 proof of your poetical talents^ in honour of which, 
 and as a tribute justly due to you, I would have 
 published the poem, had I not been apprehensive 
 that, while I only meant to give the world this 
 new instance of your genius, I might have incurred 
 
 652 
 
WI 
 
 WI 
 
 the imputation of yanity. This, and nothing else, 
 determined me not to give it place in the public 
 prints. If you should ever come to Cambridge, 
 or near head-quarters, I shall be happy to see a 
 person so favoured by the muses, and to -whom 
 Nature has been so liberal and beneficent in her 
 dispensations. I am, with great respect, your 
 obedient, humble servant, 
 
 Geokge Washington. 
 
 Phillis Wheatley's poems have little literary 
 merit ; their worth arises from the extraordinary 
 circumstance that they are the productions of an 
 African woman ; the sentiment is true always, but 
 never new. The elegy and acrostic were her fa- 
 vourite modes of composition. The following is 
 among her best pieces : 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF THE REV. GEOBQE WHITFIELD. 
 
 Thou, moon, hast seen, and all the stars of light, 
 How he has wrestled with his God by night. 
 He prayed that grace in every heart might dwell ; 
 He longed to see America excel ; 
 He charged its youth that every grace divine 
 Should with full lustre in their conduct shine. 
 That Saviour, which his soul did first receive, 
 The greatest gift that even a God can give, 
 He freely offered to the numerous throng 
 That on his lips with list'ning pleasure hung. 
 
 "Take him, ye wretched, for your only good, 
 Take him, ye starving sinners, for your food ; 
 Ye thirsty, come to this life-giving stream. 
 Ye preachers, take him for your joyful theme; 
 Take him, my dear Americans," he said, 
 "Be your complaints on his kind bosom laid: 
 Take him, ye Africans, he longs for you; 
 Impartial Saviour, is his title due; 
 Washed in the fountain of redeeming blood. 
 You shall be sons, and kings, and priests to God.' 
 
 But though arrested by the hand of death, 
 Whitfield no more exerts his laboring breath, 
 Yet let us view him in the eternal skies. 
 Let every heart to this bright vision rise; 
 While the tomb safe retains its sacred trust. 
 Till life divine reanimates his dust. 
 
 WILKINSON, ELIZA, 
 
 Whose published letters give a lively and gra- 
 phic account of the situation of the people, and 
 the events that occurred during that part of the 
 war of the revolution which was carried on in the 
 section of the country in which she resided, was a 
 daughter of Francis Yrage, a Welsh emigrant, 
 who had settled on Yrage's Island, about thirty 
 miles from Charleston, South Carolina. She mar- 
 ried Mr. Wilkinson, .who died six months after 
 their union, leaving her a young and beautiful 
 widow. She was noted for her wit, and her kind- 
 ness to the American soldiers. 
 
 WILKINSON, JEMIMA, 
 A RELIGIOUS impostor, was born in Cumberland, 
 Rhode Island, about 1753. Recovering suddenly 
 from an apparent suspension of life, she announced 
 that she had been raised from the dead, and 
 claimed supernatural power. She made a few 
 proselytes, and removed with them to the neigh- 
 bourhood of Crooked Lake, in New York, where 
 she died, in 1819. 
 
 WILLIAMS, ANNA, 
 
 Was the daughter of a surgeon and physician, 
 in South Wales, where she was bom, in 1706. 
 She went with her father to London, in 1730, 
 when, from some failure in his undertakings, he 
 was reduced to great poverty. In 1740, Miss 
 Williams lost her sight by a cataract, which pre- 
 vented her, in a great measure, from assisting her 
 father; but she still retained her fondness for 
 literature, and what is more extraordinary, her 
 skill in the use of her needle. In 1746, she pub- 
 lished the " Life of the Emperor Julian, with 
 Notes, translated from the French." She was as- 
 sisted by her friends, in this work, and it does not 
 appear that she derived much pecuniary advan- 
 tage from it. Soon after this. Dr. and Mrs. John- 
 son became interested in her, and at Dr. Johnson's 
 request an operation was performed on her eyes, 
 but without success ; and from that time, even 
 after his wife's death, she remained almost con- 
 stantly an inmate of Johnson's house. Her cir- 
 cumstances were improved in the last years of her 
 life, by the publication of a volume of prose and 
 verse, and by some other means, and the friend- 
 ship and kindness of Johnson continued unalter- 
 able. She died at his house in Bolt-Court, Fleet 
 street, aged seventy-seven. The following is a 
 good specimen of her poetry, which never rises 
 above the sentimental : 
 
 ON a lady singing. 
 
 When Delia strikes the trembling string. 
 
 She charms our list'ning ears; 
 But when she joins her voice to sing, 
 
 She emulates the spheres. 
 
 The feathered songsters round her throng. 
 
 And catch the soothing notes ; 
 To imitate her matchless song. 
 
 They strain their little throats. 
 
 The constant mournful-cooing doves, 
 
 Attentive to her strain. 
 All mindful of their tender loves, 
 
 By list'ning soothe tiieir pain. 
 
 Soft were the notes by Orpheus played. 
 
 Which once recalled his bride ; 
 But had he sung like thee, fair maid, 
 
 The nymph had scarcely died. 
 
 WILLIAMS, HELEN MARIA, 
 Was born, in 1762, in the north of England, 
 and was ushered into public notice by Dr. Kippis, 
 at the age of eighteen. Between 1782 and 1788, 
 she published " Edwin and Eltrada," " An Ode to 
 Peace," and other poems. In 1790 she settled in 
 Paris, and became intimate with the most eminent 
 of the Girondists, and, in 1794, was imprisoned, 
 and nearly shared their fate. She escaped to 
 Switzerland, but returned to Paris in 1796, and 
 died there in 1827. 
 
 She wrote "Julia, a Novel," "Letters from 
 France," " Travels in Switzerland," "A Narrative 
 of Events in France," and "A Translation of 
 Humboldt and Bonpland's Personal Narrative." 
 Miss Williams possessed a strong mind, much his- 
 torical acumen, and great industry, though her 
 
 553 
 
WI 
 
 WI 
 
 religious sentiments were not free from some 
 errors of the period. As a poetess she had little 
 more than some facility and the talent inseparable 
 from a cultivated taste. One of her pieces has 
 much favour as a devotional hymn : 
 
 TRUST IN PROVIDENCE. 
 
 Whilst thee 1 seek, protecting Power ! 
 
 Be my vain wishes stilled: 
 And may this consecrated hour 
 
 With belter hopes be filled. 
 
 Thy love the power of thought bestowed, 
 To thee my thoughts would soar ; 
 
 Thy mercy o'er my life has flowed ; 
 That mercy I adore. 
 
 In each event of life, how clear 
 
 Thy ruling hand I see! 
 Each blessing to my soul most dear, 
 
 Because conferred by thee. 
 
 In ev'ry joy that crowns my days, 
 
 In ev'ry pain 1 bear, 
 My heart shall find delight in praise, 
 
 Or seek relief in prayer. 
 
 When gladness wings my favoured hour. 
 
 Thy love my thoughts shall fill: 
 Resigned, when siorms of sorrow lower, 
 
 My soul shall meet thy will. 
 
 My lifted eye without a tear 
 
 The gath'ring storm shall see; 
 My steadfast hsart shall know no fuar; 
 
 That heart will rest on thee. 
 
 PART OF A PARAPHRASE. 
 
 [n every note that swells the gale, 
 Or tuneful stream that cheers the vale, 
 The cavern's depth, or echoing grove, 
 A. voice is heard of praise and love. 
 
 As o'er God's works the seasons roll, 
 And soothe with change of bliss the soul, 
 Oh, never may their smiling train 
 Pass o'er the human scene in vain. 
 
 But oft, as on the charm we gaze. 
 Attune the wondering soul to praise; 
 And be the joys that most we prize 
 The joys that from His favor rise. 
 
 WmCHELSEA, ANNE, COUNTESS OF, 
 Was the daughter of Sir William Kingsmill, of 
 Sidmonton, in the county of Southampton, Eng- 
 land. She was maid of honour to the duchess of 
 York, second wife of James II., and married He- 
 neage, second son of Heneage, earl of Winchelsea, 
 who afterwards succeeded to the title of earl of 
 Winchelsea. She died August 5th, 1720, without 
 leaving any children. Wordsworth speaks highly 
 of her poem called " A Nocturnal Keverie." An- 
 other of her poems was addressed to '* The Spleen." 
 A collection of the countess's poems was printed 
 in London, together with a tragedy, never acted, 
 entitled " Aristomenes." Mr. Chambers remarks 
 of her poetry, and it should not be forgotten that 
 
 she was the first Englishwoman who attempted 
 to ascend the Parnassian heights — " Her lines are 
 smoothly versified, and possess a tone of calm and 
 contemplative feeling." 
 
 A NOCTURNAL RpVERIE. 
 
 In such a night, when every louder wind 
 
 Is to its distant cavern safe confined, 
 
 And only gentle zephyr fans his wings. 
 
 And lonely Philomel still waking sings ; 
 
 Or from some tree, famed for the owl's delight, 
 
 Slie, holloaing clear, directs the wanderer right : 
 
 In such a night, when passing clouds give place, 
 
 Or thinly veil the heaven's mysterious face; 
 
 When in some river overhung with green, 
 
 The waving moon and trembling leaves are seen ; 
 
 When freshened grass now bears itself upright, 
 
 And makes cool banks to pleasing rest invite, 
 
 Whence springs the woodbine, and the bramble rose. 
 
 And where the sleepy cowslip sheltered grows; 
 
 Whilst now a paler hue the foxglove takes, 
 
 Yet chequers still with red the dusky brakes ; 
 
 When scattered glow-worms, but in twilight fine. 
 
 Show trivial beauties watch their hour to shine; 
 
 Whilst Salisbury stands the test of every light. 
 
 In perfect charms and perfect virtue bright: 
 
 When odours which declined repelling day. 
 
 Through temperate air uninterrupted stray; 
 
 When darkened groves their softest shadows wear. 
 
 And falling waters we distinctly hear; 
 
 When through the gloom more venerable shows 
 
 Some ancient fabric, awful in repose; 
 
 While sunburnt hills their swarthy looks conceal. 
 
 And swelling haycocks thicken up the vale: 
 
 When the loosed horse now, as his pasture leads. 
 
 Comes slowly grazing through the adjoining meade. 
 
 Whose stealing pace and lengthened shade we fear. 
 
 Till torn-up forage in hip teeth we hear; 
 
 When nibbling sheep at large pursue their food, 
 
 And unmolested kine rechew the cud; 
 
 When curlews cry beneath the village walls. 
 
 And to her straggling brood the piartridge calls;* 
 
 Their short-lived jubilee the creatures keep, 
 
 Which hut endures while tyrant man does sleep : 
 
 When a sedate i^ontent the spirit feels. 
 
 And no fierce light disturbs, whilst it reveals; 
 
 But silent musings urge the mind to seek 
 
 Something too high for syllables to speak ; 
 
 Till the free soul to a composedness charmed. 
 
 Finding the elements of rage disarmed, 
 
 O'er all below a solemn quiet grown, 
 
 Joys in the inferior world, and thinks it like her own ■ 
 
 In such a night let me abroad remain, 
 
 Till morning breaks, and all 's confused again; 
 
 Our cares, our toils, our clamours are renewed, 
 
 Or pleasures seldom reached again pursued. 
 
 The following is another specimen of the cor- 
 rect and smooth versification of the countess, and 
 seems to us superior to the " Nocturnal Reverie ;" 
 
 LIFE'S PKOGRESS. 
 
 How gaily is at first begun 
 
 Our life's uncertain race; 
 Whilst yet that sprightly morning sun, 
 With which we just set out to run. 
 
 Enlightens all the place. 
 
 How smiting the world's prospect lies. 
 
 How tempting to go through 1 
 Not Canaan to the prophet's eyes, 
 From Pisgah, with a sweet surprise. 
 
 Did more inviting show. 
 
 How soft the first ideas prove 
 
 Which wander through our minds i 
 How full the joys, how free the love, 
 Which does that early season move, 
 As flowers the western winds! 
 
 564 
 
WI 
 
 WI 
 
 Our sighs are then but veinal air, 
 
 But April drops our tears. 
 Which swiftly passing, all grows fair, 
 Whilst beauty compensates our care 
 
 And youth each vapour clears. 
 
 But oh! too soon, alas! we climb, 
 
 Scarce feeling we ascend 
 The gently-rising hill of Time, 
 From whence with grief we see that prime, 
 
 And all its sweetness end. 
 
 The die now cast, our station known. 
 
 Fond expectation past : 
 The thorns which former days had sown, 
 To crops of late repentance grown, 
 
 Through which we toil at last. 
 
 Whilst every care 's a driving harm. 
 
 That helps to bear us down ; 
 Which faded smiles no more can charm. 
 But every tear's a winter storm. 
 
 And every look's a frown. 
 
 WINCKEL, THERESA EMILIA HENRIETTA, 
 
 Was born at Dresden, in 1784, and was cele- 
 brated for her copies of tlie old masters. She is 
 said to have been unequalled in the copies she 
 made of Correggio's works. She went to Paris, 
 with her mother, in 1808, and spent her time while 
 in that city in studying the works of art with 
 which it abounds. Her letters from Paris have 
 been published, and she also wrote, many articles 
 for periodicals. She began the study of the art of 
 painting, at first, for her own gratification ; but 
 her mother losing her fortune, Henrietta supported 
 them both by her own exertions. 
 
 WILSON, MRS., 
 
 An Englishwoman, who deserves an honoured 
 place among the distinguished of her sex, for her 
 noble self-sacrifice in going out to India, to intro- 
 duce the light of female education into that region 
 of moral darkness. She also founded the first 
 orphan refuge, or asylum, for native female chil- 
 dren, established under the British sceptre in the 
 East. This beginning of female instruction was 
 introduced only twenty-nine years ago ; the Eng- 
 lish East India Company had held rich possessions 
 and controlling power in India for more than a 
 century, yet no man had sought to remedy or re- 
 move the horrible degradation and ignorance of 
 the female sex. The spirit of selfishness or sin 
 reigned paramount in the hearts of men ; and their 
 "enmity" to the moral or intellectual influence 
 of women was, and is still, there wrought out in 
 the most awful oppressions, and brutal practices, 
 the corrupt mind can devise. And never will the 
 chains of sin be broken, or the Gospel make pro- 
 gress in that "clime of the sun," till the female 
 sex are instructed, and raised from their social 
 degradation. Mrs. Wilson has done much, for she 
 made the beginning. We give the history as we 
 find it in Chambers's Journal, written, evidently, 
 by a lady. She tells us that Mrs. Wilson, then 
 Miss Cook, went out to India in 1821. 
 
 " Up till this time, the education of natives had 
 been confined to boys, for whom a number of 
 schools had been opened ; and as no attempt at 
 conversion was allowed, there was no prejudice 
 
 against them. One of the most benevolent founders 
 of schools for boys in Calcutta was David Hare, a 
 person who, having amassed a considerable fortune 
 in that city, determined to spend it there instead 
 of his native land ; and not only did he spend his 
 money, but his life, in benefitting the city where 
 he had so long resided. These attempts, as we 
 have said, met with no opposition on the part of 
 the natives ; on the contrary, they warmly seconded 
 them, and the schools were crowded with boys 
 willing to learn after the English fashion instead 
 of their own ; but the prejudices against educating 
 females were not to be so easily overcome. For 
 the woman, no education of any kind but such as 
 related to making a curry or a pillau had ever 
 been deemed necessary. As long as infancy and 
 childhood lasted, she was the pet and plaything 
 of the family; and when, with girlhood, came the 
 domestic duties of the wife, she entered on them 
 unprepared by any previous moral training. All 
 intellectual acquirements were out of place foi> one 
 who was not the companion, but the drudge and 
 slave of her husband ; and the more ignorant she 
 was, the less intolerable would be the confinement 
 and monotony of her life. In India, all females 
 above the very lowest ranks, and of respectable 
 character, are kept m seclusion after betrothment ; 
 and after marriage, none of any rank, except the 
 very highest, are exempt from those duties which 
 we should consider menial, though not really so 
 when kept in due bounds. A wife can never be 
 degraded by preparing her husband's repast ; but 
 it is humiliating to be considered unworthy to 
 partake of it with him, and not even to be per- 
 mitted to enliven it with her conversation. Those 
 females, again, whose station is not high enough 
 to warrant the privileges of seclusion, present a 
 picture painful to contemplate ; the blessing of 
 liberty cannot make up for the incessant toil and 
 drudgery to which they are invariably condemned ; 
 and the alternations of the climate, added to the 
 exposure, render the woman in the prime of life a 
 withered crone, either depressed into an idiot or 
 irritated into a virago. Though in the present 
 day something has been effected in the way of 
 elevating the social position of the Hindoo female, 
 thirty years ago even that little was considered 
 unattainable. It was evident that while one en- 
 tire sex remained so utterly uncared for, the in- 
 struction of the other would fail to produce the 
 desired effects ; and that if India was to be rege^ 
 nerated, her female as well as her male population 
 must be instructed. The task was difficult ; for 
 whilst the government was indifferent, the natives 
 of India were all strongly opposed to any measures 
 for ameliorating the condition, social or intellec- 
 tual, of their women. One zealous friend, how- 
 ever, devoted herself to the task. The work was 
 to be done, and Mrs. Wilson did it. 
 
 Animated with a determination to spare no per- 
 sonal exertion, she had herself trained to the 
 business of general instruction, and did not fear 
 the effects of an Indian climate. Physically, 
 morally, and intellectually, she was fitted for her 
 task. Her health was excellent; her spirits 
 elastic ; her temper even ; her mind clear, quick, 
 
 655 
 
WI 
 
 WI 
 
 and shrewd ; her manners most engaging, though 
 dignified ; and her will indomitable. On arriving 
 in India, her first efforts were devoted to acquiring 
 a knowledge of Bengalee, the language of the na- 
 tive of Calcutta ; and as soon as she could make 
 herself understood by those around her, she took 
 up her abode in the midst of the native population, 
 and courted and encouraged pupils. Slowly and 
 suspiciously they came in, attracted by a small 
 gratuity each received as a reward for daily at- 
 tendance. In time others followed their example ; 
 and a school which could scarcely be said to aspire 
 to the dignity of ragged, being literally a naked 
 one, was established. The premises occupied by 
 Mrs. Wilson were so confined, that when the pice, 
 not the learning, attracted more pupils, she was 
 obliged to open classes in various parts of the 
 bazaar, and go from one to the other. This oc- 
 casioned much loss of time ; and none but those 
 of the very lowest rank could be enticed even by 
 a fee to attend the school. Any one less earnest 
 would have lost heart, and been disgusted to find 
 that all her efforts were to be so confined. But Miss 
 Cook hoped, and trusted, and determined to remedy 
 what appeared remediable. She was convinced 
 that a large house, in a more respectable part of 
 the native town, would be one means of attracting 
 pupils of rather a higher caste ; and she determined 
 to secure this. A rajah, who at that time was 
 anxious to pay court to the government, presented 
 the "Ladies' Society for Promoting Native Female 
 Education" with a piece of ground in a very eli- 
 gible situation ; a European gentleman furnished 
 the plan, and kindly superintended the erection 
 of the buildings ; and in about five years after her 
 first arrival in Calcutta, Mrs. Wilson took posses- 
 sion of the Central School, a large, airy, and hand- 
 some abode. Five years had accustomed the 
 natives to the anomaly of teaching girls, and a 
 somewhat better class than had at first attended 
 were now to be seen congregated round their en- 
 ergetic teacher, seated cross-legged on the floor, 
 tracing their crabbed characters on a slate ; read- 
 ing in sonorous voices the translations of the pa- 
 rables and miracles ; or even chanting hymns, also 
 translated. Still none came, unless brought by the 
 women who were employed to go the rounds of 
 the bazaar in the morning, and who received so 
 much for each child : bribery alone ensured at- 
 tendance ; and none of the pupils remained more 
 than two or three years at the most. As for the 
 natives of the upper class, all attempts to gain a 
 footing amongst them proved total failures. The 
 examinations of the school were attended by all 
 the native gentlemen of rank who professed to 
 take an interest in education ; but none of them 
 favoured it sufficiently to desire its benefits for his 
 own daughters, though Mrs. Wilson ofi'ered to at- 
 tend them privately, when not engaged in the 
 duties of the school. At length the same rajah 
 who had given the ground informed her that his 
 young wife insisted on learning English. She had 
 already learned to read and write Bengalee ; but 
 as this did not satisfy her, he requested Mrs. 
 AVilson's services, which were immediately given ; 
 and she found her pupil a very apt scholar, eager 
 
 for information of all kinds. In the course of a 
 few weeks, the lady succeeded in obtaining her 
 husband's permission to visit Mrs. Wilson at the 
 Central School, and to be introduced to some more 
 English ladies. It was not without much per- 
 suasion that this boon was granted ; and even 
 when we were all seated expecting her arrival, 
 (for the writer of this was present,) we scarcely 
 believed that anything so contrary to etiquette 
 would be permitted. At length, however, the 
 rapid tread of many feet was heard, a closed pa- 
 lanquin, surrounded by chaprasseys, entered the 
 veranda, and panting after it were two old crones. 
 The vehicle was set down in the inner veranda, or, 
 as it would be called here, lobby, from which all 
 the male servants were then excluded, and the 
 doors closed ; and then a figure enveloped in a 
 large muslin sheet was taken out of the convey- 
 ance, and guided up stairs by the duennas. As 
 soon as she was in the sitting-room, the envelope 
 was removed, and disclosed a very pretty young 
 creature, dressed in a pink muslin sorharee and 
 white muslin jacket, both spotted with silver, 
 slippers richly embroidered, and her thick plait 
 of dark glossy hair fastened by a richly ornamented 
 pin. She had gold bangles on her neck and arms ; 
 but no display of jewellery, though her husband 
 was reputed very wealthy. 
 
 I may mention that the sorharee is all the cloth- 
 ing of the Hindoo female. It is about seven yards 
 long and one wide, the width forming the length 
 of the garment. It is wound round the figure as 
 often as convenient, and the remainder brought 
 over the head a sa veil. The boddice is an occa- 
 sional addition, never adopted by the lower classes, 
 and their sorharees are scanty and coarse. It is 
 but an ungraceful costume, as there are no folds. 
 Our visitor's countenance was very animated, and 
 her extreme youth — for she was not more than 
 sixteen — gave a charm to features not distinguished 
 for regularity. Secluded as her life had been, the 
 young creature was far from being timid. She 
 was quite at her ease, and ready to enter into 
 conversation with any one who understood Ben- 
 galee. She could not converse in English; but 
 was proud of displaying her acquirements in read- 
 ing and spelling, and told us that she had prevailed 
 on the rajah to hear her, repeat her lessons every 
 evening. 
 
 Of course our dresses excited her curiosity, for 
 she had never seen any of European make, except 
 Mrs. Wilson's widow's garb. She made many en- 
 quiries about our children, but would have con- 
 sidered it indelicate evcjn to name our husbands. 
 After replying to all our queries, she became so 
 familiar that she offered to sing to us, regretting 
 that she had not her instrument (a very simple 
 sort of guitar) to accompany her voice. The me- 
 lody was simple, and her voice very sweet. All 
 this time the old women who had accompanied 
 their lady were crouching down in one corner of 
 the room, watching her intently ; and at last, as 
 if they thought her freedom had lasted long enough, 
 they rose, and told her it was the maharajah'g 
 orders she should go. She unwillingly complied, 
 and left ua to our great regret; for there was a 
 
 556 
 
WI 
 
 WI 
 
 confiding naivete about her which was very win- 
 ning. In a few weeks the lessons were discon- 
 tinued ; her husband fell into well-merite3 dis- 
 grace ; and this was the first and last pupil Mrs. 
 Wilson had in the highest ranks. This disap- 
 pointment, however, was more than compensated 
 by the accomplishment of another scheme, perhaps 
 more important, for the amelioration of the native 
 female character. 
 
 I have said that the attendance of the day scholar 
 seldom exceeded three years ; and much as Mrs. 
 Wilson desired to believe that the bread cast upon 
 the waters would not be lost, no well-authenticated 
 evidence ever reached her that the brief school- 
 days produced any permanently beneficial effects, 
 sufficient to counteract the superstition and igno- 
 rance with which her pupils were necessarily sur- 
 rounded. Feeling the impossibility with day- 
 schools of obviating infection from such sources, 
 she had always cherished the idea of rearing some 
 children from their very infancy, uncontaminated 
 by the evil examples of a native home ; but it was 
 not till just before she moved into the Central 
 School that she had an opportunity of carrying 
 her plan into execution. Her durzie (tailor) feel- 
 ing himself dying, sent for her, and implored her 
 to take charge of his only child ; he said he could 
 not be a Christian himself, but he wished her to 
 be one ; and that if Mrs. Wilson would promise to 
 keep her, he would, in the presence of his rela- 
 tives, make over the little girl to that lady. The 
 assurance was as readily given as her task was 
 conscientiously fulfilled ; and no first-fruits could 
 have been more promising, or could have ripened 
 more satisfactorily ; no commencement could have 
 been followed by more complete success. In a 
 very few weeks another orphan, totally destitute, 
 was thrown in Mrs. Wilson's way; and much 
 about the same time she was requested to receive 
 as a boarder a little slave girl, the charge of whom 
 had, by very peculiar circumstances, devolved on 
 a lady whose health and position prevented her 
 training the poor castaway satisfactorily. " That 
 there needs only a beginning," was never more 
 fully verified than in the case of the Orphan Asy- 
 lum. That which for several years had been the 
 chief wish of Mrs. Wilson's heart was accomplished 
 in a few months ; and before she had a home to 
 shelter them, she found herself surrounded by 
 twenty-five dependent little creatures. The or- 
 phans were entirely and exclusively Mrs. Wilson's 
 own charge ; the ladies' committee had no control 
 over them. From the first, the pupils were trained 
 to contribute by their labour to their own support ; 
 and she was never without large orders for worsted 
 work, which paid well. She was assisted in all 
 her labours, but more particularly in this depart- 
 ment, by a young lady who had joined her from 
 England ; and before this very interesting person 
 fell a victim to the climate, some of the elder girls 
 under her tuition had become so expert in the use 
 of the needle, (another innovation on the privileges 
 of the male sex,) that they were able to copy 
 fancy-work of all kinds, from the sale of which a 
 considerable sum was realized yearly. All the 
 orphans, hower, were not entirely dependent on 
 
 Mrs. Wilson; many of them were boarded with 
 her by individuals who were only too thankful to 
 find such a refuge for any poor stray sheep thrown 
 upon their charity. Indeed, considering the fre- 
 quency of such cases, it seems wonderful that so 
 many years were required to carry out a plan so 
 beneficial to so many. Thus one girl was the child 
 of a wretched woman executed for a most inhuman 
 murder ; the benevolence of the judge's wife res- 
 cued the unfortunate child from starvation, and 
 supported her in the Orphan Refuge : another 
 boarder was a girl from the Goomsur country, 
 whose limbs for months retained the marks of the 
 ligatures with whieh she had been bound previous 
 to sacrifice ; another was a fine, handsome New 
 Zealand girl, who was found in the streets of Cal- 
 cutta, having been concealed on board the vessel 
 that had brought her till its departure, and then 
 left to live or die, as might happen. There was 
 also one boarder of quite another class ; she was 
 the wife of a young Hindoo, who, whilst studying 
 at Bishop's College after his conversion, was 
 anxious to. rescue his young wife from heathenism, 
 and placed her with Mrs. Wilson, to be educated 
 as a Christian. He died early, and I am not 
 aware of the fate of his wife. 
 
 The building in which Mrs. Wilson resided was 
 admirably calculated for day-schools, as it was in 
 the centre of the native population. This proxi- 
 mity was essential to secure day-scholars, who 
 might be seen, just returned from their bath in 
 the not very distant Hoogly, as early as six in the 
 morning beginning their studies, which continued 
 till ten. The situation, however, that was the 
 best for day-scholars, was the worst for those 
 whom it was desirable to wean from their old 
 paths — to obliterate all they knew already that 
 was demoralizing — and, if possible, to present no- 
 thing but what was pure and lovely for their imi- 
 tation. As long as the orphans were in daily 
 contact with the out-pupils, these objects could 
 not be obtained ; and it became evident a separa- 
 tion must be made, or that the day-schools, as 
 being of minor importance, should be sacrificed, 
 and the Central School converted into an Orphan 
 Refuge. It seemed hopeless to attempt carrying 
 on both from funds collected on the spot. For all 
 that had in the first instance been raised in Britain 
 and India for the purposes of native female educa- 
 tion, and placed at the disposal of the ladies' com- 
 mittee, had been swallowed up in the ruin of one 
 of the large houses of agency in which they had 
 been placed by the treasurer ;. and the expenses 
 attendant on the day-schools had since been de- 
 frayed by subscriptions and donations from the 
 benevolent in Calcutta ; which, however liberal, 
 sometimes left the secretary without a rupee in 
 hand. Mrs. Wilson at once negatived the plan of 
 sacrificing the one scheme for the other ; she said 
 both should be accomplished ; and what seemed 
 impracticable to all consulted on the matter, was 
 effected by the strong will and determined energy 
 of one woman. She individually raised money to 
 purchase ground at Agiparah, a retired spot on 
 the banks of the Hoogly, about fourteen miles 
 from Calcutta, which she obtained on very advan- 
 
 557 
 
WI 
 
 wo 
 
 tageous terms. She immediately commenced the 
 erection of suitable, but simple buildings, within 
 three walls so high as to exclude all the outer 
 world, and with the river for the other boundary. 
 Just at the time the ground was obtained, one of 
 those dreadful inundations which sometimes depo- 
 pulate Cuttack, occurred, and boat-loads of half- 
 drowned women and children arrived off Calcutta. 
 Mrs. Wilson gave a home to all who would take it ; 
 and although many came only to die, her number 
 in a few weeks amounted to one hundred likely to 
 live. Many of those past youth were unwilling to 
 conform to the rules ; those that remained were 
 generally very young — some mere infants. When 
 all this large accession of numbers was thus sud- 
 denly thrown upon her, Mrs. Wilson was still in 
 Calcutta, and was obliged to erect temporary 
 buildings for shelter, and to make a great effort to 
 feed such a host of famishing creatures. Her 
 energies were equal to the emergency, and funds 
 were never wanting. 
 
 As soon as the buildings at Agiparah were com- 
 pleted, Mrs. Wilson removed thither with her large 
 orphan family, and discontinued her attendance at 
 the day-schools, and almost her connexion with 
 the outer world. All within the precincts of the 
 establishment professed Christianity ; and no more 
 enticing example to follow its precepts could have 
 been afforded than Mrs. Wilson's conduct display- 
 ed. Her great aim and object in educating the 
 native girl was to elevate the native woman ; not 
 merely to teach reading, writing, arithmetic, the 
 use of the needle, &c., but to purify the mind, to 
 subdue the temper, to raise her in the scale of be- 
 ing, to render her the companion and helpmate of 
 her husband, instead of his slave and drudge. 
 Many of the European patronesses of distinction, 
 as soon as they heard of the plan of an Orphan 
 Refuge, hailed it as a most admirable one for 
 rearing a much better cl.ass of ladies'-maids or 
 ayahs than was generally to be found in Calcutta, 
 and who could speak English withal ; but they 
 little comprehended Mrs. Wilson's scheme. She 
 did not educate for the benefit of the European, 
 but of the native. A few of the most intelligent 
 were taught to read and write English, but all 
 knowledge was conveyed through the medium of 
 their own language ; and none were allowed to 
 quit the Befuge until they were sought in marriage 
 by suitable native Christians, or till their services 
 were required to assist in forming other orphan 
 retreats. As soon as the dwellings were finished, 
 a place of worship was erected, and steps taken 
 to induce a missionary and his wife to proceed to 
 India to preside over this singular establishment. 
 For all these undertakings funds were never want- 
 ing ; and though their avowed purpose was to 
 spread Christianity, many rich and influential na- 
 tives contributed to them ; and one Brahmin of 
 high caste, when bequeathing a handsome sum, 
 said he did so under the conviction that their 
 originator was more than human. Before all Mrs. 
 Wilson's plans were brought to maturity, many 
 had gone and done likewise ; and influential socie- 
 ties of various denominations were formed to pro- 
 mote female education in the East. There are now 
 
 several Orphan Refuges in Calcutta, and one in 
 almost every large station in India. It is not my 
 purpose to speak of these: I wish only .to record 
 whence they all sprung, and who led the way in 
 the good and great work. Mrs. Wilson is no longer 
 with her lambs, but her deeds do follow her ; and 
 wherever the despised and outcast native female 
 child may hereafter find a Christian home, and 
 receive a Christian training, she should be taught 
 to bless the name of Mrs. Wilson, as the first ori- 
 ginator of the philanthropic scheme. 
 
 WINTER, LUCRETIA WILHELMINA, 
 (Hek maiden name was Van Merken,) was born 
 in 1745, in Amsterdam, Holland. She was married 
 to the poet Nicolaus Simon Winter, with whose 
 writings a great deal of her poetry was published. 
 She was a poetess of the Dutch school ; all her 
 verses bear the impress of labour, and the marks 
 of a great deal of polishing. She wrote the two 
 epics, "David," and "Germanicus," and a number 
 of miscellaneous poems, published in 1793. She 
 died in 1795, at Leyden, Holland. 
 
 WOFFINGTON, MARGARET, 
 
 An actress, celebrated for her beauty, elegance, 
 and talent, was born at Dublin in 1718. She acted 
 in. the London and Dublin theatres, and was very 
 much admired. She was sprightly, good-humour- 
 ed, and charitable ; and her society was sought by 
 the gravest and most learned persons. She dited 
 in London, in 1760. 
 
 WOLF, ARNOLDINA, 
 A NATIVE of Cassel, in Germany, was born in 
 1769. Her father was an ofBcer in the Hessian 
 government; but he died while she was quite 
 young. When she was about eighteen, she was 
 attacked by a very painful disease, which pre- 
 vented her from sleeping for nearly twenty-six 
 weeks. She alleviated her sufferings by repeating 
 and composing poetry. The poems she composed 
 while in this state were published in 1788. At 
 length she fell into an apparent state of insensi- 
 bility, in which she hardly seemed to live; but 
 she could hear, and was conscious of a great dread 
 lest she should be buried alive. In four weeks 
 she began to recover, and in time regained her 
 health. She married, in 1791, Mr. Wolf, by whom 
 she had nine children. She died, in 1820, at 
 Smalcalden. Her poems, and an account of her 
 illness, were published by Dr. Wiss. 
 
 WOLF, MRS., 
 A German actress, who, like her husband, im- 
 mortalized herself on the stage, and, like him, 
 enjoyed, during her lifetime, the most glorious 
 triumph. She united to a tall figure, an expres- 
 sive physiognomy, and a noble, dignified carriage. 
 Her pliant organs of speech rendered her utter- 
 ance very easy, and she had cultivated highly this 
 part of her art. Thus she was peculiarly adapted 
 to tragedy, in which she represented with success 
 the first heroines. Instances of her characters 
 are : Iphigenia, Stella, Mary Stuart, Queen Eliza- 
 beth; the Princess, in Schiller's "Bride of Mes- 
 
 558 
 
wo 
 
 YA 
 
 sina;" Clara, in Goethe's "Egraont;" Adelheid, 
 in Goethe's " Goetz von Berlichingen ;" Leonore, 
 in Goethe's " Tasso ;" Eboli, in Schiller's " Don 
 Carlos ;" Sappho, in Grillparzer's drama of this 
 name; and others. But she has also succeeded 
 in cheerful and naif parts. Everywhere, she 
 betrayed a deep study of her part, a true con- 
 ception of the whole, and a delicate taste for 
 poetical beauties ; moreover, her gestures were 
 animated by charming grace, and she knew how 
 to transport the spectator in those moments which 
 the poet had chosen for his peculiar triumphs. 
 Her declamation was not to be excelled, and still 
 did not at all appear like art; she was also 
 able, by her costume, to beautify and call into 
 existence the artificial character which she repre- 
 sented. Mr. and Mrs. Wolf were engaged at the 
 theatre at Berlin ; and the public, though accus- 
 tomed to Fleck and ZofBand, and Mrs. Bethmann, 
 knew how to appreciate this rare couple, and re- 
 warded them with those distinguished marks of 
 approbation which they so richly deserved. 
 
 WOOD, JEAN, 
 
 Was the daughter of the Rev. John Moncure, 
 a Scotch clergyman of the Episcopal church, who 
 emigrated to America, and was the first progeni- 
 tor of the numerous Virginia families bearing his 
 name. He possessed considerable talents, which 
 his third daughter, Jean, inherited. She was very 
 intellectual, and highly gifted with poetical and 
 musical genius. Of poetry, she has left some 
 beautiful specimens, which it is in contemplation 
 to publish, as they are sufficiently numerous to 
 constitute a small volume, and well worth being 
 put into such a form. 
 
 Though entirely self-taught, she played with 
 taste and skill on the guitar, the piano, and the 
 spinet, an instrument much in vogue in her day ; 
 indeed, so thoroughly did she make herself ac- 
 quainted with it, that she has been known to em- 
 ploy her ingenuity very successfully in restoring 
 an injured one to complete order and harmony ; 
 and such was her energy of character and perse- 
 verance in whatever she undertook, that when she 
 had the misfortune to be overset in a carriage, and 
 break her right wrist, she quickly learned to use 
 her left hand in working, and even to write with 
 it, not only legibly but neatly, and this when she 
 was past sixty ! 
 
 The early part of Mrs. Wood's life was tinged 
 with romance. At seventeen, she reciprocated the 
 ardent attachment of a young gentleman from 
 Maryland, and they became engaged ; but their 
 union was prevented by her relations, because of 
 his being a Boman Catholic. When they sepa- 
 rated, they exchanged vows never to wed with 
 others ; so that years afterwards, when addressed 
 by General James Wood (once Governor of Vir- 
 ginia), she declined his proposals, and bidding 
 her, as he thought, " a long and last adieu," he 
 proceeded to the west, intending to join in the 
 war against the Indians. Before his departure, 
 he made a will, bequeathing her, in case of his 
 death, all his property. Fate, however, allotted 
 him a brighter destiny ; for Miss Moncure having 
 
 been informed that her first lover had broken his 
 pledge and wedded another, yielded to the advice 
 of a cousin, with whom, since the death of her 
 parents, she frequently resided, and consented to 
 marry Mr. Wood ; and not until after their union, 
 did she discover that she had been deceived ! 
 
 In the meanwhile, Mr. hearing of her mar- 
 riage, considered himself absolved from his pro- 
 mise, and also entered the bands of matrimony ; 
 and here it is worth while to mention a remarkable 
 coincidence in their subsequent history, 
 
 Mrs. Wood had an only child — a daughter — who 
 was extremely intelligent until four years old, but 
 was then seized with convulsions, and, owing to 
 their frequent occurrence, grew up an idiot ; and 
 
 Mrs. Wood's first lover, Mr. , of Maryland, 
 
 had a son in a similar state ! 
 
 Mrs. Wood devoted herself to this ill-fated 
 daughter with all of a mother's tenderness and 
 zeal, and many of her poetical effusions allude 
 most touohingly to the deep affection she bore her, 
 and the anxiety she suffered on her account. She 
 lost her at the age of eighteen, and bewailed hei' 
 death as bitterly as if she had been of those whom 
 God endows with the blessings of intellect and 
 beauty. After this event, and the decease of 
 General Wood, she removed from the pleasant 
 shades of Chelsea to Richmond, and there spent 
 the remainder of her days in works of usefulness 
 and charity. There, aided by her friend, Mrs. 
 Samuel Pleasants, and by Mrs. Chapman, the lady 
 of a British officer, she founded a society for as- . 
 sisting indigent widows and children. It was 
 termed, the "Female Humane Association of the 
 City of Richmond," and under that title was in- 
 corporated by the Legislature of Virginia, in 1811. 
 Some yeai'S afterwards it changed its purpose, and 
 exclusively appropriated its efforts and finances to 
 the care and maintenance of female orphan chil- 
 dren. Mrs. Wood was elected president, and con- 
 tinued untiringly and faithfully to discharge the 
 arduous duties of that station until her death, in 
 the sixty-eighth year of her age. 
 
 After the decease of Mrs. Wood, her pastor and 
 friend, the Rev. Dr. John H. Rice, formed a so- 
 ciety of ladies to work for the benefit of poor stu- 
 dents of divinity in Hampden-Sydney College, and 
 gave it the appellation of the " Jean Wood Asso- 
 ciation." 
 
 WORONZOFF, ELIZABETH, 
 
 A LADY belonging to a distinguished Russian 
 family, was the mistress of Peter III., emperor of 
 Russia. She afterwards married the senator Po- 
 lanski. The countess Butterlin and the princess 
 Daschkoff both belonged to the same family. 
 
 Y. 
 YATES, MARY, 
 A CELEBRATED actress, whose maiden name was 
 Graham, was born about 1737. She made her 
 theatrical d^bfit at Dublin, in 1752 ; but succeeded 
 so ill, that Mr. Sheridan, the manager, was glad 
 to dissolve her engagement by a present. Neces- 
 
 .559 
 
TE 
 
 Zl 
 
 sity urged her to another attempt ; and in 1754, 
 she appeared at Drury Lane, London, but was not 
 very successful. On her marriage with Mr. Yates, 
 under whose instruction her talents first developed 
 themselves, Mr. Garrlck received her again at 
 Drury-Lane, and she soon became the first tragic 
 actress of the day. She also excelled in comedy. 
 She was very attractive in her appearance. Mrs. 
 Yates retired from the stage in 1785, and died in 
 London in 1787. 
 
 YEAESLEY, ANNE, 
 
 A POETESS, novel-writer, and dramatist, born at 
 Bristol about 1756. Her mother was a milkwoman 
 in that city, and she for some time exercised the 
 same occupation. She was taught by her mother 
 and brother to read and write ; and having had 
 opportunities of perusing Young's Night Thoughts, 
 and some of the works of Pope, Milton, Dryden, 
 and Shakspeare, her talents were called forth, and 
 she produced several pieces of poetry which excited 
 the attention of Mrs. Hannah More. To the as- 
 sistance and advice of that lady, she was much 
 indebted for the improvement of her abilities ; and 
 under her patronage, she published by subscrip- 
 tion a volume of poems in 1785. The profits of 
 this work enabled her to relinquish her business, 
 for the congenial employment of keeping a circu- 
 lating library at Bristol Hot Wells. Her subse- 
 quent publications were, a second collection of 
 "Poems on Various Subjects," 1787; a short 
 poem "On the Inhumanity of the Slave Trade," 
 1788; "Stanzas of Woe," addressed to Levi Ames, 
 Esq., mayor of Bristol, 1790; "Earl Godwin," an 
 historical tragedy, which was performed at the 
 Bristol and Bath theatres ; and a novel, entitled 
 " The Royal Captive," 1795, four volumes, 12mo., 
 founded on the history of the man with the iron 
 mask, imprisoned in the Bastile, whom she sup- 
 poses to have been a twin-brother of Louis XIV. 
 She experienced great encouragement from the 
 public in the course of her literary career; but 
 an unfortunate quarrel with her patroness, Mrs. 
 More, which, like most affairs of the kind, was 
 carried on in a manner by no means creditable to 
 either party, tended somewhat to injure her popu- 
 larity. Some years before her death, she retired 
 from trade, and resided with her family at Melk- 
 sham, in Wiltshire, in a state of almost absolute 
 seclusion. She died May 8th, 1806, leaving a son 
 and two daughters. Another son, who had studied 
 painting as a profession, and who appeared to be 
 a talented individual, was cut off by a pulmonary 
 disease, two or three years previously to the death 
 of his mother. As her name is connected with 
 that of Hannah More, and our readers may, on 
 that account, be curious to see some specimen of 
 the Laciilla style of poetry, we insert one written 
 to her patroness in the summer of their friendship, 
 before the frosts of suspicion on one side, and self- 
 conceit on the other, had blighted their trust and 
 hope in each other. Mrs. More overrated her 
 protogde at the beginning, but Mrs. Yearsley had 
 talents of considerable power, as she proved, by 
 continuing to write after her patroness had given 
 her up. 
 
 TO STELLA. 
 
 (ON- HER ACCUSING THE AUTHOE OF FLATTERY.) 
 
 Excuse me, Stella, sunk in humble state, 
 
 With more than needful awe 1 view the great; 
 
 No glossy diction e'er can aid the thought 
 
 First stamped in ignorance with error fraught. 
 
 My friends I 've praised — they stood in heavenly guise, 
 
 When first I saw thee, and my mental eyes 
 
 Shall in that heavenly rapture view thee still ; 
 
 For mine 's a stubborn and a savage will ; 
 
 No customs, manners, nor soft arts 1 boast, 
 
 On my rough soul your nicest rules are lost. 
 
 Vet shall unpolished gratitude be mine, 
 
 While Stella deigns to nurse the spark divine. 
 
 A savage pleads — let e'en her errors move. 
 
 And your forgiving spirit melt in love. 
 
 O cherish gentle Pity's lambent tlame, 
 
 From Heaven's own bosom the sott pleader came. 
 
 Then deign to bless a soul, who'll ne'er degrade 
 
 Your gift, tho' sharpest miseries invade. 
 
 You I acknowledge next to bounteous heaven, 
 
 Like his, your influence cheers whene'er 'tis given ; 
 
 Blest in dispensing, gentle Stella, hear 
 
 My only short, but pity-moving i)rayer. 
 
 That thy great soul may spare the rustic muse. 
 
 Whom science ever scorned, and errors still abuse. 
 
 z. 
 
 ZANARDI, GENTILE, 
 Was an artist, a native of Bologna, and flou- 
 rished in the seventeenth century. She was in- 
 structed by Marc Antonio Franceschini, and had 
 an extraordinary talent in copying the works of 
 the great masters. She also painted historical 
 subjects of her own design with equal taste and 
 delicacy. The time of her death is not mentioned. 
 
 ZANWISKI, CONSTANTIA, PRIN- 
 CESS CZARTONYSKA, 
 A NOBLE and accomplished woman, was the wife 
 of Andrzey Zanwiski, a distinguished defender of 
 the rights of Poland. She died in 1797. 
 
 ZAPPI, FAUSTINA, 
 
 Was daughter of the painter Carlo Mazatti, and 
 wife of Giambattista Zappi, who was born in 1668, 
 and died in 1719. Faustina was beautiful, and a 
 poetess. Some of her sonnets are very fine. She 
 resided principally at Rome. 
 
 ZINGA, ANNA. 
 A MORE odious spirit, licentious, blood-thirsty, 
 and cruel, never inhabited the form of woman ! 
 And yet she is deserving of a place in this Record ; 
 for she, in understanding and ability, stepped far 
 beyond her countrymen, and the circumstances 
 under which she lived. Zinga was born in Ma- 
 tamba, in Africa, in 1582. Her father was what 
 the European travellers and writers chose to term 
 a king. What state or elevation could be assumed 
 by a chief of negroes and cannibals, it would be 
 difiicult to define ; but, at all events, he was the 
 principal personage of his tribe. Nothing can be 
 said about a throne, where a bench or chair was a 
 rare and inappreciable luxury. Zinga manifested 
 a craft and management by which she" soon got 
 the better of her brothers ; and, upon the death 
 
 560 
 
ZI 
 
 ZI 
 
 of her father, investing herself with the sacred 
 character of priestess, became the leading spring 
 of the people. At that time, the Dutch and Por- 
 tuguese were attempting a rival influence on the 
 coast of Africa for commercial purposes ; religious 
 difficulties became involved in this rivalship ; there 
 were no doubt many missionaries of high and pure 
 motives; while others, forgetting their message 
 of peace, served to exacerbate the opposition 
 among Christians. 
 
 V 
 
 Ni' 
 
 , '^^A-JJ^''^. 
 
 Zinga had the good sense- to appreciate the ad- 
 vantages she could derive from the Christians ; 
 she visited the Portuguese settlement, ingratiated 
 herself with the governor, and was baptized. With 
 their aid, she soon made herself predominant 
 among all the tribes of the neighbourhood ; and. 
 
 as soon as she had destroyed all whom she might 
 have feared, she abjured her new faith, and re- 
 turned to her idols. For some time she lived 
 feared and respected among her own people ; but, 
 perpetrating acts of despotic cruelty too terrible 
 for detail, she soon became wearied of reigning 
 over a race of trembling savages. Her intercourse 
 with the Portuguese had taught her the advantages 
 of civilisation, and her own sagacity perceived 
 that the introduction of Christianity could alone 
 improve her nation. She sent for priests, and 
 again became a nominal member of the Christian 
 church. She was now sixty-five years old, and 
 determined to remain faithful to the injunctions 
 of the missionaries. Her example was followed 
 by those who surrounded her ; and, had she lived, 
 the spirit of the Gospel might have tempered thia 
 savage race ; but a sudden sickness put an end to 
 her existence in 1663. 
 
 Her courage and vigour were remarkable ; sh? 
 was naturally formed for government; and hei 
 native capacity and energy would, in a different 
 country and with suitable education, have made a 
 great queen ; while her extreme hardness of heart 
 must have rendered her hateful and repulsive as 
 a woman. Still, she exhibited better dispositions 
 than any king of her race had ever done ; and 
 she was the first of her tribe who made any at- 
 tempt to adopt Christianity. Had she been bom 
 and brought up under its blessed light, how dif- 
 ferent would have been her character and her 
 destiny ! When such instances of the capacity of 
 the coloured race are brought before ns, we should 
 be awakened to the importance of sending the 
 Gospel and the means of instruction to the wretched 
 millions of women and children in Africa. 
 
 2L 
 
 561 
 
REMARKS ON THE FOURTH ERA. 
 
 This period is a record of the living — tlie time comprised being about thirty years, or from 
 1820 to 1850. 
 
 Some readers may think I have given undue prominence to sketches and selections designat- 
 ing those still on the stage of humanity, moving and acting among us. It is my purpose to 
 attract attention to these vrriters and doers in the present, who are now infusing vitality into 
 the "soul of goodness," thereby depriving evil of its power to deceive. The Past is dead; it 
 may teach like a tomb-stone ; it cannot persuade like the living voice. 
 
 Open before me an herbarium of choice specimens, gathered from iields of modern fame, and 
 places of old renown : I may admire the beauty of the flowers, and the skill that has preserved 
 their forms and colours ; but I never inquire how the plants were cultivated, nor do I try to 
 train my own to become like them. 
 
 But show me a living, blossoming plant, that has healing leaves and odour-breathing flowers, 
 blessing alike the sunshine and the shade, and I am in earnest to learn the manner of its 
 growth, and the mode of its culture. Thus the Fourth Era of this Record will be of more 
 benefit, as affording examples for the young, and encouragement to those who are waiting some 
 way to be opened to their endeavours, than all the histories in the preceding pages. 
 
 One of the most subtle devices of the powers of darkness to perpetuate sin, is to keep women 
 in restraint and concealment — hidden, as it were, behind the shadow of the evil world. They 
 may not even express openly their abhorrence of vice — it is unfeminine ; and if they seek to 
 promote good, it must be by stealth, as though it were wrong for them to be recognised doing 
 anything which has a high aim. 
 
 The Saviour gave no precept, and left no example, thus restraining the sex. On the contrary, 
 He was constantly bringing forward female examples of faith and loVe, encouraging the exer- 
 tions and commending the piety of his female followers. Thus, when at Bethany Mary came to 
 the feast made for Him, opened her box of " very precious ointment, and poured it on his head 
 as he sat at meat," and the disciples were angry at this public display of her zeal, then Jesus 
 signally rebuked their selfishness, declaring, " She hath wrought a good work," and emphatic- 
 ally announcing her undying fame — " Verily, I say unto you. Wheresoever this gospel shall be 
 preached in the whole world, there shall also this, that this woman hath done, be told for a 
 memorial of her." 
 
 What signal honour was conferred openly on the sex, when a woman was thus praised by the 
 Son of God ! Let this console us when men undervalue the female mind, and strive to stifle the 
 female soul. Let us do what we can ; trust in God, and He will make our memorial sure. His 
 Word will finally overcome the powers of darkness. Good men will yet follow the example of 
 Christ, and accord, publicly, praise and honour to the work of woman. 
 
 This high standard of society is even now approximated by the Anglo-Saxon race, which will 
 soon rule the world — the only people who have the true light. Every false religion may be 
 known by this — it represents woman as inferior to man ; it sacrifices her honour, happiness, 
 and glory, to his brute appetites, sensuous passions, and selfish pride. In such an atmosphere, 
 the animal lives, the angel perishes, till humanity is morally dead. In this galaxy of living 
 female genius, there is not a single ray from the wide horizon of heathendom. There, the 
 mother mind is shrouded in the pall of ignorance, and therefore men are in the gross darkness 
 of idolatry and sin. 
 
 The same low ideas concerning the office and destiny of woman govern, in a degree, aU those 
 nations where Christianity is &form of words and ceremonies, and not the quickening spirit of 
 holiness in the soul — of purity in the life of the believer. Throughout the continent of Europe, 
 
 (663) 
 
564 EEMAEKS ON THE FOURTH EEA. 
 
 the feminine mind is considered inferior to the masculine, and woman's genius is only appre- 
 ciated as it ministers to the sensuous gratification of man. Hence, the gifted daughters of those 
 lands are romance-writers, public singers, dancers, artists ; while every higher effort of their 
 mental powers is, alike by potentates, priests and philosophers, discouraged, disparaged, and 
 nearly annihilated. There is not now an example among them of great feminine genius devoted 
 to the noblest pursuits of the human mind — namely, seeking Truth and teaching Duty. Doubt- 
 less there are excellent women in those countries, and some of rare talents ; but their souls 
 have no expression, their virtues no voice. Military force extinguishes moral feeling. Where 
 nearly two millions of men are soldiers, much of the ou1>door work they should do is devolved 
 on the females ; which circumstance alone deteriorates society. But the sins and sufferings 
 caused by wars, where these are fought, add the deepest woe to the wrongs of woman. 
 
 In truth, when we look over the world, with the exception of two nations, it still bears that 
 shadow of gloom which fell when the ground first drank human blood ; and Man the Murderer, 
 Woman the Mourner, is still the great distinction between the sexes ! 
 
 Thank God ! there is hope. The Anglo-Saxon race in Europe numbers about twenty millions, 
 living on a little island in the stormy Northern Ocean. But there, for the last hundred years, 
 the sounds of battle have not been heard ; the Salic Law never shamed the honour of their 
 royal race ; the Holy Bible has been for three centuries their household book, and a free press 
 now dissepiinates truth among the people. Those twenty millions hold the mastery of mind 
 over Europe and Asia ; if we trace out the causes of this superiority, they would centre in that 
 moral influence, which true religion confers on the female sex. 
 
 Therefore the Queen of Great Britain is the greatest and most honoured sovereign now 
 enthroned ; female genius is the grace and glory of British literature ; female piety the purest 
 light of the Anglican Church ; and this Era is made brilliant by the distinguished women of 
 the British Island. 
 
 There is still a more wonderful example of this uplifting power of the educated female mind. It 
 is only seventy-five years since the Anglo-Saxons in the New World became a nation, then num- 
 bering about three millions of souls. Now, this people form the Great American Republic, with 
 a population of twenty-three millions ; and the destiny of the world will soon be in their keep- 
 ing ! The Bible has been their " Book of books" since the first Puritan exile set his foot on 
 Plymouth Rook. Religion is free ; and the soul, which woman always influences where God 
 is worshipped in spirit and truth, is untrammelled by code, or creed, or caste. No blood has 
 been shed on the soil of this nation, save in the sacred cause of freedom and self-defence ; there- 
 fore, the blasting evils of war have scarcely been felt ; nor has the female ever been subjected to 
 the hard labour imposed by God on the male sex — that of " subduing the earth." The advan- 
 tages of primary education have been accorded to girls equally with boys, and, though the latter 
 have, in their endowed colleges, enjoyed the special benefit of direct legislation, yet public sen- 
 timent has always been favourable to female education, and private liberality has supplied, in a 
 good degree, the means of instruction to the daughters of the republic. The result is before 
 the world, — a miracle of national advancement. American mothers train their sons to be Men! 
 
 The Old Saxon stock is yet superior to the New in that brilliancy of feminine genius, the arti- 
 ficial state of social life in England now fosters and elicits — surpassing every nation in its list 
 of learned ladies ; yet in all that contributes to popular education and pure religious sentiment 
 among the masses, the women of America are in advance of all others on the globe. To prove 
 this, we need only examine the list of American female missionaries, teachers, editors, and 
 authors of works instructive and educational, contained in this " Record." 
 
 But, after all, it is not so much what women do for themselves, as what men do for them, 
 which marks the real state of both. Now, the men of America uphold the honour of the gentle 
 sex by the tenderest care and most respectful observance, acknowledging with warm praises the 
 talents of their countrywomen. And, what is of higher significance, American men believe in 
 the natural excellence of the female mind. Hence the most learned and noble in the land united 
 in the experiment of developing the intellect of a poor little girl — deaf, dumb, blind! And 
 these great men are proud to measure the powers of the human soul by its wonderful capacity 
 as shown in this delicate female form. 
 
 The true progress of every race is marked in the condition of the women. The most distin- 
 guished exponent of the remarkable progress of the Anglo-Saxons — the governing race of the 
 world — is Laura Bridgman. 
 
FOURTH ERA. 
 
 OF LIVING FEMALE WRITERS. 
 
 AGNOULT, COUNTESS B', 
 Is only known as a writer by the name of Daniel 
 Stern. Madame Dudevant, a woman of unques- 
 tionable, though very ill-directed, genius, among 
 other eccentricities, adopted the undignified mea- 
 sure of renouncing her sex, as far as possible, by 
 not only entering the lists of fame under a mascu- 
 line name, but often assuming masculine apparel. 
 False shows and seemiugs are always unworthy 
 of a strong or healthy mind ; unless there are 
 extraordinary circumstances making concealment, 
 for a time, justifiable ; but for one who might be 
 a champion, to desert his or her party, merely 
 because it is physically the weakest, to appear 
 in the uniform of the more powerful, shows 
 certainly a want of "spirit, taste, and sense." 
 To repeat this unwomanly and senseless proceed- 
 ing was a fault in Madame d'Agnoult : it has lost 
 even the grace of novelty, and the talent of the 
 authoress — • author, if she wish it, — causes a 
 regret that she is not satisfied to be herself. This 
 lady belongs to a family of rank, and is distin- 
 guished not only for literary abilities, but possesses 
 a fine taste in the arts, which has been developed 
 by her travels in Italy. Reversing the career of 
 most imaginative writers, she began as a critic — 
 having contributed, in "La Presse" of 1842 and 
 '43, several articles that attracted much attention. 
 The novel "N^lida," which appeared in 1846, has 
 been received by the reading public with great 
 favour — having been translated into German, 
 English, and Spanish. She has also produced 
 several political and critical essays, besides various 
 romances. 
 
 ALBERETTI, VERDONI THERESE, 
 Of Verona, Italy. This lady, eminently distin- 
 guished for her graces and accomplishments, is 
 the authoress of poems that are admired alike for 
 a delicacy of thought and expression. The Abb^ 
 Giuseppe Barbresi, well known in Italy for his 
 success in works of elegant literature, has inserted 
 some of the poema of this admired authoress in 
 the collection of his own works. 
 
 AMELIA MARIA PREDEBICA AUGUSTA, 
 DuoHESS and princess of Saxony, was born in 
 1794. Her father. Prince Maximilian, was the 
 youngest son of the Elector Frederic Christian. 
 His eldest brother, Frederic Augustus, Elector, 
 and afterwards king of Saxony, ruled this country 
 sixty-four years, from 1763 to 1827. His reign was 
 one of much vicissitude, as it embraced the period 
 of Napoleon's career. An allusion to the political 
 events of that day is not foreign to the present 
 subject, as the literary abilities and consequent 
 fame of the Princess Amelia could never have 
 been developed under the old order of things in a 
 contracted German court ; neither could she have 
 acquired that knowledge of life essential to the 
 exercise of her dramatic talent : born fifty years 
 sooner, she would have ranked merely among the 
 serene highnesses of whom "to Kve and die" 
 forms all the history. Fortunately for Amelia, 
 the storms that were to clear the political atmo- 
 sphere began before her birth : from the age of 
 twelve tin that of twenty-three she saw her family 
 sufl^ering exile ; then enjoying return and sove- 
 reignty; her uncle prisoner — again triumphant. 
 During this period her opportunities for observa- 
 tion, her suggestions for thought, her mental 
 education, were most various and extensive. 
 Scenes and characters were studied fresh from 
 life — "not obtained through books." In 1827, 
 her uncle. King Frederic Augustus, died, and was 
 succeeded by his brother Anthony — a rather jolly 
 old person, but exceedingly fond of his niece 
 Amelia. She possessed much influence over him, 
 and exercised it in a way that gained her great 
 favour with high and low. In 1830, a revolution 
 changed the government from a despotism to a 
 limited monarchy. Anthony died in 1836, when 
 the brother of Amelia became sovereign. Under 
 her uncle's reign it would have scarcely been 
 possible for her to appear as the authoress of 
 acted dramas ; but her brother had been brought 
 up tmder a new order of things; and considered it 
 no derogation for a scion of royalty to extend the 
 influence of virtue and elevated morality by the 
 
 56^ 
 
AM 
 
 AM 
 
 aid of an art that makes its way to the general 
 public with a peculiar force. 
 
 It is a curious circumstance that her first drama, 
 which was offered under the name of Amelia 
 Heiter, was refused hy the managers of the court- 
 theatre, and only appeared there after its confirmed 
 success on the stage of Berlin. Mrs. Jamieson, 
 from whom this sketch is principally derived, ob- 
 serves that the German drama was in an abyss of 
 stupidity at the most flourishing epoch of the 
 French and English stage. It was in the zenith 
 of Garrick's reputation at London that the first 
 efforts were made to give something like sense and 
 taste to the representations of Germany, and 
 these efforts were made by a woman, Johanna 
 Neuber, a manager and director of the best com- 
 pany in Germany ; she it was who enabled Lessing 
 to produce his great works, and thus to awaken 
 his countrymen to a sense of beauty and utility 
 in dramatic poetj-y. Two or three women had 
 manifested some ability in this branch of art 
 before the Princess Amelia began her career. 
 Johanna Von Weisserthurn of Vienna, an actress, 
 has left twelve or fourteen volumes of plays ; some 
 of which are still performed, and retain public 
 favour. Another once popular writer was Char- 
 lotte Birch-Pfeiffer, who produced dramas depict- 
 ing the life of the burghers and artisans : one of her 
 pieces, called " Giittenberg," is a series of tableaux 
 of the most extraordinary nature, illustrating the 
 fortunes of the inventor of printing — a subject 
 that would scarcely strike a modern dramatist in 
 a poetical point of view. The Princess Amelia 
 has gained by her plays a popularity deservedly 
 exceeding any of her predecessors or contempo- 
 raries in the kind she has undertaken; for it 
 must be remembered she is, though a woman of 
 genius, no poet ; her mind is elevated, truth-loving, 
 and eager to convey useful lessons ; she possesses 
 a delicate discrimination of character, and infinity 
 of gentle humours ; her style is refined, and, at 
 all times, as elegant as the attention to proprieties 
 of the dramatis personee will permit. She attacks 
 selfishness and deception with an unflinching hos- 
 tility, and her instructions are conveyed by such 
 amusing and natural delineations that they cannot 
 fail to excite a detestation of these vices ; and 
 even when such emotions are transient, they are a 
 refreshing dew to the hard soil they cannot pene- 
 trate. 
 
 Before leaving the account of this illustrious 
 lady, it may be remarked that her family are dis- 
 tinguished by something more than " leather and 
 prunella" from the merely "monarch crowned." 
 The present king, Amelia's brother, has published 
 a work on botany an^ mineralogy, and Prince 
 John the Younger has translated Dante into 
 German poetry. She had a grandmother too, 
 another Princess Amelia, whose biography is to 
 be found in a preceding part of this work, who 
 composed operas. 
 
 Mrs. Jamieson, in adverting to the possibility of 
 this princess swaying the "reins of empire" in 
 default of a male heir, speaks of the infinitely 
 wider sway she now exercises by her individual 
 goodness and talent. Some of these observations 
 
 may be quoted, so perfectly do they agree with 
 every idea our own efforts would inculcate. 
 
 " I respect her for the good she has done, and I 
 think it honour to be the means of making her far- 
 ther known. In this kind of spiritual influence, 
 however and wherever exercised, be it in a larger 
 or smaller circle, lies the true vocation, the undis- 
 puted empire of the intellectual woman — not in 
 any of those political powers and privileges which 
 have been demanded for us by eloquent pens, and 
 " most sweet voices," but which every woman who 
 has looked long upon life, and well considered her 
 own nature, and the purposes for which she came 
 into the world, would at once abjure if offered." 
 
 4 
 
 ^•^' 
 
 AMELIE MARIE, EX-QUEEN OF 
 THE FRENCH, 
 
 Daughtee of Ferdinand I., king of the Two Sici- 
 lies, was married to Louis Philippe, then the exiled 
 duke d'Orleans, November, 1809. It was, appa- 
 rently, a marriage of affection with the duke, but 
 on her side of that absorbing love which seemed to 
 seek nothing beyond the content of her husband — 
 except his salvation — to complete her felicity. In 
 all the changes of his life, she was with him as his 
 wife; sensible to the smiles or frowns of fortune 
 only as these affected her husband. 
 
 In 1814, after the fall of Napoleon, the duke of 
 Orleans with his family removed to Paris ; and the 
 immense estates of his father were restored to 
 him. At Neuilly he resided in a superb palace, 
 surrounded with every luxury; yet amid all this 
 magnificence the simple tastes, order, and economy 
 which distinguish the presence of a good wife, 
 were predominant. They had nine children born 
 to them; the training of these while young was 
 their mother's care, and her example of obedience 
 and reverence towards her husband, deepened and 
 decided his influence over his family, which was a 
 model of union, good morals, and domestic virtues. 
 
 By the events of July, 1830, Louis Philippe be- 
 came King of the French ; but this honour seems 
 only to have increased the cares of his wife by her 
 fears on his account ; she never appears to have 
 valued the station for any accession of dignity and 
 importance it gave to her. Indeed, it is asserted 
 
 566 
 
AN 
 
 AN 
 
 that she was very adverse to his assuming the 
 sceptre ; with the instinct of a true woman's love, 
 she probably felt that his happiness, if not his good 
 name and his life, might be perilled ; but he de- 
 cided to be king, and she meekly took her place 
 by his side, sharing his troubles, but not seeking 
 to share his power. The French nation respected 
 her character, and never imputed any of the king's 
 folly, treachery, and meanness, to her ; still the 
 fervid truth of her soul was never surmised till she 
 descended from the throne. Then she displayed 
 what is far nobler than royalty of birth or station, 
 the innate moral strength of woman's nature, 
 when, forgetting self and sustaining every trial 
 with a calm courage, she devotes her energies for 
 the salvation of others. It has been said, that the 
 queen endeavoured to prevent the abdication of 
 Louis Philippe, that kneeling before him slie ex- 
 claimed — " C'est le devoir d'un roi de mourir par- 
 mi son peuple !" But when he resolved on flight, 
 it is known that her presence of mind sustained 
 and guided him as though he had been a child. 
 The sequel is familiar to all the world. They fled 
 to England ; Louis Philippe left Paris for the last 
 time and for ever, on the 26th of February, 1848. 
 Supported on the arm of his noble wife, he reached 
 the carriage that bore them from their kingdom, 
 and on the 26th of August, 1850, he passed from 
 this world — -forgiven of his sins, let us hope. He 
 had been all his life a philosopher, that is to say, 
 an infidel ; but at the closing scene the piety and 
 prayers of his wife seem to have been heard ; the 
 old king became a young penitent, performing 
 with earnestness those holy rites his wife believes 
 necessary to salvation. And she, who could never 
 be happy if parted from him even for a day, re- 
 signed him to God without a murmur ; — and now 
 devotes herself to the interests her deceased hus- 
 band considered important, calmly and cheerfully 
 as though he was still by her side. Well might 
 that husband feel what one of his biographers ob- 
 serves he manifested so strongly, that " It was 
 impossible to be in the company of Louis Philippe 
 for half an hour, without some indication of his 
 remarkable respect for his wife." And it should 
 always be remembered to his honour, that in his 
 domestic life, as husband and father, he deserves 
 the highest regard. This purity of private morals, 
 so rare in the stations he occupied, was undoubt- 
 edly owing to the excellence of his early educa- 
 tion, almost entirely conducted by a woman — 
 hence his respect for the sex. 
 
 We place the name of Amelie, ex-Queen of the 
 French, in our record, not because she has worn a 
 crown, or displayed great talents, or performed 
 any distinguished deed ; but because she has been 
 the perfect example of a good wife. 
 
 ANCELOT, VIRGINIE, 
 Wife of the celebrated M. Anoelot, author of 
 " Marie Padilla," and many other tragedies and 
 dramas of great popularity, has a literary reputa- 
 tion little inferior to that of her husband. As an 
 author of vaudevilles — that species of writing in 
 which the French excel, she is regarded as having 
 surpassed her husband; while her novels have 
 
 displayed no small degree of talent. She resides 
 in Paris, where her works are highly prized by 
 that increasing class of novel-readers, who are 
 willing to be amused and interested with portrait- 
 ures of the bright side of nature, the good which 
 may be found in humanity, and hoped for in the 
 future of our race. 
 
 Madame Ancelot exhibits artistic skill in the plot 
 of her stories; her style is unexceptionable, and 
 above all she has the merit of purity of thought, and 
 soundness of moral principle. The most noted of 
 her novels are "Gabrielle;" "Emerance;" and 
 " M^dferine." The first named has been included 
 in the "Bibliothfeque de' Elite," and passed through 
 several editions. The spirit and style of this work 
 are in accordance with the sentiment of the popu- 
 lar English novels ; those who admire Mrs. Gore's 
 writings will find as much to amuse and interest 
 them in " Gabrielle," with a more elevated tone of 
 moral feeling. We will select our specimen of 
 this authoress from the opening chapter of " Ga- 
 brielle." 
 
 AN OLD PEERESS. 
 
 — " There are no longer any women ! no, my dear 
 Count, there are no longer any women," mourn- 
 fully exclaimed the Marchioness de Fontenay- 
 Mareuil, turning towards the Count de Ehinville, 
 seated by her side in the carriage. The count 
 sighed, but did not appear at all disposed to ques- 
 tion or oppose a proposition which might, at first, 
 seem singular and rash. 
 
 The marchioness, not meeting any contradiction, 
 was forced to renounce the pleasure of an argu- 
 ment. Was M. de Ehinville, who had been so 
 long familiar with her ideas, convinced, or did he 
 fear lest she should try to convince him ? He did 
 not answer, nor even show any surprise, when the 
 marchioness uttered this phrase, which occurred, 
 it is true, often enough in her conversation, for 
 him to be accustomed to it. 
 
 They both then remained silent, whilst the 
 carriage continued to proceed with rapidity — 
 they had but little to say, for both had reached 
 an advanced age — then words are slow, sad, and 
 
 567 
 
AN 
 
 AN 
 
 unfrequent. The ardent expressions of youth 
 always unfold wholly or in part their ideas, plans, 
 hopes, sorrows, and pleasures. They have so much 
 to say that they speak often without knowing it, 
 and all together ; but two old people, on the 
 contrary, would naturally be silent if they had 
 not resolved to converse ; and even then, in spite 
 of their determination, their sentences are often 
 unfinished. Sometimes, even when on the point 
 of speaking, if they look at each other, they are 
 silent; for they see those whitened looks, those 
 furrowed brows, those traces of time and grief 
 imprinted upon their countenances. They read 
 there the sorrows and regrets of the past ; the 
 sadness of the present ; and the few hopes which 
 the future can offer, at least for this life. 
 
 The Marchioness de Fontenay-Mareuil, notwith- 
 standing her seventy years, seemed now agitated 
 by some great project, for she resumed the con- 
 versation with vivacity : " And it is because there 
 are no longer any women. Count de Rhinville, 
 that France is ruined — that the young men are 
 ruined, and that my grandson " 
 
 Here she stopped, fearing to utter a precise 
 complaint against the object of her pride and 
 tenderness. 
 
 M. de Khinville could not repress a smile whUe 
 saying : 
 
 " I should have thought just the contrary." 
 
 She, the marchioness, was not, at this time, 
 inclined to jest, so she remained grave and sad 
 while adding: "Undoubtedly, there are still 
 young girls, married women and mothers. Men 
 stiU marry women who are rich, and love those 
 who are pretty ; but their power is limited exclu- 
 sively to these rights ! Saloons exist no longer ; 
 conversation has ceased; good taste has disap- 
 peardi with it, and mind Kvs lost all its influence. 
 You have a king who appoints and dismisses 
 ministers ; a house of deputies which makes and 
 abolishes laws ; a house of peers which neither 
 makes nor abolishes anything ; but is there any 
 power to create agreeable men ? to accustom 
 young men to refined habits ? to teach them that 
 good taste is the proof of a good understanding, 
 and noble manners the consequence of noble 
 feelings ? to impose upon them, by public opinion, 
 those laws of politeness and good sense which are 
 not found in the civic code ? What power will 
 induce them to doubt their own perfections sufB- 
 ciently to endeavour to become men of merit 
 without ceasing to be agreeable men ? StiU, my 
 friend, this power, now, with so many others, 
 extinct, formerly existed ! — it was the power of 
 women. Then, fear of the opinion of the saloons 
 in which the Duke Yves de Maulgon would live, 
 would have prevented him from separating so 
 entirely from his family ; that he, the last scion 
 of two noble houses, the heir of so great a name, 
 should live in the midst of a society which is not 
 
 ours, and there act " She stopped again; 
 
 she seemed unable to utter the words which were 
 on her lips. 
 
 " The rumour is true then," enquired the count, 
 " which I have heard ? " 
 
 "What have you heard? Who has told you? 
 
 Speak ! Tell me ! I wish to know all !" asked 
 the marchioness apprehensively. 
 
 " Nothing very serious ; nothing which could 
 compromise the honour of a family," replied 
 M. de Rhinville. 
 
 " I wish to know every thing," repeated she impe- 
 riously. Notwithstanding the anxiety and trouble 
 depicted on the countenance of the marchioness, the 
 count could not repress a slight smile in saying : 
 
 " Merely some youthful follies which are laugh- 
 ingly related, with which the world is amused, 
 and which it very soon forgets. They say, that 
 having attained his majority, and being put in 
 possession of an income of fifteen or twenty 
 thousand livres, all that remained of the immense 
 wealth of his ancestors, M. de Maul^on, finding 
 this moderate fortune too small to suit his rank 
 and wishes, and, as he said, not willing to live, at 
 twenty and a duke, like an old grocer retired from 
 business, sold his property, and dividing into four 
 parts the four hundred thousand francs which he 
 had received, determined, four years ago, to live 
 as if he had an income of a hundred thousand 
 livres. They add that your son was so faithful to 
 his word, that yesterday saw, at the same time, 
 the .end of the four years and of the four himdred 
 thousand livres." 
 
 ANGOULEME, MARIE THERESA 
 CHARLOTTE, 
 
 Duchess d', dauphiness, daughter of Louis 
 XVI. and Marie Antoinette, bom December 19th, 
 1778, at Versailles, displayed in early youth a 
 penetrating understanding, an energetic will, and 
 the tenderest feelings of compassion. She was 
 about eleven years old when the revolution com- 
 menced ; its horrors, and the sufferings her royal 
 parents underwent, stamped their impress upon 
 her soul, and tinged her character with a melan- 
 choly never to be effaced in this life. The indig- 
 nities to which her mother was subjected never 
 could be forgotten by the daughter. The whole 
 family were imprisoned, August 10th, 1792, in 
 the Temple. In December, 1795, the princess 
 was exchanged for the deputies whom Dumou- 
 rier had surrendered to the Austrians. Her in- 
 come at this time was the interest of 400,000 
 francs, bequeathed to her by the archduchess 
 Christina of Austria. During her residence at 
 Vienna, she was married by Louis XVIII., to her 
 cousin, the duke of Angoul§me, June 10, 1799, 
 at Mittau. The emperor of Russia signed the 
 contract. In 1801, the political situation of Rus- 
 sia obliged all the Bourbons to escape to Warsaw. 
 In 1805, they returned, by permission of the empe- 
 ror Alexander, to Mittau. Towards the end of 
 1816, the successes of Napoleon obliged them to 
 flee to England. Here the princess lived a very 
 retired life at Hartwell, till 1814, when on the re- 
 storation of the Bourbons, she made her entrance 
 May 4th, into Paris with the king. On the return 
 of Napoleon from Elba, she was at Bordeaux with 
 her husband. Her endeavours to preserve this 
 city for the king being ineffectual, she embarked 
 for England, went to Ghent, and on Napoleon's 
 final expulsion, returned again to Paris. From 
 
 568 
 
AK 
 
 AR 
 
 this city slie was driven by the revolution of 
 1830, which placed Louis Philipe on the throne 
 of the French. She fled -with her husband, the 
 unfortunate Charles X., first to England; from 
 thence the royal fugitives went to Germany, 
 where she now resides. She had realized almost 
 every turn of fortune's wheel, and endured sor- 
 rows and agonies such as very seldom are the lot 
 of humanity. In every situation she has exhibited 
 courage and composure, the indubitable evidence 
 of a strong mind. And she also displayed the true 
 nobility of soul which forgives injuries and does 
 good whenever an opportunity presents. Napo- 
 leon once remarked that the " Duchess d'Angou- 
 leme was the only man of her family," and cer- 
 tainly she was in every respect superior to her 
 husband, whose qualities were rather sound than 
 brilliant; he had good sense, was of a generous 
 disposition, had studied the spirit of the age, and 
 understoed the concessions which were due ; but 
 he cherished the doctrine that the heir of the 
 throne should be the first to evince the most im- 
 plicit obedience to the king ; and thus sanctioned 
 the adoption of measures he wanted the courage to 
 oppose. " The duchess was of a character more 
 firm," says a writer, describing the causes which 
 led to the revolution of 1830. " She evinced no 
 longer, or but feebly, that haughty expression of 
 feeling with which she had been reproached at 
 the first restoration. The necessity of concession 
 had already wrought many changes in her mind. 
 Without any liberal tendencies, she saw that when 
 once a revolution has pervaded a nation it has 
 scattered the seeds of both good and evil; and 
 that to rule, we must learn how to respect not 
 only commonly-acquired rights, but conquests the 
 most opposed to our own convictions, even as 
 Henry IV. had done. All opinions, then so pre- 
 valent upon her character, were erroneous. It 
 was said that she was excessively religious ; true ; 
 but her piety was real and enlightened, and sought 
 not to be distinguished by a courtly train of 
 bishops and of priests. As her misfortunes had 
 been infinite, so had they left their impression; 
 she could not abandon herself to a careless gaiety 
 of life, and for this she was reproached; but yet 
 there was still mingled with this an asperity both 
 of manner and of speech, and when excited, and 
 reassumiug then all the ancient pride of her house, 
 her opinions were imperatively expressed. Never- 
 theless, her firm and correct understanding, and 
 the recollections of her misfortunes ever exercised 
 a great infiuence over the king." 
 
 ARNIM, BETTINA VON, 
 Best known to Us by her letters, published as 
 the " Correspondence of Goethe with a Child," is 
 considered by the Germans one of their most gifted 
 female writers. The very remarkable intercourse 
 between the great "poetical Artist" and the 
 " Child," is of a character which could never have 
 happened but in Germany, where Philosophy is 
 half-sister to Romance, and Romance appears half 
 the time in the garb of Philosophy. 
 
 Bettina Brentano, grand-daughter of Sophia de 
 la Roche, (see page 489,) was born at Frankfort 
 
 on the Maine, about the year 1791. Her father. 
 General Brentano, died of wounds received in the 
 Prussian service ; his wife did not long survive 
 him, and their children, of whom Bettina was the 
 youngest, were left orphans at an early age. 
 There were two sons : Clement Brentano became 
 celebrated in Germany for his work, " Des Kna- 
 ben Wiinderhorn," (The Boy's Wondrous Horn,) a 
 collection of German popular songs; and Chris- 
 tian is mentioned in Bettina's letters; she had 
 also a sister Sophia. Little Bettina, soon after the 
 decease of her parents, became the favourite of 
 Goethe's mother, who resided at Frankfort. It 
 was his birth-place — Bettina's mother had been 
 one of his devoted friends ; so that from here arli- 
 est remembrance, the "Child" had heard the 
 praises of the "Poet;" — and now his mother, 
 whose love for him was little short of idqjatry, 
 completed the infatuation of Bettina. She had 
 an ardent temperament ; the name of Wolfgang 
 Goethe acted as the spell of power to awaken her 
 genius, and what was more remarkable, to deve- 
 lop the sentiment of love in a manner which 
 seems so nearly allied to passion, that we caimot 
 read her burning expressions vrithout sadness, 
 when reflecting that she, a maiden of sixteen sum- 
 mers, thus lavished the rich treasures of her vir- 
 gin afi'eotions on a man sixty years old, whose 
 heart had been indurated by such a long course of 
 gross sensuality, as must have made him impene- 
 trable in his selfish egotism to any real sympathy 
 with her enthusiam. And, moreover, he was a 
 married man, if the ceremony which gave his 
 house-keeper a legal right to call herself his wife, 
 after living for sixteen years as his mistress, de- 
 serves the holy name of marriage. Goethe did 
 not love Bettina ; but her admiration fiattered his 
 vanity, — and he drew her on to make those pas- 
 sionate confessions which seem more like the rav- 
 ings of an opium-eater, than the acknowledged 
 feelings of a female soul. 
 
 The correspondence with Goethe commenced in 
 1807, when Bettina was, as we have stated, about 
 sixteen, and continued till 1824. Soon after that 
 period she was married to Ludwig Achim von Ar- 
 nim, who is celebrated in Germany as a poet and 
 novelist. He was born and resided at Berlin; 
 thither he removed his lovely but very romantic 
 wife ; and Bettina became the star of fashion, as 
 well as a literary star, in the brilliant circles of 
 that metropolitan city. The sudden death of her 
 husband, which occurred in 1831, left Bettina 
 again to her own guidance ; but she had learned 
 wisdom from suffering, and did not give up her 
 soul, as formerly, to the worship of genius. 
 Since her widowhood she has continued to reside 
 in Berlin, dividing her time between literature and 
 charities. The warm enthusiasm of her nature 
 displays itself in her writings, as well as in her 
 deeds of benevolence. One of her works, " Dim 
 Buck ffekoert dem Koniffe," (The King's Book,) 
 was so bold in its tone, and so urgent on behalf 
 of the " poor oppressed," that many of her aris- 
 tocratic friends took alarm, and avoided the 
 author, expecting she would be frowned upon by 
 tne king ; but Frederick William is too politic to 
 
 569 
 
AR 
 
 AK 
 
 persecute a ■woman -who only pleads that he will 
 do good, and Madame von Arnim retains his 
 favour, apparently, though hia flatterers look 
 coldly on her. The work has gained her great 
 popularity with the people. Another work of 
 hers, "Die Gunderode," a romance in letters, is 
 also very much admired, especially by young 
 ladies ; it is wild and extravagant, as are all her 
 writings, but, at the same time, full of fine 
 thoughts and beautiful feelings. All the natural 
 impulses of the mind and heart of Bettina are 
 good and pure ; what she needed was and is a 
 higher standard of morality, a holier object of 
 adoration. The jEsthetio philosophy, referring 
 the soul to the Beautiful as the perfection of art 
 or human attainments, this, and not the Divine 
 philosophy of the Bible, was the subject of her 
 early study : the first bowed down her nature to 
 worship Goethe — the last would have exalted her 
 spirit to worship God ! How the sweet fountain 
 of her afi'eotions was darkened by the shadow of 
 Goethe, and how this consciousness of his presence, 
 as it were, constantly incited her to thoughts and 
 expressions foreign to her natural character, must 
 be evident to all who read the " Correspondence 
 with a Child." We shall make our extracts from 
 this work, and wish our limits permitted us to 
 give more of Goethe's letters ; these are short, 
 and seem to have been written merely for the 
 purpose of drawing out her replies, that he might 
 study her young fresh heart as an entomologist 
 would the colours of a butterfly he had fastened 
 with his pin, and gain the rejuvenescence of his 
 blasfe nature from the full life of hers. That he 
 intended to use her thoughts in his own writings 
 he acknowledged to her ; and his later works show 
 that he did thus use them. Our first extract is a 
 letter to Goethe's mother. 
 
 BETTINA TO FRAU RATH.* 
 
 March 15th, 1807. 
 It is true I have received a letter from Wolfgang 
 here in Rheingau ; he writes, ' Keep my mother 
 warm, and hold me dear.' These sweet lines have 
 sunk into me like the first Spring rain ; I am very 
 happy that he desires me to love him ; I know 
 well that he embraces the whole world ; I know 
 that all men wish to see and speak with him, that 
 all Germany says ' Our Goethe.' But I can tell 
 you that, up to this day, the general inspiration 
 of his greatness and his name has not yet arisen 
 within me. My love to him is confined to that 
 little white-walled room, where I first saw him; 
 where the vine, trained by his own hand, creeps 
 up the window ; where he sits on the straW 
 hassock, and holds me in his arms — =■ there he lets 
 in no stranger, and knows of nothing but me 
 alone. Frau Eath, you are his mother, and to 
 you I will tell it. When I saw him for the first 
 time, and returned home, I found that a hair from 
 his head had fallen upon my shoulder ; I burnt it 
 at the candle, and my heart was so touched that 
 it also flamed, but merrily and joyfully, as flames 
 in the blue sun-lit air, of which one is scarcely 
 aware, and which consume their sacrifice without 
 
 * Goethe's mother was always known by this title. 
 
 smoke : so will it be with me ; I shall flutter 
 joyfully my life long in the air, and no one will 
 know whence the joy comes ; it is only because I 
 know that, when I come to him, he will be alone 
 with me, and forget his laurels. 
 Farewell, and write to him of me. 
 
 BETTINA ,T0 GOETHE. 
 
 When the sun shines hottest, the blue sky is 
 often clouded ; we fear the storm and tempest ; a 
 sultry air oppresses the breast, "but at last the sun 
 conquers, and sinks tranquil and burnished in 
 the lap of evening. 
 
 Thus was it with me after vniting to you ; I was 
 oppressed, as when a tempest gives warning of its 
 approach, and I often blushed at the thought that 
 you would find it wrong ; at last my mistrust was 
 dispelled by words which were few, but how dear ! 
 If you only knew what quick progress my confi- 
 dence made in the same moment that I knew you 
 were pleased with it ! Kind, friendly man ! I am 
 so unskilled in interpreting such delicious words 
 that I doubted their meaning, but your mother 
 said, ' Do n't be stupid, let him have written what 
 he will, the meaning is, you shall write to him as 
 often as you can, and what you like.' Oh, I can 
 impart nothing to you but that, alone, which takes 
 place in my heart. Oh, methought, could I now 
 be with him, my sun of joy should illumine him 
 with as bright a glow as the friendly look with 
 which his eye met mine ! Yes, splendid indeed ! 
 A purple sky my mind, a warm love-dew my 
 words, the soul must come forth like a bride from 
 her chamber, without evil, and avow herself. 0, 
 Master ! in future I will see thee long and often 
 by day, and often shall it be closed by such an 
 evening. 
 
 I promise that that which passes within me, 
 untouched by the outward world, shall be secretly 
 and religiously offered to him who so willingly 
 takes interest in me, and whose all-embracing 
 power promises the fulness of fruitful nourish- 
 ment to the young germs of my breast. 
 
 Without trust, the mind's lot is a hard one ; it 
 grows slowly and needily, like a hot plant betwixt 
 rooks : thus am I — thus was I till to-day ; and 
 the fountain of the heart which could stream 
 nowhere forth, finds suddenly a passage into light, 
 and banks of balsam-breathing fields, blooming 
 like paradise, accompany its course. 
 
 Oh, Goethe ! my longings, my feelings, are 
 melodies which seek a song to which they may 
 adapt themselves. Dare I do so ? then shall these 
 melodies ascend high enough to accompany your 
 songs. 
 
 Your mother wrote, as from me, that I laid no 
 claim to an answer to my letters, and that I would 
 not rob that time which would produce for eter- 
 nity : but so it is not ; my soul cries like a thirsty 
 babe ; all this time, past and future, I would 
 drink into myself, and my conscience would make 
 me but small reproach, if the world, from this 
 time forth, should learn but little from you, and I 
 more. Remember, in the mean time, that only a 
 few words from you fill up a greater measure of 
 joy than I expect from all futurity. 
 
 570 
 
AR 
 
 AR 
 
 From Several Letters, 
 
 GOETHE TO BETTINA. 
 
 Tliou art a sweet-minded child ; I read thy dear 
 letters irith inward pleasure, and shall surely 
 always read them again with the same enjoyment. 
 Thy pictures of what has happened to thee, with 
 all inward feelings of tenderness, and what thy 
 witty demon inspires thee with, are real original 
 sketches, which, in the midst of more serious 
 occupations, cannot he denied their high interest ; 
 take it, therefore, as a hearty truth, when I thank 
 thee for them. Preserye thy confidence in me, 
 and let it, if possible, increase. Thou wilt always 
 be and remain to me what thou now art. How 
 can one requite thee, except by being willing to 
 be enriched with all thy good gifts. Thou, thy- 
 self, knowest how much thou art to my mother ; 
 her letters overflow with praise and love. Con- 
 tinue to dedicate loyely monuments of remem- 
 brance to the fleeting moments of thy good 
 fortune. I cannot promise thee that I will not 
 presume to work out themes so high-gifted and 
 full of life, if they still speak as truly and 
 warmly to the heart. 
 
 ***** 
 
 You are an unparalleled child, whom I joyfully 
 thank for every enjoyment, for every bright 
 glance into a spiritual life, which, without you, I 
 should, perhaps, never have experienced. 
 ***** 
 
 All that you write is a spring of health to me, 
 whose crystal drops impart to me a well-being. 
 Continue to me this refreshment, upon which I 
 place my dependence. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Your clear views upon men and things, upon 
 past and future, are useful to me, and I deserve, 
 too, that you grant me the best. [Such was the 
 egotism of Goethe, who had given Bettina nothing, 
 while he was using her very heart-strings to make 
 him music !] 
 
 ***** 
 
 I wish to have your thoughts on art in general, 
 and particularly on music, transmitted to me. 
 Your solitary hours you can spend in no better 
 way than in meditating on your dear caprice, and 
 to entrust me with it. 
 
 ***** 
 
 By no means let slip the theme upon music, but 
 on the contrary, continue to vary it in every 
 possible manner. Continue to love me till happy 
 stars bring us once more together. 
 
 From a Number of Letters. 
 BETTINA TO OOETHE. 
 
 Talent strikes conviction, but genius does not 
 convince ; to whom it is imparted, it gives fore- 
 bodings of the immeasurable and infinite, while 
 talent sets certain limits, and so because it is un- 
 derstood, is also maintained. 
 
 The infinite in the finite — genius in every art 
 is music. In itself it is the soul, when it touches 
 tenderly, but when it masters this affection, then 
 it is spirit which warms, nourishes, bears and re- 
 produces the own soul — and, therefore, we per- 
 
 ceive music : otherwise the sensual ear would no 
 hear it, but only the spiritual ; and thus ever) 
 art is the body of music, which is the soul of every 
 art : and so is music, too, the soul of love, which 
 also answers not for its working ; for it is the con- 
 tact , of divine with human. Love expresses no- 
 thi4g through itself, but that it is sunk in har- 
 mony. Love is fluid ; it flows in its own element, 
 and that element is harmony. 
 
 ***** 
 
 I wish for you, Goethe, and believe it firmly, too, 
 that all your enquiry, your knowledge, and that 
 which the muse teaches you, and lastly also thy 
 love, may, united, form a glorified body for thy 
 spirit, that it may no longer be subject to the 
 earthly body, when it puts it off, but may already 
 have passed over into the spiritual body. Die you 
 must not, he only must die whose spirit does not 
 find the outlet. Thought wings the spirit, the 
 winged spirit does not die, it finds not back the 
 way to death. — ■ 
 
 ***** 
 
 In love you are with the heroine of your new 
 novel, and this makes you so retiring and cold to 
 me. — God knows what model has served you here 
 for an ideal ; ah ! you have a unique taste in wo- 
 men ; Werther's Charlotte never edified me ; had 
 I then been at hand, Werther would never have 
 shot himself, and Charlotte should have been 
 piqued that I could console him so well. 
 
 I feel the same in William Meister ; there, all 
 the women are disgusting to me, I could ' ' drive 
 them all out of the temple," and I had built, 
 too, upon it, that you have loved me as soon 
 as you knew me, because I am better and more 
 amiable than the whole female assemblage in your 
 novels — yes, (and, really, this is not saying much) 
 for you I am more amiable, if you the Poet will 
 not find it out, for no other am I born; am I not 
 the bee which files forth, bringing home to you 
 the nectar of each flower ? 
 
 ***** 
 
 The moon is shining high above the hills, the 
 clouds drive over like herds. I have already stood 
 awhile at the windows, and looked at the chasing 
 and driving above. Dear Goethe, good Goethe, I 
 am alone, it has raised me out of myself, up to 
 thee ! Like a new-born babe, must I nurse this 
 love between us ; beautiful butterflies balance 
 themselves upon the flowers which I have planted 
 about its cradle, golden fables adorn its dreams, I 
 joke and play with it, I try every stratagem in its 
 favour. But you rule it without trouble, by the 
 noble harmony of your mind — with you there is 
 no need of tender expressions or protestations. 
 While I take care of each moment of the present, 
 a power of blessing goes forth from you, which 
 reaches beyond all sense and above all the world. 
 
 ON MUSIC. 
 
 Yes ! Christian Schlosser said, that you. under- 
 stood nothing of music, that you fear death, and 
 have no religion ; what shall I say to this ? I am 
 as stupid as I am mute, when I am so sensibly 
 hurt. Ah! Goethe, if one had no shelter, which 
 could protect in bad weather, the cold loveless 
 
 571 
 
AR 
 
 AR 
 
 ■wind might harm one, but I know you to be shel- 
 tered within yourself ; but these three riddles are 
 a problem to me. I would fain explain to you 
 music in all its bearings, and yet I myself feel, 
 that it is beyond sense and not understood by me ; 
 nevertheless I cannot retire from this Indissoluble, 
 and I pray to it; no, the InconceiTable is ever — 
 Grod; and there is no medium world, in which 
 other secrets can be hidden. Since music is in- 
 conceivable, so is it like God ; this I must say, 
 and you will, with your notion of the "terz" and 
 the " quint," laugh at me ! No ! you are too good, 
 you will not laugh; and then you are also too 
 wise ; you will surely willingly give up your stu- 
 dies and your conquered ideas, for such an all- 
 hallowing mystery of the Divine Spirit in music. 
 What could repay the pains of enquiry, if it were 
 not this? after what could we enquire, which 
 moves us, except the Divine only ? And what can 
 others, the well-studied, say better or higher upon 
 it ; — and if one of them should bring something 
 forward against it, must he not be ashamed ? If 
 one should say, " Music is there, only that the 
 human spirit may perfect itself therein." Well, 
 yes ! we should perfect ourselves in God ! If one 
 say, it is only the connecting link with the Divine, 
 but not God himself ! No, ye false voices, your 
 vain song is not divinely imbued ! Ah ! Divinity 
 itself teaches us to understand the signs, that like 
 it by our own powers, we may learn to govern in 
 the realm of Divinity. All learning in art is only, 
 that we may lay the foundation of self-dependence 
 within us, and that it may remain our conquest. 
 Some one has said of Christ, that he knew nothing 
 of music : to this I could answer nothing ; in the 
 first place I am not nearly enough acquainted 
 with his course of life, and then what struck me 
 at the time, I can say only to you, although I do 
 not know what you may answer to it. Christ 
 says: "Your body also shall be glorified." Is not 
 music now the glorifying of sensual nature ? Does 
 not music so touch our senses, that we feel them 
 melted into the harmony of the tones which you 
 choose to reckon by terz and quint ? Only learn 
 to understand! You will wonder so much the 
 more at the Inconceivable. The senses flow on 
 the stream of inspiration, and that exalts them. 
 All which spiritually lays claim on man, here goes 
 over to the senses ; therefore is it that through 
 them he feels himself moved to all things. Love 
 and friendship, and warlike courage, and longing 
 after the Divinity, all boil in the blood ; the blood 
 is hallowed ; it inflames the body, that it becomes 
 of one instinct with the spirit. This is the effect 
 of music on the senses, this is the glorifying of 
 the body ; the senses of Christ were dissolved in 
 the Divine Spirit ; they were of one instinct with 
 him ; he said: " What ye touch with the spirit as 
 with the senses must be divine, for then your body 
 becomes also spirit." Look! this I myself almost 
 felt and thought, when it was said, that Christ 
 knew nothing about music. 
 
 Pardon me, that I thus speak with you, nearly 
 without substantial ground, for I am giddy, and I 
 scarcely perceive that which I would aay, and 
 forget all so easily again ; but if I could not have 
 
 confidence in you, to confess that which occurs to 
 me, to whom else should I impart it ? 
 
 This winter I had a spider in my room ; when 
 I played upon the guitar it descended hastily into 
 a web which it had spun lower down. I placed 
 myself before it, and drew my fingers across the 
 strings ; it was clearly seen how it vibrated 
 through its little limbs ; when I changed the 
 chord, it changed its movements, — they were 
 involuntary ; by each difi'erent Arpeggio, the 
 rhythm in its motions was also changed ; it can- 
 not be otherwise, — this little being was joy-pene- 
 trated, or spirit-imbued, as long as my music 
 lasted; when that stopped it retired. Another 
 little playfellow was a mouse, but he was more 
 taken by vocal music : he chiefly made his appear- 
 ance when I have sung the gamut ; the fuUer I 
 swelled the tones, the nearer it came; in the 
 middle of the room it remained sitting; my 
 mother was much delighted by the little animal ; 
 we took great care not to disturb him. When I 
 sung songs and varying melodies he seemed to be 
 afraid; he could not endure it, and ran hastily 
 away. Thus, then, the gamut seemed fitted for 
 this little creature; prevailed over it, and (who 
 can doubt?) prepared the way for something 
 loftier within it ; these tones, given with the 
 utmost purity, — beautiful in themselves, touched 
 these organs ; this swelling and sinking to silence 
 raised the little creature into another element. 
 Ah, Goethe ! what shall I say ? everything touches 
 me so nearly — I am so sensitive to-day I could 
 weep : who can dwell in the Temple upon pure 
 and serene heights, ought he to vrish to go forth 
 into a den of thieves ? These two little animals 
 resigned themselves up to music ; it was their 
 Temple, in which they felt their existence elevated 
 by the touch of the Divine, and thou who feelest 
 thyself touched by the eternal pulsation of the 
 Divine within thee, thou hast no religion ? Thou, 
 whose words, whose thoughts are ever directed to 
 the muse, thou not to live in the element of exalta-' 
 tion, in connection with God ? yes ! the ascend- 
 ing from out unconscious life into revelation, — 
 that is music I 
 
 I have spent a cold night, Goethe, listening to 
 my thoughts ; because you, in such a friendly 
 manner, wish to know all ; yet I could not write 
 all, these thoughts are too volatile. Ay, Goethe ! 
 should I write down all, how odd would that be I 
 Be contented with these ; supply them in my mind, 
 in which thou hast a home. You — no other — 
 have ever reminded me to impart my soul to you, 
 and I would withhold you nothing, therefore I 
 would come forth to light out of myself, because 
 you alone enlighten me. 
 
 Ah ! I have not studied it ; I know nothing of 
 its origin, of its history, its condition ; how is its 
 influence, how men understand it, — that seems 
 unreal to me. 
 
 Art is the hallowing sensual nature, and that is 
 all I know about it. What is beloved shall serve 
 to love: spirit is the beloved child of God, — 
 chosen by God for the service of sensual nature ; 
 
 572 
 
AR 
 
 AR 
 
 this is art ; intuition of the spirit into the senses 
 is art. What you feel becomes thought, and what 
 you think, what you strive to invent, that becomes 
 sensual feeling. What men compile in arts ; what 
 they produce in it ; how they force their way 
 through it ; what they do more or less, that would 
 be submitted to many contradictions, but yet is it 
 ever a spelling of the Divine. Let it be. 
 
 Ah! what do you ask about art? I can say 
 nothing that shall satisfy you. Ask about love, 
 this is my art ; in it I am to perform ; in it I shall 
 recollect myself and rejoice. 
 
 I am afraid of you ; I am afraid of the spirit 
 which you bid to arise within me, because I am 
 not able to express it. In your letter you say : 
 ' the whole internal spirit shall come forth to light 
 out of itself;' never before has this simple infalli- 
 ble command been obvious to me, and now, when 
 your wisdom calls me forth to light, what have I 
 to display as only faults against the internal 
 genius ; look there ! misused and oppressed it was. 
 But this breaking forth of the mind to light, is it 
 not art ? This inner man asking for light, to have 
 by the linger of God loosened his tongue ; untied 
 his hearing ; awakened all senses to receive and 
 to spend : and is love here not the only master, 
 and we its disciples in every work which we form 
 by its inspiration ? 
 
 Works of art, however, are those which alone 
 are called art, through which we think to perceive 
 and enjoy art ; but as far as the producing of God 
 in heart and mind overpowers the idea we make to 
 ourselves of him and his laws, which, in temporal 
 life, are of value, even so does art overpower 
 men's valuing of it. They who fancy to under- 
 stand it will perform no more than what is ruled 
 by understanding ; but when senses are submitted 
 to its spirit, he has revelation. 
 
 To improve the advantages of experiences as 
 they ought to be, is mastership ; to transfer them 
 on the scholar is teaching ; has the scholar com- 
 prehended all, and understands how to employ it, 
 then he becomes absolved ; this is the school by 
 which art will be transplanted. To one in such 
 a manner absolved all ways of error are open, but 
 never the right one. Once released from the long 
 frequented school in which system and experience 
 had enclosed him, the labyrinth of errors becomes 
 his world, from which he may never escape. 
 Every way he will choose is a misguided path of 
 error ; void of divine spirit, misled by prejudices, 
 he tries to employ all his artificial craft to bring 
 the object of his labour to a good issue. More 
 will never be attained by the endeavours of an 
 artist educated in the school of art. Whoever 
 is come to something in art, did forget his crafti- 
 ness, his load of experience, became shipwreck, 
 and despair led him to land on the right shore. 
 What from such a violent epoch will proceed is, 
 indeed, often captivating, but not convincing, 
 because the scale of judgment and of perception 
 is no other than those experiences and artifices, 
 which never suit where production will not be 
 made up by means of them ; then, also, because 
 the prejudice of an obtained mastership will not 
 allow anything to be that depends on its authority ; 
 
 and because the presentiment of a higher world 
 will thus remain closed to it. The invention of 
 the mastership is justified by the principle, that 
 there is nothing new ; that aU is invented before 
 imagination ; such productions are partly in abuse 
 of that which is invented to new inventions, partly, 
 apparent inventions, where the work of art has 
 not the thought within itself, but must make up 
 for its want by the devices and experience of the 
 school of art, and, finally, productions which go 
 just as far as thought, by improvement, is allowed 
 to comprehend ; the more prudent balancing the 
 more faultless and secure ; the more comprehen- 
 sible, too, they are for the multitude ; these we 
 call works of art. - 
 
 In music, producing is, itself, a wandering of 
 the divine idea, which enlightens the mind without 
 object, and man, himself, is conception. In all is 
 union of love; a joining of mental forces one in 
 another. 
 
 Excitement becomes language, a summons to 
 the spirit ; it answers, and this is invention : the 
 faculty of mind to answer a demand which has no 
 fixed object as problem, but is the, perhaps, un- 
 conscious tendency of production. 
 
 All motions of mental events in life have such 
 a deep, hidden basis ; thus, as the breath of life 
 sinks into the breast, to draw breath anew, so the 
 procreating spirit sinks i to the soul, again to 
 ascend to the higher regions of eternal creative 
 power. 
 
 The soul breathes by spirit ; spirit breathes by 
 inspiration; and this is the breathing of the 
 divinity. 
 
 To inhale the divine spirit is to engenerate, to 
 produce ; to exhale the divine breath is to breed 
 and nourish the mind : — thus the divine engene- 
 rates, breeds, and nourishes itself in the spirit, — 
 thus through the spirit in the soul — thus through 
 the soul in the body. Body is art, art is the 
 sensual nature engenerated into the life of the 
 spirit. 
 
 In the style of art they say: nothing that is 
 new is to be invented, all has existed before : — 
 yes ! we can but invent in mankind, nothing is 
 without them, for spirit is not without man, for 
 God himself has no other harbour but the spirit of 
 man ; the inventor is love ; and because embrac- 
 ing love alone is the foundation of existence, there- 
 fore beyond this embraced one, there is no being, 
 no invention. Invention is only perceiving how 
 the genius of love rules in the being founded by 
 love. 
 
 Man cannot invent, only feel himself, only con- 
 ceive, learn what the genius of love speaks to him, 
 how it nourishes itself in him, and how it teaches 
 him by itself. Without transforming its percep- 
 tions of divine love into the language of know- 
 ledge, there is no invention. 
 
 Late yesterday evening, I walked by moonlight 
 in the beautiful, blooming Linden-walk, on the 
 banks of the Rhine ; there I heard a clapping and 
 soft singing. Before her cottage beneath the 
 blooming linden-tree, sat the mother of twins : 
 one she had upon her breast, and the other she 
 rocked with her foot, in measure to the song. 
 
 573 
 
BA 
 
 BA 
 
 B. 
 
 BAILLIE, JOANNA, 
 
 Sister of the celebrated Dr. Baillie, was bom 
 in Bothwell, Scotland, of an honourable family, 
 about 1765. She has spent the greater part of 
 her life at Hampstead, near London, Trhere she 
 now resides. Her " Plays of the Passions," a 
 series of dramas, have made her famous. Scott 
 compares her to Shakspeare ; while eminent critics 
 place her name at the head of the living dramatic 
 writers of England. 
 
 The social sphere in which this favoured daugh- 
 ter of the muse has ever moved, was peculiarly 
 suited to her character and genius ; it was one in 
 which taste, and literature, and the highest moral 
 endowments were understood and appreciated. 
 She had no need to resort to her pen from pecu- 
 niary motives, and her standing in society made 
 fame of little moment to her. But the spirit 
 prompted, and she obeyed its voice — ^ always, we 
 think, with that loftiest motive of human action or 
 purpose, the desire of doing good. 
 
 To accomplish those reforms which she felt so- 
 ciety needed, she determined to attempt the re- 
 form of that mimic world, the stage, by furnishing 
 dramas whose representation should have a salu- 
 tary effect on morals. In pursuance of this idea, 
 she planned her celebrated "Plays on the Pas- 
 sions" — love, hatred, fear, religion, jealousy, revenge 
 and remorse, she has portrayed with the truth, 
 power, and feeling which richly entitle her to the 
 honour of having her fame as a dramatic writer 
 associated with that of Shakspeare. The parallel 
 which was drawn by Scott is true, so far as plac- 
 ing the name of Joanna Baillie in the same rela- 
 tion to the dramatic poets of her own sex, which 
 the name of Shakspeare bears to that of men. In 
 such compositions she is unrivalled by any female 
 writer, and she is the only woman whose genius, 
 as displayed in her works, appears competent to 
 the production of an Epic poem. Would that she 
 had attempted this ! 
 
 In the portraiture of female characters, and the 
 exhibition of feminine virtues, she has been very 
 
 successful. Jane de Montfort is one of the most 
 sublime, yet womanly, creations of poetic art. 
 
 The power of Miss Baillie's genius seems con- 
 centrated in one burning ray — the knowledge of 
 the human heart. She has illustrated this know- 
 ledge with the cool judgment of the philosopher, 
 and the pure warm feelings of the Christian. And 
 she has won fame, the highest which the critic has 
 awarded to woman's lyre. Yet we have often 
 doubted whether, in selecting the drama as her 
 path of literature, she judged wisely. We have 
 thought that, as an essayist, or a novelist, she 
 might have made her great talents more effective 
 in that improvement of society, which she evi- 
 dently has so deeply at heart, and have won for 
 herself, if not so bright a wreath of fame, a more 
 extensive and more popular influence. And even 
 had she chosen poetry as the vehicle of instruc- 
 tion, we still think that she would better and more 
 generally have accomplished her aim, by shorter 
 effusions, and more simple plans. 
 
 The remark of Goethe on the danger of a poet's 
 " devoting himself to some great work," and neg- 
 lecting present thoughts and feelings, and all the 
 touching incidents of the actual world passing be- 
 fore him, is strikingly true of female writers. It 
 seems the very soul of woman's genius to seize on 
 the passing moment, and give to the common 
 and the actual that beauty and interest which 
 their finer imagination and more delicate taste can 
 discover or invent. In this way, too, their moral 
 power is brought to bear on the popular mind at 
 once. The sweet lyrics of Mrs. Hemans have 
 moved the hearts of millions of the unlearned, and 
 moulded their affections to love the beautiful and 
 the good ; while the sublime and searching truths 
 taught in the " Plays on the Passions," have been 
 a sealed book to all but the learned and critical. 
 True, many of the greatest poets who have writ- 
 ten since these "Plays" appeared, have drawn 
 from this mine of genius much to enrich their own 
 stores. Even Byron had not read Miss Baillie 
 without advantage, as a comparison between the 
 "Ethwald" of the latter, and "Manfred," will 
 clearly show. 
 
 But, although it is a proud station which this 
 gifted sister of the lyre has won, thus to become, 
 as it were, a teacher of genius, a beacon in the 
 path of intellectual glory, yet we would prefer 
 that our own sex should rather be admirers of the 
 fame of Joanna Baillie than followers in her own 
 peculiar and chosen sphere. At least since she, 
 with her splendid talents, bold and vigorous fancy, 
 and that calm, persevering energy of purpose, 
 which none but minds of the highest order dis- 
 play, has failed to reform the stage, let no other 
 woman flatter herself with a hope of succeeding. 
 It may be within the scope of female powers to pu- 
 rify and exalt dramatic literature ; but then these 
 pattern plays will not be popular on the stage, 
 and meretricious dances or spectacles of some kind 
 will be substituted to draw the multitude. Thus 
 the moral effect of a good play will be destroyed. 
 It will be found more effectual for the gentle pur- 
 pose of winning hearts to follow virtue and piety, 
 which should be the aim of female literature, to 
 
 574 
 
BA 
 
 BA 
 
 address the mind through the moral and domestic 
 feelings, rather than through the stern, dark, and 
 wild workings of passion, in its conflicts with the 
 world. One sweet song of home will be more 
 effectual in securing the return of the prodigal, 
 than all the pathetic scenes in Eayner and the 
 penitence of Count Zaterloo. 
 
 There is in the " Cyclopasdia of English Litera- 
 ture," a very clever and candid criticism on Miss 
 Baillie's peculiar style of constructing her dramas ; 
 it is appropriate to our plan of showing, whenever 
 possible, the opinions of literary men concerning 
 the genius, and productions of women. After 
 stating that the first volume of Joanna Baillie's 
 "Plays on the Passions" was published in 1798; 
 that she had, in her theory, " anticipated the dis- 
 sertations and most of the poetry of Wordsworth," 
 and that her volume passed through two editions 
 in a few months, he goes on : — ■" Miss Baillie was 
 then in the thirty-fourth year of her age. In 
 1802 she published a second volume, and in 1812 
 a third. In the interval she had produced a 
 volume of miscellaneous dramas (1804), and " The 
 Family Legend" (1810), a tragedy founded on a 
 Highland tradition, and brought out with success 
 at the Edinburgh theatre. In 1836, this authoress 
 published three more volumes of plays, her career 
 as a dramatic writer thus extending over the long 
 period of thirty-eight years. Only one of her 
 dramas has ever been performed on the stage : 
 De Montfort was brought out by Kemble shortly 
 after its appearance, and was acted eleven nights. 
 It was again introduced in 1821, to exhibit the 
 talents of Kean in the character of De Montfort ; 
 but this actor remarked that, though a fine poem, 
 it would never be an acting play. The design of 
 Miss Baillie in restricting her dramas each to the 
 elucidation of one passion, appears certainly to 
 have been an unnecessary and unwise restraint, as 
 tending to circumscribe the business of the piece, 
 and exclude the interest arising from varied emo- 
 tions and conflicting passions. It cannot be said 
 to have been successful in her own case, and it 
 has never been copied by any other author. Sir 
 Walter Scott has eulogized ' Basil's love and Mont- 
 fort's hate,' as something like a revival of the in- 
 spired strain of Shakspeare. The tragedies of 
 Count Basil and De Montfort are among the best 
 of Miss Baillie's plays ; but they are more like the 
 works of Shirley, or the serious parts of Massin- 
 ger, than the glorious dramas of Shakspeare, so 
 full of life, of incident, and imagery. Miss Bail- 
 lie's style is smooth and regular, and her plots are 
 both original and carefully constructed ; but she 
 has no poetical luxuriance, and few commanding 
 situations. Her tragic scenes are too much con- 
 njected with the crime of murder, one of the easi- 
 est resources of a tragedian ; and partly from the 
 delicacy of her sex, as well as from the restric- 
 tions imposed by her theory of composition, she is 
 deficient in that variety and fulness of passion, 
 the ' form and pressure' of real life, which are so 
 essential on the stage. The design and plot of 
 her dramas are obvious almost from the first act — 
 a circumstance that would be fatal to their suc- 
 
 cess in representation. The unity and intellectual 
 completeness of Miss Baillie's plays are their most 
 striking characteristics. Her simple masculine 
 style, so unlike the florid or insipid sentimental- 
 ism then prevalent, was a bold innovation at the 
 time of her two first volumes ; but the public had 
 fortunately taste enough to appreciate its excel- 
 lence. Miss Baillie was undoubtedly a great im- 
 prover of our poetical diction." 
 
 Besides these many volumes of Plays, Miss Bail- 
 lie has written miscellaneous poetry and songs 
 sufficient to fill a volume, which was published in 
 1841. Her songs are distinguished for " a pecu- 
 liar softness of diction, yet few have become 
 favourites in the drawing-room." In truth, it is 
 when alone, in the quiet sanctuary of one's own 
 apartment, that the works of Miss Baillie should 
 be studied. She addresses the heart through the 
 understanding, not by moving the fancy or even 
 the passions in any strong degree ; she writes to 
 mind, not to feeling ; and the mind of the reader 
 must become concentrated on the drama at first, 
 by an effort of the will, before its singular merit 
 will be fully apparent; even the best of all, " De 
 Montfort," requires this close attention. We shall 
 make our selections chiefly from the tragedies. 
 
 FROM DB MONTFOET. 
 [Java, in disguise, meets her brother.'] 
 
 De Montfort. Ves, it ia ever thus. Undo that veil, 
 And give tliy countenance to the cheerful light. 
 Men now all soft and female beauty scorn, 
 And mock the gentle cares which aim to please. 
 It is most terrible! undo thy veil, 
 And think of him no more. 
 
 Jane. 1 know it well, even to a proverb grown. 
 Is lovers' faith, and I had borne such slight ; 
 But he, who has, alas I forsaken me. 
 Was the companion of my early days. 
 My cradle's mate, mine infant play-fellow. 
 Within our opening minds, with riper years. 
 The love of praise and generous virtues sprung: 
 Through varied life our pride, our joys were one; 
 At the same tale we wept: he is my brother. 
 
 De Mon. And he forsook thee?— No, I dare not curse 
 him: 
 My heart upbraids me with a crime like his. 
 
 Jane. Ah ! do not thus distress a feeling heart. 
 All sisters are not to the soul entwined 
 With equal bands ; thine has not watched for thee. 
 Wept for thee, cheered thee, shared thy weal and wo, 
 As I have done for him. 
 
 De Mon. {eagerly.) Ah ! has she not ? 
 By heaven ! the sum of all thy kindly deeds 
 Were but as chaff poised against massy gold. 
 Compared to that which I do owe her love. 
 Oh pardon me ! 1 mean not ro offend — 
 I am too warm— but she of whom I speak 
 Is the dear sister of my earliest love ; 
 In noble, virtuous worth to none a second ; 
 And though behind those sable folds were hid 
 As fair a face as ever woman owned, 
 Still would I say she is as fair as thou. 
 How oft amidst the beauty-blazing throng, 
 I 've proudly to th' enquiring stranger told 
 Her name and lineage ! yet within her house. 
 The virgin mother of an orphan race 
 Her dying parents left, this noble woman 
 Did like a Roman matron, proudly sit. 
 Despising all the blan(Jishments of love : 
 Whilst many a youth his hopeless love concealed. 
 Or humbly distant wooed her like a queen. 
 Forgive, I pray you ! O forgive this boasting ; 
 In faith, I mean you no discourtesy. 
 
 575 
 
BA 
 
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 DESCRIPTION OF JANE DE MONTFORT. 
 
 {The following has been pronounced to be a perfect picture of 
 Mrs. Siddons, the tragic actress,] 
 
 Page. Madam, there is a lady in your hall 
 Who begs to be admitted to your presence. 
 
 Lady. Is it not one of our invited friends? 
 
 Page. No ; far unlike to them. It ia a stranger. 
 
 Lady. How looks her countenance ? 
 
 Page. So queenly, so commandinjf, and so noble, 
 I shrunk at first in awe ; but when she smiled, 
 Methought 1 could have compassed sea and land 
 To do her bidding. 
 
 Lady. Is she young or old ? 
 
 Page. Neither, if right I guesa ; but she is fair, 
 For Time hath laid his hand so gently on her, 
 As he, too, had been awed. 
 
 Lady. The foolish stripling! 
 She has bewitched thee. Is she large in stature? 
 
 Page. So stately and so graceful is her form, 
 1 thought at first her stature was gigantic; 
 But on a near approach, I found in truth, 
 She scarcely does surpass the middle size. 
 
 Lady. What is her garb ? 
 
 Page. I cannot well describe the fashion of it. 
 She is not decked in any gallant trim, 
 Eut seems to me clad in her usual weeds 
 Of high habitual state ; for as she moves. 
 Wide flows her robe in many a waving fold. 
 As 1 have seen unfurled banners play 
 With the soft breeze. 
 
 Lady. Thine eyes deceive thee, boy ; 
 It is an apparition thou hast seen. 
 
 Frebcrg. [Starting from, his seaU where he has been sitting 
 during the conversation between the Lady and the 
 Page.] 
 It is an apparition he has seen, 
 Or it is Jane de Monfort. 
 
 From Henriquez : A Tragedy. 
 TRUE LOVE. 
 
 Antonio. O blessed words I my dear, my generous love! 
 My heart throbs at the thought, but cannot thank thee. 
 And thou wilt follow me and share my fortune, 
 Or good or ill ! 
 
 Ah I what of good can with a skulking outlaw 
 In his far wanderings, or his secret haunts. 
 E'er be? Ono! ihou ahalt not follow me. 
 
 Meneia. Good may be found for faithful, virtuous love, 
 In every spot; and for the wandering outlaw 
 The very sweetest nooks o' the earth are his. 
 And be his passing home the goatherd's shed. 
 The woodman's branchy hut, or fishers' cove, 
 Whose pebbly threshold by the rippling tide 
 la softly washed, he may contented live, 
 Ay, thankfully : fed like the fowls of heaven 
 With daily food sent by a Father's hand. 
 
 j3nt. Thou shalt not follow me, nor will I fly. 
 Severed from thee I will not live, sweet love ; 
 Nor shalt thou be the mate of one disgraced. 
 And by the good disowned. Here I MI remain, 
 And Heaven will work for me a fair deliverance. 
 
 From Orra. 
 A woman's picture OF A COUNTRY LIFE. 
 Even now methinlts 
 Each little cottage of my native vale 
 Swells out its earthen sides, upheaves its roof, 
 Like to a hillock moved by lab'ring mole, 
 And with green trail-weeds clamb'ring up its walls, 
 Roses and every gay and fragrant plant, 
 Before my fancy stands, a fairy bower. 
 Ay, and within it, too, do fairies dwell. 
 Peep thro' its wreathed window, if indeed 
 The flowers grow not too close ; and there within 
 Thou'lt see some half a dozen rosy brats. 
 Eating from wooden bowls their dainty milk :— 
 Those are my mountain elves. See'st thou not 
 Their very forms distinctly ? 
 
 I 'II gather round my board 
 All that heav'n sends to me of way-worn folks, 
 And noble travellers, and neighb'riug friends, 
 
 Both young and old. Within my ample hall, 
 The worn-out man of arms shall o' tiptoe tread, 
 Tossing his grey locks from his wrinkled brow 
 With cheerful freedom, as he boasts his feats 
 Of days gone by. — Music we'll have; and oft 
 The bick'ring dance upon our oaken floors 
 Shall thund'ring loud strike on the distant ear 
 Of 'nighted travellers, who shall gladly bend 
 Their doubtful footsteps towards the cheering din. 
 Solemn, and grave, and cloistered, and demure 
 We shall not be. Will this content ye, damsels? 
 
 Ev'ry season 
 Shall have its suited pastime : even winter 
 In its deep noon, when mountains piled with snow. 
 And choaked valleys from our mansion bar 
 All entrance, and nor guest nor traveller 
 Sounds at our gate ; the empty hall forsaking. 
 In some warm chamber, by the crackling fire. 
 We'll hold our little, snug, domestic court. 
 Plying our work with song and tale between. 
 
 From the Legend of Lady Griseld Baillie. 
 
 THE WIFE. 
 
 Their long-tried faith in honour plighted. 
 
 They were a pair by Heaven united, 
 
 Whose wedded love, through lengthened years. 
 
 The trace of early fondness wears. 
 
 Her heart first guessed his doubtful choice, 
 
 Her ear first caught his distant voice, 
 
 And from afar her wistful eye 
 
 Would first his graceful form descry. 
 
 Even when he hied him forth to meet 
 
 The open air in lawn or street. 
 
 She to her casement went. 
 And after him, with smile so sweet. 
 
 Her look of blessing sent. 
 The heart's afiection — secret tiling ! 
 Is like the cleft rock's ceaseless spring, 
 Which free and independent flows 
 Of summer rains or winter snows. 
 The fox-glove from its side may fall, 
 The heath-bloom fade, or moss flower white. 
 But still its runlet, bright though small. 
 Will issue sweetly to the light. 
 
 THE WIDOW AND HER CHILDREN. 
 
 With her and her good lord, who still 
 
 Sweet union held of mated will, 
 
 Years passed away with lightsome speed; 
 
 But oh I their bands of bliss at length were riven, 
 
 And she was clothed in widow's sable weed, 
 
 — Submitting to the will of Heaven. 
 
 And then a prosperous race of children good 
 
 And tender, round their noble mother stood, 
 
 And she the while, cheered with Iheir pious love. 
 
 Waited her welcome summons from above. 
 
 But whatsoe'er the weal or wo 
 
 That Heaven across her lot might throw 
 
 Full well her Christian spirit knew 
 
 Its path of virtue straight and rue. 
 
 Good, tender, generous, firm, and sage. 
 
 Through grief and gladness, shade and sheen. 
 
 As fortune changed life's motley scene. 
 
 Thus passed she on to reverend age. 
 
 And when the heavenly summons came, 
 
 Her spirit from its mortal frame. 
 
 And weight of mortal cares to free. 
 
 It was a blessed sight to see. 
 
 The parting saint her state of honour keeping. 
 
 In gifted, dauntless faith, whilst round her, weeping, 
 
 Her children's children mourned on bended knee. 
 
 From Poems 
 THE TOMB OF COLUMBUS, 
 
 Oh ! who shall lightly say that fame 
 Is nothing but an empty name! 
 Whilst in that sound there is a charm 
 The nerve to brace, the heart to warm, 
 
 676 
 
BA 
 
 BA 
 
 As, thinking of the mighty dead, 
 The young from slothful couch will start. 
 And vow, with lifted hands outspread, 
 Like them to act a noble part ? 
 
 Oh I who shall lightly say that fame 
 Is nothing but an empty name ! 
 When, but for those, our mighty dead. 
 All ages past a blank would be, ' 
 Sunk in oblivion's murky bed,— 
 A desert bare, a shipless sea ; 
 They are the distant objects seen, — 
 The lofty marks of what hath been. 
 
 O ! who shall lightly say that fame 
 Is nothing but an empty name! 
 When memory of the mighty dead 
 To earth-worn pilgrim's wistful eye 
 The brightest rays of cheering shed, 
 That point to immortality? 
 
 A twinkling speck, but fixed and bright, 
 To guide us through the dreary night. 
 Each hero shines, and lures the soul 
 To gain the distant happy goat. 
 For is there one who, musing o'er the grave 
 Where lies interred the good, the wise, the brave. 
 Can poorly think, beneath the mouldering heap. 
 That noble being shall for ever sleep ? 
 No ; saith the generous heart, and proudly swells, — 
 "Though his cered corse lies here, with God his spirit 
 dwells." 
 
 ADDRESS .TO MISS AGNES BAILLIE ON HER BIRTHDAY. 
 
 [In order thoroughly to understand and appreciate the following 
 verses, the reader must be aware that the author and her sister 
 have lived to an advanced age constantly in each other's society.] 
 
 Dear Agnes, gleamed with joy and dashed with tears 
 
 O'er us have glided almost sixty years 
 
 Since we on Bothwell'a bonny braes were seen, 
 
 By those whose eyes long closed in death have been — 
 
 Two tiny imps, who scarcely stooped to gather 
 
 The slender harebell on the purple heather ; 
 
 No taller than the fox-glove's spiky stem. 
 
 That dew of morning studs with silvery gem. 
 
 Then every butterfly that crossed our view 
 
 With joyful shout was greeted as it flew ; 
 
 And moth, and lady-bird, and beetle bright, 
 
 In sheeny gold, were each a wondrous sight. 
 
 Then as we paddled barefoot, side by side, 
 
 Among the sunny shallows of the Clyde,* 
 
 Minnows or spotted parr with twinkling fin, 
 
 Swimming in mazy rings the pool within. 
 
 A thrill of gladness through our bosoms sent, 
 
 Seen in the power of early wonderment. 
 
 A long perspective to my mind appears, 
 Looking behind me to that line of years; 
 And yet through every stage I still can trace 
 Thy visioned form, from childhood's morning grace 
 To woman's early bloom— changing, how soon 1 
 To the expressive glow of woman's noon ; 
 And now to what thou art, in comely age. 
 Active and ardent. Let what will engage 
 Thy present moment — whether hopeful seeds 
 In garden-plat thou sow, or noxious weeds 
 From the fair flower remove, or ancient lore 
 In chronicle or legend rare explore, 
 Or on the parlour hearth with kitten play. 
 Stroking its tabby sides, or take thy way 
 To gain with hasty steps sonie cottage door, 
 On helpful errand to the neighbouring poor — 
 Active and ardent, to my fancy's eye 
 Thou still art young, in spite of time gone by. 
 Though oft of patience brief and temper keen, 
 Well may it please me, in life's latter scene, 
 To think what now thou art and long to me hast been. 
 
 *The Manse of Bothwell was at some considerable dis- 
 tance from the Clyde, but the two little girls were some- 
 times sent there in summer to bathe and wade about. 
 2M 
 
 From Romiero ; A Tragedy. 
 
 JEALOUSY. 
 
 Romiero, So late I the first night too of my return ! 
 Is it the tardiness of cold aversion ? 
 'Tis more than that— some damned conference 
 Elsewhere detains her. Ay. that airy fool 
 Wore at the supper board a conscious look, 
 Glancing in concert with the half-checked smile 
 That moved his quivering cheek, too well betraying 
 His inward triumph; 'twas a cursed smile ; 
 I would have cast my javelin at his throat, * 
 
 But shame withheld me. 
 
 [Zorada enters, and stops short to wipe the tears from her 
 eyes, as if preparing to appear composed, while Romiero, in 
 the shade, after eyeing her suspiciously, bursts suddenly 
 upon her, and. with great violence, upbraids her for want of 
 conjugal affection. The conversation that ensues is very 
 affecting, Zorada showing that she is conscioiTs of what 
 must have seemed unkindness, yet never for a moment 
 thinking that her fidelity is suspected, and thus, in her inno- 
 cence, alternately soothing and exasperating the passion of 
 her moody lord.] 
 
 Rom. Where hast thou been so long? 
 Wilt thou not answer me? 
 
 Zor. You frighten me. Romiero, as I reckon 
 'Tis little past our usual hour of rest. 
 
 Rom. Thou dost evade the question. Not the time; 
 Where hast thou been ? 
 
 Zor. Have patience ! oh! have patience ; 
 Where I have been I have done thee no wrong ; 
 Let that suffice thee. 
 
 Rom. Ha! thou'rt quick, methinks, 
 To apprehend suspicion. Done no wrong I 
 What call'st thou wrong? Yea, by that sacred band. 
 Which linketh soul to soul in wedded love. 
 Pure, fervent, and confiding— every thought. 
 Fancy, and consciousness, that from thy husband. 
 Unfitting for .his ear, must be withheld, 
 Is wrong to him, and is disgrace to thee. 
 
 Zor. Then woe is me! Since wives must be so per- 
 fect. 
 Why didst thou wed Zorada de Modinez ? 
 
 Rom. Dost thou upbraid me for it? Then too well 
 1 see the change. Yes. I will call it change. 
 For I must still believe thou loved'st me once. 
 
 Zor. Yes, yes, 1 loved thee once, I love thee now, 
 And will for ever love thee, dear Romiero, 
 If thou wilt suffer me. 
 
 Rom. Suffer thee, dear Zorada ! It is paradise 
 To think thou lovest me, hell to doubt of it. 
 
 Zior. Then doubt it not. If I am cold and sad, 
 I have a cause — I must repeat my words — 
 Which does to thee no wrong. Some few days hence 
 Thou shalt know all, and thou wilt pity me. 
 Did I e'er tell thee that which afterwards 
 Thou foundest to be untrue ? 
 
 Rom. Thou never didst. 
 
 Zor. Then why suspect me now? 
 
 Rom. Give me thy dear, dear hand, my own sweet 
 wife. 
 Yes, I will trust thee, and do thou the while 
 Think charitably of my stern rebuke. 
 Love can be stern as well as tender, yet 
 Be all the while most true and fervent love. 
 But go to rest, dear child ! and I will follow thee, 
 For it indeed is late. 
 
 ****** 
 A half-corrupted woman! 
 If it be come to this, who shall restrain 
 
 The hateful progress, which is rapidly 
 
 Restrain it. No ! to hell's profoundest pit 
 Let it conduct her, if she hath so far 
 Debased her once pure mind, and injured me. 
 I dare not think on't, yet I am compell'd ; 
 And at the very tnought a raging fire 
 Burns in my head, my heart, through every vein 
 Of this distracted frame. I'll to the ramparts, 
 And meet the chilliness of the midnight wind ; 
 I cannot rest beneath this hateful roof. 
 
 677 
 
BB 
 
 BE 
 
 BATTISTATI, LOUISA, 
 
 A NATIVE of Stradella, Sardinia, and a mantua- 
 maker at Milan, displayed remarkable courage 
 during the five days of the ReTolution at Milan, 
 in 1848. On Sunday, March 10th, she disarmed 
 a cavalry soldier, though he carried a carbine. 
 She placed herself at the head of the Poppietti 
 bridge, and steadily continued there, fighting 
 against, the enemy during the 20th, 21st, and 
 22d days, heading a valiant band of young men, 
 and killing a Create at every shot. She defended 
 the large establishment at Vettabia, which con- 
 tained 580 persons, being the edifice in which the 
 widows and their children, and other females took 
 refuge when Barbaressa stormed Milan. This 
 young wmnan was, in 1850, married, and doing 
 duty in the civic guard. 
 
 BEECHER, ESTHER CATHERINE, 
 Dauqhtee of the Rev. Lyman Beecher, D. D., 
 was born September 6th, 1800, at East Hampfon, 
 Long Island, where she resided till she was about 
 ten years of age. Being the eldest of thirteen 
 children, (ten are now living, all of whom have 
 displayed good talents and some marked genius,) 
 her education was, by her wise parents, considered 
 of essential importance. They knew, that if the 
 eldest child was trained to go in the right way, 
 the others would be almost sure to follow. On the 
 removal of the family to Litchfield, Connecticut, 
 in 1810, the little Catherine was placed at the best 
 school for young ladies there to be found — that 
 of Miss Sally Pierce ; and the pupil was soon to 
 excel the teacher. 
 
 In a letter to a friend, Miss Beecher thus sketches 
 herself at the age when, her education " finished," 
 as the term is, she was preparing to take her part 
 in the usual routine of woman's life ; she says : 
 
 " The prominent traits of my natural character, 
 as developed in childhood and youth, were great 
 activity of body and mind, great cheerfulness of 
 spirits, a strong love of the ludicrous, and my 
 imagination teeming with poetry and romance. 
 I had no taste for study or anything that demanded 
 
 close attention. AU my acquisitions were in the 
 line of my tastes, so that at twenty, no habits of 
 mental discipline had been formed." 
 
 It was about this time an event occurred that 
 for ever ended all Miss Beecher's youthful dreams 
 of poetry and romance, and changed the whole 
 course of thought . and feeling as regarded her 
 destiny in this life. But the Providence that 
 withdrew her heart from the world of woman's 
 hopes, has proved a great blessing to her sex 
 and her country. In 1822, she opened a Female 
 Seminary at Hartford, Connecticut, which received 
 pupils from every State in the Union, and soon 
 numbered from 100 to 160 of these treasures of 
 home, committed to her care and guidance. In 
 discharging the important duties thus devolved on 
 her, she not only learned to understand her own 
 deficiencies of education, but also those of all the 
 systems hitherto adopted for female pupils ; and 
 a wish to remedy the want of suitable text-books 
 for her school, called forth her first printed work, 
 an " Arithmetic ; " her second work was on the 
 more difficult points of Theology ; and her third, 
 an octavo, on " Mental and Moral Philosophy." 
 This, like the others, was prepared for her own 
 pupils, and though it has been printed and intro- 
 duced into one of our Colleges for young men as a 
 text-book, has never yet been published. These 
 works are important as showing the energy of 
 mind, and entire devotion to the duties she under- 
 takes, which characterize Miss Beecher. In truth 
 her school duties were then so arduous that her 
 health gave way, and for a season, she was com- 
 pelled to retire from the work. 
 
 In 1832, her father, with his family, removed 
 to Cincinnati, Ohio. She accompanied them, and 
 there for two years superintended an Institution 
 for Female Education, opened in that city. Since 
 then Miss Beecher has been engaged iji maturing 
 and carrying into effect a great plan for the educa- 
 tion of all the children in our country. For this 
 end she has written and journeyed, pleaded and 
 laboured, and for the last ten years ifiade it the 
 chief object of her thoughts and efforts. We will 
 quote her own interesting description, given in a 
 letter to a friend, as this best elucidates her views, 
 and shows the feasibility of a plan which, in its 
 results, promises such benefits to humanity. 
 
 " The grand aim of this plan has been to unite 
 American women in an effort to provide a Chris- 
 tian education for two million children in our 
 country who were destitute of schools. 
 
 This plan embraced three departments. The 
 first was designed to secure the immediate services 
 of a great body of educated women, already quali- 
 fied as it respects their own education for the 
 duties of a teacher, but having no opportunity to 
 enter the profession.. For this department I suc- 
 ceeded in obtaining the aid and co-operation of 
 the "Board of National Popular Education," with 
 Governor Slade as its general agent, and during 
 the first three years of the operation more than 
 two hundred teachers have, by this agency, been 
 placed in this field of usefulness. 
 
 But the second department has been regarded 
 as still more important, and that is the effort to 
 
 578 
 
BE 
 
 BE 
 
 raise up prominent institutions for the education 
 of female teachers. Resigning all direct con- 
 nection with the Board of National Popular Educa- 
 tion, I first received the funds needed, secured an 
 Association of gentlemen in Jacksonville, to aid me 
 by managing the financial matters, and then went 
 forward to do myself what I had hoped would 
 have been done by Governor Slade. It is my 
 expectation that the two operations ere long will 
 be merged in one, and then I shall hope to retire 
 from any direct agency in the work, and devote my- 
 self to the preparation of school books. In this last, 
 I believe, is my most appropriate field of labour. 
 
 The method of establishing these prominent 
 institutions is this. First an off'er is made to 
 some town or city, that is lacking in good schools, 
 of a Library and Apparatus and four superior 
 teachers, on condition that the citizens give a 
 reliable pledge that there shall be pupils enough 
 to support the teachers, and the current expenses 
 of the school. This pledge is made by an associa- 
 tion of the citizens, who subscribe a certain amount 
 to be used by Trustees of their own appointment 
 in case the income of the school fails to sup- 
 port it. 
 
 Next, the institution thus established is organiz- 
 ed on the college plan instead of the plan usually 
 adopted for high schools — that is, instead of 
 one Principal to sustain the whole responsibility 
 and to employ subordinate teachers entirely sub- 
 ject to the control of this principal, the responsi- 
 bilities of instruction and government are divided 
 among at least four teachers, each of whom is the 
 head of a given department, while the vote of a 
 majority instead of the will of an individual de- 
 cides every question. At the same time a regular 
 plan of study is instituted as is done in colleges. 
 Thus the removal of any one teacher never inter- 
 rupts the prosperity of the institution, as is always 
 the case when a High School changes from the 
 control of one principal to that of another. 
 
 It has been my part to find the proper teachers 
 and to organize the two first institutions on this 
 plan — one in Milwaukee, Michigan, and the other 
 at'Quiucy, Illinois. In both these places the citi- 
 zens have met the proposal very cordially, and 
 more than 100 pupils in each place are engaged 
 or already entered on their course of study. 
 
 After these High Schools have progressed one 
 year successfully, it is designed to add a Normal 
 Department expressly for the education of teachers. 
 A fifth teacher will then be added to superintend 
 this department. The class of Normal pupils will 
 consist chiefly of the daughters of home mission- 
 aries and poor ministers. Other young females of 
 promising abilities will also be received, especial- 
 ly orphans. The salary of the teachers of the 
 Nbrmal Department and most of the expenses of 
 the pupils of that department will be defrayed by 
 funds collected for the purpose. This department 
 will be under the control of the association at 
 Jacksonville, Illinois, who also will hold in trust 
 all the Libraries and Apparatus employed. 
 
 In case any institution fails from the neglect of 
 the citizens to furnish the requisite support from 
 pupils and the fund, the Library and Apparatus 
 
 and Teachers will be removed to another place 
 which will give the requisite pledge. 
 
 Thus there are two parties to co-operate in the 
 effort, viz : the Educational Association at Jackson- 
 ville that furnishes the instruments of education — 
 that is, apparatus, library and good teachers, and 
 the citizens who give a reliable pledge securing the 
 requisite number of pupils. 
 
 Those who are the best friends of education 
 and the best judges of the West, say this plan 
 will work wonders. Each of these High and 
 Normal Schools will be a centre for sending out 
 the best class of teachers to all the vicinity. And 
 there are twenty large towns or cities which would 
 readily welcome such an opportunity within my 
 own sphere of observation. I expect that the 
 services of a gentleman of high character and 
 abilities will soon be secured, and then I shall re- 
 sign, and the plan will go forward on a great scale." 
 Such are the noble views of this patriotic. 
 Christian woman; surely, her own sex — the whole 
 nation will respond to her great idea, and assist 
 in its development, till the work is perfect, the 
 female mind prepared for its ofBce of Christian 
 educator, and every child in our wide land, 
 brought under this enlightened and enlightening 
 influence. 
 
 The example of Miss Beeoher is of singular in- 
 terest in manifesting the power of female talent 
 directed, as hers has ever been, to objects clearly 
 within the allowed orbit of woman's mission. She 
 has never overstepped nature ; she gives authority 
 and reverence to the station of men ; she hastens 
 to place in their hands the public and governing 
 ofBces of this mighty undertaking, which is des- 
 tined to become of more importance to our coun- 
 try's interests than any projected since America 
 became a nation. Next to having free institutions, 
 stands Christian education, which makes the whole 
 people capable of sustaining and enjoying them. 
 It is only by preparing woman as the educator, 
 and giving her the ofiice, that this end can be 
 attained. 
 
 The printed writings of Miss Beecher have been 
 connected with her governing idea of promoting 
 th« best interests of her own sex, and can scarce- 
 ly be considered as the true index of what her 
 genius, if devoted to literary pursuits, might have 
 produced. Her chief intellectual efforts seem to 
 have been in a direction exactly contrary to her 
 natural tastes; hence the romantic girl, who, till 
 the age of twenty, was a poet only, has since 
 aimed at writing whatever she felt was most re- 
 quired for her object, and, of course, has chosen 
 that style of plain prose which would be best un- 
 derstood by the greatest number of readers. Be- 
 sides the three works named. Miss Beecher has 
 prepared an excellent book on " Domestic Econo- 
 my, for the use of Young Ladies at Home and at 
 School," which has a wide popularity. Many of 
 those who have studied this work will probably 
 be surprised to learn that the author has ever wor- 
 shipped the muse, and so we will here insert two 
 poems of Miss Beecher's, and then an extract from 
 her " Mental and Moral Philosophy." Her great- 
 est work has yet to be written. 
 
 579 
 
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 THE EVENING CLOUD. 
 
 See yonder cloud along the west 
 In gay fantastic splendour dressed ; 
 Fancy's bright visions charm the eye, 
 Sweet fairy bowers in prospect lie, 
 And blooming fields smile from the sky 
 Decked in the hues of even ; 
 
 But short its evanescent stay, 
 
 Its brilliant masses fade away. 
 
 The breeze floats off its visions gay. 
 
 And clears the face of heaven. 
 
 Thus to fond man does Life's fair scene 
 Delusive spread its cheerful green ; 
 Before his path shine pleasure's bowers. 
 Each smiling field seems drest in flowers, 
 Hope leads him on, and shows his hours 
 For peace and pleasure given. 
 
 But one by one his hopes decay. 
 
 Each flattering vision fades away. 
 
 Each cheering scene charms to betray. 
 
 And naught remains but heaven. 
 
 TO THE MONOTEOPA, OR GHOST FLOWER. 
 
 This flower grows in shaded places, and has a singular 
 appearance, with its white stem clasped vi-ith pale and livid 
 leaves, and its single drooping white petal. A lovely young 
 friend, who, after mourning the loss of parents, sisters, 
 friend and lover, was herself fast passing away, one day 
 espied this flower in a shaded nook ; " Poor thing !" she ex- 
 claimed, " it has lost all its friends ! Write some poetry for 
 it and for me!" The following was in obedience to this 
 request. 
 
 Pale, mournful flower, that hidest in shade 
 Mid dewy damps and murky glade. 
 
 With mosa and mould, 
 Why dost thou hang thy ghastly head. 
 
 So sad and cold ? 
 
 No freshness on thy petal gleams. 
 Gone the bright hues like sunny dreams. 
 
 Thy balmy breath. 
 Lost! and thy livid covering seems 
 
 Tlie garb of Death. 
 
 Do ills that wring the human breast, 
 The blooming buds of spring infest 
 
 And fade their bloom 7 
 And bend they too, with griefs oppressed. 
 
 To the cold tomb ? 
 
 Is thy pale bosom chilled with woe? 
 Has treachery hushed the genial flow 
 
 Of life's young morn ? 
 Have all who woke thy bosom's glow 
 
 Left thee forlorn ? 
 
 Perchance the wailing night-bird's song 
 That mortal cares and griefs prolong 
 
 At midnight hour. 
 Wakes thy full tide of feeling strong 
 
 With thrilling power. 
 
 Perchance thy paly earth-bowed head 
 Is bending now above the dead 
 
 With dewy eye. 
 Soft moaning o'er thy treasure fled 
 
 In evening's sigh. 
 
 And this thy plaint to reason's ear; 
 In e\'ery scene grief will appear 
 
 \u^ Death's cold hour, 
 A« spring* .nid beauties of the year, 
 
 O.iB pale, cold flower. 
 
 OHEDIENCE TO THE DIVINE LAW. 
 
 Thus reason would sustain the belief, that obe- 
 dimce to the divine law is the surest mode for se- 
 curing every species of happiness, attainable in 
 this state of existence. 
 
 To this may be added the evidence of the re- 
 
 BE 
 
 corded experience of manlsind. To exhibit this 
 some specific cases will be selected, and perhaps t 
 fairer illustration cannot be presented than the 
 contrasted records of two youthful personages 
 who have made the most distinguished figure in 
 the Christian, and in the literary world ; Henry 
 Martyn, the Missionary, and Lord Byron, the Poet. 
 
 The iirst was richly endowed with ardent feel- 
 ings, keen susceptibilities, and superior intellect. 
 He was the object of many affections, and in the 
 principal university of Great Britain, won the high- 
 est honours, both in classic literature and mathe- 
 matical science. He was flattered, caressed, and 
 admired ; the road of fame and honour lay open 
 before him ; and the brightest hopes of youth seem- 
 ed ready to be realized. But the hour came when 
 he looked upon a lost and guilty world in the light 
 of eternity ; when he realized the full meaning of 
 the sacrifice of our Incarnate God; when he as- 
 sumed his obligations to become a fellow-worker in 
 redeeming a guilty world from the dominion of 
 selfishness, and all its future woes. " The love of 
 God constrained him;" and without a murmur, for 
 wretched beings, on a distant shore, whom he never 
 saw, of whom he knew nothing but that they were 
 miserable and guilty, he gave up the wreath of 
 fame ; forsook the path of worldly honour ; severed 
 the ties of kindred and still dearer ties that bound 
 him to a heart worthy of his own ; he gave up 
 friends, and country, and home, and with every 
 nerve throbbing in anguish at the sacrifice, went 
 forth alone, to degraded heathen society, to sor- 
 row and privation, to weariness and painfulness, 
 and to all the trials of missionary life. 
 
 He spent his days in teaching the guilty and de- 
 graded, the way of pardon and peace. He lived 
 to write the law of his God in the wide spread 
 character of the Persian nation, and to place a 
 copy in the hands of its king. He lived to con- 
 tend with the chief MouUahs of Mahomet in the 
 mosques of Shiraz, and to'kindle a flame in Per- 
 sia, more undying than its fabled fires. He lived 
 to suifer rebuke and scorn, to toil and sufi'er in a 
 fervid clime, to drag his weary steps over burning 
 sands, with the every day dying hope, that at last 
 he might be laid to rest among his kindred, and 
 on his native shore. Yet even this was not at- 
 tained, but after spending all his youth in cease- 
 less labours for the good of others, at the early 
 age of thirty-two, he was laid in an unknown and 
 foreign grave. 
 
 He died alone — a stranger in a strange land — 
 with no friendly form around to sympathize and 
 soothe. " Gompositxis est paucioribus lachrymis." 
 Yet this was the last record of his dying hand': " 1 
 sat in the orchard and thought with sweet comfort 
 and peace of my God ! in solitude, my company ! 
 my friend ! my comforter !" 
 
 And in reviewing the record of his short yet 
 blessed life, even if we forget the exulting joy 
 with which such a benevolent spirit must welcome 
 to heaven the thousands he toiled to redeem ; if 
 we look only at his years of self-denying trial, we 
 can find more evidence of true happiness, than is 
 to be found in the records of the youthful Poet, 
 who was gifted with every susceptibility of happi- 
 
BE 
 
 BE 
 
 11683, who spent his days in search of selfish en- 
 joyment, who had every source of earthly bliss 
 laid open, and drank to the very dregs. 
 
 His works present one of the most mournful 
 exhibitions of a noble mind in all the wild chaos 
 of ruin and disorder. He also was naturally 
 endowed with overflowing affections, keen sensi- 
 bilities, quick conceptions, and a sense of moral 
 rectitude. He had all the constituents of a master 
 mind. But he passed through existence amid the 
 wildest disorder of a ruined spirit. His mind 
 seemed utterly unbalanced, teeming with rich 
 thoughts and overbearing impulses, the sport of 
 the strangest fancies, and the strongest passions ; 
 bound down by no habit, restrained by no princi- 
 ple; a singular combination of noble concep- 
 tions and fantastic caprices, of manly dignity and 
 childish folly, of noble feeling and babyish weak- 
 ness. 
 
 The lord of Newstead Abbey — the heir of a 
 boasted line of ancestry — a peer of the realm — 
 the pride of the social circle — the leading star of 
 poesy — the hero of Greece — the wonder of the 
 gaping world, can now be followed to his secret 
 haunts. And there the veriest child of the nur- 
 sery might be amused at his silly weakness and 
 ridiculous conceits. Distressed about the make 
 of a collar, fuming at the colour of his dress, in- 
 tensely anxious about the whiteness of his hands, 
 deeply engrossed with monkeys and dogs, and fly- 
 ing about from one whim to another with a reck- 
 less earnestness as ludicrous as it is disgusting. 
 
 At times this boasted hero and genius seemed 
 nought but an overgrown child, that had broken 
 its leading strings and overmastered its nurses. 
 At other times he is beheld in all the rounds of 
 dissipation and the haunts of vice, occasionally 
 filling up his leisure in recording and disseminat- 
 ing the disgusting minutiae of his weakness and 
 shame, and with an effrontery and stupidity equal- 
 led only by that of the friend who retails them to 
 the insulted world. Again we behold him philoso- 
 phizing like a sage, and moralizing like a Chris- 
 tian ; while often from his bosom bursts forth the 
 repinings of a wounded spirit. He sometimes 
 seemed to gaze upon his own mind with wonder, 
 to watch its disordered powers with- curious en- 
 quiry, to touch its complaining strings, and start 
 at the response ; while often with maddening 
 sweep he shook every chord, and sent forth its 
 deep wailings to entrance a wondering world. 
 
 Both Henry Martyn and Lord Byron shared the 
 sorrows of life, and their records teach the dif- 
 ferent workings of the benevolent and the selfish 
 mind. Byron lost his mother, and when urged 
 not to give way to sorrow, he burst into an agony 
 of grief, saying, " I had but one friend in the 
 world, and now she is gone ! " On the death of 
 gome of his early friends, he thus writes: "My 
 friends fall around me, and I shall be left a lonely 
 tree before I am withered. I have no resource but 
 my own reflections, and they present no prospect 
 here or hereafter, except the selfish satisfac- 
 tion of surviving my betters. I am indeed most 
 wretched ! " 
 
 And thus Henry Martyn mourns the loss of one 
 most dear. "Can it be that she has been lying 
 so many months in the cold grave ! Would that 
 I could always remember it, or always forget it ; 
 but to think a moment on other things, and then 
 feel the remembrance of it come, as if for the first 
 time, rends my heart asunder. my gracious 
 God, what should I do without Thee ! But now 
 thou art manifesting thyself as ' the God of all 
 consolation.' Never was I so near thee. There 
 is nothing in the world for which I could wish to 
 live, except because it may please God to appoint 
 me some work. thou incomprehensibly glorious 
 Saviour, what hast thou done to alleviate the sor- 
 rows of life ! " 
 
 It is recorded of Byron, that in society he 
 generally appeared humorous and prankish ; yet, 
 when rallied on his melancholy turn of writing, 
 his constant answer was, that though thus merry 
 and full of laughter, he was at heart one of the 
 most miserable wretches in existence. And thus 
 he writes: "Why, at the very height of desire 
 and human pleasure, worldly, amorous, ambitious, 
 or even avaricious, does thei;p mingle a certain 
 sense of doubt and sorrow — a fear of what is to 
 come — a doubt of what is. If it were not for 
 Hope, what would the future be — a hell ! as for 
 the past, what predominates in memory — hopes 
 baffled! From whatever place we commence, we 
 know where it must all end. And yet what good 
 is there in knowing it ? It does not make men 
 wiser or better. If I were to live over again, I 
 do not know what I would change in my life, 
 unless it were for — not to have lived at all. All 
 history, and experience, and the rest teach us, 
 that good and evil are pretty equally balanced in 
 this existence, and that what is most to be desired 
 is an easy passage out of it. What can it give us 
 but years ? and these have little of good but their 
 
 And thus Martyn writes: "I am happier here 
 in this remote land, where I seldom hear what 
 happens in the world, than I was in England, 
 where there are so many calls to look at things 
 that are seen. The preoioiis Word is now my 
 only study, by means of translations. Time flows 
 on with great rapidity. It seems as if life would 
 all be gone before anything is done. I sometimes 
 rejoice that I am but twenty-seven, and that un- 
 less God should ordain it otherwise, I may double 
 this number in constant and successful labour. 
 But I shall not cease from my happiness and 
 scarcely from my labour, by passing into the 
 other world." 
 
 And thus they make their records at anniversa- 
 ries, when the mind is called to review life and 
 its labours. Byron writes : " At 12 o'clock I 
 shall have completed thirty-three years! I go 
 to my bed with a heaviness of heart at having 
 lived so long and to so little purpose. It is now 
 3 minutesjast 12, and I am 33 ! 
 
 Eheu fugaces, Posthume, Posthume, 
 Labuntur anni ; 
 
 But I do not regret them so much for what I 
 have done, as for what I might have done." 
 
 581 
 
BE 
 
 BE 
 
 And thus Marty u: " I like to find myself em- 
 ployed usefully, in a way I did not expect or 
 foresee. The coming year is to be a perilous one, 
 but my life is of little consequence, whether I 
 ■finish the Persian New Testament or not. I look 
 back with pity on myself, when I attached so 
 much importance to my life and labours. The 
 more I see of my own works, the more I am 
 ashamed of them, for coarseness and clumsiness 
 mar all the works of man. I am sick when I 
 look at the wisdom of man, but am relieved by 
 reflecting, that we have a city whose builder and 
 maker is God. The least of his works is refresh- 
 ing. A dried leaf, or a straw, make me feel in 
 good company, and complacency and admiration 
 take the place of disgust. What a momentary 
 duration is the life of man ! ' Labitur et labetur 
 in omne volubilis ce-vum,'' may be affirmed of the 
 river ; but men pass away as soon as they begin 
 to exist. Well, let the moments pass ! 
 
 * Tliey waft U3 sooner o'er this life's tempestuous sea, 
 Soon we shall reach the peaceful shore 
 Of blest eternity !' " 
 
 Such was the experience of thos? who in youth 
 completed their course. The Poet has well de- 
 scribed his own career : 
 
 " A wandering mass of shapeless flame, 
 A pathless comet and a curse. 
 The menace of the universe ; 
 Still rolliui; on with innate force, 
 Witliout a sphere, without a course, 
 A bright deformity on high. 
 The monster of the upper sky!" 
 
 In Holy Writ we read of those who are "raging 
 waves of the sea foaming out their own shame ; 
 wandering stars to whom is reserved the blackness 
 of darkness forever." The lips of man may not 
 apply these terrific words to any whose doom is 
 yet to be disclosed ; but there is a passage which 
 none can fear to apply. "Those that are wise 
 shall shine as the brightness of the firmament, 
 and they that turn many to righteousness, as stars 
 forever and ever!" 
 
 To these youthful witnesses may be added the 
 testimony of two who had fulfilled their years. The 
 first was the polished, the witty, the elegant and 
 admired Earl of Chesterfield, who tried every 
 source of earthly enjoyment, and at the end makes 
 this acknowledgment; — "I have seen," says he, 
 "the silly rounds of business and of pleasure, and 
 have done with them all. I have enjoyed all the 
 pleasures of the world, and consequently know 
 their futility, and do not regret their loss. I ap- 
 praise them at their real value, which is, in truth, 
 very low. Whereas those that have not experi- 
 enced, always over-rate them. They only see 
 their gay outside, and are dazzled at the glare. 
 But I have been behind the scenes. I have seen 
 all the coarse pulleys and dirty ropes which ex- 
 hibit and move the gaudy machines ; and I have 
 seen and smelt the tallow candles which illumin- 
 ated the whole decoration, to the astonishment 
 and admiration of the ignorant audience. When 
 1 reflect on what I have seen, what I have heard, 
 
 and what I have done, I can hardly persuade my- 
 self that all that frivolous hurry of bustle and 
 pleasure of the world, had any reality; but I 
 look upon all that is passed as one of those 
 romantic dreams, which opium commonly occa- 
 sions ; and I do by no means desire to repeat the 
 nauseous dose, for the sake of the fugitive dream. 
 Shall I tell you that I bear this melancholy situa- 
 tion with that meritorious constancy and resigna- 
 tion, which most people boast of? No, for I really 
 cannot help it. I bear it, because I must bear it, 
 whether I will or no ! I think of nothing but of 
 killing time the best way I can, now that he is 
 become my enemy. It is my resolution to sleep in 
 the carriage during the remainder of the journey 
 of life." 
 
 The other personage was Paul, the Aged. For 
 Christ and the redemption of those for whom He 
 died, he "suffered the loss of all things;" and 
 this is the record of his course: "In labours 
 abundant, in stripes above measure, in prisons 
 more frequent, in deaths, oft; in journeyings 
 often, in perils of waters, in perils of robbers, 
 in perils by the heathen, in perils in tie city, 
 in perils in the wilderness, in perils among false 
 brethren. In weariness and painfulness, in watch- 
 ings often, in hunger and thirst, in fastings often, 
 in cold and nakedness, — and that which cometh 
 daily upon me, the care of all the churches. We 
 are troubled on every side, yet not distressed ; we 
 are perplexed, yet not in despair; persecuted, 
 but not forsaken ; cast down, but not destroyed. 
 For though our outward man perish, yet the in- 
 ward man is renewed day by day. For our light 
 affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for 
 us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of 
 glory ; while we look not at the things which are 
 seen ; for the things which are seen, are temporal, 
 but the things which are not seen, are eternal." 
 And when the time drew near that he was to be 
 " offered up," and he looked back on the past 
 course of his life, these are his words of triumph- 
 ant exultation : "I have fought a good fight ! I 
 have finished my course ! I have kept the faith ! 
 from henceforth there is laid up for me a crown 
 of righteousness, which Christ, the righteous judge 
 shall give ! " 
 
 To this testimony of experience, may be added 
 that of Scripture. " Whoso trusteth in the Lord, 
 happy is he ! The fear of the Lord, that is wisdom, 
 and to depart from evil is understanding. Wisdom 
 is better than rubies, and all the things that may 
 be desired are not to be compared to it. Her ways 
 are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are 
 peace. Keep sound wisdom, so shall it be life to 
 thy soul. Then shalt thou walk in thy way safely, 
 and when thou liest down thou shalt not be afraid, 
 yea, thou shalt lie down and thy sleep shall be 
 sweet." And thus the Kedeemer invites to his 
 service: " Come unto me, all ye that labour and 
 are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take 
 my yoke upon you, and learn of me, for I am 
 meek and lowly in heart, and ye shall find rest 
 unto your souls ! " 
 
 582 
 
BE 
 
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 BELLOC, LOUISE gWANTON, 
 Resides in Paris, where she is favourably known 
 for her zeal in promoting female education. She 
 is one of that class of literary women, now, as we 
 trust, fast increasing in France, who believing in 
 God and his revealed Word, are devoting their 
 time and talents to the great work of popular 
 instruction. As the basis of this, female educa- 
 tion is indispensable, and those who, with pious 
 hearts and delicate hands, toil in this portion of 
 the vineyard of truth, deserve a high place among 
 the philanthropists of our era. 
 
 Madame Belloc is happy in having an ally — 
 Adelaide Montgolfier, daughter of the celebrated 
 aeronaut ; their good works are so interwoven that 
 we cannot well separate their names in this sketch. 
 One of their plans for the moral benefit of society 
 is thus described by Mademoiselle Montgolfier, in 
 a letter to an American friend. 
 
 " We have established a choice circulating library, 
 designed to counterbalance, as much as possible, 
 the bad effects produced by the numerous reading 
 rooms, which place in all hands, and spread every 
 where, the most dangerous works, and the sad 
 consequences of bad reading. Especially women 
 who have not the active life of men, and cannot 
 therefore correct the visions of imagination as 
 easily, are becoming more and more sensible of 
 this fact in our country. We wish therefore to 
 succour these children, young persons, young wo- 
 men, and parents, and form a choice library of 
 sound and healthy reading, which will develop 
 and enkindle the soul, enlighten the mind, and 
 vivify and direct the imagination. We do not 
 allow any book to enter this library whose tend- 
 ency is dangerous. We issue to subscribers a leaf 
 of the catalogue every month, giving the title of 
 ' the works and a short account of their moral and 
 literary character, as well as the effect they will 
 probably produce on the intelligence, character, 
 and taste of the people. As may be practicable, 
 we submit these opinions to the consideration of 
 those who are generally known as good judges." 
 
 But previous to the formation of this plan, and 
 
 soon after the Eevolution of Les trois Jours, 
 Madam Belloc was appointed by the Government 
 of France to assist General Lafayette in establish- 
 ing public libraries ; but owing to various obstacles 
 the design was never encouraged, and finally was 
 abandoned. Then the select circulating library was 
 planned, — we do not know what its success has 
 been ; but the idea illustrates the noble character 
 of these women. Another work of their united 
 care was very successful. They edited and pub- 
 lished a monthly Magazine — "La Ruche, Journal 
 d' Uudes Familiire," — devoted to the education of 
 girls. ■ 
 
 The principal works of both have been prepared 
 for the young. "Pierre et Pierrette," by Madame 
 Belloc, was crowned (or obtained the prize) by 
 the French Academy ; and " Corbeille de I'Annge, 
 or Melodies de Printemps," by Mademoiselle 
 Montgolfier, was adopted, by the University, in 
 the primary and high schools for girls. She has 
 written many other works for the young, among 
 which are " Picoolissima," and " Contes devenus 
 Histoires." 
 
 Madame Belloc has translated many useful 
 works for the youth of her own fair land, from the 
 English language, and from American authors. 
 Miss Sedgwick's writings are among her favourites. 
 She also translated Dr. Channing's "Essay upon 
 the actual State of Literature in the United States, 
 and the importance of a National Literature," to 
 which Madame Belloc prefixed an "Essai sur 
 la vie publique et privie de 1' Auteur," written with 
 much discrimination and good sense. 
 
 But the lofty patHotism and noble sentiments 
 of Madame Belloc are strikingly expressed in a 
 work published in 1826, at Paris, entitled " Bona- 
 parte and the Greeks:" — those who would become 
 acquainted with the mind of a gifted and true 
 woman should read this work. It breathes the 
 assurance of moral renovation in France, — a 
 nation must struggle upward if the souls of its 
 women hold the truth steadfast ; and France has 
 daughters worthy of this encomium. 
 
 M. JuUien, the distinguished editor of the Revue 
 Encyclop^dique, in speaking of Madame Belloc to 
 an American lady * who visited France in 1 830, said 
 she — Madame Belloc — was introduced to him by 
 the Marquise de Villette, as a young person of bril- 
 liant talents. She first wrote for the Eevue, from 
 the mere impulse of an active and benevolent 
 mind, and her writings had been much admired 
 and spoken of, before she would allow her name 
 to be made public. He told her this was a course 
 unworthy of her. She was responsible for the 
 talent God had given her, and why shrink from 
 that responsibility? Fame would increase her 
 power for doing good to the unfortunate, and of 
 being useful to the world — and for these reasons, 
 she should encounter its inconveniences, and over- 
 come her own delicate though mistaken feelings. 
 
 He spoke of her piety, her filial tenderness and 
 sacrifices, the constancy of her attachments, and 
 gave instances to illustrate her compassionate zeal 
 for the unfortunate. 
 
 *See Journal of Travels in France and Great Britain, by 
 Mrs. Emma Willard. 
 
 583 
 
BL 
 
 BL 
 
 She ia described as "majestic in figure, with a 
 countenance expressive of benevolence and intelli- 
 gence ;" a Minerva in form, as well as in wisdom 
 and goodness. 
 
 The likeness we give of Madame Belloo, is from 
 an engraving taken from a picture painted by her 
 husband. 
 
 BLACKWELL, ELIZABETH, 
 
 Deserves to have her name recorded for the 
 earnest efforts she is making to prepare herself to 
 be a physician for her own sex. The reform of 
 the practice which has confined all medical and 
 even physiological science to men is, we trust, 
 approaching. The example of this young heroic 
 woman has already had a salutary effect. We give 
 her history, as written by one well qualified to 
 judge of her character, and the fitness of the pur- 
 suit she has chosen. Having been a physician, he 
 knows and feels that some branches of medical prac- 
 tice ought to be exclusively in the hands of women. 
 
 " The public, through the newspapers, has been 
 pretty generally informed that Elizabeth Black- 
 well was a regular student of Geneva Medical 
 College, and received the diploma of that institu- 
 tion at its commencement in 1849. As she is the 
 first Medical Doctor of her sex in the United 
 States, the case is, naturally enough, one of those 
 questionable matters upon which there must be a 
 great variety of opinions ; and the public sentiment 
 is, besides, infiuenced by the partial and inaccu- 
 rate statements of facts and conjectures which 
 usually supply the place of correct information. 
 
 Elizabeth Blackwell was born about 1820, in 
 the city of Bristol, England. Her father settled 
 with his family in New York when she was about 
 eleven years old. After a residence there of five 
 or six years, he failed in business, and removed to 
 Cincinnati. A few weeks after his arrival there, 
 he died, leaving his widow and nine children in 
 very embarrassed circumstances. Elizabeth, the 
 third daughter, was then seventeen years of age. 
 During the ensuing seven years, she engaged with 
 two of her sisters in teaching a young lady's semi- 
 nary. By the joint efi'orts of the elder children, 
 the younger members of the family were supported 
 and educated, and a comfortable homestead on 
 Walnut Hill was secured for the family. The 
 property which, in the midst of their first diffi- 
 culties, they had the forecast to purchase, has 
 already quadrupled the price which it cost them. 
 I give this fact for the illustration of character 
 which it affords. 
 
 It was in 1843 that Miss Blackwell first enter- 
 tained the idea of devoting herself to the study of 
 medicine. Having taken the resolution, she went 
 vigorously to work to effect it. She commenced 
 the study of Greek, and persevered until she could 
 read it satisfactorily, and revived her Latin by 
 devoting three or four hours a day to it, until she 
 had both suflBciently for all ordinary and profes- 
 sional purposes. French she had taught, and 
 studied German to gratify her fondness for its 
 modern literature. The former she speaks with 
 fluency, and translates the latter elegantly, and 
 can manage to read Italian prose pretty well. 
 
 Early in the spring of 1845, for the purpose of 
 making the most money in the shortest time, she 
 set out for North Carolina, and, after some months 
 teaching French and music, and reading medicine 
 with Dr. John Dickson, at Asheville, she removed 
 to Charleston. Here she taught music alone, and 
 read industriously under the direction of Dr. 
 Samuel H. Dickson, then a resident of Charleston, 
 and now Professor of Practice in the University 
 of New York. In 1847, she came to Philadelphia, 
 for the purpose of pursuing the study. That 
 summer, Dr. J. M. Allen, Professor of Anatomy, 
 afforded her excellent opportunities for dissection 
 in his private anatomical rooms. The winter fol- 
 lowing, she attended her first full course of lectures 
 at Geneva, N. Y. The next summer, she resided 
 at the Blockley Hospital, Philadelphia, where she 
 had the kindest attentions from Dr. Benedict, the 
 Principal Physician, and the very large range for 
 observation which its great variety and number 
 of cases afford. The succeeding winter, she at- 
 tended her second course at Geneva, and grad- 
 uated regularly at the close of the session. Her 
 thesis was upon Ship Fever, which she had am- 
 ple opportunities for observing at Blockley. It 
 was so ably written, that the Faculty of Geneva 
 determined to give it publication. 
 
 It is in keeping with my idea of this story to 
 add, that the proceeds of her own industry have 
 been adequate to the entire expense of her medi- 
 cal education — about eight hundred dollars. 
 
 My purpose in detailing these particulars is, to 
 give the fullest notion of her enterprise and object. 
 She gave the best summary of it that can be put 
 into words in her reply to the President of the 
 Geneva College, when he presented her diploma. 
 Departing from the usual form, he rose and ad- 
 dressed her in a manner so emphatic and unusual, 
 that she was surprised into a response. " I thank 
 you, sir," said she. " With the help of the Most 
 High, it shall be the study of my life to shed honour 
 on this diploma." 
 
 Her settled sentiment was perhaps unconscious- 
 ly disclosed in this brief speech. She had fought 
 her way into the profession, openly, without dis- 
 guise, evasion, or any indirection, steadily refusing 
 all compromises and expediencies, and under bet- 
 ter impulses and with higher aims than personal 
 ambition or the distinction of singularity. Her 
 object was not the honour that a medical degree 
 could confer upon her, but the honour that she 
 resolved to bestow upon it; and that she will 
 nobly redeem this pledge is, to all who know her, 
 rather more certain than almost any other un- 
 arrived event. 
 
 Those who will form opinions about Miss Black- 
 well herself, from their own views of her enter- 
 prise, run a very great risk of making mistakes. 
 It is natural enough for them to ask, ' What sort 
 of a woman is she ? ' and it is likely that each will 
 answer It for himself, but it is not likely that 
 one in a dozen will hit the truth. Manifest con- 
 siderations of propriety forbid such a description 
 in this " Record," and especially due respect for 
 her own feelings checks the inclination which I 
 feel to draw her personal character. She seeks 
 
 684 
 
BL 
 
 BL 
 
 no notoriety that can be avoided, though she 
 shrinks from no necessary exposure. She has not 
 given her name to any of the publications by 
 which she has been earning money for the achieve- 
 ment of her great undertaliing, and her avoidance 
 of tlie occasions of notoriety -which court her at 
 every turn amounts almost to a fault. In manner 
 and spirit she is as quiet and retiring as she is 
 inflexible in purpose and determined in Uction. 
 The spirit of adventure never had a more gentle 
 and tranquil lodgment in woman's nature. 
 
 In two or three years, she has solicited perhaps 
 fifty medical men, and at least a dozen medical 
 schools, for the privilege of studying tlie profes- 
 sion, and was refused by all except those which I 
 have mentioned. I heard her say that she had 
 found in the Union four medical schools willing to 
 admit black men, and only two that would extend 
 the same courtesy to white women. I have seen 
 her often after her successive repulses, but in no 
 instance heard a word of complaint or reproach, 
 or observed the slightest indication of dejection. 
 Her conclusion always was, " There is some place 
 in the world for me, and I'll find it." There are 
 doubtless other physicians, and perliaps other 
 schools, that would have received her, but she 
 always took the first acceptable grant, and in- 
 stantly availed herself of it, with an industry and 
 promptitude that I never saw equalled. The fact 
 is, that the faith in which she lives and works has 
 the tone and all the force of religious confidence. 
 The secret of her efficiency and her success is in 
 that patience which rests upon the Divine Provi- 
 dence. Her construction of the resistance whisli 
 she was constantly encountering was always kinder 
 and perhaps truer than- any friend would allow or 
 any opponent could fairly ask. 
 
 She entertains no particular respect for the 
 science of medicine, and disavows any natural 
 taste for its pursuit ; and tlie incidents of the 
 study I believe are as repugnant to her as to any 
 sensitive woman who would shudder at the thought 
 of them. But she diff'ers in the matter of nerves 
 from those who shudder at anything which comes 
 in the shape of duty and noble enterprise. She 
 devoted herself to her novel undertaking at twen- 
 ty-three years of age, because she had then worked 
 herself into the spirit of victory, and the tone of 
 an earnest life that could not be smothered in her 
 merely personal interests. Heroes are not made 
 of the metal that is liable to rust. 
 
 Will she succeed? Those who, knowing her, 
 do not know that now, are just the kind of geniuses 
 who will not know the fact when it is fulfilled be- 
 fore their eyes. 
 
 Women will decide whether they must forever 
 remain only sufferers and subjects of medical in- 
 delicacy, if they are once wakened up to the dis- 
 cussion." 
 
 Miss Blackwell sailed for Europe on the 18th 
 April, 1849. She spent a couple of weeks in Lon- 
 don, Dudley and Birmingham. In Birmingham, 
 (near which her uncle and cousins, large iron 
 manufacturers, reside, one of her cousins now being 
 Government Geologist for Wales,) she was freely 
 admitted to all the hospitals and other privileges 
 
 of medical visitors. They called her in England, 
 " The Lady Surgeon." Provided with letters to 
 London, she made the acquaintance of the best 
 known medical men there ; among others. Dr. 
 Carpenter, author of a standard work on Physi- 
 ology, much in use in the United States, gave her 
 a soiriSe, where she met the faculty of the highest 
 rank generally. When she visited St. Bartholo- 
 mew's hospital (it is the largest in England, and 
 its annual income is £30,000,) the Senior Surgeon 
 met her, and said that, hearing she would visit the 
 hospital that day, though it was not his day for 
 attending, he thought it due to her that he should 
 do the honours of the establishment, and accord- 
 ingly he lectured to the classes (clinical lectures) 
 in her presence. 
 
 Moreover, early in the spring of 1850, the dean 
 of the Faculty of St. Bartholomew's hospital, Lon- 
 don, tendered to Miss Dr. Blackwell the privileges 
 of their institution, on the ground that it was due 
 to her, and added that he doubted not all the 
 other schools of the city would do the same. 
 
 In Paris, she resided as an elfeve at the Hospital 
 Maternitfe, in the Rue du' Port Boyal. It is, as 
 its name indicates, a maternity hospital, and offers 
 great opportunities in that department, as well as 
 in the diseases of women and children. 
 
 None of the French physicians seem to have 
 extended any particular courtesy towards Miss 
 Blackwell, eajept M. Blot, of the Maternitfe — 
 and his was characteristic of French delicacy, 
 where they hide every thing which ought to be 
 thrown open, and display just what they should 
 conceal. 
 
 In England no difficulty was made or felt about 
 Miss Blackwell's presence at the hospitals and be- 
 fore the classes. In Paris, M. Blot proposed to her 
 to assume male attire, — then she might visit these, 
 places ! Her indignant reply was, that she would 
 not thus dishonour her womanhood, nor seek her 
 object by any indirection, for all they could offer 
 her. 
 
 In personal appearance Miss Blackwell is rather 
 below the middle size, lady-like in manners, and 
 very quiet, almost reserved, in company. That 
 her example is destined to work out a great and 
 beneficial change in the medical practice of Ame- 
 rica, we confidently hope ; and that England will 
 soon follow this change, we will not doubt. Is it 
 not repugnant to reason, as well as shocking to 
 delicacy, that men should acl; the part of midwives ? 
 Who believes this is necessary? that woman could 
 not acquire all the requisite physiological and 
 medical knowledge, and by her sympathy for the 
 sufferer, which men cannot feel, become a far more 
 congenial helper? 
 
 God has sanctioned this profession of Female 
 Physicians; He "built houses" for the Hebrew 
 midwives, and he will bless those who go forward 
 to rescue their sex from subjection to this un- 
 natural and shocking custom of employing men in 
 their hour of sorrow. We trust the time is not 
 far distant when the women of the Anglo-Saxon 
 race will be freed from such a sad servitude to 
 the scientific knowledge of man, which neither 
 God nor nature sanctions. 
 
 585 
 
BR 
 
 BR 
 
 BREMER, FREDERIKA, 
 
 A NAME that has a true feminine celebrity, be- 
 cause it awakens pleasant thoughts and bright 
 hopes in the hearts of all who have read her heart, 
 as it gushes forth from her pen, like a clear, sweet 
 fountain in the sunshine of a summer day. We 
 Americans love her name, as we do those who 
 have contributed to our happiness ; and she has 
 done this by opening new sources of innocent en- 
 joyment, and a wider field of benevolent feeling. 
 She has brought the dim, old, Scandinavian world, 
 that seemed completely hidden by the cloud of 
 fable and curtain of time from the Western hemi- 
 sphere, before us as with an enchanter's wand. 
 Her little white hand has gently led us up among 
 primeval mountains covered with eternal forests 
 df pine, and along the banks of deep lakes, where 
 the blue waters have slept since the creation ; 
 guiding us now to bowers of summer loveliness, 
 where morning folds evening to her bosom with a 
 kiss that leaves her own blushing lustre on the 
 brow of her dusky sister ; then we are set down 
 among the snow-hills and ice-plains of the Norland 
 winter, where the " dark night entombs the day." 
 She has done more: she has led us " over the 
 threshold of the Swede," introduced us into the 
 sanctuary of their cheerful homes, made us friends 
 with her friends ; and awakened in our people 
 an interest for the people of Sweden, which we 
 have never felt for any other nation on the conti- 
 nent of Europe. She has thus prepared the way 
 for the success of another gifted daughter of Swe- 
 den, who comes like a new St. Cecilia, to make 
 manifest the heavenly influence of song when 
 breathed from a pure and loving heart. 
 
 Frederika Bremer was born in Finland while it 
 formed a portion of the Swedish kingdom ; and 
 about the time of its cession to Russia, in 1808, 
 she was taken by her parents to Stockholm. Of 
 these events, which were of much influence in 
 giving her mind its peculiar tone, we will quote 
 her own beautiful description, as communicated 
 to us by her friend and sister spirit, Mary Hewitt 
 of London. 
 
 " If it should so happen that, as regards me, any 
 one should wish to cast a kind glance behind the 
 curtain which conceals a somewhat eventful life, 
 he may discover that I was born on the banks of 
 the Aura, a river which flows through Abo, and 
 that several of the venerable and learned men of 
 the university were even my godfathers. At the 
 age of three, I was removed, with my family, from 
 my native country of Finland. Of this part of my 
 life, I have only retained one single memory. 
 This memory is a word, a mighty name, which, in 
 the depths of Paganism, was pronounced by the 
 Finnish people with fear and love ; and is still so 
 pronounced in these days, although perfected by 
 Christianity. I still fancy that I often hear this 
 word spoken aloud over the trembling earth by 
 the thunder of Thor, or by the gentle winds which 
 bring to it refreshment and -consolation. That 
 word is — Jumala: the Finnish name for God, 
 both in Pagan and Christian times. 
 
 If any one kindly follows me from Finland into 
 Sweden, where my father purchased an estate 
 after he had sold his property in Finland, I would 
 not trouble him to accompany me from childhood 
 to youth, with the inward elementary chaos, and 
 the outward, uninteresting, and common-place pic- 
 ture of a family, which every autumn removed, in 
 their covered carriage, from their estate in the 
 country to their house in the capital ; and every 
 spring trundled back again from their house in 
 the capital to their country-seat ; nor how there 
 were young daughters in the family who played 
 on the piano, sang ballads, read novels, drew in 
 black chalk, and looked forward, with longing 
 glances, to the future, when they hoped to see and 
 do wonderful things. With humility, I must con- 
 fess, I always regarded myself as a heroine. 
 
 Casting a glance into the family circle, it would 
 be seen that they collected, in the evening, in the 
 great drawing-room of their country house, and 
 read aloud ; that the works of the German poets 
 were read, especially Schiller, whose Don Carlos 
 made a profound impression upon the youthful 
 mind of one of the daughters in particular. 
 
 A deeper glance into her soul will show that a 
 heavy reality of sorrow was spreading, by degrees, 
 a dark cloud over the splendour of her youthful 
 dreams. Like early evening, it came over the path 
 of the young pilgrim of life ; and earnestly, but in 
 vain, she endeavoured to escape it. The air was 
 dimined as by a heavy fall of snow, darkness in- 
 creased, and it became night. And in the depth 
 of that endless winter night, she heard lamenting 
 voices from the east, and from the west; from 
 plant and animal ; from dying nature and despair- 
 ing humanity ; and she saw life, with all its beauty, 
 its love, its throbbing heart, buried alive beneath 
 a chill covering of ice. Heaven seemed dark and 
 void ; — there seemed to her no eyes, even as there 
 . was no heart. All was dead, or, rather, all was 
 dying — excepting pain. 
 
 There is a significant picture, at the commence- 
 ment, in every mythology. In the beginning, 
 there is a bright, and warm, and divine principle, 
 which allies itself to darkness ; and from this 
 union of light and darkness — of fire and tears — 
 
 586 
 
BB 
 
 BE 
 
 proceeds a God. I believe that something similar 
 to this takes place in every human being who is 
 born to a deeper life ; and something similar took 
 place in her who writes these lines. 
 
 Looking at her a few years later, it will be seen 
 that a great change has taken place in her. Her 
 eyes have long been filled with tears of unspeaka- 
 ble joy ; she is like one who has arisen from the 
 grave to a new life. What has caused this change ? 
 Have her splendid youthful dreams been accom- 
 plished ? Is she a heroine ? Has she become vic- 
 torious in beauty, or in renown ? No ; nothing of 
 this kind. The illusions of youth are past — the 
 season of youth is over. And yet she is again 
 young ; for there is freedom in the depth of her 
 soul, and "let there be light" has been spoken 
 above its dark chaos ; and the light has penetrated 
 the darkness, and illumined the night, whilst, with 
 her eye fixed upon that light, she has exclaimed, 
 with tears of joy, "Death, where' is thy sting? 
 Grave, where is thy victory?" 
 
 Many a grave since then has been opened to re- 
 ceive those whom she tenderly loved ; many a 
 pang has been felt since then ; but the heart 
 throbs joyfully, and the dark night is over. Yes, 
 it is over ; but not the fruit which it has borne ; 
 for there are certain flowers which first unfold in 
 the darkness ; so is it also in the midnight hours 
 of great suffering ; the human soul opens itself to 
 the light of the eternal stars. 
 
 If it be desired to hear anything of my writings, 
 it may be said that they began in the eighth year 
 of my age, when I apostrophized the moon in 
 French verses, and that during the greater part of 
 my youth I continued to write in the same sublime 
 strain. I wrote under the impulse of restless 
 youthful feelings — I wrote in order to write. Af- 
 terwards, I seized the pen under the influence of 
 another motive, and wrote — that which I had read. 
 
 At the present time, when I stand on the verge 
 of the autumn of my life, I still see the same ob- 
 jects which surrounded me in the early days of 
 my spring, and I am so happy as still to possess, 
 out of many dear ones, a beloved mother and sis- 
 ter. The mountains which surround our dwell- 
 ing, and upon which Gustavus Adolphus assem- 
 bled his troops before he went as a deliverer to 
 Germany, appear to me not less beautiful than 
 they were in the days of my childhood ; they have 
 increased in interest, for I am now better ac- 
 quainted with their grass and their flowers." 
 
 An American friend of Miss Bremer thus con- 
 cludes her sketch. 
 
 " The Countess Hahn-Hahn, who visited Miss 
 Bremer at her country residence of Arsta a few 
 years since, speaks of it as being remarkable in 
 an historical point of view. The house is of stone, 
 built during the Thirty Years' War, with large 
 and lofty apartments, overlooking the meadow 
 where Gustavus Adolphus reviewed the army with 
 which he marched into Livonia. It is surrounded 
 with magnificent trees, the dark waters of the 
 Baltic lying in the distance. Here Miss Bremer, 
 with a beloved mother and sister, resides for a 
 part of the year, and here many of our country- 
 men have had the pleasure of visiting her; and 
 
 enjoying her hospitality. One of these remarks 
 of her, that in every thought and act, she seems 
 to have but one object — that of making her fel- 
 low-beings contented and happy. She is possess- 
 ed of an ample fortune, and devotes her income 
 mostly to charitable objects. In a recent severe 
 winter, when the poor were dying with hunger 
 and cold, hundreds through her means were warm- 
 ed and fed, who would otherwise have perished." 
 
 The writings of Miss Bremer were first made 
 known to the British and American public by the 
 Hewitts, — William and Mary, — who translated 
 " The Neighbours," her first, and in many respects 
 her most remarkable work. This was published 
 in 1842, at New York, and soon made its way, as 
 on the wings of the wind, through the length and 
 breadth of our land. Every where it was welcomed 
 as a messenger bird, that brought good tidings 
 from a far country. 
 
 While the soul of the Christian yearns over the 
 heathen, the heart will revolt from their unspeak- 
 able pollutions ; — we cannot love their homes. 
 But nations who have the Bible are naturally 
 brought together, the moment the barrier of lan- 
 guage is removed. " The Neighbours" were "Our 
 Neighbours " as soon as dear Mary Howitt had 
 presented them in English. The warm welcome 
 the work received induced the translator to bring 
 out the other works of Miss Bremer, and in quick 
 succession, we read " Home ;" "The H. Family;" 
 "The President's Daughters;" "Nina;" "The 
 Strife and Peace ;" "The Diary;" " Life in Dela- 
 carlia;" "The Midnight Sun;" and other shorter 
 sketches from periodicals. 
 
 In the autumn of 1849, Miss Bremer, whose in- 
 tention of visiting America had been previously 
 announced, arrived in New York: she was wel- 
 comed to the hearts and homes of the American 
 people with a warmth of afi'ection her genius 
 could never have inspired, had she not devoted 
 her talents to the cause of humanity. Americans 
 felt that she would understand the moral power, 
 which in its development here, enables the people 
 to govern themselves without " Csesar, or his 
 sword." The following remarks which she made 
 to an American, show that she does comprehend 
 it ; she said : — ■ 
 
 " I have more than once heard you esteem your- 
 self fortunate in being born a citizen of the North 
 American republic. I have listened to your en- 
 thusiastic words "respecting that empire, founded 
 — so unlike all others, ■ — not by the powers of 
 war, but by those of peace ; its wealth and great- 
 ness, acquired by bloodless victories ; its efforts 
 to become a great and powerful community in a 
 Christian meaning, by raising every one to an 
 equal degree of enlightenment and equal rights, 
 efi'orts which now so powerfully attract the eyes 
 of Europe and America : and I have understood 
 your love. Will you also be able to understand 
 mine ? It belongs exclusively to a poor country, 
 an inconsiderable people, nurtured in necessity 
 and warlike deeds, but under whose blood-stained 
 laurels there dwells a spirit, powerful and pro- 
 found as their ancient mythology. This is now 
 no more, or lives but as a remembrance in the 
 
 587 
 
BR 
 
 BR 
 
 breasts of our people, or as an echo in our valleys ; 
 corn grows in our fields, and the Linncea blooms 
 in our woods, protected by many years of peace. 
 Travellers who come to Sweden from more popu- 
 lous countries exclaim, ' How still ; how silent and 
 lifeless! ' Has that life, then, formerly so power- 
 ful, become extinct ? No ; but it has retired into 
 silence. And in the silence of nature, in Sweden, 
 where primeval mountains, covered with pine 
 forests, surround deep, tranquil lakes, the con- 
 templative spirit lives more profoundly than else- 
 where ; the listening ear can, better than amid 
 the tumults of the world, become acquainted with 
 the secrets of nature and the human heart, and 
 comprehend the revelations of a life peculiar to 
 that people, beside whose cradle the prophetess 
 Vala sang her wonderful song of the origin, de- 
 struction, and regeneration of all things." 
 
 In this reference to Sweden, Miss Bremer, un- 
 consciously to herself, accounts for all those blem- 
 ishes in her works, which English Reviewers have 
 so severely condemned ; and which the moral and 
 religious public in America have lamented. We 
 see by her own admission, that what Mr. Laing 
 stated in his " Observations on Sweden," is true — 
 " that Christianity there is a matter of form ; " 
 that, " the old gods of the land have still a half- 
 unconsoious worship;" and that, "in no Chris- 
 tian community has religion less influence on the 
 state of public morals." * And now bearing in 
 mind these things, should we wonder that Miss 
 Bremer describes dancing and merry making on 
 Sundays ; and love-scenes with married women 
 as a matter of course ; and even that shocking, 
 incestuous passion between the niece and uncle 
 
 which made " The H Family" a proscribed 
 
 book ? An uncle can intermarry with his niece in 
 Sweden; the church permits festivities on Sun- 
 days; and Mr. Laing shows from authentic re- 
 cords the deplorable state of the people. •)- 
 
 But it is remarkable, and in the highest degree 
 honourable to the delicacyof Miss Bremer's moral 
 nature, that when she writes from her heart, every- 
 thing with which she deals becomes pure and 
 instructive. When drawing characters she must 
 show them in the light by which to her human 
 nature has been developed in Sweden ; the evils 
 
 * " It is a singular ant] embarrassing fact, that the Swedish 
 nation, isolated from the mass of the European people, and 
 almost entirely agricultural or pastoral; having in about 
 3,000,000 of individuals only 14,02^ employed in manufacto- 
 ries, and these not congregated in one or two places, but scat- 
 tered among 2037 factories ; having no great standing army 
 or navy; no extended commerce; no afflux of strangers ; no 
 considerable city but one ; and having schools and universi- 
 ties in a fair proportion, and a powerful and complete church 
 esrablishment undisturbed in its labours by sect or schism ; 
 IS notwithstanding in a more demoralized state than any 
 nation in Europe — more demoralized even than any equal 
 portion of the dense manufacturing population of Great 
 Britain." — iain^'s Observations on Sweden. 
 
 t " Figures do not bring home to our imagination the moral 
 condition of a population so depraved as that of Stockholm. 
 * ♦ ♦ * Suppose a traveller standing in the streets of 
 Edinburgh (as he might in Stockholm) and able to say from 
 undeniable public returns, " One out of every three persons 
 passing me is, on an average, the offspring of illicit inter- 
 course ; and one out of every forty-nine has been convicted 
 within these twelve months of some criminal olTence." — 
 Laing's Observations on Sweden, 
 
 apparent are in the system of government, both 
 of church and state, not in the mind that paints 
 their results. 
 
 In order to do justice to Miss Bremer, we shall 
 select, chiefly, from such passages as display 
 her good heart, rather than the more striking 
 passages where her genius in the descriptive ap- 
 pears, or where her peculiar talent of giving to 
 the conversations of her ideal characters a fresh 
 racy and original flow is so graceful and charming. 
 From the selections we make, the holy aspirings 
 of her soul are apparent, and though she has 
 already done so much for literature, her country, 
 and her sex, yet we hope a wider vista is opening 
 before her, and we believe she has power to reach 
 even a higher and a holier fame. With the Bible 
 as her rule of faith and morality, she would be 
 more and more able to answer that prayer of the 
 British friend of Sweden. 
 
 " Many of her best writers (says he) are more 
 and more devoting themselves to domestic subjects. 
 All who know the bold and honest and ingenuous 
 Swedish yeomanry, must love and esteem them. 
 As yet, in spite of the floods of demoralization 
 flowing from the towns, they are sound at the core. 
 May God raise up at least one spirit with cour- 
 age great enough, and views extensive enough, 
 and a life and heart pure enough, to urge him on 
 to a public avowal and defence of those great, 
 simple, solid, everlasting principles of private and 
 national morals, of truth and justice and mercy, 
 of law and of liberty, which shall turn the stream 
 of public opinion in that country, into a more 
 healthy channel, and restore to this ancient and 
 brave and distinguished people that home right, 
 and those home manners, that sound hearty north- 
 ern gladness, and that unaffected purity which 
 foreign corruptions and unfortunate government 
 politics have shaken, till the very foundations 
 thereof do tremble." 
 
 The hope of Sweden seems now to rest on her 
 women ; let the sweet singer be able to realize 
 her plan of founding the common school system 
 for the children ; and let Miss Bremer awaken in 
 the hearts of her readers the enthusiastic love of 
 virtue, truth, and justice, which from her heart 
 flows through her works — and with the blessing 
 of God, the victory of Good over Evil will be won. 
 
 Selections from " The Neighbours." 
 
 ADVICE OF MA OHEEE MEKE TO A TOtTNG WIFE. 
 
 A young woman — lay my words to heart — 
 cannot be too circumspect in her conduct. She 
 must take heed of herself, my dear Franziska, take 
 heed of herself. I grant you that this our age is 
 more moral than that of my youth, when King 
 Gustave III., of blessed memory, introduced 
 French manners and French fashions into our 
 country ; and I believe now, that there are much 
 fewer Atheists and Asmodeuses in the world. But 
 as I said before, you must take heed of yourself, 
 Franziska, for the tempter may come to you, just 
 as well as to many another one ; not because you 
 are handsome — for you are not handsome, and you 
 are vfery short — but your April countenance has 
 its own little charm, and then you sing very pret- 
 
BR 
 
 BR 
 
 tily; as one may say, yon have your own little 
 attractions. And some day or other a young cox- 
 comb will come and figure away before you ; now 
 mind my advice, keep him at a distance, keep him 
 at a distance by your own proper behaviour. But 
 if this should not suffice for him — should he still 
 make advances, and speak fulsome seductive words, 
 then you must look at hiin with a countenance of 
 the highest possible astonishment, and say : ' Sir, 
 you are under a great mistake, I am not such a 
 one as you suppose !' Should this not answer the 
 purpose, but he still continue to make advances, 
 then go you directly to your husband, and say : 
 ' My friend, so and so has occurred, and so and 
 so have I acted ; now you must just act as you 
 think proper !' Then, my dear Franziska, depend 
 upon it, the Corydon will soon discover that the 
 clock has struck, and, no little ashamed, he will 
 go about his own business ; while you will have 
 no shame, but on the contrary, honour from the 
 affair, and beyond this, will find that a good con- 
 science makes a happy conscience, and that ' a 
 conscience light gives rest by night.' 
 
 * * * * 5^ 
 
 I will tell you how you must conduct yourself 
 to your husband. You vrill always find him an 
 honourable man, therefore I give you this one 
 especial piece of advice — never have recourse to 
 untruths with him, be it ever so small, or to help 
 yourself out of ever so great a difficulty ; for un- 
 truth leads ever into greater difficulty, and besides 
 this it drives confidence out of the house. 
 ***** 
 
 When all this rummaging about and this thorough 
 house inspection was brought to an end, we sat 
 down on the sofa to rest, and Ma chfere m^re ad- 
 dressed me in the following manner : ' It is only 
 now and then, my dear Franziska, that I make 
 such a house review, but it keeps every thing in 
 order, and fills the domestics with respect. Set 
 the clock only to the right time, and it will go 
 right of itself, and thus one need not go about 
 tick-tacking like a pendulum. Keep this in mind, 
 my Franziska. Many ladies affect a great deal, 
 and make themselves very important with their 
 bunch of keys, running for ever into the kitchen 
 and store-room ; all unnecessary labour, Franziska; 
 much better is it for a lady to govern her house 
 with her head than with her heels ; the husband 
 likes that best, or if he do not he is a stupid fel- 
 low, and the wife ought then in heaven's name to 
 box him on the ears with her bunch of keys ! 
 Many ladies will have their servants for ever on 
 their feet : that does no good ; servants must have 
 their liberty and rest sometimes ; one must not 
 muzzle the ox that treads out the com. Let your 
 people be answerable for all they do ; it is good 
 for them as well as the mistress. Have a hold 
 upon them either by the heart or by honour, and 
 give them ungrudgingly whatever by right is theirs, 
 for the labourer is worthy of his hire. But then, 
 three or four times a year, but not at any regular 
 time, come down upon them like the day of judg- 
 ment ; turn every stone and see into every coBner, 
 storm like a thunder tempest, and strike down 
 
 here and there at the right time ; it will purify 
 the house for many weeks. 
 
 BESOLUTIONS OF A TOUNQ WIFE. 
 
 How is it that the flame is so soon extinguished 
 on the altar of love ? Because the married pair 
 forget to supply materials for the fire. One must 
 unfold, and cultivate, and perfect oneself in one's 
 progress through life, and then life will become 
 an unfolding of love and happiness. 
 
 My first employment will be to arrange my 
 house, so that contentment and peace may dwell 
 in it. I will endeavour to be a wise lawgiver in 
 my small, but not mean world ; and do you know 
 what law I mean first of all to promulgate and en- 
 force with the most rigorous exactness ? A law 
 for the treatment of animals, thus : 
 
 All domestic animals shall be kept with the ut- 
 most care, and treated in a friendly and kind 
 manner. They shall live happily, and shall be 
 killed in that mode which will make death least 
 painful to them. 
 
 No animal shall be tortured in the kitchen ; no 
 fish shall be cleaned while alive, or be put alive 
 into the kettle ; no bird shall, while half dead, be 
 hung up on a nail : a stroke with a knife shall, as 
 soon as possible, give them death, and free them 
 from their torture. 
 
 These, and several other commands shall be con- 
 tained in my laws. How much unnecessary cruelty 
 is perpetrated every day, because people never 
 think of what they do ; and how uncalled for, how 
 unworthy is cruelty toward animals ! Is it not 
 enough, that in the present arrangement of things 
 they are sentenced during their lives to be subject 
 to us, and after their deaths to serve us for food, 
 without our embittering yet more this heavy lot ? 
 We are compelled in many cases to act hostilely 
 toward them, but there is no reason why we need 
 become cruel enemies. How unspeakably less 
 would they not suffer, if in all these circumstances 
 in which they resemble mankind, in the weakness 
 of their age, in the suffering of their sickness, and 
 in death, we acted humanely toward them ! 
 
 There were laws in the old world which made 
 mildness towards animals the holiest duty of man, 
 while the violation of such laws was severely pun- 
 ished ; and we, Maria, who acknowledge a reli- 
 gion of love, shall we act worse toward the ani- 
 mal creation than the heathen did ? Did not He 
 who established the kingdom of love on the earth, 
 say that not a sparrow fell to the ground without 
 the knowledge of our Father which is in heaven ? 
 Observe, Maria, he said not that the sparrow 
 should not fall, but that it should not fall without 
 being seen by the Universal Father. Yes, all the 
 unnecessary suffering which the intemperance, the 
 folly, the cruelty of man occasion to animals is 
 also seen ; and heard, too, is the lamentable cry 
 and the complaint which the same causes : and on 
 the other side the grave, may not its annoyance 
 add yet one more pang to hell, and trouble even 
 the peace of the spirits in heaven ? 
 
 Oh, Maria! let not us women and housewives 
 be deserving of this punishment ; let us, when we 
 come before the judgment-seat of the Universal 
 
 589 
 
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 Father, be pure from all unthankfulness, and 
 abuse of any creature which he has made ; and let 
 us deserve in that better world to see around us 
 an ennobled race of animals, to live with them in 
 a loving relationship, even as we had already be- 
 gun to do on earth ! 
 
 .OF CHILDREN. 
 
 We will love our children, Fanny ! We will 
 bring them up in a clear and steady fear of God. 
 We will teach them order and diligence. What 
 relates to talent and a finer accomplishment, they 
 shall receive that too if we have the means ; if we 
 have them not, then do not let us trouble our- 
 selves about them. The chief thing is, that they 
 become good and useful men ; they will then find 
 their way both here and hereafter. Thou, my 
 Fanny, wilt early teach them what is in the hymn 
 which thou art so fona of singing — 
 
 He who can read his paternoster right, 
 Fears neither witch nor devil. 
 ***** 
 Above all things, my dear daughters, bear in mind 
 that you are human beings. Be good, be true ; 
 the rest will follow. As much as possible, be 
 kind to every one ; tender to every animal. Be 
 without sentimentality and affectation. Affecta- 
 tion is a miserable art, my daughters — despise it 
 as truly as you would acquire moral worth. Do 
 not regard yourselves as very important, let you 
 have as many talents and endowments as you may ; 
 consider nature and life, and be humble. Should 
 you be treated by nature like a hard stepmother, 
 and be infirm, ordinary, or the like, do not be dis- 
 couraged ; you may draw near to the Most High. 
 Require not much from other people, especially 
 from one another. The art to sink in the esteem 
 of yourselves and others, is to make great de- 
 mands, and give little. 
 
 From the other Novels of Miss Bremer. 
 A CHKISTIAN. 
 
 When a heart breaks under the burden of its sor- 
 rows — when sickness strikes its root in wounds 
 opened by pain, and life consumes away slowly to 
 death, then none of us should say that that heavily- 
 laden heart should not have broken ; that it might 
 have exerted its strength to bear its suffering. 
 No ; we would express no word of censure on 
 that prostrated spirit because it could not raise 
 itself — before its resurrection from the grave. 
 
 But beautiful, strengthening, and glorious is the 
 view of a man who presents a courageous and 
 patient breast to the poisoned arrows of life ; who 
 without defiance and without weakness, goes upon 
 his way untroubled ; who suffers without com- 
 plaint ; whose fairest hopes have been borne down 
 to the grave by fate, and who yet diffuses joy 
 around him, and labours for the happiness of 
 others. Ah, how beautiful is the view of such a 
 one, to whom the crown of thorns becomes the 
 glory of a saint ! 
 
 I have seen more than one such royal sufferer, 
 and have always felt at the sight, " Oh, could I 
 be like this one — it is better than, to be worldly 
 fortunate!" 
 
 BETROTHMENT. 
 
 When Moses struck the rock and the water 
 gushed forth; when Aaron's staff budded at once 
 into green leaf and flower — it certainly was mira- 
 culous. But almost as miraculous is the change 
 which takes place in two persons who love each 
 other, and who, from mere acquaintance, become — 
 betrothed. A partition wall has been removed from 
 between them. They might love ; they might show 
 their love to each other ; they might show it before 
 the whole world and stand before each other as 
 suns, and bloom forth in beauty before each other. 
 But who can describe how the mystical depths 
 disclose themselves in the deep, inward soul ? It 
 must be experienced. The change is the greatest 
 in the woman ; because habit and custom and that 
 bashfulness which nature has given to the young 
 girl before him whom she secretly loves, all fetter 
 her behaviour, and put, as it were, body and soul 
 in armour. But — hast thou read the beautiful 
 old song about the Valkyria which lay bound in a 
 deep sleep in her armour, under the strong power 
 of witchcraft ? The knight comes who unlooses her 
 coat of mail, and then she is released. She wakes ; 
 salutes the day, salutes the night, heaven and 
 earth, gods and goddesses, and looks joyfully on 
 all the world, and she is now, the newly awakened, 
 who gives to her deliverer, to her beloved, the 
 drink (the mead) which makes him clear-sighted — 
 
 Human strength blended 
 With might of the gods: 
 Full of sweet singing 
 And power of healing, 
 Of beautiful poems 
 And runes of rejoicing. 
 
 It is she who interprets to him the mysterious 
 runes of life ; he who, enchanted, listens to her 
 aijd learns. 
 
 MARRIAGE. 
 
 We array ourselves for marriages in flowers; 
 and wear dark mourning-dresses for the last sor- 
 rowful festivity which attends a fellow-being to 
 his repose. And this often might be exactly re- 
 versed. But the custom is beautiful — for the 
 sight of a young bride invites the heart involun- 
 tarily to joy. The festal attire, the myrtle wreath 
 upon the virgin brows ; all the affectionate looks, 
 and the anticipations of the future, which beauti- 
 fully accompany her — all enrapture us. One sees 
 in them a new home of love raised on earth ; a 
 peaceful Noah's Ark on the wild flood of life, in 
 which the white dove of peace will dwell and build 
 her nest ; loving children, affectionate words, looks, 
 and love-warm hearts, will dwell in the new home ; 
 friends will enjoy themselves under its hospitable 
 roof; and much beautiful activity, and many a 
 beautiful gift, will thence go forth, and full of 
 blessing diffuse itself over life. There stands the 
 young bride, creator of all this — hopes and joys 
 go forth from her. No one thinks of sufferings at 
 a marriage festival. 
 
 And if the eyes of the bride stand ftiU of tears ; 
 if her cheeks are pale, and her whole being — 
 when the bridegroom approaches her, fearful and 
 ill at ease — even then people wiU not think of 
 
 590 
 
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 misfortune. Cousins and aunts wink at one another 
 and whisper, "I was just so on my wedding-day ; 
 but that passes over with time!" Does a more 
 deeply and more heavily tried heart feel perhaps 
 a sigh rise within, when ilr contemplates the pale, 
 trouhled bride, it comforts itself, in order not to 
 disturb the marriage joy, with, "0 that is the 
 . way of the world ! " 
 
 A HAPPY FAMILY. 
 
 I have now the greatest desire, dear reader, 
 after the lapse of fourteen years, to cast a glance 
 at Adelaide. Before all things must I mention 
 their eight children ; all extraordinarily pretty, 
 good, and joyous, as the mother. She had nursed 
 them all herself, attended on them, and played 
 with them ; from her they learned to love the sun, 
 gladness, and God, and to reckon on papa Alarik 
 as on a gospel. Count Alarik lived only for his 
 wife, whom he adored — for his children, whom 
 he assisted to educate — for his people, whom he 
 made happy. The mother gave them gentleness 
 and gladness of heart, from the father they learned 
 history, and many other good things. Mamselle 
 Ronnquist instructed the three daughters in French 
 and English. None could compare with Nina ; but 
 they promised to be good and merry, and to pass 
 happily through the world. Adelaide devoted very 
 much time to her children ; yet she continued for 
 many others "a song of joy," indispensable at all 
 festivities; and wherever her kind, fair counte- 
 nance showed itself, under lowly roof or in lofty 
 castle, by the song of mourning or the marriage 
 hymn, there was she greeted as a messenger of 
 heaven sent forth with consolation and joy. She 
 was still the swan of whiteness, freshness, slender- 
 ness, and grace, and the happiness of her home 
 was the living well in which she bathed her wings. 
 
 Of Alarik and Adelaide it might be said with 
 Job : " They increase injgoods. Their seed is esta- 
 blished in their sight with them, and their offspring 
 before their eyes. Their house is safe from fear, 
 neither is the rod of God upon them. They send 
 forth their little ones like a flock, and their child- 
 ren dance. They take the timbrel and harp, and 
 rejoice at the sound of the organ. They spend 
 their days in wealth, and in a moment go down to 
 the grave." 
 
 In a word, they belonged to the fortunate of this 
 earth. I have seen many such; but have also 
 beheld with wonder the dispensations of this world. 
 " For another dies in the bitterness of his soul, 
 and hath never eaten with pleasure." 
 
 But — " Who shall teach God ? " 
 
 WISDOM. 
 
 I have already said that we do not become wise 
 through books alone. No ! not through books, 
 not through travel, not through clever people, not 
 through the whole world, if we do not carry in 
 ourselves the slumbering power which calls forth 
 out of all the individual parts the harmonious 
 shape ; or, to speak more simply, when we do not 
 understand how to unite the end with the sensible 
 deed. 
 
 Prayer is the key of the gate of heaven. It does 
 not open it easily. It requires strength, inde- 
 fatigable knocking, a firm, determined will ; but is 
 the door but once open — -behold ! then there is no 
 further separation between thee and the Almighty ; 
 and the angels of the Lord ascend and descend to 
 bring thee consolation and help. Thou who suf- 
 ferest perhaps like Clara, yearnest for repose like 
 her, listen ! Sip not lightly at the cup of sal- 
 vation ! Drink deep draughts from the well of 
 redemption ! Fill thyself with prayer, with faith 
 and humility, and thou wilt have peace ! 
 
 PHILANTHBOPY. 
 
 There is a time in our life when we are almost 
 exclusively occupied by individual endeavours and 
 suffering ; when we merely labour for ourselves 
 and those who are nearest to us. Another time 
 also comes when we have in some measure accom- 
 plished this, and are in a state of peace, or at least 
 of quietness. It is then the time when the think- 
 ing and the good man looks observantly around 
 him into social life, and sees how he can labour 
 in the best way for the great, neglected family- 
 circle there, and make it a participator in the good 
 things which he has obtained. 
 
 EENOTATION. 
 
 Calm and strong soul ! much may be done by a 
 human being with a pure will and amid a quiet 
 life. But with certain deeper changes in that inner 
 life, and for many a stormy soul, an outward 
 change is almost a necessary means of an inward 
 renovation. There is a power in old places, habits, 
 impressions, cojmections — ■ as dangerously fas- 
 cinating as intoxicating liquors ; as crippling as 
 heavy fetters, from which no one can free himself 
 — but by flight. But, far removed from them, 
 with a new earth beneath our feet, with new stars 
 above our head, new objects around us, new im- 
 pressions, new thoughts have birth, and it is much 
 easier for the soul to exert and raise itself. These 
 outward removals are remedies in the hand of 
 Providence for men. They do not supply the good 
 desire, but they support it. 
 
 PATRIOTISM. 
 
 Happy are they who have a noble fatherland, 
 to whose life and history they can look up with 
 admiration and joy. They do not live insulated 
 upon the earth. A mighty genius leads and ani- 
 mates them. Their little life has a greater one 
 with which to unite itself, and for which to live. 
 
 VIRTUE. 
 
 She bowed herself while she kissed the merci- 
 fully severe hand which, amid wild tempests, calls 
 forth the imperishable flower of virtue. This be- 
 came to her the loveliest blossom of humanity 
 and of the whole universe. It wound itself with 
 beautifying effect around every creature; the 
 storms of fate tossed rudely its chalice, but served 
 only to promote its fullest expansion ; it turned 
 itself, as the sunflower toward the sun, above to 
 
 591 
 
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 BR 
 
 God. Strength, capacity of self-denial, equanimity 
 and repose amid the occurrences of life, purity of 
 heart and of the thoughts which arose to God — 
 these Edla sought after, and found. Of the sacred 
 doctrines of the Gospel, those chiefly acquired a 
 living power in her heart which more especially 
 favoured this bias : and her view of the world led 
 her to regard man as ordained, before all things, 
 to contest and self-denial. But this view of the 
 world was clear and cheerful ; the laurel of victory 
 succeeded the trial, and the crown of thorns became 
 the crown of glory. 
 
 TWIN-SISTEKS. 
 
 I cannot conceive a more beautiful existence 
 than that of twin sisters who go hand in hand 
 through life ; whose enjoyments are mutual — who 
 participate in each other's feelings and thoughts 
 — who weep over the same sorrow — who rejoice 
 over the same festivity, whether it be only a mid- 
 summer merriment or the Holy Supper. They 
 stand in life like two young trees beside each 
 other, and each new spring twines the twigs of 
 their crown' closer together. The happy ones! 
 How intimatelj known is each to the other ! How 
 well must they understand each other, and be 
 mutually able to read in each other's eyes as in a 
 clear mirror. Can life ever become to either of 
 them empty and dark ? And if the one suffer, then 
 has the other indeed the key to her heart ; she 
 knows every fold therein, and can open the looked- 
 up chamber to the beams of daylight. 
 
 ~^^ 
 
 BRIDGMAN, LAURA, 
 A PUPIL in the Boston Institution for the Blind, 
 has attained a wide-spread celebrity through her 
 misfortunes, and through the efforts made by her 
 benevolent instructor. Principal of that Institution, 
 to redeem her from the appalling mental dark- 
 ness, which the loss in early childhood of the 
 faculties of sight, speech and hearing, had in- 
 volved her. As yet, her history ia only known 
 through the "reports" made from time to time, 
 to the Trustees of that Institution, by Dr. Howe. 
 From these we derive the following information, 
 
 though not without some regret, that in the mo- 
 desty which always accompanies exalted worth 
 he has said so little of his own noble exertions in 
 throwing light upon that darkened spirit. 
 
 Laura Bridgman was born in Hanover, New 
 Hampshire, on the twenty-first of December, 1829. 
 She is described as having been a very sprightly 
 and pretty infant, with bright blue eyes. She was, 
 however, so puny and feeble, until she was a year 
 and a half old, that her parents hardly hoped to 
 rear her. She was subject to severe fits, which 
 seemed to rack her frame almost beyond its 
 power of endurance, and life was held by the 
 feeblest tenure ; but when a year and a half old, 
 she seemed to rally ; the dangerous symptoms 
 subsided ; and at twenty months old, she was per- 
 fectly well. 
 
 Then her mental powers, hitherto stinted in 
 their growth, rapidly developed themselves ; and 
 during the four months of health which she en- 
 joyed, she appears (making due allowance for a 
 fond mother's account) to have displayed a con- 
 siderable degree of intelligence. 
 
 But suddenly she sickened again ; her disease 
 raged with great violence during five weeks, when 
 her eyes and ears were inflamed, suppurated, and 
 their contents were discharged. But though sight 
 and hearing were gone forever, the poor child's 
 sufferings were not ended. The fever raged during 
 seven weeks; "for five months she was kept in 
 bed in a darkened room ; it was a year before she 
 could walk unsupported, and two years before she 
 could sit up all day." It was now observed that 
 her sense of smell was almost entirely destroyed ; 
 and consequently, that her taste was much blunted. 
 
 It was not until four years of age, that the poor 
 child's bodily health seemed restored, and she was 
 able to enter upon her apprenticeship of life 'and 
 the world. 
 
 But what a situation was hers ! The darkness 
 and the silence of the tomb were around her ; no 
 mother's smile called forth her answering smile, — 
 no father's voice taught her to imitate his sounds: 
 to her, brothers and sisters were but forms of 
 matter which resisted her touch, but which dif- 
 fered not from the furniture of the house, save in 
 warmth and in the power of locomotion ; and not 
 even in these respects from the dog and the cat. 
 
 But the immortal spirit which had been im- 
 planted within her could not die, nor be maimed 
 nor mutilated ; and though most of its avenues of 
 communication with the world were cut off, it 
 began to manifest itself through the others. As 
 soon as she could walk, she began to explore the 
 room, and then the house. She became familiar 
 with the form, density, weight, and heat, of every 
 article she could lay her hands upon. She followed 
 her mother, and felt of her hands and arms, as 
 she was occupied about the house ; and her dis- 
 position to imitate led her to repeat every thing 
 herself. She even learned to sew a little, and to 
 knit. . 
 
 Her affections, too, began to expand, and seemed 
 to be lavished upon the members of her family with 
 peculiar force. 
 
 But the means of communication with her were 
 
 6«? 
 
BB 
 
 BE 
 
 very limited ; slie could only be told to go to a 
 place by being pushed ; or to come to one by a 
 sign of drawing her. Patting her gently on the 
 head signified approbation ; on the back, disap- 
 probation. 
 
 She showed every disposition to learn, and 
 manifestly began to use a natural language of her 
 own. She had a sign to express her knowledge 
 of each member of the family; as drawiog her 
 fingers down each side of her face, to allude to 
 the whiskers of one ; twirling her hand around, 
 in imitation of the motion of a spinning-wheel, for 
 another ; and so on. But although she received 
 all the aid that a kind mother could bestow, she 
 soon began to give proof of the importance of 
 language to the development of human character. 
 Caressing and chiding will do for infants and dogs, 
 but not for children ; and by the time Laura was 
 seven years old, the moral efi'eots of her privation 
 began to appear. There was nothing to control 
 her will but the absolute power of another, and 
 humanity revolts at this : she had already begun 
 to diregard all but the sterner nature of her father ; 
 and it was evident, that as the propensities should 
 increase with her physical growth, so would the 
 dificulty of restraining them increase. 
 
 At this time. Dr. Howe fortunately heard of the 
 child, and immediately hastened to Hanover, to 
 see her. He found her with a well-formed figure ; a 
 strongly-marked, nervous-sanguine temperament ; 
 a large and beautifully shaped head, and the whole 
 system in healthy action. 
 
 Here seemed a rare opportunity of benefiting 
 an individual, and of trying a plan for the educa- 
 tion of a deaf and blind person, which he had 
 formed on seeing Julia Brace, at Hartford. 
 
 The parents were easily induced to consent to 
 her coming to Boston : and on the fourth of Octo- 
 ber, 1837, they brought her to the Institution. 
 
 For a while, she was much bewildered. After 
 waiting about two weeks, until she became ac- 
 quainted with her new locality, and somewhat 
 familiar with the inmates, the attempt was made 
 to give her a knowledge of arbitrary signs, by 
 which she could interchange thoughts with others. 
 
 There was one of two ways to be adopted: 
 either to go on and build up a language of signs 
 on the basis of the natural language which she 
 had already herself commenced ; or to teach her 
 the purely arbitrary language in common use : 
 that is, to give her a sign for every individual 
 thing, or to give her a knowledge of letters, by 
 the combination of which she might express her 
 idea of the existence, and the mode and condition 
 of existence, of any thing. The former would have 
 been easy, but very ineifectual ; the latter seemed 
 very difficult, but, if accomplished, very effectual : 
 Dr. Howe determined, therefore, to try the latter. 
 
 The first experiments were made by taking 
 articles in common use, such as knives, forks, 
 spoons, keys, &c., and pasting upon them labels 
 with their names printed in raised letters. These 
 she felt of very carefully, and soon, of course, dis- 
 tinguished that the crooked lines spoon, differed 
 as much from the crooked lines key , as the spoou 
 differed from the key in form. 
 2N 
 
 Then small detached labels, with the same words 
 printed upon them, were put into her hands ; and 
 she soon observed that they were similar to the 
 ones pasted on the articles. She showed her pre- 
 oeption of this similarity by laying the label key 
 upon the key, and the label spoon upon the spoon. 
 She was here encouraged by the natural sign of 
 approbation, patting on the head. 
 
 The same process was then repeated with all 
 the articles which she could handle ; and she 
 very easily learned to place the proper labels upon 
 them. It was evident, however, that the only 
 intellectual exercise was that of imitation and 
 memory. She recollected that the label book was 
 placed upon a book, and she repeated the process, 
 first from imitation, next from memory, with no 
 other motive than the love of approbation, and 
 apparently without the intellectual perception of 
 any relation between the things. 
 
 After a while, instead of labels, the individual 
 letters were given to her on detached pieces of 
 paper : they were arranged side by side, so as to 
 spell book, key, &c. ; then they were mixed 
 up in a heap, and a sign was made for her to 
 arrange them so as to express the words hook, key, 
 &c., and she did so. 
 
 Hitherto, the process had been mechanical, and 
 the success about as great as teaching a very know- 
 ing dog, a variety of tricks. The poor child had 
 sat in mute amazement, and patiently imitated 
 every thing her teacher did; but now the truth 
 began to fiash upon her — her intellect began to 
 work — she perceived that here was a way by 
 which she could herself make up a sign of any 
 thing that was in her own mind, and show it to 
 another mind, and at once her countenance lighted 
 up with a human expression : it was no longer a dog, 
 or parrot, — it was an immortal spirit, eagerly seiz- 
 ing upon a new link of union with other spirits ! 
 Dr. Howe could almost fix upon the moment when 
 this truth dawned upon her mind, and spread its' 
 light to her countenance. He saw that the great 
 obstacle was overcome, and that henceforward 
 nothing but patient and persevering, though plain 
 and straightforward efforts were to be used. 
 
 The result, thus far, is quickly related, and 
 easily conceived ; but not so was the process : for 
 many weeks of apparently unprofitable labour were 
 passed, before it was effected. 
 
 When it was said above, that a sign was made, 
 it was intended to say, that the action was per- 
 formed by her teacher, she feeling his hands, and 
 then imitating the motion. 
 
 The next step was to procure a set of metal 
 types, with the different letters of the alphabet 
 cast upon their ends ; also a board, in which were 
 square holes, into which she could set the types, 
 so that only the letters on their ends could be felt 
 above the surface. 
 
 Then, on any article being handed to her, for 
 instance, a pencil, or a watch, she would select 
 the component letters, and arrange them on her 
 board, and read them with apparent pleasure. 
 
 She was exercised for several weeks in this 
 way, until her vocabulary became extensive ; and 
 then the important step was taken of teaching 
 
 593 
 
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 BB 
 
 her how to represent the different letters by the 
 position of her fingers, instead of the cumbrous 
 apparatus of the board and types. She accom- 
 plished this speedily and easily, for her intellect 
 had begun to work in aid of her teacher, and her 
 progress was rapid. 
 
 This was the period, about three months after 
 she had commenced, that the first report of her 
 case was made, in which it is stated that " she 
 has just learned the manual alphabet, as used by 
 the deaf mutes, and it is a subject of delight and 
 wonder to see how rapidly, correctly, and eagerly, 
 she goes on with her labours. Her teacher gives 
 her a new object, — for instance a pencil, first lets 
 her examine it, and get an idea of its use, then 
 teaches her how to spell it by making the signs 
 for the letters with her own fingers : the child 
 grasps his hand, and feels of his fingers, as the 
 different letters are formed ; she turns her head a 
 little on one side, like a person listening closely ; 
 her lips are apart ; sh e seems scarcely to breathe ; 
 and her countenance, at first anxious, gradually 
 changes to a smile, as she comprehends the lesson. 
 She then holds up her tiny fingers, and spells the 
 word in the manual alphabet ; next, she takes her 
 types and arranges her letters; and at last, to 
 make sure that she is right, she takes the whole 
 of the types composing the word, and places them 
 upon or in contact with the pencil, or whatever 
 the object may be." 
 
 The whole of the succeeding year was passed in 
 gratifying her eager enquiries for the names of 
 every object which she could possibly handle ; in 
 exercising her in the use of the manual alphabet ; 
 in extending by every possible way her knowledge 
 of the physical relations of things ; and in taking 
 proper care of her health. 
 
 At the end of the year a report of her case was 
 made, from which the following is an extract : 
 
 " It has been ascertained, beyond the possibility 
 gf doubt, that she cannot see a ray of light, can- 
 not hear the least sound, and never exercises her 
 sense of smell, if she has any. Thus her mind 
 dwells in darkness and stillness, as profound as 
 that of a closed tomb at midnight. Of beautiful 
 sights, and sweet sounds, and pleasant odours, she 
 has no conception; nevertheless, she seems as 
 happy and playful as a bird or a lamb ; and the 
 employment of her intellectual faculties, or ac- 
 quirement of a new idea, gives her a vivid pleasure, 
 which is plainly marked in her expressive features. 
 She never seems to repine, but has all the buoy- 
 ancy and gayety of childhood. She is fond of fun 
 and frolic, and when playing with the rest of the 
 children, her shrill laugh sounds loudest of the 
 group. 
 
 When left alone, she seems very happy if she 
 has her knitting or sewing, and will busy herself 
 for hours : if she has 'no occupation, she evidently 
 amuses herself by imaginary dialogues, or by re- 
 calling past impressions : she counts with her fin- 
 gers, or spells out names of things which she has 
 recently learned in the manual alphabet of the 
 deaf mutes. In this lonely self-communion she 
 aeems to reason, reflect, and argue ; if she spells 
 a word wrong with the fingers of her right hand, 
 
 she instantly strikes it with her left, as her teach- 
 er does, in sign of disapprobation : if right, then 
 she pats herself upon the head, and looks pleased. 
 She sometimes purposely spells a word wrong 
 with the left hand, looks roguish for a moment 
 and laughs, and then with the right hand strikes 
 the left, as if to correct it. 
 
 During the year, she has attained great dex- 
 terity in the use of the manual alphabet of the 
 deaf mutes ; and she spells out the words and sen- 
 tences which she knows, so fast and so deftly, 
 that only those accustomed to this language can 
 follow with the eye the rapid motion of her fingers. 
 
 But wonderful as is the rapidity with which she 
 writes her thoughts upon the air, still more so is 
 the ease and accuracy with which she reads the 
 words thus written by another, grasping their 
 hands in hers, and following every movement of 
 their fingers, as letter after letter conveys their 
 meaning to her mind. It is in this way that she 
 converses with her blind playmates ; and nothing 
 can more forcibly show the power of mind in forc- 
 ing matter to its purpose, than a meeting between 
 them. For, if great talent and skill are necessary 
 for two pantomimes to paint their thoughts and 
 feelings by the movements of the body and the ex- 
 pression of the countenance, how much greater 
 the difficulty when darkness shrouds them both, 
 and the one can hear no sound ! 
 
 When Laura is walking through a passage-way, 
 with her hands spread before her, she knows in- 
 stantly those whom she meets, and passes them 
 with a sign of recognition ; but if it be a girl of 
 her own age, and especially if one of her favour- 
 ites, there is instantly a bright smile of recogni- 
 tion — a twining of arms — a grasping of hands — 
 and a swift telegraphing upon the tiny fingers, 
 whose rapid evolutions convey the thoughts and 
 feelings from the outposts of one mind to those of 
 the other. There are questions and answers — 
 exchanges of joy or sorrow — there are kisses and 
 caresses — just as between little children with all 
 their senses." 
 
 During this year, and six months after she had 
 left home, her mother came to visit her ; and the 
 scene of their meeting was an interesting one. 
 
 The mother stood some time, gazing with over- 
 flowing eyes upon her unfortunate child, who, all 
 unconscious of her presence, was playing about 
 the room. Presently Laura ran against her, and 
 at once began feeling her hands, examining her 
 dress, and trying to find out if she knew her ; but 
 not succeeding in this, she turned away as from a 
 stranger, and the poor woman could not conceal 
 the pang she felt, at finding that her beloved child 
 did not know her. 
 
 She then gave Laura a string of beads which 
 she used to wear at home, which were recognised 
 by the child at once, who, with much joy, put them 
 around her neck, and sought Dr. Howe eagerly, to 
 say she understood the string was from her home. 
 
 The mother now tried to caress her child, but 
 poor Laura repelled her, preferring to be with her 
 acquaintances. 
 
 Another article from home was now given her, 
 and she began to look much interested ; she ex- 
 
 534 
 
BB 
 
 BR 
 
 amined the stranger more closely, and gave Dr. 
 Howe to understand that she knew she came from 
 Hanover ; she even endured her caresses, but would 
 leave her with indifference at the slightest signal. 
 The distress of the mother was now painful to be- 
 hold ; for, although she had feared that she should 
 not be recognised, the painful reality of being 
 treated with cold indifference by a darling child, 
 was too much for woman's nature to bear. 
 
 After a while, on the mother taking hold of her 
 again, a vague idea seemed to flit across Laura's 
 mind, that this could not be a stranger : she there- 
 fore very eagerly felt her hands, while her counte- 
 nance assumed an expression of intense interest ; 
 she became very pale, and then suddenly red ; 
 hope seemed struggling with doubt and anxiety, 
 and never were contending emotions more strongly 
 depicted upon the human face. At this moment 
 of painful uncertainty, the mother drew her close 
 to her side, and kissed her fondly, when at once 
 the truth flashed upon the child, and all mistrust 
 and anxiety disappeared from her face, as with an 
 expression of exceeding joy she eagerly nestled to 
 the bosom of her parent, and yielded herself to 
 her fond embraces. 
 
 After this, the beads were all unheeded ; the 
 playthings which were offered to her were utterly 
 disregarded ; her playmates, for whom but a mo- 
 ment before she gladly left the stranger, now 
 vainly strove to pull her from her mother ; and 
 though she yielded her usual instantaneous obedi- 
 ence to Dr. Howe's signal to follow him, it was evi- 
 dently with painful reluctance. She clung close to 
 him, as if bewildered and fearful ; and when, after 
 a moment, he took her to her mother, she sprang 
 to her arms, and clung to her with eager joy. 
 
 Dr. Howe had watched the whole scene with in- 
 tense interest, being desirous of learning from it 
 all he could of the workings of her mind ; but he 
 now left them to indulge, unobserved, those delicious 
 feelings, which those who have known a mother's 
 love, may conceive, but which cannot be expressed. 
 
 The subsequent parting between Laura and her 
 mother, showed alike the affection, the intelli- 
 gence and the resolution of the child ; and was 
 thus noticed at the time : 
 
 "Laura accompanied her mother to the door, 
 clinging close to her all the way, untill they ar- 
 rived at the threshold, where she paused and felt 
 around, to ascertain who was near her. Perceiv- 
 ing the matron, of whom she is very fond, she 
 grasped her vrith one hand, holding on convul- 
 sively to her mother with the other, and thus she 
 stood for a moment ; then she dropped her mo- 
 ther's hand — put her handkerchief to her eyes, 
 and turning round, clung sobbing to the matron, 
 while her mother departed, with emotions as deep 
 as those of her child." 
 
 (1841.) It was remarkable that she could dis- 
 tinguish different degrees of intellect in others, 
 and that she soon regarded almost with contempt, 
 a new comer, when, after a few days, she disco- 
 vered her weakness of mind. This unamiable part 
 of her character has been more strongly developed 
 during the past year. 
 
 She chooses for her friends and companions, 
 those children who are intelligent, and can talk 
 best with her ; and she evidently dislikes to be 
 with those who are deficient in intellect, unless, 
 indeed, she can make them serve her purposes, 
 which she is evidently inclined to do. She takes 
 advantage of them, and makes them wait upon 
 her, in a manner that she knows she could not 
 exact of others ; and in various ways she shows 
 her Anglo-Saxon blood. 
 
 She is fond of having other children noticed and 
 caressed by the teachers, and those whom she re- 
 spects ; but this must not be carried too far, or 
 she becomes jealous. She wants to have her 
 share, which, if not the lion's, is the greater part ; 
 and if she does not get it, she says, " My mother 
 will love me." 
 
 Her tendency to imitation is so strong, that it 
 leads her to actions which must be entirely incom- 
 prehensible to her, and which can give her no 
 other pleasure than the gratification of an internal 
 faculty.^ She has been known to sit for half an 
 hour, holding a book before her sightless eyes, 
 and moving her lips, as she has observed seeing 
 people do when reading. 
 
 She one day pretended that her doU was sick ; 
 and went through all the motions of tending it, 
 and giving it medicine ; she then put it carefully 
 to bed, and placed a bottle of hot water to its feet, 
 laughing all the time most heartily. When Dr. 
 Howe came home, she insisted upon his going to 
 see it, and feel its pulse ; and when he told her to 
 put a blister to its back, she seemed to enjoy it 
 amazingly, and almost screamed with delight. 
 
 Her social feelings, and her affections, are very 
 strong ; and when she is sitting at work, or at her 
 studies, by the side of one of her little friends, she 
 will break off from her task every few moments, 
 to hug and kiss her vrith an earnestness and 
 warmth, which is touching to behold. 
 
 When left alone, she occupies and apparently 
 amuses herself, and seems quite contented ; and 
 so strong seems to be the natural tendency of 
 thought to put on the garb of language, that she 
 often soliloquizes in the finger language, slow and 
 tedious as it is. But it is only when alone, that 
 she is quiet ; for if she becomes sensible of the 
 presence of any persons near her, she is restless 
 until she can sit close beside them, hold their 
 hand, and converse with them by signs. 
 
 She does not cry from vexation and disappoint- 
 ment, like other children, but only from grief. If 
 she receives a blow by accident, or hurts herself, 
 she laughs and jumps about, as if trying to drown 
 the pain by muscular action. If the pain is severe, 
 she does not go to her teachers or companions for 
 sympathy, but on the contrary tries to get away 
 by herself, and then seems to give vent to a feel- 
 ing of spite, by throwing herself about violently, 
 and roughly handling whatever she gets holds of. 
 
 Twice, only, have tears been drawn from her by 
 the severity of pain, and then she ran away from 
 the room, as if ashamed of crying for an accidental 
 injury. But the fountain of her tears is by no 
 means dried up, as is seen when her companions 
 are in pain, or her teacher is grieved. 
 
 595 
 
BE, 
 
 BR 
 
 In her intellectual character, it is pleasing to 
 observe an insatiable thirst for knowledge, and a 
 quick perception of the relations of things. In her 
 moral character, it is beautiful to behold her con- 
 tinual gladness — her keen enjoyment of exist- 
 ence — her expansive love — her unhesitating con- 
 fidence — her sympathy with suffering — her con- 
 scientiousness, truthfulness, and hopefulness. 
 
 She is remarkably correct in her deportment; 
 and few children of her age evince so much sense 
 of propriety in regard to appearance. Never, by 
 any possibility, is she seen out of her room with 
 her dress disordered ; and if by chance any spot 
 of dirt is pointed out to her on her person, or any 
 little rent in her dress, she discovers a sense of 
 shame, and hastens to remove, or repair it. 
 
 She is never discovered in an attitude or an 
 action at which the most fastidious would revolt ; 
 but is remarkable for neatness, order, and pro- 
 priety. 
 
 There is one fact which is hard to explain in 
 any way ; viz. , the difference of her deportment to 
 persons of different sex. This was observable 
 when she was only seven years old. She is very 
 affectionate ; and when with her friends of her 
 own sex, she is constantly clinging to them, and 
 often kissing and caressing them ; and when she 
 meets with strange ladies, she very soon becomes 
 familiar, examines very freely their dress, and 
 readily allows them to caress her. But with those 
 of the other sex it is entirely different, and she 
 repels every approach to familiarity. 
 
 Laura has often amused herself during the past 
 year, (1846,) by little exercises in composition. 
 The following story, written during the absence 
 of her teacher, will serve as a specimen of her 
 use of language. The last sentence, though not 
 grammatical, may be considered as the moral, and 
 a very good moral of the whole. 
 
 "THE OOOD-NATnRED OIKL — ■ 
 
 "Lucy was nearly nine years old. She had 
 excellent parents. She always did with alacrity 
 what her mother requested her to do She told 
 Lucy when it was time for her to go to school ; so 
 Lucy ran and put on her bonnet and shawl and 
 then went back to her mama She offered Lucy a 
 basket containing some pie and cake for luncheon. 
 And Lucy went precisely at schooltime and when 
 she got fo the house she took her own seat and 
 began to study diligently with all the children 
 And she always conformed to her teachers wishes 
 — In recess she took luncheon out of her basket 
 but she gave some of it to her mates — Lucy had 
 some books with pictures and slate in her desk — 
 
 " When she went home she found that dinner 
 was all ready — Afterwards her mother took her 
 to take tea with her friends. Lucy was much de- 
 lighted to play with her little cousin Lucy and 
 Helen ; and they let her see their play things. 
 After tea Lucy was sorry to depart; and when 
 she went to bed she thought that she had made it 
 pleasantly to all her friends with little joyful 
 heart." 
 
 Laura keeps a sort of diary, in which she writes 
 with her own hand an account of what passes I 
 
 every day. It is generally a bald narration of the. 
 facts ; but an extract will give an idea of her 
 daily routine of study. The diary is generally 
 very legibly written. We will transcribe a day's 
 record, exactly as she wrote it, with her spelling 
 and punctuation, putting any explanations that 
 may be necessary in brackets. The only altera- 
 tion is in the use of capitals, which she has never 
 been taught to make. 
 
 " SIXTH OF JAN TUESDAY. 
 
 " I studied arithmetic before my breakfast. Af- 
 terwards Miss Wight was occupied for Dr. till 
 quarter to ten. Then she read to me about Bible. 
 Abraham went to live in the city Gerar. He and 
 his wife lived in the western corner of Palestine 
 place [country]. But his son Isaac was very kind 
 to comfort his parents when they grew old [.] 
 Isaac was always good to take care of them and 
 made them feel very happy. Abraham thanked 
 God for his kindness exceedingly. 
 
 " Wight taught me two more lessons geography 
 and history. Putnam was a farmer who was plough- 
 ing his land with the cattle in a field. When tid- 
 ings were brought to him of a battle at Lexington 
 he did not stop to unhartness the cattle but ran 
 very rapidly to his home and went to live in Bos- 
 ton. In a few weeks thirty thousand of soldiers 
 arrived to Boston. Most of them had no cannons 
 nor leads nor guns. And the British went to 
 Bunker Hill from Boston to attack the Americans 
 and expel them away when they were going to 
 fire upon them. And when the British saw them 
 ready they were surprised." 
 
 Her store of knowledge has been very much in- 
 creased during the last year. It will be seen, too, 
 that she has improved in the use of language ; 
 and when it is considered that other deaf mutes 
 have as great advantage over her as we have over 
 them, if not greater, her style will bear compari- 
 son with theirs. 
 
 She has become somewhat more thoughtful and 
 sedate than formerly, though she is generally very 
 cheerful, and sometimes displays a childish hu- 
 mour that shows her age is to be measured by the 
 degrees of her mental development, rather than 
 by the number of years that she has lived. 
 
 She has extended the circle of her acquaintance, 
 and has endeared herself to many persons who 
 have learned to converse with her. It is the 
 earnest hope of all that her life may be pro- 
 longed, and that we may be enabled to do our 
 duty to her and to ourselves by making it as 
 happy and useful as possible. 
 
 » * * « * 
 
 (1850.) Her progress has been a curious and 
 an interesting spectacle. She has come into hu- 
 man society with a sort of triumphal march ; her 
 course has been a perpetual ovation. Thousands 
 have been watching her with eager eyes, and ap- 
 plauding each successful step, while she, all un- 
 conscious of their gaze, holding on to the slender 
 thread, and feeling her way along, has advanced 
 with faith and courage towards those who awaited 
 her with trembling hope. Nothing shows more 
 than her case the importance which, despite their 
 
 596 
 
BR 
 
 BR 
 
 useless waste of human life and human capacity, 
 men really attach to a human soul. They owe to 
 her something for furnishing an opportunity of 
 showing how much goodness their is in them; 
 for surely the way in which she has been regarded 
 is creditable to humanity. 
 
 BRONTE, CHARLOTTE, 
 Known to the literary world as Cukebb Bell, 
 author of "Jane Eyre," and "Shirley," has won 
 a wide celebrity, and deserves, for her original 
 genius, a high place among living female writers, 
 she is daughter of a clergyman, the Rev. Patrick 
 Bronte, who holds the livings of Haworth and 
 Bradford, in Yorkshire. Miss Bronte has been 
 engaged in what we consider the noblest pursuit 
 of woman — she has been an instructress. To 
 judge from the hints scattered through her works, 
 she is an excellent teacher, or rather was, for her 
 days of governessing are now over. Residing 
 with her father, she devotes herself to literary 
 pursuits. Like Minerva of old. Miss Bronte burst 
 forth on the world complete for her part ; her first 
 work placed her among celebrated novel writers. 
 Yet we hope she has better and holier treasures of 
 wisdom yet in store for those who will eagerly read 
 whatever falls from her pen. To make our mean- 
 ing clear, we will briefly but candidly express our 
 opinion of her novels. 
 
 Perhaps no work of fiction has, for the last 
 twenty years, so fastened on its readers, or taken 
 so large a place in public estimation, as "Jane 
 Eyre." Vigour, animation, originality, an inte- 
 rest that never flags, must be conceded to it ; the 
 style is far from being invulnerable to criticism,— 
 yet it has its own charm : its faults are often such 
 as "true critics would not mend," imparting a 
 piquancy and individuality to the narrative. We 
 do not reckon among these " failings that lean to 
 virtue's side," certain Gallicisms that occasionally 
 appear, being decidedly opposed to all " confusion 
 of tongues." But the hero of this book, Mr. 
 Rochester, is a personage utterly distasteful and 
 disagreeable. We are told of his fine eyes, and 
 good understanding — the last is, however, never 
 exhibited in action ; and except these, no beauty, 
 moral or physical, is anywhere attributed to him. 
 We are not so " superfluous" as to require a rea- 
 son for Jane's falling in love with him — we will 
 grant the power of the blind god to inspire an in- 
 genuous girl of eighteen with a passion for a 
 coarse, rude, unamiable, ill-looking, blas6 rou^ of 
 forty ; but the sort of feeling she is described as 
 entertaining for Mr. Rochester is altogether un- 
 natural, impossible, — and if it were possible, 
 would be revolting. Any true sentiment of love 
 must naturally be confiding, more especially in 
 the breast of an unsophisticated young woman; 
 here we have a girl singularly ignorant of life, 
 whose knowledge of her own sex has been limited 
 to the uniformly moulded habits of inexperienced 
 school-girls, whose knowledge of man has been 
 entirely derived from books, whose knowledge 
 of books has been taken chiefly from those of a 
 didactic nature ; — we see this damsel, at the very 
 moment of receiving her lover's vows in all their 
 
 freshness, — very coolly reducing them to the most 
 frigid standard of reasoning, and seriously pre- 
 dicting to him how all this romance will gradually 
 abate, and how marriage will prove a sedative to 
 his fervent afl'eotion. Just as a grandmother might 
 have Vfished to moderate the too great enthusiasm 
 of youthful expectation, by taking the pencil of 
 sage experience to sketch the brevity of human 
 passion. 
 
 As to the chapters which immediately follow 
 Mr. Rochester's most singularly managed declara- 
 tion of love, they have the air of being a contribu- 
 tion from some male friend — and one, we must 
 add, who has been not much accustomed to the 
 society, and habits of thought, of refined women. 
 Unprincipled men have been known to attempt a • 
 seduction, or failing in this, to propose marriage 
 to .their intended victims ; the author of this book 
 has devised a scheme of entire originality; Mr. 
 Rochester offers marriage, and when that cannot 
 be accomplished, deliberately tries to undermine 
 the principles, and sacrifice the reputation of the 
 woman he professes to love. Jane Eyre is a book 
 which has fascinated so many young readers, and 
 is written with such power, that we deem it right 
 to censure most unsparingly the perverse sophis- 
 tications it contains. Mr. Rochester's infamous de- 
 signs, instead of inspiring Jane with resentment, 
 are looked upon as excusable, and as resulting 
 from unfortunate circumstances. Is virtue then 
 to lose her essence, under any circumstances ? Is 
 it not the very condition of her nature to support 
 extraordinary trials — and be virtue still ! 
 
 Mr. Rochester had in youth made a sordid mar- 
 riage of convenience, in which his heart was not at 
 all engaged. Such marriages usually turn out ill ; 
 Mr. Rochester's proved of the very worst sort; 
 his wife became a maniac, and he was obliged to 
 seclude her for life. This state of things, he con- 
 ceived, justified him in spending his early man- 
 liood in a course of avowed immorality and con- 
 tinual dissipation. The gratifications of vice are 
 palling; tired of opera-dancers, he felt himself 
 permitted to try a new crime, — to ruin the cha- 
 racter and principles of an innocent young girl, 
 placed under the protection of his roof by circum- 
 stances. All this he explains in a way, that ap- 
 pears to convince Jane that he is rather more to 
 be pitied than condemned. And yet she did not 
 fall : the author has here shown wonderful power 
 in depicting the struggle of Jane, not only with 
 the ungovernable passions of Mr. Rochester, but 
 also with her own deep, heart-enthralling love for 
 him. The pure instinct of virtue did not fail her ; 
 and as a discriminating critic of her own coun- 
 try has remarked: — She was, in that trial, "a 
 noble, high-souled woman, bound to us by tjie 
 reality of her sorrow, and yet raised above us by 
 the strength of her will, she stands in actual life 
 before us. If this be Jane Eyre, the author has 
 done her injustice hitherto, not we. Look at her 
 in the first recognition of her sorrow after the dis- 
 comfiture of the marriage. True, it is not the 
 attitude of a Christian, who knows that all things 
 work together for good to those who love God, 
 but it is a splendidly drawn picture of a natural 
 
 597 
 
BR 
 
 BR 
 
 heart, of high power, intense feeling, and fine reli- 
 gions instinct, falling prostrate, but not grovelling 
 before the tremendous blast of sudden affliction." 
 
 Among the other characters of this work are 
 some very excellent and well sketched, — that of 
 Miss Temple is perfectly charming, — and many 
 touches in Helen Burns are exquisite. — As to the 
 "fine people" assembled at Thomfleld, they may 
 be accurate delineations of British gentry ; very 
 certainly they do in no respect accord with our 
 ois-Atlantic ideas of high-bred men and women. 
 In these conversational matters, however, every 
 age and every nation has its own laws: — "What 
 can we reason but from what we know?" An au- 
 thor can merely describe as to manners and cus- 
 toms what is proper to his own country. An 
 American writer would be very ridiculous were 
 she to describe a young lady of fashion, or of 
 no fashion in a "morning-robe of sky-blue crape, 
 and a gauzy scarf twisted in her hair," hectoring 
 her mother, and assuming the rude school-boy 
 style of conversation, in which Miss Ingram in- 
 dulges ; but it may be that " they do these things 
 difi'erently in England." 
 
 After passing censure which seemed due, upon 
 what is unsound in Jane Eyre, we are happy to 
 notice a very commendable portion of the book, 
 a digression certainly from the story, but in itself 
 tending to utility, admirably conceived and per- 
 fectly well executed : this is the episode of her 
 school in the parish of St. John Rivers. Works 
 enough we have, and to spare, upon education, the 
 education of ladies and gentlemen, the polishing 
 and strengthening "the Corinthian columns." — 
 Miss Bronte gives us a homely sketch of what may 
 be effected by an intelligent woman, in awakening 
 the torpidity of those classes of her sex to' whom 
 knowledge has but few opportunities of " unroll- 
 ing her ample page." She shows, that there are 
 things besides a little learning, the germs of 
 which lie in every female bosom, as well in that 
 of the rural milkmaid, as in hers who is the cyno- 
 sure of the opera-box — things which by a little 
 timely culture, will embellish the cottage as well 
 as the castle, — " make the rough paths of peevish 
 nature even, and open in each breast a little 
 heaven." Order, industry, neatness, courtesy, and 
 kindness of spirit, are suitable to all conditions of 
 life, and may be inculcated with, or without " the 
 useful and ornamental branches of an English 
 education." This moral of Jane Eyre has already 
 produced good results ; we find subsequent think- 
 ers are turning their attention to this very point, 
 and the next step, we hope, will be for the doers to 
 act upon it. The female sex must be educated, 
 and become fit for educators, before the world will 
 make much progress in moral wisdom. 
 
 ''Shirley" is quite exempt from the serious 
 faults of "Jane Eyre." We consider it a more 
 valuable work. It has not the like intense inte- 
 rest which makes it difficult to lay it aside till it 
 is finished; it has some superfluous personages 
 whose portraits are but incumbrances; yet it is 
 replete with wit, has much original and striking 
 thought, and is written with a free, bold spirit, 
 that charms by its spontaneous vigour. The three 
 
 curates are capitally described. Shirley herself, 
 though a fine, spirited, sensible woman, is rather 
 too "mannish;" but Caroline is charming, and 
 has only that fault which is common to all Miss 
 Bronte's heroines, submitting to too much indig- 
 nity from her lover. Is this a Yorkshire or an 
 English characteristic of young women ? 
 
 Miss Bronte cannot be too highly praised for 
 her power of describing natural aspects of the 
 country. It is what many aim at, and what hard- 
 ly any one succeeds in accomplishing. In general, 
 such pictures are vague and \inreadable ; but her 
 landscapes and atmospheres are with you; you see 
 them, feel them, and are also affected by them. 
 
 From " Jane Eyre." 
 
 LOWOOD SOENEET. 
 
 But the privations, or rather the hardships, of 
 Lowood lessened. Spring drew on ; she was, in- 
 deed, already come ; the frosts of winter had 
 ceased ; its snows were melted ; its cutting winds 
 ameliorated. My wretched feet, flayed and swell- 
 ed to lameness by the sharp air of January, began 
 to heal and subside under the gentler breathings 
 of April. The nights and mornings no longer, by 
 their Canadian temperature, froze the very blood 
 in our veins ; we could now endure the play-hour 
 passed in the garden. Sometimes, on a sunny 
 day, it began even to be pleasant and genial ; and 
 a greenness grew over those brown beds which, 
 freshening daily, suggested the thought that Hope 
 traversed them at night, and left each morning 
 brighter traces of her steps. Flowers peeped out 
 among the leaves — snowdrops, crocuses, purple 
 auriculas, and golden-eyed pansies. On Thurs- 
 day afternoons (half holydays) we now took walks,- 
 and found still sweeter flowers opening by the 
 wayside, under the hedges. 
 
 I discovered, too, that a great pleasure — an 
 enjoyment which the horizon only bounded — lay 
 all outside the high and spike-guarded walls of our 
 garden. This pleasure consisted in a prospect of 
 noble summits girding a great hill-hollow, rich in 
 verdure and shadow; in a bright beck, fuU of ' 
 dark stones and sparkling eddies. How different 
 had this scene looked when I viewed it laid out 
 beneath the iron sky of winter, stiffened in frost, 
 shrouded with snow — when mists as still as death 
 wandered to the impulse of east winds along those 
 purple peaks, and rolled down "ing" and holm 
 till they blended with the frozen fog of the beck! 
 That beck itself was then a torrent, turbid and 
 curbless ; it tore asunder the wood, and sent a 
 raving sound through the air, often thickened with 
 wild rain or whirling sleet ; and for the forest on 
 its banks, that showed only ranks of skeletons. 
 
 April advanced to May. A bright, serene May 
 it was ; days of blue sky, placid sunshine, and soft 
 western or southern gales filled up its duration. 
 And now vegetation matured with vigour : Lo- 
 wood shook loose its tresses ; it became all green, 
 all flowery ; its great elm, ash, and oak skeletons 
 were restored to majestic life ; woodland plants 
 sprung up profusely in its recesses ; unnumbered 
 varieties of moss filled its hollows ; and it made a 
 strange ground-sunshine out of the wealth of its 
 
 598 
 
BR 
 
 BR 
 
 wild primrose plants ; I have seen tlieir pale gold 
 gleam, in overshadowed spots, like scatterings of 
 the sweetest lustre. All this I enjoyed often and 
 fully, free, unwatched, and almost alone ; for this 
 unwonted liberty and pleasure there was a cause, 
 to which it now hecomes my task to advert. 
 
 THE MEETING. 
 
 The ground was hard, the air was still, my road 
 was lonely ; I walked fast till I got warm, and 
 then I walked slowly to enjoy and analyze the spe- 
 cies of pleasure brooding for me in the hour and 
 situation. It was three o'clock; the ohurch-bell 
 tolled as I passed under the belfry : the charm of 
 ' the hour lay in its approaching dimness, in the 
 low-gliding and pale-beaming sun. I was a mile 
 from Thornfield, in a lane noted for wild roses in 
 summer, for nuts and blackberries in autumn, and 
 even now possessing a few coral treasures in hips 
 and haws ; but whose best winter delight lay in its 
 utter solitude and leafless repose. If a breath of 
 air stirred, it made no sound here ; for there was 
 not a holly, not an evergreen to rustle, and the 
 stripped hawthorn and hazel bushes were as still 
 as the white, worn stones which causewayed the 
 middle of the path. Far and wide, on each side, 
 there were only fields, where no cattle now browsed ; 
 and the little brown birds which stirred occasion- 
 ally in the hedge looked like single russet leaves 
 that had forgotten to drop. 
 
 This lane inclined up-hill all the way to Hay : 
 having reached the middle, I sat down on a stile 
 which led thence into a field. Gathering my man- 
 tle about me and sheltering my hands in my muff, 
 I did not feel the cold, though it froze keenly — as 
 was attested by a sheet of ice covering the cause- 
 way, where a little brooklet, now congealed, had 
 overflowed after a rapid thaw some days since. 
 From my seat I could look down on Thornfield : 
 the grey and battlemented hall was the principal 
 object in the vale below me ; its woods and dark 
 rookery rose against the west. I lingered till the 
 sun went down among the trees, and sunk crim- 
 son and clear behind them. I turned eastward. 
 
 On the hill-top above me sat the rising moon ; 
 pale yet as a cloud, but brightening momently ; 
 she looked over Hay, which, half lost in trees, 
 sent up a blue smoke from its few chimneys ; it 
 was yet a mile distant, but in the absolute hush I 
 could hear plainly its thin murmurs of life. My 
 ear, too, felt the flow of currents ; in what dales 
 and depths I could not tell : but there were many 
 hills beyond Hay, and doubtless many becks thread- 
 ing their passes. That evening-calm betrayed alike 
 the tinkle of the nearest streams, the sough of the 
 most remote. 
 
 A rude noise broke on these fine ripplings and 
 whisperings, at once so far away and so clear : a 
 positive tramp, tramp ; a metallic clatter, which 
 effaced the soft wave-wanderings ; as, in a pic- 
 ture, the solid mass of a crag, or the rough boles 
 of a great oak, drawn in .dark and strong on the 
 foreground, efface the aerial distance of azure hill, 
 sunny horizon and blended clouds, where tint 
 melts into tint. 
 
 The din was on the causeway: a horse was 
 
 coming ; the windings of the lane yet hid it, but 
 it approached. I was just leaving the stile ; yet 
 as the path was narrow, I sat still to let it go by. 
 In those days I was young, and all sorts of fancies, 
 bright and dark, tenanted my mind ; the memo- 
 ries of nursery stories were there among other rub- 
 bish ; and when they recurred, maturing youth 
 added to them a vigour and vividness beyond what 
 childhood could give. As this horse approached, 
 and as I watched for it to appear through the dusk, 
 I remembered certain of Bessie's tales wherein 
 figured a North of England spirit, called a " Gy- 
 trash ;" which, in the form of horse, mule, or 
 large dog, haunted solitary ways, and sometimes 
 came upon belated travellers, as this horse was 
 now coming upon me. 
 
 It was very near, but not yet in sight, when, in 
 addition to the tramp, tramp, I heard a rush un- 
 der the hedge, and close down by the hazel stems 
 glided a great dog, whose black and white colour 
 made him a distinct object against the trees. It 
 was exactly one mask of Bessie's " Gytrash" — a 
 lion-like creature with long hair and a huge head : 
 it passed me, however, quietly enough ; not stay- 
 ing to look up, with strange pretercanine eyes, in 
 my face, as I half expected it would. The horse 
 followed — a tall steed, and on its back a rider. 
 The man, the human being, broke the spell at 
 once. Nothing ever rode the "Gytrash:" it was 
 always alone ; and goblins, to my notions, though 
 they might tenant the dumb carcasses of beasts, 
 could scarce covet shelter in the common-place 
 human form. No "Gytrash" was this — only a 
 traveller taking the short cut to Millcote. He 
 passed, and I went on ; a few steps, and I turned : 
 a sliding sound and an exclamation of "What the 
 deuce is to do now ?" and a clattering tumble ar- 
 rested my attention. Man and horse were down ; 
 they had slipped on the sheet of ice which glazed 
 the causeway. The dog came bounding back, and 
 seeing his master in a predicament, and hearing 
 the horse groan, barked till the evening hills 
 echoed the sound ; which was deep in proportion 
 to his magnitude. He snuffed round the prostrate 
 group, and then he ran up to me ; it was all he 
 could do — there was no other help at hand to 
 summon. I obeyed him, and walked down to the 
 traveller, by this time struggling himself free of 
 his steed. His efforts were so vigorous, I thought 
 he could not be much hurt ; but I asked him the 
 question — 
 
 " Are you injured, sir?" 
 
 I think he was swearing, but am not certain ; 
 however, he was pronouncing some formula which 
 prevented him from replying to me directly. 
 
 "Can I do anything?" I asked again. 
 
 "You must just stand on one side," he an- 
 swered, as he rose first to his knees, and then to 
 his feet. I did ; whereupon began i a heaving, 
 stamping, clattering process, accompanied by a 
 barking and baying, which removed me effectually 
 some yards distance : but I would not be driven 
 quite away till I saw the event. This was finally 
 fortunate; the horse was re-established, and the 
 dog was silenced with a "Down, Pilot!" The 
 traveller now stooping, felt his foot and leg, as if 
 
 599 
 
BR 
 
 BR 
 
 trying whether they were sound ; apparently some- 
 thing ailed them, for he halted to the stile whence 
 I had just risen, and sat down. 
 
 I was in the mood for being useful, or at least 
 
 officious, I think, for I now drew near him again. 
 
 " If you are hurt, and want help, sir, I can fetch 
 
 some one, either from Thornfield Hall or from 
 
 Hay." 
 
 "Thank you; I shall do: I have no broken 
 bones — only a sprain;" and again he stood up 
 and tried his foot, but the result extorted an invo- 
 luntary " Ugh !" 
 
 Something of daylight still lingered, and the 
 moon was waxing bright ; I could see him plainly. 
 His figure was enveloped in a riding-cloak, fur- 
 collared, and steel-clasped ; its details were not 
 apparent, but I traced the general points of mid- 
 dle height, and considerable breadth of chest. He 
 had a dark face, with stern features and a heavy 
 brow ; his eyes and gathered eyebrows looked ire- 
 ful and thwarted just now ; he was past youth, 
 but had not reached middle age : perhaps he might 
 be thirty-five. I felt no fear of him, and but little 
 shyness. Had he been a handsome, heroic-look- 
 ing young gentleman, I should not have dared to 
 stand thus questioning him against his will, and 
 offering my services unasked. I had hardly ever 
 seen a handsome youth ; never in my life spoken 
 to one. I had a theoretical reverence and homage 
 for beauty, elegance, gallantry, fascination ; but 
 had I met those qualities incarnate in masculine 
 shape, I should have known instinctively that they 
 neither had nor could have sympathy with any- 
 thing in me, and should have shunned them as one 
 would fire, lightning, or any thing else that is 
 bright but antipathetic. 
 
 If even this stranger had smiled and been good- 
 humoured to me when I addressed him ; if he had 
 put off my offer of assistance gayly and. with 
 thanks, I should have gone on my way and not 
 felt any vocation to renew enquiries ; but the 
 frown, the roughness of the traveller set me at my 
 ease ; I retained my station when he waved me to 
 ■go, and announced — 
 
 " I cannot think of leaving you, sir, at so late 
 an hour, in this solitary lane, till I see you are fit 
 to mount your horse." 
 
 He looked at me when I said this : he had hard- 
 ly turned his eyes in my direction before. 
 
 " I should think you ought to be at home your- 
 self," said he, "if you have a home in this neigh- 
 bourhood ; where do you come from ?" 
 
 " From just below ; and I am not at all afraid 
 of being out late when it is moonlight: I will run 
 over to Hay for you with pleasure, if you wish 
 it — indeed, I am going there to post a letter." 
 
 "You live just below — do you mean at that 
 house with the battlements '!" pointing to Thorn- 
 field Hall, on which the moon cast a hoary gleam, 
 bringing it out distinct and pale from the woods, 
 that, by contrast with the western sky, now 
 seemed one mass of shadow. 
 " Yes, sir." 
 "Whose house is it?" 
 "Mr. Rochester's." 
 " Do you know Mr. Rochester?" 
 
 " No, I have never seen him." 
 
 " He is not resident then ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Can you tell me where he is ?" 
 
 " I can not." 
 
 " You are not a servant at the Hall, of course? 
 You are — " He stopped, ran his eye over my 
 dress, which as usual, was quite simple : a black 
 merino cloak, a black beaver bonnet ; neither of 
 them half fine enough for a lady's maid. He 
 seemed puzzled to decide what I was : I helped him. 
 
 "I am the governess!" 
 
 "Ah, the governess!" Ire repeated; "deuce 
 take me if I had not forgotten ! The governess I" 
 and again my raiment underwent scrutiny. 
 
 THE PARTING. 
 
 " I used to enjoy a chance meeting with you, 
 Jane," said Mr. Rochester, " at this time; there 
 was a curious hesitation in your manner; you 
 glanced at me with a slight trouble — a hovering 
 doubt ; you did not know what my caprice might 
 be— whether I was going to play the master, and 
 be stern — or the friend, and be benignant. I 
 was now too fond of you often to stimulate the 
 first whim ; and, when I stretched my hand out 
 cordially, such bloom, and light, and bliss rose to 
 your young, wistful features, I had much ado 
 often to avoid straining you then and there to my 
 heart." 
 
 " Don't talk any more of those days, sir," I in- 
 terrupted, furtively dashing away some tears from 
 my eyes : his language was torture to me ; for I 
 knew what I must do — and do soon — and all 
 these reminiscences, and these revelations of his 
 feelings, only made my work more difficult. 
 
 "No, Jane," he returned; "what necessity is 
 there to dwell on the Past, when the Present is so 
 much surer — the Future so much brighter?" 
 I shuddered to hear the infatuated assertion. 
 "You see now how the case stands^ do you 
 not?" he continued. "After a youth and man- 
 hood, passed half in unutterable misery and half 
 in dreary solitude, I have for the first time found 
 what I can truly love — I have found you. You 
 are my sympathy — my better self — my good 
 angel — I am bound to you with a strong attach- 
 ment. I think you good, gifted, lovely ; a fervent, 
 a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it 
 leans to you, draws you to my centre and spring 
 of life, wraps my existence about you — and kind- 
 ling in pure and powerful flame, fuses you and me 
 in one. 
 
 " It was because I felt and knew this, that I 
 resolved to marry you. To tell me that I had al- 
 ready a wife is empty mockery ; you know now 
 that I had but a hideous demon. I was wrong to 
 attempt to deceive you ; but I feared a stubborn- 
 ness that exists in your character. I feared early 
 instilled prejudice ; I wanted to have you safe be- 
 fore hazarding confidences. This was cowardly ; 
 I should have appealed to your nobleness and 
 magnanimity at first, as I do now — opened to you 
 plainly my life of agony — described to you my hun- 
 ger and thirst after a higher and worthier exist- 
 ence — shown to you not my resolution (that word iB 
 
 600 
 
BR 
 
 BR 
 
 weak) but my resistless bent to love faithfully and 
 well, where I am faithfully and well loved in re- 
 turn. Then I should have asked you to accept my 
 pledge of fidelity, and to give me yours : Jane — 
 give it me now." 
 
 A pause. 
 
 " Why are you silent, Jane ?" 
 
 I was experiencing an ordeal ; a hand of fiery 
 iron grasped my vitals. Terrible moment ; full of 
 struggle, blackness, burning ! Not a human be- 
 ing that ever lived could wish to be loved better 
 than I was loved ; and him who thus loved me I 
 absolutely worshipped : and I must renounce love 
 and idol. One drear word comprised my intoler- 
 able duty — " Depart !" 
 
 " Jane, you understand what I want of you ? 
 Just this promise — ' I will be yours, Mr. Roches- 
 ter.' " 
 
 " Mr. Rochester, I will not be yours." 
 
 Another long silence. 
 
 "Jane!" recommenced he, with a gentleness 
 that broke me down with grief, and turned me 
 stone-cold with ominous terror — for this still voice 
 was the pant of a lion rising — "Jane, do you 
 mean to go one way in the world, and to let me 
 go another!" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "Jane (bending toward and embracing me), do 
 you mean it now ?" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 " And now !" softly kissing my forehead and 
 cheek. 
 
 "I do — " extricating myself from restraint ra- 
 pidly and completely. 
 
 " Oh, Jane, this is bitter ! This — this is wick- 
 ed. It would not be wicked to love me." 
 
 " It would to obey you." 
 
 A wild look raised his brows — crossed his fea- 
 tures: he rose, but he forbore yet. I laid my 
 hand on the back of a chair for support ; I shook, 
 I feared — but I resolved. 
 
 "One instant, Jane. Give one glance to my 
 horrible life when you are gone. All happiness 
 will be torn away with you. What then is left ? 
 For a wife I have but the maniac up stairs ; as 
 well might you refer me to some corpse in yonder 
 church-yard. What shall I do, Jane? Where 
 turn for a companion, and for hope ?" 
 
 " Do as I do ; trust in God and yourself. Be- 
 lieve in Heaven. Hope to meet again there." 
 
 " Then you will not yield ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Then you condemn me to live wretched, and 
 to die accursed 1" His voice rose. 
 
 " I advise you to live sinless; and I wish you 
 to die tranquil." 
 
 " Then you snatch love and innocence from me ? 
 You fling me back on lust for a passion — vice for 
 an occupation ?" 
 
 " Mr. Rochester, I no more assign this fate to 
 you than I grasp at it for myself We were born 
 to strive and endure — you as well as I; do so. 
 You will forget me before I forget you." 
 
 " You make me a liar by such language ; you 
 sully my honour. I declared I could not change ; 
 you tell me to my face I shall change soon. And 
 
 what a distortion in your judginent, what a per- 
 versity in your ideas, is proved by your conduct ? 
 Is it better to drive a fellow-creature to despair 
 than to transgress a mere human law — no man 
 being injured by the breach ? for you have neither 
 relatives nor acquaintances whom you need fear to 
 offend by living with me." 
 
 This was true; and while he spoke my very 
 conscience and reason turned traitors against me, 
 and charged me with crime in resisting him. They 
 spoke almost as loud as feeling, and that clamour- 
 ed wildly. "Oh, comply!" it said. " Think of 
 his misery, think of his danger, look at his state 
 when left alone ; remember his headlong nature, 
 consider the recklessness following on despair; 
 soothe him, save him, love him : tell him you love 
 him and will be his. Who in the world cares for 
 you ? or who will be injured by what you do ?" 
 
 Still indomitable was the reply, " / care for my- 
 self. The more solitary, the more friendless, the 
 more unsustained I am, the more I will respect my- 
 self. I will keep the law given by God, sanctioned 
 by man. I will hold to the principles received 
 by me when I was sane, and not mad — as I am 
 now. Laws and principles are not for the times 
 when there is no temptation ; they are for such 
 moments as this, when body and soul rise in mu- 
 tiny against their rigour : stringent are they ; in- 
 violate they shall be. If at my individual conve- 
 nience I might break them, what would be their 
 worth ? They have a worth, so I have always 
 believed ; and if I cannot believe it now, it is be- 
 cause I am insane, quite insane, with my veins 
 running fire, and my heart beating faster than I 
 can count its throbs. Preconceived opinions, fore- 
 gone determinations, are all I have at this hour to 
 stand by ; there I plant my foot." 
 
 I did. Mr. Rochester, reading my countenance, 
 saw I had done so. His fury was wrought to the 
 highest ; he must yield to it for a moment, what- 
 ever followed ; he crossed the floor and seized my 
 arm, and grasped my waist. He seemed to de- 
 vour me with his flaming glance ; physically, I 
 felt, at the moment, powerless as stubble exposed 
 to the draught and glow of a furnace ; mentally I 
 still possessed my soul, and with it the certainty 
 of ultimate safety. The soul, fortunately, has an 
 interpreter — often an unconscious, but still a 
 truthful, interpreter — in the eye. My eye rose 
 to his, and while I looked in his fierce face, I gave 
 an involuntary sigh ; his gripe was painful, and 
 my overtasked strength almost exhausted. 
 
 "Never," said he, as he ground his teeth, 
 " never was any thing at once so frail and so in- 
 domitable. A mere reed she feels in my hand ! 
 (and he shook me with the force of his hold.) I 
 could bend her with my finger and thumb, and 
 what good would it do if I bent, if I uptore, if I 
 crushed her ? Consider that eye ; consider the 
 resolute, wild, free thing looking out of it, defy- 
 ing me, with more than courage, with a stern tri- 
 umph. Whatever I do with its cage, I cannot get 
 at it, the savage, beautiful creature ! If I tear, if 
 I rend the slight prison, my outrage will only let 
 the captive loose. Conqueror I might be of the 
 house, but the inmate would escape to heaven 
 
 601 
 
BR 
 
 BR 
 
 before I could call myself possessor of its clay 
 dwelling-place. And it is you, spirit, witli will 
 and energy, and virtue and purity, that I want ; 
 not alone your brittle frame. Of yourself, you 
 could come, with soft flight, and nestle against my 
 heart, if you would ; seized against your will, you 
 will elude the grasp like an essence ; you will 
 vanish ere I inhale your fraganoe. Oh ! come, 
 Jane, come !" 
 
 As he said this, he released me from his clutch, 
 and only looked at me. The look was far worse 
 to resist than the frantic strain ; only an idiot, 
 however, would have succumbed now. I had dared 
 and bafled ' his fury, I must elude his sorrow ; I 
 retired to the door. 
 
 " You are going, Jane ?" 
 
 " I am going, sir." 
 
 " You are leaving me ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " You will not come ? You will not be my com- 
 forter, my rescuer ? My deep love, my wild woe, 
 my frantic prayer, are all nothing to you ?" 
 
 What unutterable pathos was in his voice ! How 
 hard it was to reiterate firmly, " I am going." 
 
 " Jane !" 
 
 " Mr. Rochester." ^ 
 
 " Withdraw, then, I consent ; but remember, 
 you leave me here in anguish. Go up to your own 
 room ; think over all I have said, and, Jane, cast 
 a glance on my sufferings ; think of me." 
 
 He turned away, he threw himself on his face 
 on the sofa. " Oh, Jane ! my hope, my love, my 
 life !" broke in anguish from his lips. Then came 
 a deep, strong sob. 
 
 I had already gained the door, but, reader, I 
 walked back — walked back as determinedly as I 
 had retreated. I knelt down by him, I turned his 
 face from the cushion to me ; I- kissed his cheek, I 
 smoothed his hair with my hand. 
 
 " God bless you, my dear master," I said. 
 " God keep you from harm and wrong, direct you, 
 solace you, reward you well for your past kindness 
 to me." 
 
 "Little Jane's love would have been my best 
 reward," he answered; "without it, my heart is 
 broken. But Jane will give me her love ; yes, 
 nobly, generously." 
 
 Up the blood rushed to his face ; forth flashed 
 the fire from his eyes, erect he sprung, he held 
 his arms out, but I evaded the embrace, and at 
 once quitted the room. 
 
 " Farewell!" was the cry of my heart, as I left 
 him. Despair added, "Farewell, forever!" 
 ***** 
 
 MAEEIED LIFE. 
 
 I have now been married ten years. I know 
 what it is to live entirely for and with what I love 
 best on earth. I hold myself supremely blessed — 
 blessed beyond what language can express; be- 
 cause I am my husband's life as fully as he is 
 mine. No woman was ever nearer to her mate 
 than I am ; ever more absolute bone of his bone, 
 and flesh of his flesh. I know of no weariness of 
 my Edward's society ; he knows, none of mine, 
 any more than we each do of the pulsation of the 
 
 heart that beats in our separate bosoms ; conse- 
 quently, we are ever together. To be together is 
 for us to be at once as free as in solitude, as gay 
 as in company. We talk, I believe, all day long ; 
 to talk to each other is but a more animated and 
 "an audible thinking. All my confidence is be- 
 stowed on him ; all his confidence is devoted to 
 me ; we are precisely suited in character ; perfect 
 concord is the result. 
 
 From " Shirley." 
 SHIKLET AND CAKOLINE. 
 
 Shirley easily persuaded Caroline to go with 
 her ; and when they were fairly out on the quiet 
 road, traversing the extensive and solitary sweep 
 of Nuunely Common, she as easily drew her into 
 conversation. The first feelings of diffidence over- 
 come, Caroline soon felt glad to talk with Miss 
 Keeldar. The very first interchange of slight ob- 
 servations sufficed to give each an idea of what 
 the other was. Shirley said she liked the green 
 sweep of the Common turf, and, better still, the 
 heath on its ridges, for the heath reminded her of 
 moors : she had seen moors when she was travel- 
 ling on the borders of Scotland. She remembered 
 particularly a district traversed one long after- 
 noon, on a sultry but sunless day in summer: 
 they journeyed from noon till sunset, over what 
 seemed a boundless waste of deep heath, an9 
 nothing had they seen but wild sheep ; nothing 
 heard but cries of the wild birds. 
 
 " I know how the heath would look on such a 
 day," said Caroline; "purple-black: a deeper 
 shade of the sky-tint, and that would be livid." 
 
 "Yes — quite livid, with brassy edges to the 
 clouds, and here and there a white gleam, more 
 ghastly than the lurid tinge, wliich, as you looked 
 at it, you momentarily expected would kindle into 
 blinding lightning." 
 
 " Did it thunder ?" 
 
 " It muttered distant peals, but the storm did 
 not break till evening, after we had reached our 
 inn : that inn being an isolated house at the foot 
 of a range of mountains." 
 
 " Did you watch the clouds come down over the 
 mountains?" 
 
 " I did : I stood at the window an hour watch- 
 ing them. The hills seemed rolled in a sullen 
 mist, and when the rain fell in whitening sheets, 
 suddenly were blotted from the prospect: they 
 were washed from the world." 
 
 " I have seen such storms in hilly districts in 
 Yorkshire ; and at their riotous climax, while the 
 sky was all cataract, the earth all flood, I have 
 remembered the Deluge." 
 
 " It is singularly reviving after such hurricanes 
 to feel calm return, and from the opening clouds 
 to receive a consolatory gleam, softly testifying 
 that the sun is not quenched." 
 
 " Miss Keeldar, just stand still now, and look 
 down at Nunnely dale and wood." 
 
 They both halted on the green brow of the Com- 
 mon : they looked down on the deep valley robed 
 in May raiment ; on varied meads, some pearled 
 with daisies, and some golden with king-cups : to- 
 day all this young verdure smiled clear in sun- 
 
 602 
 
BR 
 
 BR 
 
 light ; transparent emerald and amter gleama play- 
 ed over it. On Nuuwood — the sole remnant of 
 antique British forest in a region whose lowlands 
 were once all sylvan chase, as its highlands were 
 breast-deep heather — slept the shadow of a cloud ; 
 the distant hills were dappled, the horizon was 
 shaded and tinted like mother-of-pearl; silvery 
 blues, soft purples, evanescent greens and rose- 
 shades, all melting into fleeces of white cloud, 
 pure as azury snow, allured the eye as with a re- 
 mote glimpse of heaven's foundations. The air 
 blowing on the brow was fresh, and sweet, and 
 bracing. 
 
 " Our England is a bonnie island," said Shirley, 
 " and Yorkshire is one of her bonniest nooks." 
 
 " You are a Yorkshire girl, too ?" 
 
 "I am — Yorkshire in blood and birth. Five 
 generations of my race sleep under the aisles of 
 Briarfleld Church : I drew my first breath in the 
 old black hall behind us." 
 
 Hereupon Caroline presented her hand, which 
 was accordingly taken and shaken. "We are 
 compatriots," said she, 
 
 ***** 
 
 " Our power of being happy lies a good deal in 
 ourselves, I believe," remarked Caroline, sagely. 
 "I have gone to Nunwood with a large party, all 
 the curates and some other gentry of these parts, 
 together with sundry ladies ; and I found the affair 
 insufferably tedious and absurd : and I have gone 
 quite alone, or accompanied but by Fanny, who 
 sat in the woodman's hut and sewed, or talked to 
 the good wife, while I roamed about and made 
 sketches, or read ; and I have enjoyed much hap- 
 piness, of a quiet kind, all day long. But that 
 was when I was young — two years ago." 
 
 " Did you ever go with your cousio, Robert 
 Moore ?" 
 
 "Yes, once." 
 
 " "What sort of a companion is he on these occa- 
 sions ?" 
 
 " A cousin, you know, is different to a stranger." 
 
 " I am aware of that ; but cousins, if they are 
 stupid, are still more insupportable than strangers, 
 because you can not so easily keep them at a dis- 
 tance. But your cousin is not stupid?" 
 
 "No; but — " 
 
 "WeU?" 
 
 " If the company of fools irritates, as you say, 
 the society of clever men leaves its own peculiar 
 pain also. Where the goodness or talent of your 
 friend is beyond and above all doubt, your own 
 worthiness to be his associate often becomes a 
 matter of question." 
 
 "Oh! there I can not follow you: that crotchet 
 is not one I should choose to entertain for an in- 
 stant. I consider myself not unworthy to be the 
 associate of the best of them — of gentlemen, I 
 mean ; though that is saying a great deal. Where 
 they are good, they are very good, I believe. Your 
 uncle, by-the-by, is not a bad specimen of the 
 elderly gentleman ; I am always glad to see his 
 brown, keen, sensible old face, either in my own 
 house, or any other. Are you fond of him ? Is 
 he kind to you? Now, speak the truth." 
 
 " He has brought me up from childhood, I doubt 
 
 not, precisely as he would have brought up his own 
 daughter, if he had had one ; and that is kindness ; 
 but I am not fond of him : I would rather be out 
 of his presence than in it." 
 
 "Strange! when he has the art of making him- 
 self so agreeable." 
 
 "Yes, in company; but he is stern and silent at 
 home. As he puts away his cane and shovel-hat 
 in the rectory-hall, so he locks his liveliness in his 
 bookcase and study-desk ; the knitted brow and 
 brief word for the fireside, the smile, the jest, the 
 witty sally, for society." 
 
 " Is he tyrannical?" 
 
 " Not in the least : he is neither tyrannical or 
 hypocritical : he is simply a man who is rather 
 liberal than good-natured, rather brilliant than 
 genial, rather scrupulously equitable than truly 
 just; if you can understand such superfine dis- 
 tinctions ?" 
 
 "Oh! yes; good-nature implies indulgence, 
 which he has not ; geniality, warmth of heart, 
 which he does not own ; and genuine justice is 
 the offspring of sympathy and cousiderateness, of 
 which, I can well conceive, my bronzed old friend 
 is quite innocent." 
 
 " I often wonder, Shirley, whether most men 
 resemble my uncle in their domestic relations ; 
 whether it is necessary to be new and unfamiliar 
 to them, in order to seem agreeable or estimable 
 in their eyes ; and whether it is impossible to their 
 natures to retain a constant interest and affection 
 for those they see every day." 
 
 " I don't know ; I can't clear up your doubts. I 
 ponder over similar ones myself sometimes. But, 
 to tell you a secret, if I were convinced that they 
 are necessarily and universally different from us — 
 fickle, soon petrifying, unsympathizing, I would 
 never marry. I should not like to find out that 
 what I loved did not love me, that it was weary 
 of me, and that whatever effort I might make to 
 please would hereafter be worse than useless, since 
 it was inevitably in its nature to change and be- 
 come indifferent. That discovery once made, what 
 should I long for ? To go away — to remove from 
 a presence where my society gave no pleasure." 
 
 " But you could not, if you were married." 
 
 "No, I could not> — there it is. I could never 
 be my own mistress more. A terrible thought ! — 
 it suffocates me ! Nothing irks me like the idea 
 of being a burden and a bore — an inevitable bur- 
 den, a ceaseless bore ! Now, when I feel my com- 
 pany superfluous, I can comfortably fold my inde- 
 pendence round me like a mantle, and drop my 
 pride like a veil, and withdraw to solitude : if 
 married, that could not be." 
 
 " I wonder we don't all make up our minds to 
 remain single," said Caroline: "we should, if we 
 listened to the wisdom of experience. My uncle 
 always speaks of marriage as a burden ; and I be- 
 lieve whenever he hears of a man being married, 
 he invariably regards him as a fool, or, at any 
 rate, as doing a foolish thing." 
 
 " But, Caroline, men are not all like your uncle ; 
 surely not — -I hope not." 
 
 She paused and mused. 
 
 "I suppose we each find an exception in the 
 
 603 
 
BB 
 
 BA 
 
 one we love, till we are married," suggested 
 Caroline. 
 
 " I suppose so ; and this exception we believe 
 to be of sterling materials ; we fancy it like our- 
 selves ; we imagine a sense of harmony. We think 
 his voice gives the softest, truest promise of a 
 heart that will never harden against us : we read 
 in his eyes that faithful feeling — affection. I don't 
 think we should trust to what they call passion, at 
 all, Caroline. I believe it is a mere fire of dry 
 sticks, blazing up and vanishing : but we watch 
 him, and see him kind to animals, to little chil- 
 dren, to poor people. He is kind to us, likewise — 
 good, considerate : he does not flatter women, but 
 he is patient with them, and he seems to be easy 
 in their presence, and to iind their company genial. 
 He likes them not only for vain and selfish reasons, 
 but as we like him — because we like him. Then 
 we observe that he is just — that he always speaks 
 the truth — that he is conscientious. We feel joy 
 and peace when he comes into a room : we feel 
 sadness and trouble when he leaves it. We know 
 that this man has been a kind son, that he is a 
 kind brother ; will any one dare to tell me that he 
 will not be a kind husband ?" 
 
 " My uncle would affirm it unhesitatingly. ' fie 
 ■will be sick of you in a mouth,' he would say." 
 
 " Mrs. Pryor would seriously intimate the same." 
 
 " Mrs. Yorke and Miss Mann would darkly sug- 
 gest ditto." 
 
 " If they are true oracles, it is good never to 
 fall in love." 
 
 "Very good, if you can avoid it." 
 
 " I choose to doubt their truth." 
 
 " I am afraid that proves you are already 
 caught." 
 
 " Not I : but if I were, do you know what sooth- 
 sayers I would consult?" 
 
 "Let me hear." 
 
 " Neither man nor woman, elderly nor young ; — 
 the little Irish beggar that comes barefoot to my 
 door ; the mouse that steals out of the cranny in 
 the wainscot ; the bird that in frost and snow 
 pecks at my window for a crumb ; the dog that 
 licks my hand and sits beside my knee." 
 
 " Did you ever see any one who was kind to 
 such things ?" * 
 
 " Did you ever see any one whom such things 
 seemed instinctively to follow, like, rely on ?" 
 
 "We have a black cat and an old dog at the 
 rectory. I know somebody to whose knee that 
 black cat loves to climb ; against whose shoulder 
 and cheek it likes to purr. The old dog always 
 comes out of his kennel and wags his tail, and 
 whines affectionately when somebody passes." 
 
 " And what does that somebody do ?" 
 
 " He quietly strokes the cat, and lets her sit 
 while he conveniently can, and when he must dis- 
 turb her by rising, he puts her softly down, and 
 never flings her from him roughly ; he always 
 whistles to the dog, and gives him a caress." 
 
 " Does he ? It is not Robert ?" 
 
 "But it is Eobert." 
 
 "Handsome fellow!" said Shirley, with enthu- 
 siasm : her eyes sparkled. 
 
 " Is he not handsome ? Has he not fine eyes 
 
 and well-cut features, and a clear, princely fore- 
 head?" 
 
 "He has all that, Caroline. Bless him! he is 
 both graceful and good." 
 
 " I was sure you would see that he was : when 
 I first looked at your face, I knew you would." 
 
 " I was well inclined to him before I saw him. 
 I liked him when I did see him : I admire him now. 
 There is a charm in beauty for itself, Caroline ; 
 when it is blent with goodness, there is a powerful 
 charm." 
 
 " When mind is added, Shirley." 
 
 " Who can resist it ?" 
 
 " Remember my uncle, Mesdames Pryor, Yorke, 
 and Mann." 
 
 " Remember the croaking of the frogs of Egypt! 
 He is a noble being. I tell you when they are good, 
 they are the lords of the creation — they are the 
 sons of God. Moulded in their Maker's image, 
 the minutest spark of His spirit lifts them almost 
 above mortality. Indisputably, a great, good, 
 handsome man is the first of created things." 
 
 "Above us?" 
 
 " I would scorn to contend for empire with him 
 
 — I would scorn it. Shall my left hand dispute 
 for precedence with my right ? — shall my heart 
 quarrel with my pulse ? — shall my veins be jealous 
 of the blood which fills them ?" 
 
 " Men and women, husbands and wives, quarrel 
 horribly, Shirley." 
 
 "Poor things ! poor, fallen, degenerate things ! 
 God made them for another lot — for other feelings." 
 
 "But are we men's equals, or are we not?" 
 
 " Nothing ever charms me more than when I 
 meet my superior ■ — one who makes me sincerely 
 feel that he is my superior." 
 
 " Did you ever meet him ?" 
 
 "I should be glad to see him any day: the 
 higher above me, so much the better : it degrades 
 to stoop — it is glorious to look up. What frets 
 me is, that when I try to esteem, I am baffled : 
 when religiously inclined, there are but false gods 
 to adore. I disdain to be a Pagan." 
 
 " Miss Keeldar, will you come in? We are here 
 at the rectory gates. " 
 
 " Not to-day ; but to-morrow I shall fetch you 
 to spend the evening with me. Caroline Helstone 
 
 — if you really are what at present to me you 
 seem — you and I will suit. I have never in my 
 whole life been able to talk to a young lady as I 
 have talked to you this morning. Kiss me — and 
 good-bye." 
 
 BROWN, FRANCES, 
 Was born in 1816, at Stranerlar, in the county 
 of Donegal, Ireland, where her father was post- 
 master. She lost her eyesight when she was 
 eighteen months old, yet, from her assiduity in 
 acquiring knowledge, she can compete with many 
 educated women in attainments. Her poems are 
 considered very good ; and she has received the title 
 of " The Blind Poetess of Ulster," which awakens 
 in the popular mind of her own country-people 
 pity for her misfortune, and pride in her fame. 
 She has herself given a touching account of the 
 manner in which she acquired her learning : her 
 
 604 
 
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 intellectual taste was first awakened by the preach- 
 ing of the village pastor ; then she heard the boohs 
 of children read ; and, as her mind gained power, 
 the works of Walter Scott, ancient histories, Burns, 
 Pope's Iliad, Milton, Byron, all were read to her, 
 and furnished her eager spirit with food for 
 thought. She was about twenty, when she gath- 
 ered courage to write to the editor of the London 
 Athenaeum, enclosing a few of her poems ; these 
 were favourably received, and she became a poet. 
 She has contributed to several periodicals and 
 annuals. In 1844, a volume of hers, "The Star 
 of AttiSgh^i, and other Poems," was published in 
 London, with a preface, (probably by her gifted 
 publisher, Edward Moxon,) which truly says: — 
 "The bard gathers dignity from the darkness 
 amid which she sings, as the darkness itself is 
 lightened by the song." 
 
 From the Vision of Schwartz. 
 
 THE SPANISH CONQUESTS IN AMEBIOA. 
 
 Whence came those glorious shadows ? — Say, 
 
 Ye far and nameless tomba I 
 
 Ye silent cities, lost to-day 
 
 Amid the forest glooms I 
 
 Is there no echo in the glades, 
 
 Whose massive foliage never fades, — 
 
 No voice among the pathless shades, 
 
 To tell of glory gone? 
 
 Gone from faint memory's fading dreams, 
 
 From shepherd's tales and poet's themes ; 
 
 And yet the bright, eternal streams 
 
 Unwasted still roll on, — 
 
 Majestic as they rolled, before 
 
 A sail had sought, or found, the shore. 
 
 But by those mighty rivers, then. 
 
 What peaceful nations met, 
 
 Among the race of mortal men 
 
 Unnamed, niinumbered yet ! 
 
 And cities rose and temples shone, 
 
 And power and splendour graced the throne, 
 
 And autumn's riches, freely strown, 
 
 Repaid the peasant's pains; 
 
 For homes of love and shrines of prayer 
 
 And fields of storied fame were there, 
 
 And smiling landscapes freshly fair — 
 
 The haunts of happy swains, — 
 
 And many a wide and trackless wild, 
 
 Where roved the farmer's tameless child. 
 
 Shades of Columbia's perished host ! 
 
 How shall a stranger tell 
 
 The deeds that glorified your coast, 
 
 Before its warriors fell ? 
 
 Where sleeps thy mountain muse, Peru? 
 
 And Chili's matchless hills of dew, 
 
 Had they no harp, to freedom true, 
 
 No bard of native fire, 
 
 To sing his country's ancient fame. 
 
 And keep the brightness of her name 
 
 Unfading as the worshipped flame ? — 
 
 The wealth of such a lyre 
 
 Outvalues all the blood-bought ore 
 
 That e'er Iberia's galleons bore. 
 
 Iberia ! on thine ancient crown 
 
 The blood of nations lies, 
 
 With power to weigh thy glory down,— 
 
 With voice to pierce the skies I 
 
 For written with an iron pen, 
 
 Upon the memories of men, 
 
 The deeds that marked thy conquest, then, 
 
 For evermore remain ; — 
 
 And still the saddest of the tale 
 
 Is Afric's wild and weary wail,— 
 
 7'hough prelates spread the slaver's sail,* 
 And forged the Negro's chain : 
 The curse of trampled liberty 
 For ever clings to thine and thee! 
 t * * * * ♦ 
 
 DEEAMS OP THE DEAD. 
 
 The peasant dreams of lowly love,— 
 
 The prince of courtly bowers, — 
 And exiles, through the midnight, rove 
 
 Among their native flowers : — 
 But flowers depart, and, sere and chill, 
 
 The autumn leaves are shed, 
 And roses come again —yet still, 
 
 My dreams are of the dead 1 
 
 The voices in my slumbering ear 
 
 Have woke the world, of old, — 
 The forms that in my dreams appear 
 
 Have mingled with the mould; 
 Yet still they rise around my rest, 
 
 In all tbeir peerless prime, — 
 The names by new-born nations blest — 
 
 The stars of elder time 1 
 
 They come from old and sacred piles. 
 
 Where glory's ashes sleep, — 
 From far and long-deserted aisles,— 
 
 From desert or from deep, — 
 From lands of ever-verdant bowers. 
 
 Unstained by mortal tread; — 
 Why haunt ye thus my midnight hours. 
 
 Ye far and famous dead? 
 
 I have not walked with ijou, on earth, — 
 
 My path is lone and low, — 
 A vale where laurels have not birth, 
 
 Nor classic waters flow: 
 But on the sunrise of my soul 
 
 Your mighty shades were cast. 
 As cloud-waves o'er the morning roll, — 
 
 Bright children of the past ! 
 
 And oft, with midnight, I have met 
 
 The early wise and brave, — 
 Oh, ever great and glorious, yet. 
 
 As if there were no grave ! 
 As if, upon their path of dust, 
 
 Had been no trace of tears, 
 No blighted faith, no broken trust, 
 
 Nor waste of weary years! 
 
 But ah ! my loved of early days, — 
 
 How brightly still they bring 
 Upon my spirit's backward gaze 
 
 The glory of its spring I 
 The hopes that shared their timeless doom 
 
 Return, as freshly green 
 As though the portals of the tomb 
 
 Had never closed between ! 
 
 Oh ! man may climb the mountain snows, 
 
 Or search the ocean wave,— 
 But who will choose to walk with those 
 
 Whose dwelling is the grave? — ■ 
 Yet when upon that tideless shore 
 
 His sweetest flowers are shed, 
 The lonely dreamer shrinks no more 
 
 From visions of the dead. 
 
 BROWNING, ELIZABETH BARRETT, 
 
 Of England, one of the most distinguished 
 female poets of the age, is still young, and with 
 her habits of study, -will probably enrich the 
 ■world with many precious gems of thought, in ad- 
 dition to her works already produced. Her maiden 
 name was Barrett, under which she achieved her 
 poetical reputation. In 1846, she was married to 
 Robert Browning, a poet and dramatic writer of 
 
 * A bishop is said to have suggested to the emperor, 
 Charles the Fifth, the necessity of introducing Negro slaves 
 into his American colonies. 
 
 606 
 
BR 
 
 BR 
 
 much celebrity, author of " Paracelsus" andacTeral 
 tragedies. This gifted couple, whose tastes as well 
 as talents are congenial, seem destined to ascend 
 together the hill of Fame. Mrs. Browning is pro- 
 bably more versed in classical learning, and a more 
 complete scholar, than any of her sex now living. 
 Her mind is also well stored with general litera- 
 ture : with an energy and force of character truly 
 rare, she brought out the powers of her mind, and 
 cultivated its faculties, during a wearying illness, 
 which confined her for many years to her apart- 
 ment. Shut out from the influences of external 
 nature, she surrounded herself with the flowers 
 of poetry, and created tints of the imagination to 
 give unfading radiance to a room the sun's rays 
 never entered. Mrs. Browning enjoys the friend- 
 ship and correspondence of many of the most emi- 
 nent men and women of the day, by whom she is 
 justly valued for her abilities and excellence. 
 
 She has written in prose some treatises on " The 
 Greek Christian Poets," which are said to be ad- 
 mirable, and among her friends her talents as a 
 letter-writer are quite celebrated. Whether she 
 is destined to go down to posterity as a greaipoet, 
 is a point that will bear discussion ; energy, learn- 
 ing, a romantic melancholy chastened by faith, 
 and sincere piety, are found everywhere through 
 her works ; she also possesses an exuberance of 
 fancy, and her memory is stored with expressions 
 of the poets of the highest stamp. Do these gifts 
 constitute poetry ? 
 
 "Mrs. Browning," says a distinguished scholar, 
 (Rev. George W. Bethune,) when commenting on 
 her poems, "is singularly bold and adventurous. 
 Her wing carries her, without faltering at their 
 obscurity, into the cloud and the mist, where not 
 seldom we fail to follow her, but are tempted, 
 while we admire the honesty of her enthusiasm, to 
 believe that she utters what she herself has but 
 dimly perceived. Much of this, however, arises 
 from her disdain of carefulness. Her lines are 
 often rude, her rhymes forced, from impatience 
 rather than afi'ectation ; and for the same reason, 
 she falls into the kindred fault of verboseness, 
 which is always obscure. She forgets the advice 
 which Aspasia gave a young poet, ' to sow with 
 the hand, and not with the bag.' Her Greek 
 studies should have taught her more sculptor-like 
 finish and dignity ; but the glowing, generous im- 
 pulses of her woman's heart are too much for the 
 discipline of the clas.sics. Hence it is that we like 
 her less as a scholar than as a woman ; for then 
 she compels our sympathy with her high religious 
 faith, her love of children, her delight in the grace- 
 ful and beautiful, her revelations of feminine feel- 
 ing, her sorrow over the suffering, and her indig- 
 nation against the oppressor. It is easy to see, 
 from the melody of rhythm in ' Cowper's Grave,' 
 and a few shorter pieces, that her faults spring not 
 from inability to avoid them, if she would. Her 
 ear, like that of Tennyson (whom she resembles 
 more than any other poet), thirsts for a refrain; 
 and like him, she indulges it to the weariness of 
 her reader. Her sonnets, though complete in 
 measure, are more like fragments, or unfinished 
 outlines ; but not a few of them are full of vigour. 
 
 Her verses must be recited ; none of them could 
 be sung." 
 
 But if the melody of rhythm is sometimes want- 
 ing in her lines, the sweet grace of patience, the 
 divine harmony of faith and love, seem ever abid- 
 ing in her soul. She is among those women who 
 do honour to their sex, and uplift the heart of hu- 
 manity. Many of her shorter poems are exquisite 
 in their touches of tenderness and devotional pa- 
 thos. The power of passion is rarely exhibited, 
 in its lava-like flood, on her pure pages ; but deep 
 affection and true piety of feeling meet us every- 
 where, and the sweet, holy emotions of woman's 
 love are truthfully depicted ; and thus her great 
 abilities, guided by purity of thought, and hal- 
 lowed by religious faith, are made blessings to the 
 world. 
 
 The published works of Mrs. Browning are: 
 "The Seraphim," "Prometheus Bound," "A 
 Drama of Exile," " The Romaunt of Margaret," 
 "Isobel's Child," " Sonnets," and "Miscellaneous 
 Poems." 
 
 Her own appreciation of the holy office of the 
 true poet, is thus glowingly expressed in the Pre- 
 face to her poems. " 'An irreligious poet,' said 
 Burns, meaning an undevotional one, ' is a mon- 
 ster.' An irreligious poet, he might have said, is 
 no poet at all. The gravitation of poetry is up- 
 wards. The poetic wing, if it move, ascends. 
 What did even the heathen Greeks — Homer, .^s- 
 chylus, Sophocles, Pindar? Sublimely, because 
 born poets ; darkly, because born of Adam and 
 unrenewed in Christ, their spirits wandered like 
 the rushing chariots and winged horses, black and 
 white, of their brother-poet, Plato, through the 
 universe of Deity, seeking if haply they might 
 find Him : and as that universe closed around the 
 seekers, not with the transparency in which it 
 flowed first from His hand, but opaquely, as 
 double-dyed with the transgression of its sons, — 
 they felt though they could not discern the God 
 beyond, and used the gesture though ignorant of 
 the language of worshipping. The blind eagle 
 missed the sun, but soared towards its sphere. 
 Shall the blind eagle soar — and the seeing eagle 
 peck chaff? Surely it should be the gladness and 
 the gratitude of such as are poets among us, that 
 in turning towards the beautiful, they may behold 
 the true face of God." 
 
 From the Drama of Exile. 
 Adam's prophect or woman. 
 
 Henceforward, woman, rise 
 To thy peculiar and best altitudes 
 Of doing good and of enduring ill, — 
 Of comforting for ill, and teaching good, 
 And reconciling all that ill and good 
 Unto the patience of a constant hope, — 
 Rise with thy daughters ! If sin came by thee. 
 And by sin, death, — the ransom-righteousness, 
 Thq heavenly life and compensative rest 
 Shall come by means of thee. If woe by thee 
 Had issue to the world, thou shalt go forth 
 An angel of the woe thou didst achieve ; 
 Found acceptable to the world instead 
 Of others of that name, of whose blight steps 
 Thy deed stripped bare the hills. Be satisfied ; 
 Something thou hast to bear through womanhood- 
 Peculiar suflfering answering to the sin ; 
 Some pang paid down for some new human life; 
 
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BR 
 
 BR 
 
 Some weariness in guarding such a life- 
 Some coldness from the guarded; some mistrust 
 From those thou hast too well served ; from those beloved 
 Too loyally, some treason ; feebleness 
 Within thy heart, and cruelty without ; 
 And pressures of an alien tyranny, 
 With its dynastic reasons of larger bones 
 And stronger sinews. But, go to ! thy love 
 Shall chant itself its own beatitudes. 
 After its own life-working.— A child's kiss 
 Set on thy sighing lips, shall make thee glad: 
 A poor man, served by thee, shall make thee rich; 
 An old man, helped by thee, shall make thee strong ; 
 Thou Shalt be served thyself by every sense 
 Of service which thou renderest. Such a crown 
 1 set upon thy head, — Christ witnessing 
 With looks of prompting love — to keep thee clear 
 Of all reproach against the sin foregone, 
 Frorp all the generations which succeed. 
 
 THE SLEEP. 
 
 "He giveth His beloved sleep." — Psalm cixvii. 2. 
 
 Of all tlie thoughts of God that are 
 Borne inward unto souls afar, 
 
 Along the Psalmist's music deep — 
 Now tell me if that any is, 
 For gift or grace surpassing this — 
 
 *' He giveth Hia beloved sleep ?" 
 
 What would we give to our beloved ? 
 The hero's heart, to be unmoved — 
 
 The poet's star-tuned harp, to sweep — 
 The senate's shout to patriot vows — 
 The monarch's crown, to light the brows? — 
 
 " He giveth His beloved sleep." 
 
 What do we give to our beloved ? 
 A little faith, all undisproved — 
 
 A little dust, to overweep — 
 And bitter memories, to make 
 The whole earth blasted for our sake 1 
 
 "He giveth His beloved sleep." 
 
 " Sleep soft, beloved !" we sometimes say, 
 But have no tune to charm away 
 
 Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep 
 But never doleful dream again 
 Shall break the happy slumber, when 
 
 " He giveth His beloved sletip." 
 
 O earth, so full of dreary noises ! 
 O men, with wailing in your voices ; 
 O delved gold, the wailers heap 1 
 
 strife, O curse, that o'er it fall ! 
 God makes a silence through you all, 
 
 And "giveth His beloved sleep." 
 
 His dew drops mutely on the hill ; 
 His cloud above it saileth still. 
 
 Though on its slope men toil and reap I 
 More softly than the dew is shed, 
 Or cloud is floated overhead, 
 
 " He giveth His beloved sleep." 
 
 Hal men may wonder while they scan 
 A living, thinking, feeling man, 
 
 In such a rest his heart to keep; 
 But angels say — and through the word 
 
 1 ween their blessed smile is heard — 
 " He giveth His beloved sleep !" 
 
 For me, my heart, that erst did.go. 
 Most like a tired child at a show, 
 
 That sees through tears the juggler's leap,— 
 Would now its wearied vision close, 
 Would child-like on His love repose. 
 
 Who "giveth His beloved sleep!" 
 
 And friends! —dear friends I —when it shall be 
 That this low breath has gone from me, 
 
 And round my bier ye come to weep — 
 Let me, most loving of you all. 
 Say, not a tear must o'er her fall — 
 
 " He giveth His beloved sleep I" 
 
 ROMANCE OF THE SWAN'S-NEST. 
 
 Little Ellie sits alone 
 
 'Mid the beeches of a meadow. 
 
 By a stream-side on the grass ; 
 And the trees are showering down 
 Doubles of their leaves in shadow, 
 
 On her shining hair and face. 
 
 She has thrown her bonnet by; 
 And her feet she has been dipping 
 
 In the shallow water's flow : 
 Now she holds them nakedly 
 In her hands all sleek and dripping 
 
 While she rocketh to and fro. 
 
 Little Ellie sits alone,— 
 And the smile she softly useth 
 
 Fills the silence like a speech ; 
 While she thinks what shall be done 
 And the sweetest pleasure chooseth 
 
 For her future, within reach 1 
 
 Little Ellie, in her smile 
 Choseih ..." I will have a lover, 
 
 Riding on a sleed of steeds! 
 He shall love me without guile; 
 And to him I will discover 
 
 That Bwan's-nest among the reeds. 
 
 Then, ay then, he shall kneel low. 
 With the red-roan steed anear him 
 
 Which shall seem to understand — 
 Till I answer — ' Rise and go ! 
 For the world must love and fear him 
 
 Whom I gift with heart and hand.* 
 
 Then he will arise so pale, 
 
 I shall fee! my own lips tremble 
 
 With a yes — I must not say — 
 Nathless. maiden brave. 'Farewell'— 
 I will, trifle and dissemble, 
 
 ' Light to-morrow with to-day.' 
 
 Then he will ride through the hills, 
 To the wide world, past the river 
 
 There to put away all wrong! 
 To make straight distorted wills. 
 And to empty the broad quiver 
 
 Which the wicked bear along. 
 
 Three times shall a young foot-page 
 Swim the stream and climb the mountain 
 
 And kneel down beside my feet — 
 ' Lo ! my master sends this gage, 
 Lady, for thy pity counting! 
 
 What wilt thou exchange for it?' 
 
 And the first time I will send 
 A white rosebud for a guerdon. 
 
 And the second time a glove ! 
 But the third time I may bend 
 From my pride, and answer — * Pardon — 
 
 If he comes to take my love.' 
 
 Then the young foot-page will run — 
 ' Then my lover will ride faster. 
 
 Till he kne«Ieth at my knee ! 
 ' I am a duke's eldest son I 
 Thousand serfs do call me master, 
 But O Love, I love but thee ! ' 
 
 He will kiss me on the mouth 
 Then, and lead me as a lover 
 
 Through the crowds that praise his deeds ' 
 And when soul-tied by one troth, 
 Unto him I will discover. 
 
 That swan's-nest among the reeds." 
 
 Little Ellie with her smile 
 Not yet ended, rose up gayly — 
 
 Tied her bonnet, donned the shoe — 
 And went homeward round a mile. 
 Just to see, as she did daily. 
 
 What more eggs were with the two, 
 607 
 
BR 
 
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 Pushing throuffh the elm-tree copse, 
 Winding by the stream light-hearted. 
 
 Where the osier patJiway leads — 
 Past the boughs she stoops, and etops! 
 Lo ! the wild swan had deserted — 
 
 And a rat had gnawed the reeds. 
 
 Ellie went home sad and slow ! 
 If she found the lover ever, 
 
 With his red-roan steed of steeds, 
 Sooth I know not! But I know 
 She could show him never, never, 
 
 That swan'^ nest among the reeds! 
 
 THE mother's PEATER. 
 
 •' Dear Lord, dear Lord !" 
 She aye had prayed — (the heavenly word, 
 Broken by an earthly sigh!) 
 
 "Thou, who didst not erst deny 
 The mother-joy to Mary mild 
 Blessed in the blessed child — 
 Hearkening in meek babyhood 
 Her cradle-hymn, albeit used 
 To all that music interfused 
 In breasts of angels high and good I 
 Oh, take not, Lord, my babe away — 
 Oh, take not to, thy songful heaven, 
 The pretty baby thou hast given ; 
 Or ere that I have seen him play 
 Around his father's knees, and known 
 That he knew how my love hath gone 
 
 From all the world to him ! 
 And how that I shall shiver, dim 
 In the sunshine, thinking e'er 
 The grave-grass keeps it from his fair 
 Still cheeks ! and feel at every tread 
 His little body which is dead 
 And hidden in the turfy fold. 
 Doth make the whole warm earth a'cold ! 
 
 God ! I am so young, so young — 
 
 1 am not used to tears at nights 
 Instead of slumber — nor to prayer 
 With shaken lips and hands out-wrung! 
 Thou knowest all my prayings were 
 
 1 bless thee, God, for past delights — 
 
 Thank God ! X am not used to bear 
 
 Hard thoughts of death! The earth doth cover 
 
 No face from me of friend or lover ! 
 
 And must the first who teacheth me 
 
 The form of shrouds and funerals, be 
 
 Mine own first-born-beloved? he 
 
 Who taught me first this mother-love? 
 
 Dear Lord, who spreadest out above 
 
 Thy loving pierced hands to meet 
 
 All lifted hearts with blessing sweet, — 
 
 Pierce not my heart, my tender heart. 
 
 Thou madest tender ! Thou who art 
 
 So happy in thy heaven alway. 
 
 Take not mine only bliss away!" 
 
 THE CHILD AND THE WATCHEE. 
 
 Sleep on, baby on the floor, 
 
 Tired of all the p!aying — 
 S!eep with smile the sweeter for 
 
 That you dropp'd away in; 
 On your curls' fair roundness stand 
 
 Golden lights serenely — 
 One cheek, push'd out by the hand, 
 
 Folds the dimple inly. 
 Little head and little foot 
 
 Heavy laid for pleasure, 
 Underneath the lids half-shut 
 
 Slants the shining azure — 
 Open-soul'd in noonday sun, 
 
 So, you lie and slumber; 
 Nothing evil having done, 
 
 Nothing can encumber. 
 
 I, who cannot sleep as well. 
 
 Shall I sigh to view you ? 
 Or sigh further to foretell 
 
 All that may undo you? 
 
 Nay, keep smiling, little child. 
 
 Ere the fate appeareth 1 
 / smile, too ! for patience mild 
 
 Pleasure's token weareth. 
 Nay, keep sleeping before loss! 
 
 /shall sleep, though losing! 
 As by cradle, so by cross. 
 
 Sweet is the reposing. 
 
 And God knows, who sees us twain. 
 
 Child at childish leisure, 
 I am all as tired of pain 
 
 As you are of pleasure. 
 Yery soon, too, by His grace 
 
 Gently wrapt around me, 
 I shall show as calm a face, 
 
 I shall sleep as soundly ! 
 Differing in this, that you 
 
 Clasp your playthings sleeping. 
 While my hand must drop the few 
 
 Given to my keeping — 
 Differing in this, that X 
 
 Sleeping, must be colder, 
 And in waking presently, 
 
 Brighter to beholder — 
 Differing in this beside — 
 
 (Sleeper, have you heard me ? 
 Do you move, and open wide 
 
 Your great eyes toward me ?) 
 That while I you draw withal 
 
 From this slumber solely. 
 Me, from mine, an angel shall, 
 
 Trumpet-tongued and holy! 
 
 WOEK AND CONTEMPIiATION. 
 
 The woman singeth at her spinning-wheel 
 A pleasant song, ballad or barcarolle. 
 She thinketh of her song, upon the whole. 
 Far more than of her flax ; and yet the reel 
 Is full, and artfully her fingers feel, 
 With quick adjustment, provident control, 
 The lines, too subtly twisted to unroll, 
 Out to the perfect thread. I hence appeal 
 To the dear Christian church — that we may do 
 Our Father's business in these temples mirk, 
 So swift and steadfast, so intent and strong- 
 While so, apart from toil, our souls pursue 
 Some high, calm, spheric tune — proving our work 
 The better for the sweetness of our song. 
 
 THE lady's YES. 
 
 " 5fes !" I answered you last night ; 
 
 "No!" this morning. Sir, I say I 
 Colours, seen by candle-light. 
 
 Will not look the same by day. 
 
 When the tabors played their best. 
 Lamps above, and laughs below — 
 
 Love me sounded like a jest, 
 Fit for Yes or fit for J^o! 
 
 Call me false, or call me free — 
 Vow, whatever light may shine, 
 
 No man on thy face shall see 
 Any grief for change on mine. 
 
 Yet the sin is on us both — 
 Time to dance is not to woo — 
 
 Wooer light makes fickle troth — 
 Scorn of me recoils on you ! 
 
 Learn to win a lady's faith 
 Nobly, as the thing is high! 
 
 Bravely, as for life and death — 
 With a loyal gravity. 
 
 Lead her from the festive boards, 
 Point her to the starry skies. 
 
 Guard her, by your truthful words, 
 Pure from courtship's flatteries. 
 
 By your truth she shall be true — 
 Ever true as wives of yore — 
 
 And her Yes, once said to you. 
 Shall be Yes for evermore. 
 
 608 
 
BR 
 
 BR 
 
 DISCONTENT. 
 
 Light human nature is too lightly tost 
 
 And ruffled without cause ; complaining on — 
 
 Restless with rest — until, being overthrown, 
 
 It learneth to lie quiet. Let a frost 
 
 Or a small wasp have crept to the innermost 
 
 Of our ripe peach; or let the wilfii! sun 
 
 Shine westward of our window — straight we run 
 
 A furlong's sigh, as if the worl|l were lost. 
 
 But what time through the heart and through the brain 
 
 God hath transfixed us, — we, so moved before, 
 
 Attain to a calm ! Ay, shouldering weights of pain, 
 
 We anchor in deep waters, safe from shore ; 
 
 And hear, submissive, o'er the stormy main, 
 
 God's chartered judgments walk for evermore. 
 
 PATIENCE TAUGHT BY NATURE. 
 
 '* O dreary life!" we cry, "O dreary life!" 
 And still the generations of the birds 
 Sing through our sighing, and the flocks and herds 
 Serenely live while we are keeping strife 
 With Heaven's true purpose in us, as a knife 
 Against which we may struggle. Ocean girds 
 Unslackened the dry land: savannah-swards 
 Unweary sweep : hills watch, unworn ; and rife 
 Meek leaves drop yearly from the forest-trees. 
 To show, above, the unwasted stars that pass 
 Tn their old glory. O thou God of old I 
 Grant me some smaller grace than comes to these; — 
 But so much patience, as a blade of grass 
 Grows by contented through the heat and cold. 
 
 CHEERFULNESS TAUGHT BY REASON. 
 
 1 think we are too ready with complaint 
 In this fair world of God's. Had we no hope 
 Indeed beyond the zenith and the slope 
 Ofyon grey blank of sky, we might be faint 
 To muse upon eternity's constraint 
 Round our aspirant souls. But since the scope 
 Must widen early, is it well to droop 
 For a few days consumed in loss and taint ? 
 O pusillanimous Heart, be comforted,— 
 And, like a cheerful traveller, take the road — 
 Singing beside the hedge. What if the bread 
 Be bitter in thine inn, and thou unshod 
 To meet the flints ? — At least it may be said, 
 " Because the way is short, I thank thee, God !" 
 
 COWPER's GRAVE. 
 
 I will invite thee, from thy envious herse 
 
 To rise, and 'bout the world thy beams to spread. 
 
 That we may see there's brightnesse in the dead. 
 
 Habington. 
 It is a place where poeis crown 'd 
 May feel the heart's decaying — 
 It is a place where happy saints 
 
 May weep amid their praying — 
 Yet let the grief and humbleness 
 
 As low as silence languish ; 
 Earth surely now may give her calm 
 To whom she gave her anguish. 
 
 O poets! from a maniac's tongue 
 
 Was pour'd the deathless singing ! 
 O Christians I at your cross of hope 
 
 A hopeless hand was clinging! 
 O men, this man in brotherhood, 
 
 your weary paths beguiling, 
 Groan'd inly while he taught you peace, 
 
 And died while ye were smiling ! 
 
 And now, what time ye all may read 
 
 Through dimming tears his story 
 How discord on the music fell, 
 
 And darkness on the glory — 
 And how, when, one by one. sweet sounds 
 
 And wandering lights departed, 
 He wore no less a loving face, 
 
 Because so broken-hearted. 
 
 20 
 
 He shall be strong to sanctify 
 
 The poet's high vocation. 
 And bow the meekest Christian down 
 
 In meeker adoration : 
 Nor ever shall he be in praise 
 
 By wise or good forsaken ; 
 Named softly, as the household name 
 
 Of one whom God hath taken I 
 
 With sadness that is calm, not gloom, 
 
 I learn to think upon him ; 
 With meekness that is gratefulness, 
 
 On God, whose heaven hath won him — 
 Who sufFer'd once the madness-cloud 
 
 Towards His love to blind him ; 
 But gently led the blind along. 
 
 Where breath and bird could And him ; 
 
 And wrought within his shatter'd brain 
 
 Such quick poetic senses, 
 As hills have language for, and stars 
 
 Harmonious influences! 
 The pulse of dew upon the grass 
 
 His own did calmly number ; 
 And silent shadow from the trees 
 
 Fell o'er him like a slumber. 
 
 The very world, by God's constraint, 
 
 From falsehood's chill removing. 
 Its women and its men became 
 
 Beside him true an'd loving ! — 
 And timid hares were drawn from woods 
 
 To share his home-caresses, 
 Uplooking to his human eyes. 
 
 With sylvan tendernesses. 
 
 But while in blindness he remaln'd, 
 
 Unconscious of the guiding. 
 And things provided came without 
 
 The sweet sense of providing. 
 He testified this solemn truth, 
 
 Though frenzy desolated, — 
 JVtjr man nor nature satisfy 
 
 W/iom only Ood created I 
 
 Like a sick child, that knoweth not 
 
 His mother while she blesses, 
 And droppeth on his burning brow 
 
 The coolness of her kisses; 
 That turns his fever'd eyes around — 
 
 " My mother I Where's my mother ?" — 
 As if such tender words and looks 
 
 Could come from any other I — 
 
 The fever gone, with leaps of heart 
 
 He sees her bending o'er him ; 
 Her face all pale from watchful love, 
 
 Th' unweary love she bore him — 
 Thus, woke the poet from the dream 
 
 His life's long fever gave him. 
 Beneath those deep pathetic eyes 
 
 Which closed in death to save him ! 
 
 Thus ! oh, not thus ! no type of earth 
 
 Could image that awaking. 
 Wherein he scarcely heard the chant 
 
 Of seraphs round him breaking — 
 Or felt the new immortal throb 
 
 Of soul from body parted; 
 But felt those eyes alone, and knew 
 
 " Jlfy Saviour I no£ deserted !" 
 
 Deserted ! who hath dreamt that when 
 
 The cross in darkness rested, 
 Upon the Victim's hidden face 
 
 No love was manifested? 
 What frantic hands outstretched have e'er 
 
 Th' atoning drops averted — 
 What tears have washed them from the soul - 
 
 That one should be deserted ? 
 
 Deserted ! God could separate 
 
 From His own essence rather: 
 And Adam's sins have swept between 
 
 The righteous Son and Father — 
 
 609 
 
CA 
 
 CA 
 
 Yea I once, Immanuel's orphan'd cry 
 
 His universe hath shaken — 
 Went up single, echoless, 
 
 " My God, I am forsaken !" 
 
 It went up from the Holy iips 
 
 Amid his lost creation, 
 That of the lost, no son should use 
 
 Those words of desolation ; 
 That earth's worst Frenzies, marring hope, 
 
 Should mar not hope's fruition : 
 And I, on Cowper's grave, should see 
 
 H is rapture, in a vision ! 
 
 c. 
 
 CAMPBELL, DOROTHEA PRIMROSE, 
 
 Is a native of the Zetland or Shetland Islands, 
 a group situated in the Atlantic Ocean, to the 
 north of Scotland. She was born and resides at 
 Lei'wick, the capital of Shetland, which is the 
 only island of much account in the group. Here 
 Miss Campbell made the acquaintance of Walter 
 Scott, -when he visited the Northern Isles in 1814-. 
 She was ' then very young, and probably, but for 
 the advent of the great magician into this " Ultima 
 Thule" of the olden times. Miss Campbell's name 
 would never have been heard beyond the boundary 
 of her own island home. But his encouragement 
 inspired her with hope. In 1816, she dedicated to 
 him, with his permission, a volume of " Poems," 
 which made her highly celebrated among her own 
 people ; and therefore we give her a place among 
 our diatingu(s, considering, as we do, such home- 
 fame the most difficult, usually, to win, and the 
 best, when won, for a woman. The character of 
 her poetry, chiefly suggested by the wild, rough 
 scenery with which she lives surrounded, is healthy 
 in its tone, and breathes of home and heaven. We 
 subjoin a specimen : — 
 
 MOONLIGHT. 
 
 The winds of heaven are hushed and mild 
 
 As the breath of slumbering child; 
 
 The western bugle's balmy sigh 
 
 Breaks not the mist-wreaths, as they lie 
 
 Veiling the tall cliif's rugged brow. 
 
 Nor dimple the green waves below. 
 
 Such stillness round, — such silence deep — 
 
 That nature seems herself to sleep. 
 
 The full moon, mounted in the sky, 
 
 Looks from her cloudless place on high. 
 
 And trembling stars, like fairy gleams, 
 
 Twinkle their many-coloured beams, 
 
 Spangling the world of waters o'er 
 
 With mimic gems from shore to shore : 
 
 Till ocean, burning on the view, 
 
 Glows like another heav'n of blue. 
 And its broad bosom, as a mirror -bright, 
 Reflects their lucid path and all the fields of light. 
 
 CARLEN, EMILY, 
 Is a native of Sweden; her maiden name was 
 Smith. She began her career as an authoress 
 very early in life, for the purpose of adding to the 
 means of her parents, who were in narrow circum- 
 stances. Her inspiration was thus of the noblest 
 kind, and more poetical than the abstract love of 
 fame. Her works were highly successful, soon 
 brought her into notice, and obtained her the 
 
 acquaintance of many distinguished personages. 
 Her amiable character and exemplary life have 
 secured her consideration in all the circles of ■ 
 Stockholm. 
 
 Four of her works have been presented, by 
 translation, to the Anglo-Saxon reading public. 
 They all display originality and inventive genius, 
 together with a poetic and impassioned spirit; 
 they have all the fault which proceeds from a rich 
 and exuberant imagination — too many characters 
 and too many incidents ; this always weakens the 
 interest, flattens the pathos of a story, and abates 
 the attention of the reader. To "discreetly blot," 
 is one of the nicest and most delicate parts of an 
 author's craft; it requires judgment, experience 
 and taste, and is unattainable by many ; but the 
 abilities of Mrs. Carlen appear such as to assure 
 her of success, if she would do what the French 
 wit complained he had no leisure for — "take 
 time to make her works shorter." 
 
 It is not often that a book is complained of for 
 containing too much matter ; but out of the novel 
 of " The Magic Goblet," several separate stories 
 and dramas might be made. The number of well- 
 imagined personages in this book is extraordinary. 
 The Count, Uncle Sebastian, the JIajor, even the 
 old steward Bergstad, are all elderly men ; but so 
 perfectly individualized, so strikingly delineated, 
 that each is capital, natural, and quite as unlike 
 as such could be found in real life. The countess 
 and the baroness, though slightly touched, are dis- 
 tinct and living. The three young ladies, also, 
 have no resemblance to each other. Thelma is too 
 much, both in her adventures and her character, 
 removed from reality to awaken strong interest ; 
 but Alfhild and Maria are charmingly portrayed. 
 Erika, in the "Rose of Thistle Island," is a woman 
 of the same order of mind with Maria, yet it would 
 be absurd to call one a repetition of the other ; 
 their traits of character are as different as the 
 circumstances surrounding them — just as we find 
 it in actual life. The charming Gabriella is per- 
 fectly distinct from Alfhild, though both are young, 
 innocent, simple, unlearned country-maidens, and 
 the petted darlings of their fathers. It required 
 no common genius to imagine and describe the 
 young heroes of these works — Arve and Seller ; 
 both are endowed with bravery and remarkable 
 beauty, with courage and qualities to carry on the 
 battle of life ; but here all resemblance ends, so 
 strong is the moral difference shown in every 
 resolution and action. "The Magic Goblet" is 
 spoiled by a narrative of crime and misery, intro- 
 duced towards the end ; it may be remarked that, 
 as the story hinges on this, it could not be omitted ; 
 but Mrs. Carlen shows plainly that, with her fer- 
 tility of invention, she might have constructed a 
 different plot. "The Rose of Thistle Island" is 
 too replete with horrors — the curtain falls on too 
 many of the dead and dying. The marriage of 
 Amman, which is vaguely spoken of, is no conso- 
 lation — it is evidently none to him — and inspires 
 the reader with no pleasure. But these dark pic- 
 turings belong to Swedish life ; the people of that 
 country have a hard lot ; ignora.nce, oppression 
 and want, never soften human nature. 
 
 610 
 
CA 
 
 CA 
 
 The "Brothers" and the "Temptations of 
 Wealth," are not equal to the first two produc- 
 tions. Their beauties and defects are, however, 
 of the same character. Upon the whole, Mrs. 
 Carlen appears to yield to few women of our day 
 in original genius. Some of the passages have 
 an approach to sublimity in the descriptions of 
 nature, and of moral suffering; many of the most 
 forcible touches cannot be comprehended or ap- 
 preciated, but in connection with the entire works. 
 We shall, therefore, limit ourselves in extracting 
 what can best be taken from its niche. 
 
 It must not be forgotten that our medium of 
 judging this authoress, has been through particu- 
 larly bad translations ; this prevents any remark 
 on the various poems which are interspersed. 
 
 From " The Rose of Thistle Island." 
 EBIKA. 
 
 In the new house on Thistle Island, was a small 
 corner room, the windows of which were scarcely 
 three feet from the rock behind them. This room 
 was Erika's favourite resort: there she sat many 
 hours alone, looking at the rock, which seemed to 
 her a wall of separation between her and the rest 
 of the world. She did not like the sea view — 
 it recalled dark memories ; but the rocks were 
 her confidants, and to them she had often whis- 
 pered the suffering she could not overcome. 
 
 Erika's gloomy apartment had but one orna- 
 ment, a picture of uncommon beauty, represent- 
 ing the Crucifixion, which made the little room 
 more resemble an oratory than a sitting-room. It 
 was, in fact, the place to which Erika retired 
 when she felt the necessity of pouring out her 
 heart in prayer, or to refresh her spirit by salu- 
 tary tears, and thus give it new energy. But the 
 dark little room had another attraction. Birger 
 had, at the time he brought her the picture after 
 his first voyage, also given her a small writing- 
 desk ; and in this she kept the scraps of paper, on 
 which, year after year, she learned better to ex- 
 press her thoughts and feelings. Those pages 
 were as parts of her own mind ; it was by them 
 she thought to compensate herself for the singu- 
 lar and painful consciousness of being entirely 
 alone. 
 
 It may, perhaps, be worth while to cast an eye 
 on the simple refiections of a woman who, in the 
 whole wide world, possessed no one to whom she 
 could impart that which lived and dwelled within 
 her. The early education she had received, had 
 ripened by the exertion of her own excellent un- 
 derstanding : but Erika had not only understand- 
 ing, she had also feeling ; she had the conscious- 
 ness of her cast-out situation : and it was those 
 feelings, and that consciousness, that must have 
 vent. 
 
 On one page, Erika had written, in large cha- 
 racters, the word, "Longing;" and under it she 
 vrrote, " As far back as I can remember, there has 
 been a great void in my soul. I have longed, I 
 still long, and shall ever long, for that which I 
 can never attain — a mother's bosom. Why was 
 I driven out into the world to struggle there, with- 
 out hope of ever returning to a home ? I have 
 
 never known a home. No mother has ever lulled 
 me on her knee ; no father ever blessed me ! Alone 
 have I passed through life ; alone have I sought the 
 way of light; and alone I shall go hence. No one 
 feels, no one cares, what the motherless one, re- 
 jected by the whole world, may suffer. Her long- 
 ings are but her's alone. Often, I seem to myself 
 like a person deaf and dumb, in whose heart dwell 
 feelings rich and deep, but which she wants ability 
 to communicate to others. Thus, I have at times 
 the most delicious sensations — so sweet, that 
 tears often start to my eyes ; but I cannot con- 
 nect my feelings. They are like a bell that one 
 hears at a distance ringing a soft and solemn 
 sound. It is longing — longing for home, which I 
 shall never know here below — but which I shall 
 find on high." On another page she had inscribed 
 the words, " Family ties," and written underneath 
 her reflections; "Very singular is that chain 
 which binds the human race together, and forms 
 connexions between them, which it afterwards be- 
 comes a duty to respect. I, the wife of a ... ., 
 pray daily to God for him, whom every one would 
 .... if they knew . . . . : but I am his ; my life 
 is a long sigh of prayer that the penitent may be, 
 brought back to the Father's throne : and if I 
 gain that great object, (comforting angels often 
 whisper to my oppressed heart that it is already 
 attained!) then shall I not complain, or grieve 
 that I thus live alone in the world ; assuredly 
 under other circumstances, I neither would, nol^ 
 could have sacrificed myself. It strikes me,, some- 
 times, as if my calling on earth were a high one ; 
 and a deep feeling thrills through my heart when 
 I think of the responsibility I have taken on my- 
 self — to live among these people, to train, lead, 
 and form for good, the motherless being I have 
 adopted. Truly, He only who is mighty in the 
 weak, can give me strength firmly to pursue my 
 path, and to do some good among those with 
 whom He has placed me. 
 
 " When life feels dark and heavy, I have com- 
 fort in the certainty that the trial is needful ; I 
 feel that it would make me happy if God were to 
 give me one who would call me by that sweet 
 name of mother, for which / have longed in vain : 
 then I should be no longer alone ; the strongest 
 and holiest bond would then unite me to another 
 being ; but ought I to desire it ? I ask myself 
 whether I could procure for my child the happi- 
 ness I would wish him to enjoy. Would he not, 
 one day, when time and intelligence had removed 
 the happy unconsciousness of childhood, blush and' 
 mourn for him who, according to Nature's laws, 
 he ought to honour ? And could there be any suf- 
 fering comparable to that of hearing the son exe- 
 crate the father — perhaps reproach his parent for- 
 having given him the bitter gift of life ? No ; 
 rather than that, would I be evermore alone ! For- 
 a few hours, months, or, at most, years of happi- 
 ness, would I risk receiving in exchange the deep- 
 est and most real of sorrows ? God is just. Pun- 
 ishment may not be withheld ! I dare not even 
 pray for the blessing which is woman's greates't 
 comfort, the highest object of her existence. 
 Around Gabriella will I enfold all the love that I 
 
 611 
 
CA 
 
 CA 
 
 could have laTished on a child of my own. Ga- 
 briella also is motherless ; not in vain has she 
 placed her linder my care." 
 
 GABRIELLA. 
 
 As soon as Gabriella was alone, she went to the 
 looking-glass, and was startled to find how the 
 vexation of a few hours had changed her looks. 
 "No, he shall not perceive this!" said she, in a 
 tone of mortification — Erika is right; she has 
 seen the world, and knows how it is proper to be- 
 have. No one sees her weep, and yet I am sure 
 she does sometimes, when alone in the corner 
 room. But what have I to cry for ? if he will go 
 away, who can help it?" And poor Gabriella, 
 who did not rightly comprehend in what Erika's 
 self-command consisted, began to defy her own 
 agitated heart, and so to silence it. 
 
 Then followed in due order, the old art of bath- 
 ing the eyes with cold water, and endeavouring, 
 before the mirror, to assume a smiling and indif- 
 ferent appearance. It is astonishing how far even 
 a little simple Skargord girl, acquainted only with 
 the rooks on her island, and the few strangers 
 who occasionally visited it, can be instructed when 
 love begins to give lessons. A hundred things of 
 which she has never dreamt, present themselves 
 of their own accord ; she learns easily to under- 
 stand those small, and in reality innocent devices, 
 which only become coquetry when the young mind 
 is either naturally tainted by vanity, or has im- 
 bibed it through flattery. That neither of these 
 was the case with Gabriella, she had to thank the 
 education she had received from Erika, in which 
 there was nothing to lead her to prize the acci- 
 dental gift of beauty. The pretty appellation of 
 the "Kose of Thistle Island" she had never re- 
 flected : she looked upon it as retained by custom 
 since her childhood ; and in that there was no- 
 thing flattering. 
 
 Another circumstance also preserved Gabriella 
 from vanity, namely, that she had little opportu- 
 nity of comparing herself with others. She had, 
 indeed, of late years, made a trip every summer 
 with Erika to Gothenburg ; but she was so fully 
 occupied while there, surveying all the remarkable 
 things in the town, the richness of the shops, and 
 the bustling crowds of people, that she did not at 
 all attend to the appearance of the young women. 
 If, therefore, there had been a tendency to this 
 fault, it had never taken root; nor injured the 
 moral beauty of her young mind. But the time 
 for the heart's first awakening had come, and 
 with it the accompaniments of new feelings, new 
 thoughts, and new conceptions. 
 
 " I cannot wear this ugly handkertihief," said 
 our young heroine to herself, and remarked for 
 the first time, that the red-and-yellow cotton hand- 
 kerchief was excessively unbecoming. "Birger 
 really did not show much taste when he bought 
 that ; but if I put on the little pink silk scarf to- 
 day, Erika will be sure to ask why I have done 
 it." And Gabriella blushed before the mirror at 
 the answer she would hav6 to give, provided she 
 spoke the truth ; and she had not yet learned to 
 tell the reverse. 
 
 In the mean time, the pink silk scarf was taken 
 out and tried, merely for amusement; but the 
 temptation was too strong; for, evidently the 
 cheeks assumed another tinge ; and besides, the 
 yellow handkerchief cast a yellow shade over her 
 face — it was too large, it was quite Sunchy when 
 it was tied round her neck. After a few minutes' 
 longer consideration in the looking-glass, it be- 
 came impossible to part with the pink ; and when 
 the resolution was once taken to brave the worst — 
 an inquiring look, or even an interrogation from 
 Erika — -the hair was nicely smoothed, the work- 
 basket hung on her arm, and with a mien which 
 tolerably well represented the indifference aimed 
 at, Gabriella went down stairs. 
 
 Prom The Magic Goblet. 
 [We must remark here, that the same laxity of 
 moral sentiment in Sweden respecting marriage is 
 indicated in the writings of Mrs. Carlen, which 
 we noticed in our Sketch of Miss Bremer and her 
 works. In the " Magic Goblet," the whole inte- 
 rest of the story is involved in the struggles of 
 Rudolph Seller to obtain a divorce from his wife, 
 Maria, because he had fallen passionately in love 
 with a young girl — Alfhild.] 
 
 LETTER OP THE WIFE TO HEE HUSBAND. 
 
 " RcDOLPH ! — In my half-broken heart tremble 
 yet some notes that never found a response, 
 but still could never die away, for they were the 
 gift of the great composer who bestows on us the 
 feelings of life — notes from those wonderful strings 
 that vibrate only in eternal love. But, Rudolph, 
 though these notes sound yet softly, they form no 
 longer an harmonious whole. The strings have 
 slowly rusted — one after the other is loosened, 
 and there is but yet an echo, which now must also 
 die away. 
 
 " Perhaps you do not understand me ; it may be 
 that you mil not understand me. This I almost 
 fear, for you have always maintained that there is 
 no love in our marriage. But it is you, Rudolph, 
 you alone, who determined that there should be 
 none. And when I saw the earnest with which 
 you indulged in this once conceived idea, I had 
 not the courage, the strength, to throw myself 
 upon your heart, to clear at least myself from this 
 harsh opinion. Perhaps you grow displeased, if 
 you see that in a moment when I should show 
 most pride, I give signs of a weakness which I 
 heretofore strove to conquer. But, Rudolph, in 
 this weakness there lies perhaps my greatest 
 strmgih. For you may believe it is, for the pride 
 of a woman who knows herself to be rejected, no 
 trifle to open her heart to that man who never 
 wished to read it. I am, however, convinced 
 that my duty as wife and mother, commands me 
 to suppress every feeling of pride. I will show 
 myself as I am, that you may not misjudge me in 
 future. And if you should despise me on that 
 account, then — it would bo but one pang more, 
 surely one more bitter, perhaps more painful than 
 all the rest, yet rather this than not to have been 
 candid at this fearful crisis. 
 
 "Yes, Rudolph, so it is. In my heart there has 
 
 612 
 
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 liurned a feeling as deep and true as can glow in 
 the breast of woman, and it burned alone. The 
 sparl^s of this flame have often hovered around 
 you, but they were quenched by the icy breath 
 which you breathed upon them, and the heart, 
 the poor heart trembled with coldness at the same 
 time that it was consumed by its glow. But you 
 know that I have suifered, and been silent. Even 
 now I should have spared you the pain which my 
 confession may cause you, had not your propo- 
 sition of a divorce caused an uproar and storm in 
 my soul, which I must try, at every hazard, to 
 still ; and it has seemed to me that I should grow 
 more calm, if I have no longer a secret from you 
 that dimmed the sun-rays of our domestic relation. 
 I am not so infatuated as to hope that feelings 
 which you never cherished should rise in your 
 soul just now, while you are throwing off those 
 which you heretofore have had for me — a feeling 
 of honour and duty ; only I do not wish you to be 
 able to say that want of mutual love is the reason 
 that induces you to the cruel plan of separation. 
 No, you must allege another reason ; whence you 
 will draw it, I do not know, nor do I wish to 
 know, for my resolution stands firm ; I shall never 
 accede to your proposal of divorce. 
 
 " Do not think, Rudolph, that it is through weak- 
 ness, or any thought of my sad condition, that I 
 seek to maintain for myself the rights which be- 
 long to me as your wife. No, indeed, no ; for I 
 well know that my life will be in future more de- 
 solate and joyless than heretofore ; but I do it for 
 the sake of our child, and the respect I have for 
 the sacredness of our tie. And then, Rudolph, 
 what have I done to you, that you wish to brand 
 my name before the world, and draw me before a 
 judge who will condemn me to death, while he 
 passes sentence on my honour? For dark sha- 
 dows always follow a divorce, let the cause be 
 what it will ; and this is natural. If husband and 
 wife dissolve the holiest of connexions, some great 
 fault on the one side or the other must necessarily 
 be the cause of it — at least the world thinks so. 
 The pictures you hold up to my eyes of the inde- 
 pendence of women, who are at present trodden 
 under foot by men, are, I fear, more imaginary 
 than true. Has not God himself ordained that 
 they should be subordinate? And they will do 
 well not to violate the laws of nature, and force 
 themselves upon the field where man is accus- 
 tomed to rule. Woman need, on that account, be 
 no ' despotic animal.' She has her peculiar power 
 in her heart, which must suffice, when outward 
 storms are raging around her. 
 
 " The picture which you draw in relation to the 
 children in an unlawful marriage, is gloomy ; but 
 I ask you if there can be more unfortunate beings 
 than those who grow up without having, properly, 
 either father or mother, since they stand equally 
 removed from both, and have no home-like fireside 
 , round which they may gather in child-like delight? 
 You will, no doubt, answer ' No,' to this, unless 
 you have determined both to speak and act against 
 nature ; and with this 'No,' you must also admit 
 that the example of separated parents must be of 
 a still more baneful effect upon the moral educa- 
 
 tion of children, than that which you portrayed 
 in colours too glowing. 
 
 "Oh, Rudolph! if you will not spare me, think, 
 at least, of your son ; he is innocent, and yet you 
 mean to cast a shadow upon his tender head, you 
 mean to sow in his heart a seed of discord, which 
 will shoot up between him and us — for who is 
 right, and who is wrong ? Is it our child who is 
 to decide ? No ; he will not be able so to do, and 
 therefore his young heart will close itself against 
 us both. If we had not this child — and if I were 
 perfectly convinced that you could not become 
 happy, and ever find joy in life unless separated 
 from me, then I think I could say ' Yes,' to your 
 unnatural request, though my heart should break 
 by it. But now hope is whispering to me that 
 time will bring up some friendly star that may 
 give light to the present night. But, however 
 this may be, so long as our son lives, I deem that 
 my own honour, as well as the care for his future, 
 demand from me to say, 'No,' to your proposition. 
 " Rudolph ! I cannot bring you back to us, and 
 yet my very soul shudders at the mere thought to 
 put my name to a paper which would deprive me 
 of all hope of happiness. 
 
 " Makia." 
 ***** 
 Seller was, indeed, deeply moved by the letter 
 of his wife ; but it was not so much through the 
 confession itself, as through the impediment that 
 was thrown in the way of his plans. As his eyes 
 flew over the lines of the letter, he must allow, 
 against his will, that, as she really loved him, and 
 had never in the least offended her conjugal duties, 
 a separation was out of all question, despite his 
 passionate feeling for Alf hild. Without her con- 
 sent, he had no hopes of being freed from the yoke 
 which he could bear no longer. 
 
 ***** 
 The thought of what his wife during this time 
 suifered, occurred to him but seldom. The self- 
 ishness of man has no time to occupy itself with 
 the sufferings of others, if he himself is a prey 
 to pains whose weight oppresses his breast, and 
 checks the full flow of his blood. Besides, Seller 
 thought, when he sometimes felt himself drawn 
 to his wife by a secret power, and against his will, 
 "Who knows if a word is true of all she writes to 
 me of her feelings ? She only intended to put a 
 new and stronger chain on me, by this invention. 
 I will inform myself of it more minutely. I will 
 see with my own eyes." 
 
 And he might have added, I will be blind, lest 
 I might be disturbed in the execution of my plan 
 that I have formed. 
 
 The consequence of it was, that Seller resolved 
 to return home, and attempt to induce her to 
 consent, by appealing to her generosity ; and he 
 was so certain that Maria would become happier 
 by the separation, that he conquered his pride, 
 which would otherwise have forbidden him to call 
 upon the generosity of a woman. 
 
 The answer which he sent his wife, after a long 
 delay, was cold, shorJ, expressive of regret, and 
 evasive. The allusion to her love to him was so 
 subtle and calculated, that it could hardly be 
 
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 found ; and the letter stated, in fact, nothing far- 
 ther than that he -would come home by Christmas, 
 to consult with her on the affair in question, per- 
 sonally. 
 
 Seiler had put the love of his wife, with the 
 greatest skill, in such a light, that poor Maria 
 could throw her eyes neither upon the letter nor 
 upon herself without blushing at her weakness. 
 It answered, therefore, perfectly its purpose. The 
 rejected heart, offended, withdrew within itself. 
 All hope was now gone ; but she would have des- 
 pised herself, if a sound of complaint had escaped 
 her lips. 
 
 In the mean time, her child grew more ill, and 
 the hours in which she watched in prayer and 
 tears, were full of all that earth can approve 
 most — most anguished and oppressive. 
 
 When Seiler unexpectedly arrived — he had not 
 appointed the day of his arrival before — there 
 was little hope left for the life of the boy. With 
 what grief did the mother see the hour approach 
 when her last hopes should be carried to the grave ! 
 
 From the same. 
 THE BIVOKOE. 
 
 Night had spread her dark mantle over the 
 earth, and the day, so bitter for Seiler and his 
 wife, which we described at the end of the first 
 Part, had sunk in the wide ocean of eternity. 
 
 Maria lay on her knees in her solitary chamber, 
 and prayed to God to give her strength and cour- 
 age to drain the bitter cup. But peace would not 
 come to her breast. At each look into the future 
 she startled, for she saw h6rself alone, without 
 the slightest hope of mending her condition, and 
 doomed to bleed to death from the wounds of her 
 breast. Yet Maria did not cease to pray, and not 
 only for herself alone, but also for him who had 
 caused her these bitter pangs. 
 
 The love of woman, though she cannot but con- 
 demn it as a weakness, remains, if it was true 
 love, so entirely without selfishness, that she for- 
 gets herself on account of the beloved object. 
 Maria had loved her husband thus, and loved him 
 still, after the last star in the heaven of hope was 
 quenched, and the last rose lay scattered at her 
 feet. 
 
 This night became for her memorable for ever. 
 It had seen her struggle, her prayer, her tears and 
 her anguish ; it became also witness of the vic- 
 tory in the painful struggle with her heart ! It 
 was long past midnight when, trembling with cold 
 and excitement, she sought her lonesome couch. 
 Mechanically she stretched out her hand, as she 
 was wont to do, toward the place where the bed 
 of her child used to stand. It was empty, and as 
 her hand sank powerless by her side, she felt a 
 violent pain shoot through her heart. Sighs 
 heaved her oppressed breast. Ah, how long and 
 dark was the night for the poor wife, on whose 
 brow cold drops of perspiration stood ! But God 
 is kind ; morning will dawn, 
 
 "And on the thorn of pains springs up, 
 The rose of pure delight.*' 
 
 Also this night was succeeded by a morning 
 whose first pale beams woke Maria and dried the 
 
 last tears that hung on her eye-lashes. She dress- 
 ed herself, and breathing with her warm lips she 
 made an open spot on the frozen window-panes, 
 and looked through it up to the Creator of the 
 world. Now that day had come, she felt a hope 
 and trust which night had not given her ; a cer- 
 tain peace came over her soul, and gradually her 
 self-control obtained full power again. She knew 
 now what he was going to do — she knew what 
 sacrifice iron necessity demanded of her, and she 
 was ready to make it. 
 
 Patient and beautiful in her infinite grief, Maria 
 entered the sitting-room, and arranged the break- 
 fast-table herself, for the first time since the return 
 of her husband. 
 
 When Seiler entered, she rose and went, more 
 bashful, perhaps, than a young bride, and blush- 
 ing, to meet him. He gave her his hand in silence, 
 but when he felt its light trembling, and her in- 
 describably charming confusion, he could not but 
 own himself, that he had never before looked upon 
 her with impartial eyes. 
 
 "How do you do to-day, good, dear Maria? 
 Your cheeks appear to me to be fresher than they 
 have been of late." 
 
 "I am glad if you find that! Indeed, I feel 
 somewhat better. But the coffee grows cold; al- 
 low me to wait upon you to-day." 
 
 At the word "to-day," her voice became evi- 
 dently tremulous ; there lay an almost super- 
 human exertion in her usual tranquillity. 
 
 Husband and wife took seats opposite to each 
 other, and Maria was able even to smile, as she 
 reached to him the cup. But there are hours in 
 life when a smile pains us more than the bitterest 
 and sharpest word. This was now the case with 
 Seiler. Maria's smile pierced through his soul, 
 and caused him more pain than a thousand tears 
 and reproaches would have done. He knew her, 
 and was aware that her deeply-wounded feelings 
 forba,de her to show the real state of her soul, and 
 that with death in her heart, she was strong 
 enough to smile, in order not to excite his com- 
 passion, since she could no more excite another 
 feeling. 
 
 "By heaven!" thought Seiler, and brought 
 Maria's hands to his lips with a degree of respect 
 and emotion which he had never shown before — 
 " Bloom is right ! I never knew her before. She 
 is a noble high-minded woman ; and had she not 
 been so proud, so politely cold while my heart 
 longed, often in past years, for a warmer ray of 
 sun, or if she had only tried to conquer it in the 
 usual ways of little stratagems, she would cer- 
 tainly have succeeded. But now, now it is past. 
 My heart has found a being that does not know 
 what is disguise, or what is the meaning of such 
 strength of mind, which commands to conceal the 
 warmest feelings, and to show an icy coldness, 
 while the blood is seething in the veins, and each 
 beat of the pulse announces to the restless heart . 
 that another second is passed without hope. No, 
 Alfhild, my pure white dove, she clings with 
 warmth and yearning desire to my breast, seeking 
 there protection, and her cheek reddens or grows 
 pale, according to the expression she finds in my 
 
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 looks. Thus, thus must be a ■woman's love; 
 wholly given up to and dependent on, the man to 
 whom she devotes herself. All her thoughts, feel- 
 ings and conceptions must unite in the one con- 
 sciousness that she loves. She must have desire 
 for nothing else. The word of her beloved, or 
 husband, must suffice her ; her confidence in it 
 must be her world, and his will the only thing that 
 she consults. The only arithmetic which she needs 
 to understand is, 'to be able to calculate the 
 change of his humour. ' " 
 
 In tlius comparing the love of his wife with that 
 of his beloved, which he carried through with the 
 greatest selfishness, he forgot entirely, which is 
 frequently done, to consider justice ; for he took 
 into no account at all his own behaviour toward 
 the two beings, which, if he had done so, would 
 have convinced him that he had to seek for the 
 cause of the different conduct of the two women 
 in himself, and not in them. 
 
 CAREY, ALICE, 
 
 Has, within the last few years, written poetry 
 that justly places her among the gifted daughters 
 of America. The lyre seems to obey her heart as 
 the Mo\mn harp does the wind, every impulse 
 gushing out in song. The father of Miss Carey 
 was a native of Vermont, who removed to Ohio 
 whilst it was a territory. The wild place where 
 he settled has become a pleasant village, not far 
 from Cincinnati ; there Alice was born, and has 
 always resided. The father has been greatly 
 blessed in his children : he has another talented 
 daughter, Phoebe, (whom we shall notice;) surely, 
 with such treasures he must be rich indeed. The 
 excellent mother of these sweet singers is no 
 longer living ; the daughters are thus invested 
 with the matronly duties of house-keeping, and, 
 to their praise be it recorded, they never neglect 
 domestic duties even for the wooings of the Muse. 
 
 Miss Carey has written for many periodicals ; 
 few, if any, of our young poets have given bo 
 much to the public as she has done during the 
 last five or six years. The *author, of " The Pe- 
 
 * Rev. Eufus W. Griswold 
 
 male Poets of America,"- has, in his critical notice, 
 admirably described the characteristics of these 
 sisters — he says: " Alice Carey evinces in many 
 poems a genuine imagination and a creative energy 
 that challenges peculiar praise. We have perhaps 
 no other author, so young, in whom the poetical 
 faculty is so largely developed. Her sister writes 
 with vigour, and a hopeful and genial spirit, and 
 there are many felicities of expression, particu- 
 larly in her later pieces. She refers more than 
 Alice to the common experience, and has, perhaps, 
 a deeper sympathy with that philosophy and those 
 movements of the day, which look for a nearer 
 approach to equality, in culture, fortune, and 
 social relations." 
 
 Two striking peculiarities enhance the interest 
 of the poems of Alice ; the absence of learning, 
 properly so called; and the capacity of the heart 
 to endow the true poet for the high ofiice of inter- 
 preter of nature without the aid of learning. 
 Doubtless, these sisters would find great benefit 
 from such a course of study as Mrs, Hemans pur- 
 sued, or such advantages as Mrs. Norton has en- 
 joyed. Still the magic of genius is felt most pow- 
 erfully, when it triumphs over obstacles seemingly 
 insuperable ; the poems we are now considering 
 are fairly entitled to higher praise than though 
 written by a scholar, with all appliances and 
 means for study and composition at command. 
 That, "in the West, song gushes and flows, like 
 the springs and rivers, more imperially than else- 
 where " may be true ; but it is chiefly from the 
 soul of woman that these beautiful strains are 
 thus, bird-like, poured. In the sentiment of these 
 songs we find the secret of their inspiration ; the 
 Bible is the fount from which these young poet- 
 esses have quaffed. With the Bible in her hand, 
 and its spirit in her heart, woman can nourish her 
 genius, and prove a guiding angel to all who look 
 heaven-ward for the Temple of Fame. 
 
 A volume of " Poems," by " Alice and Phoebe 
 Carey," was published in 1850. " Hualco, a Ro- 
 mance of the Golden Age of Tezcuco," by Alice 
 Carey, appeared in 1851. The poem is founded 
 upon adventures of a Mexican Prince, before the 
 conquest, as related by Clavigero, Torquemada, 
 and other historians. 
 
 From " Poems," by Alice Carey 
 LIGHTS OF QENIUS. 
 
 Upheaving pillars, on whose tops 
 
 The white stars rest like capitals, 
 Whence every living spark that drops 
 
 Kindles and blazes as it falls ! 
 And if the arch-fiend rise to pluck. 
 
 Or stoop to crush their beauty down, 
 A thousand other sparks are struck, 
 
 That glory settles in her crown. 
 The huge ship, with its brassy share. 
 
 Ploughs the blue sea to speed their course. 
 And veins of iron cleave the air. 
 
 To waft them from their burning source ! 
 All, from the insect's tiny wings. 
 
 And the small drop of morning dew, 
 To the wide universe of things, 
 
 The light is shining, burning through. 
 Too deep for our poor thoughts to gauge 
 
 Lie their clear sources, bright as truth. 
 Whence flows upon the locks of age 
 
 The beauty of eternal youth. 
 
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 Think, oh my faltering brother! think, 
 If thou wilt try, if thou hast tried, 
 
 By all the lights thou hast, to sink 
 Tlie shaft, of an immortal tide ! 
 
 PICTURES OP MEMOKT. 
 
 Among the beautiful pictures 
 
 That hang on Memory's wall 
 Is one of a dim old forest, 
 
 That seemeth best of all : 
 Not for its gnarled oaks olden, 
 
 Dark with the mistletoe; 
 Not for the violets golden 
 
 That sprinkle the vale below ; 
 Not for the milk-white lilies, 
 
 That lead from the fragrant hedge. 
 Coquetting all day with the sunbeams, 
 
 And stealing their golden edge ; 
 Not for the vines on the upland 
 
 WJiere the bright red berries rest, 
 Nor the pinks, nor the pale, sweet cowslip, 
 
 It seemeth to me the beat. 
 
 I once had a little brother. 
 
 With eyes that were dark and deep — 
 In the lap of that old dim forest 
 
 He lieth in peace asleep: 
 Light as the down of the thistle, 
 
 Free as the winds that blow, 
 We roved there the beautiful summers. 
 
 The summers of long ago ; 
 But his feet on the hills grew weary. 
 
 And, one of the autumn eves, 
 I made for my little brother 
 
 A bed of the yellow leaves. 
 
 Sweetly his pale arms folded 
 
 My neck in a meek embrace, 
 As the light of immortal beauty 
 
 Silently covered his face : 
 And when the arrows of sunset 
 
 Lodged in the tree-tops bright. 
 He fell in his saint-like beauty, 
 
 Asleep by the gates of light. 
 Therefore, of all the pictures 
 
 That hang on Memory's wall, 
 The one of the dim old forest 
 
 Seemeth the beat of all. 
 
 THE TWO MISSIONAUIES. 
 
 In the pyramid's heavy shadows, 
 
 And by the Nilp's deep flood. 
 They leaned on the arm of Jesus, 
 
 And preached to the multitude: 
 Where only the ostrich and parrot 
 
 Went by on the burning sands. 
 They builded to God an altar, 
 
 Lifting up holy hands. 
 
 But even while kneeling lowly 
 
 At the foot of the cross to pray, 
 Eternity's shadows slowly 
 
 Stole over their pilgrim way : 
 And one, with the journey weary, 
 
 And faint with the spirit's strife, 
 Fell sweetly asleep in Jesus, 
 
 Hard by the gates of life. 
 
 Oh, not in Gethsemane's garden, 
 
 And not by Genesareth's wave, 
 The light, like a golden mantle, 
 
 O'erspreadeth his lowly grave ; 
 But the bird of the burning desert 
 
 Goes by with a noiseless tread. 
 And the tent of the restless Arab 
 
 Is silently near him spread. 
 
 Oh, could we remember only, 
 Who shrink from the lightest ill, 
 
 His sorrows, who, bruised and lonely, 
 Wrought on in the vineyard still — 
 
 Surely the tale of sorrow 
 Would fall on the mourner's breast. 
 
 Hushing, like oil on the waters. 
 The troubled wave to rest. 
 
 THE CHARMED BIRD. 
 
 '* Mother, oh, mother ! this morning when Will 
 And Mary and I had gone out on the hill, 
 We stopped in the orchard to climb in the trees, 
 And broke off the blossoms that sweetened the breeze, 
 When right down before us, and close where we were. 
 There fluttered and fluttered a bird in the air. 
 
 " Its crest was so glossy, so bright were its eyes, 
 
 And its wings, oh ! their colour was just like the skies ; 
 
 And still as it chirped, and kept eddying round 
 
 In narrower circles and nearer the ground. 
 
 We looked, and all liid in the leaves of the brake, 
 
 We saw, don't you think, oh ! the ugliest snake !" 
 
 Caressingly folding the child in her arms, 
 With thoughts of sweet birds in a world full of charms, 
 " My child," said the mother, " in life's later hours 
 Kemember the morning you stopped for the flowers ; 
 And still when you think of the bird in the air. 
 Forget not, my love, that the serpent was there." 
 
 TO THE EVENING ZEPHTR. 
 
 I sit where the wlld-bee is humming. 
 
 And listen in vain for thy song ; 
 I've waited before for thy coming. 
 
 But never, oh, never so long ! 
 How oft with the blue sky above us. 
 
 And waves breaking light on the shore. 
 Thou, knowing they would not reprove us, 
 
 Hast kissed me a thousand times o'er 1 — 
 Alone in the gathering shadows. 
 
 Still waiting, sweet Zephyr, for thee 
 I look for the waves of the meadows. 
 
 And dimples to dot the blue sea. 
 The blossoms that waited to greet thee 
 
 With heat or the noontide oppressed, 
 Now flutter so lightly to meet thee, 
 
 Thou'rt coming, I know, from the Tfrest. 
 Alas! if thou (indest me pouting, 
 
 'Tis only my love that alarms ; 
 Forgive, then, I pray thee, my doubting. 
 
 And take me once more to thine arms I 
 
 THE PAST AND PRESENT. 
 
 Ye everlasting conjurors of ill, 
 
 Who fear tJie Samiel in the lightest breeze. 
 Go. moralize with Marius, if you will, 
 
 In the old cradle of the sciences ! 
 Bid the sarcophagi unclose their lids — 
 
 Drag the colossal sphinxes forth to view — 
 Rouse up the builders of the pyramids, • 
 
 And raise the labyrinthian shrines anew ; 
 And see the haughty favourite of the fates — 
 
 The arbiter of myriad destinies ; 
 Thebes, with her " feast of lights" and hundred gates, - 
 
 And Carthage, mother of sworn enmities, 
 Not mantled with the desolate weeds and dust 
 
 Of centuries, but as she sat apart. 
 Nursing her lions, ere the eagle thrust 
 
 His bloody talons deep into her heart ; — 
 Then say, what was she in her palmiest times 
 
 That we should mourn for ever for the past? 
 In fame, a very Babylon — her crimes 
 
 The plague-spot of the nations to the last I 
 
 And Rome! the seven-hilled city: she that rose 
 
 Girt with the majesty of peerless might, 
 From out the ashes of her fallen foes — 
 
 She in whose lap was poured, like streams of light. 
 The wealth of nations; was she not endowed 
 
 With that most perilous gift of beauty —pride? 
 And spite of all her glories blazoned loud, 
 
 Idolatrous, voluptuous, and allied 
 
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 Closer to vice than virtue? Harkl the sounds 
 
 Of tramping thousands in her stony street I 
 And now the amphitheatre resounds 
 
 With acclamations for the engrossing feat ! 
 Draw near, where men of wars and senates stood, 
 
 And see the pastime, whence they joyance drank,— 
 The Libyan lion lapping the warm blood 
 
 Oozed from the Dacian's bosom. On the bank 
 Of the sweet Danube, smiling children wait 
 To greet their sire, unconscious of his fate. 
 Oh, draw the wildering veil a little back, 
 
 Ye blind idolaters of things that were; 
 Who, through the glory trailing in their track, 
 
 See but the whiteness of the sepulchre ; 
 
 Then to the Present turning, ye vvill see 
 
 Even as one, the universal mind 
 Rousing, like genius from a reverie, 
 
 With the exalted aim to serve mankind: 
 Lo ! as my song is closing, I can feel 
 
 The spirit of the Present in tny heart ; 
 And for the Future, with a wiser zeal. 
 
 In life's great drama I vvould act my part : 
 That they may say, who see the curtain fall 
 
 And from the closing scene in silence go, 
 Haply aa some light favour they recall. 
 
 Peace to her ashes, — she haih lessened woe ! 
 
 THE HANDMAID. 
 
 Why rests a shadow on her woman's heart ? 
 
 In life's more girlish hours it was not so ; 
 Hi hath she learned to hide, with harmless art. 
 
 The soundings of the plummet-line of woe ! 
 
 Oh, what a world of tenderness looks through 
 The melting sapphire of her mournful eyes ; 
 
 Less softly moist are violets full of dew. 
 And the delicious colour of the skies. 
 
 Serenely amid worship dol\\ she move, 
 
 Counting its passionate tenderness as dross ; 
 
 And tempering the pleadings of earth's love, 
 In the still, solemn shadows of the cross. 
 
 It is not that her heart is cold or vain. 
 That thus she moves through many worshippers ; 
 
 No step is lighter by the couch of pain. 
 No hand on fever's brow lies soft as hers. 
 
 From the loose flowing of her amber hair, 
 The summer flowers we long ago unknit, 
 
 As something between joyance and despair 
 Came in the chamber of her soul to sit. 
 
 In her white cheek the crimson burns as faint 
 As red doth in some cold star's chastened beam ; 
 
 The tender meekness of the pitying saint 
 Lends all her life the beauty of a dream. 
 
 Thus doth she move among us day by day, 
 Loving and loved — but passion can not move 
 
 The young heart that hath wrapped itself away 
 In the soft mantle of a Saviour's love. 
 
 death's ferryman. 
 
 Boatman, thrice I've called thee o'er, 
 Waiting on life's solemn shore, 
 Tracing, in the silver sand. 
 Letters till thy boat should land. 
 
 Drifting out alone with thee, 
 Toward the clime I can not see. 
 Read to me the strange device 
 Graven on thy wand of ice. 
 
 Push the curls of golden hue 
 From thy eyes of starlit dew. 
 And behold me where I stand 
 Beckoning thy boat to land. 
 
 Where the river mist, so pale, 
 Trembles like a bridal veil. 
 O'er yon lowly drooping tree. 
 One that loves me waits for me. 
 
 Hear, sweet boatman, hear my call ! 
 Last year, with the leaflet's fall. 
 Resting her pale hand in mine, 
 Crossed she in that boat of thine. 
 
 When the corn shall cease to grow, 
 And the rye-field's silver flow 
 ■ At the reaper's feet is laid, 
 Crossing, spake the lovely maid; 
 
 Dearest love, another year 
 Thou Shalt meet this boatman here — 
 TliQ white fingers of despair 
 Playing with his golden hair. 
 
 From this silver-sanded shore. 
 Beckon him to row thee o'er: 
 Where yon solemn shadows be, 
 I shall wait thee — come and see! 
 
 There! the white sails float and flow, 
 One in heaven and one below; 
 And I hear a low voice cry. 
 Ferryman of Death am 1. 
 
 "WATCHING. 
 
 Thy smile is sad, Elella, 
 
 Too sad for thee to wear. 
 For scarcely have we yet untwined 
 
 The rosebuds from thy hair! 
 So, dear one, hush thy sobbing. 
 
 And let tliy tears be dried — 
 Methinks thou shouldst be happier. 
 
 Three little months a bride! 
 
 Hark ! how the winds are heaping 
 
 The snow-drifts cold and white — 
 The clouds like spectres cross the sky — 
 
 Oh, what a lonesome night! 
 The hour grows late and later, 
 
 I hear the midnight chime: 
 Thy heart's fond keeper, where is he ? 
 
 Why comes he not? — 'tis time! 
 
 Here make my heart thy pillow. 
 
 And, if the hours seem long, 
 I 'li wile them with a legend wild. 
 
 Or fragment of old song — 
 Or read, if that will soothe thee. 
 
 Some poet's pleasant rhymes; 
 Oh, I have watched and waited thus, 
 
 I can not tell the times ! 
 
 Hush, hark! across the neighbouring hills 
 
 I hear the watch-dog bay — 
 Stir up the fire, and trim the lamp, 
 
 I 'm sure he 's on the way ! 
 Could that have only been the winds, 
 
 So like a footstep near? 
 No, smile Elella, smile again, 
 
 He's coming home — he's here! 
 
 VISIONS OF LIGHT. 
 
 The moon is rising in beauty, 
 'i'he sky is soiernn and bright. 
 
 And the waters are singing like lovers. 
 That walk in the valleys at night. 
 
 Like the towers of an ancient city, 
 That darken against the sky. 
 
 Seems the blue mist of the river 
 O'er the hill-tops far and high. 
 
 I see through the gathering darkness 
 The spire of the village church, 
 
 And the pale white tombs, half hidden 
 By the tasselled willow and birch. 
 
 Vain is the golden drifting 
 Of morning light on the hill ; 
 
 No white hand opens the windows 
 Of those chambers low and still. 
 
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 But their dwellers were all my kindred, 
 Whatever their lives might be, 
 
 And their sufferings and achievements 
 Have recorded lessons for me. 
 
 Not one of the countless voyagers 
 
 Of life's mysterious main, 
 Has laid down his hurden of sorrows. 
 
 Who hath lived and loved in vain. 
 
 From the bards of the elder ages 
 
 Fragments of song float by, 
 Like (lowers in the streams of summfr, 
 
 Or stars in the midnight sky. 
 
 So[ne plumes in the dust are scattered, 
 Where the eagles of Persia flew. 
 
 And wisdom is reaped from the furrows 
 The plough of the Roman drew. 
 
 From the white tents of the crusaders 
 The phantoms of glory are gone. 
 
 But the zeal of the barefooted hermit 
 In humanity's heart lives on. 
 
 Oh, sweet as the bell of the Sabbath 
 In the tower of the village church, 
 
 Or the fall of the yellow ntoonbeams 
 la the tasselled willow and birch — 
 
 Comes a thought of the blessed issues 
 That shall follow our social strife. 
 
 When the spirit of love maketh perfect 
 The beautiful mission of life : 
 
 For visions of light are gathered 
 In the sunshine of flowery nooks. 
 
 Like the shades of the ghostly Fathers 
 In their twilight cell of books! 
 
 CAREY, PHCEBE, 
 
 Sister of the preceding, and usually named 
 with her, though their poetical genius differs, 
 as a double star, when viewed by a telescope, 
 which makes the two distinctly visible, shows 
 different colours of light. The elder sister is 
 superior in genius to the younger, whose light 
 seems to be rather a reflexion of the other's men- 
 tal power, than an original gift of poetic fancy. 
 The sympathies of the younger have made her a 
 poet. All that we need say of the history of 
 Phoebe Carey, is contained in that of her sister 
 Alice. 
 
 From " Poems " by Phoebe Carey. 
 SONG OF THE HEART. 
 
 They may tell for ever of worlds of bloom 
 Beyond the skies and beyond the tomb ; 
 Of the s\veet repose, and the rapture there, 
 That are not found in a world of care ; 
 But not to me can the present seem 
 Like a foolish tale or an idle dream. 
 
 Oh, I know that the bowers of heaven are fair, 
 And I know that the waters of life are there ; 
 But I do not long for their happy flow, 
 While there burst such fountains of bliss below; 
 And I would not leave, for the rest above, 
 The faithful bosom of trusting love. 
 
 There are angels here ; they are seen the while 
 In each love-lit brow and each gentle smile; 
 There are seraph voices, that meet the ear 
 In the kindly tone and the word of cheer; 
 And light, such light as they have above, 
 Beams on us here, from the eyes of love. 
 
 Yet, when it cometh my time to die, 
 1 would turn from this bright world willingly; 
 Though, even then, would the thoughts of this 
 Tinge every dream of that land of bliss ; 
 And I fain would lean on the loved for aid. 
 Nor walk alone through the vale and shade. 
 
 And if 'tis mine, till life's changes end, 
 To keep the heart of one faithful friend, 
 Whatever the trials of earth may be, — 
 On the peaceful shore, or the restless sea. 
 In a palace home, or the wilderness, — 
 There is heaven for me in a world like this ! 
 
 RESOLVES. 
 
 I have said 1 would not meet him ; have I said the words in 
 
 vain ? 
 Sunset burns along the hill-tops, and I'm waiting here again; 
 But my promise is not broken, though I stand where once 
 
 we met ; 
 When I hear his coming footsteps, I can fly him even yet. 
 
 We have stood here oft when evening deepened slowly o'er 
 
 the plain, 
 But I must not, dare not, meet him in the shadows here again; 
 For I could not turn away and leave that pleading look and 
 
 tone. 
 And the sorrow of his parting would be bitter as my own. 
 
 In the dim and distant ether the first star is shining through. 
 And another and another tremble softly in the blue : 
 Should I linger but one moment in the shadows where I 
 
 stand, 
 I shall see the vine-leaves parted, with a quick impatient 
 
 hand. 
 
 But I will not wait his coming! he will surely come once 
 
 more ; 
 Though 1 said I would not meet him, I have told him so 
 
 before ; 
 And he knows the stars of evening see me standing here 
 
 again — 
 Oh, he surely will not leave me now to watch and wait in 
 
 vain! 
 
 'TJs the hour, the time of meeting! in one moment 'twill 
 
 be past; 
 And last night he stood beside me; was that blessed time 
 
 the last? 
 I could belter bear my sorrow, conid I live that parting o'er ; 
 Oh, I wish I had not told him that I would not come once 
 
 more ! 
 
 Could that have been the night-wind moved the branches 
 
 thus apart ? 
 Did I hear a coming footstep, or the beating of my heart ? 
 No! I hear him, I can see him, and my weak resolves are 
 
 vain ; 
 I will fly, but to his bosom, and to leave it not again 1 
 
 OUR HOMESTEAD. 
 
 Our old brown homestead reared its walls. 
 
 From the wayside dust aloof, 
 Where the apple boughs could almost cast 
 
 Their fruitage ,on its roof: 
 And the cherry-tree so near it grew, 
 
 That when awake 1 've lain. 
 In the lonesome nights I 've heard the limbs, 
 
 As they creaked against the pane; 
 And those orchard trees, oh, those orchard trees ! 
 
 I 've seen my little brothers rocked 
 h\ their tops by the summer breeze. 
 
 The sweet-brier under the window sill, 
 
 Which the early birds made glad. 
 And the damask rose by the garden fence. 
 
 Were all the flowers we had. 
 I 've looked at many a flower since then. 
 
 Exotics rich and rare, 
 That to otlier eyes were lovelier, 
 But not to me so fair; 
 For those roses bright, oh, those roses bright ! 
 I have twined them with my sister's locks, 
 That are laid in the dust from sight ! 
 
 We had a well, a deep old well. 
 
 Where the spring was never dry, 
 And the cool drops down from the mossy stones 
 
 Were falling constantly: 
 
 618 
 
CH 
 
 CH 
 
 And there never was water half so sweet 
 
 As that in my little cup, 
 Drawn up to the curb by the rude old sweep, 
 Which my father's hand set up; 
 And that deep old well, oh, that deep old well.* 
 
 I remember yet the plashing sound 
 Of the bucket as it fell. 
 
 Our homestead had an ample hearth, 
 Where at night we loved to meet ; 
 There my mother's voice was always kind. 
 
 And her smile was always sweet; 
 And there I 've snt on my father's knee. 
 
 And watched his thoughtful brow, 
 With my childish hand in his raven hair — 
 That hair is silver now! 
 But that broad hearth's light, oil, that broad hearth's light 1 
 
 And my father's look, and my mother's smile. 
 They are in my heart to-night. 
 
 PARTING AND MEETING. 
 
 On the casement, closed and lonesome. 
 
 Is falling the autumn rain. 
 And my heart to-night is heavy 
 
 With a sense of unquiet pain. 
 
 Not tlijit the leaves are dying 
 
 In the kiss of the traitor frost. 
 And not that the summer flowers 
 
 On the bitter winds are tossed. 
 
 And not that the reaper's singing 
 
 The time no longer cheers. 
 Bringing home through the merry starlight 
 
 The sheaves and the yellow ears. 
 
 No, not from these am I sighing. 
 As the hours pass slow and dull. 
 
 For God in his own time maketh 
 All seasons beautiful. 
 
 But one of our household number 
 Sits not by the hearth-fire's light. 
 
 And right on her pathway beating 
 Is the rain of this autumn night. 
 
 And therefore my heart is heavy 
 
 With a sense of unquiet pain, 
 For, but Heaven can tell if the parted 
 
 Shall meet in the earth again. 
 
 But knowing God's love extendeth 
 
 Wherever his children are. 
 And tenderly round about them 
 
 Are the arms of his watchful care ; 
 
 With him be the time and the season 
 Of our meeting again with thee. 
 
 Whether here on these earthly borders, 
 Or the shore of the world to be. 
 
 CHILD, LYDIA MARIA, 
 
 Wife of David Lee Child, 'waa born in Massa- 
 chusetts, but passed the early portion of her youth 
 in Maine, whither her father, Mr. Francis, had 
 removed when she was quite young. She found 
 fe-w literary privileges in the place of her resi- 
 dence, but she had the genius that nourishes itself 
 on nature; and from the influence of the wild 
 scenes which surrounded her home in childhood, 
 she, doubtless, draws even now much of the fresh- 
 ness of thought and vigour of style -which mark 
 her productions. 
 
 In 1823, being on a visit to her brother, the 
 Rev. Gonyers Francis, then pastor of the Unitarian 
 Church at Watertown, Massachusetts, Miss Fran- 
 cis commenced her literary life with " Hobomok, 
 a Story of the Pilgrims ;" and, considering the cir- 
 cumstances under which it was written, a very 
 
 remarkable production. As the scene has been 
 graphically described by Dr. Griswold, author of 
 " The Prose Writers of America," we will quote 
 his account ; — "One Sunday noon, soon after her 
 arrival at her brother's. Miss Francis took up a 
 number of the 'North American Review,' and 
 read Doctor Palfrey's article on ' Yamoydon,' in 
 which he eloquently describes the adaptation of 
 early New England history to the purposes of 
 fiction. She had never written a word for the 
 press, — never had dreamed of turning author,— 
 but the spell was on her, and seizing a pen, before 
 the bell rang for the afternoon meeting she had 
 composed the first chapter of the novel, just as it 
 is printed; when it was shown to her brother, her 
 young ambition was flattered by the exclama- 
 tion, — ' But, Maria, did you really wi-ite this ? 
 Do you mean what you say, that it is entirely yowv 
 own ?" The excellent Doctor little knew the effect 
 of his words. Her fate was fixed : in six weeks 
 'Hobomok' was finished." The book was pub- 
 lished in 1824 ; ever since that time its author has 
 kept her place as a faithful labourer in the field 
 of literature, and, perhaps, no one of our female 
 writers has had wider influence, or made more 
 earnest efforts to do good with her talents. Her 
 next work, " The Rebels," was published in 1825 ; 
 soon afterwards Miss Francis became Mrs. Child, 
 and her married life has been a true and lovely 
 exemplification of the domestic concord 'which 
 congenial minds produce as well as enjoy. 
 
 In 1827, Mrs. Child engaged as editor of "The 
 Juvenile Miscellany," the first monthly periodical 
 issued in our Union for children. Under her care 
 the work became very popular ; she has a warm 
 sympathy with the young — her genius harmonized 
 with the undertaking, and some of the articles in 
 this "Miscellany" are among the best she has 
 written. During the six following years, Mrs. 
 Child's pen was incessantly employed. Besides 
 her editorial duties, she published, successively — 
 " The Frugal Housewife," written as she said in 
 the preface, "for the poor," and one of the most 
 useful books of its kind extant — " The Mother's 
 Book," an excellent manual in training children, 
 though the author has never been a mother — and 
 " The Girl's Book," designed as a holiday present 
 and descriptive of children's plays. She also pre- 
 pared five volumes for " The Ladies' Family Li- 
 brary," comprising "Lives of Madame de Stael and 
 Madame Roland;" "Lady Russell and Madame 
 Guyon;" "Biographies of Good Wives;" and the 
 "History and Condition of Woman;" which works 
 were published in Boston. Besides all these she 
 published in 1833, " The Coronal," a collection 
 of miscellaneous pieces, in prose and verse. This 
 year is also important in her history for the first 
 step she took with the abolitionists, by issuing her 
 " Appeal for that class of Americans called Afri- 
 cans." This appeal was written with that earnest 
 and honest enthusiasm pervading all Mrs. Child's 
 benevolent efforts. She was true to the generous 
 sympathies of her own heart ; but did she care- 
 fully ex^imine, in all its bearings, the cause she so 
 ardently advocated ? The philanthropist may do 
 incalculable injury to humanity by urging a sys- 
 
 619 
 
CH 
 
 CH 
 
 tern of reform or relief which removes old abuses 
 it is true, but introduces and cherishes other 
 and far greater evils. ' Las Casas introduced 
 negro slavery to save the red man from extirpa- 
 tion — behold the result! Philanthropy establish- 
 ed "Foundling Hospitals" in Stockholm to save 
 illegitimate infants from exposure; one out of 
 every three children now born in that city are 
 illegitimate ! We might multiply illustrations, — 
 but there is no need. The precepts and exam- 
 ples of the Saviour should be the guide of wo- 
 man's benevolent efforts. In no case did He lend 
 aid or encouragement to the agitation of political 
 questions. His Gospel is "peace and good-will ;" 
 which it seems woman's province to illustrate in 
 its deeds till men shall be imbued with its spirit. 
 Wherever there are two modes of attaining a 
 righteous end, is it not better that our sex should 
 follow that which requires ever the gentle ministry 
 of love, mercy and good works, than enter on that 
 which stirs up partisan jealousy, and the thou- 
 sand evils attendant on political or polemical 
 strife ? The design of the abolitionists, let us be- 
 lieve, is the improvement and happiness of the 
 coloured race; for this end Mrs. Child devoted 
 her noblest talents, her holiest aspirations. Seven- 
 teen years ago she consecrated her powers to this 
 work. The result has been, that her fine genius, 
 her soul's wealth has been wasted in the struggle 
 which party politicians have used for their own 
 selfish purposes. Had Mrs. Child taken the more 
 quiet, but far more efficient mode of doing good 
 to the coloured race, by aiding to establish schools 
 in Liberia — preparing and sending out free co- 
 loured emigrants, who must there become teach- 
 ers and exemplars to thousands ■ and millions of 
 the poor black heathen ; if she had written for 
 this mission of peace as she has poured her heart 
 out in a cause only tending to strife, what blessed 
 memorials of these long years, would now be 
 found to repay her disinterested exertions ! Since 
 1833, only three works of her's have been pub- 
 lished: " Philothea" appeared in 1835, a charm- 
 ing romance, filled with the pure aspii-atious of 
 genius, and rich in classical lore ; the scene being 
 laid in Greece in the time of Pericles and Aspasia. 
 The work is in one volume, and was planned and 
 partly written before its author entered the arena 
 of party ; but the bitter feelings engendered by the 
 strife, have prevented the merits of this remark- 
 able book from being appreciated as they deserve. 
 In 1841, Mr. and Mrs. Child removed from Bos- 
 ton to the city of New York, and became con- 
 ductors of " The National Anti-Slavery Standard." 
 Mrs. Child, while assisting in her husband's edi- 
 torial duties, now commenced a Series of Let- 
 ters, partly for the " Boston Courier," a popular 
 newspaper, and partly for the " Standard," (her 
 own paper,) which after being thus published, 
 were collected and reissued in two volumes, enti- 
 tled, " Letters from New York." This work has 
 been very popular. Mrs. Child is a close observer, 
 she knows "how to observe," and better still, she 
 has a poetical imagination and a pure, warm, 
 loving heart, which invests her descriptions with 
 a peculiar charm. An English Reviewer has well 
 
 remarked concerning Mrs. Child : — " Whatever 
 comes to her from without, whether through the 
 eye or the ear, whether in nature or art, is re- 
 flected in her writings with a halo of beauty 
 thrown about it by her own fancy ; and thus pre- 
 sented, it appeals to our sympathies and awakens 
 an interest which carves it upon the memory in 
 letters of gold. But she has yet loftier claims to 
 respect than a poetical nature. She is a philoso- 
 pher, and, better still, a religious philosopher. 
 Every page presents to us scraps of wisdom, 
 not pedantically put forth, as if to attract admi- 
 ration, but thrown out by the way in seeming 
 unconsciousness, and as part of her ordinary 
 thoughts." 
 
 This is high praise, but truly deserved. Her 
 last work, ^ excepting a little book, "Spring 
 Flowers," for children, — was " Fact and Fiction," 
 published in 1846. It is a collection of tales, 
 each one possessing some characteristic excel- 
 lence, but the one we select is such a beautiful 
 illustration of the power of kindness over the 
 human heart, and moreover, it discloses the im- 
 pulse of her own nature, always seeking to do 
 good, that we prefer it to those in which fancy 
 predominates. Mrs. Child's residence is now in 
 Massachusetts. 
 
 From " Pact and Fiction." 
 
 THE NEIGHBOUK-IN-LAW. 
 
 Who blesses others in his daily deeds, 
 Will find the healing that his spirit needs; 
 For every flower in others' pathway strown, 
 Confers its fragrant beauty on our own. 
 
 " So you are going to live in the same building 
 with Hetty Turnpenny," said Mrs. Lane to Mrs. 
 Fairweather; "you will find nobody to envy you. 
 If her temperdoes not prove too much even for 
 your good nature, it will surprise all who know 
 her. We lived there a year, and that is as long 
 as anybody ever tried it." 
 
 "Poor Hetty!" replied Mrs. Fairweather; "she 
 has had much to harden her. Her mother died 
 too early for her to remember ; her father was 
 very severe with her ; and the only lover she ever 
 had, borrowed the savings of her years of toil, 
 and spent them in dissipation. But Hetty, not- 
 withstanding her sharp features, and sharper 
 words, certainly has a kind heart. In the midst 
 of her greatest poverty, many were the stockings 
 she knit, and the warm waistcoats she made, for 
 the poor drunken lover, whom she had too much 
 good sense to marry. Then you know she feeds 
 and clothes her brother's orphan child." 
 
 " If you call it feeding and clothing," replied 
 Mrs. Lane. " The poor child looks cold, and 
 pinched, and frightened all the time, as if she 
 were chased by the east wind. I used to tell Miss 
 Turnpenny she ought to be ashamed of herself, 
 to keep the poor little thing at work all the time, 
 without one minute to play. If she does but look 
 at the cat, as it runs by the window. Aunt Hetty 
 gives her a rap over the knuckles. I used to tell 
 her she would make the girl just such another 
 sour old crab as herself." 
 
 " That must have been very improving to her 
 disposition," replied Mrs. Fairweather, with a 
 
 620 
 
CH 
 
 CH 
 
 good-humoured smile. " But in justice to poor 
 Aunt Hetty, you ought to remember that she had 
 just such a cheerless childhood herself. Flowers 
 grow where there is sunshine." 
 
 " I know you think everybody ought to live in 
 the sunshine," rejoined Mrs. Lane ; " and it must 
 be confessed that you carry it with you wherever 
 you go. If Miss Turnpenny has a heart, I dare 
 say you will find it out, though I never could, and 
 I never heard of any one else that could. All the 
 families within hearing of her tongue call her the 
 neighbour-in-law." 
 
 Certainly the prospect was not very encour- 
 aging ; for the house Mrs. Fairweather proposed 
 to occupy, was not only under the same roof with 
 Miss Turnpenny, but the buildings had one com- 
 mon yard in the rear, and one common space for 
 a garden in front. The very first day she took 
 possession of her new habitation, she called on 
 the neighbour-in-law. Aunt Hetty had taken the 
 precaution to extinguish the fire, lest the new 
 neighbour should want hot water, before her own 
 wood and coal arrived. Her first salutation was, 
 "If you want any cold water, there's a pump 
 across the street ; I don't like to have my house 
 slopped aU over." 
 
 " I am glad you are so tidy, neighbour Turn- 
 penny," replied Mrs. Fairweather; "it is ex- 
 tremely pleasant to have neat neighbours. I will 
 try to keep everything as bright as a new five 
 cent piece, for I see that will please you. I came 
 in merely to say good morning, and to ask if you 
 could spare little Peggy to run up and down stairs 
 for me, while I am getting my furniture in order. 
 I, will pay her sixpence an hour." 
 
 Aunt Hetty had begun to purse up her mouth 
 for a refusal ; but the promise of sixpence an hour 
 relaxed her features at once. Little Peggy sat 
 knitting a stocking very diligently, with a rod 
 lying on the table beside her. . She looked up 
 with timid wistfulness, as if the prospect of any 
 change was like a release from prison. When she 
 heard consent given, a bright colour flushed her 
 cheeks. She was evidently of an impressible tem- 
 perament, for good or evil. "Now mind and be- 
 have yourself," said Aunt Hetty; "and see that 
 you keep at work the whole time. If I hear one 
 word of complaint, you know what you'll get 
 when you come home." The rose-colour subsided 
 from Peggy's pale face, and she answered, " Yes 
 ma'am," very meekly. 
 
 In the neighbour's house all went quite other- 
 wise. No switch lay on the table ; and instead 
 of, "Mind how you do that — if you don't, I'll 
 punish you," she heard the gentle words, " There, 
 dear, see how carefully you can carry that up 
 Stairs. Why, what a nice, handy little girl you 
 are !" Under this enlivening influence, Peggy 
 worked like a bee, and soon began to hum' much 
 more agreeably than a bee. Aunt Hetty was 
 always in the habit of saying, " Stop your noise, 
 and mind your work." But the new friend patted 
 her on the head, and said, "What a pleasant voice 
 the little girl has. It is like the birds in the fields. 
 By-and-by, you shall hear my music-box." This 
 opened wide the windows of the poor little shut-up 
 
 heart, so that the sunshine could stream in, and 
 the birds fly in and out, carolling. The happy 
 child tuned up like a lark, as she tripped lightly 
 up and down stairs, on various household errands. 
 But though she took heed to observe all the direc- 
 tions given her, her head was all the time filled 
 with conjectures what sort of a thing a music-box 
 might be. She was a little afraid the kind lady 
 would forget to show it to her. She kept at work, 
 however, and asked no questions ; she only looked 
 very curiously at everything that resembled a box. 
 At last, Mrs. Fairweather said, " I think your 
 little feet must be tired, by this time. We will 
 rest awhile, and eat some gingerbread." The 
 child took the offered cake, with a humble little 
 courtesy, and carefully held out her apron to pre- 
 vent any crumbs from falling on the floor. But 
 suddenly the apron dropped, and the crumbs were 
 all strewn about. " Is that a little bird ?" she ex- 
 claimed eagerly. "Where is he? Is he in this 
 room ?" The new friend smiled, and told her that 
 was the music-box ; and after awhile she opened 
 it, and explained what made the sounds. Then 
 she took out a pile of books from one of the bas- 
 kets of goods, and told Peggy she might look at 
 the pictures, till she called her. The little girl 
 stepped forward eagerly to take them, and then 
 drew back, as if afraid. " What is the matter ?" 
 asked Mrs. Fairweather; " I am very willing to 
 trust you with the books. I keep them, on pur- 
 pose to amuse children." Peggy looked down 
 with her finger on her lip, and answered, in a 
 constrained voice, "Aunt Turnpenny won't like it 
 if I play." " Don't trouble yourself about that; 
 I will make it all right with Aunt Hetty," replied 
 the friendly one. Thus assured, she gave herself 
 up to the full enjoyment of the picture-books; and 
 when she was summoned to her work, she obeyed 
 with a cheerful alacrity that would have astonished 
 her stern relative. When the labours of the day 
 were concluded, Mrs. Fairweather accompanied 
 her home, paid for all the hours she had been 
 absent, and warmly praised her docility and dili- 
 gence. " It is lucky for her that she behaved so 
 well," replied Aunt Hetty; "if I had heard any 
 complaint, I should have given her a whipping, 
 and sent her to bed without her supper." 
 ***** 
 But a source of annoyance presented itself, 
 which could not easily be disposed of. Aunt 
 Hetty had a cat — a lean, scraggy animal — that 
 looked as if she were often kicked and seldom fed ; 
 and Mrs. Fairweather had a fat, frisky little dog, 
 always ready for a caper. He took a distaste to 
 poor poverty-stricken Tab, the first time he saw 
 her ; and no coaxing could induce him to alter his 
 opinion. His name was Pink ; but he was any- 
 thing but a pink of behaviour in his neighbourly 
 relations. Poor Tab could never set foot out of 
 doors without being saluted with a growl, and a 
 short sharp bark, that frightened her out of her 
 senses, and made her run into the house, with 
 her fur all on end. If she even ventured to doze 
 a little on her own door-step, the enemy was on 
 the watch, and the moment her eyes closed, he 
 would wake her with a bark and a box on the ear, 
 
 621 
 
on 
 
 and oft' lio would run. Aunt TTotty vowed sho 
 wo\iUl soiild him. It wns a buvuinji; slinnu\ slio 
 said, for t'ollia to koi\p dogs to woitv tlioiv uoigli- 
 bours' 0!its. Mrs. l''iiirwinitl\or invited Ti\bb_v to 
 dine, and miide muoli of lior, and jmliontlv oiuloii- 
 voured to toai'li her dog to out IVom tl\o same 
 lilate. But I'ink sturdily resolved lio would be 
 soalded first; that he would, lie eovild not have 
 been moi-o obstiuato in his oii(iosiliuu, if he and 
 Tab had belougeil to dill'ereiit seets iu ("inistlMuit.v. 
 Whili' his mistress was patting Tab on the head, 
 and rensouiug the point with him, ho would at 
 times uuinil'est a degree of iiulitfereuee, aniouutiug 
 to toleration; but the monuMit ho wiis left to his 
 own free will, he would give the invited guest a 
 hearty oulf with his paw, and senil her home .fpit- 
 ting like a snmll steam-engine. Aunt Hetty con- 
 sideretl it her own peeuliar privilege to eotf the 
 poor animal, and it was too much lor her patience 
 to see I'ink iniderlake to assist in making Tab 
 unhappy. On one of tlieso oeeasions, she rusheil 
 into her neighbour's apartments, and fiieed Mrs. 
 l''airweMther, with one hand resling on her hip, and 
 the forolingor of the other nniking very wrathful 
 gesticulations. " I tell you what, madam, I wont 
 put up with sneh treatment much longer," said 
 she; " I'll poison that dog; see if I don't ; and I 
 shan't wait long, either, I ean tell you, What you 
 keep sueh an impudent little beast for, 1 don't 
 know, without you do it on piu'iiose to [iliigne 
 your neighbours." 
 
 " I am really sorry he behaves so," replied Mrs. 
 Fairweathor, mildly. " Poor Tab!" 
 
 " Poor Tab !" scroaniod Miss 'I'urnpenny ; " what 
 do you moan by calling her poor? Do you mean 
 to fling it up to mo that my oat don't have enongli 
 to oat '(" 
 
 " I did n't think of such a thing," replied Mrs. 
 Fairwoather. "I called her poor Tab, boeanso 
 Pink pliigni's her so, that sho has no peinui of her 
 life. 1 agree witli you, neighbour Turn]ienuy ; it 
 is not right to keep a dog that disturbs the neigh- 
 bourhooii. I am attached to poor little Pink, bo- 
 oause ho belongs to my son, who has gone to sea. 
 I was in hopes he woidd soon leave olV quarrelling 
 with the eat ; but if ho won't bo neighbourly, 1 
 will send him out in the oounhy to board. Sally, 
 will yim bring mo one of the pies wo baked this 
 morning? I should like to have Miss 'furM|>eony 
 tasto of them." 
 
 The crabbed neighbour was hel|ied abundantly; 
 and while she was eating tlio pi(\ the friendly 
 matron edged in nmny a kind word oomHTnlng 
 little I'oggy, whinn sho praised as a romarkably 
 capable, industrious child. 
 
 "I am glad you find hor so," rejoiio'd Aunt 
 Ilotty: "I should get precious little work out of 
 her, if I didn't koop a switch in sight." 
 
 " I manage ohihlron pretty niiuih as the noiii did 
 the donkey," roplli«l Mrs. Fairweathor. "Not an 
 inch would tho poor beast stir, fm- all his master's 
 beating and thumping. But a noigliboiir tied sonio 
 frosh turnips to a stick, and fastened them so that 
 they swung directly before tho donkey's nose, and 
 off ho set on a brisk trot, In linpes of overtaking 
 them," 
 
 (Ml 
 
 Aunt llelly, without observing how very closely 
 the eomparisou applied to her own miiinigenient 
 of Peggy, said, •' Tliiit will do very well for folks 
 that have plenty of turnips to spare." 
 
 " For the mailer of thai," answered i\lrs. Fair 
 weather, " whips cost somelliing, iis well as liir- 
 nips ; and siiiee one imikes tlie doiiliey stand sliU, 
 and the other makes him Irol, it is easy to decide 
 whieh is I he most economicnl. But, neighhonr 
 1'nniiieniiy, since yon like my pies so well, imiy 
 lake one home wilh you. I iini nfraid (hey will 
 mould before we ean eat them up." 
 
 Aunt llelly had eonie iu for a ipiarrel, and she 
 was astonished In lind herself going out with a 
 pie. ''Well, Mrs. Fnirwcallier," said slie, *'you 
 (ICC a neiglibonr. 1 tlniiik yon a thousand times." 
 \Vlicii she reached her own door, she hcsitalcd for 
 Mil instant, then turned buck, pie in hand, to siiy, 
 "Neighbour Fnirwenlher, yon needn't Irouble 
 yourself about sending Pink away. It's natural 
 yon should like the lillle crciilnre, seeing he lie- 
 longs to yinir son, I'll try to keep 'flib iu doors, 
 and perliiips iiflcr awhile Ihcy will agree boiler." 
 
 "1 hope they will," replied Ihe friendly matron: 
 "wo will try them awhile longer, and if Ihey per- 
 sist iu quarrelling, I will send the dog into the 
 country." Pink, who was sleeping in a ehair, 
 sirelclieil himself and giipcd. His kind mistress 
 IMitlcil him on tho head, ".Mi, yon foolish little 
 bciist," saiil she, "what's llic use of plMgnlng 
 poor Tab ?" 
 
 # * # * « 
 
 That saiiio aflernoon, the sunshiny dame stepped 
 into Aiiid Hclly's rooms, where sho found I'eggy 
 sewing, as usual, with the clernal switch on Ihe 
 lable beside her, " I am obliged to go to Harlem, 
 on businoss," said she; " I feel ralhcr lonely with- 
 out oomiiany, and I always like to havo a child 
 with me. If you will oblige me by lolling Peggy 
 go, 1 will pay her fare in Ihe iniinibus." 
 
 " Sho has her spoiling lesson to get before 
 night," replied Aunt llelly. " I don't approve 
 of younji folks going a iileasuring, and neglecting 
 their edueation." 
 
 " Neilhcr do 1," rejoiiieil In'r neighbour; "bid 
 I think there Is a great deal of ediicMlion that Is 
 not found in books. Tho fresh air will make 
 Peggy grow stmit and aclive. I prophesy that 
 sho will do great oreilit to your bringing iqi." 
 Tho sugared words, and tho rcmcmliriineo of the 
 sngarcil ]iie, loneheil the soft plaoo in Miss Turn- 
 penny's heiirl, and she told the nslouished Peggy 
 that she might go and put on her best gown and 
 bdnnot. The poor ohilil began to think that this 
 new nelghboiH' was eertainly one of the giioil fairies 
 sho read a limit in tho picliirc-books. Tho exour- 
 sion was enjoyed as only a city child niH eryoy 
 tho country. The world seems Hiioh a pleasant 
 place, wlion tho fetters are oil', and Nature folds 
 tho young heart lovingly on hor bosinn I A Hook 
 of real birds and two living buttorllloH put the 
 Utile orphan in a perfect ecstasy. Sho ran and 
 skipped. t)no could hoo that she might bo graco- 
 I'lil, if sho were only free. Who pninted to Ihe 
 fields covered with dandelionfl, and said, " Hee 
 how prelly I It looks as If tho stars had come 
 
 (11!2 
 
CII 
 
 CH 
 
 dowa to lie on the grass." Ah, our little stinted 
 I'cggy has poetry in hor, though Aunt llotty never 
 found it out. Every human soul has tho germ of 
 some flowers within, and they would open, if they 
 oould only find sunshine and free air to expand in. 
 
 Mrs. Fairwoather was a practical philosopher, 
 in her own small way. She observed that Miss 
 Turnpenny really liked a pleasant tune; and when 
 winter came, she tried to persuade her that sing- 
 ing would be excellent for Peggy's lungs, and per- 
 haps koop her from going into a consumption. 
 
 " My nephew, James Fairwoather, keeps a sing- 
 ing school," said she ; " and he says he will teach 
 hor gratis. You need not feel under great obli- 
 gation ; for hor voice will lead tho whole school, 
 and hor oar is so quick, it will be no trouble at 
 all to teach her. Perhaps you would go with us 
 sometimes, neighbour Turnpenny? It is very 
 pleasant to hoar the children's voices." 
 
 The cordage of Aunt Hetty's mouth relaxed into 
 a smile. She accepted the invitation, and was so 
 much pleased, that she went every Sunday even- 
 ing. The simple tunes, and the sweet young 
 voices, fell like dew on her dried-up heart, and 
 greatly aided the gonial influence of her neigh- 
 bour's example. The rod silently disappeared 
 from tlie table. If Peggy was disposed to be idle, 
 it was only necessary to say, " When you have 
 finished your work, you may go and ask whether 
 Mrs. Fairwoather wants any errands done." Bless 
 me, how the fingers flew ! Aunt Hetty had learned 
 to use turnips instead of the cudgel. 
 
 When spring came, Mrs. Fairwoather busied 
 herself with planting roses and vines. Miss Turn- 
 penny readily consented that Peggy should help 
 hor, and even refused to take any pay from such 
 a good neighbour. But she maintained her own 
 opinion that it was a mere waste of time to culti- 
 vate flowers. The cheerful philosopher never dis- 
 puted the point; but she would sometimes say, "I 
 have no room to plant this rose-bush. Neighbour 
 Turnpenny, would you bo willing to let me set it 
 on your side of the yard ? It will take very little 
 room, and will need no care." At another time, 
 she would say, " Well, really my ground is too full. 
 Here is a root of Lady's-delight. How bright and 
 port it looks. It seems a pity to throw it away. 
 If you are willing, I will let Peggy plant it in 
 what she calls her garden. It will grow of itself, 
 without any care, and scatter seeds, that will 
 come up and blossom in all the chinks of the 
 bricks. I love it. It is such a bright, good-nag 
 tured little thing." Thus, by degrees, the crabbed 
 maiden found herself surrounded by flowers ; and 
 she even declared, of her own accord, that they 
 did look pretty. 
 
 One day, when Mrs. Lane called upon Mrs. 
 Fairwoather, she found tho old weed-grown yard 
 bright and blooming. Tab, quite fat and sleek, 
 was asleep, in the sunshine, with her paw on 
 Pink's neck, and little Peggy was singing at her 
 work, as blithe as a bird. 
 
 "How cheerful you look here," said Mrs. Lane. 
 "And so you have really taken the house for an- 
 other year. Pray, how do you manage to get on 
 with the neighbour-in-law ?" 
 
 "I find her a very kind, obliging neighbour," 
 replied Mrs. Fairwoather. 
 
 "Well, this M a miracle!" exclaimed Mrs. Lane. 
 " Nobody but you would have undertaken to thaw 
 out Aunt Hetty's heart." 
 
 " That is probably the reason why it was never 
 thawed," rejoined her friend. " I always told you, 
 that not having enough of sunshine was what ailed 
 the world. Make people happy, and there will 
 not be half the quarrelling, or a tenth part of the 
 wickedness, there is." 
 
 From tho " Molher's Book." 
 POLITENESS. 
 
 In politeness, as in many other things connected 
 with the formation of character, people in general 
 begin outside, when they should begin inside; in- 
 stead of beginning with the heart, and trusting 
 that to form the manners, they begin with the 
 manners, and trust the heart to chance influences. 
 The golden rule contains the very life and soul of 
 politeness. Children may be taught to make a 
 graceful courtesy, or a gentlemanly bow, — but, 
 unless they have likewise been taught to abhor 
 what is selfisli, and always prefer another's com- 
 fort and pleasure to their own, their politeness 
 will be entirely artificial, and used only when it is 
 their interest to use it. On the other hand, a 
 truly benevolent, kind-hearted person will always 
 bo distinguished for what is called native polite- 
 ness, though entirely ignorant of the conventional 
 forms of society. 
 
 Perhaps there is no gift with which mortals are 
 endowed, that brings so much danger as beauty, 
 in proportion to the usefulness and happiness it 
 produces. It is so rare for a belle to be happy, or 
 even contented, after the season of youth is past, 
 that it is considered almost a miracle. If your 
 daughter is handsome, it is peculiarly necessary 
 that she should not be taught to attach an undue 
 importance to the dangerous gift; and if she is 
 plain, it certainly is not for her happiness to con- 
 sider it as a misfortune. 
 
 It certainly is natural to admire beauty, whether 
 it be in human beings, animals, or flowers ; it is a 
 principle implanted within the human mind, and 
 we cannot get rid of it. Beauty is the outward 
 form of goodness ; and that is the reason we love 
 it instinctively, without thinking why we love it. 
 The truth is, beauty is really of some consequence ; 
 but of very small consequence compared with good 
 principles, good feelings, and good understanding. 
 In this manner children ought to hear it spoken 
 of. There should be no affected indifl^erence on 
 this or any other subject. If a child say, ' Every- 
 body loves Jane Snow — she is so pretty.' I 
 would answer, ' Is Jane Snow a good, kind little 
 girl ? I should be pleased with her pretty face, 
 and should want to kiss her, when I first saw her ; 
 but if I found she was cross and selfish, I should 
 not love her ; and I should not wish to have her 
 about me.' In this way the attention will be 
 drawn from the subject of beauty, to the import- 
 
 623 
 
CL 
 
 CL 
 
 ance of goodness; and there is no affectation in 
 the business — the plain truth is told. We do 
 love beauty at first sight ; and "we do cease to love 
 it, if it is not accompanied by amiable qualities. 
 
 CLARKE, MARY COWDEN, 
 An English lady, residing near London, ■who 
 has prepared " The Complete Concordance to 
 Shakspeare." It was a gigantic undertaking, and 
 like " Crudeu's Concordance to the Scriptures," 
 would appear to leave nothing to be desired to 
 complete a reference to the works of the immortal 
 dramatist. Mrs. Clarke devoted sixteen years 
 to this study ; and seems to have felt such 
 honest enthusiasm in her pursuit as made it a 
 real pleasure. The book is large octavo, three 
 columns on each page, and there are 860 pages, 
 sufficient labour for a lifetime,' and her ambition 
 may well be satisfied with the result. From her 
 very sensible preface we will give a quotation, 
 showing the estimation Shakspeare holds in her 
 mind ; nor do we think she overrates the influence 
 of his works. Next to genius comes the faculty 
 to appreciate it thus lovingly and truthfully. 
 
 " Shakspeare, the most frequently quoted, be- 
 cause the most universal-minded genius that ever 
 lived, of all authors, best deserves a complete 
 Concordance to his works. To what subject may 
 we not with felicity apply a motto from this 
 greatest of Poets ? The Divine, commending the 
 efllcacy and ' twofold force of prayer — to be fore- 
 stalled, ere we come to fall, or pardoned, being 
 down;' the Astronomer, supporting his theory by 
 allusions to ' the moist star, upon whose influence 
 Neptune's empire stands ;' the Naturalist striving 
 to elucidate a fact respecting the habits of ' the 
 singing masons,' or ' heavy-gait^d toads ;' the 
 Botanist, lecturing on the various properties of 
 the ' small flower, within whose infant rind poison 
 hath residence, and med'cine power;' or, on the 
 growth of ' summer grass, fastest by night unseen, 
 yet crescive in liis faculty ;' the Philosopher, spe- 
 culating upon ' the respect that makes calamity of 
 so long a life,' — ' the dread of something after 
 death, the undiscovered country, from whose 
 bourn no traveller returns ;' ' the Lover, telling 
 his 'whispering tale in a fair lady's ear,' and vow- 
 ing the ' winnowed purity ' and ' persistive con- 
 stancy' of his 'heart's dear love;' the Lawyer, 
 discussing some 'nice sharp quillet of the law;' 
 the Musician, descanting on the ' touches of sweet 
 harmony;' the Painter, describing his art, that 
 'pretty mocking of the life;' the Novel-writer, 
 seeking an illustrative heading to a fresh chapter, 
 'the baby figure of the giant mass to come at 
 large;' the Orator, labouring an emphatic point 
 in an appeal to the passions of assembled multi- 
 tudes, ' to stir men's blood;' the Soldier, endea- 
 vouring to vindicate his profession, by vaunting 
 the 'pomp and circumstance of glorious war;' or 
 the Humanist, advocating ' the quality of mercy,' 
 urging that 'to revenge is no valour, but to bear;' 
 and maintaining that ' the earth is wronged by 
 man's oppression,' may all equally adorn their 
 page, or emblazon their speech with gems from 
 Shakspeare's works." 
 
 The "Concordance" was published in London, 
 in 1846. So carefully was the process of correct- 
 ing proofs, &o., performed, that four years was 
 spent in printing the book. 
 
 CLARKE, SARA JANE, 
 
 Best known as " Grace Greenwood," was bom 
 in Onondaga, a village in the interior of New York. 
 Her parents were from New England, being con- 
 nected with some of the most distinguished of the 
 Pilgrim and Huguenot families. Mr. Clarke re- 
 moved to New Brighton, whilst his gifted daughter 
 was yet a child ; her home is still there among the 
 wild, bold and picturesque scenery of western 
 Pennsylvania. 
 
 In 1844, Miss Clarke commenced her career of 
 authorship in a series of letters, under the signa- 
 ture of "Grace Greenwood," addressed to the 
 Editors of the New Mirror,' published in the city 
 of New York. These editors, Messrs. Morris and 
 Willis, were struck with the vivacity of thought, 
 energy of expression, and poetic fancy displayed 
 by the writer ; they kindly encouraged her, and 
 soon her nomme de plume became celebrated among 
 our readers of literary periodicals. Previous to 
 this, however. Miss Clarke had written several 
 poems under her real name ; the. discovery that 
 the earnest, impassioned poet, and the " witty, 
 saucy, dashing, brilliant letter- writer," were one 
 and indivisibly the same person, increased the 
 juriosity and admiration; "Grace Greenwood" 
 was at once a favourite. 
 
 That she has not only sustained, but increased 
 this wide popularity, seemingly so easily gained, is 
 proof that her talents are of the genuine stamp. An 
 inferior genius would .have been satisfied with the 
 honours won ; a fearful mind would have hesitated 
 to risk, by any effort to widen her sway, a failure. 
 Genius, however, makes no interested calcula- 
 tions, but pours out its musings and melodies as 
 prayer gushes from a heart filled with the love of 
 heaven. Miss Clarke has written much during the 
 last four or five years ; and though these " Green- 
 wood leaves," both poetry and prose, have been 
 scattered about in various periodicals, and pre- 
 
 624 
 
CL 
 
 CL 
 
 pared witliout that concentration of thought and 
 purpose which a great work requires, yet she has 
 made good progress, and is a writer of whom her 
 country may be justly proud. 
 
 The characteristics of her prose are freshness, 
 vigour, and earnestness of thought, combined with 
 exquisite humour and sprightliness ; and although 
 she is distinguished by great freedom and fear- 
 lessness of expresision, she never transcends the 
 bounds of strict feminine delicacy. A slight vein 
 of playful satire is discernible here and there, 
 which adds to the piquancy of her style, but 
 which, like the heat lightning of a summer night, 
 flashes and coruscates, while it does not blast. 
 As an instance of this, in speaking of men's appre- 
 ciation of elevated womanhood, she says — 
 
 " I know that the sentiment of men, even great 
 men, often is, from a perfect woman, ' good Lord, 
 deliver us ' — and He generally hears their prayer. 
 Speak to them of feminine natures exalted by 
 genius, or great goodness, and they will put at 
 you, as they understand it, the poet's idea of love- 
 able womanhood — 
 
 ' A Creature not too bright, nor good, 
 For human nature's daily food,' 
 
 Which, probably, is also a New Zealander's high- 
 est ideal of a missionary." 
 
 The high, almost passionate appreciation of the 
 holy dignity of womanhood is a striking charac- 
 teristic of Miss Clarke's poetry : this elevates her 
 soul, and gives the strength of expression nearly 
 approaching masculine sternness and depth of 
 passion to her most remarkable production — 
 " Ariadne." It is from this iutenseuess of femi- 
 nine feeling, that we predict her future poetical 
 triumphs, when throwing aside the pretty trifles 
 of verse in which she now too often sportively in- 
 dulges, she chooses the theme worthiest of her 
 high powers — and bending her brave benevolent 
 spirit to the work, in her burning words shall 
 picture forth the moral mission of woman! 
 
 In person. Miss Clarke is neither large nor 
 small. Her height is a little above the middle 
 size. Her form combines delicacy with agility and 
 vigour. Her mien, and carriage, voice, gesture, 
 and action, all manifest, by the most perfect 
 correspondence of a natural language, her rich 
 variety of intellectual powers and moral senti- 
 ments. The physical answering to the mental, 
 in all that susceptible nobility of temperament 
 which endows genius with its " innate experi- 
 ences" and universality of life. Her head is of 
 the finest order, and larger than the Grecian 
 model, whose beauty it rivals in symmetrical de- 
 velopment. The forehead is high, broad, and 
 classic. Her brows are delicately pencilled. Her 
 complexion is a light olive, or distinct brunette, 
 and as changeable as the play of fancy and the 
 hues of emotion. Her eyes are deep, full orbs of 
 living light ; their expression is not thoughtful- 
 ness, but its free revealings — not feeling, but its 
 outgushings. Just as her poetry is never penned 
 till perfectly matured, so her thoughts and feel- 
 ings leap, and play, and flow in the flashing light, 
 fijee from all sign of mental elaboration. 
 A volume of Miss Clarke's prose writings, was 
 2P 
 
 published in Boston, by Tioknor, Keed & Fields, 
 under the title of " Greenwood Leaves," in 1850 ; 
 and a small volume of " Poems," in 1851 ; also a 
 book for children, entitled " My Pets." 
 
 From " Poems " 
 MT LAYS. 
 
 My lays, my lays, would they might find 
 
 An echo in my country's heart ! 
 Be in it8 home-affections shrined, 
 
 Form of its cherished things a part; 
 Be like wild flowers and common air. 
 Blooming for all, breathed everywhere — 
 Or like the song of forest bird. 
 Gashing for ali./eii more than heard. 
 Earnest, untiring, might they be 
 Like barques before a breeze at sea, 
 
 Whose dashing prows point home — 
 Like good knights bound for Palestine, 
 Like artists, warmed by fire divine, 
 O'er icy Alp and Apennine, 
 
 Holding their way to Rome — 
 Like arrows flashing through the light, 
 Like eagles on their sunward flight, 
 Like to all things, in which we see 
 An errand and a destiny. 
 
 ABIADNE.* 
 
 Daughter of Crete —how one brief hour, 
 
 E'en in thy young love's early morn. 
 Sends storm and darkness o'er thy bower — 
 
 Oh doomed, oh desolate, oh lorn ! 
 The breast which pillowed thy fair head, 
 
 Rejects its burden — and the eye 
 
 Which looked its love so earnestly. 
 Its last cold glance hath on thee shed ; 
 The arms which were thy living zone. 
 Around thee closely, warmly thrown, 
 Shall others clasp, deserted one I 
 
 Yet, Ariadne, worthy thou 
 
 Of the dark fate which meets thee now, 
 
 For thou art grovelling in thy woe : 
 
 Arouse thee ! joy to bid him go ; 
 
 For god above, or man below. 
 
 Whose love's warm and impetuous tide 
 
 Cold interest or selfish pride 
 
 Can chill, or stay, or turn aside, 
 
 Is all too poor and mean a thing 
 
 One shade o'er woman's brow to fling . 
 
 Of grief, regret, or fear ; 
 To cloud one morning's golden light — 
 Disturb the sweet dreams of one night — 
 To cause the soft flash of her eye 
 To droop one moment mournfully, 
 
 Or tremble with one tear! 
 
 'Tis tftou shouldst triumph; thou art free 
 From chains which bound thee .for a while ; 
 
 This, this the farewell meet for thee, 
 Proud princess on that lonely isle : 
 
 " Go — to thine Athens bear thy faithless name ; 
 
 Go, base betrayer of a holy trust I 
 Oh, I could bow me in my utter shame, 
 
 And lay my crimson forehead in the dust. 
 If I had ever loved thee as thou art. 
 Folding mean falsehood to my high, true heart ! 
 
 " But thus I loved thee not ; before me bowed 
 
 A being glorious in majestic pride. 
 And breathed his love, and passionately vowed 
 
 To worship only me, his peerless bride ; 
 And this was thou, but crowned, enrobed, entwined, 
 With treasures borrowed from my own rich mind ! 
 
 * The demigod Theseus having won the love of Ariadne, 
 daughter of the king of Crete, deserted her on the isle of 
 
 Naxos. In Miss Bremer's H Family, the blind girl is 
 
 described as singing " Ariadn^ A Naxos," in which Ariadne 
 is represented as following Theseus, climbing a high rock 
 to watch his departing vessel, and calling upon him in her 
 despairing anguish. 
 
 625 
 
CL 
 
 CL 
 
 " I knew thee not a creature of my dreams, 
 And my rapt soul went floating into thine ; 
 
 My love around thee poured such halo-beams, 
 Hadst thou been true, had made thee ail divine. 
 
 And I, too, seemed immortal in my bliss, 
 
 When my glad lip thrilled to thy burning kiss I 
 
 " Shrunken and shrivelled into TheseUs now 
 Thou standst : behold, the gods have blown away 
 
 The airy crown that glittered on thy brow — 
 The gorgeous robes which wrapped thee for a day ; 
 
 Around thee scarce one fluttering fragment clings — 
 
 A poor lean beggar in all glorious things ! 
 
 " Nor will I deign to cast on thee my hate — 
 It were a ray to tinge with splendour still 
 
 The dull, dim twilight of thy after-fate — 
 Thou Shalt pass from me like a dream of ill — 
 
 Thy name be but a thing that crouching stole 
 
 Like a poor thief, all noiseless from my soul I 
 
 " Though thou hast dared to steal the sacred flame 
 From out that soul's high heaven, she sets thee free ; 
 
 Or only chains thee with thy sounding shame : 
 Her memory is no Caucasus for thee j 
 
 And e'en her hovering hate would o'er thee fling 
 
 Too much of glory from its shadowy wing! 
 
 " Thou thinkst to leave my life a lonely night — 
 Ha ! it is night all glorious with its stars! 
 
 Hopes yet unclouded beaming forth their light. 
 And free thoughts rolling in their silver cars ! 
 
 And queenly pride, serene, and cold, and high, 
 
 Moves the Diana of its calm, clear sky ! 
 
 " If poor and humbled thou believest me. 
 Mole of a demigod, how blind art thou ! 
 
 For I am rich — in scorn to poupon thee: 
 And gods shall bend from high Olympus' brow, 
 
 And gaze in wonder on my lofty pride ; 
 
 Nax;os be hallowed, I be deified !" 
 
 On the tall cliff" where cold and pale 
 Thou watchest his receding sail. 
 Where thou, the daughter of a king, 
 Wail'st like a wind-harp's breaking string, 
 Bendst like a weak and wilted flower 
 Before a summer evening's shower — 
 There shouldst thou rear thy royal form, 
 Like a young oak amid the storm, 
 
 Uncrushed, unbowed, unriven ! 
 Let thy last glance burn through the air. 
 And fall far down upon him there. 
 
 Like lightning stroke from heaven ! 
 There shouldst thou mark o'er billowy crest 
 His white sail flutter and depart ; 
 No wild fears surging at thy breast. 
 
 No vain hopes quivering round thy heart ; 
 And this brief, burning prayer alone 
 Leap from thy lips to Jove's high throne : 
 " Just Jove ! thy wrathful vengeance stay. 
 And speed the traitor on his way; 
 Make vain the siren's silver song, 
 Let nereids smile the wave along — 
 O'er the wild waters send his bark 
 Like a swift arrow to its mark I 
 Let whirlwinds gather at his back. 
 And drive him on his dastard track ; 
 Let thy red bolts behind him burn, 
 And blast him, should he dare to turn !" 
 
 THE MARCH OP MIND. 
 
 See yon bold eagle, toward the sun 
 
 Now rising free and strong. 
 And see yon mighty river roll 
 
 Its sounding tide along : 
 
 Ah! yet near the earth the eagle tires; 
 
 Lost in the sea, the river ; 
 But naught can stay the human mind,— 
 
 'Tis upward, onward, ever ! 
 
 It yet shall tread its starlit paths. 
 
 By highest angels trod, 
 And pause but at the farthest world 
 
 In the universe of God. 
 
 'Tls said that Persia's baffled king. 
 
 In mad tyrannic pride. 
 Cast fetters on the Hellespont, 
 
 To curb its stormy tide ; 
 
 But freedom's own true spirit heaves 
 
 The bosom of the main — 
 It tossed those fetters to the skies, 
 
 And bounded on again ! 
 
 The scorn of each succeeding age 
 
 On Xerxes' head was hurled. 
 And o'er that foolish deed has pealed 
 
 The long laugh of a world. 
 
 Thus, thus defeat, and scorn, and shame. 
 
 Be his who strives to bind 
 The restless, leaping waves of thought, 
 
 The free tide of the mind ! 
 
 " THEKE WAS A KOSE." 
 
 There was a rose, that blushing grew 
 
 Within my life's young bower ; 
 The angels sprinkled holy dew 
 
 Upon the blessed flower : 
 I glory to resign it, love. 
 
 Though it was dear to me ; 
 Amid thy laurels twine it, love. 
 
 It only blooms for thee. 
 
 There was a rich and radiant gem 
 
 I long kept hid from sight. 
 Lost from some seraph's diadem — 
 
 It shone with Heaven's own light ! 
 The world could never tear it, love. 
 
 That gem of gems from me ; 
 Yet on thy fond breast wear it, love, 
 
 It only shines for thee. 
 
 There was a bird came to my breast. 
 
 When I was very young ; 
 1 only knew that sweet bird's nest. 
 
 To me she only sung ; 
 But, ah ! one summer day, love, 
 
 I saw that bird depart : 
 The truant flew thy way. love, 
 
 And nestled in thy heart. 
 
 I NEVER WILL GROW OLD. 
 
 Oh, no, I never will grow old; 
 
 Though years on years roll by. 
 And silver o'er my dark brown hair. 
 
 And dim my laughing eye. 
 
 They shall not shrivel up my soul, 
 
 Nor dim the glance of love 
 My heart casts on this world of ours, 
 
 And lifls to that above I 
 
 Now, with a passion for those haunts 
 Where wild, free nature reigns. 
 
 With life's tide leaping through my heart. 
 And revelling through my veins,— 
 
 'Tis hard to think the time must come 
 
 When I can seek no more. 
 With step bold as a mountain child's. 
 
 Deep dell and rocky shore ; — 
 
 No longer on my swift young steed, 
 Bound o'er the hills as now. 
 
 And meet half way the winds that toss 
 The loose locks from my brow 1 
 
 Yet still my spirit may go forth 
 
 Where fearless fancy leads, 
 May take at will as glorious rides, 
 
 On wild, invisible steeds! 
 
 Ye tell me as a morning dream 
 
 Shall pass away, ere long, 
 My humble, yet most passionate, 
 
 Adoring love of song. 
 No, no ! life's ills may throng my way, 
 
 And pride may bend the knee, 
 And Hope's bright banner kiss the dust ; - 
 
 But lofly Poesy 
 
 626 
 
CL 
 
 CL 
 
 Shall fling their slavish chains aside. 
 
 And spurn their daric control ; 
 They never, never shall lay waste 
 
 That Italy of the soul I 
 
 My father, — pleasant years may pass. 
 
 Ere his last sun shall set ; 
 And — blessed be the God of life I — 
 
 My mother liveth yet. 
 
 My sisters blend their souls with mine, 
 
 A laughing, loving band; 
 A heaven-set guard along our paths. 
 
 Our six brave brothers stand. 
 
 While God thus pours the light of joy 
 
 As sunshine round my home, 
 O, I '11 lay up such a store of loves 
 
 For the stormy days to come I 
 
 In the joy and grief of every one 
 
 I 'II seek to share a part, 
 Till grateful thoughts and wishes fond 
 
 Come thronging to my heart. 
 
 The earnest praises of the young. 
 
 The blessings of the old, — 
 I '11 gather them in, I'll hoard them up, 
 
 As a miser hoards his gold ! 
 
 Tliosc loves may die, yet hopeful trust 
 
 Shall leave me, fail me, never; 
 I will plant roses on their graves,— 
 
 Vive la jeunesse for ever ! 
 
 Smile on, doubt on, say life is sad. 
 
 The world is false and cold — 
 I '11 keep my heart glad, true, and warm,— 
 
 1 never will grow old! 
 
 From " Greenwood Leaves." 
 MT FIBST PISHINO. 
 
 Please picture to yourself, my obliging reader, 
 a tall, slender girl of thirteen, just out of short 
 frocks, but retaining still her long, black, Kenwig- 
 sian braids, having a do-wnward look ■with her 
 eyes commonly, and gifted ■with a 
 
 " Complexion 
 The shadowed livery of the burnished sun," 
 
 and you have my daguerreotype at that period of 
 my humble existence. 
 
 It ■was summer, and Harry came home for a 
 vacation, accompanied by t-wo college friends. As 
 one of the young gentlemen was hopelessly lame, 
 hunting was out of the question, and fishing par- 
 ties on the lake took its place. Every favourable 
 morning their boat put off the shore, and every 
 evening they returned, famously dirty and hun- 
 gry, and generally, with the exception of Harry, 
 cursing their luck. I well recollect that, however 
 large the party, Harry always insisted on furnish- 
 ing the fishing tackle. The colonel once remon- 
 strated with him on this extravagance, but was 
 archly reminded, that "he who spares the rod 
 spoils the child," and that as a good parent he 
 should "give line upon line" as well as "precept 
 upon precept." So the old gentleman turned 
 laughingly away, being like all other amateur 
 soldiers, proverbially good-natured. 
 
 Those parties were, I regret to say, made up of 
 the sterner sex exclusively, but after Harry's 
 friends had left, I proposed one morning that he 
 should take cousin Alice and myself to the lake 
 on a fishing excursion. 
 
 "Alice is quite skilful," he replied; "but do 
 you understand angling ?" 
 
 " No, but there's nothing which I cannot learn." 
 
 " Very well, my modest ooz, put on your bon- 
 net, and we will go down and practise awhile by 
 catching small fish for bait in the old mill-pond." 
 
 The sheet of water to which my cousin referred, 
 was nothing more than an enlargement and deep- 
 ening of the stream which ran through the to^wn. 
 The mill which its waters once turned had been 
 destroyed by fire, and all the fixtures, &c., fallen 
 to decay; and Henry remarked, that as a mill- 
 pond it was not worth a dam, but a capital place 
 for catching bait, nevertheless. I did not smile 
 approvingly at this profane pun, not I ; but re- 
 minded the offender, with chilling dignity, that I 
 should be full fourteen in eleven months and nine 
 days. 
 
 After spending a half hour in initiating me 
 into the mysteries of angling, Harry took a sta- 
 tion farther up stream. Near me lay a small 
 log, extending out into the pond, the top only 
 lying above the water. Wearied at last with sit- 
 ting on the bank, and catching not even a " glori- 
 ous nibble," I picked my way out to the very end 
 of this log, and cast my bait upon the waters. Pre- 
 sently I marked an uncommonly large "shiner" 
 glancing about hither and thither, now and then 
 tantalizingly turning up his glittering sides to the 
 sunlight. My heart was in my throat. Could I 
 manage to capture that fish by hook or by crook, 
 it were glory enough for one day. Keader, have 
 you ever seen a "shiner?" Is he not the most 
 finifine dashing, dandyish, D'Orsay of the waves 
 that ever cut a swell among " sheep-heads," or 
 coquetted with a young trout ? 
 
 The conduct of this particular fish ■was pecu- 
 liarly provoking. It was in vain that I clad the 
 uninviting hook in the garb of a fresh young 
 worm, and dropped it, all quick and quivering, 
 down before his very nose. Like a careful ■wooer, 
 who fears " a take in," he would not come to the 
 point ; he had evidently dined, and, unlike the 
 old Reformer, played shy of the Diet of Worms. 
 
 At last, as though a sudden appetite had been 
 given him which required abatement, he caught 
 the worm, and the hook caught him, and — and 
 
 — but language fails me 
 
 Ye may tell, oh, my sisters, in author-land, of 
 the exquisite joy, the intoxicating bliss which 
 whelms a maiden's heart when love's first kiss 
 glows on her trembling lip ; but give to me the 
 rapturous exultation which coursed through every 
 vein, and thrilled along every nerve, as my first 
 fish bent the top of the slender cane-rod towards 
 the water ! 
 
 But, ah, the instability of human happiness ! 
 that unfortunate "shiner" was strong — very. I 
 had just balanced myself on the rounded three 
 inches of the log ; I now saw that I must drop the 
 rod and lose the fish, or lose my balance and win 
 a plunge. Like a brave girl, as I flatter myself 
 that I am, I chose the latter. Down, down I 
 went into six feet depth of water, pertinaciously 
 grasping the rod, which, immediately on rising, I 
 flung ■with its glittering pendant, high and dry on 
 the shore ; and having given one scream, only one, 
 went quietly do^wn again. 
 
 627 
 
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 Just then, Harry, who had heard my fall at 
 first, reached the spot, plunged in, caught and 
 bore me safely to the bank. When I had coughed 
 the water from my throat, and wiped it from 
 my eyes, I pointed proudly toward my captive 
 "shiner." Alas! what did I behold! — that fish, 
 my fish, releasing himself from the hook, and 
 floundering back into his native element ! Yes, 
 he was gone, gone for ever, and for one dark 
 moment, 
 *' Naught was everything, ond everything wag naught." 
 
 I need not tell of our walk homeward, of the 
 alarm and merriment which our appearance cre- 
 ated ; or how I was placed in bed and half smoth- 
 ered with blankets, how a nauseous compound was 
 sent up to me, which Harry kindly quafi'ed, and 
 grew ill as I grew welL All such matters can bo 
 safely left to the imagination of my intelligent 
 reader. 
 
 I will but add, that though of late years I have 
 angled more extensively and successfully, have 
 flung a lucky hook into the beautiful rivers and 
 glorious lakes of the West, and have dropped occa- 
 sional Unas into the waters of American literature, 
 I have never since known that pure, young de- 
 light, that exquisite zest, that wild enthusiasm, 
 which led me to stake all on one mad chance, and 
 brave drowning for a "shiner." 
 
 From " Letters and Sketches." 
 
 THE INTELLECTUAL WOMAN. 
 
 The intellectual woman should be richest in 
 " social and domestic ties ," she should have along 
 her paths a guard of friendship, and about her 
 life a breastwork of love. True feminine genius 
 is ever timid, doubtful, and olingingly dependent ; 
 a perpetual childhood. A true woman shrinks 
 instinctively from greatness, and it is " against 
 her very will and wish transgressing," and in sad 
 obedience to an inborn and mighty influence, that 
 she turns out the "silver lining" of her soul to 
 the world's gaze ; permits all the delicate work- 
 ings of her inner-nature to be laid open ; her 
 heart passed round, and peered into as a piece of 
 curious mechanism. In her loftiest soarings, when 
 we almost think to see the swift play of her pinion 
 lost in the distant heaven, even then, her wildest 
 and most exalting strains come down to us with 
 a delicious thrill of home-music. The radiant 
 realms of her most celestial visions have always a 
 ladder leading earthward. Her ways and words 
 have nothing of the lofty and severe ; over her 
 face, sun-gleams and shadows succeed each other 
 momentarily ; her eyes are alternately dreamy and 
 tender^ and their intensest fire quivers through 
 tears. Her lips, moulded in love, are tremulously 
 full of the glowing softness they borrow from the 
 heart, and electrically obedient to its impulses. 
 
 woman's iieabt. 
 
 Never unsex yourself for greatness. The wor- 
 ship of one true heart is better than the wonder 
 of the world. Don't trample on the flowers, while 
 longing for the stars. Live up to the full measure 
 of life; give way to your impulses, loves, and 
 
 enthusiasms; sing, smile, labour, and be happy. 
 Adore poetry for its own sake ; yearn for, strive 
 after, excellence; rejoice when others attain it; feel 
 for your contemporaries a loving envy ; steal into 
 your country's heart; glory in its greatness, exult 
 in its power ; honour its gallant men, and immor- 
 talize its matchless women. Then shall that grate- 
 ful country throw around you a fame which shall 
 be like the embrace of fond arms ; a joy to cheer, 
 and a strength to support you. 
 
 There is a joy which must, I think, be far more 
 deep and full than any which the million can 
 bestow ; one which precedes, and is independent 
 of, the fame which sometimes results rather from 
 the caprice than the justice of the world. This is 
 the joy of inspiration. I have elsewhere expressed 
 my meaning thus : — 
 
 Oh, when the henvon-born soul of song is blending 
 With the rapt poet's, in his burning strains, 
 
 'Tis like the wine drank on Olympus, sending 
 Divine intoxication through the veins I 
 
 But this is for the masters of the lyre ; it can 
 never be felt by woman with great intensity ; at 
 least, can never satisfy her. I repeat, that her 
 well-spring of joy is in the heart. 
 
 woman's ouatitcde. 
 
 So she did' not yield to woman's amiable weak- 
 ness, and love because she was loved ; did not let 
 gratitude lead her blindfold to the altar. I know 
 I should put on gloves while handling this dear 
 pet-fault of my sex. But, my charming sisters, 
 why are you grateful ? Just bring your every-day 
 tenderness, your patient, fond, worshipping, self- 
 sacrificing love ; and then place man's holiday 
 admiration, his fanciful, patronizing, exacting, 
 doubting affection, in the opposite scale, and see 
 in what a passion of haste they will go up. Thank 
 a man for reading you five unacted acts from his 
 drama, for writing an acrostic on your name, for 
 asking an introduction to a rival belle, for saying 
 you are surprisingly like his maiden aunt ; but 
 never for the honour of his preference. Be grate- 
 ful to him for the offer of his mouchoir to hem, or 
 bis gloves to mend, but never for that of his heart 
 and hand. In love matters, fling away gratitude; 
 'tis but a charity-girl sort of virtue, at the best. 
 
 THE poet's mission. 
 
 One long-cherished hope of my life is, that in 
 the world of letters, heart, the feminine spirit of 
 man's nature, is to be exalted to the throne of in- 
 tellect, and they are to reign together. 
 
 * n * # # 
 
 It is no longer enough that a poet has imagina- 
 tion, fancy, and passion ; he must possess a genial 
 philosophy, an unselfish sympathy, a cheerful hu- 
 manity — iu short, heart. And not a heart like a 
 walled-up well, undisturbed, and holding fast its 
 own, till some thirsty mortal, with toil and pains, 
 draws up a draught for his fevered lips ; but as 
 a laughing, leaping fountain, flinging its living 
 waters far and wide, creating to itself an atmos- 
 phere of freshness, and making beauty and melody 
 its surroundings. The world will tolerate no 
 longer an arrogant disbelief in its most cherished 
 
 628 
 
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 and sacred truths. It will wasta no more of its 
 admiring sympathy on the egotism of misanthropy, 
 or the childishness of a sickly sentimentality : its 
 poets must look up to hearen in faith, on the earth 
 with love, and reTel in the rich joy of existence. 
 They must beguile us of ovu" sorrows, and lighten 
 us of our cares ; must turn to us the gunny side 
 of nature, and point us to the rainbows amid the 
 storms of life : and they must no longer dare to 
 wed Tice to poetry — a lost spirit to a child of light. 
 
 COLERIDGE, SAKA HEXRY, 
 An English poetess, daughter of the distin- 
 guished poet, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, and wife 
 of his nephew, Henry Nelson Coleridge, well 
 known for his contributions to classical learning, 
 and as editor of his uncle's posthumous works, 
 has shown herself worthy of her birth-right as 
 a "poefs daughter," and of her station as the 
 bosom-companion of an eminent scholar. 
 
 The first work of Mrs. Coleridge was a transla- 
 tion of^the "History of the Abipones," from the 
 Latin of Dobrizhoffer; her nest was a beautiful 
 fairy-tale, called " Phantasmion," published in 
 1S37, and deservedly admired as an exquisite 
 creation of feminine genius. Besides these, she 
 has written poems, eTincing talent of no common 
 order. A distinguished critic remarks thus, con- 
 cerning her: — "With an imagination like a prism 
 shedding rainbow changes on her thoughts, she 
 shows study without the affectation of it, and a 
 Greek-like closeness of expression." 
 
 From " Fugitive Pieces." 
 A MOIHKB OVEB HEB OHXLD DEVOTED TO DEATH. 
 
 O sleep, my babe ! Hear not the rippling wave. 
 Nor feel the breeze that round Ihee lingering strays, 
 
 To drink thy balmy breath. 
 
 And sigh one long ferewell. 
 
 Soon shall it mourn above thy watery bed. 
 And whisper to me on the wave-beat shore. 
 
 Deep murmVing in reproach 
 
 Thy sad, untimely fiite. 
 
 Ere those dear eyes had opened on the light. 
 In vain to plead, thy coming life was sold; 
 O ! wakened but to sleep, 
 "Whence it can wake no more! 
 
 A thoasaod and a thousand silken leaves 
 The tufted beach unfolds in early spring 
 
 All clad in tenderest green, 
 
 All of the sell" same shape ; 
 
 A thousand infant feces, soft and sweet. 
 Each year sends forth, yet every mother views 
 
 Her last, not least, beloved 
 
 Like its dear self alone. 
 
 Xo musing mind hath ever yet foreshaped 
 The ikce to-morrow's snn shall first reveal, 
 Xo heart hath e'er conceived 
 What love that &oe will bring. 
 
 O sleep, my babe ! nor heed how mourns the gale 
 To part with thy soft locks and fragrant breath. 
 
 As when it deeply sighs 
 
 O'er autumn's latest bloom. 
 
 EOTE. 
 One lace alone, one face alone. 
 
 These eyes jequiie .: 
 But when that longed-for sight is shown. 
 What fetal fire 
 Shoots thio' my veins a keen and liquid fiame 
 That melts each fibre of my wasting frame ! 
 
 One voice alone, one voice alone, 
 
 1 pine to hear ; 
 But when its meek, mellifluous tone 
 Usurps mine ear. 
 Those slavish chains about my soul are wound, 
 Which ne'er, till death itself, can be unbound. 
 
 One gentle hand, one gentle hand, 
 
 I fain would hold ; 
 But when it seems at my command. 
 My own grows cold ; 
 Then low to earth I bend in sickly swoon. 
 Like lilies drooping 'mid the blaze of noon. 
 
 COOK, ELIZA, 
 
 Is deservedly distinguished for her poetical pro- 
 ductions, which are poptilar with "the people" 
 everywhere in our American nation as in her own 
 country, England. Miss Cook resides in London ; 
 her childhood and youth were passed partly in 
 Southwark, where her father, a calker by trade, 
 resided, and partly in the country. She was the 
 " youngling of the flock " by eleven years, and, 
 like a babe bom out of due season, was tenderly 
 cherished by her excellent mother, whose charac- 
 ter, disciplined by suffering, seems to have ex- 
 erted a great and beneficial influence over her 
 gifted chUd. 
 
 The death of this beloved mother, when Mi^ 
 Cook was about fifteen, left her in that heart-deso- 
 lation which is the ordeal of woman's character, 
 often developing new talents and energies, chas- 
 tening the spirit of youthful hope for its tasks of 
 duty, and thus, by exalting her aims in life, such 
 sorrows serve to kindle the torch of her genius. 
 It was thus with Miss Cook. Her home, after her 
 beloved mother was withdrawn, was neither plea- 
 sant nor happy, and the young girl was compelled 
 to find in intellectual pursuits her means of con- 
 tentment. She gave expression to her earnest 
 thoughts and generous feelings : the language 
 seems to have flowed spontaneously in rhyme, for 
 there is hardly a trace of labour or study in her 
 poetry. But there is that which is for a woman, 
 perhaps, better than clasacal learning; as an 
 elegant critic has well observeil — "There is a 
 heartiness and truthful sympathy with human 
 kind, a love of freedom and of nature, in tbis 
 lady's productions, which, more even than their 
 
 629 
 
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 grace and melody, charms her readers. She ■writes 
 like a whole-souled woman, earnestly and unaf- 
 fectedly, evidently giving her actual thoughts, but 
 never transcending the limits of taste or delicacy. 
 The favour with which her numerous pieces have 
 been received, and the ease with which she writes, 
 encourage us to hope for much future delight and 
 instruction from her generous pen. It may be 
 hoped, also, that she will take more pains in the 
 finishing of her verses, than she has hitherto done, 
 and avoid a repetition of ideas, a fault to which 
 she is somewhat prone." 
 
 The closing remark is not without reason. Miss 
 Cook has hitherto written exclusively for the class 
 in which she was born, the people ; but so, also, 
 did Burns ; yet he studied his art, and thus ele- 
 vated the lowliest subject he sung by the flower- 
 breath of true poesy, whose course is always up- 
 ward. We allude to the " Rural Bard," because 
 we think Miss Cook resembles him in her ardent 
 philanthropy of soul, and in its direction : her 
 love of the virtues and enjoyments of humble 
 English life, as he sung of his " Old Scotia." She 
 is far more fortunate than was poor Burns, for 
 she gathers not only praise but large profits from 
 her writings, and enjoys her own popularity, pro- 
 bably the greatest, counting by the number of 
 those who read rhyme, of any living female 
 poet. 
 
 Miss Cook's poetry began to appear in various 
 London journals about 1836. In 1839, an Ameri- 
 can poetess, Mrs. Osgood, met Miss Cook in Lon- 
 don, and thus describes her — "Eliza Cook is just 
 what her noble poetry would lead you to imagine 
 her ; a frank, generous, brave, and warm-hearted 
 girl, about twenty years of age ; rather stout and 
 sturdy looking, with a face not handsome but 
 very intelligent. Her hair is black, and very 
 luxuriant, her eyes grey and full of expression, 
 and her mouth indiscribably sweet." 
 
 In 1840, the poems of Miss Cook were collected 
 and republished in London, under the title of 
 " Melaia, and other Poems." The beautiful vo- 
 lume was soon republished in New York ; and, 
 with many additions from the fertile mind of the 
 author, these poems have passed through a variety 
 of editions both in England and America. 
 
 In September, 1849, the poetess made her ap- 
 pearance in a new character, as editor of a work, 
 styled "Eliza Cook's Journal," published weekly, 
 in London. The introductory paper from her pen, 
 has some remarks which so clearly describe the 
 feelings of this interesting and noble-minded 
 woman, that we must give them, while thanking 
 her for this daguerreotype sketch of her inner- 
 self. — She says — "I have been too long known by 
 those whom I address, to feel strange in address- 
 ing them. My earliest rhymes, written from in- 
 tuitive impulse, before hackneyed experience or 
 politic judgment could dictate their tendency, 
 were accepted and responded to by those whose 
 good word is a 'tower of strength.' The first 
 active breath of nature that swept over my heart- 
 strings, awoke wild but earnest melodies, which I 
 dotted down in simple notes ; and when I found 
 that others thought the tune worth learning — 
 
 when I heard my strains hummed about the sacred 
 altars of domestic firesides, and saw old men, 
 bright women, and young children scanning my 
 ballad strains, then was I made to think that my 
 burning desire to pour out my soul's measure of 
 music was given for a purpose. My young bosom 
 throbbed with rapture, for my feelings had met 
 with responsive echoes from honest and genuine 
 Humanity, and the glory of heaven seemed par- 
 tially revealed, when I discovered that I held 
 power over the affections of earth. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 " I am anxious to give my feeble aid to the gigan- 
 tic struggle for intellectual elevation now going on, 
 and fling my energies and will into a cause where 
 my heart wiU zealously animate my duty. 
 
 "It is too true, that there are dense clouds of 
 Ignorance yet to be dissipated — huge mountains 
 of Eri'or yet to be removed ; but, there is a stir- 
 ring development of progressive mind in 'the 
 mass,' which only requires steady and free com- 
 munion with Truth to expand itself into that en- 
 lightened and practical wisdom on which ever 
 rests the perfection of social and political civiliza- 
 tion ; and I believe that all who work in the field 
 of Literature with sincere desire to serve the 
 many by arousing generous sympathies and edu- 
 cational tastes, need make little profession, of their 
 service, for ' the people ' have sufficient percep- 
 tion to thoroughly estimate those who are truly 
 'with' and 'for' them." 
 
 From "Melaia." 
 
 SILENCE. 
 
 The whirling blast, the breaker's dash, 
 The snapping ropes, the parting crash, 
 The sweeping waves that boil and lash, 
 The stunning peal, the hissing flash. 
 The hasty prayer, the hopeless groan. 
 The stripling sea-boy's gurgling tone, 
 Shrieking amid the flood and foam. 
 The names of mother, love, and home; 
 The jarring clash that wakes the land, 
 When, blade to blade, and hand to hand, 
 Unnumbered voices burst and swell. 
 In one unceasing war-wlioop yell ; 
 The trump of discord ringing out. 
 The clamour strife, the victor shout ; — 
 Oh! these are noises any ear 
 Will dread to meet and quail to hear; 
 But let the earth or waters pour 
 The loudest din or wildest roar ; 
 Let Anarchy's broad thunders roll. 
 
 And Tumult do its worst to thrill, 
 There is a silence to the soul 
 
 More awful, and more startling still. 
 
 To hear our very breath intrude 
 
 Upon the boundless solitude. 
 
 Where mortal tidings never come. 
 
 With busy feet or human hum ; 
 
 All hushed above, beneath, around — 
 
 No stirring form, no whispered sound; — 
 
 This is a loneliness that falls 
 
 Upon the spirit, and appals 
 
 More than the mingled rude alarms 
 
 Arising from a world in arms. 
 
 This is a silence bids us shrink, 
 As from a precipice's brink ; 
 But ye will rarely meet it, save 
 In the hot desert, or cold grave. 
 Cut off from life and fellow-men, 
 This silence was around me then. 
 
 630 
 
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 BUTTERCUPS AND DAISIES. 
 
 1 never see a young hand hold 
 The starry bunch of white and gold, 
 But something warm and fresh will start 
 About the region of my heart 
 My smile expires into a sigh ; 
 I feel a struggling in the eye, 
 'Twixt humid drop and sparkling ray, 
 Till rolling tears have won their way; 
 For soul and brain will travel back 
 
 Through memory's chequered mazes, 
 To days when I but trod life's track 
 
 For buttercups and daisies. 
 
 Tell me, ye men of wisdom rare, 
 Of sober speech and silver hair, 
 Who carry counsel, wise and sage, 
 With all the gravity of age ; 
 Oh ! say, do ye not like to hear 
 The accents ringing in your ear. 
 When sportive urchins laugh and shout. 
 Tossing those precious flowers about, 
 Springing with bold and gleesome bound, 
 
 Proclaiming joy that crazes. 
 And chorusing the magic sound 
 
 Of buttercups and daisies 7 
 
 Are there, I ask, beneath the sky 
 Blossoms that knit so strong a tie 
 With childhood's love ? Can any please 
 Or light the infant eye like these ? 
 No, no ; there 's not a bud on earth. 
 Of richest tint or warmest birth. 
 Can ever fling such zeal and zest 
 Into the tiny hand and breast. 
 Who does not recollect the hours 
 
 When burning words and praises 
 Were lavished on those shining flowers, 
 
 Buttercups and daisies ? 
 
 There seems a bright and fairy spell 
 About their very names to dwell ; 
 And though old Time has marked my brow 
 With care and thought, I love them now. 
 Smile, if ye will, but some heart-strings 
 Are closest linked to simplest things ; 
 And these wild flowers will hold mine fast, 
 Till love, and life, and all be past ; 
 And ihen the only wish I have 
 
 Is, that the one who raises 
 The turf-sod o'er me, plant my grave 
 
 With buttercups and daisies. 
 
 A LOVE SONG, 
 
 Dear Kate, 1 do not swear and vow. 
 
 Or sigh sweet things, as many can ; 
 But though my lip ne'er plays the slave, 
 
 My heart will not disgrace the man. 
 I prize thee — ay, my bonny Kate, 
 
 So firmly fond this breast can be. 
 That I would brook the sternest fate 
 
 If it but left me health and thee. 
 
 1 do not promise that our life 
 
 Shall know no shade on heart or brow; 
 For human lot and mortal strife 
 
 Would mock the falsehood of such vow. 
 But when the clouds of pain and care 
 
 Shall teach us we are not divine, 
 My deepest sorrows thou shalt share. 
 
 And I will strive to lighten thine. 
 
 We love each other, yet perchance 
 
 The murmurs of dissent may rise ; 
 Fierce words may chase the tender glance, 
 
 And angry flashes light our eyes. 
 But we must learn to check the frown, 
 
 To reason rather than to blame ; 
 The wisest have their faults to own, 
 
 And you and I, girl, have the same. 
 
 you must not like me less, my Kate, 
 
 For such an earnest strain as this; 
 I love thee dearly, but I hate 
 
 The puling rhymes of " kiss" and " bliss." 
 There's truth in alt t*ve said or sung; 
 
 I woo thee as a man sJiould woo ; 
 And though I lack a honied tongue. 
 
 Thou 'It never find a breast more true. 
 
 I MISS THEE, MT MOTHER. 
 
 I miss thee, my mother I Thy image is still 
 
 The deepest impressed on my heart, 
 And the tablet so faithful in death must be chill 
 
 Ere a line of that image depart. 
 Thou wert lorn from my side when I treasured thee most — 
 
 When my reason could measure thy worth ; 
 When I knew but too well that the idol I 'd lost 
 
 Could be never replaced upon earth. 
 
 I miss thee, my mother, in circles of joy. 
 
 Where I 've mingled with rapturous zest ; 
 For how slight is the touch that will serve to destroy 
 
 All the fairy-web spun in my breast ! 
 Some melody sweet may be floating around — 
 
 'Tis a ballad I learnt at thy knee ; 
 Some strain may be played, and I shrink from the sound. 
 
 For my fingers oft woke it for thee. 
 
 1 miss thee, my mother ; when young health has fled. 
 
 And I sink in the languor of pain. 
 Where, where is the arm that once pillowed my head. 
 
 And the ear that once heard me complain ? 
 Other hands may support, gentle accents may fall — 
 
 For the fond and the true are yet mine : 
 I 've a blessing for each ; I am grateful to all — 
 
 But whose care can be sootliing as thine? 
 
 I miss thee, my mother, in summer's fair day. 
 
 When I rest in the ivy-wreathed bower. 
 When I hang thy pet linnet's cage high on the spray. 
 
 Or gaze on thy favourite flower. 
 There 's the bright gravel-path where I played by thy side 
 
 When time had scarce wrinkled thy brow. 
 Where I carefully led thee with worshipping pride 
 
 When thy scanty locks gathered the snow. 
 
 I miss thee, my mother, in winter's long night : 
 
 I remember the tales thou wouldst tell — 
 The romance of wild fancy, the legend of fright — 
 
 Oh I who could e'er tell them so well? 
 Thy corner is vacant ; thy chair is removed : 
 
 It was kind to take that from my eye : 
 Yet relics are round me — the sacred and loved — 
 
 To call up the pure sorrow-fed sigh. 
 
 I miss thee, my mother ! Oh, when do I not? 
 
 Though I know 'twas the wisdom of Heaven 
 That the deepest shade fell on my sunniest spot, 
 ' And such tie of devotion was riven ; 
 For when thou wert with me my soul was below, 
 
 I was chained to the world I then trod ; 
 My affections, my thoughts, were all earth-bound; but now 
 
 They have followed thy spirit to God! 
 
 oh! never BREATHE A DEAD ONE'S NAME. 
 
 Oh I never breathe a dead one's name 
 
 When those who loved that one are nigh: 
 It pours a lava through the frame 
 
 That chokes the breast and fills the eye ; 
 It strains a chord that yields too much 
 
 Of piercing anguish in its breath ; 
 And hands of mercy should not touch 
 
 A string made eloquent by death. 
 
 Oh! never breatlie a lost one's name 
 
 To those who called that one their own : 
 It only stirs the smouldering flame 
 
 That burns upon a charnel-stone. 
 The head will ache and well-nigh break 
 
 To miss that one for ever fled; 
 And lips of mercy should not wake 
 
 A love that cherishes the dead. 
 
 631 
 
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 THE FREE. 
 
 The wild streams leap with headlong sweep 
 In their curbless course o'er the mountain steep ; 
 All fresh and strong they foam along, 
 Waking the rocka with their ralaract song. 
 My eye bears a glance like the beam on a lance 
 While I watch the waters dash and dance ; 
 I burn with glee, for I love to see 
 The path of anything that's free. 
 
 The skylark springs with dew on his wings, 
 
 And up in the arch of heaven he sings 
 
 Trill-la, trill-la — oh, sweeter far 
 
 Than the notes that come through a golden bar. 
 
 The joyous bay of a hound at play, 
 
 The caw of a rook on its homeward way — 
 
 Oh ! these shall be the music for me, 
 
 For 1 love the voices of the free. 
 
 The deer starts by with his antlers high, 
 Proudly tossing his head to the sky ; 
 The barb runs the plain unbroke by the rein, 
 With steaming nostrils and flying mane ; 
 The clouds are stirred by the eaglet bird, 
 As the flap of its swooping pinion is heard. 
 Oh ! these shall be the creatures for me, 
 For my soul was formed to love the free. 
 
 The mariner brave, in his bark on the wave, 
 May laugh at the walls round a kingly slave ; 
 And the one whose lot is the desert spot 
 Has no dread of an envious foe in his cot. 
 The thrall and state at the palace-gate 
 Are what my spirit has learnt to hate ; 
 Oh ! the hills shall be a home for me, 
 For I 'd leave a throne for the hut of the free. . 
 
 THE CLOUDS. 
 
 Beautiful clouds ! I have watched ye long. 
 Fickle and bright as a fairy throng; 
 Now ye have gathered golden beams, 
 Now ye are parting in silver streams. 
 Now, ye are tinged with a roseate blush, 
 Deepening fast to a crimson flush; 
 Now, like aerial sprites at play, 
 Ye are lightly dancing another way ; 
 Melting in many a pearly flake, 
 Like the cygnet's down on the azure lake ; 
 Now ye gathef again, and run 
 To bask in the blaze of a setting sun ; 
 And anon ye serve as Zephyr's car. 
 Flitting before the evening star. 
 
 Now ye ride in mighty form. 
 
 With the arms of a giant, to nurse the storm ; 
 
 ye grasp the lightning, and fling it on earth. 
 
 All flashing and wild as a maniac's mirth; 
 
 Ye cavern the thunder, and bravely it roars, 
 
 While the forest groans, and the avalanche pours; 
 
 Ye launch the torrent with headlong force. 
 
 Till the rivers hiss in their boiling course ; 
 
 Ye come, and your trophies are scattered around 
 
 In the wreck on the waters, the oak on the ground. 
 
 Oh! where is the eye that doth not love 
 
 The glorious phantoms that glide above? 
 
 That hath not looked on the realms of air 
 
 With wondering soul and bursting prayer? 
 
 Oh!' where is the spirit that hath not bowed 
 
 To its God at the shrine of a passing cloud ? 
 
 HALLOWED BE THT NAME. 
 
 List to the dreamy tone that dwells 
 
 In rippling wave or sighing tree; 
 Go, hearken to the old church bells. 
 
 The whistling bird, the whizzing bee. 
 Interpret right, and ye will find 
 
 'Tis "power and glory" they proclaim: 
 The chimes, the creatures, waters, wind. 
 
 All publish, "hallowed be thy name !'* 
 
 The pilgrim journeys till he bleeds. 
 
 To gain the altar of his sires; 
 The hermit pores above his beads, 
 
 With zeal that never wanes nor tires; 
 But holiest rite or longest prayer 
 
 That soul can yield or wisdom frame, 
 What better import can it bear 
 
 Than, " Father ! hallowed be thy name 1" 
 
 The savage kneeling to the sun, 
 
 To give his thanks or ask a boon ; 
 The raptures of the idiot one 
 
 Who laughs to see the clear round moon ; 
 The saint well taught in Christian lore; 
 
 The Moslem prostrate at Jiis flame — 
 All worship, wonder, and adore; 
 
 All end in, " hallowed be thy name I'* 
 
 Whatever may be man's faith or creed, 
 
 Those precious words comprise it still ; 
 We trace them on the bloomy mead. 
 
 We hear them in the flowing rill. 
 One chorus hails the Great Supreme*, 
 
 Each varied breathing tells the same. 
 The strains may diflfer; but the theme 
 
 Is, " Father ! hallowed be thy name !" 
 
 THBOUGH THE WATEES. 
 
 Through the forest, through the forest, oh ! who would not 
 
 lifte to roam, 
 Where the squirrel leaps right gaily and the shy fawn makes 
 
 a home ; 
 Where branches, spreading high and wide, shut out the golden 
 
 sun, 
 And hours of noontide steal away all shadowy and dun? 
 'Tis sweet to pluck the ivy sprigs or seek the hidden nest. 
 To track the spot where owlets hide, and wild deer take 
 
 their rest ; 
 Through the forest, through the forest, oh, 'tis passing sweet 
 
 to take 
 Our lonely way 'mid springy moss, thick bush, and tangled 
 
 brake. 
 
 Through the valley, through the valley, where the glittering 
 
 harebells peep. 
 Where laden bees go droning by, and hum themselves to 
 
 sleep; 
 Where all that's bright with bloom and light springs forth 
 
 to greet the day. 
 And every blade pours incense to the v;arm and cloudless 
 
 ray; 
 Where children come to laugh away their happy summer 
 
 hours, 
 To chase the downy butterfly, or crown themselves with 
 
 flowers ; 
 Through the valley, through the valley, oh ! who does not 
 
 like to bask 
 Amid the fairest beauties Heaven can give or man can ask? 
 
 Through the desert, through the desert, where the Arab takea 
 
 his course. 
 With none to bear him company except his gallant horse; 
 Where none can question will or right, where landmarks 
 
 ne'er impede. 
 But all is wide and limitless to rider and to steed. 
 No purling streamlet murmurs there, no chequered shadows 
 
 fall; 
 'Tis torrid, waste, and desolate, but free to each and all. 
 Through the desert, through the desert 1 Oh, the Arab would 
 
 not change 
 For purple robes or olive-trees his wild and burning range. 
 
 Through the waters, through the waters, ah ! be this the joy 
 
 for me. 
 Upon the flowing river or the broad and dashing sea; 
 Of all that wealth could offer me the choicest boon I'd crave 
 Would be a bold and sturdy bark upon the open wave. 
 I love to see the wet sails fill before the whistling breath, 
 And feel the ship cleave on, as though she spurned the flood 
 
 beneath. 
 Through the waters, through the waters, can ye tell me what 
 
 below 
 Is H'eer than the wind-lashed main, or swifter than the proa ? 
 
 632 
 
CO 
 
 CO 
 
 I love to see the merry craft go running on her side ; 
 
 I laugh to see her splashing on before the rapid tide; 
 
 I love to mark the white and hissing foam come boiling up, 
 
 Fresh as the froth that hangs about the Thunderer's nectar 
 
 cup. 
 All sail away : ah 1 who would stay to pace the dusty land 
 If once they trod a gallant ship, steered by a gallant band. 
 Through the waters, through the waters, ohl there's not a 
 
 joy for me 
 Like racing with the gull upon a broad and dashing sea ! 
 
 STANZAS TO THE TOUNQ. 
 
 Long have the wisest lips confessed 
 That minstrel ones are far from wrong 
 
 Who "point a moral" in a jest, 
 Or yield a sermon in a song. 
 
 So be it I Listen ye who will, 
 And, though my harp be roughly strung, 
 
 Yet never shall its lightest thrill 
 Offend the old or taint the young. 
 
 Mark me 1 I ne'er presume to teach 
 The man of wisdom, grey and sage; 
 
 'Tis to the growing I would preach 
 From moral text and mentor page. 
 
 First, I would bid thee cherish truth, 
 As leading star in virtue's train; 
 
 Folly may pass, nor tarnish youth. 
 But falsehood leaves a poison stain. 
 
 Keep watch, nor let the burning tide 
 Of impulse break from all control: 
 
 The best of hearts needs pilot-guide 
 To steer it clear from error's shoal. 
 
 One wave of passion's boiling flood 
 
 May all the sea of life disturb; 
 And steeds of good but fiery blood 
 
 Will rush on death without a curb. 
 
 Think on the course ye fain would run. 
 
 And moderate the wild desire; 
 There's many a one would drive the sun. 
 
 Only to set the world on fire. 
 
 Slight not the one of honest worth, 
 Because no star adorns his breast: 
 
 The lark soars highest from the earth, 
 Yet ever leaves the lowest nest. 
 
 Heed but the bearing of a tree, 
 And if it yield a wholesome fruit 
 
 A shallow, envious fool is he 
 Who spurns it for its forest root. 
 
 Let fair humanity be thine. 
 To fellow-man and meanest brute; 
 
 'Tis nobly taught; the code's divine — 
 Mercy is God's chief attribute. 
 
 The coward wretch whose hand and heart ' 
 Can bear to torture aught below. 
 
 Is ever first to quail and start 
 From slightest paiu or equal foe. 
 
 Be not too ready to condemn 
 
 The wrong thy brothers may have done; 
 
 Ere ye too harshly censure them 
 For human faults, ask — "Have I none?" 
 
 Live that thy young and glowing breast 
 Can think of death without a sigh; 
 
 And be assured that life is best 
 Which finds us least afraid to die. 
 
 WASHINGTON. 
 
 Land of the West I though passing brief the record of thine 
 
 age, 
 Thou hast a name that darkens all on history's wide page] 
 Let all the blasts of farne ring out — thine shall be loudest 
 
 far: 
 Let others boast their satellites — thou hast the planet star. 
 
 Thou hast a name whose characters of light shall ne'er 
 
 depart ; 
 'Tis stamped upon the dullest brain, and warms the coldest 
 
 heart ; 
 A war-cry fij; for any land where freedom's to be won. 
 Land of the west! it stands alone — it is thy Washington! 
 
 Rome had its Caesar, great and brave ; but stain was on his 
 
 wreath : 
 He lived the heartless conqueror, and died the tyrant's 
 
 death. 
 France had its Eagle; but his wings, though lofty they 
 
 might soar. 
 Were spread in false ambition's flight, and dipped in mur- 
 der's gore. 
 Those hero-gods, whose mighty sway would fain have 
 
 chained the waves — 
 Who fleshed their blades with tiger zeal, to make a world 
 
 of slaves — 
 Who, though their kindred barred the path, still fiercely 
 
 waded on — 
 Oh, where shall be their " glory" by the side of Washington ? 
 
 He fought, but not with love of strife ; he struck but to 
 
 defend ; 
 And ere he turned a people's fo6, he sought to be a friend. 
 He strove to keep his country's right by reason's gentle 
 
 word, 
 And sighed when fell injustice threw the challenge — sword 
 
 to sword. 
 He stood the firm, the calm, the wise, the patriot and sage; 
 He showed no deep, avenging hate— no burst of despot rage. 
 He stood for liberty and truth, and dauntlessly led on, 
 Till shouts of victory gave forth the name of Washington. 
 
 No car of triumph bore him through a city filled with grief; 
 No groaning captives at the wheels proclaimed him victor 
 
 chief; 
 He broke the gyves of slavery with strong and high disdain, 
 And cast no sceptre from the links when he had crushed the 
 
 chain. 
 He saved his land, but did not lay his soldier trappings down 
 To change them for the regal vest, and don a kingly crown. 
 Fame was too earnest in her joy — too proud of such a son — 
 To let a robe and title mask a noble Washington. 
 
 England, my heart is truly thine — ray loved, my native 
 earth ! — 
 
 The land that holds a mother's grave, and gave that mother 
 birth! 
 
 Oh, keenly sad would be the fate that thrust me from thy 
 shore. 
 
 And faltering my breath, that sighed, "Farewell for ever- 
 more !" 
 
 But did I meet such adverse lot, I would not seek to dwell 
 
 Where olden heroes wrought the deeds for Homer's song to 
 tell. 
 
 Away, thou gallant ship ! I'd cry, and bear me swiftly on : 
 
 But bear me from my own fair land to that of Washington. 
 
 THE LAST GOOD-BYE. 
 
 Farewell! Farewell 1 is often heard 
 
 From the lips of those who part : 
 'T is a whispered tone, 'tis a gentle word, 
 
 But it springs not from the heart. 
 It may serve for the lover's lay, 
 
 To be sung 'neath a summer sky ; 
 But give me the lips that say 
 
 The honest words, ■' Good-bye !" 
 
 Adieu! Adieu! may greet the ear 
 
 In the guise of courtly speech ; 
 But when we leave the kind and dear, 
 
 'T is not what the soul would teach. 
 Whene'er we grasp the hands of ttiose 
 
 We would have for ever nigh, 
 The flame of friendship burns and glows 
 
 In the warm, frank words, " Good-bye !" 
 
 The mother sending forth her child 
 
 To meet with cares and strife. 
 Breathes through her tears her doubts and feara 
 
 For the loved one's future life. 
 
 633 
 
CO 
 
 No cold " adieu," no *' farewell," lives 
 
 Within her choking sighs; 
 But the deepest sob of anguish gives, 
 
 " God bless thee, boy ! — good-bye !" 
 
 Go, watch the pale and dying one. 
 
 When the glance has lost its beam — 
 When the brow is cold as the marble stone. 
 
 And the world a passing dream ; 
 And the latest pressure of the hand. 
 
 The look of the closing eye. 
 Yield what the heart must understand — 
 
 A long, a last " Good-bye." 
 
 COTJTTS, ANGELA GEORGINA BURDETT, 
 
 Is distinguished as possessing more wealth than 
 any other private woman in the world ; and a far 
 higher disfinctiou is hers also, that she is using her 
 iiiimense riches in the noblest works of charity. 
 
 Miss Burdett Coutts is the youngest daughter 
 of Sir Francis Burdett, Bart., late of Bramcote, 
 county of Warwick, a philanthropist and reformer, 
 whose political career is well known ; her mother 
 was Sophia, youngest daughter of Thomas Coutts, 
 Esq., the opulent banker of the Strand. The 
 family of Burdett, enriched by alliances with the 
 houses of Camville of Arrow, Bruin of Bramcote, 
 and Fraunceys of Foremark, can be traced to one 
 of the soldiers of the Conquest. But whatever the 
 ancestry of Miss Burdett Coutts might have been, 
 it can confer no honour on her name so noble as 
 do her own benevolent deeds. She was born April 
 25th, 1814, and carefully trained in those religious 
 sentiments which develop the best faculties of the 
 female mind. She was not educated as an ex- 
 pectant heiress, because her grandfather's mar- 
 riage with Miss Mellon,* the actress, and his gift 
 by will of his whole fortune to this, comparatively, 
 young wife, must have deprived his children of 
 any expectancy from the step-mother, who subse- 
 quently married the young Duke of St. Albans. 
 But the amiable, interesting and affectionate An- 
 gela Burdett, was ever a favourite with her step- 
 grandmother ; and as the latter had no children 
 or near relations of her own, she justly deter- 
 mined the fortune she had received from her first 
 
 ^ See Biography of the Duchess of St. Albans, page 424. 
 
 CO 
 
 husband, should return to his family, and wisely 
 selected the youthful Angela Georgina Burdett, as 
 her heiress. One condition only was annexed to 
 the possession of this vast property — that the 
 heiress should assume the additional surname and 
 arms of Coutts, which, by royal license was per- 
 mitted. In September, 1837, the subject of our 
 sketch took the style and surname, and came into 
 possession of her fortune ; she was then twenty- 
 three years of age. The few simple facts we have 
 narrated, strikingly illustrate the differences in 
 the masculine and feminine nature. Harriet Mel- 
 lon, the self-educated actress, was far more disin- 
 terested, more generous, more just, than either of 
 her two husbands, — one versed in all the know- 
 ledge of the world of business, the other born to 
 high rank, and educated in a nobleman's notions 
 of honour and morality ; and that this great wealth, 
 accumulated by the elder Coutts, is now in the 
 hands of a woman,, should be a subject of thankful- 
 ness to all who wish the advancement of piety, mo- 
 rality, and Christian education among the people. 
 
 Since Miss Burdett Coutts came into posses- 
 sion of her fortune, she has been indefatigable in 
 her works of benevolence. Besides her private 
 charities, which are innumerable, she has given 
 largely for missionary purposes ; to assist reli- 
 gious societies ; endowed the see of a bishopric 
 in Adelaide, South Australia ; and bestowed thirty 
 thousand pounds sterling to build and endow a 
 church, with parsonage-house and schools in West- 
 minster, London ! Who, among all the living no- 
 ble and rich men of England, has done deeds of 
 disinterested benevolence to be compared with 
 these ? A woman is now the leader of British 
 charities ; and the name of Miss Burdett Coutts 
 is honoured throughout the Christian world. 
 
 An interesting account of the ceremonies attend- 
 ant on laying the foundation-stone of this new 
 church was given in a London paper. The site 
 was Rochester-Row, selected by the Bishop of 
 London, in one of the most densely populated 
 portions of the city and liberties. Tuesday, the 
 20th of July, ] 847, was fixed for the ceremonies. 
 The site was enclosed, and accommodations were 
 prepared for spectators. " Before two o'clock, 
 the appointed hour, several galleries were occu- 
 pied, and ladies were accommodated with seats 
 on the platform, whereon were made the requisite 
 arrangements for laying the stone, suspended 
 from a truck, travelling along an elevated tramway. 
 At two o'clock, the several authorities engaged 
 in the Ceremony entered the inclosure in proces- 
 sion, preceded by the ofSoials, bearing their silver 
 staves. Amongst those present were. Miss Angela 
 Burdett Coutts (who was accompanied by Lady 
 King, Lady Antrobus, Miss Burdett, and Mrs. 
 Bamsdeu ;) the Lord Bishop of London, the Lord 
 Bishop of Oxford ; Earl Brownlow, Lord Sandom, 
 M. P., Lord Ashley: the Very Rev. Dr. Buck- 
 land, Dean of Westminster ; the Venerable John 
 Sinclair, M. A., Archdeacon of Middlesex; the 
 Rev. Lord John Thynne, M. A., Canon of West- 
 minster: the Venerable Archdeacon Bentinck; 
 Foster Owen, Esq., High Constable of Westmin- 
 ster; the Right Rev. Dr. Short, Bishop of Ade- 
 
 634 
 
CO 
 
 CE 
 
 laide, 'South Australia, (the new see endowed by 
 Miss Coutts ;) the Lord Bishop of Tasmania ; Sir 
 Frederick Trench, Col. Sturt; the Rev. Edward 
 Repton, M. A., Canon of Westminster, and a 
 large number of clergy. 
 
 " The general arrangements were under the su- 
 perintendence of the High Constable, and were 
 very satisfactory. A large concourse of persons 
 had assembled in the neighbourhood ; and the 
 walls and house-tops, commanding a view of the 
 ceremony, were fringed with spectators. 
 
 " The appointed ofiice was read by the Bishop 
 of London, and three of the Canons of the Abbey 
 Church of Westminster. It consisted of the 84th 
 Psalm, the Lord's Prayer, and the following Col- 
 lect: — ■ 
 
 ' Almighty God, whom the heaven and heaven 
 of heavens cannot contain, who yet vouchsafest to 
 dwell with thy Church upon earth ; look down 
 with thy favour upon us, thine unworthy servants, 
 who are now about to lay the foundation of a 
 house, to be dedicated to thy service, and to the 
 glory of thy Holy Name ; through Jesus Christ 
 our Lord, who liveth and reigneth with Thee, in 
 the unity of the Holy Ghost, one God, world with- 
 out end. Amen.' 
 
 '.' The bottle of coins, &c., and the inscription- 
 plate, being placed within the stone. Miss Coutts 
 spread the mortar with an elegant silver trowel ; 
 the stone was then lowered from the tramway, and 
 it being adjusted, the Founder said, ' We place 
 this Foundation Stone in faith and hope, to the 
 glory of God, through Jesus Christ our Lord. 
 Amen.' Miss Coutts then slightly struck the stone 
 thrice with the mallet. 
 
 " A hymn was next sung by the children of the 
 Grey Coat, Green Coat, Blue Coat, and Emery 
 Hill's Schools. 
 
 " The singing of this hymn, the spectators being 
 uncovered, had a very impressive effect. 
 
 " A Psalm and three other Prayers and Collects 
 were then read ; and the Bishop of London ad- 
 dressed the assembly at some length, dwelling on 
 the pious munificence of the lady who had so 
 handsomely contributed to the provision of spi- 
 ritual instruction through the instrumentality of 
 the Church, in that densely populated district. 
 Miss Coutts's father (Sir Francis Eurdett) had re- 
 presented that ancient city in Parliament during 
 a course of thirty years, ~ and this new Church 
 would serve to perpetuate his memory. The an- 
 cient parish churches and cathedrals had been 
 reared through the Christian liberality of benevo- 
 lent individuals, but none, he regretted to say, 
 had of late years been equal to the work they were 
 now commencing, and he trusted it would be one 
 of those bright examples which would redound to 
 the strength of the Church and the ultimate se- 
 curity of the country. 
 
 "The Bishop then pronounced the Blessing; 
 ' God save the Queen ' was sung, and the congre- 
 gation dispersed ; three cheers being given as they 
 retired from the platform." 
 
 The church will accommodate one thousand per- 
 sons ; the two schools educate four hundred chil- 
 dren, two hundred and thirty boys and one hun- 
 
 dred and seventy girls. In the present low state 
 of popular education in England, we look upon 
 these schools as calculated to produce more bene- 
 fit to the cause of morality and true piety, than 
 will be done by the preacher in the church. We 
 wish, however, that the relative proportion between 
 the sexes of the pupils had been reversed, for we 
 believe the education of female children more im- 
 portant than that of boys. If the mother has 
 been instructed, she will impart whatever she has 
 learned to her children ; the father uses his know- 
 ledge more for his own benefit. Popular education 
 has been so utterly neglected by the English go- 
 vernment, that there are now, it is calculated, 
 nearly eight millions of persons in England and 
 Wales, who do not know how to read ! The larger 
 proportion of the neglected is females. To in- 
 struct these poor, ignorant women and girls till 
 they can read, and place a copy of the Bible in 
 every family, would be the greatest boon human 
 philanthropy could confer on the British nation. 
 
 Miss Burdett Coutts has now in her keeping a 
 power of doing good, which an angel might joy- 
 fully leave the mansions of bliss to wield. To 
 provide the means of education for her own sex, 
 seems the special privilege entrusted to her. Nor- 
 mal schools, for the training of female teachers, 
 are wanted in England, as the preparatory step to 
 popular education; male teachers are not fitted by 
 nature to have the care of children ; and never 
 will universal education be enjoyed, till women 
 are the instructors of the young. 
 
 CROWE, CATHARINE, 
 Whose maiden name was Stevens, was born at 
 Borough Green, in the county of Kent, England. 
 She married Lt. Colonel Crowe, of the British 
 army. She has one child — a son; the family 
 reside chiefly at Edinburgh, or in the neighbour- 
 hood. Her published books are pretty numerous, 
 and she has written much for the periodicals and 
 other serials, within the last ten years. One only 
 of her works has been reprinted in America, — 
 " The Night-Side of Nature," — celebrated for the 
 undeniable evidence it affords of the belief of 
 Mrs. Crowe in "those things" which the philo- 
 sophy of schools does not teach as abstract truths 
 — namely, the belief in dreams, omens, wraiths, 
 ghosts, and other transcendental matters pertain- 
 ing to the world of spirits. Her writings have at- 
 tracted considerable attention among the learned, 
 and attained, as might have been expected, a wide 
 popularity among those who like to read ghost- 
 stories, though stoutly denying any belief in such 
 nonsense. The term, "Night-Side of Nature," 
 Mrs. Crowe explains as being borrowed from the 
 German, signifying " that side of a planet which 
 is turned from the sun ; and during this interval, 
 external objects loom npon us but strangely and 
 imperfectly : the Germans draw a parallel between 
 these vague and misty perceptions and the similar 
 obscure and uncertain glimpses we get of that 
 veiled department of nature, of which, whilst com- 
 prising, as it does, the solution of questions con- 
 cerning us more nearly than any other, we are 
 yet in a state of entire and wilful ignorance." 
 
 635 
 
CE 
 
 The principal -works of Mrs. Crowe are : — 
 "Susan Hopley," "Lilly Dawson," "Manorial 
 Rights," and " Aristodemus," a tragedy. But the 
 " Night-Side .of Nature" is her great work, and 
 had she done as the Sibyl of old, burnt two-thirds 
 of her matter, the book would have been much 
 more valued. The truth is, so many foolish, in- 
 consistent, and useless examples of preternatural 
 appearances and warnings are given, that the 
 reader, even though a little inclined to believe 
 there may be more things in heaven and earth 
 than philosophy has explained, will yet become 
 disgusted with the trivial scenes in which these 
 spiritual influences are represented as chiefly en- 
 gaged. A few selections will best show the cha- 
 racter of the work and bias of the author. 
 
 From "The Night-Side of Nature." 
 THE FUTDRE THAT AWAITS US. 
 
 In all ages of the world, and in all parts of it, 
 mankind have earnestly desired to learn the fate 
 that awaited them when they had " shuffled oif 
 this mortal coil;" and those pretending to be their 
 instructors have built up different system.s, which 
 have stood in the stead of knowledge, and more 
 or less satisfied the bulk of the people. The inte- 
 rest on this subject is, at the present period, in 
 the most highly civilized portions of the globe, 
 less than it has been at any preceding one. The 
 great proportion of us live for this world alone, 
 and think very little of the next ; we are in too 
 great a hurry of pleasure or business to bestow 
 any time on a subject of which we have such vague 
 notions. Notions so vague, that, in short, we can 
 scarcely, by any effort of the imagination, bring 
 the idea home to ourselves ; and when we are 
 about to die, we are seldom in a situation to do 
 more than resign ourselves to what is inevitable, 
 and blindly meet our fate ; whilst, on the other 
 hand, what is generally called the religious world, 
 is so engrossed by its struggles for power or 
 money, or by its sectarian disputes and enmities, 
 and so narrowed and circumscribed by dogmatic 
 orthodoxies, that it has neither inclination nor 
 liberty to turn back or look around, and endea- 
 vour to gather up, from past records and present 
 observation, such hints as are now and again dropt 
 in our path, to give us an intimation of what the 
 truth may be. The rationalistic age, too, out of 
 which we are only just emerging, and which suc- 
 ceeded one of gross superstition, having settled, 
 beyond appeal, that there never was such a thing 
 as a ghost — that the dead never do come back to 
 tell us the secrets of their prison-house — and that 
 nobody believes such idle tales but children and 
 old women, seemed to have shut the door against 
 the only channel through which any information 
 could be sought. Revelation tells us very little 
 on this subject, reason can tell us nothing; and if 
 nature is equally silent, or if we are to be deterred 
 from questioning her from the fear of ridicule, 
 there is certainly no resource left for us but to 
 rest contented in our ignorance ; and each wait 
 till the awful secret is disclosed to ourselves. A 
 great many things have been pronounced untrue 
 
 CR 
 
 and absurd, and even impossible, by the highest 
 authorities in the age in which they lived, which 
 have afterwards, and, indeed, within a very short 
 period, been found to be both possible and true. 
 I confess myself, for one, to have no respect what- 
 ever for these dogmatic denials and affirmations, 
 and I am quite of opinion that vulgar incredulity 
 is a much more contemptible thing than vulgar 
 credulity. We know very little of what is, and 
 still less of what may be; and till a thing has 
 been proved by induction logically impossible, we 
 have no right whatever to pronounce that it is so. 
 As I have said before, h priori conclusions are 
 perfectly worthless ; and the sort of investigation 
 that is bestowed upon subjects of the class of 
 which I am treating, something worse ; inasmuch 
 as they deceive the timid and the ignorant, and 
 that very numerous class which pins its faith on 
 authority, and never ventures to think for itself, 
 by an assumption of wisdom and knowledge, 
 which, if examined and analyzed, would very fre- 
 quently prove to be nothing more respectable than 
 obstinate prejudice and rash assertion. 
 
 A gentleman, who resided near one of the Scot- 
 tish lakes, dreamt that he saw a number of per- 
 sons surrounding a body, which had just been 
 drawn out of the water. On approaching the spot, 
 he perceives that it is himself, and the assistants 
 are his own friends and retainers. Alarmed at the 
 life-like reality of the vision, he resolved to elude 
 the threatened destiny by never venturing on the 
 lake again. On one occasion, however, it became 
 quite indispensable that he should do so ; and, as 
 the day was quite calm, he yielded to the neces- 
 sity, on condition that he should be put ashore at 
 once on the opposite •side, whilst the rest of the 
 party proceeded to their destination, where he 
 would meet them. This was accordingly done: 
 the boat skimmed gaily over the smooth waters, 
 and arrived safely at the rendezvous, the gentle- 
 men laughing at the superstition of their com- 
 panion, whilst he stood smiling on the bank to 
 receive them. But, alas ! the fates were inex- 
 orable : the little promontory that supported him 
 had been undermined by the water ; it gave way 
 beneath his feet, and life was extinct before he 
 could be rescued. This circumstance was related 
 to me by a friend of the family. 
 
 PEESENTIMENT. 
 
 One of the most remarkable cases of presenti- 
 ment I know, is that which occurred, not very long 
 since, on board one of her Majesty's ships, when 
 lying off Portsmouth. The officers being one day 
 at the mess-table, a young Lieutenant P sud- 
 denly laid down his knife and fork, pushed away 
 his plate, and turned extremely pale. He then 
 rose from the table, covering his face with his 
 hands, and retired from the room. The president 
 of the mess, supposing him to be ill, sent one of 
 the young men to inquire what was the matter. 
 At first, M. P. was unwilling to speak ; but on 
 being pressed, he confessed that he had been 
 seized by a sudden and irresistible impression 
 
 636 
 
OR 
 
 CU 
 
 that a brother he had then in India was dead. 
 "He died," said he, "on the 12th of August, at 
 six o'clock ; I am perfectly certain of it 1" No 
 arguments could overthrow this oonYiction, which, 
 in due course of post, was verified to the letter. 
 The young man had died at Cawnpore, at the 
 precise period mentioned. 
 
 APPAaiTIONS. 
 
 A maid-servant, in one of the midland counties 
 of England, being up early one morning, heard 
 her name called in a voice that seemed to be her 
 brother's, a sailor, then at sea ; and running up, 
 she found him standing in the hall ; he said he 
 was come from afar, and was going again, and 
 mentioned some other things, when her mistress, 
 hearing voices, called to know who she was talk- 
 ing to ; she said it was her brother, from sea. 
 After speaking to her for some time, she suddenly 
 lost sight of him, and found herself alone. Amazed 
 and puzzled, she told her mistress what had hap- 
 pened, who being thus led to suspect the kind of 
 visiter it was, looked out of the window to ascer- 
 tain if there were any marks of footsteps, the 
 ground being covered with snow. There were, 
 however, none ; and it was therefore clear that 
 nobody could have entered the house. Intelli- 
 gence afterwards arrived of the young man's 
 death. 
 
 TBOnBLED SPIRITS. 
 
 There is an old saying, that we should never lie 
 down to rest at enmity with any human being; 
 and the story of the ghost of the Princess Anna 
 of Saxony, who appeared to Duke Christian of 
 Saxe-Eisenburg, is strongly confirmatory of the, 
 wisdom of this axiom. 
 
 Duke Christian was sitting one morning in his 
 study, when he was surprised by a knock at his 
 door — an unusual circumstance, since the guards, 
 as well as the people in waiting, were always in 
 the ante-room. He, however, cried, "Come in!" 
 When there entered, to his amazement, a lady in 
 an ancient costume, who, in answer to his in- 
 quiries, told him that she was no evil spirit, and 
 would do him no harm ; but that she was one of 
 his ancestors, and had been the wife of Duke 
 John Casimer of Saxe-Coburg. She then related 
 that she and her husband had not been on good 
 terms at the period of their deaths, and that 
 although she had sought a reconciliation, he had 
 been inexorable, pursuing her with unmitigated 
 hatred, and injuring her by unjust suspicions ; 
 and that, consequently, although she was happy, 
 he was still wandering in cold and darkness, be- 
 twixt time and eternity. She had, however, long 
 known that one of their descendants was destined 
 to effect this reconciliation for them, and they 
 were rejoiced to find the time for it had at length 
 arrived. She then gave the duke eight days to 
 consider if he were willing to perform this good 
 office, and disappeared ; whereupon he consulted 
 a clergyman, in whom he had great confidence, 
 who, after finding the ghost's communications 
 Terifled by a reference to the annals of the family, 
 advised him to comply with her request. 
 
 As the duke had yet some difficulty in believing 
 it was really a ghost he had seen^ he took care to 
 have his door well watched; she, however, en- 
 tered at the appointed time, unseen by the attend- 
 ants ; and having received the duke's promise, she 
 told him that she would return with her husband 
 on the following night ; for that although she could 
 come by day, he could not ; that then, having heard 
 the circumstances, . the duke must arbitrate be- 
 tween them, and then unite their hands and bless 
 them. The door was still watched, but neverthe- 
 less the apparitions both came, the Duke Casimer 
 in full royal costume, but of a livid paleness ; and 
 when the wife had told her story, he told his. 
 Duke Christian decided for the lady, in which 
 judgment Duke Casimer fully acquiesced. Chris- 
 tian then took the ice-cold hand of Casimer, and 
 laid it in that of his wife, which felt of a natural 
 heat. They then prayed and sang together, and 
 the apparitions disappeared, having foretold that 
 Duke Christian would ere long be with them. The 
 family records showed that these people had lived 
 about one hundred years before Duke Christian's 
 time, who himself died in the year 1707, two years 
 after these visits of his ancestors. He desired to 
 be buried in quick-lime — it is supposed, from an 
 idea that it might prevent his ghost from walking 
 the earth. The costume in which they appeared, 
 was precisely that they had worn when alive, as 
 was ascertained by a reference to their portraits. 
 
 The expression, that her husband was wandering 
 in cold and darkness, betwixt time and eternity, are 
 here very worthy of observation ; as are the cir- 
 cumstances that his hand was cold, whilst hers 
 was warm; and, also, the greater privilege she 
 seemed to enjoy. The hands of the unhappy 
 spirits appear, I think, invariably to communicate 
 a sensation of cold. 
 
 CUSHMAN, CHARLOTTE, 
 An American Artiste who has, deservedly, be- 
 come celebrated in her profession, holding now 
 the highest rank for original genius, in the per- 
 sonation of those female characters which display 
 the passions in their greatest intensity and power, 
 of any living actress either of England or her own 
 country. 
 
 Charlotte Cushman was born in Boston, being 
 the eldest of five children, who, by the decease of 
 their father, were left, when young, wholly de- 
 pendent on their mother's care and instruction. 
 Mrs. Cushman seems to have sustained the part 
 of double guardianship over her children, which 
 devolves on a widowed mother, with a noble cour- 
 age and firm faith in God ; this early traioing has, 
 no doubt, had great influence on her gifted daugh- 
 ter. The sketch we shall give of Miss Cushman, is 
 chiefly taken from " The People's Journal," pub- 
 lished in London, and edited by William Hewitt. 
 The sketch is from the pen of Mrs. Mary Howitt. 
 
 "Charlotte Cushman inherited from her mo- 
 ther, who was a beautiful singer, a fine taste for 
 music. As a child, she was remarkable for her 
 grave and earnest character ; she was not fond of 
 playing with other children, but retired apart, 
 where she read tragedies and practised singing. 
 
 637 
 
cu 
 
 cv 
 
 Seeing her great taste for music, her mother wisely 
 determined to cultivate it to the utmost in her 
 power. She was not wealthy enough, however, to 
 obtain the first-rate masters for her daughter ; hut 
 native talent is like love, give it only breathing- 
 room, and, it will struggle into day; so it was 
 here. Her first teacher was but himself at that 
 time a pupil ; but she improved under his tuition. 
 
 " She sang in the chapel, and at a public con- 
 cert, where she was heard by a gentleman of great 
 wealth and taste in the city, who resolved that 
 such extraordinary promise should not fail for 
 lack of cultivation. Through his means, there- 
 fore, the best instruction was afforded her, and 
 she was placed as an articled-pupil for three years 
 with the master of her former pupU-teacher, an 
 Englishman of the name of Paddon, formerly an 
 organist in London. After two years, being in- 
 vited by some wealthy relations in New York to 
 visit them for a month, she went there. Her re- 
 lations were delighted with their young and won- 
 derfully gifted kinswoman, and wished much to 
 adopt her, and provide for her for life. She wrote 
 for her mother's consent or opinion ; and three 
 months, instead of one, were spent in deciding the 
 matter. The mother would not consent to part- 
 ing with her daughter, and Charlotte returning 
 home, found that this long visit had broken her 
 articles with Mr. Paddon. This caused her the 
 less regret, as she had found that he could give 
 her but limited instruction which would not, in 
 the end, qualify her for more than a teacher her- 
 self. 
 
 " Soon after this, Mrs. Wood, formerly Miss 
 Paton, came to Boston, and with her she sung in 
 a concert. Mrs; Wood, who was astonished and 
 delighted with her voice, declared it to be the 
 finest contralto she had ever heard, and advised 
 her to turn her attention to singing on the stage. 
 This advice was greatly against the wishes and 
 views of her family and connexions. Both in 
 former and later times, her family, on her father's 
 and mother's side, had been rigid Presbyterians, 
 and the sons, through many generations, had 
 
 often been preachers ; there was, therefore, in 
 the minds of all, an inborn horror of the stage ; 
 it was to their ideas a place of sin and degrada- 
 tion. All, therefore, steadfastly set their faces 
 against such a misuse and abuse of talent. The 
 young genius was strong in her own wilfulness ; 
 she felt that a great and pure spirit was in her, 
 and she feared no evil. 
 
 " Mrs. Wood had brought over with her a young 
 musical director, an Irishman, of the name of 
 Maeder, who afterwards married Clara Fisher; 
 and tmder his care, Charlotte Cushman was 
 brought out as a public singer, in the character of 
 the Countess, in the Marriage of Figaro. She was 
 then just nineteen, and her success was complete. 
 She bade fair to be one of the first singers of the 
 age ; an engagement was made for her by Maeder, 
 in which, as prima donna, she was to accompany 
 himself and his wife to New Orleans, where a new 
 theatre had been erected, and here she became 
 acquainted with Decamp, and Mrs. Frederick 
 Brown, the brother and sister of Mrs. Charles 
 Kemble. 
 
 ' ' At New Orleans, however, a misfortune befel our 
 young singer, which must inevitably have crushed 
 any spirit less buoyant than her own ; and but for 
 her own scope of untried powers, which, as it were, 
 lay in reserve for the evil day, she must have sunk 
 under it. The change of climate from the north 
 to the south, the severity of practice requisite, and 
 the unwise attempt to overstrain her voice from a 
 pure contralto to an available soprano, certainly 
 destroyed it. No situation can be conceived more 
 distressing, or more calculated to drive to utter 
 despair. There she was, in a strange city, away 
 from her own friends and family — disappointed, 
 ruined, as it seemed, by the step she had taken 
 against their counsel. What was to be done? 
 She could not return to her mother a beggar, after 
 having left her with a fortune, as she believed, in 
 her voice. What, indeed was to be done ? 
 
 ' ' With a noble resolution not to sink, she took 
 heart, although she knew not then upon what 
 plank she was to be saved. She had one true 
 friend, however, in the tragedian of the theatre, a 
 gentleman named Barton, now a professor of elo- 
 cution in the West of England, a noble-hearted 
 man and a fine scholar. From him she asked ad- 
 vice in her difiicult and painful circumstances ; 
 and he, appreciating her yet untried talent for 
 acting, recommended that as a profession. With 
 him, therefore, she read such plays as Venice Pre- 
 served, Macbeth, &c. ; but as all this was in oppo- 
 sition to the will of Maeder, who would have dis- 
 countenanced any attempt of the kind, she was 
 obliged to keep it secret from him, and her stu- 
 dies were carried on in a little garret, where, at 
 least, she could ensure privacy ; and here, in this 
 little mean room, she studied and conceived all 
 those great tragedy parts in which she has so re- 
 markably distinguished herself. Any one but she 
 must have been daunted by the outward circum- 
 stances that surrounded her ; but the strength of 
 real greatness was in her, and few, indeed, are 
 the untoward and adverse circumstances which 
 genius, and a high, clear moral nature will not 
 
 638 
 
cu 
 
 cu 
 
 overcome. Charlotte Cushman is one of these ; 
 they are among the noblest of God's creatures, 
 ■whose strength and truth are only the more called 
 out by trial. Such cannot be subdued, and, like 
 the acanthus leaf under the tile, the very pressure 
 which would have crushed a meaner weed, fash- 
 ions them into beauty, which becomes a decoration 
 for the temple of the gods. 
 
 "The time now drew near when she was to have 
 a trial in her new vocation. To the utter aston- 
 ishment of every one conneeted with the theatre 
 she was announced for Lady Macbeth on the occa- 
 sion of the benefit of her friend Mr. Barton. She 
 had no dress whatever for the character, and fear- 
 ing that if this were known it would throw an 
 insuperable impediment in the way, she did not 
 mention it until the very morning of rehearsal. It 
 was then too late to make any alteration, and the 
 manager, in great dismay and anger, sent her with 
 a note to Madame Clozel, of the French Theatre, 
 With whose personal appearance she was not even 
 acquainted. She took the note, requesting the 
 loan of a dress for lady Macbeth, herself. She 
 was tall, and at that time very slender ; of course, 
 therefore, she imagined that the lady whose dress 
 she was to wear was of a figure similar to her own. 
 Her consternation and dismay may be imagined, 
 therefore, when we say that Madame Clozel was a 
 very short 'and immensely stout woman, whose 
 waist alone would measure nearly two yards 
 round. However, no lions, real or imaginary, 
 ever stood in Miss Cushman's path. Nothing 
 could equal the ready good nature of the kind- 
 hearted French woman ; and by dint of taking in 
 huge seams, and letting down broad hems, a dress 
 was manufactured, in which the new aspirant for 
 tragedy fame made a very respectable appearance. 
 The theatrical corps had from the first held up 
 their hands and foretold defeat, and many a one 
 came to laugh. But the performance was a com- 
 plete triumph ; the most unanimous applause 
 showered upon her, and there no longer existed 
 any doubt regarding her being a great tragic 
 actress. The piece was repeated many nights, 
 and then, with her fame established, as far as 
 New Orleans was concerned, she returned to New 
 York, happy in the possession of a new path to 
 fame and independence, and thinking, in her 
 young imagination, that she was about to set the 
 world on fire. 
 
 " However, all was not as smooth and easy as 
 she had anticipated. At the principal theatre in 
 New York she found it impossible to obtain an 
 engagement without first acting on trial. An en- 
 gagement was ai once offered her by a minor 
 theatre. Pride warred against it ; but pecuniary 
 considerations induced her to accept it; more 
 especially as by so doing she was enabled to assist 
 those dearest to her, and who now needed assist- 
 ance. Her engagement here was for three years ; 
 and during this time she determined to establish 
 such a reputation as should enable her to make 
 her own terms with any theatre. She sent ac- 
 cordingly for her family to New York ; but scarce- 
 ly had she entered on her engagement when she 
 was attacked by a violent illness, which completely 
 
 prostrated her strength, and brought her very low. 
 She suffered extremely both in body and mind ; 
 she was unable to fulfil her engagement, and she 
 had induced, in the certain hope of success, others 
 to depend upon her. Her anxieties may be im- 
 agined. As soon as she was at all convalescent 
 she entered upon her theatrical duties ; but she 
 had done this before her strength was equal to it. 
 For one whole week she acted and every night a 
 fresh character ; the exertion was immense ; and 
 on the Saturday night she went ill to her bed, and 
 a violent and long attack of fever was the conse- 
 quence. On the following Monday the theatre 
 was burnt to the ground, and with it perished all 
 her theatrical wardrobe. 
 
 " Thus was she left penniless, without an en- 
 gagement, on a bed of sickness, and with her 
 family dependent upon her." 
 
 ***** 
 
 About this time, her young sister, Mrs. Men-i- 
 man, a deserted wife, who was soon left a widow', 
 and, reassuming her maiden name, was known as 
 Miss Susan Cushman, became, vrith her infant 
 child, dependent on Charlotte for support. The 
 elder persuaded the younger to enter on a thea- 
 trical life. Mrs. Howitt thus describes the result: 
 
 " The most beautiful feature in this narrative, 
 perhaps, is the affection of these two noble-hearted 
 sisters. Charlotte's was a character on which her 
 sister, disappointed and heart-broken, could lean, 
 and from which she could derive strength. She 
 was her teacher ; they worked hard together, and, 
 as was natural, the sick heart, if it grew not well, 
 at least grew stronger. 
 
 "Mrs. Merriman, or Miss Susan Cushman, as 
 she was theatrically called, made her first appear- 
 ance before the public in a manuscript play called 
 TJie Genoese, written by a young American, in 
 which, to encourage her sister. Miss Cushman took 
 the part of the lover. And here let a few words be 
 said on a subject which has excited some remarks, 
 and, as we think, needlessly, to Miss Cushman's 
 disadvantage — we mean on her taking male parts. 
 We can assert it as a fact, and it is a fact fuU of 
 generosity and beautiful affection, that it is solely 
 on her sister's account that she has done so. By 
 taking herself the male character, for which she 
 was in many cases admirably suited, she was en- 
 abled to obtain the first female character for her 
 sister ; there being, as is well known, no plays 
 written in which two prominent female characters 
 are found. Affection for one who, if not possessed 
 of her strong, original masculine talent, had yet 
 beauty, grace, tenderness, and many requisites 
 for a successful actress, made her willing to give 
 her every support and advantage she could, even 
 where she herself had, as it seemed, to step out 
 of a woman's province. 
 
 ***** 
 
 " The two sisters now took a high stand to- 
 gether, and for one season they performed in 
 Philadelphia all the principal characters. The 
 next year they returned to New York. During 
 this season, while that celebrated comedy of Lon- 
 don Assurance was in vogue, they acted in It up- 
 wards of ninety nights. 
 
 639 
 
GV 
 
 DA 
 
 " The following season, Miss Cushman assumed 
 the management of the Philadelphia Theatre, 
 where she remained until Mr. Macready came to 
 America, when he, being so much satisfied with 
 the assistance she rendered him, solicited her to 
 accompany him in his engagements to the North. 
 
 " Soon after this, a desire which had long ope- 
 rated upon her mind took a more determinate 
 shape, and she resolved to carry it into effect; 
 this was no other than the coming to England, 
 and trying her powers before a higher tribunal 
 than any which her native country could afford 
 her. Throughout the whole of her career, a noble 
 ambition had ever urged her onward ; she was not 
 satisfied to come short in any way of that excel- 
 lence at which she aimed. "While yet young in her 
 art, she aspired to stand side by side with Mrs. 
 Siddons. Mrs. Siddons, or rather the fame which 
 she had left behind, was the grand ideal after 
 which she strove. But supposing she equalled, 
 or even, were such a thing possible, surpassed 
 Mrs. Siddons, it would have availed her very little 
 to have fame awarded to her by America alone. 
 To England she must come. It was an idea that 
 haunted her, night and day. To be loved and ap- 
 preciated by England, that was her great ambi- 
 tion, and nothing short of that would satisfy her. 
 
 " Like all Miss Cushman's great steps in life, 
 this also was destined to be taken alone. It was 
 at the commencement of winter, 1845, that she set 
 out alone, excepting for one female attendant. 
 Many difficulties and painful circumstances con- 
 spired at the last moments to throw a gloom upon 
 her departure. A timid, doubtful mind must have 
 turned back even then ; but with her, to resolve 
 was to act. On the voyage, however, the full 
 sense of the bold, uncertain venture on which she 
 had hazarded so much, fell heavily on her mind ; 
 she was depressed and unhappy. The gloom, 
 however, of her melancholy thoughts was greatly 
 diverted by the kindness of an American family, 
 her fellow-voyagers, and from them, on her first 
 arrival in that vast world of Loudon*, where the 
 friendless feel friendless indeed, she continued to 
 receive the utmost attention. With them, soon 
 after her arrival in this country, she paid a short 
 visit to Scotland and Paris, being really and na- 
 turally anxious to see something of this wonderful 
 old world, with its famous cities, and realms of 
 poetry and romance, while her mind was yet un- 
 tasked, and free to enjoy all things fully ; for she 
 knew, as who would not have known? that in case 
 of failure in her great trial with the British public, 
 she would be disheartened and depressed beyond 
 the power of enjoyment. To Scotland and Paris, 
 therefore, she went ; and parting from her kind 
 country-people at the latter place, she returned 
 alone to London, to put her fortune at once to the 
 trial. 
 
 " She received offers from the managers of 
 Covent-Gardeu Theatre — then open, from St. 
 James's, and one or two others ; but here, again, 
 a difficulty arose, which made her additionally 
 unhappy. She knew not what was best or wisest 
 for her to decide upon or do. She wanted at that 
 moment a friend and counsellor ; but she had none. 
 
 However, the circumstance of Mr. Forrest coming 
 to England afforded her an opportunity of per- 
 forming her own peculiar characters with a better 
 chance of success, and, in the end, she accepted 
 an engagement at the Princess's, and resolved to 
 make her debilt before a London audience in the 
 character of Bianca, in Milman's tragedy of Fazio. 
 But here a new difficulty presented itself in the 
 unwillingness there existed on the part of the 
 gentlemen to take the character of Fazio, which 
 is considered inferior to that of the lady. At 
 length, one more self-forgetting than the rest was 
 found in the person of Mr. Graham, who admirably 
 supported her in her part. Her success was great 
 and unquestioned , nor must it be forgotten, that 
 at that time she was not known to a dozen persons 
 in London, and no means had been taken to pre- 
 pare the press, or dispose the public mind to her 
 favour. All depended upon her own merit and 
 original power ; yet only one opinion prevailed 
 regarding her. 
 
 ' ' One engagement at the Princess's succeeded 
 another, until she had acted there eighty-four 
 nights, during which she appeared as Emilia to 
 Mr. Forrest's Othello, as Lady Macbeth, Julia, 
 in the Hunchback, Mrs. Haller, Beatrice, Lady 
 Teazle, Meg Merrilies, Rosalind, and Juliana, in 
 the Honeymoon — a range of characters which re- 
 quired extraordinary ability and power. 
 
 " Her success in London induced her sister to 
 hope that the same audience which received with 
 such distinguished favour her efforts to please 
 them, would also receive hers with kindness. She 
 accordingly, accompanied by her mother, joined 
 her sister in July, 1846, and made her first ap- 
 pearance before a London public in the following 
 December, at the Haymarket, in the character of 
 Juliet. 
 
 " Since then, they have visited together all the 
 principal towns in the three kingdoms, and every- 
 where, whilst their distinguished talent is acknow- 
 ledged by the public at large, their personal ac- 
 complishments, and their qualities of heart and 
 mind, win for them the firmest friends." 
 
 Thus far we have quoted the interesting nar- 
 rative of Mrs. Howitt, and need only add, that in 
 the autumn of 1849 Miss Cushmau returned to 
 New York, where she was welcomed by the friends 
 of dramatic representations with warm enthusiasm. 
 She has since performed in her celebrated charac- 
 ters, not only in New York, but in all the large 
 cities of our country, with great applause. Her 
 sister Susan married in England, where she now 
 resides. 
 
 D. 
 
 DACEE, LADY, 
 
 Is English by biirth, and in 1833 published a 
 series of tales, written with taste, feeling and pas- 
 sion, which were favourably received by the public. 
 Another work of hers, " Trevelyan," a novel of 
 considerable interest, appeared the following year, 
 though by no means justifying the comparison 
 which a leading British journal made between it 
 
 640 
 
DA 
 
 DU 
 
 and Miss Edgeworth's "Vivian." The best work 
 of Lady Daore is "Recollections of a Chaperone," 
 containing several stories. Dr. Johnson has been 
 often quoted for his saying, that it is a wonderful 
 effort of mind to frame a good plot, even if it be 
 indifferently filled up. The first of these stories 
 has certainly surmounted this difficulty ; the plot 
 of "Ellen Wareham" is strikingly interesting; it 
 has been dramatized with a success that some of 
 our best novels have failed to obtain, when thus 
 prepared for the stage, because their merit was 
 of the sort that did not admit condensation. The 
 other "Recollections" are interesting stories; the 
 second has some admirable scenes of common life, 
 describing the ludicrous bathos of high-flown ro- 
 mance, when "love in a cottage" has to descend 
 to the common cares of cookery and children. 
 We must not omit to notice that "Ellen Ware- 
 ham" has, most unjustifiably, been taken from its 
 rightful author, and brought out in America with 
 the name of the late " Ellen Pickering," who 
 being favourably distinguished by her own nume- 
 rous and popular works, does not need to borrow 
 reputation from the very difi'erent pen of Lady 
 Dacre. 
 
 DASH, MADAME LA COMTESSE, 
 BoHN and residing in Paris, is considered, by 
 that large class of novel-readers who love romantic 
 incident and sentimental characters, as a charming 
 writer, Her works are numerous, comprising over 
 thirty volumes, usually found in the " Circulating 
 Libraries" of Paris; but we believe none of her 
 novels have been translated into English, nor re- 
 published in America. The beat we have read, 
 is entitled " Madame Louise de France," a work 
 of considerable merit ; among the others, may be 
 named, "Arabelle," " Les Bals Masques," " Les 
 Chateaux en Afrique," "La Chaine d'Or," "Le 
 Jeu de la Reine," " Madame de la Sabligre," 
 " Maurice Robert," &c. &c. We know nothing of 
 the private history of the Comtesse Dash ; but, 
 judging from her writings, should rank her among 
 those who seek to promote good morals through 
 the medium of what they consider innocent amuse- 
 ments. Like " The Children of the Abbey," and 
 other fictions of the sentimental, romantic kind, 
 the works of this writer are read, at first, with 
 interest, but leave little impression on the mind. 
 
 DUDEVANT, MARIE AUROBE, 
 Bettek known as George Sand, the most re- 
 markable French woman of our time, was born in 
 the province of Berry, within the first ten years of 
 the present century. A royal descent is claimed 
 for her, through her paternal grandmother, a 
 daughter of Marshal Saxe, well known to be a 
 son of Augustus II. , king of Poland. Her father, 
 Maurice Dupin, was an officer in the Imperial 
 service. Dying young, he left his daughter to 
 the care of her grandmother, by whom she was 
 brought up, d, la Rousseau. At the age of four- 
 teen, she was transferred to the aristocratic con- 
 vent of the Dames Anglaises, in Paris ; the religious 
 reaction which followed the restoration, rendering 
 some modification of Madame Dupin's philoso- 
 Qq 
 
 phioal system of education necessary. Here the 
 ardent, excitable imagination of the young Marie 
 Aurore exhibited itself in a fervour of devotion 
 so extreme as to call for the interposition of her 
 superior. Young, rich, and an orphan, she suf- 
 fered herself, at the age of twenty, to be led into 
 
 one of those marriages — called "suitable," by the 
 French — with a retired Imperial officer ; an up- 
 right, honest, but very dull man. Utterly im- 
 suited to one another, and neither of them willing 
 to make sacrifices to duty, the unhappy pair 
 struggled on through some years of wretchedness, 
 when the tie was snapt by the abrupt departure 
 of Madame Dudevant, who fled from her husband's- 
 roof to the protection of a lover. While living ia 
 obscurity with this lover, her first work, "In- 
 diana," was published. This connexion, which 
 had a marked and most deleterious influence upon 
 her mind and career, did not continue long. She 
 parted from her lover, assumed half of his name, 
 and has since rendered it famous by a series of 
 writings, amounting to more than forty volumes, 
 which have called forth praise and censure in 
 their highest extremes. 
 
 Madame Dudevant's subsequent career has been 
 marked by strange and startling contrasts. Taking 
 up her residence in Paris, and casting from her 
 the restraints and modesty of her sex, she has in- 
 dulged in a life of license, such as we shrink from 
 even in man. Step by step, however, her genius 
 has been expanding, and working itself clear of 
 the dross which encumbered it. Her social posi- 
 tion having been rendered more endurable by ai 
 legal separation from her husband, which restored; 
 her to foi-tune and independence, a healthier tone 
 has become visible in her writings, the turbulence 
 of her volcanic nature is subsiding, and we look 
 forward, hopingly, to the day of better things.. 
 She has lately written a dramatic piece, called 
 " Fran9ois le Chamfri," which has been highly 
 successful in Paris, and is represented to be a pro- 
 duction of unexceptionable moral character ; it is- 
 said to have been greatly applauded. 
 
 Much has been said and written of the intention 
 of Madame Dudevant's early writings. That she 
 
 641 
 
DU 
 
 DTJ 
 
 had any "intention" at all, save the almost ne- 
 cessary one of wreaking upon expression the boil- 
 ing tide of emotions which real or fancied wrongs, 
 a highly poetic temperament, and violent passions 
 engendered, we do not believe. Endowed with 
 genius of an order capable of soaring to the most 
 exalted heights, yet eternally dragged to earth by 
 the clogs of an ill-regulated mind, never disci- 
 plined by the saving influences of moral and Chris- 
 tian training, she dipped her pen into the gall and 
 wormwood of her own bitter experience, and we 
 have the result. We cannot say that works have 
 an immoral intention, which contain as much that 
 is high, good and elevating, as there is of an op- 
 posite character. We might as soon declare those 
 arrows pointed by design, which are flung from the 
 bow of a man stung and wounded to blindness. 
 
 Of their tendency, we cannot speak so favourably. 
 Among her thousands of readers, how many are 
 there who pause, or who are capable of pausing, 
 to reflect that life ia seen from only one point of 
 view by this writer, and that that point was gained 
 by Madame Dudevant when she lost the approval 
 of her own conscience, abjured her womanhood, 
 and became George Sand ! 
 
 However, we are willing — ay, more, we are glad 
 — to hope Madame Dudevant will henceforth strive 
 to remedy the evils she has caused, and employ 
 her wonderful genius on the side of virtue and 
 true progress. To do this effectually, she must 
 throw by her miserable affectation of manhood, 
 and the wearing of man's apparel, which makes 
 her a recreant from the moral delicacy of her own 
 ■sex, without attaining the physical power of the 
 other. Surely, one who can write as she has 
 lately written, must be earnestly seeking for the 
 ^ood and true. It was, probably, this which led 
 her, in the Revolution of 1848, to connect herself 
 with the Socialist Party ; but she will learn, if 
 «he has not already, that political combinations do 
 not remove moral evils. Her genius should teach 
 truth, and inspire hearts to love the good; thus 
 her influence would have a mightier effect on her 
 ■country than any plan of social reform political 
 expediency could devise. That she does now write 
 in this manner, a glance at one of her late works 
 will show. "La Mare au Diablo," (The Devil's 
 Pond,) notwithstanding its name, is as sweet a 
 pastoral as we have ever read. There is a naive 
 tenderness in its rural pictures, which reminds 
 one of the " Vicar of Wakefield," while its femi- 
 nine purity of tone invests it with a peculiar 
 ■charm. We will make some extracts from the 
 preface, which will show what are Madame Dude- 
 vant's present views as to works of fiction. 
 
 " Certain writers of our day, looking seriously 
 ■upon the world, apply themselves to describing 
 pain, wretchedness, poverty, the dung-hill of 
 Lazarus. This may enter into the domain of art, 
 and of philosophy ; but in depicting poverty so 
 hideous, so debased, often so vicious and so cri- 
 minal, have they effected their purpose ? and is 
 the effect as salutary as might be desired ? We 
 do not presume to decide upon this point. They 
 may say, that in showing the mine prepared under 
 
 the hollow ground of opulence, they frighten Dives. 
 They point out the bandit breaking open his door, 
 and the assassin invading his slumbers. We con- 
 fess that we cannot well see how he is to be re- 
 conciled to humanity that he despises, how he is 
 to be rendered compassionate to the evils of po- 
 verty, by showing him the poor man, under the 
 form of an escaped felon, and a nocturnal plun- 
 derer. Albert Durer, Michael Angelo, Holbein, 
 and Callot, composed forcible satires on the evils 
 of their age. These are immortal works, and his- 
 torical pages of incontestable value. _ We do not 
 deny artists their right to probe the wounds of 
 society, to take off the bandages before our eyes ; 
 but can art do nothing but present these loath- 
 some and terrifying pictures ? In this literature 
 of the mysteries of iniquity, that talent and ima- 
 gination have brought into fashion, we greatly 
 prefer the mild and gentle personages to the ter- 
 rible dramatic villains. The former may allure 
 to virtuous thoughts and resolutions ; the others 
 awaken fear, and fear does not cure egotism — it 
 increases that unworthy sentiment. 
 
 "We believe that the mission of Art is a mis- 
 sion of feeling and of love ; that the modern novel 
 should take the place of the parable of primitive 
 times, and that the author has a task more lofty 
 and more poetic than that of proposing municipal 
 measures of prudence and conciliation, to soften 
 the fright his pictures inspire. His aim should 
 be to awaken an interest for the objects of his 
 solicitude by engaging representations ; and I 
 would not be extreme to mark a little heighten- 
 ing and embellishing of his portraits. Art is not 
 confined to positive, dry reality; it is a search 
 after ideal beauty ; and the ' Vicar of Wakefield ' 
 is a book more useful and salutary to the mind, 
 than ' The Profligate Countryman,' or the ' Dan- 
 gerous Intrigues.' " 
 
 The story that follows these strictures is of the 
 most simple construction, a very artless tale of 
 peasant life ; but the characters are so individual- 
 ized and so perfectly drawn, that the interest never 
 fails. Yet though we are brought into an atmo- 
 sphere of simplicity and innocence, there is enough 
 of human error to keep up the sympathy we have 
 with our own imperfect world, to relieve us from 
 the unreal insipidity of the golden age. The shep- 
 herds and peasants are not the elegant operatic 
 figures of Florian, talking far-fetched sentiment in 
 poetical language ; they are just such folks in 
 manners and discourse as we would be likely to 
 meet among the inhabitants of comfortable farm- 
 houses and decent cabins. Germain, a young 
 widower, who resides with his father-in-law, Mau- 
 rice, a rich farmer, is urged by the latter to marry 
 again, that he may have a help-mate in rural la- 
 bour, and especially that his children may be with- 
 drawn from hanging as a burden upon their old 
 grandmother. Germain is at first unwilling, still 
 dwelling tenderly on the memory of his late wife ; 
 but filial obedience and the excellent reasoning of 
 Maurice at last obtained his consent, and he agreed 
 to go on Saturday afternoon to visit a widowed 
 daughter of one of the father's friends : this dame 
 lives at a place called ' The Forks ;' one of the 
 
 642 
 
DU 
 
 DU 
 
 neighbours, a poor widow, solicits the good Mau- 
 rice to persuade his sou to talce her little daughter 
 Mary with him, as she is to go to service in the 
 vicinity of the Forks, and has no means of getting 
 there. This proposal is cheerfully acceded to, 
 and at the appointed time, they set out on a fa- 
 mous mare that is accustomed to carrying the 
 farmer and his wife to church. After proceeding 
 some distance they find Pierre, the little sou of 
 Germain, who has waylaid his father, hoping to 
 be taken with him on the journey: the tears of 
 the child, added to the persuasion of little Mary, 
 induce the father to consent, and the three con- 
 tinue their route. Germain is not well acquainted 
 with the way, being delayed by the child, night 
 comes on, a mist arises and they become com- 
 pletely lost ; all their efforts to recover the track 
 only involve them in thicker woods, till at last 
 they are compelled to wait till morning in this 
 wild spot, called the ' Devil's Pond.' Here little 
 Mary develops extraordinary genius for expedi- 
 ents, and adroitness in arrangements. She makes 
 a fire, a bed for the child, even cooks a supper, 
 when Germain had quite given up every idea of 
 comfort. Joined with all this usefulness and 
 ability, there is a childish simplicity, and a sweet 
 disinterestedness of character manifesting itself 
 continually, and Germain begins to think he 
 would rather marry little Mary, poor and young 
 as she is, than the rich widow of the Forks. Upon 
 visiting the latter, he finds her vain and disagree- 
 able, and decides that she never can become his 
 wife. Little Mary has found her place unsuitable, 
 and they return as they went. The family of 
 Germain observe that he has lost his spirits, and 
 seems to work without heart; the old grand- 
 mother undertakes to win his confidence, and upon 
 discovering that he cannot be happy without ob- 
 taining little Mary as his wife, — every body con- 
 sents ; and, to the great delight of little Piferre, 
 Mary is taken into the family, — he is delighted to 
 call her mother, and ' they all lived happy ' — as 
 fairy tales were wont to end. This is a very 
 meagre outline of the book, but the details are 
 charming — the purity, truth, and thorough inte- 
 grity of little Mary, form a character one loves to 
 dwell on. The old folks, as beseems experience in 
 this sordid world, are keen to see and value the 
 goods of life — they are by no means indifferent to 
 money, but their good hearts and sterling princi- 
 ples, never allow the cares of pelf to predominate 
 over what is due to feeling and kindness. Ger- 
 main is the beau ideal of an unlettered hero, spi- 
 rited, gentle, courageous, and true. The child, 
 too, is remarkably well drawn. If we are to 
 judge of a book by the impression it leaves, we 
 must pronounce this a very valuable one, since all 
 our feelings and reflections are drawn to the side 
 of probity, charity and virtue. 
 
 Of ' Consuelo,' which was published in 1842, we 
 must say, that though circumstances, unconnected 
 with the author, have given this novel, unfortu- 
 nately, a bad reputation in our own country — 
 it does not deserve the obloquy. On the contrary, 
 Madame Dudevant, doubtless, intended to be very 
 good; it was the first of her works which decidedly 
 
 manifested the reform, in her views of life, to 
 which we have already alluded. It is true, her 
 ideas on the subject of morals are not yet ground- 
 ed, as a woman's should be, on the Word of God ; 
 and there are, in this novel, extravagant philo- 
 sophical theories, and too much German mysti- 
 cism ; still it was intended to exhibit in the cha- 
 racter of Consuelo the heroism of chastity, genius, 
 truth and disinterestedness, and their triumph in 
 exalting a female soul. The English reviewers 
 gave the work, when it appeared, warm praise, 
 acknowledging its wonderful genius, and also its 
 freedom from the usual immoralities of French 
 novels. We need not go over the long list of 
 Madame Dudevant's works, (would that the greater 
 part could be blotted out for ever !) the last of 
 which, ' True Love,' has been translated into Eng- 
 lish, elegantly illustrated and published in Phila- 
 delphia ; we select the following beautiful thoughts 
 from another of her works. 
 
 From " Letters of a Traveller." 
 
 In doing good to our fellow-creatures, it ia 
 from God alone, that we must seek a recompense ! 
 To labour in the service of mankind with either 
 gratitude or applause in view, is merely courting 
 the triumphs of vanity, and benevolence of this 
 kind must necessarily die, at the first check oi 
 disappointment it meets. 
 
 Let us never expect any thing for ourselves, 
 
 when we enter the barren road of self-devotion. 
 
 Our own heart must suffice for the task, and then 
 
 God will renew it, and fortify it when it begins to fail. 
 
 * » * * * 
 
 I believe that the smallest virtue put in action, 
 and sustained with energy, will do more good 
 than all the wisdom of the age diffused through 
 literary disquisitions, or packed away in philan- 
 thropic meetings. 
 
 ***** 
 
 A man of good sense, and pure conscience, with 
 perseverance and firmness, may accomplish great 
 things, if he act at a propitious moment, and when 
 the sympathies of mankind pave the way — while 
 the most profound theories, and the most subtle 
 demonstrations will profit nothing to their pro- 
 pounder, if he trust to the moral action of his un- 
 seasonable revelations. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Raising my hand towards my head, I breathed 
 the perfume of a flower, whose leaves I had touch- 
 ed some hours before. This little plant was still 
 flourishing on its mountain several leagues from 
 me ; I had only carried away part of its exquisite 
 smell. How could it be thus imparted ? What a 
 precious thing is the perfume which without any 
 loss to the plant from which it emanates adheres 
 to the hands of a friend, and follows him in his 
 travels to charm him, and recall to him the beauty 
 of the flower he loves ! The perfume of the soul 
 is memory ; it is the sweetest and most delicate part 
 of the heart, that detaches itself to cling to another's 
 heart, and follow it every where. The affection of 
 the absent is but a perfume ; but how sweet and 
 refreshing it is ! What comforting thoughts and 
 hopes it brings to the sick and bruised spirit ! 
 
 643 
 
DU 
 
 DU 
 
 From "Consuelo." 
 
 *POKPORA TELLS CONSUELO HER LOVEE IS FALSE. 
 
 'Consuelo,' said Porpora, in a low tone, 'it is 
 useless to hide your features, I heard your voice, 
 and cannot mistake it. What are you come to do 
 here at this hour, poor child, and whom do you 
 look for in this house?' 'I seek my betrothed,' 
 replied Consuelo, catching the arm of her master, 
 ' and I know not why I should blush to own it to 
 my best friend. You blame my attachment, but I 
 cannot tell you a falsehood. I am anxious. Since 
 the day before yesterday at the theatre I have not 
 seen Anzoleto. I fear he may be ill.' 'He,' said 
 the Professor, shrugging his shoulders,- — ' come 
 with me, poor girl ; we must talk together : and 
 since you decide at last on opening your heart to 
 me, mine must be laid open also. Give me your 
 arm, we will talk as we go on. Listen, Consuelo, 
 and mark well what I say to you. You cannot, you 
 must not be the wife of this young man ; I forbid 
 you in the name of the living God who gave me for 
 you the heart of a father.' ' Oh, my master,' she 
 replied, sorrowfully, ' ask the sacrifice of my life, 
 not that of my love.' ' I do not ask, I exact it,' 
 replied Porpora, firmly ; ' your lover is accursed : 
 he will cause your torment and your shame if you 
 do not renounce him now.' ' Dear master,' she re- 
 plied, with a sad caressing smile, ' you have told me 
 this very often, and I have vainly tried to obey you: 
 you hate the poor youth because you do not know 
 him, you will abjure your prejudices.' 
 
 ' Consuelo,' said the maestro more forcibly, ' I 
 have till now made vain objections, and issued use- 
 less commands : I know it. I spoke as an artist 
 to an artist, for in him I saw the artist only. But 
 I speak now as a man, and of a man, and as to a 
 woman : that woman has ill placed her love, that 
 man is unworthy of it : he who tells you so is cer- 
 tain.' 'Oh, God! Anzoleto unworthy ! my friend, 
 my protector, my brother ! you do not know what 
 his support and respect have been ever since I 
 came into the world.' And Consuelo told the de- 
 tails of her life and her love, which was one and 
 the same story. Porpora was affected but not 
 shaken. ' In all this,' said he, ' I see your inno- 
 cence, your fidelity, your virtue, and in him the 
 need of your society, and your instruction, to 
 which, whatever you may think, he owes the lit- 
 tle he has learned and the little he is worth ; but 
 it is not less true that this pure lover is the dis- 
 carded of the frailest of Venice.' ' Beware of 
 what you say,' replied Consuelo, in a stifled voice, 
 ' I am accustomed to believe in you as in Heaven. 
 0, my master ; but in what concerns Anzoleto, I 
 close to you mine ears and my heart. Let me quit 
 you,' she added, striving to unlink her arm from 
 that of the Professor. ' You destroy me.' ' I will 
 destroy your unhappy passion, and by truth I will 
 restore you to life,' he replied, pressing the child's 
 arm against his generous and indignant breast. ' I 
 know I am rough and rude, Consuelo ; I have not 
 learned to be otherwise ; and it was for this I re- 
 tarded as long as I could the blow I was to deal to 
 
 *The great Italian composer and teacher of singing. 
 
 you. I had hoped that your eyes would open; 
 that you would comprehend what was passing 
 round you ; but, in place of being enlightened, 
 you cast yourself into the abyss like the blind. I 
 will not let you fall : you are the sole being I have 
 esteemed during ten years : it must not be that 
 you shall perish ; no, it must not.' ' But, my 
 friend, I am in no danger. Do you think I speak 
 falsely when I swear to you by all that is sacred 
 that I have respected the oath sworn by the mo- 
 ther's deathbed ? Anzoleto respects it also. I am 
 not yet his wife, therefore nothing to him.' ' Let 
 him say the word, and you will be all.' ' My mo- 
 ther made us promise.' 'And you came here to- 
 night to seek the man who cannot and will not be 
 your husband ?' ' "Who says this ?' ' Would Go- 
 rilla permit him ?' ' What has he in common with 
 Gorilla?' 'We are close to her habitation; you 
 sought your betrothed, let us go there to find him.' 
 ' No, no ! a thousand times no,' replied Consuelo, 
 staggering as she stepped, and supporting herself 
 against the wall, ' do not kill me ere I have lived ! 
 Leave me life, my master, I tell you I shall 
 die.' ' You must drink of this cup,' said the inex- 
 orable old man, ' I perform here the part of des- 
 tiny. Having caused only ingratitude and conse- 
 quently sorrow by my tenderness and mild caution, 
 I must speak the truth to those I love. It is the 
 sole good which can issue from a heart dried up 
 and petrified by its own suffering. I pity you, my 
 poor child, in having no gentler friend to support 
 you in this fatal crisis ; but formed as I am, I must 
 light as by the ray of the lightning, since I can- 
 not vivify as by the warmth of the sun. Thus 
 then, Consuelo, let there be between us no weak- 
 ness ! Come to this palace. If you cannot walk, I 
 will drag you ; if you fall, I will carry you. Old 
 Porpora is strong still, when the fire of divine 
 anger burns in his heart.' ' Mercy, mercy !' ex- 
 claimed Consuelo, grown paler than death; 'let 
 me doubt still. Give me one day more, only one 
 day, to believe in him ; I am not prepared for this 
 torture.' ' No, not a day, not an hour,' he re- 
 plied in an inflexible tone; 'for this hour which 
 passes, I shall not find again to place the truth 
 before your eyes ; and this day which you demand, 
 the wretch would profit by to bow you again be- 
 neath the yoke of his falsehood. You shall come 
 with me, I command you.' 'Well then, yes, I 
 will go,' said Consuelo, recovering her strength by 
 a violent revulsion of feeling : ' I will go to prove 
 your injustice and his faith ; for you deceive your- 
 self unworthily, and you would have me deceived 
 along with you. Go then ! I follow and do not 
 fear you.' 
 
 E. 
 
 ELLET, ELIZABETH F., 
 Dauqhtek of Dr. William A. Lummis, a man 
 honourably distinguished in his profession, was 
 born at Sodus, a small town on the shores of 
 Lake Ontario, in the State of New York. Her 
 mother was the daughter of General Maxwell, an 
 
 644 
 
EL 
 
 Eli 
 
 officer in our Revolutionary war; and thus the 
 suhjeot of this sketch was in childhood imbued 
 with patriotic feelings, which, next to the reli- 
 gious, are sure to nourish in the female mind the 
 seeds of genius. Miss Lummis was early distin- 
 guished for vivacity of intellect and a thirst for 
 learning, which her subsequent life has shown was 
 no evanescent fancy, but the natural stamp of 
 her earnest mind. She was married, before she 
 was seventeen, to Dr. William H. EUet, an accom- 
 plished scholar, and then Professor of Chemistry 
 in Columbia College, New York city, whither he 
 removed his youthful bride. There she had such 
 advantages of study as she had never before en- 
 joyed, and her proficiency was rapid. She soon 
 began to write for the periodicals; her first piece, 
 a poem, appeared in 1833 in the "American 
 Ladies' Magazine," published at Boston. Her 
 articles were favourably noticed, and the name of 
 Mrs. EUet became known among literary circles. 
 
 In 1834, appeared her translation of "Euphemia 
 of Messina," one of the most admired productions 
 of Silvio Pelico; and in the following year, an 
 original tragedy from her pen, " Teresa Conta- 
 rini," was successfully represented in New York, 
 and also in some of the western cities. In the 
 same year, 1835, she published her "Poems — 
 Translated and Original." For several succeeding 
 years, Mrs. Ellet wrote chiefly for periodicals ; to 
 the American Keview, she contributed " Papers 
 on Italian Tragedy," "Italian Poets," "Lamar- 
 tine's Poems," " Andreini's Adam," &c. 
 
 Dr. Ellet receiving the appointment of Professor 
 of Chemistry and Natural Philosophy in the col- 
 lege at Columbia, South Carolina, removed thither, 
 and Mrs. Ellet found herself among new scenery 
 and new friends, but her old love of literature re- 
 mained unchanged. Besides contributing to the 
 North American Review, Southern Quarterly Re- 
 view, " The Lady's Book," and other periodicals, in 
 1841 she produced " The Characters of Schiller," 
 an analysis and criticism of the principal persons' 
 in Schiller's plays, with an essay on Schiller's 
 genius, and translated extracts from his writings. 
 "Joanna of Sicily" was her next work; soon fol- 
 
 lowed by " Country Rambles," a spirited descrip- 
 tion of the scenery she had observed in her jour- 
 neyings through the United States. 
 
 In the autumn of 1848, her most elaborate, as 
 well as important work, was published in New 
 York, " The Women of the American Revolution," 
 in two volumes, to which she has since added a 
 third. This contribution to American history, and 
 the ability with which it was executed, has, de- 
 servedly, given Mrs. EUet a high place among our 
 female writers. Of the plan and object, we shall 
 quote her own exposition, written in the unaffected 
 but fervid style which characterizes the work. 
 Her activity of mind is remarkable, and also the 
 judgment and taste with which she disposes of the 
 materials her researches accumulate. In 1850, 
 she published " Domestic History of the American 
 Revolution," in one volume, designed to exhibit 
 the spirit of that period, to pourtray, as far as 
 possible, the social and domestic condition of the 
 colonists, and the state of feeling among the people 
 during the war. Though dealing with the same 
 great events which developed the peculiar charac- 
 teristics of " The Women of the American Revolu- 
 tion," this last work is not a continuation, but a 
 novel ■ and interesting view of that tremendous 
 struggle which resulted in gaining for America 
 a place among nations. Another work of hers, 
 " Pictures from Bible History," was also published 
 in 1850. 
 
 Mrs. EUet has tried nearly all varieties of lite- 
 rature, original and translation — poetry, essay, 
 criticism, tragedy, biography, fiction, history, and 
 stories for children ; to say, as we truly can, that 
 she has not failed in any, is sufiicient praise. 
 Still she has not, probably, done her best in any 
 one department ; the concentration of genius is 
 one of the conditions of its perfect development. 
 She is yet young, hopeful, and studious. Nor 
 are her accomplishments confined to the merely 
 Uterary ; in music and drawing she also excels ; 
 and in the graces that adorn society, and make 
 the charm of social and domestic intercourse, she 
 is eminently gifted. Her residence is now fixed 
 in the city of New York. 
 
 From "The Women of the American Revolution." 
 PEELIMINARY REMARKS. 
 
 All Americans are accustomed to view with in- 
 terest and admiration the events of the Revolu- 
 tion. Its scenes are vivid in their memory, and 
 its prominent actors are regarded with the deepest 
 veneration. But while the leading spirits are thus 
 honoured, attention should be directed to the 
 source whence their power was derived — to the 
 sentiment pervading the mass of the people. 
 The force of this sentiment, working in the public 
 heart, cannot be measured ; because, amidst the 
 abundance of materials for the history of action, 
 there is little for that of the feeling of those times. 
 And, as years pass on, the investigation becomes 
 more and more difficult. Yet it is both interest- 
 ing and important to trace its operation. It gave 
 statesmen their influence, and armed heroes for 
 victory. What could they have done but for the 
 
 645 
 
EL 
 
 £L 
 
 hoine-sentiment to which they appealed, and which 
 sustained them in the hour of trial and success ? 
 They were thus aided to the eminence they gained 
 through toils and perils. Others may claim a 
 share in the merit, if not the fame, of their illus- 
 trious deeds. The unfading laurels that wreathe 
 their brows had their root in the hearts of the 
 people, and were nourished with their life-blood. 
 
 The feeling which wrought thus powerfully in 
 the community depended, in great part, upon the 
 women. It is always thus in times of popular 
 excitement. Who can estimate, moreover, the 
 controlling influence of early culture ! During the 
 years of the progress of the British encroachment 
 and colonial discontent, when the sagacious poli- 
 tician could discern the portentous shadow of 
 events yet far distant, there was time for the nur- 
 ture, in the domestic sanctuary, of that love of 
 civil liberty, which afterwards kindled into a 
 flame, and shed light on the world. The talk of 
 matrons, in American homes, was of the people's 
 wrongs, and the tyranny that oppressed them, 
 till the sons who had grown to manhood, with 
 strengthened aspirations towards a better state 
 of things, and views enlarged to comprehend their 
 invaded rights, stood up prepared to defend them 
 to the utmost. Patriotic mothers nursed the in- 
 fancy of freedom. Their counsels and their pray- 
 ers mingled with the deliberations that resulted 
 in a nation's assertion of its independence. They 
 animated the courage, and confirmed the self- 
 devotion of those who ventured all in the common 
 cause. They frowned upon instances of coldness 
 or backwardness ; and in the period of deepest 
 gloom, cheered and urged onward the desponding. 
 They willingly shared inevitable dangers and pri- 
 vations, relinquished without regret prospects of 
 advantage to themselves, and parted with those 
 they loved better than life, not knowing when 
 they were to meet again. It is almost impossible 
 now to appreciate the vast influence of woman's 
 patriotism upon the destinies of the infant repub- 
 lic. We have no means of showing the important 
 part she bore in maintaining the struggle; and in 
 laying the foundations on which so mighty and 
 majestic a structure has arisen. History can do 
 it no justice; for history deals with the workings 
 of the head, rather than the heart. And the 
 knowledge received by tradition, of the domestic 
 manners, and social character of the times, is too 
 imperfect to furnish a sure index. We can only 
 dwell upon individual instances of mangnanimity, 
 fortitude, self-sacrifice, and heroism, bearing the 
 impress of the feeling of Revolutionary days, indi- 
 cative of the spirit which animated all, and to 
 which, in its various and multiform exhibitions, 
 we are not less indebted for national freedom, 
 than to the swords of the patriots who poured out 
 their blood. 
 
 " 'Tis true, Cleander," says a writer in one of 
 the papers of the day,* " no mean merit will ac- 
 crue to him who shall justly celebrate the virtues 
 of our ladies ! Shall not their generous contribu- 
 tions to relieve the wants of the defenders of our 
 
 * New Jersey Gazette, October lltli, 1780. 
 
 country, supply a column to emulate the Roman 
 women, stripped of their jewels when the public 
 necessity demanded them ?" Such tributes were 
 often called forth by the voluntary exertions of 
 American women. Their patriotic sacrifices were 
 made with an enthusiasm that showed the earnest 
 spirit ready on every occasion to appear in gene- 
 rous acts. Some gave their own property, and 
 went from house to house to solicit contributions 
 for the army. Colours were embroidered by fair 
 hands, and presented with the charge never to de- 
 sert them ; and arms and ammunition were pro- 
 vided by the same liberal zeal. They formed 
 themselves into associations renouncing the use of 
 teas, and other imported luxuries, and engaging 
 to card, spin, and weave their own clothing. In 
 Mecklenburgh and Rowan counties, North Caro- 
 lina, young ladies of the most respectable families 
 pledged themselves not to receive the addresses 
 of any suitors who had not obeyed the country's 
 call for military service. 
 
 The needy shared the fruit of their industry and 
 economy.. They visited hospitals daily; sought 
 the dungeons of the provost, and the crowded 
 holds of prison-ships ; and provisions were carried 
 from their stores to the captives whose only means 
 of recompense was the blessing of those who were 
 ready to perish. Many raised grain, gathered it, 
 made bread, and carried it to their relatives in the 
 army, or in prisons,-accompanying the supply with 
 exhortations never to abandon the cause of their 
 country. The burial of friends slain in battle, or 
 chance-encounters, often devolved upon them ; and 
 even enemies would not have received sepulture 
 without the service of their hands. 
 
 When the resources of the country scarcely al- 
 lowed the scantiest supply of clothing and provi- 
 sions, and British cruisers on the coast destroyed 
 every hope of aid from merchant vessels ; when, 
 to the distressed troops, their cup of misfortune 
 seemed full to overflowing, and there appeared no 
 prospect of relief, except from the benevolence of 
 their fellow-citizens ; when even the ability of 
 these was almost exhausted by repeated applica- 
 tions — then it was that the women of Pennsylva- 
 nia, and New Jersey, by their zealous exertions 
 and willing sacrifices, accomplished what had been 
 thought impossible. Not only was the pressure of 
 want removed, but the sympathy and favour of 
 the fair daughters of America, says one of the 
 journals, " operated like a charm on the soldier's 
 heart — gave vigour to exertion, confidence to his 
 hopes of success, and the ultimate certainty of 
 victory and peace." General Washington, in his 
 letter of acknowledgment to the committee of 
 ladies, says, " The army ought not to regret its 
 sacrifices or its sufferings, when they meet with 
 so flattering a reward, as in the sympathy of your 
 sex; nor can it fear that its interests will be 
 neglected, when espoused by advocates as power- 
 ful as they are amiable." An oflicer in camp 
 writes, iu June, 1780: "The patriotism of the 
 women of your city is a subject of conversation 
 with the army. Had I poetical genius, I would 
 sit down and write an ode in praise of it. Bur- 
 goyne, who, on his first coming to America, 
 
 646 
 
EL. 
 
 EL 
 
 boasted that he would danoe with the ladies, and 
 coax the men to submission, must now have a 
 better understanding of the good sense and public 
 spirit of our females, as he has already heard of 
 the fortitude and inflexible temper of our men." 
 Another observes : " We cannot appeal in vain for 
 what is good, to that sanctuary where all that is 
 good has its proper home — the female bosom." 
 
 How the influence of women was estimated by 
 John Adams, appears from one of his letters to 
 his wife : 
 
 " I think I have sometimes observed to you in 
 conversation, that upon examining the biography 
 of illustrious men, you will generally find some 
 female about them, in the relation of mother, or 
 wife, or sister, to whose instigation a great part 
 of their merit is to be ascribed. You will find a 
 curious example of this in the case of Aspasia, 
 the wife of Pericles. She was a woman of the 
 greatest beauty, and the first genius. She taught 
 him, it is said, his refined maxims of policy, his 
 lofty imperial eloquence, nay, even composed the 
 speeches on which so great a share of his reputa- 
 tion was founded. 
 
 " I wish some of our great men had such wives. 
 By the account in your last letter, it seems the 
 women in Boston begin to think themselves able 
 to serve their country. What a pity it is that our 
 generals in the northern districts had not Aspasias 
 to their wives. 
 
 " I believe the two Howes have not very great 
 women for wives. If they had, we should suffer 
 more from their exertions than we do. This is 
 our good fortune. A smart wife would have put 
 Howe in possession of Philadelphia a long time 
 ago." 
 
 The venerable Major Spalding, of Georgia, 
 writes, in reply to an application to him for infor- 
 mation respecting the revolutionary women of his 
 state: " I am a very old man, and have read as 
 much as any one I know, yet I have never known, 
 and never read of one — no, not one! — who did 
 not owe high standing, or a great name, to his 
 mother's blood, or his mother's training. My 
 friend Randolph said he owed every thing to his 
 mother. Mr. Jefferson's mother was a Randolph, 
 and he acknowledged that he owed every thing to 
 her rearing. General Washington, we all know, 
 attributed every thing to his mother. Lord Bacon 
 attributed much to his mother's training. And 
 will any one doubt that even Alexander believed 
 he owed more to the blood and lofty ambition of 
 Olympia, than the wisdom or cunning of Philip ?" 
 
 The sentiments of the women towards the brave 
 defenders of their native land, were expressed in 
 an address widely circulated at the time, and read 
 •in the churches of Virginia. " We know," it 
 says — "that at a distance from the theatre of 
 war, if we enjoy any tranquillity, it is the fruit 
 of your wa'tchings, your labours, your dangers. 
 « * » * j^^Q^ shall we hesitate to evince to 
 you our gratitude? Shall we hesitate to wear 
 clothing more simple, and dress less elegant, while 
 at the price of this small privation, we shall de- 
 serve your benedictions ?" 
 •• The same spirit appears in a letter found among 
 
 some papers belonging to a lady of Philadelphia. 
 It was addressed to a British officer in Boston, and 
 written before the Declaration of Independence. 
 The following extract will show its character: 
 
 " I will tell you what I have done. My only 
 brother I have sent to the camp with my prayers 
 and blessings. I hope he will not disgrace me ; I 
 am confident he will behave with honour, and 
 emulate the great examples he has before him ; 
 and had I twenty sons and brothers they should 
 go. I have retrenched every superfluous expense 
 in my, table and family ; tea I have not drunk 
 since last Christmas, nor bought a new cap or 
 gown since your defeat at Lexington ; and what I 
 never did before, have learned to knit, and am 
 now making stockings of American wool for my 
 servants ; and this way do I throw in my mite to 
 the public good. I know this — that as free I can 
 die but once ; but as a slave I shall not be worthy 
 of life. I have the pleasure to assure you that 
 these are the sentiments of all my sister Ameri- 
 cans. They have sacrificed assemblies, parties of 
 pleasure, tea drinking and finery, to that great 
 spirit of patriotism that actuates all degrees of 
 people throughout this extensive continent. If 
 these are the sentiments of females, what must 
 glow in the breasts of our husbands, brothers, 
 and sons ! They are as with one heart determined 
 to die or be free. It is not a quibble in politics, 
 a science which few understand, that we are con- 
 tending for ; it is this plain truth, which the most 
 ignorant peasant knows, and is clear to the weak- 
 est capacity — that no man has a right to take 
 their money without their consent. You say you 
 are no politician. Oh, sir, it requires no Machia- 
 velian head to discover this tyranny and oppres- 
 sion. It is written with a sunbeam. Every one 
 will see and know it, because it will make every 
 one feel ; and we shall be unworthy of the bless- 
 ings of Heaven if we ever submit to it. 
 
 * # * '* * 
 
 "Heaven seems to smile on us; for in the 
 memory of man, never were known such quanti- 
 ties of flax, and sheep without number. We are 
 making powder fast, and do not want for ammu- 
 nition." 
 
 From all portions of the country thus rose the 
 expression of woman's ardent zeal. Under accu- 
 mulated evils, the manly spirit that alone could 
 secure success, might have sunk but for the firm- 
 ness and intrepidity of the weaker sex. It sup- 
 plied every persuasion that could animate to per- 
 severance, and secure fidelity. 
 
 The noble deeds in which this irrepressible spi- 
 rit breathed itself, were not unrewarded by per- 
 secution. The case of the Quakeress, Deborah 
 Franklin, who was banished from New York by 
 the British commandant for her liberality in re- 
 lieving the sufferings of the American prisoners, 
 was one among many. In our days of tranquillity 
 and luxury, imagination can scarcely compass the 
 extent or severity of the trials endured ; and it is 
 proportionately difficult to estimate the magnani- 
 mity that bore all, not only with uncomplaining 
 patience, but with a cheerful forgetfulness of suf- 
 fering in view of the desired object. The alarms 
 
 647 
 
EL 
 
 EL 
 
 of war — the roar of the strife itself, could not 
 silence the voice of woman, lifted in encourage- 
 ment or prayer. The horrors of battle or massa- 
 cre could not drive her from her post of duty. 
 The effect of this devotion cannot be questioned, 
 though it may not now be traced in particular in- 
 stances. These were, for the most part, known 
 only to those who were themselves actors in the 
 scenes, or who lived in the midst of them. The 
 heroism of the Revolutionary women has passed 
 from remfembrance with the generation who wit- 
 nessed it ; or is seen only by faint and occasional 
 glimpses, through the gathering obscurity of tra- 
 dition. 
 
 To render a measure of justice — inadequate it 
 must be — to a few of the American matrons, 
 whose names deserve to live in remembrance — 
 and to exhibit something of the domestic side of 
 the Revolutionary picture — is the object of this 
 work. As we recede from the realities of that 
 struggle, it is regarded with increasing interest 
 by those who enjoy its results ; while the ele- 
 ments which were its life-giving principle, too 
 subtle to be retained by the grave historian, are 
 fleeting fast from apprehension. Yet without 
 some conception of them, the Revolution cannot 
 be appreciated. We must enter , into the spirit, 
 as well as master the letter. 
 
 While attempting to pay a tribute but too long 
 withheld, to the memory of women who did and 
 endured so much in the cause of liberty, we 
 should not be insensible to the virtues exhibited 
 by another class, belonging equally to the history 
 of the period. These had their share of reverse 
 and suffering. Many saw their children and re- 
 latives espousing opposite sides ; and with ardent 
 feelings of loyalty in their hearts, were forced to 
 weep over the miseries of their families and neigh- 
 bours. Many were driven fr.om their homes, de- 
 spoiled of property, and finally compelled to cast 
 their lot in desolate wilds and an ungenial cli- 
 mate.* And while their heroism, fortitude, and 
 spirit of self-sacrifice were not less brightly dis- 
 played, their hard lot was unpitied, and they met 
 with no reward. 
 
 In the library of William H. Prescott, at his re- 
 sidence in Boston, are two swords, crossed above 
 the arch of an alcove. One belonged to his grand- 
 father, Colonel William Prescott, who commanded 
 the American troops in the redoubt at Bunkerhill. 
 The other was the sword of Captain Linzee, of the 
 royal navy, who commanded the British sloop of 
 war — The Falcon, then lying in the Mystic ; from 
 which the American troops were fired upon as 
 they crossed to Bunkerhill. Captain Linzee was 
 the grandfather of Mrs. Prescott. The swords of 
 those two gallant soldiers who fought on different 
 sides upon that memorable day — now in the pos- 
 session of their united descendants, and crossed — 
 an emblem of peace, in the library of the great 
 American historian — are emblematic of the spirit 
 
 * The ancient Acadia, compriaing Nova Scotia and New 
 Brunswick, was settled by many of the refugee loyalists 
 from the United States. 
 
 in which our history should be written. Such be 
 the spirit in which we view the loyalists of those 
 days. 
 
 From '• Poems, Original and Translated." 
 so BUS BAT. 
 
 I bless thee, native shore ! 
 Thy woodlands gay, and waters sparkling clear! 
 
 'Tis like a dream once more 
 The music of thy thousand waves to hear 
 
 As, murmuring up the sand. 
 With kisses bright they lave the sloping land. 
 
 The gorgeous sun looks down, 
 Bathing thee gladly in his noontide ray ; 
 
 And o'er thy headlands brown 
 With loving light the tints of evening play: 
 
 Thy whispering breezes fear 
 To break the calm so softly hallowed here. 
 
 Here, in her green domain, 
 The stamp of Nature's sovereignty is found; 
 
 With scarce disputed reign 
 She dwells in all the solitude around : 
 
 And here she loves to wear 
 The regal garb that suits a queen so fair. 
 
 Full oft my heart hath yearned 
 For thy sweet shades and vales of-sunny rest ; 
 
 Even as the swan returned, 
 Stoops to repose upon thy azure breast, 
 
 I greet each welcome spot 
 Forsaken long — but ne'er, ah, ne'er forgot. 
 
 'Twas here that memory grew — 
 'T was here that childhood's hopes and cares were left ; 
 
 Its early freshness, too — 
 Ere droops the soul, of her best joys bereft : 
 
 Where are they? — o'er the track 
 Of cold years, I would call the wanderers back ! 
 
 They must be with thee still ; 
 Thou art unchanged— as bright the sunbeams play: 
 
 From not a tree or hill 
 Halh time one hue of beauty snatched away : 
 
 Unchanged alike should be 
 The blessed things so late resigned to thee. 
 
 Give back, oh, smiling deep. 
 The heart's fair sunshine, and the dreams of youth 
 
 That in thy bosom sleep — 
 Life's April innocence, and trustful truth! 
 
 The tones that breathed of yore 
 In thy lone murmurs, once again restore. 
 
 Where have they vanished all ? — 
 Only the heedless winds in answer sigh; 
 
 Still rushing at thy call. 
 With reckless sweep the streamlet flashes by ? 
 
 And idle as the air. 
 Or fleeting stream, my soul's insatiate prayer. 
 
 Home of sweet thoughts — farewell ! 
 Where'er through changeful life my lot may be 
 
 A deep and hallowed spell 
 Is on thy waters and thy woods for me : 
 
 Though vainly fancy craves 
 Its childhood with the music of thy waves. 
 
 TO THE LAKCE-FLT. 
 
 Forth with the breezy sweep 
 
 Of spirit wings upon thy path of light. 
 Thou creature of the sunbeam ! upward keep 
 
 Thine earth-defying flight 1 
 
 The glowing west is still ; 
 
 In hallowed slumber sinks the restless sea ; 
 And heaven's own tints have wrought o'er tree &nd hill 
 
 A purpling canopy. 
 
 Go — bathe thy gaudy wing 
 
 In freshened azure from the deepening sky — 
 In the rich gold yon parting sunbeams fling, 
 
 Ere yet their glories die. 
 
 648 
 
EL 
 
 EL 
 
 The boundless air is thine, 
 
 The gorg;eous radiance of declining day ; 
 Those painted clouds their living hues entwine, 
 
 To dark thy heavenward way. 
 
 Soar on ! my fancies loo 
 
 Would quit awhile the fading beauties here. 
 To roam with thee that waste of boundless blue. 
 
 And view yon heaven more near ! 
 
 Lost — in the distant page. 
 
 Ere my bewildered thoughts for flight were free ; 
 Farewell ! in vain upon the void I gaze,— 
 
 1 cannot soar like thee! 
 
 ELLIS, SARAH STICKNET, 
 Was first known as a writer by her maiden 
 name, Miss Sarah Stickney; one of her early 
 works — "The Poetry of Life" — giving her not 
 only celebrity in her own country, England, but 
 also introducing: her favourably to the reading 
 public of America. In 1837, Miss Stickney was 
 married to the Rev. William EUie, widely known 
 and highly respected for his indefatigable labours, 
 as a Christian missionary, to promote education, 
 and a knowledge of the true God among the peo- 
 ple of the South Sea Islands, then just emerging 
 from the most awful idolatry and barbarism. 
 •Mr. EUis was sent out in 1817, by the London 
 Missionary Society, and he it was who established 
 at Tahiti the first printing-press ever erected in 
 the " Green Islands of the Pacific." He devoted 
 ten years to this arduous and effective service, 
 and then returned to London ; and some years 
 after the decease of his first wife, who had been 
 his faithful helper and tender comforter in his 
 missionary trials and toUs, he found in Miss 
 Sarah Stickney, a second partner worthy to share 
 his home, and aid in the plans, and sympathize in 
 the high hopes of benefiting society which he had 
 cherished. "A good vrife is from the Lord;" 
 surely the man who has been thus " twice blest," 
 may well consider the female sex as deserving 
 peculiar honour. That Mr. Ellis does consider 
 woman's education and influence of paramount 
 importance in the progress of true Christian civili- 
 zation, we infer from Mrs. EUis's constant devo- 
 tion to this cause. The wife, doubtless, expresses 
 in her books the moral sentiments, and inculcates 
 
 the principles which her husband approves, and 
 sees verified in his own family. Such an union of 
 souls as well as hearts and hands, gives the most 
 perfect idea of the Eden happiness true marriage 
 was designed to confer on the human race, which 
 our fallen world exhibits. 
 
 Mrs. Ellis, since her marriage, has written many 
 books, almost every year sending forth a new one ; 
 among which the series addressed particularly to 
 the women of her own land, is most important. 
 " The Women of England," appeared in 1838, and 
 was followed by " The Daughters of England ;" 
 " The Wives of England ;" " Hints to Make Home 
 Happy;" "The Iron Rule; "Summer and Win- 
 ter in the Pyrenees;" "The Sons of the Soil;" 
 "A Voice from the Vineyard;" "Family Se- 
 crets;" &c., &c. In considering the writings of 
 >Irs. Ellis, an estimate of praise must be awarded 
 far beyond that which falls to the more brilliant 
 productions of the day. Candid and conscientious, 
 her principles grounded on sincere religion, it 
 seems the aim of this excellent woman, to be hum- 
 bly useful in her generation, and make the utmost 
 use of her talents in doing good. Madame de 
 Stael has wittily said- — " good intentions are no- 
 thing in respect to fine writing." In respect to 
 fine vmting this is true ; but in respect to useful 
 literature, a very earnest wish to do good, added 
 to moderate abilities and untiring industry, will 
 produce much fruit. There are very many of the 
 half-educated, and wholly untrained, whom Mrs. 
 Ellis's works will improve, and whom they have 
 improved. To such persons, the eloquence and 
 originality of a higher flight, would be but daz- 
 zling, and in no wise illuminating. Nor must it 
 be forgotten, how many need common-places, sen- 
 sibly and clearly expressed. " The Women of 
 England," and the other manuals of this series, 
 are written professedly to direct the young, the 
 unwise, and the ignorant. Neither metaphysical 
 subtlety nor novelty was required to strike the 
 sage and the philosopher. Well known truths, 
 and the sensible reiteration of useful advice are 
 plainly set forth, and the guide of the whole is 
 Christian doctrine. Such works must do good. 
 
 The novels of Mrs. Ellis, as novels, are not, 
 certainly, of a high character. According to 
 Rochefoucault, there are two classes of persons 
 unfitted to delineate human nature ; those who 
 never look into themselves, and those who never 
 look out of themselves. In a good sense, not an 
 egotistic one, Mrs. Ellis is of this latter class. 
 She has a certain set of characters, framed out of 
 her own fancy, not found in the wide world, and 
 these she fits into her moralities as is convenient 
 for the occasion. Perhaps we underrate her power 
 of observation; but we are loth to believe she 
 pictures truly the condition of her own country- 
 women, because, if she does, the character of the 
 men of England must be selfish, sensual, hard 
 and coarse ! Where women are represented, not 
 only as subordinate but inferior to men, there can 
 be no true progress in Christian morals ; where 
 women are constantly reminded that they must 
 prepare for sufi"ering, we know there must be 
 oppression of the worst sort — even domestio 
 
 649 
 
EL 
 
 EL 
 
 tyranny. Both " Home, or The Iron Rule," and 
 " Family Secrets," leave the impression that, among 
 the middle classes in England, the husband is what 
 Jane Eyre calls Mr. Rochester — the "master" of 
 his wife, as well as his house. Where there is not 
 companionship there can be no sympathy, nor that 
 mutual love and trust which makes the married 
 pair one, as God designed, as Christ directed. 
 Artistically speaking, " The Poetry of Life," is 
 the best work of Mrs. Ellis ; without much origin- 
 ality of thought, or any peculiar beauty of style, 
 it shows refined taste and a well-cultured mind ; 
 and, like all the books of this authoress, an at- 
 tempt at something more than merely pleasing, 
 the wish to inculcate the purest morality based 
 upon the religion of the Bible. 
 
 From •■ The Poetry of Life." 
 MAN AND WOMAN. 
 
 Man is appointed to hold the reins of govern- 
 ment, to make laws, to support systems, to pene- 
 trate with patient labour and undeviating perse- 
 verance into the mysteries of science, and to work 
 out the great fundamental principles of truth. 
 For such purposes he would be ill qualified, were 
 he liable to be diverted from his object by the 
 quickness of his perception of external things, by 
 the ungovernable impulse of his own feelings, or 
 by the claims of others upon his regard or sensi- 
 bility ; but woman's sphere being one of feeling 
 rather than of intellect, all her peculiar character- 
 istics are such as essentially qualify her for that 
 station in society which she is designed to fill, and 
 which she never voluntarily quits without a sacri- 
 fice of good taste — I might almost say, of good 
 principle. Weak, indeed, is the reasoning of those 
 who would render her dissatisfied with this allot- 
 ment, by persuading her that the station, which it 
 ought to be her pride to ornament, is one too in- 
 significant or degraded for the full exercise of her 
 mental powers. Can that be an unimportant vo- 
 cation to which peculiarly belong the means of 
 happiness and misery ? Can that be a degraded 
 sphere which not only admits of, but requires the 
 full development of moral feeling ? Is it a task 
 too trifling for an intellectual woman, to watch, 
 and guard, and stimulate the growth of reason in 
 the infant mind ? Is it a sacrifice too small to 
 practise the art of adaptation to all the difi^erent 
 characters met with in ordinary life, so as to influ- 
 ence, and give a right direction to their tastes and 
 pursuits? Is it a duty too easy, faithfully and 
 constantly to hold up an example of self-govern- 
 ment, disinterestedness, and zeal for that which 
 constitutes our highest good — to be nothing, or 
 anything that is not evil, as the necessities of 
 others may require — to wait with patience — to 
 endure with fortitude — to attract by gentleness — 
 to soothe by sympathy judiciously applied — to be 
 quick in understanding, prompt in action, and 
 what is perhaps more difficult than all, pliable yet 
 firm in will — lastly, through a life of perplexity, 
 trial, and temptation, to maintain the calm dig- 
 nity of a pure and elevated character, earthly in 
 nothing but its suffering and weakness ; refined 
 
 almost to sublimity in the seraphic ardour of its 
 love, its faith, and its devotion. 
 
 THE LOT OP WOMAN. 
 
 In looking at the situation of woman merely as 
 regards this life, we are struck with the system of 
 unfair dealing by which her pliable, weak and 
 dependent nature is subjected to an infinite variety 
 of suffering, and we are ready to exclaim, that of 
 all earthly creatures she is the most pitiable. And 
 so unquestionably she is, when unenlightened by 
 those higher views which lead her hopes away 
 from the disappointments of the present world, to 
 the anticipated fruition promised to the faithful in 
 the world to come. 
 
 ***** 
 
 When we think of the falsehood practised to- 
 wards women, at that season of life when their 
 minds are most capable of receiving impressions, 
 and when their intellectual powers, just arriving 
 at maturity, are most liable to serious and import- 
 ant bias, we can only wonder that there should be 
 any substantial virtue found amongst them. 
 
 woman's disinterestedness. 
 
 In the natural delicacy of woman's constitution, 
 however, we see only one of the slightest causes 
 of sufi'ering peculiar to her character and station 
 in society; because her feelings are so entirely 
 relative and dependent, that they can never be 
 wholly, or even half absorbed by that which is 
 confined to her own experience, without refer- 
 ence to that of others. There are unquestionably 
 many exceptions to this rule, but the rule is the 
 same notwithstanding ; and I desire to be under- 
 stood to speak not of women individually, but of 
 the essential characteristics of woman as a genius. 
 Amongst these characteristics, I^am almost proud 
 to name her personal disinterestedness, shown by 
 the unhesitating promptness with which she de- 
 votes herself to watchfulness, labour, and suffering 
 of almost every kind, for, or in lieu of others. In 
 seasons of helplessness, misery, or degradation, 
 who but woman comes forward to support, to con- 
 sole, and to reclaim ? From the wearisome dis- 
 quietudes of puling infancy, to the impatience and' 
 decrepitude of old age, it is woman alone that 
 bears with all the trials and vexations which the 
 infirmities of our nature draw down upon those 
 around us. Through the monotony of ceaseless 
 misery, it is woman alone that will listen to the 
 daily murmurings of fruitless anxiety, and offer 
 again the cup of consolation after it has been petu- 
 lantly dashed at her feet. 
 
 ***** 
 
 It is considered a mere duty, too common for 
 observation, and too necessary for praise, when, a 
 woman forgets her own sorrows to smile with the 
 gay, or lays aside her own secret joys to weep 
 with the sad. But let lordly man make the expe- 
 riment for one half hour, and he will then be bet- 
 ter acquainted with this system of self-sacrifice, 
 which woman in every station of society, from the 
 palace to the cottage, maintains through.the whole 
 of her life, with little commendation, and with no 
 
 650 
 
EL 
 
 EL 
 
 reward, except that -whicli is attached to every 
 effort of disinterested virtue. It is thought much 
 of, and blazoned forth to the world, when the vic- 
 tim at the stake hetrays no sign of pain ; but does 
 it evince less fortitude for the victim of corroding 
 care to give no outward evidence of the anguish 
 of a writhing soul ? — to go forth arrayed in smiles, 
 when burning ashes are upon the heart ? — ^to meet, 
 as a woman can meet, with a never-failing welcome 
 the very cause of all her suffering ? — and to woo 
 back with the sweetness of her unchangeable love, 
 him who knows neither constancy nor truth ? 
 
 From " Home ; or The Iron Rule." 
 IHE HUSBAND AND WIFE. 
 
 Stephen Grey, the father of this promising 
 family, was a man who gravely and thoughtfully 
 studied the laws of his country, its politics, and 
 the religion of his forefathers ; he had even ob- 
 tained a smattering of philosophy under some of 
 its most practical forms ; but of the study of the 
 human heart he had scarcely condescended so 
 much as to think. He loved his children because 
 they were his own ; he determined to make them 
 good citizens because it was decent and politic to 
 be so ; and good Christians, let us hope, for a bet- 
 ter reason. In business, his alacrity, promptness, 
 and ability, were such as to render his influence 
 extensive ; while in his household, the will of the 
 master was law. Whatever he chose to plan or 
 put into execution, passed without question or 
 comment, unless behind the scenes ; for like Fal- 
 staff, he refused to tell his reasons on compul- 
 sion. 
 
 * # * * * 
 
 He believed that all human beings were to be 
 governed by the same iron rule, and that the 
 errors of all might be corrected by the same chas- 
 tisement. The principle upon which he main- 
 tained his authority was that of implicit obedi- 
 ence ; but he overlooked the most important part 
 of moral government, the necessity of making obe- 
 dience a matter of choice, and not of compukion. 
 Had Stephen Grey permitted the good-will he 
 really felt for his fellow-creatures sometimes to 
 appear before the eyes of men, more especially 
 had he occasionally been known to sacrifice his 
 own personal gratification for that of others, he 
 might have won more affection from the warm 
 young hearts around him ; but it is not in human 
 nature to love long or consistently the being who 
 never makes any sacrifice of self, or who never 
 exhibits such natural signs of tenderness as create 
 a bond of protection and dependence between the 
 powerful and the weak. 
 
 Let who would be sick or sorry around the board 
 or. the hearth of Stephen Grey, his was the choice 
 portion, and the warmest place. Not but that 
 these privileges would have been willingly con- 
 ceded to him as a right ; but his manner was one 
 that conveyed the idea of seizing rather than re- 
 ceiving ; and it is wonderful the difference these 
 two ideas produce in the feelings of the party 
 whose place it is to resign. 
 
 Yet with all these alarming peculiarities, Ste- 
 phen Grey was a good neighbour, a lover of peace, 
 
 an impartial judge, a powerful defender of the in- 
 jured, and, in short, a man who maintained both 
 in his private and public life a character of the 
 most scrupulous integrity and independence. In- 
 deed, this feeling of independence was carried to 
 such an extreme in all his pecuniary affairs, that 
 it became questionable whether money-making 
 was not the primary object of his existence ; not 
 certainly for the purpose of hoarding, for he was 
 penurious in nothing but his domestic manage- 
 ment. Here the same rule pervaded the kitchen, 
 the parlour, and the school-room, where industry — 
 that is, the industry of turning every effort and 
 every talent into gold, was established as the car- 
 dinal virtue. 'How much will it save,' or 'how 
 much will it cost,' was the universal interlude be- 
 tween evei-y childish petition and its invariable 
 denial ; and as the expenses of clothing and edu- 
 cation increased with his children's growth, he 
 marked their necessities with as many reproaches 
 as if it had been unnatural to grow, or a crime to 
 learn. 
 
 Nor were the religious observances of this 
 family more tempered with the leaven of human- 
 ity. There was no pleasure, no congeniality, no 
 meeting of the wants and wishes of our weak na- 
 ture, in the religious discipline of Stephen Grey ; 
 but public justice for the erring, a sure sentence 
 for the culprit, the strong arm for the rebellious, 
 and the same uniform law of implicit obedience, 
 from which there was no appeal, for all. 
 
 It may reasonably be asked, how such a man as 
 we have here described could ever stoop to solicit 
 the love of woman — a question which, on the plea 
 of utter ignorance, the writer declines to answer ; 
 it having always appeared to her one of the great- 
 est mysteries in life, how men whose very birth- 
 right seems to be the inalienable privilege of com- 
 manding, should humble themselves to the common 
 language of love ; yet that they do actually solicit, 
 and not command, we cannot for the honour of 
 the female sex permit ourselves to doubt. And 
 certain it is, that Stephen Grey did lead to the 
 altar a fair and gentle bride, who found little dif- 
 ficulty in conforming to the very letter of her vow. 
 It is true', she was hardly prepared for all that 
 followed ; for being considered merely as a piece 
 of domestic machinery, whose ofBce was to keep 
 the rest of the household furniture in order ; she 
 was not prepared to have all her womanish wishes 
 thwarted as if for very pastime, or to bring up 
 children whose infantine caresses should never 
 meet a father's tenderness ; and for some time she 
 persisted in introducing them occasionally to his 
 notice. When they looked their loveliest, and 
 sometimes when her heart was lightest, she 
 would suffer them to reach so far as the sober 
 page upon which her husband's eye was fixed, 
 while the merry urchins would laugh and crow, 
 and pat the rustling paper, until an angry growl, 
 or a sharp stroke upon the little rosy fingers, sent 
 both mother and children into the nursery, to 
 hide their disappointment and their tears. Here 
 it was that Mrs. Grey learned, like many other 
 weak women, to seek the sympathy she was 
 denied, elsewhere ; for with her servants she 
 
 651 
 
EL 
 
 EL 
 
 could converse about her children, and in the so- 
 ciety of her humble friends she could freely enjoy 
 their playful prattle. 
 
 Dangerous as this system of confidence was, it 
 would have been well if the stern discipline of her 
 husband had driven the, helpless wife to no other 
 resource ; but there was one more lamentable 
 means of escaping the harshness she dared not 
 brook, to which poor Mrs. Grey at last descended, 
 and that was to deceive. It was not her nature, 
 and still less her wish, but she was harassed, 
 frightened, and systematically denied every tri- 
 fling request, merely because it was a woman's ; 
 and though she could have borne all this for her- 
 self, for her children she thought it not only justi- 
 fiable, but meritorious, to find some way of escape. 
 Hence followed the forbidden wish secretly in- 
 dulged ; the detected transgression covered with 
 an evasion — perhaps with more; the unlawful 
 treat when papa was gone from home ; and all 
 that fatal undermining of domestic comfort, of 
 social union, and of moral rectitude, so sure to 
 follow when the wide field of deception is once 
 thrown open. 
 
 From "The Daughters and Wives of England." 
 
 SECRET SOEEOWS. 
 
 Observation and experience have taught me to 
 believe that many of the secret sorrows of woman's 
 life, owe half their poignancy to the disappoint- 
 ment of not being able to maintain the degree of 
 admiration which has been studiously sought. A 
 popular and elegant writer has said — ' How often 
 do the wounds of our vanity form the secret of 
 our pathos!' And to the situation, and the feel- 
 ings of woman, this observation is more especially 
 applicable. Still there is much to be said for 
 woman in this respect. By the nature of her own 
 feelings, as well as by the established rules of 
 polished life, she is thrown, as it were, upon the 
 good-will of society. Unable to assert her own 
 claims to protection, she must endeavour to ensure 
 it by secondary means, and she knows that the 
 protection of man is best ensured by recommend- 
 ing herself to his admiration. 
 
 Though truth should be engraven upon every 
 thought, and word, and act, which occurs in your 
 intercourse with the man of your choice, there is 
 implanted in the nature of woman, a shrinking 
 delicacy, which ought ever to prompt her to keep 
 back some of her affection for the time when she 
 becomes a wife. No woman ever gained, but 
 many, very many have been losers, by displaying 
 all at first. Let sufficient of your love be told, to 
 prevent suspicion, or distrust ; and the self-com- 
 placency of man will be sure to supply the rest. 
 Suffer it not, then, to be unfolded to its full extent. 
 In the trials of married life, you will have ample 
 need for an additional supply. You will want it 
 for sickness, for sorrow, for all the different exi- 
 gencies of real experience ; but, above all, you will 
 want it to re-awakeu the tenderness of your hus- 
 
 band, when worldly cares and pecuniary disappoint- 
 ments have too much absorbed his better feelings ; 
 and what surprise so agreeable to him, as to dis- 
 cover in his farther progress through the wilder- 
 ness of life, so sweet, so deep a fountain, as wo- 
 man's perfect love ! 
 
 FLATTEKT. 
 
 To speak of the popular style of conversation 
 used by gentlemen when making themselves agree- 
 able to young ladies, as trifling, is the best thing 
 we can say of it. Its worst characteristic is its 
 falsehood, while its worst tendency is to call forth 
 selfishness, and to foster that littleness of mind, 
 for which man is avowedly the despiser of woman. 
 If intellectual conversation occupies the company, 
 how often does he turn to whisper nonsense to 
 woman ; if he sees her envious of the beauty of 
 her friend, how often does he tell her that her own 
 charms are unrivalled ; if he discovers that she is 
 foolishly elated with the triumph of having gained 
 his attentions, how studiously does he feed her 
 folly, waiting only for the next meeting with a 
 boon companion, to treat the whole with that ridi- 
 cule which it deserves — deserves, but not from 
 him. 
 
 It may be — I would fain believe it is, his wish 
 that Woman should be simple-hearted, intelligent, 
 generous, frank, and true ; but how is his influ- 
 ence in society exercised to make her any one of 
 these ? Woman is blamed, and justly so, for idle 
 thoughts, and trifling conversation ; but, I appeal 
 to experience, and ask, whether, when a young 
 girl first goes into society, her most trifling con- 
 versation is not that which she shares with men. 
 It is true that woman has the power to repel by a 
 look, a word, or even a tone of her voice, the ap- 
 proach of falsehood or folly ; and admirable are 
 the instances we sometimes find of woman thus 
 surrounded as it were by an atmosphere of moral 
 purity, through which no vulgar touch can pene- 
 trate. But all are not thus happily sustained, 
 and it seems hard that the weaker sex should not 
 only have to contend with the weakness of their 
 own hearts ; but that they should find in this con- 
 flict, so much of the influence of man on the side 
 of evil. 
 
 SINGLE LIFE. 
 
 I imagine there are few, if any, who never have 
 had a suitable or unsuitable offer at some time in 
 their lives ; and wise, indeed, by comparison, are 
 those who, rather than accept the latter, are con- 
 tent to enjoy the pleasures, and endure the sor- 
 rows of life, alone. Compare their lot for an in- 
 stant with that of women who have married from 
 unworthy motives. How incomparably more dig- 
 nified, more happy, and more desirable in every 
 way, does it appear ! It is true there are times in 
 their experience when they will have to bear what 
 woman bears so hardly — the consciousness of 
 being alone; but they escape an evil far more 
 insupportable — that of being a slighted or an un- 
 loved wife. 
 
 652 
 
EM 
 
 EM 
 
 EMBURY, EMMA CATHARINE, 
 
 Was born in the city of New York, -where her 
 father, Dr. James R. Manley, -was a distinguished 
 physician. Miss Mauley began to write when very 
 young, her first effusions appearing in the periodi- 
 cals of the day, under the name of " Ian the." 
 
 In 1828, she was married to Daniel Embury, of 
 Brooklyn ; and soon afterwards a volume of her 
 youthful compositions was published — entitled 
 " Guide, and other Poems." The choice of sub- 
 jects for the principal poems was unfortunate. 
 The writer had entered the circle in which L. E. L., 
 Barry Cornwall, and other English writers were 
 then strewing their flowers of fancy, sentiment 
 and genius ; no wonder the delicate blossoms offer- 
 ed by our young poetess were considered merely 
 exotics which she had trained from a foreign root ; 
 imitations in style, if not in thought. 
 
 It is the natural impulse of poetic and ardent 
 minds to admire the genius and glory of Italy, and 
 to turn to that land of bright skies and passionate 
 hearts for themes of song. Mrs. Embury did but 
 follow the then expressed opinion of all European 
 critics, and the admitted acknowledgment of most 
 Americans — that our new world afforded no sub- 
 jects propitious for the muses. 
 
 Yet surely, in a land where the wonders of na- 
 ture are on a scale of vast and glorious magni- 
 ficence which Europe cannot parallel ; and the 
 beautiful and the fertile are opening their trea- 
 sures on every side ; and enterprise and change, 
 excitement and improvement, are the elements of 
 social life, — there must be poetry ! happily " Ger- 
 trude of Wyoming," to say nothing of what Ameri- 
 can poets have written, has settled the question. 
 We have named this subject, chiefly for the pur- 
 pose of entreating our American writers to look 
 into their own hearts, not into the poems of others, 
 for inspiration, and to sing, in accordance with 
 nature and human life around them, 
 
 " The beauteous scenes of our own lovely land." 
 
 Mrs. Embury has a fertile fancy, and her versi- 
 fication flows with uncommon ease and grace. In 
 
 her later poems she has greatly improved her style 
 — that is, she writes naturally, from her own 
 thoughts and feelings, and not from a model ; and 
 some of her short pieces are very beautiful. She 
 is, too, a popular prose writer ; many sketches 
 and stories from her pen enrich our periodical 
 literature. She is also warmly engaged in the 
 cause of improving her own sex,' and has written 
 well on the subject of " Female Education." Since 
 her marriage, Mrs. Embury has published more 
 prose than verse ; her contributions to the various 
 periodicals, amount to about one hundred and 
 fifty original tales, besides her poetical articles, 
 all written within the last twenty years. Her pub- 
 lished works, during the same time, are " Constance 
 Latimer, or The Blind Girl;" Pictures of Early 
 Life;" " Nature's Gems, or American Wild Flow- 
 ers;" "The Waldorf Family;" "Glimpses of 
 Home Life." An eminent American critic re- 
 marks of Mrs. Embury's works — "Her stories 
 are founded upon a just observation of life, al- 
 though not a few are equally remarkable for at- 
 tractive invention. In point of style, they often 
 possess the merit of graceful and pointed diction, 
 and the lessons they inculcate are invariably of a 
 pure moral tendency." Mrs. Embury has been 
 very fortunate, (we do not say singularly so, be- 
 cause American marriages are usually happy,) 
 in her married life. Mr. Embury is a scholar as 
 well as a banker, and not only has he the taste to 
 appreciate the talents of his gifted wife, but he 
 has had also the good sense to encourage and aid 
 her. The result has been the most perfect con- 
 cord in their domestic as well as literary life ; the 
 only aim of each being to secure and increase the 
 happiness of the other, the highest improvement 
 and happiness of both have been the result. Nor 
 have the pursuits of literature ever drawn Mrs. 
 Embury aside from her duties as a mother ; her 
 three children have been trained under her care- 
 ful supervision, and her daughter's education she 
 has entirely conducted. These traits of character, 
 corresponding so fitly with the principles she has 
 inculcated, increase greatly the value of her works 
 for the young. Consistency is a rare and excellent 
 quality ; Mrs. Hannah More placed it high among 
 female virtues. 
 
 From "Glimpses of Home Life." 
 THE ONE FAULT. 
 
 I wonder if it ever occurred to a discontented 
 husband that Auch of the discomfort of his mar- 
 ried life might be attributed to this over-estima- 
 tion which is so general a characteristic of the 
 days of courtship. To man, love is but the inter- 
 lude between the acts of a busy life — the cares 
 of business, or the severe studies of a profession 
 are the duties of his existence, while the atten- 
 tions which he bestows on the young and fair be- 
 ing whom he has chosen to share his future lot, 
 are the actual pleasures of his life. He comes to 
 her weary with the sordid anxieties or the op- 
 pressive intellectual labours in which he has been 
 engaged, and he finds her ever the gentle minister 
 to his happiness, while the atmosphere which 
 
 653 
 
EM 
 
 EM 
 
 surrounds her is one of such purity and peace, 
 that all his better nature is awakened by her pre- 
 sence. What marvel, then, that he should make 
 her the idol of his dreams, and enthrone her on 
 high in his imagination, as the good genius of his 
 life ? "Wilfully blind to every defect in her charac- 
 ter, he views her through the medium of his own 
 excited feelings, and thus, like one who should 
 pretend to judge of the real landscape by behold- 
 ing its reflection in a Claude Lorraine glass, he 
 sees only the softened lineaments of the actual 
 being. Then comes the hour of disenchantment. 
 In the familiar intercourse of wedded life, he 
 ceases to be the worshipper at an idol's shrine. 
 The love still exists, perhaps even increases in its 
 fervour, but the blind worship is at an end ; she 
 is now his fellow-traveller through the rugged and 
 dusty path of life, and she must bear with him 
 the heat and burden of the day. 
 
 But it often happens that the past has not been 
 without its evil influence upon her. She has been 
 taken from among her companions, and set on 
 high as an object of adoration ; the intellect of 
 man has been humbled before her, and her very 
 caprices have been laws to him. Is it to be won- 
 dered at, if she cannot at once resign her queenly 
 station, and become the gentle and submissive 
 and forbearing woman? Is it strange that the 
 reproof or the cold rebuke of him who once taught 
 her that she was all perfection, should sound 
 strangely to her ear, and fall with bitterness upon 
 her heart? The change which takes place in the 
 mere manners of him who was once the devoted 
 lover, is hard to understand. "I cannot de- 
 scribe," said a lady, who was by no means re- 
 markable for sensitiveness of feeling, "I cannot 
 describe how unhappy I felt the first time after 
 my marriage, that my husband put on his hat and 
 walked out of the house to his daily business, 
 without bidding me farewell. I thought of it all 
 the morning, and wondered whether he was dis- 
 pleased with me, nor until I had questioned him 
 on the subject, did I discover, (what was perhaps 
 equally painful to me then,) that he was so occu- 
 pied with his business, as to have forgotten it." 
 Many a misunderstanding in married life has 
 arisen out of circumstances as trifling as the one 
 just recorded ; for when a woman has been made 
 to believe that she is the sole object of her lover's 
 thoughts, it is difficult for her to realize that the 
 act which transfers to him the future guardianship 
 of her happiness, exonerates him Jrom those mi- 
 nute attentions, which have hitherto contributed 
 so much to her enjoyment. Do not mistake me, 
 gentle reader ; I do not mean to say as some have 
 ventured to assert, that " Courtship is a woman's 
 Paradise, and Marriage her Purgatory," for many 
 a blessed experience would quickly give the lie to 
 any such false theory ; but I would merely suggest 
 whether this exaltation of a mistress into some- 
 thing more than woman, before marriage, does not 
 tend to produce a reaction of feeling, which is apt 
 to degrade her into something less than the rest 
 of her sex afterwards ; and whether he who saw 
 no faults in his " ladye-love" will not be likely to 
 see more than she ever possessed, in his wife ? 
 
 Charles Wharton had certainly committed this 
 common error. Loving his mother and sisters 
 with the most devoted affection, he had learned to 
 regard them as models of feminine virtue and 
 grace, yet there was something of sombre and 
 grave in their characters, which did not exactly 
 agree with his beau-ideal of woman, 
 
 " Skilled alike to dazzle and to please." 
 
 He was therefore peculiarly susceptible to the 
 charms of playful wit and gayety in his beloved 
 Mary, and finding her thus in possession of the 
 only gift which was wanting in his home circle, 
 he, by a very natural error, attributed to her all 
 the other qualities which he found there in such 
 perfection. He had created an imaginary being, 
 who should unite the lighter graces with the no- 
 bler virtues, and fascinated by the beauty, and 
 the sunny temper of Miss Lee, he found no diffi- 
 culty in embodying in her form his ideal mistress. 
 For a time he was perfectly enchanted, but the 
 familiar intercourse of married life at length dis- 
 covered some defects in the character of the young 
 and light-hearted wife, and Wharton, feeling as 
 men are apt to do, 
 
 " As charm by charm unwinds, 
 That robed their idol," 
 
 was almost tempted to believe that he had utterly 
 deceived himself. 
 
 But in this opinion he was as far wrong as when 
 he had fancied her all perfection. Mary possessed 
 all the material for forming an estimable woman, 
 but she was young, thoughtless, and untaught. 
 She was one of a family who lived but for society, 
 and whose deportment to each other was an ex- 
 emplification of the old copy-book apophthegm, 
 " Familiarity breeds contempt." The self-respect 
 which inculcates personal neatness as a duty — the 
 respect towards each other, which should be as 
 carefully cherished between brothers and sisters, 
 as the affection which, in truth, will not long exist 
 without it — were entirely unknown among them. 
 In society, they were models of propriety, but, in 
 the domestic circle, there was a want of method, 
 and a neglect of neatness, which could not fail to 
 be injurious to every member of the family. I 
 may be mistaken, but, it seems to me, that habi- 
 tual slovenliness cannot fail to have its effect upon 
 the mental as well as the bodily habits. To a well 
 balanced mind, external order seems as essential 
 as intellectual purity, and however great may be 
 the genius, there is surely something wanting to a 
 perfect equilibrium of the faculties, when the 
 body — through the medium of which ideas must 
 necessarily be conveyed to the mind — is habitually 
 neglected, and consequently exposed to disgustful 
 rather than agreeable images. But whatever may 
 be the effect of a want of neatness on one's indi- 
 vidual character, there is no doubt as to its influ- 
 ence on others. No man can have a proper respect 
 for female purity and delicacy, when he has been 
 accustomed, from childhood, to witness slovenly 
 habits in his mother and sisters ; for that ohivalric 
 feeling towards the gentler sex, which has pre- 
 served many a man from the early attacks of vice, 
 never exists in the heart of him who has had the 
 
 654 
 
EM 
 
 EM 
 
 barriers of refinement broken down, ere he left his 
 childhood's home. 
 
 Mrs. Wharton was not deficient in personal 
 cleanliness ; few women are found guilty of so 
 revolting a fault ; but she wanted personal neat- 
 ness and order. She had learned to treat her 
 husband as she was accustomed to do her bro- 
 thers, and while she never appeared before com- 
 pany in an undress, scarcely ever honoured him 
 with anything else. Her breakfast dress has 
 already been described, and if the day happened 
 to be rainy, or anything else occurred to induce 
 her to deny herself to visitors, she generally greet- 
 ed her husband's eye in the same loose and flowing 
 robes at dinner, as well as tea. Her total igno- 
 rance of everything like method, was visible 
 throughout all her domestic arrangements. In- 
 stead of directing her servants, she only reproved 
 them, for she found it much easier to scold when 
 a thing was ill done, than to attend to having it 
 well done. Her domestics soon became familiar 
 with her ignorance of the details of housekeeping, 
 and availed themselves of it to neglect their duty 
 as much as possible ; and, when she began to add 
 to her other defects, that of indolence, her house- 
 hold fell into a state which cannot be better de- 
 signated than by the expressive Irish word, 
 " Throughotherness." 
 
 Such was the state of things at the end of the 
 first two years of their married life. Mrs. Whar- 
 ton, disheartened and dispirited, took little interest 
 in her family concerns, while her husband, accus- 
 tomed to seek his enjoyments elsewhere, found 
 always something to censure at home. Fortu- 
 nately his good principles kept him from the 
 haunts of dissipation, or he might have added an- 
 other to the list of those who have been driven, by 
 an ill-ordered home, to a well-ordered tavern or 
 billiard-room. His mother had long seen and 
 mourned his evident disquiet, and, while she par- 
 tially divined its cause, was in doubt as to the 
 course which she ought to pursue. She was aware 
 of the danger of interference in the domestic 
 concerns of another, but she could not bear to see 
 her son and his sweet-tempered wife so estranged 
 from each other. 
 
 " Tou are unhappy, Charles," said the old lady, 
 one day, when they were alone. "Will you not 
 tell me the cause of your trouble ? Is it your 
 business ?" 
 
 " No, mother, my business was never in a more 
 prosperous condition." 
 
 " Then something is wrong at home, my son ; 
 can you not confide in me ?" 
 
 "Oh, there is nothing to tell; Mary is one of 
 the best-hearted and good-tempered creatures in 
 the world, but — " 
 
 " But what, Charles ?" 
 
 " She has one fault, mother, and it is about the 
 worst she could have." 
 
 " The worst, Charles? Is she ill-tempered, or 
 deficient in affection for you ? Does she run into 
 extravagant excesses for dress or company ?" 
 
 "Why, mother, you know she has none of these 
 defects ?" 
 
 "Then, Charles, she has not the worst faults 
 she might have." 
 
 "Well, well, perhaps I used too strong a term, 
 but really I am heart-sick — I have a house, but 
 no home — I have servants, but no service for them 
 — I have a wife, but no helpmeet; I cannot yet 
 afford to keep a housekeeper, and until I can, I 
 see no probability of finding comfort at home. 
 Mary is as ignorant as a baby, of all that the mis- 
 tress of a family ought to know, and I am tired 
 of living at the mercy of a pack of careless do- 
 mestics." 
 
 " Mary has been unfortunate in not learning 
 such duties in her early home, Charles, but cer- 
 tainly there is no difficulty in acquiring a know- 
 ledge of them now ; did you ever try to teach 
 her?" 
 
 "Try to teach housekeeping, mother? no, in- 
 deed ; I should as soon think of teaching a woman 
 how to put on her dress; who ever heard of a 
 man teaching his wife how to keep house?" 
 
 " I will tell you, Charles, what you might have 
 taught her ; you have such habits of order, and 
 are so systematic in your arrangement of time, 
 that you could easily have imparted to her your 
 notions on such subjects, without appearing to 
 meddle with woman's afl'airs, and when she had 
 once learned them, half her task would have been 
 accomplished." 
 
 " A woman ought not to be married till she 
 knows her duties. The parent who allows a daugh- 
 ter to marry, when conscious that she is utterly 
 ignorant of these, is guilty of an actual imposition 
 upon the luckless husband." 
 
 "You would scarcely expect a parent to blazon 
 his child's defects, Charles ; a man chooses a wife 
 for himself — he marries with his eyes open." 
 
 "No, I'll be hanged if he does! he is blinded 
 by a pretty face, at first, and then the lady and 
 her friends take good care to noose him, before he 
 gets his eyes open." 
 
 "You are angry, Charles, and I am afraid you 
 have used bitter words, rather than arguments, 
 with poor Mary." 
 
 " Mother, I am as unhappy as ever was mortal 
 man; I love home — I love my wife, but when I 
 seek both, I am disgusted by the sight of a disor- 
 dered house and a slovenly woman, and my feel- 
 ings are instantly changed into anger and almost 
 dislike. I shall break up housekeeping in the 
 spring; I can't bear it any longer." 
 
 " I think I could remedy the evil of which you 
 complain, if I was only sure that Mary would not 
 resent my interference." 
 
 "Resent! why, mother, she never resents any 
 thing; I never heard an angry word from her in 
 my life, and I have given her many a one." Mrs. 
 Wharton looked significantly at her son, as he 
 made this acknowledgment, and smiled, as she 
 promised to make the attempt. 
 
 It happened, not long after the conversation 
 above narrated, that Charles Wharton was taken 
 seriously ill, and his mother became an inmate of 
 his family until his recovery. There is nothing 
 which so effectually subdues wrathful feelings, 
 
 655 
 
EM 
 
 EM 
 
 and obliterates the recollection of past unkindness, 
 as the touch of sickness. When death sits watch- 
 ing beside the bed of pain, the animosity of a life- 
 long enemy seems like a sin against the charities 
 of life, and how much more vain and wicked seem 
 the angry bickerings of those whom love has bound 
 together ! Charles saw nothing of the sloven in 
 the attentive and devoted nurse, who untiringly 
 ministered to his wants, and Mary felt more hap- 
 piness, notwithstanding her apprehensions, than 
 she had enjoyed for many months. But Mrs. 
 Wharton, the mother, now obtained a clear insight 
 into the difficulties which had marred their domes- 
 tic comfort, and, no sooner was Charles restored 
 to convalescence, than she set herself to the task 
 of subduing them. Fortunately for her scheme, 
 Mary possessed that perfect good temper which 
 was not to be ruffled even by the interference of a 
 mother-in-law, and Mrs. Wharton had sufficient 
 tact to know just how far that interference could 
 be carried with success. In the course of the fre- 
 quent confidential conversations which occurred 
 between the mother and wife, during the time 
 when both were engrossed in the care of the in- 
 valid, Mary learned much of her husband's early 
 tastes and habits, of which she had before been 
 utterly ignorant. She heard, but not in the lan- 
 guage of personal rebuke, of his peculiar notions 
 of order and system, and her mind, which had 
 unconsciously acquired habits of reflection and 
 thought in her hours of solitude, began to under- 
 stand the benefit of a regular and well-ordered 
 plan of life. But still she was at a loss to know 
 exactly how to arrange such a plan, and it was 
 not until she had summoned sufficient moral cour- 
 age, (smile not, reader, it required no small share 
 of it,) to explain her dilemma, and ask the aid of 
 her mother-in-law, that she was enabled to enter 
 upon her new course of life. 
 
 Following the advice of Mrs. Wharton, the first 
 bad habit which she corrected, was that of indulg- 
 ing in morning slumbers. Early rising aff'orded 
 her the time to attire herself with neatness and 
 propriety, while it also gave her the opportunity 
 of visiting the important domain of the ' Land of 
 Cookery,' and of inspecting the arrangement of 
 the morning meal. It required a serious struggle 
 with that hardest of all tyrants. Indolence, but 
 Mrs. Wharton soon found that bad habits are like 
 the bonds with which the Lilliputians fettered the 
 slumbering Gulliver — united, it was impossible to 
 break the fragile threads, but if taken singly each 
 could be severed by the movement of a finger. 
 One by one she contended against her former 
 faults. It required not only resolution, but the 
 rarer virtue of perseverance, to carry all her good 
 intentions into efi'ect, for many a week and month 
 elapsed, ere she could fully arrange the mechan- 
 ism of her domestic concerns. In truth, it is no 
 small task to regulate the microcosm of a house- 
 hold — to manage in such a manner as to bestow 
 the greatest proportion of comfort upon each indi- 
 vidual — to divide the duties of domestics, so as 
 to secure the performance of business in its proper 
 time, and the enjoyment of leisure when the tasks ] 
 
 are over — to remember and provide for the wants 
 of all — to study the peculiar tastes of each — to 
 preserve order and neatness throughout the multi- 
 farious departments of domestic life — and to do 
 all this without neglecting the claims of friendship 
 and society — without relinquishing the cultiva- 
 tion of one's mind, and the study of one's own heart 
 — without becoming a mere household drudge. It 
 is no easy task, yet it may be done ; the iirst steps 
 in this, as in all other labours, are the most diffi- 
 cult ; only employ the aid of system in the begin- 
 ning, and all may be fully accomplished. 
 
 From " Poems." 
 THE widow's WOOEE. 
 
 He W003 me with those honied words 
 
 That women love to iiear, 
 Those gentle flatteries that fall 
 
 So sweet on every ear. 
 He tells me that my face is fair, 
 
 Too fair for grief to shade; 
 My cheek, he says, was never meant 
 
 In sorrow's gloom to fade. 
 
 He stands beside me, when I sing 
 
 The songs of other days. 
 And whispers, in love's thrilling tones. 
 
 The words of heartfelt praise ; 
 And often in my eyes he looks, 
 
 Some answering love to see — 
 In vain ! he there can only read 
 
 The faith of memory. 
 
 He little knows what thoughts awake. 
 
 With every gentle word ; 
 How, by his looks and tones, the founts 
 
 Of tenderness are stirred. 
 The visions of my youth return, 
 
 Joys far too bright to last ; 
 And while he speaks of future bliss, 
 
 I think but of the past. 
 
 Like lamps in Eastern sepulchres. 
 
 Amid my heart's deep gloom. 
 Affection sheds its holiest light 
 
 Upon my husband's tomb. 
 And as those lamps, if brought once more 
 
 To upper air, grow dim, 
 So my soul's love is cold and dead, 
 
 Unless it glow for him. 
 
 NEVER FORGET. 
 
 Never forget the hour of our first meeting, 
 When, mid the sounds of revelry and song. 
 
 Only thy soul could know that mine was greeting 
 Its idol, wished for, waited for, so long. 
 
 Never forget. 
 
 Never forget the joy of that revealment. 
 Centring an age of bliss in one sweet hour, 
 
 When Love broke forth from friendship's frail concealment. 
 And stood confest to us in godlike power: 
 
 Never forget. 
 
 Never forget my heart's intense devotion. 
 Its wealth of freshness at thy feet flung ft-ee — 
 
 Its golden hopes, whelmed in that boundless ocean. 
 Which merged all wishes, all desires, save thee : 
 Never forget. 
 
 Never forget the moment when we parted — 
 
 When from life's summer-cloud the bolt was hurled 
 That drove us, scathed in soul and broken-hearted. 
 Alone to wander through this desert world. 
 
 Never forget. 
 656 
 
FA 
 
 FA 
 
 STANZAS. 
 " The night cometh, when no man can work." 
 Ye who in the field of human life 
 
 Cluickening seeds of wisdom fain would sow. 
 Pause not for the angry tempest's strife. 
 
 Shrink not from the noontide's fervid glow, 
 Lahour on, while yet the light of day 
 Sheds upon your path its blessed ray, 
 
 For the Night cometh ! 
 
 Ye who at man's noblest engine stand. 
 
 Moulding noble thought into opinion, 
 Oh 1 stay not for weariness your hand. 
 
 Till ye fix the bounds of truth's dominion. 
 Labour on while yet the light of day 
 Sheda upon your path its blessed ray, 
 
 For the Night cometh ! 
 
 Ye to whom a prophet-voice is given. 
 
 Stirring men as by a trumpet call : 
 Utter forth the oracles of Heaven, 
 
 Earth gives ba'ck the echoes as they fall ; 
 Oh, speak not, while yet the light of day 
 Breaks life's slumber with its blessed lay, 
 
 For the Night cometh ! 
 
 Ye who in home's narrow circle dwell, 
 Feeding love's flame upon the household hearth, 
 
 Weave the silken bond, and wake the spell, 
 Binding heart to heart throughout the earth ; 
 
 Gentle toil is yours, the light of day 
 
 On nought holier sheds its blessed ray, 
 
 Yet the Night cometh I 
 
 Diverse though our paths in life may be. 
 
 Each is sent some mission to fulfil, 
 Fellow-workers in the world are we 
 
 While we seek to do our Master's will, 
 But our doom is labour, while the light of day 
 Lights us to our tasks with blessed ray, 
 
 For the Night cometh! 
 
 Fellow-workers are we,— hour by hour, 
 
 Human tools are shaping Heaven's great schemes. 
 Till we see no limit to man's power, 
 
 And reality outstrips old dreams ; 
 Toil and struggle, therefore, work and weep. 
 In " God's Acre * " ye shall calmly sleep, 
 
 When the Night cometh ! 
 
 F. 
 
 FANTASTIC!, ROSELLINA MASSIMINA, 
 Is an Italian, born in the city of Pisa, near the 
 close of the last century. The daughter, of a very 
 accomplished mother, Rosellina had, from mater- 
 nal care, uncommon advantages of education. She 
 appeared at an early age to have a remarkable 
 talent for miniature-painting, and attained great 
 excellence in that art. Her marriage displayed 
 her good qualities as a wife and mother, and also 
 as the manager of household economy ; but these 
 occupations, though properly fulfilled, do not, or 
 need not, suspend the intellectual improvement 
 of women. Madame Fantastic! found time to pur- 
 sue her painting, until after the birth of her fifth 
 child ; when her eyes failing her, she was obliged 
 to give up entirely the practice of this art. She 
 then occupied her leisure hours with literature, 
 and obtained the silver medal from the Academy 
 of Pistoia for one of her poems. When her chil- 
 dren were old enough to require her constant 
 attention, she devoted her time entirely to their 
 education, and wrote nothing but little plays and 
 
 ♦The Germdn name of a burial ground. 
 2E 
 
 stories,, expressly for their improvement. She 
 experiences the reward of these cares in the love 
 and reverence with which her children regard her. 
 She is now emancipated from her duties as teacher, 
 and has returned with renewed ardour to her be- 
 loved studies, the fruits of which will no doubt in 
 time enrich the literature of her country. Her 
 published works are — "A Collection of Sonnets 
 and Odes," "Cefale e Procri," a poem in octave- 
 rhyme, and "Four little plays for children." She 
 now resides in Pisa. 
 
 FARLEY, HARRIET, 
 Well and widely known as editor of " The 
 Lowell, or New England Offering," a monthly 
 magazine of industry, the contributors being fac- 
 tory girls, employed in the mills at Lowell, Mas- 
 sachusetts. This work has excited more interest 
 in Eiu'ope than any other written by American 
 female authors, because it is entirely unparalleled 
 in the annals of factory life ; and in no country, 
 except America, is such a proof of female intellect 
 yet possible. As one of the pioneers in this new 
 development of mental culture and moral progress, 
 and the chief agent by whom it has been upheld. 
 Miss Farley deserves the good celebrity she has 
 gained. We design to let her tell her own story, 
 as it is impossible to give so true an impression 
 of her character by any other delineation. The 
 simplicity and earnest sincerity of spirit in which 
 her letter is written, make this scrap of autobio- 
 graphy a model of its kind. Yet, lest there might 
 be one reader who would be ofiFended by this open- 
 hearted sketch, and call it egotistic, we add, that 
 Miss Farley had no idea that her language would 
 be quoted. 
 
 " My father is a congregational clergyman, and 
 at the time of my birth was settled in the beau- 
 tiful town of Claremont, in the state of New 
 Hampshire. Though I left this place when six 
 years of age, I still remember its natural beauties, 
 which even then impressed me deeply. The Ash- 
 cutney Mountain, Sugar River, with its foaming 
 falls, the distant hills of Vermont, all are in my 
 memory. My mother was descended from the 
 
 657 
 
FA 
 
 FA 
 
 Moodys, somewhat famous in New England his- 
 tory. One of them was the eccentric and influen- 
 tial Father Moody. Another was Handkerchief 
 Moody, the one who wore, so many years, ' the 
 minister's veil.' One was the well-known Trustee 
 Moody, of Dummer Academy, who educated my 
 grandmother. She was a very talented and esti- 
 mable lady. 
 
 " My father was of the genuine New Hampshire 
 stock — from a family of pious, industrious, agri- 
 cultural people ; his brothers being deacons, and 
 some of his sisters married to deacons. I have 
 not learned that any one of them ever committed 
 a disgraceful act. His grandmother was eminent 
 for her medical knowledge and skill, and had as 
 much practice as is usually given to a country 
 doctor. His mother was a woman of fine charac- 
 ter, who exerted herself, and sacrificed much, to 
 secure his liberal education. His sisters were en- 
 ergetic in their cooperation with their husbands, 
 to secure and improve homes among the White 
 and the Green Mountains, and Wisconsin. So 
 much for progenitors. 
 
 "I was the sixth of ten children, and, until 
 fourteen, had not that health which promises con- 
 tinued life. I was asthmatic, and often thought 
 to be in a consumption. I am fortunate now in 
 the possession of excellent health, which may be 
 attributed to a country rearing, and an obedience 
 to physical laws, so far as I understand them. 
 At fourteen years of age, I commenced exertions 
 to assist in my own maintenance, and have at dif- 
 ferent times followed the various avocations of 
 New England girls. I have plaited palm-leaf and 
 straw, bound shoes, taught school, and worked at 
 tailoring ; besides my labours as a weaver in the 
 factory, which suited me better than any other. 
 
 " After my father's removal to the little town 
 of Atkinson, New Hampshire, he combined the 
 labours of preceptor of one of the two oldest Aca- 
 demies in the State, with his parochial duties ; and 
 here, among a simple but intelligent people, I 
 spent those years which give the tone to female 
 character. At times, there was a preceptress to 
 the academy ; but it was in the summer, when I 
 was debilitated, and my lessons'were often studied 
 on my bed. I learned something of French, draw- 
 ing, ornamental needle-work, and the usual ac- 
 complishments ; for it was the design of my_ friends 
 to make me a teacher — a profession for which I 
 had an instinctive dislike. But my own feelings 
 were not consulted. Indeed, perhaps it was not 
 thought how much these were outraged ; but their 
 efforts, were to suppress the imaginative and culti- 
 vate the practical. This was, undoubtedly, whole- 
 some discipline ; but it was carried to a degree 
 that was painful, and drove me from my home. 
 I came to Lowell, determined that if I had my 
 own living to obtain, I would get it in my own 
 way ; that I would read, think and write, when I 
 could, without restraint; that if I did well, I would 
 have the credit of it; if ill, my friends should be 
 relieved from the brame, if not from the stigma. 
 I endeavoured to reconcile them to my lot, by a 
 devotion of all my spare earnings to them and their 
 interests. I made good wages ; I dressed econo- 
 
 mically ; I assisted in the liberal education of one 
 brother ; and endeavoured to be the guardian 
 angel to a lovely sister, who, after years of feeble- 
 ness, is now, perhaps, a guardian angel to me in 
 heaven. Twice before this had I left "the mill," 
 to watch around the death-beds of loved ones — my 
 older sister and a beautiful and promising brother. 
 Two others had previously died ; two have left 
 their native State for a Texan home. So you will 
 see that my feelings must have been severely 
 tried. But all this has, doubtless, been beneficial 
 to me. 
 
 " It was something so new to me to be praised, 
 and encouraged to write, that I was at first over- 
 whelmed by it, and withdrew as far as possible 
 from the attentions that some of my first contri- 
 butions to the 'Offering' directed towards me. 
 It was with great reluctance that I consented to 
 edit, and was quite as unwilling at first to assist 
 in publishing. But circumstances seem to have 
 compelled me forward as a business woman, and 
 I have endeavoured to do my duty. 
 
 " I am now the proprietor of ' The New England 
 Offering.' I do all the publishing, editing, can- 
 vassing, and, as it is bound in my office, I can, in 
 a hurry, help fold, cut covers, stitch, &c. I have 
 a little girl to assist me in the folding, stitching, 
 &c. ; the rest, after it comes from the printer's 
 hand, is all my own work. I employ no agents, 
 and depend upon no one for assistance. My edi- 
 tion is four thousand. 
 
 " These details, I trust, are not tedious ; I have 
 given them, because I thought there was nothing 
 remarkable about the ' Offering ' but its source, 
 and the mode in which it was conducted. 
 
 " Indeed, I thought at one time of begging you 
 not to insert my name in your book ; and was only 
 dissuaded by the reflection that you could not be 
 expected to unearth all the gems which may be 
 hidden in the caverns of this age, or prophesy of 
 those who are to be famous in the future, but 
 only to note those whose names, from whatever 
 adventitious or meritricious circumstances, have 
 gone forth, even if thrown from the point of a 
 shuttle. 
 
 " I consider myself superior to many of my sex, 
 principally in qualities where they all might equal 
 me — in hope, perseverance, content and kindli- 
 ness." 
 
 Thus frankly, but with true modesty, does this 
 singularly gifted young woman close her reminis- 
 cences, without one allusion to her genius, or a 
 complaint that she has only had a few fragments 
 of time to give to the pursuit of literature, which 
 is, in truth, the desire of her heart. 
 
 The greater portioii of all she has written has 
 appeared in the "Offering;" but in 1847 she se- 
 lected from these pieces, and added a few original, 
 making a volume, published in Boston under the 
 title of " Shells from the Strand of the Sea of 
 Genius." In the dedication of this book. Miss 
 Farley touches a string which should make every 
 parental heart vibrate — " To my Father and Mo- 
 ther, who gave me that education which has enli- 
 vened years of labour ; and, while constituting 
 my own happiness, has enabled me to contribute 
 
 658 
 
FA 
 
 to the enjoyment of others." Let those who think 
 education unnecessary for " operatives," consider 
 what it has done for Harriet Farley, and what 
 sweet reward she has rendered to those who train- 
 ed her ! 
 
 Indeed we may truly say, that few poets, philo- 
 sophers, or fine writers, have accomplished half 
 that has been effected by the Editor of the " New 
 England Ofifering." Without unnecessary flou- 
 rishes, we may call the consequences that must 
 follow the impulse she has given to her own order, 
 immense and wonderful. Her energy, her exam- 
 ple, her own life, standing forth to prove her theo- 
 ries, have been of more value than a library of 
 dissertations, to advance intellectual improvement 
 and elevated morality among thousands of the 
 young countrywomen of America now found in 
 the large and constantly increasing class of "fac- 
 tory girls." To submit these unpretending com- 
 positions, written to improve the leisure hours of 
 actual labour, to the rules of criticism, made for 
 those who have been fed upon learning in college 
 halls, or who have lived in an atmosphere of lite- 
 rature, art, and elegance, would be both foolish 
 and ungenerous. Yet this "Offering," the pro- 
 duction wholly of female operatives, is a work of 
 which any country might be justly proud. The 
 good sense, good principles, and useful informa- 
 tion found in its pages, prove the respectable, we 
 may say, dignified, position in which industry and 
 laudable ambition for intellectual culture, may 
 maintain the operative portion of our community. 
 The shocking pictures English writers give us of 
 factory life in their own land, form a painful con- 
 trast to tliis. 
 
 Miss Farley stands at the head of her collabora- 
 ieurs, not only in her capacity of editor, but in 
 her superiority as a writer ; yet she has many and 
 talented assistants, contributors, who deserve to 
 share with her in the honour of this new litera- 
 ture. " Mind among the Spindles," is the title 
 given to a handsome volume, selected from the 
 " Lowell Offering," and published in London in 
 1849. The English critics have acknowledged 
 the merit of the work, and also their astonish- 
 ment at the intellectual progress which it proves 
 the American people to have made. But we do not 
 rate the genius displayed in the " Offering" as 
 constituting a tithe of its merit. It is the moral 
 goodness, the true Gospel sentiment pervading 
 every page which stamps its inestimable value. 
 Rejecting all the fashionable isms of the day, re- 
 sisting all persuasions from those who have striven 
 to draw their journal into the arena of party, 
 these noble-minded young women have been true 
 to their sex and to their Saviour. The " Lowell 
 Offering" was first issued in January, 1841 ; in 
 1843, Miss Harriet F. Curtis, an operative, was 
 associated with Miss Farley in the editorial de- 
 partment, in which she continued two years. We 
 quote the following sound doctrine from the pen 
 of the former — 
 
 "We started with no lance or spear to fight 
 battles, not even our own — our aim was ' to ele- 
 vate the humble, and show that good might come 
 out even of Nazareth.' Individually we have no 
 
 FA 
 
 *., 
 
 sentiments or sympathies in unison with that spirit 
 which would reform its neighbour and leave its 
 own heart the abode of every bitter, malignant 
 passion — which devotes so much time to hunting 
 the mote in a brother's eye, that it has no time to 
 find the beam in its own, and which publishes 
 upon the folds of its banner, that its aim is, to 
 level, not to elevate. We would not pull down the 
 superior to the position of the more humble, but 
 would raise the humble to the elevation of the su- 
 perior. And this, we feel assured, can never be 
 done but by the moral means of education, and 
 the all-pervading influence of true Christianity." 
 
 But we must return to the subject of our sketch. 
 The following are from Miss Farley's writings. 
 
 From " The Lowell Offering.'' 
 THE WINDOW DAKKENED. 
 
 I had a lovely view from my window, but it was 
 not of a level landscape, nor a group of towering 
 hills ; it was neither city nor country exclusively, 
 but a combination of both. I looked from the 
 central street of a city across a narrow strip of 
 vacant land, divided by a quiet stream, to a slope, 
 covered with the residences of those who prefer 
 the comparative stillness of the suburb to the 
 bustle of the heart of a city. ' 
 
 It was like a beautiful picture — that glittering 
 panorama — when the sunshine flashed back from 
 the whitened dwellings, as they rose one above 
 another upon the green amphitheatre — the man- 
 sions more distinct and more splendid as they ap- 
 proached the summit of the hUl, and but two or 
 three magnificent dwellings graced like a radiant 
 crown its verdant brow. Yes, it was beautiful in 
 the glorious sunlight, when countless windows 
 flashed forth a diamond radiance, but just as 
 lovely, though more subdued in the influence of 
 its charms, in the grey twilight, or at eve, or 
 moonlit night. 
 
 I have watched the footsteps of Night, as she 
 crept slowly up the hill, her dark shadow falling 
 before her, until the roof-tree of the highest man- 
 sion lay hid beneath her shroud. And then the 
 moon, like a gentle conqueror, stole placidly above 
 the brightening horizon, and Night awoke to smiles 
 and peace. She lifted her shroud from the fair 
 earth, and a gentle day had dawned upon the 
 world. Another day — yes, for that was no time 
 to sleep — it was no night — while so soft, so exqui- 
 site a brilliance bathed that congregated mass of 
 life and beauty. 
 
 My window ! — it was my only constant compa- 
 nion. It told me of sunshine and of storm; it 
 heralded the morn, and warned me of the waning 
 light of day. It gave me, gratis, a ticket to that 
 picture-gallery, where my eye wandered on an in- 
 voluntary, though oft-repeated, tour of pleasure. 
 
 My window ! — it has taught me much in quiet 
 pantomime; and its lessons did not weary, for 
 they were ever varying, and ever new. 
 
 My window ! — it gave me light for constant oc- 
 cupations — it gave me daily bread with the plea- 
 sure and instruction which it afforded me, and my 
 windov) was to be darkened. 
 
 I have alluded to the narrow waste beyond the 
 
 659 
 
PA. 
 
 FA 
 
 stream. My window told me that tliere was to be 
 laid the foundation of a mighty structure. It was 
 a sad tale to hear, but, as if to make amends, my 
 window each day exhibited an actiye, bustling and 
 novel scene, such as it had not shown me before. 
 There were shouting crowds of men, digging deep 
 the trenches for the foundation stones, and boats 
 came up the monotonous stream with the solid 
 granite for their freight. This continued so long 
 that I almost wearied of my window's show ; but 
 after a time it was over, and the walls were com- 
 menced. Now boats came up the stream laden 
 with brick, and huge red piles arose upon its 
 banks. The red walls arose. — red, the colour of 
 the conqueror — and they proclaimed a victory 
 over my pleasures. With one story of the great 
 fabric was screened from me whole streets of plea- 
 sant dwellings. The early sunrise was gone — the 
 blush of morn — those brilliant clouds, the orphans 
 of departed Night, and happy wards of coming 
 day. The first soft glance of moonlight was for- 
 ever hid, and it seemed as though my best trea- 
 sures were taken from me. But I clung more 
 fervently to those which were left, and the more 
 tenaciously as I saw them departing. This beau- 
 tiful dwelling, and that majestic tree, were never 
 to me so lovely as when they were shut from my 
 window's view. Then I began to measure with 
 my eye the scene, and to calculate how long I 
 should retain this or that beauty, and what might 
 remain at the last. The church spire — that I 
 should always have — and those highest houses, 
 and the brow of the hill. But no ! I had not cal- 
 culated wisely. They began to recede from me — 
 for the huge building rose still higher and higher. 
 Men walked around the scaffoldings, as of old they 
 patrolled the ramparts of some giant castle, and 
 at night the unfinished walls, relieved against the 
 dark sky, might well remind a reader of romance 
 of the descriptions of ancient chateaux, with their 
 high massive turreted walls. 
 
 Higher, higher still, arose the fabric. The 
 mansions were gone — the church — the brow of 
 the hill — and at last the very tip of the spire was 
 taken from me. Oh ! how was my window dark- 
 ened! — but not quite dark, for there still was 
 light from the skies above. 
 
 And thus, methought, it is in life. We look, 
 with the eye of youth, through Hope's magical 
 window, upon a fair world. Earth lies like a 
 glorious panorama before us. Our own path leads 
 on at first like the crowded street, amidst the hum 
 of business, but it soon stretches forward to the 
 place where lie combined the pleasures and leisure 
 of the country. Yes, our anticipated life seems 
 like that brilliant amphitheatre, crowded and ex- 
 citing at first, but more quiet, more imposing and 
 beautiful, as we look upward. The minor details 
 of the scenery are not carefully scanned. We look 
 not at the narrow dusty paths through which we 
 must trace our steps, nor at the stones against 
 which we may often dash our feet, nor the intru- 
 ders who will dispute our way. We consider not 
 that we may falter, or faint, or fall ; and there is 
 always at the top of the hill some mansion which 
 is to us the temple of riches, fame and pleasure. 
 
 But while we look upon the scene, it sinks from 
 our view. The stern realities of life arise before 
 us like the brick-built wall, and we see the prose 
 where we have before but witnessed the poetry of 
 this world's scenes. 
 
 We know that our pleasures are passing away — 
 that our window is darkening — but we think that 
 the tallest trees, the highest mansions, the summit 
 of the hill, will yet be left. But sterner and higher 
 still arises the wall before us. One hope after 
 another is gone — one pleasure after another has 
 been taken away — one image after another, which 
 has been lovely to our eye, and dear to our heart, 
 has forever disappeared. The church-spire, with 
 its heaven-pointing finger, leaves us last. But 
 finally it has been taken, and we must turn to 
 whatever temple we may have prepared within. 
 
 How has the scene changed ! How is our win- 
 dow darkened ! Yet we grope not in utter dark- 
 ness, for there still is light from the heavens above. 
 We are subdued — with hearts rightly attuned not 
 miserable. We look forward less, but npward 
 more. We are more peaceful, if less joyful ; and 
 we transfer the bright pictures, which the window 
 has daguerreotyped upon our memories, to another 
 and more enduring world. We think that had the 
 wall been still higher — had it encircled us yet 
 more closely, there would still have been light 
 above ; and, unless, Heaven itself is shut from our 
 view, there will be bright starbeams, and calm 
 moonlight, and blessed sunshine, coming down, 
 and struggling towards us through the darkened 
 window. 
 
 CEAI, GENTLT. 
 
 *' Can you name her now so lightly! 
 Once the idol of you all : — 
 When a star has shone so brightly, 
 Can you glory in its fall?" T. Moore. 
 
 There were loud voices in Madam Bradshaw's 
 little sitting-room : tones of anger, derision, and 
 reproach, uttering words of detraction. Madam 
 sat silently listening to her young visitors, but 
 her brow contracted, and her lips compressed, as 
 harsh feelings seemed to strengthen by an open 
 expression of them. She remembered that just 
 one year before this Sophy Melton had come to 
 visit her, with the same young ladies who were 
 now paying her their annual visit. 
 
 Madam Bradshaw was the widow of the old vil- 
 lage clergyman; who, when he died, left her poor, 
 though not destitute. In the parish she had been 
 much respected and beloved, and there was no 
 fear that Madam would ever be left to want, among 
 so many friends. They had a very delicate way 
 of bestowing their bounty, and made several an- 
 nual parties ; when they went to the old parson- 
 age always " carrying their welcome." The chil- 
 dren went when her cherries were ripe ; the mar- 
 ried ladies, at Thanksgiving time, bringing their 
 bounties ; the elderly spinsters — considerate souls 
 — just after Fast, and did her spring cleaning for 
 her, and replenished her exhausted winter stores. 
 The misses came when her roses were in blossom, 
 and her front garden was one little wilderness of 
 fragrant beauty. Then they did up her summer 
 
 660 
 
FA 
 
 FE 
 
 caps, collars, and neckerchiefs, and saw that her 
 wardrobe needed no addition. 
 
 Among those who came with the roses, " her- 
 self a fairer flower," had been Sophy Melton ; but 
 this year she was absent, and Madam missed her 
 bright smile and sweet voice. The morning was 
 busily passed by the girls in washing, starching, 
 and ironing — the afternoon in mending and mak- 
 ing for the good old lady. 
 
 But now the sewing was all done, the tea-table 
 had been nicely cleared away, and, as twilight 
 came on, the girls sat in the old parlour talking of 
 their past and future annual Yisits. How they 
 loTed this old room — the old pictures in their 
 heavy frames — the dark mahogany, polished to 
 the brightness of crystal — the worn and faded but 
 spotless carpet, the old china, as perfect as ever — 
 the well kept silver, and her store of curiosities, 
 as curious as ever. Then there were her por- 
 traits, upon which they all loved to gaze. There 
 was the old pastor himself, looking at them from 
 the canvass as benignly as he had ever done from 
 the pulpit. There was the son, who had goie a 
 missionary to foreign lands, and left name and 
 fame, if nought else, to his fond mother. There 
 was the noble boy, too, who left his mother for a 
 long voyage to the Arctic seas, and was never 
 heard of more. There was the mild but steadfast 
 daughter, who had gone to the far West, and laid 
 down her life in that home missionary enterprise, 
 the education of the young. The girls loved to 
 look upon those relics, and feel, awakening in 
 themselves, aspirations for that excellence which 
 had been embodied and lived by those who had 
 now passed away. 
 
 Perhaps they imagined they were showing re- 
 spect for virtue by their severe remarks upon 
 Sophy Melton ; but Madam Bradshaw was evi- 
 dently displeased. At length she spoke : 
 
 " Can you name her now so lightly ?" &c. 
 
 The girls were abashed for a moment. 
 
 But Caroline Freeman replied, " Ma' Bradshaw, 
 I have not yet spoken ; but I have not attempted 
 to stop my friends, for it has always appeared to 
 me that the reproach of the good was but the just 
 penalty for this violation of the laws of virtue. 
 Sophy's error has not brought upon her poverty, 
 pain, or any diminution of the physical enjoyments 
 of life. If her friends must still, from motives of 
 compassion or philanthropy, countenance her, 
 where is the punishment society should inflict for 
 contempt of its opinions ?" 
 
 " I asked you not to countenance her, or asso- 
 ciate with her, not to speak lightly of her sin, or 
 accustom yourselves to think of it as a venial 
 error ; but, my dear girls, I only beg of you to 
 deal gently. Let compassion, rather than resent- 
 ment, influence your thoughts of her. I have seen 
 anger where I would have beheld grief. More- 
 over, may there not be too much self-confidence 
 exhibited in such remarks ? You place yourselves 
 among the good. Sophy has perhaps once thought 
 herself as good, as safe as either of you. She was 
 the most beautiful, the most fascinating of you all, 
 therefore, the most tried and tempted. Be not 
 
 angry with me, when I bid you ask yourselves 
 whether there is not a little gratified envy in all 
 these aspersions of your fallen sister ; whether 
 there is not a slight feeling of triumph, that the 
 first has now become the last ; that she who was 
 greatest is now the least among you?" 
 
 "0, Ma' Bradshaw! deal gently y^iih. us. We 
 never envied her ; we were proud that one so 
 beautiful, and, as we thought, so good, was of our 
 little band. We do not rejoice, we mourn that the 
 most beautiful star is lost from our little constel- 
 lation. But, how are we to show our hatred of 
 wickedness, unless we speak severely of sin ? 
 Were we to speak mildly of this fault, might we 
 not be misunderstood ? You must remember that 
 our principles have not been tested by a long life, 
 as our dear Ma' Bradshaw's have been." 
 
 "" My dear girls," said Madam, " do not think 
 there is no better way of showing your detestation 
 of sin than by reproach or vituperation of the fel- 
 low-being who has fallen into it. Keep your own 
 garments spotless, your own hearts clean, your 
 own hands unstained, and then fear not that your 
 commiseration of the sinful and guilty will ever 
 be misunderstood — that pity will be mistaken for 
 sympathy, that kindness will be thought weakness. 
 Never fear, with a clear conscience and a firm 
 heart, to deal gently. 
 
 FERRIER, MARY, 
 
 Was born in Edinburgh. Her father, James 
 Ferrier, Esq., was a writer to the Signet, " one of 
 Sir Walter Scott's brethren of the clerk's table ;" 
 and the great novelist, at the conclusion of the 
 "Tales of my Landlord," alluded to his "sister 
 shadow," the author of "the very lively work en- 
 titled Marriage," as one of the labourers capable 
 of gathering in the large harvest of Scottish cha- 
 racter and fiction. In his private diary. Sir Walter 
 has thus jotted down his reminiscences of Miss 
 Ferrier: — "She is a gifted personage, having, 
 besides her great talents, conversation the least 
 exigeante of any author, female at least, whom I 
 have ever seen, among the long list I have encoun- 
 tered ; simple, full of humour, and exceedingly 
 ready at repartee ; and all this without the least 
 afi'ectation of the blue-stocking." Commenting on 
 this, Mr. Chambers, in his " Cyclopaedia of Lite- 
 rature," thus endorses the opinion of the great 
 novelist : — " This is high praise ; but the readers 
 of Miss Ferrier's novels will at once recognise it 
 as characteristic, and exactly what they would 
 have anticipated. Miss Ferrier is a Scottish Miss 
 Edgeworth — of a lively, practical, penetrating cast 
 of mind ; skilful in depicting character, and seizing 
 upon national peculiarities ; caustic in her wit and 
 humour, with a quick sense of the ludicrous ; and 
 desirous of inculcating sound morality and atten- 
 tion to the courtesies and charities of life. la 
 some passages, indeed, she evinces a deep reli- 
 gious feeling, approaching to the evangelical views 
 of Hannah More ; but the general strain of her 
 writing relates to the foibles and oddities of man- 
 kind, and no one has drawn them with greater 
 breadth of comic humour or effect. Her scenes 
 often resemble the style of our best old comedies, 
 
 661 
 
FE 
 
 FE 
 
 and she may boast, like Foote, of adding many 
 new and original characters to the stock of our 
 comic literature." 
 
 " Marriage," the first work of Miss Ferrier, was 
 published in 1818. " The Inheritance" appeared 
 in 1824, and " Destiny, or the Chief's Daughter," 
 in 1831 — all novels in three volumes each. It is 
 rather strange that, as all these works were suc- 
 cessful, the author has never tried another venture 
 in literature. She resides chiefly in Edinburgh, 
 where she is highly honoured. Mr. Chambers, 
 from whom we have before quoted, pays a just and 
 elegant tribute to her genius ; his opinion of her 
 merits coincides entirely with our own, and as he 
 is the best judge of her Scotticisms, we subjoin 
 his remarks. 
 
 "Miss Ferrier's first work is a complete gallery 
 of new and original characters. The plot is ve'ry 
 inartificial ; but after the first twenty pages, when 
 Douglas conducts his pampered and selfish Lady 
 Juliana to Qlenfern castle, the interest never flags. 
 The three maiden aunts at Glenfern — Miss Jacky, 
 who was all over sense, the universal manager and 
 detector, Miss Grizzy, the letter-writer, and Miss 
 Nicky, who was not wanting for sense either, are 
 an inimitable family group. Mrs. Violet Mac- 
 shake, the last remaining branch of the noble race 
 of Girnaohgowl, is a representative of the old hard- 
 featured, close-handed, proud, yet kind-hearted 
 Scottish matron, vigorous and sarcastic at the age 
 of ninety, and despising all modern manners and 
 innovations. Then there is the sentimental Mrs. 
 Gaffaw, who had weak nerves and headaches ; was 
 .above managing her house, read novels, dyed rib- 
 bons, and altered her gowns according to every 
 pattern she could see or hear of. There is a shade 
 of caricature in some of these female portraits, not- 
 withstanding the explanation of the authoress that 
 they lived at a time when Scotland was very dif- 
 ferent from what it is now — when female educa- 
 tion was little attended to, even in families of the 
 highest rank ; and, consequently, the ladies of 
 those days possessed a raciness in their manners 
 and ideas that we should vainly seek for in this 
 age of cultivation and refinement. It is not only, 
 however, in satirizing the foibles of her own sex 
 that Miss Ferrier displays such original talent 
 and humour. Dr. Kedgill, a medical hanger-on 
 and diner-out, is a gourmand of the first class, 
 who looks upon bad dinners to be the source of 
 much of the misery we hear of in the married 
 life, and who compares a woman's reputation to 
 a beefsteak — 'if once breathed upon, 'tis good 
 for nothing.' Many sly satirical touches occur 
 throughout the work. In one of Miss Grizzy's 
 letters, we hear of a Major MacTavish, of the 
 militia, who, independent of his rank, which 
 Grizzy thought was very high, distinguished him- 
 self, and showed the greatest bravery once when 
 there was a very serious riot about the raising the 
 potatoes a penny a peck, when there was no occa- 
 sion for It, in the town of Dunoon. We are told, 
 also, that country visits should seldom exceed 
 three days — the rest day, the dressed day, and the 
 pressed day. There is a great shrewdness and 
 knowledge of human nature in the manner in 
 
 which the three aunts got over their sorrow for 
 the death of their father, the old laird. ' They 
 sighed and mourned for a time, but soon found 
 occupation congenial to their nature in the little 
 department of life : dressing crape ; reviving black 
 silk ; converting narrow hems into broad hems ; 
 and, in short, who so busy, so important, as the 
 ladies of Glenfern ? ' 
 
 " Aware, perhaps, of the defective outline or 
 story of her first novel, Miss Ferrier has bestowed 
 much more pains on the construction of the ' In- 
 heritance.' It is too complicated for an analysis 
 in this place ; but we may mention that it is con- 
 nected with high life and a wide range of cha- 
 racters, the heroine being a young lady born in 
 France, and heiress to a splendid estate and peer- 
 age in Scotland, to which, after various adven- 
 tures and reverses, she finally succeeds. The tale 
 is well arranged and developed. Its chief attrac- 
 tion, however, consists in the delineation of cha- 
 racters. Uncle Adam and Miss Pratt — the former 
 a touchy, sensitive, rich East Indian, and the latter 
 another of Miss Ferrier's inimitable old maids — 
 are among the best of the portraits ; but the 
 canvass is full of happy and striking sketches. 
 ' Destiny' is connected with Highland scenery and 
 Highland manners, but is far from romantic. 
 Miss Ferrier is as human and as discerning in her 
 tastes and researches as Miss Edgeworth. The 
 chief, Glenroy, is proud and irascible, spoiled by 
 the fawning of his inferiors, and in his family 
 circle is generous without kindness, and profuse 
 without benevolence. The Highland minister, Mr. 
 Duncan MacDow, is an amiable character, though 
 no very prepossessing specimen of the country 
 pastor, and, either in his single or married state, 
 is sufficiently amusing. Edith, the heroine, is a 
 sweet and gentle creation, and there is strong 
 feeling and passion in some of the scenes. In the 
 case of masculine intellects, like those of the au- 
 thoress of ' Marriage' and the great Irish novelist, 
 the progress of years seems to impart greater 
 softness and sensibility, and call forth all the 
 gentler affections." 
 
 From "Destiny; or, the Chief's Daughter." 
 A BUSTLINO WIFE. 
 
 Why Mr. Malcolm had married Mrs. Malcolm 
 was one of those mysteries which had baflled all 
 conjecture, for she had neither beauty, money, 
 connexions, talents, accomplishments, nor common 
 sense. Not that she was ugly, for she would have 
 looked very well in a toy-shop window. She had 
 pink cheeks, blue eyes, and a set of neat yellow 
 curls ranged round her brow. She was much 
 younger than her husband, and looked still more 
 juvenile than she really was, for not all the con- 
 tempt and obloquy that had been poured upon her 
 for upwards of twenty years had ever made her 
 change either countenance or colour ; in fact, she 
 had neither passions, feelings, nerves — scarcely 
 sensations. She seemed precisely one of those 
 whom nature had destined to "suckle fools and 
 chronicle small-beer ;" but fate had denied her 
 the fools, and Inch Orrau had debarred her from 
 all interference even with the small-beer ; for such 
 
 662 
 
FE 
 
 FE 
 
 was Ms contempt for the sex in general, and for 
 liis own portion of it in particular, that he deemed 
 a woman quite incompetent to regulate a house- 
 hold. His domestic concerns were therefore con- 
 ducted ostensibly by himself, but virtually by his 
 fat serving-man, who was his foster-brother, and 
 had been his factotum long before he married. 
 Even his dress, to the most minute article, was 
 all of Simon's providing. Simon alone knew to a 
 hair the cut and colour of his wig, the pattern of 
 his pocket-handkerchiefs, the texture of his shirts 
 and neckcloths, the precise latitude and longitude 
 of his flannel waistcoats, with various other par- 
 ticulars incident to a particular man. Now, the 
 chief occupation of Mrs. Malcolm's life was trail- 
 ing from shop to shop, in search of anything or 
 nothing, and she would have liked to have the 
 dressing of Mr. Malcolm for the pleasure of buy- 
 ing bargains for him. She had therefore attempted 
 to wrest this privilege out of Simon's hands, but 
 in vain ; she had picked up a pennyworth of a wig, 
 which she said "looked remarkably neat on the 
 head," but which Simon turned up his nose at, 
 and his master threw into the fire. She had hag- 
 gled till she was hoarse about a dozen of cotton 
 pocket-handkerchiefs, which, after all, Simon pro- 
 nounced to be perfectly useless, as they were of 
 the diamond pattern, and his master would not 
 blow his nose with anything but a spot. Her im- 
 provements upon flannel jackets had very nearly 
 caused a formal separation, and from that time 
 her active energies not being permitted to exercise 
 themselves either upon her household aifairs or 
 her husband's wardrobe, had centered entirely in 
 her own person. She lived in a perpetual, weak, 
 impotent bustle about nothing, spent her money 
 in buying hoards of useless clothes, and her time 
 in looking at them, folding and unfolding them, 
 airing them, locking them up, protecting them 
 from the moths in summer, and mildew in winter, 
 and so on. To crown the whole, she set up for 
 being a sensible woman, and talked maudlin non- 
 sense by the yard ; for she was one of those who 
 would ask if the sea produced corn, rather than 
 hold her tongue. Here it may be remarked, that 
 it requires a great deal of mind to be silent at the 
 right time and place. True, there are some few 
 gifted individuals, whose conversation flows like a 
 continued stream, fertilizing all around, enriching 
 others without impoverishing themselves ; but how 
 different from the idle chatter of empty heads, 
 whose only sounds are caused by their own hol- 
 lowness ! " Two things there are indicative of a 
 weak mind," says Saadi, the Persian sage, " to be 
 silent when it is proper to speak, and to apeak 
 when it is proper to be silent." Such was the 
 helpmate of Inch Orran. 
 
 " I am happy to see you, gentlemen," said she, 
 in her little tiresome croaking voice; "indeed I 
 am thankful to see anybody, for this is such a 
 lonely out-of-the-way place. I was just saying 
 this morning, what an improvement a town would 
 be on the water-side ; it would be a great orna- 
 ment, and of great use in making a stir, and giv- 
 ing employment to poor people, and very conve- 
 nient too. I 'm surprised it has never struck any 
 
 body to set such a thing a-going, when there 's 
 such a want of employment for the poor." 
 
 " Rome was not built in a day, you know, 
 ma'am," said the facetious Mr. M'Dow, with one 
 of his loud laughs : " but if you will use your in- 
 fluence with Inch Orran, and prevail upon him to 
 begin, there 's no saying where it may end" — an- 
 other peal — " and I hope the kirk and the manse 
 will not be forgot, Inch Orran." 
 
 " Still less the stipend, sir," said Inch Orran, 
 with one of his vicious sneers. 
 
 " I '11 answer for it the stipend will no get leave 
 to be forgot," returned the incorrigible Mr. M'Dow, 
 with one of his loudest roars ; " you may trust the 
 minister for keeping you in mind of that." 
 
 "I believe I may, sir." 
 
 "And let it be a good one at the first. Inch 
 Orran, that he may not have such a battle to fight 
 for his augmentation as I have had. I really 
 think the Teind Court has taken an entire wrong 
 view of the subject there, or they would have 
 given me the decreet at once. You 'U no go along 
 with me there, Glenroy." 
 
 But Glenroy disdained to reply ; so the little 
 old man said, " It was the saying, sir, of one of 
 the wisest, judges who ever sat upon the Scottish 
 bench, that a poor clergy made a pure clergy — a 
 maxim which deserves to be engraven in letters 
 of gold on every manse in Scotland." 
 
 "Deed, then, I can tell you. Inch Orran,' the 
 gold would be very soon picket off," returned Mr. 
 M'Dow, with redoubled bursts of laughter. " Na, 
 na, you must keep the gold for your fine English 
 Episcopalian palaces, where it's no so scarce as 
 it 's among us ;" and Mr. M'Dow perfectly revelled 
 in the delight of this jm d' esprit. Mrs. Malcolm 
 now struck in. "I 'm quite tormented with these 
 midges. I don't think they '11 leave the skin upon 
 me. I wish they would bite you, Mr. Malcolm." 
 
 SUNDAY. 
 
 The next day was Sunday — day of rest to the 
 poor and the toil-worn — of weariness to the rich 
 and the idle. Ah ! little do they enter into the 
 feehngs of many who look forward to this day as 
 the day when even the "wicked cease from trou- 
 bling, and the weary are at rest," as the day bless- 
 ed and hallowed to those on whom rests, in its full 
 force, the primeval command, " Six days shalt 
 thou labour ;" and which makes the Sabbath lovely 
 in the sight 
 
 "Of blessed angels, pitying human cares;" 
 
 as the day when heavenly truths are proclaimed 
 alike to all from the prince to the beggar ; from 
 the man of grey hairs standing on the threshold 
 of the grave, to the young who have lately entered 
 the arena of this life ; — there, in the house of God, 
 " the rich and the poor meet together ;" and there 
 they are reminded of those impressive truths, so 
 humbling to the haughty, so elevating to the lowly 
 — "that the Lord is the maker of them all," and 
 that one day they shall stand before his judgment- 
 seat, without respect of persons, to "receive the 
 reward of the deeds done in the body." On that 
 day, how many a sorrowing heart can more freely 
 
 663 
 
\ 
 
 FE 
 
 pour forth its griefs to that gracious ear which is 
 ever open to the cry of the afflicted ! 
 
 DISAPPOINTED LOVE. 
 
 And now Edith felt as though her destiny was 
 sealed. Never more, did it seem, could her heart 
 awaken to the love of aught that life could be- 
 stow. The idol her imagination had fashioned 
 had fallen ; but even while it lay in shivers at her 
 feet, still her fond, credulous heart had uncon- 
 sciously hovered amid the broken fragments, in 
 the vain hope that the image it had so adored 
 might again rise, to receive the homage of a still 
 enslaved soul. But now it had turned to very dust 
 and ashes in her sight — now the illusion was dis- 
 pelled, and the selfish, hollow character of her 
 lover appeared in its true colours. It was then a 
 purer light dawned upon the darkness of her 
 spirit. She now discerned that the image of the 
 creature had held that place in her heart, and 
 exercised that sway over her mind which belonged 
 only to the Creator. The enchantment of life was 
 then indeed dissolved, but what heir of immor- 
 tality would wish to remain the dupe of this 
 world's enchantments ? 
 
 * * * # * 
 
 Edith felt as all must feel, more or less, at the 
 breaking of so dear and sacred a tie. Friendship 
 and love, dear and holy affections as they may be, 
 are the affections we ourselves have formed and 
 chosen — we can look back upon the time when as 
 yet they were not, and their existence was not 
 linked with ours ; but from the first dawn of con- 
 sciousness, it was a parent's love that beamed 
 upon our hearts, and awakened all their best and 
 holiest sympathies. Friends may meet as stran- 
 gers — the tenderest bands of love, even wedded 
 love, may be broken — but 'tis God himself who 
 has formed that one indissoluble bond which nei- 
 ther human power nor human frailty ever can 
 dissolve. 
 
 SUDDEN POVEETY. 
 
 It is not those who have been born and bred in 
 affluence who can all at once comprehend the na- 
 ture of absolute poverty — those who have been 
 accustomed to will their every gratification can ill 
 conceive the privations of want — the shifts and 
 expedients of fallen fortune — the difficulty which 
 the mind has to contract its desires, and the habits 
 of self-indulgence and luxury which have to be 
 overcome or annihilated ; in short, no things differ 
 more than abstract and actual poverty. 
 
 SECOND LOVE. 
 
 How like a dream, a vision of the night, did 
 this brief and passing scene appear to Edith ! — 
 Again and again she asked herself, could it be that 
 . the lost, the lamented, had thus, as it were, started 
 into life — that the loved companion of her childish 
 days was now the chosen of her matured affec- 
 tions ? And these affections, had they been lightly 
 transferred — could affections, once so blighted as 
 hers had been, ever again revive, and own a se- 
 cond spring ? Was it indeed love that she now 
 owned and felt ? Oh, how different from that 
 
 FO 
 
 which had cast its dazzling and delusive glare 
 over her young imagination, and tinged so many 
 of the radiant years of youth with colours fair, 
 'tis true, but fading as the tints of the rainbow ! 
 
 Love had formerly been a sentiment — a false, 
 narrow, exclusive sentiment — shared only by the 
 object which inspired it; now, it was a noble, 
 generous, diffusive principle, which glowed in her 
 heart, and sought to impart a portion of its own 
 blessedness around. She had loved Reginald, as 
 she could have loved anything that fancy had 
 painted to her as fair and fascinating. She had 
 invested him with every noble and generous attri- 
 bute which the young and imaginative so lavishly 
 bestow on those they love. But the illusion had 
 long since been dispelled, never again to gather 
 over her heart. Again she loved, but by a light 
 which could not deceive ; by that divine light 
 which taught her not to love the mere perishing 
 idol of life's passing hour, but the immortal being 
 with whose soul her own might joy to claim kin- 
 dred throughout eternity. And the dear ones who 
 still mourned his loss — Oh, theirs would be rap- 
 ture almost to agony ! But she dared not allow 
 her thoughts to dwell on such a theme. 
 
 FOLLEN, ELIZA LEE, 
 Whose maiden-name was Cabott, was born in 
 Boston, Mass. In 1828, she married Charles Fol- 
 len, a native of Germany, and Professor of the 
 German language and literature in Harvard Col- 
 lege. He was lost or perished in the conflagra- 
 tion of the Lexington, January 13th, 1840. Mrs. 
 Follen is a well-known writer. Her principal 
 works are — "Sketches of Married Life," "The 
 Skeptic," and a " Life of Charles Follen," pub- 
 lished in 1844. She has also edited the works of 
 her late husband, in four volumes, besides con- 
 tributing to various literary periodicals, and has 
 written a volume of Poems, which appeared in 
 1839. And, moreover, she has prepared several 
 books for the young ; her talents as an educator 
 being, perhaps, more successful than in lite- 
 rary pursuits. Mrs. Follen, on the death of her 
 lamented husband, was left to provide for the 
 education of their only child, a son, of nine or ten 
 years of age. She resolved to conduct the in- 
 struction of her son, and receiving into her homo 
 a few boys, sons of her beloved and true friends, 
 as companions for her child and pupils of her care, 
 she fitted these youths for Harvard University. 
 Such honourable exertions to perform faithfully 
 the duty of father as well as mother to her son, 
 demand a warmer tribute of praise than the 
 highest genius, disconnected from usefulness, can 
 ever claim for a Christian woman. 
 
 From "Poems." 
 
 THE EXILED STRANOBK. 
 
 Hark ! what sweetly solemn sound 
 
 Rises on the morning air? 
 Shedding gentle peace around, 
 
 And stilling busy earthly care. 
 
 The mighty city holds its breath. 
 
 As the sacred music swells; 
 And discord dies a transient death, 
 
 While listening to those Sahbath bells. 
 664 
 
FO 
 
 FU 
 
 Hearts that liad forgot to pray. 
 
 Eyes that had been fixed below, 
 Now look to Heaven, and ask the way, 
 
 As to the house of God they go. 
 
 But there is one who hears those notes, 
 To whom like angels' songs they seem ; 
 
 O'er whose glad soul the music floats, 
 Like memory of a youthful dream ; — 
 
 Far from his well-loved fatlier-land, 
 From early friends, and blessed home, 
 
 Chased by the tyrant's bloody hand, 
 An exiled stranger, doomed to roam : 
 
 In freedom's land a home to find. 
 He hastens o'er the dark blue sea, 
 
 Leaving each youthful joy behind. 
 And asking only to be free. 
 
 And now the blessed tones he hears 
 Of those soft, soothing Sabbath bells; 
 
 And as the shore the vessel nears, 
 
 More full and strong the anthem swells. 
 
 And as he hears the solemn sound. 
 He leaps with rapture on the shore : 
 
 He feels he stands on holy ground ; 
 Feels that his perils are all o'er. 
 
 And see, amidst the gazing crowd, 
 Unheeding all, he 's kneeling there : 
 
 To the free earth his head is bowed ; 
 His full wrapt soul is lost in prayer. 
 
 That prayer shall not be breathed in vain ; 
 
 Nor vain the sacrifice be made : 
 There is a Hand will give again 
 
 The wreath that's on his altar laid. 
 
 WINTEE SCENES IN THE COUNTRY. 
 
 The short, dull, rainy day drew to a close ; 
 
 No gleam burst forth upon the western hills, 
 
 With smiling promise of a brighter day. 
 
 Dressing the leafless woods with golden light ; 
 
 But the dense fog hung its dark curtain round. 
 
 And the unceasing rain poured like a torrent on. 
 
 The wearied inmates of the house draw near 
 
 The cheerful fire; the shutters all are closed; 
 
 A brightening look spreads round, that seems to say. 
 
 Now let the darkness and the rain prevail ; 
 
 Here all is bright ! How beautiful is the sound 
 
 Of the descending rain ! how soft the wind 
 
 Through the wet branches of the drooping elms ! 
 
 But hark! far off, beyond the sheltering hills 
 
 Is heard the gathering tempest's distant swell, 
 
 Threatening the peaceful valley ere it comes. 
 
 The stream that glided through its pebbly way 
 
 To its own sweet music, now roars hoarsely on ; 
 
 The woods send forth a deep and heavy sigh; 
 
 The gentle south has ceased ; the rude northwest. 
 
 Rejoicing in his strength, comes rushing forth. 
 
 The rain is changed into a driving sleet, 
 
 And when the fitful wind a moment lulls. 
 
 The feathery snow, almost inaudible. 
 
 Falls on the window-panes as soft and still 
 
 As the light brushings of an angel's wings, 
 
 Or the sweet visitings of quiet thoughts 
 
 'Midst the wild tumult of this stormy life. 
 
 The tightened strings of nature's ceaseless harp 
 
 Send forth a shrill and piercing melody. 
 
 As the full swell returns. The night comes on, 
 
 And sleep upon this little world of ours, 
 
 Spreads out her sheltering, healing wings ; and man - 
 
 The heaven-inspired soul of this fair earth, 
 
 The bold interpreter of nature's voice, 
 
 Giving a language even to the stars — 
 
 Unconscious of the throbbings of his heart, — 
 
 Is still ; and all unheeded is the storm. 
 
 Save by the wakeful few who love the night ; 
 
 Those pure and active spirits that are placed 
 
 As guards o'er wayward man ; they who show forth 
 
 God's holy image on the soul impressed, 
 
 They listen to the music of the storm, 
 
 And hold high converse with the unseen world ; ' 
 They wake, and watch, and pray, while othe b sleep. 
 
 The stormy night has passed; the eastern clouds 
 Glow with the morning's ray ; but who shall tell 
 The peerless glories of this winter day ? 
 Nature has put her jewels on, one blaze 
 Of sparkling light and ever-varying hues 
 Bursts on the enraptured sight. 
 The smallest twig with brilliants hangs its head ; 
 The graceful elm and all the forest trees 
 Have on a crystal coat of mail, and seem 
 All decked and tricked out for a holiday, 
 And every stone shines in its wreath of gems. 
 The pert, familiar robin, as he flies 
 From spray to spray, showers diamonds around. 
 And moves in rainbow light where'er he goes. 
 The universe looks glad ; but words are vain,' 
 To paint the wonders of the splendid show. 
 The heart exults with uncontrolled delight. 
 The glorious pageant slowly moves away, 
 As the sun sinks behind the western hills. 
 So fancy, for a short and fleeting day, 
 May shed upon the cold and barren earth 
 Her bright enchantments and her dazzling hues ; 
 And thus they melt and fade away, and leave 
 A cold and dull reality behind. 
 
 But see where in the clear, unclouded sky, 
 The crescent moon, with calm and sweet rebuke, 
 Doth charm away the spirit of complaint. 
 Her tender light falls on the snow-clad hills. 
 Like the pure thoughts that angels might bestow 
 Upon this world of beauty, and of sin, 
 That mingle not with that whereon they rest ; — 
 So should immortal spirits dwell below. 
 There is a holy influence in the moon, ■ 
 And in the countless hosts of silent stars. 
 The heart cannot resist : its passions sleep, 
 And all is still ; save that which shall awake 
 When all this vast and fair creation sleeps. 
 
 FULLER, SARAH MARGARET,* 
 
 Was the daughter of Timothy Fuller, a member 
 of the Boston bar, but a resident of Cambridge, 
 Massachusetts, where Margaret was born. From 
 1817 until 1825, Mr. Fuller was sent to Congress, 
 representative of the district of Middlesex. At 
 the close of these political duties, he retired from 
 his profession and settled in the country as an 
 agriculturist ; soon afterwards he died. 
 
 Margaret was the oldest child of the family, and 
 at an early age evinced remarkable aptitude for 
 study ; it became her father's pride and pleasure 
 to cultivate her intellect to the utmost degree. We 
 are told that his tasks were often oppressive, and 
 that her juvenile brain was taxed to the disad- 
 vantage of her physical healthy development. 
 Most particularly did the father instruct his 
 daughter in the learning he considered of the 
 first importance — the classic tongues. An ac- 
 quaintance with these, subsequently led her to 
 study the modern languages, and Miss Fuller 
 was, from her youth, distinguished for her extra- 
 ordinary philological accomplishments. Of course, 
 the German literature exercised a potent sway 
 over her taste and genius ; such influence being 
 now-a-days too common, with both adepts and 
 dabblers in learning, to excite wonder. Yet why 
 is this enthusiasm for German ? this peculiar reve- 
 rence for its unpronounceable vocabularies, and 
 
 * We give the name by which only she was known in 
 America; and we give her a place among the living, where 
 she was numbered when our Third Era was completed. 
 Her death can hardly yet be realized : she seems only to 
 have withdrawn, not passed away forever 
 
 665 
 
FU 
 
 FU 
 
 unfathomable philosophy? Where all is mysti- 
 cism, nothing can be clear ; even truth, when 
 thus shadowed, loses its strength as well as sim- 
 plicity. 
 
 Miss Fuller was, however, besides her classical 
 studies, most thoroughly exercised in every solid 
 and elegant department of literature, and probably 
 no American woman was ever before so fully edu- 
 cated, as that term is usually applied. After her 
 father's decease, she devoted her talents and ac- 
 quirements to the assistance of her mother and 
 sisters, by opening classes for the instruction of 
 ladies, both single and married, first in Boston, 
 then in Providence, Rhode Island ; and afterwards 
 in Boston again. During this period her womanly 
 characteristics, — self-sacrificing generosity, in- 
 dustry, untiring kindness in the domestic circle, — 
 were beautifully displayed. Her memory is more 
 sanctified by the love her exemplary qualities call- 
 ed forth in the privacy of home, than by all the 
 literary laurels her admirers wish to ofi'er her. 
 
 In 1839, she made a translation of Goethe's 
 "Conversations;" — this is her first work. She 
 was, in the following year, concerned with Ralph 
 Waldo Emerson in editing the "Dial," a period- 
 ical of some note in its day; to which both these 
 writers contributed essays, highly applauded by 
 their transcendental readers. To those who re- 
 quire perspicuity as a condition of excellence in 
 literature, such " wanderings round about a mean- 
 ing," however fine may be the diction, are never 
 appreciated ; yet it is but fair to say, that the 
 meaning of Miss Fuller was always honest and 
 generous. She was so far from being in adora- 
 tion before herself, that she seemed ever aiming 
 to enlarge the moral good of her "brother man 
 and sister woman." 
 
 In 1843, she published a volume — "Summer 
 on the Lakes," being an account of a tour to Illi- 
 nois. This book contains, with much irrelevant 
 matter, some sensible remarks ; but there is little 
 in it, as far as regards style or story, beyond what 
 might be found in the letters of any well-educated 
 gentlewoman of moderate abilities, who thought it 
 
 worth while to journalize on a summer's ramble. 
 About this period Miss Fuller resided for a time 
 in New York, where she edited the literary de- 
 partment of the " Tribune," contributing papers 
 on various subjects, but chiefly critical notices of 
 the works of distinguished authors, for which task 
 both education and genius seemed peculiarly to 
 fit her. 
 
 In 1845, her most important work, " Woman in 
 the Nineteenth Century," was published in New 
 York. It is evident that a strong wish to benefit 
 her own sex, moved her heart and guided her pen. 
 One male critic, whose title of Reverend should 
 have inspired more charity, has flippantly remark- 
 ed, that Miss Fuller wrote because she was vexed 
 at not being a man. — Not so. Though discon- 
 tented with her woman's lot, she does not seek to 
 put aside any duty, or lower the standard of vir- 
 tue in order to escape the pressure of real or 
 imagined evils in her position. Nor was it for 
 herself that she sought freedom ; she wanted a 
 wider field of usefulness for her sex ; and unfortu- 
 nately for her own happiness, which would have 
 been secured by advancing that of others, she mis- 
 took the right path of progress. With her views 
 we are far from coinciding; she abandoned the 
 only safe guide in her search for truth. Whatever 
 be the genius or intellectual vigour possessed by 
 a woman, these avail her nothing without that 
 moral strength which is nowhere to be obtained, 
 save from the aid God has given us in His revealed 
 Word. Experience.and observation prove that the 
 greater the intellectual force, the greater and more 
 fatal the errors into which women fall who wander 
 from the Rock of Salvation, Christ the Saviour, 
 who, "made of a woman," is peculiarly the stay 
 and support of the sex. 
 
 But though Miss Fuller's theories led to mazes 
 and wanderings, her mind was honest in its search 
 for truth, and with much that is visionary and 
 impracticable, " Woman in the Nineteenth Cen- 
 tury" contains many useful hints and noble sen- 
 timents. 
 
 In 1844, a selection from her contributions to 
 various periodicals was issued, under the title of 
 "Papers on Literature and Art;" a work much 
 admired by those who profess to understand the 
 new thoughts, or new modes of expressing old 
 apothegms, which the transcendental philsophy 
 has introduced. It was her last published work. 
 In the summer of 1845, Miss Fuller accompanied 
 some dear friends to Europe ; after visiting Eng- 
 land, Scotland, France, and passing through Italy 
 to Rome, they spent the ensuing winter in the 
 "Eternal City," where she continued, while her 
 friends returned to America. In the following 
 year. Miss Fuller was married, in Rome, to Gio- 
 vanni Marquis d'Ossoli, an Italian. She remained 
 in Rome till the summer of 1849, when, after the 
 surrender of that city to the French, the Marquis 
 d'Ossoli and his wife, having taken an active part 
 in the Republican movement, considered it neces- 
 sary to emigrate. They went to Florence, and 
 remained there till June, 1850, when they deter- 
 mined to come to the United States, and accord- 
 ingly embarked at Leghorn, in the brig Elizabeth, 
 
 666 
 
FU 
 
 PIT 
 
 bound for New York. The deplorable and melan- 
 choly catastrophe is well known ; the ship, as she 
 neared our coast, encountered a fearful storm, 
 and on the morning of the 8th of August was 
 wrecked on Fire Island, south of Long Island ; 
 and the D'Ossoli family — husband, wife, infant 
 son and nurse — all perished ! 
 
 Margaret Fuller, or the Marchioness d'Ossoli, 
 possessed among a host of professed admirers, 
 many grateful, loving friends, to whom her sad, 
 untimely death was a bitter grief. These mourn 
 also, that she left her mission unfinished, because 
 they believe a work she had prepared " On the 
 Kevolution in Italy," (the MS. was lost with her), 
 would have given her enduring fame. One indi- 
 cation of true mental improvement she exhibited 
 — her enthusiasm for Goethe had abated ; and a 
 friend of hers, a distinguished scholar, asserts 
 that, " with the Reformers of the Transcendental 
 School she had no communion, nor scarcely a 
 point in common." Whatever she might have 
 done, we are constrained to add, that of the books 
 she has left, we do not believe that they are des- 
 tined to hold a high place in female literature. 
 There is no true moral life in them. The simple 
 "Prose Hymns for Children," of Mrs. Barbauld, 
 or the " Poems " of Jane Taylor, will have a place 
 in the hearts and homes of the Anglo-Saxon race, 
 as long as our language endures ; but the genius of 
 Margaret Fuller will live only while the tender 
 remembrance of personal friendship shall hold it 
 dear. Her fame, like that of a great actor, or 
 singer, was dependent on her living presence, — 
 gained more by her conversational powers than by 
 her writings. Those who enjoyed her society de- 
 clare, that her mind shone most brightly in colli- 
 sion with other minds, and that no adequate idea 
 of her talents can be formed by those who never 
 heard her talk. This was also true .of Coleridge ; 
 and Dr. Johnson is certainly a greater man in 
 Boswell's Reports than in the " Rambler." Mar- 
 garet Fuller had no reporter. 
 
 From " Summer on the Lakes." 
 A NIOHT IN MIOHIQAN. 
 
 No heaven need wear a lovelier aspect than 
 earth did this afternoon, after the clearing up of 
 the shower. We traversed the blooming plain, 
 unmarked by any road, only the friendly track of 
 wheels which tracked, not broke the grass. Our 
 stations were not from town to town, but from 
 grove to grove. These groves first floated like 
 blue islands in the distance. As we drew nearer, 
 they seemed fair parks, and the little log houses 
 on the edge, with their curling smokes, harmo- 
 nized beautifully with them. 
 
 One of these groves, Ross's grove, we reached 
 just at sunset. It was of the noblest trees I saw 
 during this journey, for the trees generally were 
 not large or lofty, but only of fair proportions. 
 Here they were large enough to form with their 
 clear stems pillars for grand cathedral aisles. 
 There was space enough for crimson light to 
 stream through upon the floor of water which the 
 shower had left. As we slowly plashed through, I 
 thought I was never in a better place for vespers. 
 
 That night we rested, or rather tarried at a 
 grove some miles beyond, and there partook of the 
 miseries so often jocosely portrayed, of bed-cham- 
 bers for twelve, a milk-dish for universal hand- 
 basin, and expectations that you would use and 
 lend your "handkerchief" for a towel. But this 
 was the only night, thanks to the hospitality of 
 private families, that we passed thus, and it was 
 well that we had this bit of experience, else might 
 we have pronounced all TroUopian records of the 
 kind to be inventions of pure malice. 
 
 With us was a young lady who showed herself 
 to have been bathed in the Britannic fluid, wittily 
 described by a late French writer, by the impossi- 
 bility she experienced of accommodating herself 
 to the indecorums of the scene. We ladies were 
 to sleep in the bar-room, from which its drinking 
 visitors could be ejected only at a late hour. The 
 outer door had no fastening to prevent their re- 
 turn. However, our host kinitly requested we 
 would call him, if they did, as he had " conquered 
 them for us," and would do so again. We had 
 also rather hard couches, (mine was the supper- 
 table ;) but we yankees, born to rove, were altoge- 
 ther too much fatigued to stand upon trifles, and 
 slept as sweetly as we would in the " bigly bower" 
 of any baroness. But I think England sat up all 
 night, wrapped in her blanket shawl, and with a 
 neat lace cap upon her head ; so that she would 
 have looked perfectly the lady, if any one had- 
 come in ; shuddering and listening. I know that 
 she was very ill next day, in requital. She watch- 
 ed, as her parent country watches the seas, that 
 nobody may do wrong in any case, and deserved 
 to have met some interruption, she was so well 
 prepared. However, there was none, other than 
 from the nearness of some twenty sets of power- 
 ful lungs, which would not leave the night to a 
 deadly stillness. In this house we had, if not 
 good beds, yet good tea, good bread, and wild 
 strawberries, and were entertained with most free 
 communications of opinion and history from our 
 hosts. Neither shall any of us have a right to say 
 again that we cannot find any who may be willing 
 to hear all we may have to say. " A's fish that 
 comes to the net," should be painted on the sign 
 at Papaw grove. 
 
 THE PKAIEIE. 
 
 In Chicago I first saw the beautiful prairie flow- 
 ers. They were in their glory the first ten days 
 we were there — 
 
 *' The golden and the flame-like flov/ers " 
 
 The flame-like flower I was taught afterwards, 
 by an Indian girl, to call "Wickapee;" and she 
 told me, too, that its splendours had a useful side, 
 for it was used by the Indians as a remedy for an 
 illness to which they were subject. 
 
 Beside these brilliant flowers, which gemmed 
 and gilt the grass in a sunny afternoon's drive 
 near the blue lake, between the low oakwood and 
 the narrow beach, stimulated, whether sensuously 
 by the optic nerve, unused to so much gold and 
 crimson with such tender green, or symbolically 
 through some meaning dimly seen in the flowers, 
 
 667 
 
FU 
 
 FU 
 
 I enjoyed a sort of fairy-land exultation neTer felt 
 before, and the first drive amid the flowers gave 
 me anticipation of tlie beauty of the prairies. 
 
 At first, the prairie seemed to speak of the very 
 desolation of dulness. After sweeping over the 
 vast monotony of the lakes to come to this mono- 
 tony of land, with all around a limitless horizon, 
 — to walk, and walk, and run, but never climb, 
 oh ! it was too dreary for any but a Hollander to 
 bear. How the eye greeted the approach of a 
 sail, or the smoke of a steamboat ; it seemed that 
 any thing so animated must come from a better 
 land, where mountains gave religion to the scene. 
 
 The only thing I liked at first to do, was to 
 trace with slow and unexpecting step the narrow 
 margin of the lake. Sometimes a heavy swell 
 gave it expression ; at others, only its varied co- 
 louring, which I found more admirable every day, 
 and which gave it an air of mirage instead of the 
 vastness of ocean. Then there was a grandeur in 
 the feeling that I might continue that walk, if I 
 had any seven-leagued mode of conveyance to 
 save fatigue, for hundreds of miles without an ob- 
 stacle and without a change. 
 
 But after I had rode out, and seen the flowers 
 and seen the sun set with that calmness seen only 
 in the prairies, and the cattle winding slowly home 
 to their homes in the "island groves" — peaceful- 
 lest of sights — I began to love because I began to 
 know the scene, and shrank no longer from " the 
 encircling vastness." 
 
 It is always thus with the new form of life ; we 
 must learn to look at it by its own standard. At 
 first, no doubt my accustomed eye kept saying, if 
 the mind did not. What! no distant mountains? 
 what, no valleys ? But after a while I would 
 ascend the roof of the house where we lived, and 
 pass many hours, needing no sight but the moon 
 reigning in the heavens, or starlight falling upon 
 the lake, till all the lights were out in the island 
 grove of men beneath my feet, and felt nearer 
 heaven that there was nothing but this lovely, 
 still reception on the earth ; no towering moun- 
 tains, no deep tree-shadows, nothing but plain 
 earth and water bathed in light. 
 
 From " Woman in Ihe Nineteenth Century." 
 AMERICAN WOMEN. 
 
 In our own country, women are, in many re- 
 spects, better situated than men. Good books are 
 allowed, with more time to read them. They are 
 not so early forced into the bustle of life, nor so 
 weighed down by demands for outward success. 
 The perpetual changes, incident to our society, 
 make the blood circulate freely through the body 
 politic, and, if not favourable at present to the 
 grace and bloom of life, they are so to activity, 
 resource, and would be to reflection, but for a low 
 materialist tendency, from which the women are 
 generally exempt in themselves, though its exist- 
 ence, among the men has a tendency to repress 
 their impulses and make them doubt their instincts, 
 thus, often, paralyzing their action during the best 
 years. 
 
 But they have time to think, and no traditions 
 
 chain them, and few conventionalities compared 
 vrith what must be met in other nations. There 
 is no reason why they should not discover that 
 the secrets of nature are open, the revelations of 
 the spirit waiting for whoever will seek them. 
 When the mind is once awakened to this conscious- 
 ness, it will not be restrained by the habits of the 
 past, but fly to seek the seeds of a heavenly future. 
 
 Their employments are more favourable to medi- 
 tation than those of men. 
 
 Woman is not addressed religiously here, more 
 than elsewhere. She is told she should be worthy 
 to be the mother of a Washington, or the compa- 
 nion of some good man. But in many, many in- 
 stances, she has already learnt that all bribes have 
 the same flaw; that truth and good are to be 
 sought solely for their own sakes. And, already, 
 an ideal sweetness floats over many forms, shines 
 in many eyes. 
 
 Already deep questions are put by young girls 
 on the great theme : What shall I do to enter upon 
 the eternal life ? 
 
 Men are very courteous to them. They praise 
 them often, check them seldom. There is chi- 
 valry in the feeling towards "the ladies," which 
 gives them the best seats in the stage-coach, fre- 
 quent admission, not only to lectures of all sorts, 
 but to courts of justice, halls of legislature, re- 
 form conventions. The newspaper editor " would 
 be better pleased that the Lady's Book should 
 be filled up exclusively by ladies. It would then, 
 indeed, be a true gem, worthy to be presented by 
 young men to the mistresses of their afi'ections." 
 Can gallantry go further ? 
 
 In this country is venerated, wherever seen, the 
 character which Goethe spoke of an Ideal, which 
 he saw actualized in his friend and patroness, the 
 Grand Duchess Amelia. " The excellent woman 
 is she, who, if the husband dies, can be a father 
 to the children." And this, if read aright, tells a 
 great deal. 
 
 To you, women of America, it is more especially 
 my business to address myself on this subject, and 
 my advice may be classed under three heads : 
 
 Clear your souls from the taint of vanity. 
 
 Do not rejoice in conquests, either that your 
 power to allure may be seen by other women, or 
 for the pleasure of rousing passionate feelings that 
 gratify your love of excitement. 
 
 It must happen, no doubt, that frank and gene- 
 rous women will excite love they do not recipro- 
 cate, but, in nine cases out of ten, the woman has, 
 half consciously, done much to excite. In this 
 case she shall not be held guiltless, either as to 
 the unhappiness or injury to the lover. Pure 
 love, inspired by a worthy object, must ennoble 
 and bless, whether mutual or not; but that which 
 is excited by coquettish attraction of any grade of 
 refinement, must cause bitterness and doubt, as to 
 the reality of human goodness, so soon as the flush 
 of passion is over. And that you may avoid all 
 taste for these false pleasures, 
 
 " steep the soul 
 In one pure love, and it will last thee lon^." 
 
 668 
 
FU 
 
 FU 
 
 TRUE MARBIAGE. 
 
 We are now in a transition state, and but 
 few steps have yet been taken. From polygamy, 
 Europe passed to the marriage de convenance. 
 This was scarcely an improvement. An attempt 
 was then made to substitute genuine marriage, 
 (the mutual qhoice of souls inducing a perma- 
 nent union,) as yet bafBed on every side by the 
 haste, the ignorance, or the impurity of man. 
 
 Where man assumes a high principle to which 
 he is not yet ripened ; it will happfen, for a long 
 time, that the few will be nobler than before ; the 
 many worse. Thus now. In the country of Sid- 
 ney and Milton, the metropolis is a den of wick- 
 edness, and a stye of sensuality ; in the country 
 of Lady Russell, the custom of English Peeresses, 
 of selling their daughters to the highest bidder, is 
 made the theme and jest of fashionable novels by 
 unthinking children who would stare at the idea 
 of sending them to a Turkish slave-dealer, though 
 the circumstances of the bargain are there less 
 degrading, as the will and thoughts of the person 
 sold are not so degraded by it, and it is not done 
 in defiance of an acknowledged law of right in the 
 land and the age. 
 
 I must here add that I do not believe there 
 ever was put upon record more depravation of 
 man, and more despicable frivolity of thought and 
 aim in woman, than in novels which purport to 
 give the picture of English fashionable life, which 
 are read with such favour in our drawing-rooms, 
 and give the tone to the manners of some circles. 
 Compared with the hard-hearted cold folly there 
 described, crime is hopeful, for it, at least, shows 
 some power remaining in the mental constitution. 
 
 I'EMALE PROGRESS. 
 
 Another sign of the times is furnished by the 
 triumphs of female authorship. These have been 
 great and constantly increasing. Women have taken 
 possession of so many provinces for which men 
 had pronounced them unfit, that though these still 
 declare there are some inaccessible to them, it is 
 difficult to say just where they must stop. 
 
 The shining names of famous women have cast 
 light upon the path of the sex, and many obstruc- 
 tions have been removed. When a Montagu 
 could learn better than her brother, and use her 
 lore afterward to such purpose, as an observer, it 
 seemed amiss to hinder women from preparing 
 themselves to see, or from seeing all they could, 
 when prepared. Since Somerville has achieved 
 so much, will any young girl be prevented from 
 seeking a knowledge of the physical sciences, if 
 she wishes it ? De Stael's name wa.s not so clear 
 of oifence ; she could not forget the woman in the 
 thought ; while she was instructing you as a mind, 
 she wished to be admired as a woman ; sentiment- 
 al tears often dimmed the eagle glance. Her in- 
 tellect too, with all its splendour, trained in a 
 drawing-room, fed on flattery, was tainted and 
 flawed ; yet its beams make the obscurest school- 
 house in New England warmer and lighter to the 
 little rugged girls, who are gathered together on 
 its wooden bench. They may never through life 
 
 hear her name, but she is not the less their bene- 
 factress. 
 
 The influence has been such, that the aim cer- 
 tainly is, now, in arranging school instruction for 
 girls, to give them as fair a field as boys. As yet, 
 indeed, these arrangements are made with little 
 judgment or reflection ; just as the tutors of Lady 
 Jane Grey, and other distinguished women of her 
 time, taught them Latin and Greek, because they 
 knew nothing else themselves, so now the im- 
 provement in the education of girls is to be made 
 by giving them young men as teachers, who only 
 teach what has been taught themselves at college, 
 while methods and topics need revision for these 
 new subjects, which could better be made by those 
 who had experienced the same wants. Women 
 are often at the head of these institutions, but 
 they have, as yet, seldom been thinking women, 
 capable to organize a new whole for the wants of 
 the time, and choose persons to ofliciate in the 
 departments. And when some portion of instruc- 
 tion is got of a good sort from the school, the far 
 greater proportion which is infused from the gene- 
 ral atmosphere of society contradicts its purport. 
 Tet books and a little elementary instruction are 
 not furnished in vain. Women are better aware 
 how great and rich the universe is, not so easily 
 blinded by narrowness or partial views of a home 
 circle. " Her mother did so before her," is no 
 longer a sufiicient excuse. Indeed, it was never 
 received as an excuse to mitigate the severity of 
 censure, but was adduced as a reason, rather, why 
 there should be no effort made for reformation. 
 
 Whether much or little has been done or will be 
 done, whether women will add to the talent of nar- 
 ration, the power of systematizing, whether they 
 will carve marble, as well as draw and paint, is 
 not important. But that it should be acknow- 
 ledged that they have intellect which needs devel- 
 oping, that they should not be considered com- 
 plete, if beings of affection and habit alone, is 
 important. 
 
 Yet even this acknowledgment, rather conquered 
 by woman than proffered by man, has been sullied 
 by the usual selfishness. So much is said of wo- 
 men being better educated, that they may become 
 better companions and mothers for men. They 
 should be fit for such companionship, and we have 
 mentioned with satisfaction, instances where it 
 has been established. Earth knows no fairer, 
 holier relation than that of a mother. It is one 
 which, rightly understood, must both promote and 
 require the highest attainments. But a being of 
 infinite scope must not be treated with an exclu- 
 sive view to any one relation. Give the soul free 
 course, let the organization, both of body and 
 mind, be freely developed, and the being will be 
 fit for any and every relation to which it may be 
 called. The intellect, no more than the sense of 
 hearing, is to be cultivated merely that she may 
 be a more valuable companion to man, but be- 
 cause the Power who gave a power, by its mere 
 existence, signifies that it must be brought out 
 towards perfection. 
 
 In this regard of self-dependence, and a greater 
 simplicity and fulness of being, we must hail as a 
 
 669 
 
FU 
 
 GA 
 
 preliminary the increase of the class contemptu- 
 ously designated as old maids. 
 
 From " Poems." 
 
 ON LEAVING THE WEST. 
 
 Farewell, ye soft and sumptuous solitudes ! 
 Ye fairy distances, ye lordly woods. 
 Haunted by paths like those that Poussin knew, 
 When after his all gazers' eyes he drew : 
 I go — and if I never more may steep 
 An eager heart in your enchantments deep. 
 Yet ever to itself that heart may say, 
 Be not exacting — thou hast lived one day- 
 Hast looked on that which matches with thy mood, 
 Impassioned sweetness of full being's flood, 
 Where nothing checked the bold yet gentle wave, 
 Where naught repelled the lavish love that gave. 
 A tender blessing lingers o'er the scene, 
 Like some young mother's thought, fond, yet serene, 
 And through its life new born our lives have been. 
 Once more farewell — a sad, a sweet farewell ; 
 
 And if I never must behold you more, 
 In other worlds I will not cease to tell 
 
 The rosary I here have numbered o'er; 
 And bright-haired Hope will lend a gladdened ear, 
 And Love will flree him from the grasp of Fear, 
 And Gorgon critics, while the tale they hear, 
 Shall dew their stony glances with a tear, 
 If I but catch one echo from your spell : 
 And so farewell — a grateful, sad farewell! 
 
 TO ALLSTON S PICTURE, "THE BRIDE. 
 
 Not long enough we gaze upon that face, 
 
 Nor pure enough the life with which we live, 
 To be full tranced by that softest grace. 
 
 To win all pearls those lucid depths can give ; 
 Here Fantasy has borrowed wings of Even, 
 
 And stolen Twilight's latest, sacred hues, 
 A soul has visited the woman's heaven, 
 
 Where palest lights a silver sheen diffuse. 
 To see aright the vision which he saw. 
 
 We must ascend as high upon the stair 
 Which leads the human thought to heavenly law, 
 
 And see the flower bloom in its natal air ; 
 Thus might we read aright the lip and brow, ' 
 Where Thought and Love beam too subduing for our senses 
 
 now. 
 
 THE SACRED MARRIAGE. 
 
 And has another's life as large a scope ? 
 It may give due fulfilment to thy hope, 
 And every portal to the unknown may ope. 
 If, near this other life, thy inmost feeling 
 Trembles with fateful prescience of revealing 
 The future Deity, time is still concealing : 
 If thou feel thy whole force drawn more and more 
 To launch that other bark on seas without a shore, 
 And no still secret must be kept in store — 
 If meannesses that dim each temporal deed. 
 The dull decay that mars the fleshly weed. 
 And flower of love that seems to (^11 and leave no seed- 
 Hide never the full presence from thy sight 
 Of mutual aims and tasks, ideals bright, 
 Which feed their roots to-day on all this seeming blight. 
 
 Twin stars that mutual circle in the heaven, 
 
 Two parts for spiritual concord given. 
 
 Twin sabbaths that inlock the sacred seven — 
 
 Still looking to the centre for the cause. 
 
 Mutual light giving to draw out the powers, * 
 
 And learning all the other groups by cognizance of one 
 
 another's laws: 
 The*parent love the wedded love includes, 
 The one permits the two their mutual moods, 
 The two each other know mid myriad multitudes ; 
 With childlike intellect discerning love. 
 And mutual action energizing love, 
 In myriad forms affiliating love. 
 A world whose seasons bloom fcom pole to pole, 
 A force which knows both starting-point and goal, 
 A home in heaven —the union in the soul. 
 
 GAY, SOPHIE, 
 Was born in Paris, where she now resides. She 
 is a writer of considerable talent and great indus- 
 try, and has long been a favourite with French 
 novel readers. None of her works have been 
 translated into English, nor are the French edi- 
 tions often met with in America. Her style is 
 pleasing ; she describes a drawing-room circle with 
 liveliness ; her dialogues are natural and appro- 
 priate, and she sometimes rises to the pathetic. 
 "Anatole" is, perhaps, her most finished pro- 
 duction. "La Duchess de Chateroux," "Marie 
 Louise d'Orleans," "Salons C^l^bres," "Souve- 
 niers d'une VieUe Femme," have all enjoyed a 
 very favourable reputation. But greater interest 
 has attached to the name of Madame Sophie 
 Gay from her motherhood than her authorship. 
 Her celebrated daughter, Delphine, now Madame 
 Emile Girardin, is the living page which enlarges 
 as well as reflects the genius of Sophie Gay. 
 
 GILMAN, CAROLINE, 
 One of those estimable women, true-born Ame- 
 ricans, who are doing good in whatever way duty 
 opens before them, be it to write, teach, or work, 
 with unfailing zeal and cheerfulness. We are glad 
 to give the reminiscences of her early days in her 
 own pleasant vein ; such glimpses of the inner 
 workings of a female mind have great value on 
 the question of female education. 
 
 "I am asked for some 'particulars of my lite- 
 rary and domestic Ufe.' It seems to me, and I 
 suppose at first thought it seems to all, a vain and 
 awkward egotism to sit down and inform the world 
 who you are. But if I, like the Petrarchs and 
 Byrons, and Hemanses, greater or less, have 
 opened my heart to the public for a series of 
 years, with all the pulses of love, and hatred, and 
 sorrow, so transparently unveiled, that the throbs 
 may be almost counted, why should I or they feel 
 embarrassed in responding to this request? Is 
 there not some inconsistency in this shyness about 
 autobiography ? 
 
 670 
 
GI 
 
 GI 
 
 " I find myself, then, at nearly sixty years of 
 age, somewhat of a patriarch in the line of Ame- 
 rican female authors — a kind of past-master in 
 the order. 
 
 " The only interesting point connected with my 
 birth, which took place, October 8th, 1794, in 
 Boston, Mass., is that I first saw the light where 
 the Mariner'? Church now stands, in the North 
 Square. My father, Samuel Howard, was a ship- 
 wright ; and, to my fancy, it seems fitting that 
 seamen should assemble on the former homestead 
 of one, who spent his manhood in planning and 
 perfecting the noble fabrics which bear them over 
 the waves. All the record I have of him is, that 
 on every State Thanksgiving-Day he spread a 
 liberal table for the poor ; and for this, I honour 
 his memory. 
 
 " My father died before I was three years old, 
 and was buried at Copp's Hill. My mother, who 
 was an enthusiastic lover of nature, retired into 
 the country with her six children, and placing her 
 boys at an academy at Woburn, resided with her 
 girls, in turn, at Concord, Dedham, Watertown, 
 and Cambridge, changing her residence almost 
 annually, until I was nearly ten years old, when 
 she passed away, and I followed her to her rest- 
 ing-place, in the burial-ground at North Andover. 
 
 " My education was exceedingly irregular — a 
 perpetual passing from school to school — from my 
 earliest memory. I drew a very little, and worked 
 the Babes in the Wood on white satin ; my teacher 
 and my grandmother being the only persons who 
 recognised, in the remarkable individuals that 
 issued from my hands, a likeness to those innocent 
 sufierers. I taught myself the English guitar, at 
 fifteen, from hearing a school-mate take lessons, 
 and composed a tune, which I doubt if posterity 
 will care to hear. By depriving myself of some 
 luxuries, I purchased an instrument, over which 
 my whole soul was poured in joy and sorrow for 
 many years. A dear friend was kind enough to 
 work out all my sums for me, while I wrote a 
 novel in a series of letters, under the euphonious 
 name of Eugenia Fitz-AUen. The consequence is, 
 that, so far as arithmetic is concerned, I have been 
 subject to perpetual mortifications, and shudder 
 to this day when any one asks me how much is 
 seven times nine. 
 
 " The religious feeling was always powerful 
 within me, and at sixteen I joined the communion 
 at the Episcopal church in Cambridge. At the 
 age of eighteen, I made another sacrifice in dress 
 to purchase a Bible, with a margin suflSciently 
 wide to enable me to insert a commentary. To 
 this object I devoted several months of study, 
 transferring to its pages my deliberate convic- 
 tions. I am glad to class myself with the few 
 who first established the Sabbath-school and be- 
 nevolent society at Watertown, and to say, that I 
 have endeavoured under all circumstances, wher- 
 ever my lot has fallen, to carry on the work of 
 social love. 
 
 " At sixteen, I wrotte ' Jephthah's Rash Vow,' and 
 was gratified by the request of an introduction 
 from Miss Hannah Adams, the erudite, the simple- 
 minded, and gentle-mannered author of ' The His- 
 
 tory of Religions^' The next effusion of mine was 
 ' Jairus' Daughter,' which I inserted, by request, 
 in ' The North American Review,' then a miscel- 
 lany. A few years later, I passed four winters at 
 Savannah, Ga., and remember still vividly the love 
 and sympathy of that genial community. 
 
 " In 1819, I married Samuel Gilman, and came 
 to Charleston, South Carolina, where he was 
 ordained pastor of the Unitarian church. 
 
 "In 1832, 1 commenced editing the 'Rose Bud,' 
 a hebdomadal, the first juvenile newspaper, if I 
 mistake not, in the Union. From this periodical 
 I have reprinted, at various times, the following 
 volumes : ' Recollections of a New England House- 
 keeper,' 'Recollections of a Southern Matron,' 
 'Ruth Raymond, or Love's Progress,' 'Poetry of 
 Travelling in the United States,' ' Tales and 
 Ballads,' 'Verses of a Life-Time,' 'Letters of 
 Eliza Wilkinson during the invasion of Charleston.' 
 Also several volumes for youth, now collected in 
 one, and recently published as ' Mrs. Gilman's 
 Gift-Book.' 
 
 " On the publication of ' The Recollections of a 
 New England Housekeeper,' I received thanks and 
 congratulations from every quarter, and I attri- 
 bute its popularity to the fact, that it was the 
 first attempt, in that particular mode, to enter 
 into the recesses of American homes and hearths 
 — the first unveiling of what I may call the altar 
 of the Lares in our cuisine. 
 
 " I feel proud to say, that a chapter in that 
 work was among the first heralds of the tempe- 
 rance movement — a cause to which I shall cheer- 
 fully give my later as well as my earlier powers. 
 
 " I have purposely confined myself to my earlier 
 recollections, believing that my writings will be 
 the best exponents of my views and experience. 
 
 " My Heavenly Father has called me to various 
 trials of joy and sorrow, and I trust they have all 
 drawn me nearer to Him. I have resided in 
 Charleston thirty-one years, and shall probably 
 make my final resting-place in the beautiful ceme- 
 tery adjoining my husband's church — the church 
 of my faith and my love." 
 
 The character of Mrs. Gilman's writings, both 
 prose and poetry, is that of a healthy imagination 
 and cheerful mind — just what her reminiscences 
 would lead us to expect. She sees no "lions in 
 her path," and she never parades fictitious woes. 
 She admires nature, delights in social enjoyments, 
 and chooses the dear domestic affections and house- 
 hold virtues for themes of story and song. Her 
 pictures of southern life are vivid and racy ; she 
 excels in these home-sketches, and her moral les- 
 sons evince the true nobility of her soul. 
 
 From the " Recollections of a Southern Matron.' 
 FAMILY EDUCATION. 
 
 After the departure of our Connecticut teacher, 
 Mr. Bates, papa resolved to carry on our education 
 himself. We were to rise by daylight, that he 
 might pursue his accustomed ride over the fields 
 after breakfast. New writing-books were taken 
 out and ruled, fresh quills laid by their side, our 
 task carefully committed to memory, and we sat 
 with a mixture of docility and curiosity to know 
 
 671 
 
GI 
 
 GI 
 
 how he would manage as a teacher. The first 
 three days, our lessons being on trodden ground, 
 and ourselves under the impulse of novelty, we 
 were very amiable, he very paternal; on the 
 fourth, John was turned out of'the room, Eichard 
 was pronounced a snub, and I went sobbing to 
 mamma, as if my heart would break, while papa 
 said he might be compelled to ditch rice-fields, 
 but he never would undertake to teach children 
 again. 
 
 A slight constraint was thrown over the family 
 for a day or two, but it soon wore off, and he re- 
 turned to his good-nature. For three weeks we 
 were as wild as fawns, until mamma's attention 
 was attracted by my sun-burnt complexion, and 
 my brother's torn clothes. 
 
 " This will never answer," said she to papa. 
 "Look at Cornelia's face! It is as brown as a 
 chinquapin. Eichard has ruined his new suit, and 
 John has cut his leg with the carpenter's tools. I 
 have half a mind to keep school for them myself." 
 
 Papa gave a slight whistle, which seemed rather 
 to stimulate than check her resolution. " Cor- 
 nelia," said she, "go directly to your brothers, 
 and prepare your books for to-morrow. / wiU 
 teach you." 
 
 The picture about to be presented is not over- 
 wrought. I am confident of the sympathy of many 
 a mother, whose finger has been kept on a word 
 in the lesson, ' amid countless interruptions, and 
 finished with a frolic. 
 
 One would suppose that the retirement of a plan- 
 tation was the most appropriate spot for a mother 
 and her children to give and receive instruction. 
 Not so ; for instead of a limited household, her de- 
 pendants are increased to a number which would 
 constitute a village. She is obliged to listen to 
 cases of grievance, is a nurse to the sick, and dis- 
 tributes the half-yearly clothing ; indeed, the mere 
 giving out of thread and needles is something of 
 a charge on so large a scale. A planter's lady 
 may seem indolent, because there are so many 
 under her who perform trivial services ; but, the 
 very circumstance of keeping so many menials 
 in order is an arduous one, and the keys of her 
 establishment are a care of which a northern 
 housekeeper knows nothing, and include a very 
 extensive class of duties. Many fair, and even 
 aristocratic girls, if we may use this phrase in our 
 republican country, who grace a ball-room, or loll 
 in a liveried carriage, may be seen with these steel 
 talismans, presiding over store-rooms, and mea- 
 suring, with the accuracy and conscientiousness 
 of a shopman; the daily allowance of the family, 
 or cutting homespun suits, for days together, for 
 the young and the old negroes under their charge ; 
 while matrons, who would ring a bell for their 
 pocket-handkerchief to be brought to them, will 
 act the part of a surgeon or physician with a 
 promptitude and skill which would excite aston- 
 ishment in a stranger. Very frequently, servants, 
 like children, will only take medicine from their 
 superiors, and in this case the planter's wife or 
 daughter is admirably fitted to aid them. 
 
 There are few establishments where all care and 
 responsibility devolves on the master; and even 
 
 then the superintendence of a large domestic 
 circle, and the rites of hospitality, demand so 
 large a portion of the mistress's time, as leaves 
 her but little opportunity for systematic teaching 
 in her family. In this case she is wise to seek an 
 efficient tutor, still appropriating those opportu- 
 nities which perpetually arise under the same 
 roof to improve their moral and religious culture, 
 and cultivate those sympathies which exalt these 
 precious beings from children to friends. 
 
 The young, conscientious, ardent mother must 
 be taught this by experience. She has a jealousy 
 at first of any instruction that shall come between 
 their dawning minds and her own ; and is only 
 taught by the constantly thwarted recitation, that 
 in this country, at least, good housekeeping and 
 good teaching cannot be combined. 
 
 But to return to my narrative. The morning 
 after mamma's order, we assembled at ten o'clock. 
 There was a little trepidation in her manner, but 
 we loved her too well to annoy her by noticing it. 
 Her education had been confined to mere rudi- 
 ments, and her good sense led her only to conduct 
 our reading, writing, and spelling. 
 
 We stood in a line. 
 
 " Spell irrigate," said she. Just then the coach 
 man entered, and bowing, said, 
 
 " Maussa send me for de key for get four quart 
 o' corn for him bay horse." 
 
 The key was given. 
 
 " Spell imitate," said mamma. 
 
 " We did not spell irrigate," we all exclaimed. 
 
 "Oh, no," said she; "irrigate." 
 
 By the time the two words were well through, 
 Chloe, the most refined of our coloured circle, 
 appeared. 
 
 "Will mistress please to medjure out some calo- 
 mel for Syphax, who is feverish and onrestless ?" 
 
 During mamma's visit to the dootor's-shop, as 
 the medicine-closet was called, we turned the ink- 
 stand over on her mahogany table, and wiped it 
 up with our pocket-handkerchiefs. It required 
 some time to cleanse and arrange ourselves ; and 
 just as we were seated, and had advanced a little 
 way on our orthographical journey, Maum Phillis 
 entered with her usual drawl, 
 
 " Little maussa want for nurse, marm." 
 
 While this operation was going on, we gathered 
 round mamma to play bo-peep with the baby, until 
 even she forgot our lessons. At length the little 
 pet was dismissed, with the white drops still rest- 
 ing on his red lips, and our line was formed again. 
 
 Mamma's next interruption, after successfully 
 issuing a few words, was to settle a quarrel be- 
 tween Lafayette and Venus, two little blackies, 
 who were going through their daily drill in learn- 
 ing to rub the furniture, which, with brushing 
 flies at meals, constitutes the first instruction for 
 house-servants. These important and classical 
 personages rubbed about a stroke to the minute 
 on each side of the cellaret, rolling up'their eyes 
 and making grimaces at each other. At this 
 crisis, they had laid claim to the same rubbing- 
 cloth ; mamma stopped the dispute, by ordei'ing 
 my seamstress. Flora, who was sewing for me, to 
 apply the weight of her thimble, that long-known 
 
 672 
 
Gl 
 
 GI 
 
 weapon of offence, as Trell as implement of indus- 
 try, to their organ of firmness. 
 
 "Spell accentuate," said mamma, whose finger 
 had slipped from the column. 
 
 " No, no, that is not the place," we exclaimed, 
 rectifying the mistake. 
 
 " Spell irritate," said she, with admirable cool- 
 ness ; and John fairly succeeded, just as the over- 
 seer's sou, a sallow little hoy, with yellow hair and 
 blue homespun dress, came in with his hat on, and 
 kicking up one foot for manners, said, 
 
 " Fayther says as how he wants Master Eichard's 
 horse to help tote some tetters to tother field." 
 
 This pretty piece of alliteration was complied 
 with, after some remonstrance from brother Dick, 
 and we finished our column. At this crisis, before 
 • we were fairly seated at writing, mamma was sum- 
 moned to the hall to one of the field-hands, who 
 had received an injury in the ankle from a hoe. 
 Papa and the overseer being at a distance, she 
 was obliged to superintend the wound. We all 
 followed her, Lafayette and Venus bringing up 
 the rear. She inspected the sufferer's great foot, 
 covered with blood and perspiration, superin- 
 tended a bath, prepared a healing application, 
 and bound it on with her own delicate hands, 
 first quietly tying a black apron over her white 
 dress. There was no shrinking, no hiding of the 
 eyes ; and while extracting some extraneous sub- 
 stance from the wound, her manner was as reso- 
 lute as it was gentle and consoling. This episode 
 gave Richard an opportunity to unload his pockets 
 of groundnuts, and treat us therewith. We were 
 again seated at our writing-books, and were going 
 on swimmingly with "Avoid evil company," when 
 a little crow-minder, hoarse from his late occupa- 
 tion, came in with a basket of eggs, and said, 
 
 "Mammy Phillis send missis some eggs for buy, 
 ma'am ; she an't so berry well, and ax for some 
 'baccer." 
 
 It took a little time to pay for the eggs and 
 send to the store-room for the Virginia weed, of 
 which opportunity we availed ourselves, to draw 
 figures on our slates. Mamma reproved us, and 
 we were resuming our duties, when the cook's son 
 approached, and said, 
 
 " Missis, Daddy Ajax say he been broke de axe, 
 and ax me for ax you for len him de new axe." 
 
 This made us shout with laughter, and the busi- 
 ness was scarcely settled, when the dinner-horn 
 Bounded. That evening a carriage full of friends 
 arrived from the city to pass a week with us, and 
 thus ended mamma's experiment in teaching. 
 
 YOUNG MEN. 
 
 There is no moral object so beautiful to me as 
 a conscientious young man ! I watch him as I do 
 a star in the heavens : clouds may be before him, 
 but we know that his light is behind them, and 
 will beam again ; the blaze of others' prosperity 
 may outshine him, but we know that, though un- 
 seen, he iUuminea his true sphere. He resists 
 temptation not without a struggle, for that is not 
 virtue, but he does resist and conquer ; he hears 
 the sarcasm of the profligate, and it stings him, 
 for that is the trial of virtue, but he heals the 
 2S 
 
 wound with his own pure touch; he heeds not 
 the watch-word of fashion, if it leads to sin ; the 
 atheist who says, not only in his heart but with 
 his lips, " There is no God," controls him not, for 
 he sees the hand of a creating God, and reverences 
 it — of a preserving God, and rejoices in it. Woman 
 is sheltered by fond arms, and guided by loving 
 counsel; old age is protected by its experience, 
 and manhood by its strength ; but the young man 
 stands amid the temptations of the world like a 
 self-balanced tower. Happy he who seeks and 
 gains the prop and shelter of Christianity. 
 
 Onward, then, conscientious youth ! raise thy 
 standard and nerve thyself for goodness. If God 
 has given thee intellectual power, awaken it in 
 that cause ; never let it be said of thee, he helped to 
 swell the tide of sin, by pouring his influence into 
 its channels. If thou art feeble in mental strength, 
 throw not that poor drop into a polluted current. 
 Awake, arise, young man ! Assume the beautiful 
 garments of virtue ! It is easy, fearfully easy, to 
 sin ; it is difficult to be pure and holy. Put on 
 thy strength, then; let thy chivalry be aroused 
 against error — let truth be the lady of thy love — 
 defend her. 
 
 THE SOnTHBEN WIFE. 
 
 This club engagement brought on others. I was 
 not selfish, and even urged Arthur to go to hunt 
 and to dinner-parties, although hoping that he 
 would resist my urging. He went frequently, 
 and a growing discomfort began to work upon 
 my mind. I had undefined forebodings ; I mused 
 about past days ; my views of life became slowly 
 disorganized ; my physical powers enfeebled ; a 
 nervous excitement followed ; I 'nursed a moody 
 discontent, and ceased a while to reason clearly. 
 Woe to me, had I yielded to this irritable tempera- 
 ment ! I began immediately, on principle, to busy 
 myself about my household. The location of 
 Bellevue was picturesque — the dwelling airy and 
 commodious ; I had, therefore, only to exercise 
 taste in external and internal arrangement, to 
 make it beautiful throughout. I was careful to 
 consult my husband in those points which inte- 
 rested him, without annoying him with mere 
 trifles. If the reign of romance was really waning, 
 I resolved not to chill his noble confidence, but to 
 make a steadier light rise on his affections. If 
 he was absorbed in reading, I sat quietly waiting 
 the pause when I should be rewarded by the com- 
 munication of ripe ideas ; if I saw that he prized 
 a tree which interfered with my flowers, I sacri- 
 ficed my preference to a more sacred feeling ; if 
 any habit of his annoyed me, I spoke of it once 
 or twice calmly, and then bore it quietly if unre- 
 formed ; I welcomed his friends with cordiality, 
 entered into their family interests, and stopped 
 my yawns, which, to say the truth, was sometimes 
 an almost desperate effort, before they reached 
 eye or ear. 
 
 This task of self-government was not easy. To 
 repress a harsh answer, to confess a fault, and to 
 stop (right or wrong) in the midst of self-defence, 
 in gentle submission, sometimes requires a struggle 
 like life and death ; but these three efforts are the 
 
 673 
 
QI 
 
 QI 
 
 golden threads with ■which domestic happiness Is 
 woven ; once begin the fabric with this woof, and 
 trials shall not break or sorrow tarnish it. 
 
 Men are not often unreasonable ; their diffi- 
 culties lie in not understanding the moral and 
 physical structure of our sex. They often wound 
 through ignorance, and are surprised at having 
 offended. How clear is it, then, that woman loses 
 by petulance and recrimination ! Her first study 
 must be self-control, almost to hypocrisy. A good 
 wife must smile amid a thousand perplexities, and 
 clear her voice to tones of cheerfulness when her 
 frame is drooping with disease, or else languish 
 alone. Man, on the contrary, when trials beset 
 him, expects to find her car and heart a ready 
 receptacle ; and, when sickness assails him, her 
 soft hand must nurse and sustain him. 
 
 I have not meant to suggest that, in ceasing to 
 be a mere lover, Arthur was not a tender and de- 
 voted husband. I have only described the natural 
 progress of a sensible, independent married man, 
 desirous of fulfilling all the relations of society. 
 Nor in these remarks would I chill the romance 
 of some young dreamer, who is reposing her heart 
 on another. Let her dream on. God has given 
 this youthful, luxurious gift of trusting love, as 
 he has given hues to the flower and sunbeams to 
 the sky. It is a superadded charm to his lavish 
 blessings ; but let her be careful that when her 
 husband 
 
 "Wakes fVom love's romantic dream, 
 His eyes may open on a sweet esteem." 
 
 Let him know nothing of the struggle which 
 follows the first chill of the afi'eotions ; let no 
 scenes of tears ftnd apologies be acted to agitate 
 him, until he becomes accustomed to agitation ; 
 thus shall the star of domestic peace arise in fix- 
 edness and beauty above them, and shine down in 
 gentle light on their lives, as it has on ours. 
 
 MISTAKES or STBANaEES. 
 
 I was prepared one morning to call on a stran- 
 ger, when visitors Tvore announced; and, glancing 
 round the drawing-room, I perceived on the sofa 
 a rattan, which had been brought in by one of my 
 young brothers. I caught it up, and, twisting it 
 in a coil, thrust it into my velvet reticule, and 
 received my guests. As soon as they departed, I 
 sprang into the carriage, which was in waiting, 
 and drove away. The ladies were at home. In 
 the course of conversation, I unthinkingly drew 
 my scented pocket-handkerchief from my bag, 
 when out flew the rattan with a bound, and rolled 
 to the feet of the stranger. My deep and inex- 
 tinguishable blush probably helped on any un- 
 charitable surmises that she might have made, 
 and who can blame her, after such evidence, for 
 reporting that Charleston ladies carried cow-skins 
 in their pockets ! 
 
 From " Poems." 
 
 HIE MOCKING-BinD IN THE CITY. 
 
 Bird of the South I is this a scene to waken 
 
 Thy native notes in thrilling, gushing tone 1 
 Tliy woodland nest of love is all forsaken — 
 Thy mate alone I 
 
 While stranger-throngs roll by, thy song la lending 
 
 Joy to the happy, soothings to the sad ; 
 O'er my AiII heart it flows with gentle blending. 
 And / am glad. 
 
 And / will sing, though dear ones, loved and loving. 
 
 Are left afar in my sweet nest of home ; 
 Though fVom that nest, with backward yearnings moving, 
 Onward I roam I 
 
 And with heart-music shall my feeble aiding 
 
 Still swell the note of human joy aloud ; 
 Nor, with untrusting soul kind Heaven upbraiding, 
 Bigh 'mid the crowd. 
 
 GIRARDIN, DELPHINE DE, 
 
 A DAUoiiTEB of the celebrated Sophia Gay, and 
 the wife of the poet de Girardin, was bom in Aix- 
 la-Chapelle, in 1808. She has gained a high repu- 
 tation among French poets. In 1820, she ob- 
 tained the prize of the Academic Franjaise ; her 
 theme was " An Eulogy on the Sacrifice and Devo- 
 tion of the French Physicians and Nuns during 
 the prevalence of the Cholera." In 1827, she was 
 chosen a member of the Tiber Academy, at Rome, 
 an honour never before conferred on a woman. 
 Her larger poems are " Le Retour," and " Napo- 
 line." A collection of her smaller poems has been 
 published under the title of "Essais Poetiqucs." 
 But her prose works, written chiefly since her 
 marriage, are now more popular than her poems. 
 Perhaps she has gained, not only in intellectual 
 culture, but in the art of using her resources to 
 the best advantage, by her union with a man of 
 such acknowledged talents as M. Emile de Girar- 
 din, who has shown the real nobleness of genius — 
 that which does not fear a rival in his wife. Cer- 
 tain it is, that her fictitious narratives evince in- 
 tellectual powers of the highest order. She has a 
 very striking originality of thought, while her 
 skill in the development of characters, her pene- 
 tration into motives, and her power of unravelling 
 the twisted threads that impel human inconsist- 
 ency, are really wonderful. " Le Marquis de Pon- 
 tignac ;" " La Canne de M. de Balzac ;" " Contes 
 d'une vielle Fille ;" " L'Ecole des Journalistes," 
 are amongst the best, 
 
 674 
 
GI 
 
 GI 
 
 The novels of Madame de Girardin are written 
 with an artistic perfection, that prevents extract- 
 ing the highest spiritual and poetic ideas. Every 
 evolvement of character, every moral sentiment 
 is so inoorparated with the person or incident de- 
 scribed, that taken sepai-ately it loses its essence. 
 The subjoined exti-acts will give some notion of 
 the sparkling vivacity and wit which she pos- 
 sesses to perfection, but she manifests also much 
 sensibility — much tenderness — and the little poems 
 here and tliere inti-oduced are quite equal to any 
 French verses of that sort ; her style is peculiarly 
 elegant and appropriate. 
 
 From " La Canne de Balzac" 
 [We must premise, for the understanding of 
 the following extract, by a little explanation. 
 Mr. Tancred Dorimont is a young gentleman, 
 lately arrived in Paris to seek employment, and 
 has a letter of recommendation to Mr. Poii'ceau, 
 President of an Insurance Company, to whose 
 house he goes.] 
 
 " Is Mr. Poirceau at home 1" 
 
 "Yes, sir — shall I trouble you to step this 
 way." 
 
 Trouble, was the exact word, for to get through 
 the interposing bai-riers was like entering by siege. 
 
 The hall — the landing-place of the stair-case — 
 were barricaded by benches set one upon another 
 cross- ways — and every possible way — and com- 
 pletely barring up the road. 
 
 Taucred, with great difSculty, worked his way 
 to the ante-chamber — here he had to stop again. 
 An enormous roll of carpeting obsb-ucted the pas- 
 sage — behind this carpet was the large dinner- 
 table covered with chairs sitting in one another's 
 laps — behind that more benches — then a step- 
 ladder, then a stand covered with china, then 
 flower-pots waiting for flowers, then candelabras 
 waiting for candles, then the marble top of a 
 table, on which were heaped cushions, shovel and 
 tongs, stools, bellows, and cofi'ee-pot. 
 
 Tancred traversed this chaos without accident, 
 and got into the dining-room. 
 
 New difficulties. — In the dining-room was cast 
 into a general mel^e, all the parlour furniture, 
 sofa, arm-chairs, divans — then came valuable ar- 
 ticles — tlie mantel-clock with its tottering shade 
 — vases for flowers too beautiful ever to put flow- 
 ers in them — bust of the uncle, the general, so 
 like — work-table, work-box, above all the piano. 
 Tancred felt as if he were standing over the wreck 
 of the world, like another Attila. He had never 
 beheld such arrangements. He imagined that 
 this furniture had all been s.aved from a fire of 
 the preceding night, and had been deposited tiere 
 tUl its owner was furnished with another dwell- 
 ing. He looked — climbed over a pUe of chairs — 
 skirted round an enormous sofa as one skirts a 
 mountain — encountered many things on the way, 
 but saw no person. 
 
 " Is Mr. P in 1" asked he, a second time. 
 
 " This way, this way," — cried a distant voice. 
 Tancred saw nothing stUI. He arrived, at last, 
 at the parlonr^door. In the parlour, the bed- 
 
 chamber fui-niture, proud of its promotion, spread 
 itself . about. — But — still — nobody. 
 
 Tancred turned towards the chamber-door — the 
 same voice : " Here's a present for you !" 
 
 At the same moment a great bundle, thrown by 
 an invisible hand, struck Tancred in the face, 
 and he felt himself stifled, covered up by a deluge 
 of little petticoats and frocks of every colour, and 
 every size, from which he had the greatest diffi- 
 culty to free himself — some had a thousand little 
 stiings that hooked on to his buttons — others had 
 little sleeves that his hand went in — the whole 
 pretty well seasoned with dust. 
 
 When Tancred was able to see, he found him- 
 self face to face with a great gawky servant, armed 
 with a brush and duster ; the fellow looked fright- 
 ened and awkward. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, sir, I thought it was the 
 upholsterer's boy, who is coming to take down, 
 the bedstead, and I thought I 'd have a little fun 
 with him." 
 
 "Is Mr. P in," — interrupted Tancred^ 
 
 then seeing that the room was quite without fur- 
 niture; "but I am afraid I cannot see him — I 
 suppose you are moving ?" 
 
 " Oh, no ! we are not moving," answered the 
 man; "things are topsy-turvy, it is because of 
 the ball and that confounded upholsterer who has 
 not come." 
 
 " A ball to-night ? I will come another time." 
 " Oh, this is not the first time we have a ball ; 
 
 Mr. P win see you ; step into the office." 
 
 ***** 
 She had one of those faces ; beautiful to talk 
 about, not at all to look at ; large eyes, aquiline 
 nose, little mouth, oval face, well-turned chin. If 
 Madame P had been courted by an embassa- 
 dor, like a princess, she would have done well to 
 send her description, not her portrait. No matter 
 — she was what is called a handsome woman ; a 
 perfect doU, never out of order, never in undress ; 
 always laced, pinched, corseted; not a hair out 
 of place, not a ribbon floating. She looked dressed 
 in a wrapper, and armed in a ball-dress ; she 
 followed every fashion — because she was fond of 
 it? No — but as a matter of conscience. Her 
 coifieur was the best in Paris, and whatever head- 
 dress it pleased him to arrange for her, she re- 
 spected it, and would not dare to put a finger to it. 
 Suppose this head-dress imbecoming ? What mat- 
 ter — it is not her responsibility. If a hair-pin 
 hurts her? Xo matter — it would not do to spoil 
 the head-dress. The same respect for the mantna- 
 maker. She followed the laws of fashion rigor- 
 ously — the laws of the world scrnpnlously — the 
 haws of nature when they did not clash with the 
 other more important ones. She said, with a pe- 
 dantic air, that women ought not to occupy them- 
 selves with literature — but she talked of house- 
 keeping like a prof essor — her mind was slow, and 
 she looked upon every piece of wit she could not 
 comprehend as something improper. Her pre- 
 sence had a chilling effect — it was like the open- 
 ing of a door in a box at the theatre. 
 
 ***** 
 When a disagreeable man is described, they 
 
 675 
 
GO 
 
 GO 
 
 any, he 13 so satisfied with himself ! Very well. I 
 know what is more disagreeable— a man who is 
 dissatisfied with himself. With him there is no 
 getting along ; no way of pleasing ; flattery irri- 
 tates him — politeness seems to him pity; a pre- 
 sent — charity; he is desperately humble, and 
 nervously tenacious. If you ask him to dinner, 
 he answers, "Thank you, no — I am not good 
 company — I know you don't want me." If you 
 invite him to hear music; "No, I thank you," 
 says he, "I am too insignificant to go to such 
 gay parties." If you propose a pic-nic; " No, I 
 thank you," he answers, "such expeditions re- 
 quire gayety — invite your agreeable friends — I 
 am not suitable." This man enjoys nothing — is 
 fit for nothing ; he is eaten up with modesty — 
 but a disagreeable modesty ; it is an imaginary 
 leprosy which makes him shun his fellow-crea- 
 tures. 
 
 This malady is fortunately very rare in our 
 country ; I only speak of it to announce the fact 
 of its existence. 
 
 GOBE, MRS. CHAKLES, 
 
 Is ONE of the most popular of the living female 
 novelists of England ; the number of her works 
 would give her celebrity, had she no other claim. 
 She is, however, a powerful and brilliant writer, 
 and it seems almost a parody to assert, that her 
 surprising fertility of imagination should be an 
 obstacle to her attaining the high literary reputa- 
 tion she merits. But her works are so unfailingly 
 presented to the public, so constantly poured out, 
 that they are received like the flowers and fruits, 
 acceptable and delightful, but not to be sought 
 for and praised, as some rare occasional produc- 
 tion. We revel in our showers of roses, but they 
 are common-place, while we make a wonder of 
 some prickly production of a foreign bed. We are 
 led to these thoughts while looking over a notice 
 of Mrs. Gore's vrritings, which appeared in Cham- 
 bers's Cyclopsedia : the critic says, — " This lady 
 is a clever and prolific writer of tales and fashion- 
 able novels. Her first work (published anony- 
 mously) was, we believe, a small volume contain- 
 
 ing two tales, ' The Lettre de Cachet,' and 'The 
 Reign of Terror,' 1827. One of these relates to 
 the times of Louis XIV., and the other to the 
 French Revolution. They are both interesting, 
 graceful tales — superior, we think, to some of the 
 more elaborate and extensive fictions of the au- 
 thoress. In 1830, appeared ' Women as They 
 Are; or. The Manners of the Day,' three vol- 
 umes — an easy sparkling narrative, with correct 
 pictures of modern society — much lady-like vfrit- 
 ing on dress and fashion, and some rather mis- 
 placed derision or contempt for ' excellent wives,' 
 and ' good sort of men.' This novel soon went 
 through a second edition, and Mrs. Gore continued 
 the same style of fashionable portraiture. In 
 1831, she issued ' Mothers and daughters, a Tale 
 of the Year,' 1830. Here the manners of gay life 
 
 — balls, dinners, and fetes — with clever sketches 
 of character, and amusing dialogues, make up the 
 customary three volumes. The same year, we 
 find Mrs. Gore compiling a series of narratives for 
 youth, entitled ' The Historical Traveller.' In 1832, 
 she came forward with ' The Fair of May Fair,' a 
 series of fashionable tales that were not so well 
 received. The critics hinted that Mrs. Gore had 
 exhausted her stock of observation, and we be- 
 lieve she went to reside in France, where she con- 
 tinued some years. Her next tale was entitled 
 ' Mrs. Armitage.' In 1888, she published ' The 
 Book of Roses, or the Rose-Fancier's Manual,' a 
 delightful little work on the history of the rose, 
 its propagation and culture. France is celebrated 
 for its rich varieties of the queen of flowers, and 
 Mrs. Gore availed herself of the taste and experi- 
 ence of the French floriculturists. A few months 
 afterwards came out ' The Heir of Selwood, or 
 Three Epochs of a Life,' a novel in which were 
 exhibited sketches of Parisian as well as English 
 society, and an interesting though somewhat con- 
 fused plot. The year 1839 witnessed three more 
 works of fiction from this indefatigable lady, ' The 
 Cabinet Minister,' the scene of which is laid dur- 
 ing the regency of George IV., and includes among 
 its characters the great name of Sheridan ; ' Prefer- 
 ment, or my Uncle, the Earl,' containing some good 
 sketches of dravring-room society, but no plot; 
 and the ' Courtier of the Days of Charles II.,' and 
 other tales. Next year we have the ' Dowager, or 
 the New School for Scandal ;' and in 1841 ' Gre- 
 ville, or a Season in Paris ;' ' Dacre of the South, 
 or the Olden Time ' (a drama) ; and ' The Lover 
 and her Husband,' &c., the latter a free transla- 
 tion of M. Bertrand's Gerfaut. In 1842, Mrs. 
 Gore published ' The Banker's Wife, or Court and 
 City,' in which the efforts of a family in the middle 
 rank to outshine a nobleman, and the consequences 
 resulting from this silly vanity and ambition, are 
 truly and powerfully painted. The value of Mrs. 
 Gore's novels consists in their lively caustic pic- 
 tures of fashionable and high society. ' The more 
 respectable of her personages are affecters of an 
 excessive prudery concerning the decencies of life 
 
 — nay, occasionally of an exalted and mystical re- 
 ligious feeling. The business of their existence 
 is to avoid the slightest breach of conventional de- 
 corum. Whatever, therefore, they do, is a fair 
 
 676 
 
GO 
 
 GO 
 
 and absolute measure of the prevailing opinions ' 
 of the class, and may be regarded as not deroga- 
 tory to their position in the eyes of their equals. 
 But the low average standard of morality thus de- 
 picted, with its conventional distinctions, cannot 
 be invented. It forms the atmosphere in which 
 the parties live ; and were it a compound, fabri- 
 cated at the author's pleasure, the beings who 
 breathe it could not be universally acknowledged 
 as fantastical and as mere monstrosities ; they 
 would, indeed, be incapable of acting in harmony 
 and consistence with the known laws and usages 
 of civil life. Such as a series of parliamentary 
 reports, county meetings, race-horse transactions, 
 &c., they will be found, with a reasonable allow- 
 ance of artistic colouring, to reflect accurately 
 enough the notions current among the upper 
 classes respecting religion, politics, domestic mo- 
 rals, the social affections, and that coarse aggre- 
 gate of dealing with our neighbours, which is em- 
 braced by the term common honesty.'* Besides 
 the works we have mentioned, Mrs. Gore has pub- 
 lished ' TheDesennuy^e,' 'The Peeress,' 'The Wo- 
 man of the World,' ' The Woman of Business,' 
 ' The Ambassador's Wife,' and other novels. She 
 contributes tales to the periodicals, and is per- 
 haps unparalleled for fertility. Her works are all 
 of the same class — all pictures of existing life 
 and manners ; but the want of genuine feeling, of 
 passion and simplicity, in her living models, and 
 the endless frivolities of their occupations and pur- 
 suits, make us sometimes take leave of Mrs. Gore's 
 fashionable triflers in the temper with which Gold- 
 smith parted from Beau Tibbs — ' The company 
 of fools may at first make us smile, but at last 
 never fails of rendering us melancholy.' " 
 
 The defects of Mrs. Gore's works, which these 
 critics point out, seem rather to belong to English 
 fashionable life, than to the delineator thereof; 
 nor do we think she has had justice rendered her 
 genius. Two or three of her novels might be 
 selected, which would found a reputation for an 
 author who had written nothing else ; nay, we 
 will go farther — "Cecil," one of her most viva- 
 cious but least satisfactory works, would by itself 
 confer celebrity, as was plainly seen when, upon its 
 anonymous appearance, it was hailed with eager- 
 ness as the debut of a new and clever masculine pen. 
 Mrs. Gore possesses great knowledge of human 
 nature, and is well skilled in developing the pecu- 
 liarities of character ; she can even be pathetic. 
 In one of her very best tales — " Female Domina- 
 tion" — the sorrows of the oppressed daughter 
 are told in a very touching manner ; the charac- 
 ter of Mrs. Armitage, in this book, is a remark- 
 ably well-sustained delineation, and the evolve- 
 ment of the plot is effected in a masterly way. 
 But the most remarkable quality of our authoress 
 is wit ; this she possesses in such superabundance 
 that she actually wastes it ; good things lie in out 
 of the way places, where they are hardly recog- 
 nized, and where they lose the effect they might 
 have, if reserved for their fitting application. 
 
 It has been said of a very rich Russian prince. 
 
 *Atiiensuin, 1839. 
 
 who visited London some years ago, that to show 
 the little account he made of pearls, he had them 
 loosely stitched in ornamenting his attire, on pur- 
 pose that they might fall, while he walked on, 
 heedless of their fate. Mrs. Gore is equally pro- 
 digal of the little gems of her epigrammatic wit ; 
 they fall from her when least expected, and some- 
 times when least needed. Her literary industry 
 cannot be estimated, as it is well known that, 
 together with the very wonderful number of her 
 acknowledged works, she has sent out many with- 
 out her name. Besides these narrative fictions, 
 Mrs. Gore has made some contributions to the 
 stage — "The Maid of Croissy," "The Sledge- 
 Driver," — little dramas from the French, — " The 
 School for Coquettes," and other comedies. Sir 
 Walter Scott showed, by the examples of Le Sage 
 and Fielding, that a successful novelist could 
 scarcely be fitted for dramatic compositions ; his 
 own attempt in that way came afterwards to sup- 
 port his theory. The plays of Mrs. Gore may, 
 then, without disparaging her abilities, be ac- 
 knowledged but mediocre achievements. 
 
 Some masculine critics have pronounced it im- 
 possible that the classical allusions and quotations, 
 interspersed through Mrs. Gore's works, should 
 have proceeded from herself. The Latin and 
 Greek of these gentlemen must have found very 
 difficult access into their brains, but they may be 
 assured such trifling accomplishments can be, and 
 are, acquired every year by hundreds of school- 
 boys, who would be entirely puzzled were a single 
 chapter, such as the most indifferent of Mrs. Gore's 
 works would furnish, to be expected of them. 
 Memory is a faculty possessed equally, we believe, 
 by the sexes ; but the greater vivacity of the female 
 intellect renders the acquisition of language easier 
 for girls than for boys ; and when similar advan- 
 tages shall be given to both, women will excel 
 men in that knowledge of languages which gives 
 facility to expression, and makes all tongues ren- 
 der tribute in the service of Genius. Mrs. Gore 
 has the honour of being a leader in this learning- 
 made-popular-style of novel-writing. 
 
 From "Self;" a novel. 
 Thanks to the march of civilization, privacy has 
 been exploded among us, and individuality effaced. 
 People feel in thousands, and think in tens of 
 thousands. No quiet nook of earth remaining for 
 the modern Cincinnatus to cultivate his own car- 
 rots and opinions, where humours may expand 
 into excrescence, or originality let grow its beard ! 
 Eobinson Crusoe's island has been invaded by 
 missionary societies or colonization committees ; 
 and even in our scarcely less barbarous midland 
 counties, railroads are cutting their way into 
 Harlowe Place, and puffing their desecrations into 
 the venerable face of Grandison Hall. The word 
 " tender" has acquired, in modern parlance, a 
 sense that would have distracted the chivalrous 
 authors of the "Arcadia;" nor is there a vicarage 
 in the land sufSciently remote from the shriek of 
 the engine-driver, to foster the ingenuousness jf 
 a Dr. Primrose. 
 
 » * * * * 
 
 677 
 
GO 
 
 The literatvire of tlie country was just then at 
 a discount. Prophets had appeared, indeed, but 
 they prophesied in the -wilderness. Those great 
 ■writers, whose names are now inscribed on corner- 
 stones of the temple of fame, Wordsworth, Cole- 
 ridge, Southey, were damned by an epithet ; while 
 Moore, like a frisky lord in a police-office, was 
 fain to shelter his irregularities under a feigned 
 name. The uproar of war's alarms had some- 
 what deafened the ear of the public to the music 
 of Apollo's flute. The fashionable world, accord- 
 ingly, restricted its literary enjoyments to laugh- 
 ing at the waggeries of the Anti-Jacobin, or 
 shrieking at the diabolisms of Monk Lewis ; dim 
 foreshadowing of the romantic school, on the eve 
 of its creation by Scott, or gurglings of the vitriolic 
 Hippocrene, about to start from the earth on the 
 stamping of Byron's Pegasus. The belles-lettres, 
 which for two centuries past had received their 
 impulse from France, had undergone a staggering 
 blow at the revolution, under the effects of which 
 they still languished ; and behold, as in the case 
 of other extenuated patients, hysteria supervened. 
 
 Prom " Modern Chivalry."* 
 
 HOW TO MANAGE THE WORLD. 
 
 Waterton, the naturalist, who, like Mungo Park, 
 and other bold adventurers into lands beyond the 
 sea, passes for the fabricator of half the marvels 
 he was the first to witness, asserts that whenever 
 he encountered an alligator ilte-i-tite, in the wil- 
 derness, he used to leap on his back, and ride the 
 beast to death. This feat, so much discredited 
 by the stay-at-home critics, was an act of neither 
 bravery nor braggartry — but of necessity. Either 
 the man or the alligator must have had the upper 
 hand. 11 a fallu opter. 
 
 Just so are we situated with regard to the world. 
 Either we must leap upon its back, strike our spur 
 into its panting sides, and, in spite of its scaly de- 
 fences, compel it to obey our glowing will, or the 
 animal will mangle us with its ferocious jaws, and 
 pursue its way toward its refuge in the cool waters, 
 leaving ua expiring in the dust. Either the world 
 or the individual must obtain the upper hand. 
 Happy he who hath the genius and presence of 
 mind of a Waterton ! 
 
 The greatest difficulty experienced now-a-days 
 in accomplishing the subjugation of the brute, is 
 to get it on foot, with the view of mounting. 
 Lazy and over-fed, it lies ruminating, half lost 
 amid the springing grass of its fertile meadows, 
 like a Cheshire cow, which, when roused by an 
 occasional impulse of friskiness, goes cumbrously 
 frolicking round the pastures, without aim or end, 
 save that, of its own cork-screwed tail, only to 
 subside anew into the apathetic torpor of obesity. 
 What is to be done with such a world ? A prick 
 less penetrating than that of a goad will not 
 awaken it from its luxurious and self-sufficing 
 ruminations ; nay, a stunning blow between the 
 
 •This work was sent out by Mrs. Gore anonymously; 
 when reprinted in America, it was attributed to that chro- 
 nicler of crime, Harrison Ainsworlh! Very complimentary 
 to him. 
 
 GO 
 
 horns is absolutely indispensable to overmaster 
 its huge, heavy, and powerful organization. 
 
 Between the somnolence and selfishness of the 
 applauding classes, celebrity has become a thing 
 of yesterday ! There is neither courage nor energy 
 left in the world to engender a great reputation. 
 As of old the gods deserted Greece, great men are 
 deserting Great Britain. 
 
 Society has become a vast platitude, like a calm 
 at sea, painted by Vandervelde, or the Looking- 
 Glass Prairies, described by Boz. No man blushes 
 at being stupid and insignificant as his neighbours. 
 The happy medium of dulness envelopes and en- 
 virons every object, passive or active; and we say 
 to each other, as Louis XIII. said to Cinq Mars, 
 " Mon mignon ! let us go and look out of the win- 
 dow: et ennuyons nous — ennuyofis nous bienl" The 
 moment insignificance and monotony become the 
 normal state of a society, yawns are out of place. 
 
 The predominant growth of such an order of 
 things is unhappily a monstrous egoism, like the 
 hippopotamus and other frightful creatures en- 
 gendered amid the verdure of the level pastures of 
 the Nile. Self becomes the One Divinity ; amal- 
 gamating the worship due to Apollo and Diana, 
 Isis and Osiris ; and superseding at once the golden 
 image set up for public adoration and the Lares 
 and Penates of domestic piety, a prodigious eco- 
 nomy of devotion ! For the egoist has so far the 
 advantage over every other species of devotee, 
 that his idol is ever present. Like the Catholic 
 priests, who, during the Reign of Terror, carried 
 portable altars in their pockets, and the insignia 
 of their faith concealed in a walking-stick, he is 
 always prepared for his devotions. The shrine 
 and the lamp burning before it, are identical. 
 His faith knows no misgivings, his fervour no in- 
 termission. Like the Delhai Lama, he is eternally 
 absorbed in ecstatic contemplation df his own 
 divinity. 
 
 From " Abednego, the Money-Lender." 
 THE FEMALE SPENDTHRIFT. 
 
 "We are bound, in this world, to keep up the 
 decencies of life, due to our position in society," 
 interrupted the Countess, in a haughty tone. 
 
 "I thoroughly agree with your ladyship," was 
 the fearless reply of Abednego; "and it is pre- 
 cisely for that reason I have it at heart to see the 
 valuables of the Countess of Winterfield removed 
 from the custody of a money-lending Jew." 
 
 His lovely visitor blushed to the temples at this 
 unexpected retort, but more in anger than in 
 sorrow. 
 
 "A step lower in the scale of degradation," 
 calmly resumed Abednego, "and they would ap- 
 pear among the unredeemed pledges in a pawn- 
 broker's window. Think of the brilliant Countess 
 of Winterfield presenting herself at court with 
 duplicates in her pocket!" 
 
 " You presume upon my necessities to insult me 
 thus !" cried the indignant woman, roused by this 
 terrible sentence. 
 
 "Necessities, madam, permit me to observe, 
 
 678 
 
GO 
 
 GO 
 
 wholly of your own creation ! I am not unfre- 
 quently compelled to witness tlie woes of my fel- 
 low-creatures, — ay, even those of your own sex. 
 But how different is their nature from those of 
 which you complain ! Trust me, there are severer 
 pangs in the world than arise from the rumpling 
 of the rose-leaf! I have seen mother^ of families 
 struggling for their children's bread ; I have seen 
 devoted wives beggared by the improvidence of 
 their husbands, yet exerting themselves diligently, 
 humbly, and silently, to extricate themselves from 
 ruin. Such misfortunes, madam, and such penury, 
 I respect. Nay, I have known well-born women 
 subject themselves to wretchedness and privation 
 for the Bake of their lovers — and even those I have 
 respected ! But I have neither respect nor pity 
 for the wantonness of waste that purports only 
 the entanglement of frivolous admirers. The dis- 
 play intended to deceive some unhappy dupe into 
 ofiFering you his hand, moves only my contempt. 
 If you must needs have an opera-box, for the 
 young Marquis to sit beside you throughout the 
 evening as throughout the morning, — if you must 
 needs have a succession of showy dresses, to en- 
 hance your beauty to secure these danglers, — if 
 you must needs, have brilliant equipages to fly 
 about the town — to wander from races to break- 
 fasts — from Greenwich parties to pic-nics at Ken 
 Wood (your ladyship perceives that I am tolerably 
 well versed in your movements!) — have them at 
 other cost than mine ! I have no money to throw 
 away on the maintenance of your follies." 
 
 Lady Winterfield started up. Galled beyond 
 endurance by the humiliations thus inflicted upon 
 hei', she resolved to obey the harsh injunction of 
 Abednego, and seek assistance elsewhere. But, 
 alas ! a moment's reflection served to remind her 
 that she had already sought it, and in vain ; that 
 she had no resource — no hope — save in the inso- 
 lent rebuker of her faults. She submitted, there- 
 fore, — rendered docile by the iron pressure of 
 necessity. In a moment she subdued her temper, 
 and humbled her pride, — reduced to tameness, 
 like the beasts of the field, by the pangs of pri- 
 vation. 
 
 " You are most severe upon me," said she, in 
 the pretty coaxing voice that none knew better 
 how to assume when her purpose needed, " though 
 perhaps not more so than I deserve. But when I 
 assure you, that if you persist in refusing me this 
 five hundred pounds I am utterly ruined — ruined 
 both in fortune and reputation — " 
 
 " My refusal will not render your ladyship a 
 shilling poorer than you are now. In what way, 
 therefore, can you charge me with your ruin 1" 
 
 "You will have, at least, exposed it to the 
 world." 
 
 Abednego shrugged his shoulders. "You ex- 
 pose yourself, madam," said he, " by using such 
 arguments ! Once for all, I repeat that you are 
 wasting the substance of others, and of your chil- 
 dren, merely to keep up false appearances in the 
 world. So long as you enjoy luxuries which you 
 do not and cannot pay for, you are shining at the 
 cost of your coach-makers, jewellers, milliners, 
 money-lenders — the abject obligee of humble 
 
 tradesmen. At this moment — woman and Coun- 
 tess as you are — you stand before me as an in- 
 fenor. Though you may be a Countess of the 
 realm, and I the villified A. 0., I rise above you 
 as a capitalist, — I rise above you as a moralist, in 
 whose hands you have placed weapons of offence." 
 
 It was now the turn of Lady Winterfield to 
 shrug her shoulders ; but with impatience rather 
 than contempt. 
 
 " Last week," resumed Abednego, careless of 
 the variations of her countenance, " there came 
 hither to me a woman, young and lovely as your- 
 self, who, like yourself, had exceeded her means, 
 and broken her engagements. She came hither 
 to me, not lilie your ladyship,. — hoping to move 
 me to pity by the sight of her loveliness and her 
 affected despair, — she had other arms for the 
 combat ; and those arms, madam, prevailed ! To 
 her I assigned thrice the sum of her original debt,- 
 and at my own instigation." 
 
 "And of what nature were those arms?" de- 
 manded Lady Winterfield, colouring deeply, and, 
 by casting down her eyes, showing that she was 
 prepared for expressions of gallantry and admira- 
 tion on the part of one whom she loathed like a 
 harpy. . 
 
 " It avails little to explain," replied Abednego,. 
 with an ill-repressed smile of exultation, as he 
 rose from his chair and approached her; "for 
 they are such as it were, perhaps, unbecoming so 
 great a lady as the Countess of Winterfield to put 
 to profit." 
 
 "I am willing to use any arms, — make any 
 concession," faltered the fair bankrupt, a deadly 
 paleness succeeding to her previous flush, as she- 
 contemplated the growing audacity of the Money- 
 Lender. 
 
 Abednego folded his meagre hands carelessly 
 before him, and, throwing back his head,, stood 
 contemplating her from head to foot, with a smile 
 of indescribable expression. It was impossible to 
 behold a more lovely woman ; and the Money- 
 Lender gazed upon her as if taking an appraise- 
 ment of her charms. 
 
 " The arms to which /alluded, are not at your 
 ladyship's disposal !" was at length his. sarcastic 
 reply. " For they were tears of genuine remorse 
 for an involuntary breach of faith ; they were the 
 worn and haggard looks which labour and want 
 impose upon the fairest face. She was a woman, 
 of the people, madam ; like you, left young, a 
 widow — like you, with helpless children dependent 
 upon her prudence. She told me — and her mieu, 
 attested her veracity — that for them she had toiled' 
 day and night, — for them abstained from food and> 
 rest. But the outlay that was to set her up in 
 business, (borrowed of one of the agents of A. 0. , 
 and at usurious interest,) was still unrepaid. She 
 was still poor, still insolvent, still needing indul- 
 gence ; and came hither, like the fashionable Coun- 
 tess of Winterfield, to beg for mercy !" 
 
 Gjeatly relieved, even while writhing under the 
 severe lesson imparted by Abednego, the fashion- 
 able spendthrift gasped for breath. 
 
 "I granted it," resumed the harsh admonitor.. 
 "And I granted her also my respect — almost my 
 
 67^ 
 
GO 
 
 GO 
 
 afifeotion. The old Money-Lender soothed her as 
 a father might have done, and sent her home in 
 peace and comfort to her children. Yours, madam, 
 ■win hare less to thank you for ! I will not expose 
 you, — I will not pursue you with the rigour of the 
 law. But I choose to retain in security, for the 
 property of mine which you have squandered, the 
 diamonds pledged to me to that effect ; and with- 
 out affording you another guinea in extension of 
 the loan, — aware that neither that, nor millions, 
 would impede your ruin and disgrace." 
 
 GOULD, HANNAH FLAGG, 
 
 Is a native of Lancaster, in the State of Ver- 
 mont; but in her early youth her father, who, was 
 a veteran of the Revolution, removed to Newbury- 
 port, in Massachusetts, where she has since re- 
 sided. Her mother died when Hannah was young, 
 and for many years, even until the decease of her 
 beloved father, she was his housekeeper, nurse, 
 companion, and the chief source of his earthly 
 happiness. She has, in several poems, touchiugly 
 alluded to incidents in the soldier-life of her vene- 
 rable parent ; and the patriotic glow which imbues 
 many of her strains was, no doubt, fed by such 
 reminiscences as the " Sear of Lexington " would 
 suggest. 
 
 Miss Gould commenced her literary career as 
 nearly all our American authors do, by writing 
 for periodicals. Her contributions were chiefly 
 poetical; these she collected, and in 1832 her first 
 volume of poems was published in Boston. Since 
 then, two additional volumes of her poems have 
 been issued ; and in 1846, a volume of prose, en- 
 ■ titled " Gathered Leaves, or Miscellaneous Pa- 
 pers," which had previously been contributions to 
 annuals, appeared. In 1850, " Diosma — a peren- 
 nial," a volume of poems, selected and original, 
 and "The Youth's Coronal," a little book of 
 poems for children, were published. Miss Gould 
 is preparing her lyrical compositions, some of 
 which have been set to music, for publication — a 
 task which her friends are solicitous she should 
 perform, and thus give permanency to her pro- 
 ductions. 
 
 The great popularity of Miss Gould we consider 
 a most encouraging omen for the lovers of genuine 
 poetry, of that which is true in thought and natu- 
 ral in description. She charms by the rare merit 
 of imparting interest to small things and common 
 occurrences. These make up far the greater part 
 of life's reality, and, if truth be the essence of 
 poetry, they must be poetical. Unfortunately, 
 but few poets have had the power or the inclina- 
 tion to invest the actual world with the beauty 
 and attractiveness which has been lavished on 
 ideal and false creations of fancy ; and hence it is 
 that their labours have been accounted idle, and 
 their profession degraded. Passion has too often 
 usurped the place of reason, and a selfish sensi- 
 tiveness been fostered, instead of that healthful 
 sentiment of complacency in the happiness of 
 others, which all high exercise of the mental 
 faculties should exalt and encourage. It is this 
 enlarging and elevating the affections, which im- 
 ^proves the heart and purifies the taste. And this 
 
 is one important office of true poetry — such poetry 
 as Miss Gould has written. 
 
 She also possesses great delicacy and scope of 
 imagination ; she gathers around her simple themes 
 imagery of peculiar beauty and uncommon associa- 
 tion — and yet this imagery is always appropri-ate. 
 Then she has a very felicitous command of lan- 
 guage, and the skill of making the most uncouth 
 words " lie smooth in rhyme," which the greatest 
 poet of the age might envy. And she, not seldom, 
 displays humorous turns of thought, and a sportive 
 raillery which is very amusing. 
 
 Wit is a much rarer quality than wisdom in 
 female writers. We shall not here enter into 
 the inquiry why it is that women, who are, pro- 
 verbially, quick in perception, and who are often 
 accused of delighting in repartee and scandal, 
 should nevertheless, when submitting their senti- 
 ments to the public, almost scrupulously avoid 
 ridicule and satire, even when the subjects treated 
 of seemed to justify or demand these forms of 
 expression. But such is the fact — and hence 
 Miss Gould's sprightly wit has the advantage of 
 appearing quite original. She, however, uses it 
 with great delicacy, and always to teach or en- 
 force some lesson which would not disparage " di- 
 vine Philosophy " to inculcate. — In truth, the great 
 power of her poetry is its moral application. This 
 hallows every object she looks upon, and ennobles 
 every incident she celebrates. She takes lowly 
 and homely themes, but she turns them to the 
 light of heaven, and they are beautified, and 
 refined, and elevated. She brings to her God the 
 rich treasures of her intellect, and the warm feel- 
 ings of her heart. Everywhere and in every thing 
 she sees and feels His presence ; and her song 
 rises in those "spiritual breathings," which lift 
 the hearts of her readers, to xmite with her in 
 praise to the Lord. 
 
 The mania for melancholy and despairing poetry, 
 which the Byronian era introduced, never found 
 any favour in the clear, calm, sensible mind of our 
 poetess. Her philosophy is as practical and con- 
 tented as her piety is ardent. Her motto seems 
 to have been, 
 
 *' The Muse should gladden the seasons. 
 Should strengthen the heart in pain " — 
 
 and like her own, "Ground Laurel" she adds 
 cheerfulness to every scene, however sequestered 
 or lonely, which her fancy pictures. Truly such 
 a genius is a blessing to the world. 
 
 Her poems will be popular while truth has 
 friends and nature admirers, and while children 
 are readers. And what praise is sweeter to a 
 pure, good mind than the praise of childhood, in 
 which the heart is always given with the lips ? 
 
 THE MOON UPON THE SPIRE. 
 
 The full-oybed moon has reached no higher 
 Than yon old church's mossy spire, 
 And seems, as gliding up the air, 
 She saw the fane, and, pausing there, 
 Would worship, in the tranquil night, 
 The Prince of peace — the Source of light, 
 Where man, for God, prepared the place, 
 And God, to man, unveils his face. 
 
 680 
 
GO 
 
 GO 
 
 Her tribute all around is seen — 
 She beiidd, and worships like a queen I 
 Her robe of light, and beaming crown. 
 In silence she is casting down ; 
 And, as a creature uf the earth. 
 She feels her lowliness of birth — 
 Her weakness and inconstancy 
 Before unchanging Purity. 
 
 Pale traveller on thy lonely way, 
 'T is well thine honours thus to pay — 
 To reverence that ancient pile ; 
 And spread thy silver o'er the aisle, 
 Which many a pious foot hath trod. 
 That now is dust beneath the sod — 
 Where many a sacred tear was wept, 
 From eyes that long in death have slept. 
 
 The temple's builders, where are they ? 
 
 The worshippers? — all passed away; 
 
 Who came the first to offer there 
 
 The song of praise, the heart of prayer! 
 
 Man's generation passes soon — 
 
 It wanes and changes like the moon ! 
 
 He rears the perishable wall — 
 
 But ere it crumble, he must fall 1 
 
 And does he fall to rise no more? 
 Hath he no part to triumph o'er 
 The pallid king? — no spark to save 
 From darkness, ashes and the grave ? 
 Thou holy place! the answer wrought 
 In thy firtn walls forbids the thought I 
 The spirit that established thee 
 Nor death nor darkness e'er shall see ! 
 
 THE SNOWFLAKE. 
 
 ' Now, if I fall, will it be my lot 
 To be cast in some lone and lowly epot 
 To melt, and to sink unseen, or forgot? 
 
 And there will my course be ended ?" 
 'T was this a feathery Snowflake said, 
 As down through measureless space it strayed, 
 Or as, half by dalliance, half afraid. 
 
 It seemed in mid air suspended. 
 
 ' Oh, no !" said the Earth, " thou shaU not lie 
 Neglected and lone on my lap to die, 
 Thou pure and delicate child of the sky! 
 
 For thou wilt be safe in my keeping. 
 But, then, I must give thee a lovelier form — 
 Thou wilt not be a part of the wintry storm. 
 But revive, when the sunbeams are yellow and warm. 
 
 And the flowers from my bosom are peeping I 
 
 ' And then thou shalt have thy choice, to be 
 Restored in the lily that decks the lea, 
 In the jessamine bloom, the anemone, 
 Or aught of thy spotless whiteness ; 
 To melt, and be cast in a glittering bead 
 With the pearls that the night scatters over the mead, 
 In the cup where the bee and the fire-fly feed, 
 Regaining thy dazzling brightness, 
 
 ' I '11 let thee awake from thy transient sleep. 
 When Viola's mild blue eye shall weep. 
 In a tremulous tear; or, a diamond, leap 
 
 In a drop from the unlocked fountain ; 
 Or, leaving the valley, the meadow, and heath. 
 The streamlet, the flowers, and all beneath, 
 Go up and be v/ove in the silvery wreath 
 
 Encircling the brow of the mountain. 
 
 ' Or wouldst thou return to a home in the skies, 
 To shine in the Iris I 'II let thee arise, 
 And appear in the many and glorious dyes 
 
 A pencil of sunbeams is blending! 
 But true, fair thing, as my name is Earth, 
 I'll give thee a new and vernal birth, 
 When thou shalt recover thy primal worth, 
 
 And never regret descending!" 
 
 ' Then I will drop," said the trusting Flake; 
 ' But, bear it in mind, that the choice I make 
 Is not in the flowers nor the dew to wake ; 
 Nor the mist, that shall pass with the morning. 
 
 For, things of thyself, they will die with thee; 
 But those that are lent from on high, like me. 
 Must rise, and will live, from thy dust set free, 
 To the regions above returning. 
 
 ' And if true to thy word and just thou art. 
 Like the spirit that dwells in the holiest heart, 
 Unsullied by thee, thou wilt let me depart. 
 
 And return to my native heaven. 
 For I would be placed in the beautiful bow, 
 From time to time, in thy sight to glow ; 
 So thou mayest remember the Flake of Snow 
 
 By the promise that God hath given !" 
 
 THE SCAR OF LEXINGTON. 
 
 With cherub smile, the prattling boy, 
 
 Who on the veteran's breast reclines. 
 Has thrown aside his favourite toy. 
 
 And round his tender finger twines 
 Those scattered locks, that, with the flight 
 Of fourscore years, are snowy white ; 
 And, as a scar arrests his view, 
 He cries, " Grandpa, what wounded you ?" 
 
 *' My child, 't is five-and-fifty years, 
 
 This very day, this very hour. 
 Since, from a scene of blood and tears, 
 
 Where valour fell by hostile power, 
 I saw retire the setting sun 
 Behind the hills of Lexington ; 
 While pale and lifeless on the plain 
 My brothers lay, for freedom slain! 
 
 " And ere that fight, the first that spoke 
 
 In thunder to our land, was o'er. 
 Amid the clouds of fire and smoke, 
 
 I felt my garments wet with gore ! 
 'Tis since that dread and wild affray. 
 That trying, dark, eventful day. 
 From this calm April eve so far, 
 I wear upon my cheek the scar. 
 
 " When thou to manhood shalt be grown, 
 
 And I am gone in dust to sleep, 
 May freedom's rights be still thine own, 
 
 And thou and thine in quiet reap 
 The unblighted product of the toil 
 In which my blood bedewed the soil ! 
 And, while those fruits thou shalt enjoy, 
 Bethink thee of this scar, my boy. 
 
 '• But should thy country's voice be heard 
 
 To bid her children fly to arms, 
 Gird on thy grandsire's trusty sword : 
 
 And, undismayed by war's alarms, 
 Remember, on the battle field. 
 I made the hand of God my shield : 
 And be thou spared, like me, to telt 
 What bore thee up, while others fell I" 
 
 FOREST MUSIC. 
 
 There's a sad loneliness about my heart, — 
 A deep, deep solitude the spirit feels 
 Amid this multitude. The things of art 
 Pall on the senses — from its pageantry. 
 Loathing, my eye turns ofi*; and my ear shrinks 
 From the harsh dissonance that fills the air. 
 
 My soul is growing sick — I will away 
 
 And gather balm from a sweet forest walk ! 
 
 There, as the breezes through the branches sweep, 
 
 Is heard aerial minstrelsy, like harps 
 
 Untouched, unseen, that on the spirit's ear 
 
 Pour out their numbers till they lull in peace 
 
 The tumult of the bosom. There's a voice 
 
 Of music in the rustling of the leaves : 
 
 And the green boughs are hung with living lutes. 
 
 Whose strings will only vibrate to His hand 
 
 Who made them, while they sound His untaught praise I 
 
 The whole wild wood is one vast instrument 
 Of thousand, thousand keys; and all its notes 
 Come in sweet harmony, while Nature plays 
 To celebrate the presence of her God' 
 
 681 
 
GO 
 
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 THE SHIP IS HEADY. 
 
 Fare thee well ! the ship is ready, 
 And the breeze is fresh and steady. 
 Hands are fast the anchor weighing; 
 High in air the streamer's playing. 
 Spread the sails — the waves are swelling 
 Proudly round thy buoyant dwelling. 
 Fare thee well ! and when at sea, 
 Think of those who sigh for thee. 
 
 When from land and home receding. 
 And from hearts that ache to bleeding. 
 Think of those behind, who love thee. 
 While the sun is bright above thee! 
 Then, as, down to ocean glancing, 
 In the waves his rays are dancing, 
 Think how long the night will be 
 To the eyes that weep for thee ! 
 
 When the lonely night-watch keeping. 
 All below thee still and sleeping — 
 As the needle points the quarter 
 O'er the wide and trackless water. 
 Let thy vigils ever find thee 
 Mindful of the friends behind thee! 
 Let thy bosom's magnet be 
 Turned to those who wake for thee ! 
 
 When, with slow and gentle motion, 
 Heaves the bosom of the ocean — 
 While in peace thy bark is riding, 
 And the silver moon is gliding 
 O'er the sky with tranquil splendour. 
 Where the shining hosts attend her ; 
 Let the brightest visions be 
 Country, home, and friends, to thee ! 
 
 When the tempest hovers o'er thee, 
 Danger, wreck, and death, before thee, 
 While the sword of fire is gleaming. 
 Wild the winds, the torrent streaming. 
 Then, a pious suppliant bending. 
 Let thy thoughts, to Heaven ascending. 
 Reach the mercy seat, to be 
 Met by prayers that rise for thee ! 
 
 THE GROUND LAUREL. 
 
 1 love thee, pretty nursling 
 Of vernal sun and rain; 
 
 For thou art Flora's firstling. 
 And leadest in her train. 
 
 When far away I found thee, 
 
 It was an April morn; 
 The chilling blast blew round thee, 
 
 No bud had decked the thorn. 
 And thou alone wert hiding 
 
 The mossy rocks between. 
 Where, just below them gliding. 
 
 The Merrimac was seen. 
 
 And while my hand was brushing 
 
 The seary leaves from thee, 
 It seemed as thou wert blushing 
 
 To be disclosed by me. 
 So modest, fair, and fragrant. 
 
 Where all was wild and rude, 
 To cheer the lonely vagrant 
 
 Who crossed thy solitude,— 
 
 Thou didst reward my ramble 
 
 By shining at my feet, 
 When, over brake and bramble, 
 
 I sought thy lone retreat.— 
 
 As some sweet flower of pleasure 
 Upon our path may bloom, 
 
 *Mid rocks and thorns that measure 
 Our journey to the tomb. 
 
 THE PEBBLE AND THE ACORN. 
 
 "lama Pebble ! and yield to none !" 
 Were the swelling words of a tiny stone — 
 " Nor time nor seasons can alter ine ; 
 I am abiding, while ages flee. 
 
 The pelting hail and the drizzling rain 
 Have tried to soften me, long, in vain ; 
 And the tender dew has sought to melt 
 Or touch my heart ; hut it was not felt. 
 There 's none can tell about my birth, 
 For 1 'm as old as the big, round earth. 
 The children of men arise, and pass ' 
 
 Out of the world, like blades of grass; 
 And many a foot on me has trod, 
 That's gone from sight, and under the sod. 
 I am a Pebble! but who art thou. 
 Rattling along from the restless bough ?" 
 
 The Acorn was shocked at this rude salute, 
 And lay for a moment abashed and mute; 
 She never before had been so near 
 This gravelly ball, the mundane sphere; 
 And she felt for a time at a loss to know 
 How to answer a thing so coarse and low. 
 But to give reproof of a nobler sort. 
 Than the angry look, or the keen retort, 
 At length she said, in a gentle tone, 
 "Since it has happened that I am thrown 
 From the lighter element where I grew, 
 Down to another so hard and new, 
 And beside a personage so augnst. 
 Abased, I will cover my head with dust, 
 And quickly retire from the sight of one 
 Whom time, nor season, nor storm, nor sun. 
 Nor the gentle dew, nor the grinding heel, 
 Has ever subdued, or made to feel!" 
 And soon in the earth she sank away 
 From the comfortless spot where the Pebble lay. 
 
 But it was not long ere the soil was broke 
 By the peering head of an infant oak! 
 And, as it arose, and its branches spread. 
 The Pebble looked up, and, wondering, said, 
 "A modest Acorn— never to tell 
 What was enclosed in its simple shell I 
 That the pride of the forest was folded up 
 In the narrow space of its little cup ! 
 And meekly to sink in the darksome earth. 
 Which proves that nothing could hide her worth i 
 And, oh! how many will tread on me. 
 To come and admire the beautiful tree. 
 Whose head is towering toward the sky. 
 Above such a worthless thing as I ! 
 Useless and vain, a cumberer here, 
 I have been idling from year to year. 
 But never from this, shall a vaunting word 
 From the humbled Pebble again be heard. 
 Till something without me or within 
 Shall show the purpose for which I 've been !" 
 The Pebble its vow could not forget, 
 And il lies there wrapped in silence yet. 
 
 A NAME IN THE SAND. 
 
 Alone I walked the ocean strand; 
 A pearly shell was in my hand: 
 I stooped and wrote upon the sand 
 
 My name — the year — the day. 
 As onward from the spot I passed, 
 One lingering look behind I cast ; 
 A wave came rolling high and fast, 
 
 And washed my lines away. 
 
 And so, methought, 'twill shortly be 
 With every mark on earth from me ; 
 A wave of dark Oblivion's sea 
 
 Will sweep across the place 
 Where I have trod the sandy shore 
 Of Time, and been to be no more, 
 Of me — my day — the name I bore. 
 
 To leave nor track nor trace. 
 
 And yet, with Him who counts the sands, 
 And holds the waters in his hands, 
 I know a lasting record stands, 
 
 Inscribed against my name, 
 Of all this mortal part has wrought ; 
 Of all this thinking soul has thought ; 
 And from these fleeting moments caught 
 
 For glory or for shame. 
 
 682 
 
GR 
 
 HA 
 
 GREY, MRS. 
 
 Is quite a popular Englisli authoress, -whom we 
 may term "a Triton among tlie minnows." She 
 is decidedly at the head of that class of novel- 
 writers who administer to the amusement of those 
 who read merely for something to do. If we find 
 nothing very new or exciting, we find nothing in- 
 jurious or distasteful to the most fastidious. Her 
 books, with respect to the moral tone, may be 
 safely allowed to " the fair and innocent," who 
 will believe them to be finely written. The cha- 
 racters are such as, in our experience in that line 
 of writing, we have had the opportunity to see 
 portrayed many hundreds of times. Mrs. Grey 
 dresses them up, however, very cleverly, and pre- 
 sents them to the public suitably. " The Gam- 
 . bier's Wife," one of her early works, has enjoyed 
 a wonderful popularity ; this argues some occult 
 merits, which we were never able to discover. In 
 her later works there is much improvement in the 
 style, which is now generally correct. " Aleine " 
 is decidedly the best of her productions, where 
 there is a very successful imitation of Mrs. Marsh ; 
 in spirit and feeling some portions of it might 
 fairly challenge competition with " The Two Old 
 Men's Tales." The other works of Mrs. Grey, 
 reprinted in America, are " The Duke and the 
 Cousin," "The Belle of the Family," " The Little 
 Wife, a Record of Matrimonial Life," " The Ma- 
 nceuvering Mother," " Sybil Lennard," " The 
 Young Prima Donna," " The Baronet's Daugh- 
 ters," "Hyacinthe, or the Contrast," "Lena Ca- 
 meron," "The Old Dower House," "Alice Sey- 
 mour," and " Harry Monk." 
 
 GROSS, AMALIE VON, 
 Better known under her nomme deplume, Amalie 
 Winter, was born in 1803, at Weimar. Her maiden 
 name was Leebach. In early life she became ac- 
 quainted with Goethe, and her taste and mind were 
 formed under the influence of that remarkable 
 man. She appeared as an authoress at the age 
 of thirty, by contributing to a popular annual. 
 In 1838, she published " Pictures of German 
 Life," and afterwards novelettes; "Pictures of 
 Women," " Recollections of a Berlin Doll," " Re- 
 collections of a Leaden Soldier," "Fairy Tales of 
 Nature," and " The Diadem and Sceptre." She 
 has written a great many minor tales and poems. 
 . None of her works . have been translated into 
 English. 
 
 H. 
 
 HAHN-HAHN, IDA MARIA LOUISA FREDE- 
 RICA GUSTAVA, COUNTESS OF, 
 
 Was born in June, 1805, at Tressow, in the 
 grand-duchy of Mecklenburg-Schwerin. She was 
 a daughter of Count Von Hahn, an ofiBcer in the 
 military service of the grand-duke. In 1826, she 
 was married to another Count Von Hahn, belong- 
 ing to a collateral branch of her own family. 
 
 Hence it was that she received the duplicate apr 
 pellation of Hahn-Halm. Her father, who was 
 passionately fond of theatrical representations, 
 became, notwithstanding his rank, the director of 
 a dramatic corps ; and from Mm she imbibed lite- 
 rary tastes which materially influenced her future 
 destiny. The want of congeniality between her 
 husband and herself, led to her being divorced 
 from him in 1829. She first appeared before the 
 public, as the author of a volume of poems, in 
 1835 ; and this was followed by ier " New Poems," 
 in 1836, the "Venetian Nights " in the same year, 
 and a volume of "Songs and Poems," in 1837. 
 She next composed a series of novels, depicting, 
 in a very aristocratical spirit, the manners of 
 high life in Germany. The most noted, and the 
 latest of these are, " The Countess Faustina," 
 1841; "Ulrick," 1841; " Sigismund Forster," 
 1841, and " Cecil," a continuation of it, 1844. 
 The Countess Hahn-Hahu has made her home al- 
 ternately at Grief swald, Berlin, and Dresden, but 
 has also travelled extensively. In 1835, she vis- 
 ited Switzerland; in 1836 and 1837, Vienna; in 
 1838 and 1839, Italy; in 1840 and 1841, Italy, 
 Spain and France ; in 1842, Sweden ; and she has 
 since made an excursion to Syria and the East. 
 Her observations during these successive journeys 
 are recorded in her "Beyond the Mountains," 2 
 vols. 1840 ; " Letters on a Journey," 2 vols. 1841 ; 
 " Reminiscences of and Concerning France," 1842 ; 
 "A Northern Tour," 1843; "Oriental Letters," 
 8 vols. 1844, &c. 
 
 An eminent English critic has thus expressed 
 his opinion of the writings of this German lady — 
 " The Countess Ida Hahn-Hahu's name is well 
 known as the authoress of light and amusing no- 
 vels ; works which, in this instance, owe their 
 popularity equally to the perfectly German tone of 
 manners and morals they express, as to the bril- 
 liant talent they exhibit. These novels that ap- 
 peared with a rapidity bespeaking productive pow- 
 ers of no common kind, were occasionally inter- 
 spersed with accounts of trips to neighbouring 
 countries, and intermingled with episodes of story 
 or verse. Of late, however, the Countess Hahn- 
 Hahn has appeared almost exclusively as a tourist. 
 
 " The merits and demerits of her writing are so 
 interwoven that it is hard to pronounce upon them, 
 without being unjust to the one or far too lenient 
 to the other. Whether also Countess Hahn-Hahn, 
 the novelist, has been a profitable predecessor to 
 Countess Hahn-Hahn, the tourist, is a question 
 which we are inclined to answer in the negative. 
 The tourist has the same smartness of idea, light- 
 ness of step, and play of language, but she has 
 also less scope for her fancy, and less disguise for 
 her egotism. What, therefore, is the chief attrac- 
 tion of the one, viz., the personal nature of her 
 writings, becomes the greatest drawback in the 
 other. The whole field of emotions and feelings, 
 the whole train of internal experiences, as German 
 ladies call them, are Countess Hahn-Hahn's par- 
 ticular view. And with young, pretty, clever, 
 rich, independent heroines to express them, and 
 every imaginable romantic position to excite them, 
 they are perfectly in their place, though seldom 
 
 6g3 
 
HA 
 
 HA 
 
 what we may approve. But the case is widely 
 different the moment the feigned name is dropped. 
 For when a lady invites you to accompany her in 
 her own person, through countries suggestive of 
 outer impressions of the utmost interest and no- 
 velty, yet pauses every moment to tell you not 
 only her own particular thoughts and feelings, hut 
 also those habits, peculiarities, preferences and 
 antipathies, which one would have thought even 
 she herself on such an occasion would have for- 
 gotten, we feel tied to one who at home would 
 be rather tiresome, but abroad becomes insuffer- 
 able, — to one who never leaves se^ behind. 
 
 " Like almost all her countrywomen whom we 
 have the honour of knowing in print, this lady 
 commits the mistake of saying all she thinks — 
 forgetful that few may, and those few don't — and 
 not only what she thinks, but why she thinks, and 
 how she thinks, till any process of that kind on 
 the part of the reader becomes somewhat difficult. 
 
 "To turn, however, to those brilliant powers 
 which so irksome a defect, and others of a far 
 graver nature, have not been able to obscure, we 
 have no hesitation in saying that the countess 
 possesses some of the requisites for a traveller in 
 a most uncommon degree. In liveliness of obser- 
 vation, readiness of idea, and spirited ease of ex- 
 pression, she is unsurpassed by any lady writer we 
 know — far less by any of her own countrywomen. 
 Whenever, therefore, her pen engages on a subject 
 where the mawkish egotism of the German woman 
 is not excited, or the deeorous principle of the 
 English reader not offended, we follow her with 
 the admiration due to rare talents." 
 
 The cause of her later travels was a misfortune, 
 which, doubtless, has had some influence on her 
 character. She was afflicted with that peculiarity 
 of vision called "a squint," and, in 1839, under- 
 went an operation for its remedy, which resulted 
 in the loss of the use of one eye, and for a long 
 time she was apprehensive of becoming totally 
 blind. To relieve her mind of the melancholy 
 caused by such a grievous misfortune, the Countess 
 Hahn-Hahn was induced to visit different coun- 
 tries ; the tone of her remarks frequently shows 
 the sufferings she endured from her affliction. 
 
 From " Reisebriefe; a Traveller's Letters." 
 RESTLESSNESS OF SPRINQ. 
 
 Oh ! this restlessness of spring, this longing for 
 a new sphere, for a fresh life, for increased ac- 
 tivity, for a more sunny existence ! This impulse 
 to rush forth, to rise to light, to beauty, to happi- 
 ness, how it reveals itself throughout all nature ! 
 Must not man, with his finer senses, with his more 
 excitable nerves, be more susceptible to its influ- 
 ence than the animal and vegetable creation? 
 For my own part, I wonder every spring that I 
 don't grow several inches taller. One thing vexes 
 me : I must always remain myself Whether 
 others feel this, I know not : those, for instance, 
 who live in the gay world, or those who are en- 
 gaged in any other constant and laborious occu- 
 pation. I might ask them : but who speaks the 
 truth of himself, unless he know beforehand that 
 
 the truth redounds to his praise ? .... I am my- 
 self troubled by all the restlessness to which a 
 meditated journey naturally gives rise ; and this 
 restlessness is the greater, because I am uncertain 
 whither I shall go, and because my poor eyes, 
 constantly liable to inflammation, may at any time 
 frustrate all my schemes. I cannot tell you what 
 a new and oppressive feeling it is to me, to know 
 that my plans are dependent on my health. The 
 want of money, of time, or of anything else that 
 is requisite, may frustrate one's designs just as 
 effectually, but not so affliotingly, as when the 
 helplessness of the body is the cause. It never 
 occurred to me before that bodily infirmity might 
 hinder me from writing at night, or from exposing 
 myself to wind and weather by day. I have been 
 learning this during the last year. Alas ! I receive 
 the chastening patiently, but I would that Provi- 
 dence had given me less occasion to convince my- 
 self of my docility. 
 
 I have now been a month here, and can say 
 something more of Nice than I did when I came. 
 My exclamation then was, "the only thing that 
 pleases me about the place is, to know that it 'a 
 the end of the journey." This was partly the 
 effect of weariness and vexation ; yet not wholly 
 so, for Nice has an uncomfortable look to one who 
 hopes to find simplicity and tranquillity there. 
 It looks less like a settled place than like an em- 
 bryo city. It is a huge plan, that has yet to be 
 filled up ; where dust, confusion, donkeys, brick- 
 layers, and all that is noisy, and all that I hate, 
 are gathered together, and have taken up their 
 abode. A stranger seeks a temporary home, and 
 fifty are offered to him, as he wanders among the 
 vast barracks of AStels garnis that are built here 
 on speculation. The natives build as if they hope 
 to lodge their guests by regiments. These hopes 
 are far from being realized ; many are held back 
 by the apprehension of war, or by the dangerous 
 vicinity of the French frontier. The consequence 
 is, that the large empty houses, with their closed 
 jalousies, produce a gloomy effect, which is height- 
 ened by the surrounding desolation, always in- 
 separable from ground laid out for building, but 
 not yet built upon. There is the sea, to be sure ; 
 but I hate to be folded in with a herd ; to hear 
 people dance over my head, sing under me, and 
 romp about in the room next my own. I like not 
 to be compelled to participate in the diversions of 
 all who are under the same roof with me. I am 
 like a forest-bird, who sings and makes the woods 
 merry, whom every wayfarer may listen to, but 
 who lives not the less for himself, and is seen by 
 none. Moreover, I was obliged to sacrifice the 
 view of the sea, because it was too dazzling for 
 
 my poor eyes In the clear sunshine, it is 
 
 impossible for me to look upon the bounding, 
 foaming, azure tide, or upon the millions of glit- 
 tering spangles with which it seemed to be decked. 
 On such golden days, when heaven, water, and 
 earth are trying which can be brightest and most 
 beautiful, I walk into the plain, through narrow 
 and entangled paths, that lead from garden to 
 
 684: 
 
HA 
 
 HA 
 
 garden, where I may hope to find verdure and 
 shade; but on the mother-of-pearl days, that 
 would be leaden days in the north, I can abandon 
 my fondness for the sea. Then a gentle cloudy 
 breath has dimmed the brightness of the sky; 
 the sun is not seen, though his presence is felt ; 
 he stands behind a cloud like a lamp whose light 
 is concealed by an alabaster column ; he silvers 
 the outline, yet plays in faint prismatic colours 
 through the mass. Sometimes, indeed, it rains 
 on such days ; but in such a case, there is nothing 
 to be done, either here or elsewhere, but to roll 
 oneself up like a bird in one's nest, and lie there 
 as quiet as a mouse. 
 
 I shall now go to Prance, Heaven knows what 
 the consequence may be, for I hate France ! I 
 hate the spirit of vanity, fanfaronade, insolence, 
 and superficialness ; in short, I hate the national 
 character of the French. It is unmitigated bar- 
 barism. I am of a soft and humane disposition, 
 but love and hatred must take precedence of every 
 other sentiment. 
 
 Steht mir das Lieben und Hasscn nicht frei, 
 So ist es mit meinem Leben vorbei.* 
 
 We walked about the town last night, and never 
 in my life did I behold a place so completely the 
 picture of decline. There were small houses with- 
 out windows, and large houses of which the doors 
 had been walled up. There were towers, from 
 which every gust of wind brought down fragments 
 of masonry, and which, nevertheless, served as a 
 support to the habitations of wretchedness. The 
 shops were disgustingly dirty, and every thing had 
 a spectral look. I- lingered at a book-stall, in 
 search of an old edition of St. Augustine. I found 
 it not, but while I lingered darkness came on, yet 
 not a light began to glimmer from any of the dis- 
 mal windows around us. We met a few ill-clad 
 men, and some hooded women thronged around us, 
 importuning us for alms. I hurried back to the 
 hotel. There a huge fire was lighted on the spa- 
 cious hearth cased in black marble, and was still 
 burning when I went to bed. The flames threw 
 dark shadows and a lurid glare upon my red cur- 
 tains, and there I lay, conjuring up images of the 
 piles on which so many heretics and witches had 
 here been tortured to death by papal cruelty. I 
 thought of all the blood shed here during the re- 
 volution, and of Marshal Brune murdered, in 1815, 
 by the mob, at the hotel opposite to mine. I 
 shuddered as all these recollections came throng- 
 ing upon my mind, and felt that a long mourning 
 train must be still sweeping over the haunted city. 
 I saw the forms of sorrow, the instruments and 
 the ministers of priestly torture, and the ugly 
 spectres seemed to hiss about by the fitful flicker- 
 ing light, till, fairly frightened by the shadowy 
 creations of my own fancy, I was glad to be deliv- 
 ered from my ghostly visitors by sleep. 
 
 * To love and hate when I 'ra no longer free, 
 Life will itself be valueless to roe. 
 
 From " Orientalische Briefe.'* Travels in the East. 
 CONSTANTINOPIE. 
 
 If none but dogs were the inhabitants of Con- 
 stantinople, you would iind it sufficiently difficult 
 to make your way through a city where heaps of 
 dirt, rubbish, and refuse of every credible and in- 
 credible composition, obstruct you at every step, 
 and especially barricade the corners of the streets. 
 But dogs are not the only dwellers. Take care of 
 yourself — here comes a train of horses, laden on 
 each side with skins of oil — all oil without as well 
 as within. And, oh ! take care again, for behind 
 are a whole troop of asses, carrying tiles and 
 planks, and all kinds of building materials. Now 
 give way to the right for those men with baskets 
 of coals upon their heads, and give way, too, to 
 the left for those other men — four, six, eight at a 
 time, staggering along with such a load of mer- 
 chandise, that the pole, thick as your arm, to 
 which it is suspended, bends beneath the weight. 
 Meanwhile, don't lose your head with the braying 
 of the asses, the yelling of the dogs, the cries of 
 the porters, or the calls of the sweetmeat and 
 chestnut venders, but follow your dragoman, who, 
 accustomed to all this turmoil, flies before you with 
 winged steps, and either disappears in the crowd 
 or vanishes round a corner. At length you reach 
 a cemetery. We all know how deeply the Turks 
 respect the graves of the dead — how they visit 
 them and never permit them to be disturbed, as 
 we do in Europe, after any number of years. In 
 the abstract this is very grand, and when we ima- 
 gine to ourselves a beautiful cypress grove with 
 tall white monumental stones, and green grass be- 
 neath, it presents a stately and solemn picture. 
 Now contemplate it in the reality. The monu- 
 ments are overthrown, dilapidated, or awry — 
 several roughly paved streets intersect the space 
 — here sheep are feeding — there donkeys are 
 waiting — here geese are cackling — there cocks 
 are crowing — in one part of the ground linen is 
 drying — in another carpenters are planing — from 
 one corner a troop of camels defile — from another 
 a funeral procession approaches — children are 
 playing — dogs rolling — every kind of the most 
 unconcerned business going on. And what can 
 be a greater profanation of the dead ? But, true 
 enough, where they were buried four hvmdred 
 years ago, there they lie still. 
 
 THE PTKAMIDS. 
 
 If any one had said to me up there, between 
 the foundation of this pyramid and that of the 
 railroad at Vienna there are as many thousand 
 years as there are thousands of miles from the 
 planet Earth to the planet Sirius, I should have 
 answered at once, " Of course there are." I 
 seemed to be standing on an island in the midst 
 of the ether, without the slightest connection with 
 all that hearts are throbbing with below. Time 
 seemed to have rent a cleft around me deeper 
 than the deepest ravine in the highest mountain 
 of the Alps. Then one's very view below becomes 
 so utterly — what shall I say"? — so utterly lifeless. 
 
 685 
 
HA 
 
 HA 
 
 In the ■whole immense plain beneath you there is 
 not one prominent feature. It is merely a geo- 
 graphical map with coloured spaces — blue-green, 
 yellow-green, sap-green — just as the culture may 
 be. Among them, palm-woods and gardens like 
 dark spots, canals like silver stripes, and banks 
 like black bars. Far and faint the brownish, form- 
 less masses of the city, wrapt in its own exhala- 
 tions. And last of all, but seemingly quite near, 
 the Desert — here no longer horrible. If in time 
 itself there be such enormous deserts, where hun- 
 dreds of years lie bare and waste, and only here 
 and there some intellectual building, together with 
 the builder, appear in the midst, like an oasis for 
 the mind, why should not a few hundred miles of' 
 sand lie barren here upon .earth ? But even if 
 Fairyland itself lay smiling round, it would make 
 no difference. The pyramid is every thing. Like 
 a great mind, it overpowers all in its vicinity. 
 Even the Nile becomes insignificant. As the moun- 
 tains attract the clouds, so does the pyramid at- 
 tract the thoughts, and make them revolve perpe- 
 tually round it. Dear brother, it is a wonderful 
 eight when man gets up his creations in a kind of 
 rivalship with Eternity, as this old Cheops has 
 done. 
 
 HALE, SARAH JOSEPHA, 
 
 As AUTHOR of this work, "Woman's Record," 
 may hope that her name here will not be consid- 
 ered out of place. From a brief account of her 
 ■writings, which appeared in the Lady's Book, in 
 1850, she selects the following particulars ; pre- 
 mising that her maiden name was Buell, and her 
 birth-place, Newport, a pleasant village nestled 
 among the green hills of New Hampshire. " By 
 the death of her husband, David Hale, a young 
 lawyer of distinguished abilities and great excel- 
 lence of character, Mrs. Hale was left the sole 
 protector of five children, the eldest then but seven 
 years old ; it was in the hope of gaining the means 
 for their support and education that she engaged 
 in the literary profession. 'Northwood,' a novel 
 in two volumes, was her first published work ; (a 
 little volume of poems had been previously printed 
 for her benefit by the Freemasons, of which fra- 
 ternity Mr. Hale had been a distinguished mem- 
 ber.) 'Northwood' was issued in Boston, De- 
 cember, 1827, under the title of 'The Book of 
 Flowers.' 
 
 " Early in the following year, Mrs. Hale was 
 invited from her home in the ' Old Granite State ' 
 to go to Boston and take charge of the editorial 
 department of ' The Ladies' Magazine,' the first 
 periodical exclusively devoted to her sex which 
 appeared in America. She removed to Boston in 
 1828, and continued to edit the Ladies' Magazine 
 until 1837, when it was united with the Lady's 
 Book in Philadelphia, of the literary department 
 of which work she has ever since had charge. 
 
 " Mrs. Hale continued to reside in Boston, after 
 she became editor of the Lady's Book, for several 
 years, while her sons were in Harvard College. 
 In 1841, she removed to Philadelphia, where she 
 now resides. 
 
 " Besides ' Northwood,' which was reprinted in 
 
 London under the title of ' A New England Tale,' 
 and well commended in several English journals, 
 her published works are, ' Sketches of American 
 Character;' 'Traits of American Life;' 'Flora's 
 Interpreter,' (this also has been reprinted in Lon- 
 don ;) ' The Ladies' Wreath, a selection from the 
 Female Poets of England and America ;' ' The 
 Way to Live Well, and to be Well while we Live ;' 
 ' Grosvenor, a Tragedy ;' 'Alice Ray, a Romance 
 in Rhyme ;' ' Harry Guy, the Widow's Son, a 
 Story of the Sea ' — (the last two were ■written for 
 charitable purposes, and the proceeds given away 
 accordingly ;) ' Three Hours, or the Vigil of Love, 
 and other Poems,' published in 1848; ' A Com- 
 plete Dictionary of Poetical Quotations, contain- 
 ing Selections from the ■writings of the Poets of 
 England and America.' This volume contains 
 nearly six hundred double column large octavo 
 pages, and is the most complete work of the kind 
 in the English language. 
 
 " Mrs. Hale has also edited several annuals — 
 'The Opal;' 'The Crocus,' &c., and prepared 
 quite a number of books for the young. ' The 
 Judge; A Drama of American Life,' lately pub- 
 lished in the ' Lady's Book,' is the latest of her 
 writings. 
 
 " Moreover, in addition to all these productions 
 of Mrs. Hale's fertile mind, a large number of sto- 
 ries, poems, essays, &c., many without her name, 
 sufScient to fill several large volumes, lie scattered 
 among the periodicals of the day. These she will 
 collect and publish when she concludes her edito- 
 rial duties. Of these duties it is scarcely worth our 
 while to speak, ■writing, as we are, for the read- 
 ers of the Lady's Bojok, who know so well how 
 thoroughly and usefully they have been performed. 
 Quite pertinent is the following extract from a 
 newspaper in Massachusetts, which comes timely 
 to our hands while writing. In noticing the 
 Lady's Book, the editor says : ' Mrs. Sarah J. 
 Hale, the lady editor, is one of the most sensible 
 and energetic of all the conductors of the nume- 
 rous magazines that are now published ; and as 
 she was the pioneer in this species of literature, 
 no one has had a greater influence, or become more 
 universally popular among her countrywomen.' " 
 Her success is richly deserved, and her energy, 
 devotion, and perseverance under circumstances 
 the most trying, afford a cheering example to her 
 sex.'" 
 
 A few words respecting the influences which 
 have, probably, caused me to become the Chron- 
 icler of my own sex, may not be considered ego- 
 tistical. I was mainly educated by my mother, 
 and strictly taught to make the Bible the guide of 
 my life. The books to which I had access were 
 few, very few, in comparison with the number 
 given children now-a-days ; but they were such as 
 required to be studied — and I did study them 
 Next to the Bible and The Pilgrim's Progress, my 
 earliest reading was Milton, Addison, Pope, John- 
 son, Cowper, Bm-ns, and a portion of Shakspeare. 
 I did not obtain all his works till I was nearly fif- 
 teen. The first regular novel I read was " The 
 Mysteries of Udolpho," when I was quite a child. 
 I name it on account of the influence it exercised 
 
 686 
 
HA 
 
 HA 
 
 over my mind. I had remarked that of all the 
 books I saw, few were written by Americans, and 
 none by women. Here was a work, the most fas- 
 cinating I had ever read, always excepting "The 
 Pilgrim's Progress," written by a woman ! How 
 happy it made me ! The wish to promote the repu- 
 tation of my own sex, and do something for my 
 own country, were among the earliest mental emo- 
 tions I can recollect. These feelings have had a 
 salutary influence by directing my thoughts to a 
 definite object ; my literary pursuits have had an 
 aim beyond self-seeking of any kind. The men- 
 tal influence of woman over her own sex, which 
 was so important in my case, has been strongly 
 operative in inclining me to undertake this my 
 latest work, "Woman's Record," &c. I have 
 sought to make it au assistant in home education ; 
 hoping the examples shown and characters por- 
 trayed, might have an inspiration and a power in 
 advancing the moral progress of society. Yet I 
 cannot close without adverting to the ready and 
 kind aid I have always met with from those men 
 with whom I have been most nearly connected. 
 To my brother* I owe what knowledge I possess 
 of the Latin, and the higher branches of mathe- 
 matics, and of mental philosophy. He often la- 
 mented that I could not, like himself, have the 
 privilege of a college education. To my husband 
 I was yet more deeply indebted. He was a num- 
 ber of years my senior, and far more my superior 
 in learning. We commenced, soon after our mar- 
 riage, a system of study and reading which we 
 pursued while he lived. The hours allowed were 
 from eight o'clock in the evening till ten; two 
 hours in the twenty-four: how I enjoyed those 
 hours ! In all our inental pursuits, it seemed the 
 aim of my husband to enlighten my reason, — 
 strengthen my judgment, and give me confidence 
 in my own powers of mind, which he estimated 
 much higher than I. But this approbation which 
 he bestowed on my talents has been of great en- 
 couragement to me in attempting the duties that 
 have since become my portion. And if there is 
 any just praise due to the works I have prepared, 
 the sweetest thought is — that his name bears the 
 celebrity. 
 
 As sufi&cient specimens of my prose will be 
 extant in this work, I will select only from my 
 poetical writings. 
 
 From "The Rhyme of Life." 
 THE HAND AND ITS WORK. 
 
 The stars that shine in Afric's sky, 
 
 Lighting all lovely things, 
 Have seen, though hid from human eye, 
 
 Two tiny, trembling Springs, 
 Whose silvery, soft-ton'd flowing seems ' 
 
 Like whispers heard in lovers' dreams. 
 
 That wake an answering smile; — 
 And yet those star-kiss'd springs send forth 
 The proudest flood that tracks the earth — 
 
 The world -renown 'd Old Nile: — 
 Swart Egypt's sands, beneath his wave, 
 Are whelm'd, as in an ocean grave ; 
 Anon, from out his slimy tide. 
 
 Like earth from Chaos raised again, 
 The rich green harvest waveth wide, 
 And hope, and joy, and beauty reign. 
 
 * The late Judge Buell of Glen's Falls, New York. 
 
 Thus powerjess, as the oozing rill, 
 
 The infant's small, soft hand appuarp, 
 But wielded by stern manhood's will, 
 
 And strengthen'd by life's rolling years. 
 That wonder-working Hand may pour, 
 
 Like Nile, when bursting every bound, 
 A flood of devastation o'er 
 
 The prostrate world around; 
 Or, like Nile's fertilizing tide, 
 May scatter blessings far and wide. 
 
 The human Hand ! Would'st number o'er 
 
 Us mighty works of strength and skill ? 
 The trophies cumber every shore ; — 
 'Mid desert wastes, — on mountains hoar, 
 Where foot may press, or eye explore, 
 
 Its presence meets us still ; — 
 From Babylonia's crumbling tower. 
 Religion's earliest dome of power. 
 
 To Zion's holy Hill,— 
 And downward, tFirough the lapse of time, 
 Where'er is heard the voice or chime, 
 
 That summons jnen to praise and prayer. 
 From minaret or Gothic pile, 
 From shingled roof or pillar'd aisle — 
 
 The Workman's Hand is there. 
 
 ****** 
 Man's Work — how much the word has said ! 
 
 From Mceris' Lake to fountain, set, 
 
 Like diamond in a coronet. 
 
 Within some emerald shade ; 
 From garden-pale to China's Wall; 
 From Pyramid to plaything small 
 
 Which infant's touch has sway'd ; 
 From mud-scoop'd hut to royal hall ; 
 Prom burial-vault to lighthouse tall, — 
 The loftiest work, the lowest — all 
 
 Man's master Hand has made. 
 
 ****** 
 Art's glorious things, that give the Mind 
 
 Dominion over lime and space; 
 The silken car, that rides the wind: 
 
 The steel, that pathless seas can trace ; 
 The engine, breathing fire and smoke. 
 Which first old Neptune's trident broke. 
 
 And sails its ships 'gainst wind and tide; 
 The telescope, that sweeps the sky. 
 And brings the pilgrim planet nigh. 
 
 Familiar as the Sun's pale bride ; 
 The microscopic lens, which finds 
 
 On every leaf a peopled land, 
 All these, which aid the mightiest minds. 
 
 Were wrought and fashion'd by the Hand. 
 
 * * _ » * * * 
 Oh, when its gather'd trophies stand. 
 Like magic forms, on sea and land, 
 
 In Fancy's view, —who doth not cry, 
 
 As the bright vision glideth by, 
 
 In beauty, power, and majesty, — 
 
 " Though Mind, Aladdin's lamp might be. 
 
 His Genie was the Hand!" 
 
 * , * + * * * 
 
 While thus to ceaseless task-work doom'd, to make the world 
 
 his own, 
 — Lest, in the struggle, sense should drag the spirit from its 
 
 throne, 
 Woman's warm heart and gentle hand, in God's eternal plan. 
 Were form'd to soften, soothe, refine, exalt, and comfort Man, 
 And win from pleasure's poison cup to life's pure fount 
 
 above, 
 And rule him, as the angels rule, by deeds of peace and 
 
 love : — 
 And so the tender Mother lays, on her soft pillowing breast. 
 With gentle hand, her infant son, and lulls him to his rest. 
 And dries his tears, and cheers his smiles, and by her wise 
 
 control. 
 She checks his wayward moods, and wakes the seraph in 
 
 his soul ; 
 And when life's Work commands him forth, no more to 
 
 dwell with her. 
 She points him to the Hand that saved the sinking mariner. 
 And broke the bread for famish'd men, and bids him trust 
 
 that stay — 
 And then, her hands unclasp'd from his, are lifted up to pray. 
 
 687 
 
HA 
 
 HA 
 
 But man could never Work alone, and even in Eden's bowers 
 He pined for woman's smile to cheer his task of tending 
 
 flowers ; 
 And soon a fair young bride is sought and found to bless the 
 
 youth, 
 Who gives, for his protecting hand, her heart of love and 
 
 truth ; — 
 And now his Work has higher aims, since she its blessings 
 
 shares, 
 And oft her hand will rosea strew, where his would scatter 
 
 tares ; 
 And, like a light within a. vase, his home enshrines her form, 
 Which brightens o'er his world-toss'd mind, like sunshine 
 
 o'er the storm ; 
 And when she pleads in sorrow's cause, he cannot choose 
 
 but hear. 
 And when her soul with Heaven communes, she draws bis 
 
 spirit near; 
 And thus they live till age creeps on, or sickness lays him 
 
 low. 
 Then will she gird her woman's heart to bear life's bitterest 
 
 woe. 
 And soothe his pain, and stay his head, and close his dying 
 
 eyes — 
 While praying Angel hands may guide his soul to Paradise. 
 
 WOKSHIP IN THE TEMPLE. 
 
 Jerusalem 1 Jerusalem! the blessing lingers yet 
 
 On the city of the Chosen, where the Sabbath seal was set ; 
 
 And though her sons are scatter'd, and her daughters wee^ 
 
 apart, 
 While desolation, like a pall, weighs down each faithful 
 
 heart,— 
 As the palm beside the waters, as the cedar on the hills. 
 She shall rise in strength and beauty when the Lord Jehovah 
 
 wills; 
 He has promis'd her protection, and his holy pledge is good, — 
 'Tis whisper'd through the olive-groves, and murmur'd by 
 
 the flood. 
 As in the Sabbath stillness the Jordan's flow is heard, 
 And by the Sabbath breezes the hoary trees are stirr'd. 
 
 Oh! glorious were the Sabbaths Jerusalem has known, 
 
 When the presence of the Highest was so wonderfully shown; 
 
 And the holy Law was guarded by cherubim divine ; 
 
 And the Temple's awful Worship drew the nation to its 
 shrine ; 
 
 And the " Song of songs" was sounded, till the melody pro- 
 found, 
 
 Shook the golden roof and arches with its ocean power of 
 sound ; 
 
 And wreathing clouds of incense rose, like doves upon the 
 air. 
 
 Upbearing on their balmy wings the sacrifice of prayer; 
 
 And sweet as angel greetings, in the mansions of the blest, 
 
 O'er the heart of gaiher'd Israel came the Sabbath and its 
 rest. 
 
 But the glory all departed when the Temple was laid low. 
 And like a childless mother, mourns the city in her woe ; 
 Still a people never perish who in Sabbath worship bend, — 
 God has kept his Chosen — He will keep them to the end. 
 Soon the days of expectation and of exile will be o'er. 
 And Israel return to his heritage once more. 
 Then shall bloom the rose of Sharon, and the lilies of the 
 
 vale, 
 By the dews of Hermon freshen'd, breathe their fragrance on 
 
 the gale: 
 As the seed for centuries buried, when laid open to the day. 
 Bursts forth in life and beauty 'neath the vivifying ray. 
 So Jerusalem shall triumph, when her children are restored, 
 And with songs of peace and gladness hail the Sabbath of 
 
 the Lord. 
 
 WORSHIP IN THE FOREST. 
 
 What numbers, when the Sabbath comes, 
 Are trooping from their forest homes! 
 The maiden, pure as prairie rose. 
 Beside her bending graiidsire goes; 
 The fawn-eyed children bound at large. 
 The mother brings her nursling charge, 
 And, bearing some pale, sickly child, 
 Stalks tite strong hunter of the wild. 
 
 And he may see, through copse-wood near, 
 The antlers of the browsing deer ; 
 Or, as his path through prairie goes. 
 Hear the dull tramp of buffaloes; 
 Or savage foe, or beast of prey, 
 May haunt his steps, or bar his way ; 
 So, like a knight, he goes prepared 
 His foes to meet, his friends to guard : 
 The rifle in his ready hand 
 Proclaims the forester's command; 
 And as his glance is onward cast. 
 Or wild-wood sounds go rustling past. 
 His flashing eye and flushing cheek 
 Betray the wish he may not speak ;— 
 But soon these fancies fade away. 
 Checked by the thought — 'tis Sabbath-Day 1 
 And when he gains the house of prayer. 
 Heart, soul and mind, are centered there. 
 
 That house of prayer— how mean beside 
 The grand cathedral's sculptured pride ! 
 Yet He who in a manger slept. 
 And in the wilds his vigils kept, 
 Will breathe a holy charm around. 
 Where His true followers are found. 
 Oh! never deem it low and rude. 
 
 Though fashioned by the settler's axe. 
 The sap still weeping from the wood, 
 As loath to leave its brother trees. 
 That wave above it in the breeze,— 
 
 No pomp it needs, no glory lacks; — 
 The holy angels are its guard. 
 
 And pious feet its planks have trod, 
 'Tis consecrated to the Lord, 
 
 The Temple of the living God ! 
 
 But when the Sabbath gatherings press, 
 
 Like armies, from the wilderness, 
 
 'T is then the dim, old woods aflbrd 
 
 The sanctuary of the Lord ! 
 
 The Holy Spirit breathes around — 
 
 That forest glade is sacred ground, 
 
 Nor Temple built with hands could vie 
 
 In glory with its majesty. 
 
 The trees like living columns rise, 
 
 Whose tops sustain the bending skies; 
 
 And o'er those earnest worshippers, 
 
 God's love, like golden roof, is spread. 
 And every leaf the zephyr stirs, 
 
 Some heavenly promise seems to shed ; 
 The flowers' sweet breath and gladsome eyes 
 Recall the joys of Paradise, 
 When God and man were garden-friends ; 
 And now the loving Saviour bends — 
 So do they deem, those fervent bands — 
 With blessings in his bleeding hands ! 
 
 And though the organ's ocean swell 
 Has never shook that woodland air. 
 
 Yet do the soul's emotions tell 
 That music's monarch power is there. 
 
 It lifts the mortal's hope above — 
 
 It draws to earth the angels' love — 
 
 The eye of faith may see them near. 
 
 Their golden harps forgotten when, 
 
 As breathed from lips of contrite man, 
 
 Redemption's joyful song they hear! 
 
 From "The Judge," 
 
 A BLIND girl's IDEA OF LADIES. 
 
 I have a fancy ladies are like flowers. 
 
 And so I class and keep them in my mind. 
 
 The delicate and gentle are the jasmines ; 
 
 The mirthful and warm-hearted — these are pinks; 
 
 The loving are the rose, for love is sweet, 
 
 And beautiful in mother as in bride : 
 
 The stately and precise are dahlias, set 
 
 As they were carved and coloured for a show } 
 
 The tulips, such as talk of love and beaux ; 
 
 The spiritual, whose pure, sweet thoughts seem given 
 
 As are the star-beams ft-om the vault of heaven — 
 
 These are the lilies: and the violets 
 
 Are gentle-hearted ones who love the lilies, 
 
 And would be like them could they chose their fate. 
 
HA 
 
 A THOUGHT. 
 
 What might a single mind may wield, 
 Wiih Truth for sword, and Faith for shield, 
 
 And Hope to lead the way ! 
 Thus all high triumphs are obtainM; 
 From evil, good— ua God ordain'd 
 
 The night before the day. 
 
 From "Poems." 
 
 THE WATCHER. 
 
 The night was dark and fearful, 
 
 The blast went wailing by ; — 
 A Watcher, pale and tearful, 
 
 Looked forth with anxloua eye ; 
 How wistfully she gazes, — 
 
 No gleam of morn is there ! 
 And then her heart tipraises 
 
 Its agony of prayer I 
 
 Within that dwelling lonely, 
 
 Where want and darkness reign, 
 Her precious child, her only, 
 
 Lay moaning in his pain : 
 And death alone can free him, — 
 
 She feels that this must be: 
 " But oh ! for morn to see him 
 
 Smile once again on me !" 
 
 A hundred lights are glancing 
 
 In yonder mansion fair. 
 And merry feet are dancing, — 
 
 They heed not morning there : 
 Oh ! young and joyous creatures, 
 
 One lamp, from out your store, 
 Would give that poor boy's features 
 
 To her fond gaze once more. 
 
 The morning sun is shining, — 
 
 She heedelh not its ray ; 
 Beside her dead, reclining, 
 
 That pale, dead mother lay ! 
 A smile her lip was wreathing, 
 
 A smile of hope and love. 
 As though she still were breathing— 
 
 "There's light for us above!" 
 
 THE LIGHT OF HOME. 
 
 My son, thou wilt dream the world is fair, 
 
 And thy spirit will sigh to roam. 
 And thou must go ;— but never, when there. 
 
 Forget the light of Home ! 
 
 Though pleasures may smile with a ray more bright. 
 
 It dazzles to lead astray ; 
 Like the meteor's flash, 'twill deepen the night 
 
 When treading thy lonely way:— 
 But the hearth of home has a constant flame, 
 
 And pure as vestal fire, — 
 'T will burn, 'twill burn for ever the same 
 
 For nature feeds the pyre. 
 
 The sea of ambition is tempest-tossed, 
 And thy hopes may vanish like foam,— 
 
 When sails are shivered and compass lost. 
 Then look to the light of Home ! 
 
 And there, like a star through midnight cloud, 
 
 Thou'lt see the beacon bright ; 
 For never, till shining on thy shroud. 
 
 Can be quenched its holy light. 
 
 The sun of fame may gild the name 
 
 But the heart ne'er felt its ray ; 
 And fashion's smiles that rich ones claim, 
 
 Are beams of a wintry day : 
 
 How cold and dun those beams would be, 
 Should Life's poor wanderer cornel- 
 
 My Bon, when the world is dark to thee 
 
 Then turn to the light of Home. 
 2T 
 
 HA 
 
 I SINQ TO HIM. 
 
 I sing to Mm ! I dream he hears 
 
 The song he used to love, 
 And oft that blessed fancy cheers 
 
 And bears my thoughts above. 
 Ye say *t is idle thus to dream — 
 
 But why believe it so? 
 It is the spirit's meteor gleam 
 
 To soollie the pang of wo. 
 
 Love gives to nature's voice a tone 
 
 That true hearts understand. — 
 The sky, the earth, the forest lone 
 
 Are peopled by his wand ; 
 Sweet faticiea all our pulses thrill 
 
 While gazing on a flower. 
 And from the gently whisp'ring rill 
 
 Is heard the words of power. 
 
 I breathe the dear and cherished name. 
 
 And long-lost scenes arise ; 
 Life's glowing landscape spreads the same ' 
 
 The same Hope's kindling skies ; — 
 The violet bank, the moss-fringed seat 
 
 Beneath the drooping tree, 
 The clock that chimed the hour to meet, 
 
 My buried love, with thee, — 
 
 O, these are all before me, when 
 
 In fancy's realms I rove ; 
 Why urge me to the world again ? 
 
 Why say the ties of love. 
 That death's cold, cruel grasp has riven, 
 
 Unite no more below ? 
 I'll sing to him — for though in heaven. 
 
 He surely heeds my woe. 
 
 " Truth shall spring out of the earth,"— Psaim lixiv. IL 
 
 As, in lonely thought, I pondered, 
 
 On the marv'lous things of earth. 
 And, in fancy's dreaming, wondered 
 
 At their beauty, power, and worth, 
 Came, like words of prayer, the feeling — 
 
 Oh I that God would make me know 
 Through the spirit's clear revealing, 
 
 What, of all his works below, , 
 
 Is to man a boon the greatest. 
 
 Brightening on from age to age. 
 Serving truest, earliest, latest. 
 
 Through the world's long pilgrimage. 
 
 Soon vast mountains rose before me, 
 
 Shaggy, desolate, and lone. 
 Their scarred heads were threatening o'er me. 
 
 Their dark shadows round me thrown ; 
 Then a voice, from out the mountains. 
 
 As an earthquake shook the ground. 
 And like frightened fawns the fountains, 
 
 Leaping, fled before the sound; 
 And the Anak oaks bowed lowly, 
 
 Q.uivering, aspen-like, with fear — 
 While the deep response came slowly. 
 
 Or it must have crushed mine ear t 
 
 "Iron! iron! iron!" — crashing, 
 
 Like the battle-axe and shield ! 
 Or the sword on helmet clashing, 
 
 Through a bloody battle-field : 
 '*Iron! iron I iron!" — rolling. 
 
 Like tlie far-off cannon's boom ; 
 Or the death-knelt, slowly tolling. 
 
 Through a dungeon's charnel gloom ! 
 "Iron! iron! iron !" — swinging. 
 
 Like the summer winds at play ; 
 Or as chimes of heaven ringing 
 
 In the blest Millennial day ! 
 
 Then the clouds of ancient fable 
 Cleared away before mine eyes; 
 
 Truth could tread a footing stable 
 O'er the gulf of mysteries! 
 
 689 
 
HA 
 
 HA 
 
 Words, the prophet bards had uttered 
 
 Signs, the oracle foretold, 
 Spells, the weird-like sibyl muttered, 
 
 Through the twilight days of old, 
 Rightly read, beneath the splendour 
 
 Shining now on history's page, 
 All their faithful witness render — 
 
 All portend a better age. 
 
 Sisyphus, for ever toiling, 
 
 Was the type of toiling men, 
 While the stone of power, recoiling, 
 
 Crushed them back to earth again ! 
 Stern Prometheus, bound and bleeding, 
 
 Imaged man in mental chain, 
 While the vultures on him feeding, 
 
 Were the passions' venpeful reign ; 
 Still a ray of mercy tarried 
 
 On the cloud, a while-winged dove, 
 For this mystic faith had married 
 
 Vulcan to the Queen of Love ! * 
 
 Rugged Strength and radiant Beauty — 
 
 These were one in nature's plan ; 
 Humble toil and heavenward duty — 
 
 These will form the perfect man ! 
 Darkly was this doctrine taught us 
 
 By the gods of heathendom ; 
 But the living light was brought us, 
 
 When the Gospel morn had come ! 
 How the glorious change, expected, 
 
 Could be wrought, was then made free ; 
 Of the earthly, when perfected, 
 
 Rugged iron forms the key ! 
 
 "Truth from out the earth shall flourish," 
 
 This the Word of God makes known — 
 Thence are harvests men to nourish — 
 
 There let iron's power be shown. 
 Of the swords, from slaughter gory, 
 
 Ploughshares forge to break the soil ; 
 Then will Mind aUain its glory, 
 
 Then will Labour reap the spoil — 
 Error cease the soul to wilder. 
 
 Crime be checked by simple good, 
 As the little coral builder 
 
 Forces back the furious flood. 
 
 While our faith in good grows stronger. 
 
 Means of greater good increase ; 
 Iron, slave of war no longer, 
 
 Leads the onward march of peace ; 
 Still new modes of service finding, 
 
 Ocean, earth, and air, it moves. 
 And the distant nations binding, 
 
 Like the kindred tie it proves ; 
 With its Atlas-shoulder sharing 
 
 Loads of human toil and care 
 On its wing of lightning bearing 
 
 Thought's sweet mission through the air: 
 
 As the rivers, farthest flowing, 
 
 In the highest hills have birth ; 
 As the banyan, broadest growing, 
 
 Oftenest bows its head to earth — 
 So the noblest minds press onward, 
 
 Channels far of good to trace ; 
 So the largest hearts bend downward. 
 
 Circling all the human race; 
 Thus, by iron's aid, pursuing 
 
 Through the earth their plans of love. 
 Men our Father's will are doing, 
 
 Here as angels do above ! 
 
 * This poem was written in 1845, and published in Janu- 
 ary, 1846. I name this because in 1848, Lord Moipeth — 
 now the Earl of Carlisle — in a speech he made at Sheffield, 
 England, introduced this idea orVulcan and Venus represent- 
 ing strength and beauty in a vei-y happy manner. I do not 
 know that he was indebted to my poem ; but as the thoughts 
 were similar, and as T might be accused of imitation, I here 
 give the date of "Iron." One 'merit I may justly claim for 
 ray poems — a negative one — they are not imitations nor 
 versifications of the; thoughts of others. 
 
 THE POWER OF MUSIC. 
 
 When Orpheus struck his burning lyre, 
 Mute nature caught creative fire,— 
 Rough stones obeyed the swelling sound, 
 In mystic measure moved around, 
 Till, polished by the harmony, 
 The finished structure, grand and free, 
 Rose like the star that heralds day. 
 To show Man's Mind its work and way I 
 
 The sword may sever slavery's chain — 
 The strong arm crush the tyrant's reign, 
 As lightning from the lurid sky 
 Shatters and scathes the Temple high ; — 
 But 'tis the sweet- voiced Spring that calls 
 The ivy o'er the broken walls, 
 And gently swaying in the blasts, 
 The fragile plant the Pile outlasts. 
 
 And thus the power of Music's breath 
 Ke-clothes the wastes of Time and Death. 
 The " blind old man " begins his strain, 
 And Greece is " living Greece" again ! 
 The Songs that flowed on Zion's Hill 
 Are chanted in God's Temples still. 
 And to the eye of faith unfold 
 The glories of His House of old 
 
 Each Prophet-Bard of ancient days 
 Still breathes for us his lofty lays ; 
 The words that bear a mission high. 
 If Music-hallowed, never die; — 
 And thus Religion, Law and Art, 
 Sow their choice seeds in every heart ; 
 From age to age the Song flows on, 
 And blends fresh life with glories gone. 
 
 A mystery this — but who can see 
 The soft south wind that sways the tree 
 And warms its vital flood to flow. 
 And wakes its folded buds to blow 1 — 
 Even thus the power of Music, felt, 
 The soul is swayed, the heart will melt. 
 Till Love and Hope so bless the Hours, 
 Life's dial-plate is marked by flowers. 
 
 And every Temple Art has reared 
 Some truth has taught, some error cleared ; 
 But only Music's voice leads on 
 When Time is o'er and Heaven is won ; 
 The Angel-Art to mortals taught, — 
 The golden chord of human thought, 
 When pure and tuned by Faith and Love, 
 Linked with the golden harps above ! 
 
 IT SNOWS. 
 
 " It snows !" cries the School-boy — " hurrah !" and his shout 
 
 Is ringing through parlour and hall, 
 While swift, as the wing of a swallow, he's out 
 
 And his playmates have answered his call : 
 It makes the heart leap but to witness their joy, — 
 
 Proud wealth has no pleasures, I trow. 
 Like the rapture that throbs in the pulse of the boy, 
 
 As he gathers his treasures of snow ; 
 Then lay not the trappings of gold on ihine heirs. 
 While health, and the riches of Nature, are theirs. 
 
 " It snows !" sighs the Imbecile — " Ah !" and his breath 
 
 Comes heavy, as clogged with a weight; 
 While from the pale aspect of Natnre in death, 
 
 He turns to the blaze of his grate : 
 And nearer, and nearer, his soft-cushioned chair 
 
 Is wheeled tow'rds the life-giving flame — 
 He dreads a chill puff of the snow-burdened air, 
 
 Lest it wither his delicate frame : 
 Oh ! small is the pleasure existence can give, 
 When the fear we shall die only proves that we live ! 
 
 " It snows !" cries the Traveller — " Ho !" and the word 
 
 Has quickened his steed's lagging pace; 
 The wind rushes by, but its howl is unheard — 
 
 Unfelt the sharp drift in his face ; 
 
 690 
 
HA 
 
 HA 
 
 For bright through the tempest his own home appeared — 
 Ay, tliough leagues intervened, he can aee; 
 
 There's the clear, glowing hearth, and the table prepared. 
 And his wife witli their babes at her knee. 
 
 Blest thought! how it lightens the grief-laden hour, 
 
 That those we love dearest are safe from its power. 
 
 *' It snows !" cries the Belle—" Dear, how lucky 1" and turns 
 
 From her mirror to watch the flakes fall ; 
 Like the first rose of summer, her dimpled cheek burns 
 
 While musing on sleigh-ride and ball ; 
 There are visions of conquest, of splendour, and mirth. 
 
 Floating over each drear winter's day; 
 But the tiritings of Hope, on this storm-beaten earth, 
 
 Will melt, like the snow-flakes, away ; 
 Turn, turn thee to Heaven, fair maiden, for bliss. 
 That world has a fountain ne'er opened in this. 
 
 " It snows !" cries the Widow — " Oh God !" and her sighs 
 
 Have stifled the voice of her prayer ; 
 Its burden ye 'II read in her tear-swollen eyes, 
 
 On her cheek, sunk with fasting and care. 
 'Tis night — and her fatherless ask her for bread — 
 
 But " He gives the young ravens their food," 
 And she trusts, till her dark hearth adds horror to dread 
 
 And ehe lays on her last chip of wood. 
 Poor sufTrer! that sorrow thy God only knows — 
 'Tis a pitiful lot to be poor, when it snows! 
 
 THE mother's gift TO MISSIONS. 
 
 " Oh ! had I mines of treasure. 
 
 How would I pour them forth, 
 And send the Messengers of love 
 
 To bless the waiting earth ! 
 How can the heathen woman 
 
 Her hopeless lot endure? 
 Would I had power to give lier light, 
 
 But I am weak and poor !" 
 
 Thus thought a gentle mother, 
 
 While, bowed in love and awe. 
 She heard the fervent preacher's voice 
 
 Enforce the Saviour's law — 
 "Go ye to every nation, 
 
 And teach the Gospel lore; 
 My spirit, while the world endures, 
 
 la with you evermore," 
 
 She felt, that meek-eyed mother. 
 
 How sweet the Christian's trust ; 
 As flowers from winter's icy shroud 
 
 Beneath the warm Spring burst. 
 So from the blight of sorrow, 
 
 Of winter-like despair. 
 Her heart to Faith's warm light had turned, 
 
 And bloomed in hope and prayer. 
 
 But now her soul was saddened — 
 
 What mite had she to give ? 
 Her feeble efforts scarce can gain 
 
 The scanty means to live; 
 The widow's lot, like killing frost, 
 
 Her world had desert made — 
 All, save one flower, had passed away — 
 All, save one hope, decayed. 
 
 She wept, that pale young mother. 
 
 In humble grief she wept, 
 While pillowed on her heaving breast, 
 
 In peace her fair child slept; 
 She wept to think the Saviour's love 
 
 Heaven's grace for her had won. 
 And she no gift to aid His cause, — 
 
 " Oh ! mother, give thy son !" 
 
 Thus, in her soul's deep chambers. 
 
 The Spirit's voice was heard ; 
 And though before her shrinking sense, 
 
 The thorns, the cross appeared, — 
 The parting, and the dangers, 
 
 Fear, doubt, and dread combine, 
 She clasped him to her throbbing heart — 
 
 *' Yes, Lord, he shall be thine I" 
 
 Oh! when the "Books" are opened, 
 
 And deeds and motives known, 
 And honour to the holiest 
 
 Before the world is shown, 
 How high above the queens of earth, 
 
 The rich, the proud above, 
 Will stand that, lowly mother's name, 
 
 Joined with her gift of love I 
 
 HALL, ANNA MARIA, 
 
 Is a native of Ireland ; her birth-place was in Wex- 
 ford county, where her family, whose name waa 
 Fielding, was of high respectability. When Miss 
 Fielding was about fifteen, she was taken by her 
 mother to England, and there they resided several 
 years, before revisiting her native country. But 
 the scenes which were familiar to her as a child, 
 must have made a vivid and lasting impression on 
 her mind; and all her sketches evince so much 
 freshness and vigour, that her readers might easily 
 imagine she had passed her life among the scenes 
 she describes. An able critic observes that, " To 
 her early absence from her native country is pro- 
 bably to be traced one strong characteristic of all 
 her writings — the total absence of party feeling 
 on subjects connected with politics or religion."* 
 
 Miss Fielding was very fortunate in her mar- 
 riage connexion with her husband, Mr. S. C. Hall, 
 an English gentleman, whose talents and taste, as 
 a successful writer and artist, are widely known. 
 Soon after her marriage, Mrs. Hall commenced 
 her literary career ; no doubt the sympathy and 
 approval of her husband incited her genius, and 
 assisted materially in developing her powers. Her 
 first work, entitled " Sketches of Irish Character," 
 appeared in 1829. Of this, and her succeeding 
 works, the following is, probably, a correct, though 
 by no means a flattered estimate. "Mrs. Hall's 
 sketches bear a closer resemblance to the tales of 
 Miss Mitford than to the Irish stories of Banira 
 or Griffin, though the latter may have tended to 
 direct Mrs. Hall to the peculiarities of Irish cha- 
 racter. They contain some fine rural description^ 
 and are animated by a healthy tone of moral feel- 
 ing and a vein of delicate humour. The coquetry 
 
 * Dublin University Magazine for 1840. 
 691 
 
HA 
 
 HA 
 
 of her Irish girls (very different from that in high 
 life) is admirably depicted. Next year, Mrs. Hall 
 issued a little Tolume for children, " Chronicles 
 of a School-Room," consisting also of a series of 
 tales, simple, natural, and touching. The home- 
 truths and moral obserTations conveyed in these 
 narratiTes, reflect great credit on the heart and 
 the judgment of the writer. Indeed, good taste 
 and good feeling may be said to preside over all 
 the works of our authoress. In 1831, she issued 
 a second series of " Sketches of Irish Character," 
 fully equal to the first, which was well received. 
 The "Kapparee" is an excellent story, and some 
 of the satirical delineations are hit off with great 
 truth and liveliness. In 1832, she ventured on a 
 larger and more difficult work — an historical ro- 
 mance in three volumes, entitled " The Buc- 
 caneer." The scene of this tale is laid in Eng- 
 land, at the time of the Protectorate, and Oliver 
 himself is among the characters. The plot of 
 "The Buccaneer" is well managed, and some of 
 the characters (as that of Barbara Iverk, the Pu- 
 ritan) are skilfully delineated ; but the work is too 
 feminine, and has too little of energetic passion 
 for the stormy times in which it is cast. In 1834, 
 Mrs. Hall published " Tales of Woman's Trials," 
 short stories of decidedly moral tendency, written 
 in the happiest style of the authoress. In 1835, 
 appeared " Uncle Horace," a novel, and in 1838 
 " Lights and Shadows of Irish Life," three volumes. 
 The latter had been previously published in the 
 New Monthly Magazine, and enjoyed great popu- 
 larity. The principal tale in the collection, "The 
 Groves of Blarney," was dramatised at one of the 
 theatres with distinguished success. In 1840, 
 Mrs. Hall issued what has been styled the best 
 of her novels, " Marian ; or a Young Maid's For- 
 tunes," in which her knowledge of Irish character 
 is again displayed. Katty Macane, an Irish cook, 
 who adopts Marian, a foundling, and watches over 
 her with untiring affection, is equal to any of the 
 Irish portraitures since those by Miss Edgeworth. 
 The next work of our authoress was a series of 
 " Stories of the Irish Peasantry," contributed to 
 Chambers' Edinburgh Journal, and afterwards 
 published in a collected form. In 1840, Mrs. 
 Hall aided her husband in a work chiefly com- 
 posed by him, and which reflects credit upon his 
 talents and industry — "Ireland, its Scenery, Cha- 
 racter," &c. Topographical and statistical infor- 
 mation is here blended with the poetical and ro- 
 mantic features of the country — the legends of 
 the peasantry — scenes and characters of humour 
 and pathos — and all that could be gathered in five 
 separate tours through Ireland, added to early ac- 
 quaintance and recollection of the country. The 
 work was highly embellished by British artists, 
 and extended to three large volumes. In tasteful 
 description of natural objects, and pictures of 
 every-day life, Mrs. Hall has few superiors. Her 
 humour is not so broad or racy as that of Lady 
 Morgan, nor her observation so pointed and select 
 as Miss Edgeworth's. Her writings are also un- 
 equal, but, in general, they constitute easy, de- 
 lightful reading, and possess a simple truth and 
 purity of sentiment that is ultimately more fasci- 
 
 nating than the darker shades and colourings of 
 imaginative composition."* 
 
 Mrs. Hall's residence was for a number of years 
 at The Rosery, Old Brompton, near London ; 
 where her home was distinguished for its simple 
 elegance, and the refined taste and hospitality of 
 the gifted pair who presided in this pleasant lite- 
 rary retreat. At present they reside in Surrey, 
 about eighteen miles from London ; Mr. Hall is 
 editor of the "Art-Union," and Mrs. Hall a con- 
 stant contributor to its pages. There her latest 
 and one of her most interesting works, " Midsum- 
 mer Eve ; a Fairy Tale of Love," first appeared, 
 with superb illustrations. The most distinguished 
 artists in Great Britain furnished the pictorial sem- 
 blances of the author's pure and beautiful ideas ; 
 we hardly know which deserves most praise. The 
 volume was issued in 1848, and well sustains the 
 intention of the authoress : " I have endeavoured," 
 she says, " to trace the progress of a young girl's 
 mind from infancy to womanhood ; the Good and 
 Evil Influences to which it is subjected; and the 
 Trials inseparable from a contest with the World." 
 Mrs. S. 0. Mall, as she always gives her name to 
 her works, seemingly desirous of associating her 
 husband's fame with her own, never loses an op- 
 portunity of inculcating those virtues as well as 
 graces which make the happiness and enlarge the 
 best influence of her own sex. Another beautiful 
 trait of her character, is her active benevolence ; 
 she engages in those associated efforts to benefit 
 society by taking care for woman's education and 
 comfort, now beginning to be made in England. 
 We find her name on the Committee for the Asy- 
 lum of the "Governesses' Benevolent Institution;" 
 and in the establishment of " The Queen's Col- 
 lege " for the better promotion of female educa- 
 tion, Mrs. S. C. Hall was warmly interested. 
 
 From " Marian ; or a Young Maid's Fortunes." 
 MABIAS'S CHARACTEK. 
 
 It would be difficult to analyze the feelings with 
 which Marian awoke to this new existence — for 
 new indeed it was ; the kindness of Lady Isabel, 
 the dean's benevolence, the joy of her beloved 
 nurse, each succeeding the other, were more like 
 spells, the spells of a happy land, where there 
 were no tears, no anxieties, no troubles. She was 
 filled with joy and gratitude. Not many weeks had 
 elapsed, and she was living a new life, in a new 
 world, remembering only the past to enhance the 
 sweetness of the present. Her heart's beatings, 
 lest it should be a dream, not a reality, had hardly 
 subsided ; and when each morning she awoke, she 
 could scarcely believe that what surrounded her 
 was less than fairy-land. It was with mingled 
 delight and astonishment that Lady Isabel disco- 
 vered her rare excellence in music. She had not 
 only completely mastered the mechanical part of 
 the science, but infused into her performance that 
 pure and exquisite spirit which, like genius, can- 
 not be taught — it cometh we know not whence; 
 but it is impossible to listen to vocal or instru- 
 mental music such as hers, without feeling that 
 
 * Chambers' Cyclopiedia. 
 
 C92 
 
HA 
 
 HA 
 
 Nature has bestowed " a grace beyond the reach 
 of art." Her voice was a soprano, not of exten- 
 sive compass, but of the finest tone, particularly 
 on the middle notes, where expression so fully tells. 
 Lady Isabel, accustomed to the best music of 
 Italy, was astonished not only at its richness, as 
 it rolled forth in purest melody, but at the beauty 
 of her conceptions and the truth of their delinea- 
 tion. The few songs she sang were chosen with 
 admirable skill, and she succeeded in exciting 
 whatever interest she pleased in her hearers. 
 Lady Isabel was spell-bound by the charm of this 
 extraordinary talent; it was something so origi- 
 nal, so different from any thing she had expected. 
 As yet Marian had only learned the simple melo- 
 dies of her own land, and a few as simple French 
 songs ; but hers was a voice which evidently could 
 sing any thing — round and flexible, perfect in its 
 intonations, and capable of the highest culture. 
 To have understood the pleasure experienced by 
 Lady Isabel at this discovery, it would be neces- 
 sary to understand the power sweet sounds pos- 
 sessed over her feelings; to those who compre- 
 hend this, explanation would be unnecessary; 
 those who do not would think us gone mad on the 
 subject. It is indeed labour in vain to attempt 
 proving to the unmusical the power of music; 
 that high, and pure, and holy enjoyment, which, 
 as we may believe, is one of the delights we are 
 to experience in heaven. 
 
 "I do not like to see tears in your eyes. Lady 
 Isabel," said Marian, when she finished singing 
 one of the sweet ballads of poor Ireland, whose 
 euphonious termination, " Colleen dot crutheen 
 amo," she had learnt to pronounce with its natu- 
 ral softness, from our friend Katty Macane. " I 
 do not like to see tears in your eyes, dear Lady 
 Isabel ; why should you ever shed tears ? — you, 
 so good, so happy, so rich, so independent : what 
 made you cry, dear lady ?" 
 
 " Your music, my dear child." 
 
 " I ought to be happy at that ! to think of my 
 nurse's ballad making you weep \" 
 
 " It is even so," replied Lady Isabel ; "ballads 
 such as that excite in a double way, by the words 
 and music, both playing on the feelings together. 
 That voice, Marian, is a fortune !" 
 
 " I wish it would make me one : do you think 
 it would ?" inquired the girl, eagerly. 
 
 " Yes, I am sure of it — there can be no doubt 
 about the matter." 
 
 " Oh, then, dear Lady Isabel," she exclaimed, 
 joyfully, " only tell me how I can set about it; 
 you have been so good, so generous to me, that 
 you will not refuse me this request, and then I 
 should be independent ; it would make me very, 
 very miserable if I thought that all my life I was 
 to be only a dependant ; a thing to subsist upon 
 the cast-off food and cast-off smiles of others! 
 Oh, Lady Isabel, if I could once, even, earn my 
 own bread !" ' 
 
 " You earned it with Mrs. Jones, 'my poor girl 
 — you surely earned it there." 
 
 " I might perhaps have earned food, dear Lady 
 Bell, but not money. I wore the cast-off gar- 
 ments of charity." 
 
 " Say, of justice rather; they were earned." 
 " My dear lady, I could not think they were ; 
 when any thing approaching finery was given to 
 me, I could not bear to put it on — I felt how 
 strange the charity-child that crossed my path 
 would look decked out in ribands. I loathed my- 
 self" 
 
 " Xo, Marian," replied her friend, " you loathed 
 your dependence ; yon were proud, child, too 
 proud; that was the pride that ' apes humility. ' 
 I do not wish to wound your feelings, Marian ; 
 but, in the many tales you have told me, where 
 you were stem and stubborn — and I loved you 
 all the better, because you did not spare yourself 
 
 — I traced it all to pride." 
 
 " But I could kneel and kiss the dust beneath 
 your feet, and the good dean, too ; I could serve 
 Lord Augustus not only as a servant but as a 
 slave ; my old nurse, my fond and faithful nurse, 
 I could beg for her. Oh, Lady Isabel, is that 
 pride ?" 
 
 "It is not humility, my dear child ; it is affec- 
 tion. We have not insulted yon ; if we had " 
 
 " Dear Lady Isabel !" exclaimed Marian, aston- 
 ished at the idea ; but seeing her ladyship smile, 
 she reverted to her old purpose. " But this voice 
 
 — I have practised it as you told me ; and now 
 that I understand the Italian words your ladyship 
 so kindly translated, I think I do better ; I shall 
 not be content with doing better, I want to do 
 well." 
 
 "Marian," said Lady Isabel, "listen to me. 
 You have, above all others, a quality which will 
 render you either very great or very mean — there 
 is no medium — it is pride." 
 
 " Oh, Lady Isabel," she interrupted warmly, 
 " what should a foundling do with pride ?" 
 
 " True ; and I may add, what should any one 
 do with pride? — false pride, that builds unto 
 itself a pyramid of false greatness, and frets itself 
 into perpetual agitation, lest its pyramid should 
 be assailed. You have unhappily lived with those 
 who sought to imdervalue yon; yonr feelings 
 stimulated by pride, rebelled — you became harsh 
 and irritable — expecting hourly assault, your de- 
 fiance was ever ready ; so that I am not quite cer- 
 tain but that, at times, you might have been the 
 aggressor." 
 
 "Not only might, my lady," said the frank- 
 hearted girl, " but w(M. I can call to mind many 
 instances when I was the aggressor; and now, 
 when I am so happy, I wonder how I could ever 
 have been so bitter. But was it pride ?" 
 
 " Yes ; think, and you will see it was." 
 
 " But, dear madam, is the pride that rises 
 against oppression wrong ?" 
 
 " No, provided it does not degenerate into anger 
 against the oppressor. The sea is deep, my child, 
 but pride is deeper, nor is it more deep than de- 
 ceitful ; it will often seem to betray itself, the 
 more successfully to betray thee. I would have 
 you watch this pride, and separate it from that 
 great and glorious ambition which all great men, 
 and a few great women, have understood." 
 
 "Lady Isabel, why did you say a few great 
 women ?" 
 
 693 
 
HA 
 
 HA 
 
 " Because, though many are celebrated, few 
 are great. Women are at so early a period bound 
 to the littlenesses of life, that it is no easy matter 
 for them to break the thousand small intricate 
 chains which keep them down on every side, and 
 which, after all, except with very extraordinary 
 talents, and under peculiar circumstances, had, 
 perhaps, better be only loosened. There are, 
 however, many heroic women, clad in English 
 russet, whose sufferings and whose virtues deserve 
 the martyr's crown. To be truly great we must 
 be above the weaknesses — the petty ambitions 
 of life — soaring as the eagle in the heavens with 
 only the sun in view." 
 
 "As I should like to soar!" exclaimed the 
 young enthusiast, "and my sun should be inde- 
 pendence." 
 
 "And," said Lady Isabella, "if you attained it 
 by the most praiseworthy exertions, you would 
 then desire one other — the only one that ever 
 made woman, however great, happy." 
 
 " What is that, madam ?" 
 
 Lady Isabella paused; the word "Love" was 
 on her lip, but she sent it back, and said, "Affec- 
 tion." 
 
 "I do not know," replied the maiden, "but I 
 think I should like to be great." 
 
 "And so should I like you to be great in good- 
 ness ! You have been reading this morning the 
 biography of two very celebrated women: whom 
 would you rather have been. Queen Elizabeth or 
 Lady Rachel Eussel ?" 
 
 Marian paused not, but replied instantly, " Oh, 
 Lady Kachel, to be sure !" 
 
 Lady Isabella drew her breath freely. " Thank 
 God!" she instantly exclaimed; "she is right- 
 hearted!" 
 
 BLUE-STOCKINGS. 
 
 The particular class of blue-stockings of which 
 Lady Barbara, in her day, was so decided a speci- 
 men, is passing away. The generality of females 
 are better informed than they were thirty years 
 ago ; it is not that there are fewer trout, but there 
 are fewer minnows; consequently, "the trout" do 
 not look so very big. Lady Barbara, toward the 
 conclusion of her career, affected that hardness 
 which, unfortunately, many clever women, now-a- 
 days, mistake for strength. The affectation of 
 sentiment and romance was foolish ; the affecta- 
 tion of hard philosophy, in a woman, is worse 
 than that. It is dangerous. Nature ! that uner- 
 ring philosopher ! commanded different and sepa- 
 rate occupations to the fair portion of her creation, 
 from what she allotted to the stronger; and what- 
 ever tends to destroy these obligations, flies in the 
 very face of that nature which it has become the 
 fashion to talk about, and disobey. Women are 
 capable of appreciating, and ought to be ready to 
 exercise and understand the principles of all that 
 is great and beautiful ; they ought to be true 
 patriots, firm friends, and honest members of 
 society ; these are general virtues : but there are 
 others, especially their own, that must not be for- 
 gotten. 
 
 SENTIMENTAL TOUNO LADIES. 
 
 I hate those mere gentle girls without mind, or 
 spirit, or feeling, to deepen the blush upon a pallid 
 cheek ; a fellow might as well think of living upon 
 sweet cake, and sweet cream, and sweet straw- 
 berries, and all the sweets, which, after all, are 
 sure to become sours, as going through life with a 
 sleepy-headed beauty, whose roughest word would 
 be, " An if it please you, sir !" 
 
 WOMAN FOE. WOMAN. 
 
 "No, I can't, nor won't!" exclaimed Katty, 
 with a heroic spirit that females would do well 
 and wisely to cultivate. " I will not hould my 
 tongue, where my own poor wake sex is imposed 
 upon. Haven't I often seen the young, and the 
 innocent, and the virtuous, drawn by their natural 
 goodness (which desavers like you twist as a halter 
 about their necks, strangling them with their own 
 good intentions, like seething the kid in its mo- 
 ther's milk;) haven't I often seen such drawn into 
 sin, and left to moulder away in it, till they sunk 
 into a nameless grave ? And why ? Because there 
 was none of their own sex found with enough judg- 
 ment to watch over them ; or with courage enough 
 to draw them back after the first false step ; or 
 to give the broad, the loud, the determined, the 
 steadfast lie to what is almost as dangerous to a 
 young woman : the first false word that 's even 
 whispered against her honest fame .'" 
 
 THE public SINQEB. 
 
 It will be remembered that Marian once thought 
 her fine voice might promote her independent de- 
 sires, and Lady Isabella promised to read her one 
 of those practical lessons on the danger of female 
 publicity that are so forcible by the mere strength 
 of example. About a week after the funeral of 
 Mrs. Jones she fulfilled her promise — the lesson 
 was in itself fearful. A young and clever girl 
 without a home, and most painfully situated, mar- 
 ried a man much beneath her ; and, finding out, 
 after the expiration of a month, that he was not 
 only low in connexion, but of debased mind, 
 sprang, as it were, upon the stage, as a means 
 of support, where her magnificent musical talent 
 commanded success. She had done so with a mind 
 full of honest and excellent resolves — with a firm 
 desire to do right — with a prayer ; but, no, she 
 did not pray — if she had prayed, she would not have 
 fallen ! Poor thing ! she trusted to her integrity 
 of purpose, and, elated with success — flushed with 
 triumph — her unguarded and unworldly manners 
 reaped, as their reward, a reputation, not blight 
 exactly, but breathed upon by that class of men 
 whose breath is poison. Those, few as they were 
 in number, of her own sex whom she respected, 
 and who ought boldly to have rallied round a 
 sister whom they believed in danger, shrank from 
 her. She was worse than alone in the world ! for 
 she had the clog of a base and cruel husband — 
 a 2/oA:e-fellow, but no help ; and this at the time 
 when all the town were at her feet ; this, as has 
 been said before, all brilliant as it is, never yet 
 fiUed the aching void in woman's heart. Hep 
 
 694 
 
HA 
 
 HA 
 
 curse seemed to be always to love unworthily ; 
 she fell; knowing then that she was degraded, she 
 became reckless, and this recklessness was in- 
 creased by the desertion of the fashionable rou^ 
 who courted her as a step to farther notoriety. 
 She went on from bad to worse, and, in the midst 
 of a career of professional success, multitudinous 
 scandal, and bitter self-reproach, the poor actress' 
 health gave way, and she had no friends — envy, 
 and that mock religion which blasts where it 
 ought to bless, did their worst. She crept down 
 to Twickenham with the remnant of her earnings, 
 to die like a hunted cat, away from the scenes of 
 her feverish home. 
 
 PKEJUDICE. 
 
 Prejudice is the more dangerous, because it has 
 the unfortunate ability of accommodating itself 
 to all the possible varieties of the human mind. 
 Like the spider, it makes everywhere a home. 
 Some one of our glorious old divines — South, or 
 Taylor, or Fuller, or Bishop Hall — has it some- 
 where, that let the mind be as naked as the walls 
 of an empty and forsaken tenement, gloomy as a 
 dungeon, or ornamented with the richest abilities 
 of thinking; let it be hot, cold, dark, or light, 
 lonely or inhabited ; still prejudice, if undisturbed, 
 will fill it with cobwebs, and live, like the spider, 
 where there seemed nothing to live upon. 
 
 EMnLATION. 
 
 It is the greatest possible mistake to imagine 
 that being of the same way of thinking, having 
 the same pursuits, the same turn of mind, as it is 
 called, makes people agree. Derogatory as it is 
 to the dignity of human nature, experience forces 
 the knowledge that people having the same pur- 
 suits, the same foibles, the same feelings, agree 
 least of aU ; one thunder-clap deadens the effect 
 of another. A theatre, for instance, is nothing 
 more than a hive, where every bee has a sting 
 ready, not for an intruder, but for its fellow-bee. 
 It is painful to know how actors of similar style 
 and manner mar each other's points, and count 
 the calls and claps which each receives above the 
 other ; but it would be invidious to quote this as 
 an instance of discord, arising where many are 
 engaged in the pursuit of the same object, if the 
 confession were not added, that the same fault is 
 observable in every sphere where men's tempers 
 and feelings are called into operation. Higher 
 and nobler minds overcome it altogether, simply 
 because they are high and noble, and above the 
 small artifices and weak emulations which gan- 
 grene and fester the heart. 
 
 HALL, LOUISA JANE, 
 Is THE daughter of Dr. James Park of New- 
 buryport, Massachusetts, where she was born in 
 1802. Dr. Park removed to Boston, and in 1811, 
 opened a school for young ladies, (one of the first 
 institutions of this kind under the care of a man, a 
 mode of female education since become so popular 
 in Boston,) where his daughter was carefully edu- 
 cated. She began to write very early, but did not 
 publish until 1832. 
 
 In 1840, she married Rev. Edward B. Hall, a 
 Unitarian clergyman of Providence, Rhode Island, 
 where she has since resided. Her principal works 
 are, "Miriam, a Drama;" "Joanna of Naples, a 
 Historical Tale," and " A Biography of Elizabeth 
 Carter;" besides several poems published in pe- 
 riodicals. Of her most remarkable work, the 
 editor* of " The Female Poets of America," 
 says — " Mrs. Hall wrote Miriam only for amuse- 
 ment, as she did many little poems and tales which 
 she destroyed. The first half of this drama, writ- 
 ten in 1825, was read at a small literary party in 
 Boston. The author not being known, was pre- 
 sent, and was encouraged by the remarks it occa- 
 sioned to finish it in the following summer. Her 
 father forbade her design to burn it ; it was read, 
 as completed, in the winter of 1826, and the au- 
 thorship disclosed ; but she had not courage to 
 publish it for several years. She saw its defects 
 more distinctly than before, when it appeared in 
 print, and resolved never again to attempt any 
 thing so long in the form of poetry. Her eyesight 
 failed for four or five years, during which time 
 she was almost entirely deprived of the use of 
 books, the pen, and what she says she most re- 
 gretted, the needle. 
 
 " 'Miriam' was published in 1837. It received 
 the best approval of contemporary criticism, and a 
 second edition, with such revision as the condition 
 of the author's eyes had previously forbidden, ap- 
 peared in the following year. Mrs. Hall had not 
 proposed to herself to write a tragedy, but a dra- 
 matic poem, and the result was an instance of the 
 successful accomplishment of a design, in which 
 failure would have been but a repetition of the ex- 
 perience of genius. The subject is one of the 
 finest in the annals of the human race, but one 
 which has never been treated with a more just 
 appreciation of its nature and capacities. It is the 
 first great conflict of the Master's kingdom, after 
 its full establishment, with the kingdoms of this 
 world. It is Christianity struggling with the first 
 persecution of power, philosophy, and the inter- 
 ests of society. Milman had attempted its illus- 
 tration in his brilliant and stately tragedy of The 
 Martyr of Antioch ; Bulwer has laid upon it his 
 familiar hands in The Last Days of Pompeii ; and 
 since, our countryman, William Ware, has exhib- 
 ited it with power and splendour in his masterly 
 romance of The Fall of Rome ; but no one has yet 
 approached more nearly its just delineation and 
 analysis than Mrs. Hall in this beautiful poem." 
 
 The prose works of Mrs. Hall evince a culti- 
 vated mind and refined taste ; the style is care- 
 fully finished, and the delineations of character 
 satisfy the judgment of the reader, if they fail to 
 awaken any deep interest in the fate of the Queen 
 or the pursuits of the learned lady. There is 
 something in the genius of Mrs. Hall which seems 
 statue-like ; we feel that this repose is a part of 
 the beauty, and yet one would wish to see it dis- 
 turbed if only to prove the power which the in- 
 spired artist possesses. 
 
 » R. W. Griswold. 
 
 695 
 
HA 
 
 11 A 
 
 "l«'rom Miriam." 
 [Miriam, tiio only daughtor of Thvasono, a 
 Chnatiau oxile from Judon. voHidingwith his two 
 ohildvGii at Rome, is boou and loved by TauluB, a 
 youug nobleman, whoso father, Piao, had in his 
 youth served in the arniioa iii Palestine. The 
 passion is mutual, but secret; and having failed 
 to win the Koman to her faith, the Christian 
 maiden rosolvea to part from him for ever.] 
 
 TI1K PAnTINQ. 
 
 MiriaTii. Tlic aii)(uifili of my sniil, 
 My npini's (ioL'p iinti ruiiuinn ri(i;oiiy, 
 TutI iiiu that llioiigli this Ikmui iiiiiy surely broak, 
 Tlioro is no cliangu \v'ithin It 1 (unl tlii'niiKti lift'. 
 Fondly luul wiltlly — llmngli most linpclimBly — 
 With nil ita strong nUlictiDnB will it rl(uivc< 
 To him for whom it iiuarty yinlilott nil 
 'I'hat mukos lifo preciouo — poacu und mMf cpiycfn, 
 FrionilB upon uartli, unit hnpus in honvon ulinvi-! 
 Paul. Moan'st thou — 1 know not vvliut. My mind grows 
 dark 
 Amid u Ihoiiflnnd wildcring miizoa loNt. 
 Tlioro is ft wild and drondfiil myslnry 
 I'lvcn in tliy wonin of lovo ! cim not Holvn. 
 
 Mir. Hour mo: for wiih tliu holy Hiith that t^rut 
 Mndo B(ron({ tho dhuddoring pnirinrch's hcurt n.m\ hand, 
 When niiK'k helow tlio glittering knifo Iriy Htrotcliod 
 Tho boy uiiosc mtnilcM wore suriNliiiiu tu IiIh iige, 
 TIiIn night 1 oiler up n HiirrlHri' 
 Ofltfe'H lieet hopes to Ihe One hiving God 7 
 V'ef". from that night, my PanUiH, novur more 
 Mine oyes shall look upon thy form, mino unrs 
 Orlrik in tho tones of thy tieloved voice. 
 
 Paul. Ye goda! ye cruel gods! let nio owuko 
 And And Ihia but a drcum I 
 
 Mr. Th it thoti Bftid 1 
 o God! the words bo fraught with bitinnioHS 
 So Hooii are uttered — nnd tliy seivant livoa ! 
 Ay, Taulua ; ever from that hour, when (Irat. 
 My spirit knew that thiru} was wholly lop^ 
 And to its anperntitlona wedded fust, 
 Shrouded In darkness, blind lo every beam 
 Stronming fVom Zion's hill atliwurl the night 
 'i'hiit broods in horror o'er a heathen world, 
 I'vi'ii from that hour my shuddering soul bohold 
 A dark and fa{homlc«s abyss yawn wi<li> 
 Itctween us two ; and o'ur it gleamed alono 
 One pale, dim twinkling star I the lingering hopo 
 That grace denrciidiug from tlin Throne of Light 
 Might full in gentle dews upon that lieort, 
 And melt it itilo humble pjoty. 
 AIohI that liopo hnlli faded; nnd I boo 
 The fatal gulf of separation still 
 llc'tw(!i!ii UH, lovo, and strelchitig on for nyo 
 Hfjyoml the grave in which I feel that soon 
 This clay with all Its sorrows shall lie down. 
 Union for us is none in yonder sky ; 
 'I'hen how on onrlh 1 —so In my inmost soul, 
 Nurtured with midnight tears, with blighted hopes, 
 With silent waiehlngs and incfssant prayers, 
 A holy resolution hath In'en root, 
 And in its might nt lust Hpriugs proudly up. 
 We part, my I'aulus ! not In hate, but lovo, 
 yielding unto a stern rmcesulty. 
 And I along my sud, short pilgrimngo, 
 Will hear the memory of our Hinlesa lovo 
 As mothers wour tho imago of the liabo 
 That died upon their bosom ere the world 
 Had stamped its spolluHs soul with good or ill, 
 I'irtured in infant loveliness and smiles, 
 f^Iosfl to the heart's fond core, to bo drawn forth 
 Vivr.r In Holitudo, and bathed In li-ars, — 
 Hut how! witli such unmanly grief struck down, 
 Withered, thou Homan knight I 
 
 Paul. My hrain is pierced ! 
 Mine eyes with blindness smitten ! nnd mine ear 
 Kings faintly with tho echo of thy words! 
 riencefonh what man shall over build his fuitli 
 On woman's lovo, on woman's constancy 7— 
 
 Maiden, look up! [ would bul ga/.o oiire rniU'Q 
 Upon that opou hmw uiid clear dark vyv, 
 To rend what aspiu-l I'orjuty nniy Wf>ar, 
 Wlini garb of IovoUiiosn umy rnlni-hood uso, 
 Tit lure tho oyo of gulleUiss, manly lovo t 
 Cruel, cold blooded, tlrkU< that thou nrt, 
 Dosi thiiu not quail lieiirath thy lover's eye T 
 llow ! iluTO Is light within thy lofiy glauco, 
 A Hush upon thy check, u Nottled culm 
 Ujion ihy lip nnd brow ! 
 
 Mir. Ay, even ho, 
 .\ llghl — 11 (lush — n calm — not of this ourth ! 
 r'or in (his Iumu of blltemuss and woo, 
 Tlu' |ira('(< i)f Uod Is nilling on my soul 
 Like dews upon Iho withering grass whlrh hilo 
 Hed srorrhlug tbiines have suared. Again 
 The I'ltiisclourtnesa of Ihllli, of sins forglvm, 
 Of wrnih apprased, of heavy guilt thrown nif, 
 Sheds on my brearil Us long foigmtun pence, 
 And slilnlug Kleadlhst as Iho aiunulay sun, 
 Lights mn along die ]n\\h that duly marks. 
 Lovor, too dearly loved ! a long farewell ! 
 The Imnni'ied (letd, the glanelng spear, tho shout 
 That heiiiH tho vlclor's name nnlo iho skies— 
 The liuirrllcd brow — be thlno 
 
 DYING FANOtKS. 
 
 Angels nrn gathering In the easirrn sky — 
 The wind is playing 'mid llieir gliticring pluuiea- 
 The sunbeams dance upon (heir golden harps- 
 Welcome is on their Ibir aurl glorious brows! 
 Math not u holy s|drit pnssnd iVom earlli, 
 Whom ye come forth lo meet, seraphic forms 7 
 Oh, fade not, failr not yei I — or luko mo loo, 
 l''or eurth grows duik bonuatli my daz/.led eyol 
 
 MIRIAM TO PAUHIH, WHO llI'Un^AIlES IIIMHKLF A 
 (lUXltSTIAN, 
 
 If but ono ray of light Oom llenv'n 
 Hoth rouch'd thy sonl, I may Imlood rijjoico I 
 Kv'n thus, ill coming days, from martyrs' blood 
 Hball earnest saints arise tn do Cod's work. 
 And thus with slow, sure. Hileiit step Nball Truth 
 Tread the dark earth, and scalier Liulit nhroad, 
 Till Peacn and UIghteonsnesa awake, and loud 
 Triumphant, in llm bright nnd Joyous blaze, 
 Their huppy myriads up lo yonder skies I 
 
 MiniAM TO 11 Kit IllIOTliKIl ANP LOVKK, 
 
 Eiiphaa, thy band I — Ay, clasp thy brother's hand ! 
 Vrt fair and young fipnslles! go ye forth — 
 Oo HJile by side beneath the nuu and storm, 
 A dying sister's blessing on your tolls ! 
 When ye have pnur'd llio oil of Ohristlan pnaco 
 On passions rude and wild — when yo have won 
 Dark, sullen souls from wrath and sin to (3od — 
 Whiino'or yo kneel to beor npnn your pray'rs 
 
 He))entunt sinners up to ) der hoav'n, 
 
 Uo it In palaee —dungeon - open air — 
 
 'Mid friends — 'mid raging foes — In Joy— in grief — 
 
 Dctem not yo pray alone; — man never doth I 
 
 A sinter spirit, ling'ring near, shall (111 
 
 The silent air around you wlib hor pray'rs, 
 
 Wailing till ye loo lay your fottors down, 
 
 And come to your reward! — <;m fearless forth; 
 
 For glorious trulli wars with you, and shull rolgn. 
 
 HANKK, IIKN1UJ5TTK WJLIIELMINA. 
 
 Wah tho daughtor of Mr. Arnclt, a mei-clnuit in 
 Jauor; she wan born in (788. In 1802, Hho mar- 
 rierl the pastor Ilanke, of Dojherrnfurth ; and in 
 1819, eho bocamo a widow. Sinco which event, 
 8ho has lived retired with hor mother, Iter time 
 wholly devoted to literary pursuits, and the oaro 
 of hor aged parontH. She has written — "The 
 Stop-Daughter," publiHhod in 1820; "The Twelve 
 Months of tho Year,'* in 1821; "Tho Hunting 
 
 Ct)u 
 
HE 
 
 HE 
 
 Castle of Diana " and " The GarJen of Walrys," 
 in 1S22 ; ■' Pictures of the Heart" and " Claudie," 
 ia the year 1823. "The Christmas-Tree" was 
 issued in 1821, and "The Female Friends" in 
 1825. She has -mritten numerous other novels 
 and romances, -which have obtained great popu- 
 larity in Germany. Her works were published in 
 a uniform edition in 1841, in twenty-one volumes. 
 None of these have been translated into English. 
 
 HEXTZ, CAROLINE LEE, 
 
 Was born in Lancaster, Worcester county, Mas- 
 sachusetts. Her father was General John Whiting, 
 of the army. Her two brothers were also officers 
 in the ai-my, and one of them, General Henry 
 Whiting, was aid-de camp to General Taylor, in 
 the Mexican war : he is still living. Miss Whiting 
 began to write when very young ; and before she 
 had completed her twelftb year, she had composed 
 a poem, a novel, and a tragedy in five acts, fuU 
 of impasaoned scenes and romantic situations. 
 
 TTpou her marriage, she removed to Chapel Hill, 
 NorUi Carolina; in its University, her husband, 
 Mr. X. M. Hentz, was Pi-ofessor of Modern Lan- 
 guages. After some years spent in this place, 
 they took charge of a flourishing female academy 
 near Cincinnati, Ohio. In 1834, they went to 
 reside near Florence, Alabama, at a pLice they 
 called Locust Dell, where they taught for several 
 years. Stronger inducements led them to Tusca- 
 loosii, Alabama, the seat of the Tniversity. where 
 they spent two years. In 184-3. Mr. Hent2 re- 
 moved to Tuskegee with his family, and at present 
 they are residing in Columbus, Georgia, a beau- 
 tiful city on the banks of the Chattahooche. 
 
 The first work which Mrs. Hentz pxtblished, was 
 her drama. "De Lara, or the Moorish Bride." 
 for which she obtained the priie of five himdred 
 dollars and a gold medal, offered in Philadelphia 
 for the best original tragedy. Several of our most 
 eminent writers were competitors for the prise, 
 awarded to Mrs. Henti by a committee composed 
 of distinguished literary gentlemen. She has also 
 written two other tragedies, " Lamorah, or the 
 Western Wild," which was acted at Cincinnati, 
 
 and "Constance of Werdenberg;" both of these 
 are still unpublished. Many of her minor poems 
 show great sweetness and facility, as well as 
 warmth and earnestness. Indeed, poetry seems 
 to be the natural language of her heart, when 
 stirred by emotions or affections. 
 
 Mrs. Hentz is most widely known by her popular 
 prose tales and novellettes, which have appeared 
 in our different periodicals. " Aunt Patty's Scrap 
 Bag" and "The Mob Cap," which obtained a 
 prize of two hundred dollars, have been almost 
 universally read. Some of her other stories are, 
 "Aunt Mercy," "The Blind Girl," "The Pedlar," 
 " The Tillage Anthem," and a novel, in one volume, 
 called "Lovell's FoUy." 
 
 As an instructress, she has been eminently suc- 
 cessful, especially in that most important qualifi- 
 cation, the power of gaining the affections and 
 confidence of those under her care, and of obtain- 
 ing a personal influence over them, which remains 
 and acts upon them for good, long after they are 
 withdrawn from her presence. Many a young 
 man, as well as woman, who has been thrown into 
 her society, will look back upon his intercourse 
 with her as a time when his mind received an 
 impulse towards the noble and elevated, which 
 affected his whole future life. 
 
 In social intercoiirse, Mrs. Hentz is easy and dig- 
 nified. Her appearance is exceedingly prepossess- 
 ing, and her conversational powers are fine. 
 
 The prose writings of Mrs. Hentz are distin- 
 guished for poetic imagery, vivacity, and a peculiar 
 purity of style, which seems the habitual tone of 
 the writer's mind, and harmonizes well with the 
 quiet lessons of morality and patriotism breathing 
 from, rather than inculcated in, all her fictitious 
 compositions. Born and trained at the North, but 
 removed to the South while her youthful hopes 
 were bright as the sunny climate where her new 
 home was found, and passing some years as so- 
 journer in the great West, Mrs. Hentz has learned 
 the wisdom of loving her whole country, above any 
 particular State or section. This true and noble 
 pati-iotism she inculcates as a woman should, — 
 like the fivith of childhood, to hold its place, next to 
 that of " Our Father, who art in Heaven," in the 
 heart of every American. Of her most elaborate 
 novel, " Lovell's FoUy," a writer in the Southern 
 Review says: — "It certainly merits praise, both 
 for its design and execution. The purpose, or 
 morale, is to show the incorrectness of the preju- 
 dices commonly entertained towards each other 
 by the Yankee and Southron. The characters are 
 weU chosen for this purpose ; the uuiidents fasci- 
 nating, and artistically managed ; and the reflec- 
 tions, in the main true, abounding in delicate per- 
 ceptions of the beautiful, the right, and the good. 
 The style is even and graceful, and throughout 
 vivified by the colouiings of a flowery fancy. 
 There is nothing wild or spasmodic in these pages. 
 They would please the amiable and contemplative 
 lover of Wordsworth, rather than the admirer of 
 Byron's gloom ivnd misanthropy. Reading such 
 productions is like wandering through the green- 
 ness and rose-enamelled beauty of one of our 
 Western prairies in spring-time, and not like 
 
 697 
 
HE 
 
 HE 
 
 gazing upon the rough barriers and splintered 
 pinnacles of a huge mountain, or the foam and 
 fury of the sea in a tempest. 
 
 " Of her dramatic works, ' De Lara, or the Moor- 
 ish Bride,' must rank among the best of the kind 
 produced in America. The scene is laid in Spain, 
 during the contests between the rival races, and 
 the events are such as to produce manifestations 
 of many of the intenser passions ; and while the 
 tragedy is fraught, throughout, with moral and 
 poetic beauty ; while it presents, in vivid colours, 
 to the imagination, the soft and voluptuous scenes 
 about 'golden Granada,' — her olive-bowers and 
 enchanted palaces; while there is pervading femi- 
 nine chasteness and delicacy, — it is yet marked 
 by great depth and vigour of thought and utter- 
 ance. Indeed, the masculine energy of style, and 
 the remarkable insight into the fiercer capacities 
 and phases of the human heart, — with which wo- 
 men are seldom familiar, — have, more than any- 
 thing else, fascinated us with this tragedy. We 
 know no female writer, not excepting Joanna 
 Baillie, who displays more manliness of sentiment 
 and expression, in her writings, than Mrs. Hentz 
 exhibits in this drama." 
 
 Of the story or plot, we can give no analysis 
 here, only remarking, as explanatory of the scene 
 we quote, that Osman is a captive Moor in the cas- 
 tle of the Spanish hero, Fernando De Lara, whose 
 father Osman has secretly murdered. De Lara 
 has discovered his prisoner's guilt, but is hindered 
 in his revenge by plighted love for Zorayda, the 
 daughter of the Moor. She has become a Chris- 
 tian in sincerity, as her father has hypocritically, 
 to subserve his hatred. 
 
 THE APOSTATE AND THE TRUE BELIEVER. 
 
 Zoraya. The blood of th' Abencerrageg flows pure 
 As melting icicles within these veins. 
 No look of lawless passion ever sent 
 The consciouB crimson to thy daughter's cheek. 
 Fernando loves me, but the captive maid 
 Receives as reverent and true an homage, 
 As if the diadem of Spain she wore. 
 And pledged my faith unsanctioned by thy blessing. 
 But, glorying in my innocence, I dare 
 Present my bosom to thy glittering steel, 
 And tell thee, with my dying breath, that here 
 Ferirando's worshipped image is enshrined. 
 
 Osman. Would that the tomb of her who made me father, 
 Had closed on ihee. the infant of a day, — 
 Sweet in thy bud, but fatal in thy bloom. 
 Leagued with the fell oppressors of thy land, 
 The curses of thy country shall be thine I — 
 Leagued with an infidel ! May Allah send 
 
 Zor. Oh I curse ine not : thou know'st not all my crime. 
 Thou, to redeem thyself from captive chains. 
 Assumed the Cliristian's name, yet loathed his creed. 
 I, at thy bidding, knelt before the cross; 
 But, ere the mandate came, my heart had bowed 
 In adoration to ihe Christian's God. 
 This sacred cross I've sheltered i[i my breast 
 
 Os. (Snatching itfrom her, and throwing it on the ground.) 
 Perish the symbol of a faith abhorred, — 
 Perish the seal of infamy and wo,— 
 Down, down, to dust I 
 
 Zor. [Throwing herself at Ms feet, and grasping the cross.) 
 No, trample on thy child. 
 But spare from sacrilege this holy relic ! 
 Fernando's mother, on the bed of death, 
 Gave me this pledge of her immortal hope, 
 This precious pledge I I 'II guard it, as of old 
 The wandering Hebrews watched the ark of heaven. 
 
 The dying features of the lovely saint, — 
 
 The light, the glow, the ecstacy, the peace I — 
 
 Thou would'st, like me, have wept and have believed. 
 
 Father, there is a truth, I feel there is, 
 
 In this religion sealed by blood divine. 
 
 It gives me strength to wrestle with thy wrath: 
 
 It arms me, — me, a young and timid maid, — 
 
 With power a hero's arm, in battle, lacks. 
 
 This cross is mine. Back to my guardian heart. 
 
 Thou sacred sign, — remain for ever there ! 
 
 Os. Shame of thy lineage, alien from thy kind, — 
 Traitress, exulting in thy daring guilt ! 
 I have no daughter. Never be it said 
 That this unnatural thing is child of mine. 
 I will have none, — away — away, thou serpent, 
 Whom once I warmed and fostered in my breast. 
 'Tis done ! — there is no other place to sting I 
 Fool that I was, —amidst the wreck of fame, 
 The dearth of joy, I dreamed that fate had left 
 A daughter, and, still more, that she did love me. 
 
 ******* 
 But hear me while I swear by Allah's throne, 
 A father's curse 
 
 Zor. Thou can'st not utter it. 
 Heaven will not hear. Thus, prostrate at thy feet, 
 Behold me fall submissive to thy will. 
 Leave me this cross, this anchor of my faith. 
 Take all the rest, but leave— oh, leave me this ! 
 
 DE laea's love. 
 
 Oh ! there is something in the secret thought. 
 That we are shrined in some pure vestal heart, 
 Whose trembling fears our blood-stain'd path pursue, 
 Whose holy prayers for us are winged on high, 
 Whose tears and blushes welcome our return , — 
 Something in this, Francisco, that embalms, 
 Retines and sanctifies the warrior's spirit. 
 
 All that I can reveal is written here. 
 Here on this brow, from which despair unthrones 
 The sovereignty of mind. My spirit now 
 Is calm and clear, — and ponders o'er the wreck 
 Its own unmastered agony has made. 
 The wretch, who's drifted o'er the surging waves 
 Of oeean, when its foam is lashed by storms, 
 Sees not his yawning sepulchre more clear. 
 Than I, the chasm o'er which my reason totters. 
 
 Oh ! that no mortal eye 
 Had e'er beheld these humbling agonies. 
 Zoraya, thou hast heard me utter sounds 
 That leave a sleeplesa echo, murdering peace. 
 I Ml tell thee all —give back thy virgin vows, -- 
 Tear thy seducing image from my heart, — 
 Drown, in black vengeance, love's forbidden fires, 
 And let this bridal day go down in blood. 
 
 zoraya's love. 
 
 Shall I desert him now, 
 When grief has laid its blighting hand upon him? 
 He, who in all the splendour of his rank, 
 With royal favour crowned, and martial fame, — 
 By beauty wooed, by chivalry adored, — 
 In this full blaze of glory, bowed his pride, 
 And knelt a captive at the captive's feet ? 
 Is love alone in beds of roses found. 
 Beneath a heaven of fair, unshadowed blue ? 
 No ! — 'tis to shame, to sorrow, to despair. 
 That faithful love its holiest triumph owes) 
 
 From "Poems." 
 
 THE SNOW-FLAKE. 
 
 Ye 're welcome, ye white and feathery flakes, 
 That fall like the blossoms the summer wind shakes 
 From the bending spray — Oh ! say do ye come. 
 With tidings to me, fVom my far-distant home ? 
 
 " Our home is above in the depths of the sky — 
 In the hollow of God's own hand we tie — 
 We are fair, we arc pure, our birth is divine — 
 Say, what can we know of thee, or of thine ?" 
 
 698 
 
HO 
 
 HO 
 
 I know that ye dwell in the kingdoms of air — 
 I know ye are heavenly, pure and fair. 
 But oft have I seen ye, far travellers, roam. 
 By the cold blast driven, round my northern home. 
 
 " We roam over mountains and valley and sea ; 
 
 We hang our pale wreaths on the leaflpss tree : 
 
 The herald of wisdom and mercy we go. 
 
 And perchance the far home of thy childhood we know. 
 
 " We roam, and our fairy track we leave. 
 While for Nature a winding-sheet we weave — 
 A cold, white shroud that shall mantle the glootn. 
 Till her Maker recalls her to glory and bloom." 
 
 Oh ! foam of the shoreless ocean above 1 
 
 I know thou descendest in mercy and love : 
 
 All chill as thou art, yet benign is thy birth. 
 
 As the dew that impearls the green bosom of Earth. 
 
 And I've thought, as I've seen thy tremulous spray, 
 
 Soft curling like mist, on the branches lay, 
 
 In bright relief on the dark blue sky. 
 
 That thou meltedst in grief when the sun came nigh. 
 
 " Say, whose is the harp whose echoing song 
 Breathes wild on the gale that wafts us along? 
 The moon, the flowers, the blossoming tree, 
 Wake the minstrel's lyre, they are brighter than we." 
 
 The flowers shed their fragrance, the moonbeams their light. 
 Over scenes never veil'd by your drap'ry of white ; 
 But the clime where I first saw your downy flakes fall. 
 My own native clime, is far dearer than all. 
 
 Oh! fair, when ye cloth'd in their wintry mail. 
 The elms that o'ershadow my home in the vale. 
 Like warriors they looked, as they bowed in the slorm. 
 With the tossing plume, and the towering form. 
 
 Ye fade, ye melt — I feel the warm breath 
 Of the redolent South o'er the desolate heath — 
 But tell me, ye vanishing pearls, where ye dwell 
 When the dew-drops of summer bespangle the dell. 
 
 " We fade, — we melt into crystalline spheres — 
 We weep, for we pass through a valley of tears ; 
 But onward to glory — away to the sky — 
 In the hollow oi God's own hand we lie." 
 
 HOWITT, MARY, 
 
 Is by her mother's side directly descended from 
 Mr. William Wood, the Irish patentee, on account 
 of whose half-pence issued under a contract from 
 the government of George II., Dean Swift raised 
 so much disturbance with his Drapier's Letters. 
 His son, Charles Wood, the grandfather of Mrs. 
 Howitt, and who became assay-master in Ireland, 
 was the first introducer of platinum into Europe. 
 By her father's side she is of an old race of 
 Quakers, many of her ancestors having suffered 
 imprisonment and spoliation of property in the 
 early times when that people produced martyrs. 
 Her childhood and youth were passed in the old 
 paternal mansion in Staffordshire, whence she was 
 married in 1821 to William Howitt, a man of con- 
 genial tastes. Of herself she relates — " My child- 
 hood was happy in many respects. It was so, in- 
 deed, as far as physical health and the enjoyment 
 of a beautiful country, of which I had an intense 
 relish, and the companionship of a dearly beloved 
 sister went — but oh ! there was such a cloud over 
 all from the extreme severity of so-called religious 
 education, it almost made cowards and hypocrites 
 of us, and made us feel that if this were religion, 
 it was a thing to be feared and hated. My child- 
 hood had completely two phases — one as dark as 
 night — one as bright as day — the bright one I 
 have attempted to describe in ' My Own Story,' 
 
 which is the true picture of this cheerful side of 
 the first ten years of my life. We studied poetry, 
 botany and flower-painting, and as children wrote 
 poetry. These pursuits were almost out of the 
 pale of permitted Quaker pleasures, but we pur- 
 sued them with a perfect passion ^ doing in secret 
 that which we dared not do openly ; such as reading 
 Shakspeare, translations of the classics, the elder 
 novelists — and in fact, laying the libraries of half 
 the little town where we lived under contribution. 
 
 " We studied French and chemistry at this time, 
 and enabled ourselves to read Latin, storing our 
 minds with a whole mass of heterogeneous know- 
 ledge. This was good as far as it went — but 
 there wanted a directing mind, a good sound 
 teacher, and I now deplore over the secrecy, the 
 subterfuge, the fear under which this ill-digested, 
 ill-arranged knowledge was gained. On my mar- 
 riage, of course, a new life began. The world of 
 literature was opened to me, and a companion 
 was by my side able and willing to direct and 
 assist." 
 
 Soon after the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Howitt, 
 they published, jointly, two volumes of poems, 
 which met with so much success, that they were 
 rapidly followed by a variety of other works, in 
 prose and verse. Partly to perfect themselves in 
 the German language, and partly for the purpose 
 of bestowing upon their children a better education 
 than they could obtain in England, Mr. and Mrs. 
 Howitt, about the year 1835, repaired to Ger- 
 many, where they remained three years, travelling 
 extensively, and acquainting themselves with the 
 country, its literature, and its people ; and pur- 
 suing, at the same time, their literary labours. 
 Here Mrs. Howitt first met with the works of 
 Frederika Bremer, which delighted her so much, 
 that she determined to introduce them to the Eng- 
 lish public by translation. For this purpose, she 
 acquired the Swedish language, to enable her to 
 give them from the original ; Miss Bremer's later 
 works having all been translated from the manu- 
 scripts. Her acquaintance with the Swedish lan- 
 guage induced her to acquire its kindred tongue, 
 
 699 
 
HO 
 
 no 
 
 the Danish, from which, as woU fts from the Ger- 
 man, she has translated numerous works. 
 
 Mrs. Hewitt's marriage has been one of singular 
 happiness, and is blessed with children of great 
 promise. In her literary pursuits, she possesses 
 the sympathy and good offices of her husband, 
 himself an extensive and popular writer, and 
 in many of her translations she has been assisted 
 by him. It is to be lamented that talents, worth 
 and industry, like Mrs. Hewitt's, should, through 
 unmerited misfortune, have been stripped of all 
 substantial reward, at a period of life when she 
 might naturally have looked for some relaxation 
 of her labours. Jlr. Ilowitt having embarked, 
 under the influence of an artful speculator, as 
 partner in the "People's Journal," was, in a short 
 time, held responsible, by its failure, for debts to 
 a large amount ; not a pennyworth of which was 
 originated by him. Ilis financial ruin was the 
 consequence ; the copy-rights even of his own and 
 his wife's works — the hard-won results of years 
 of labour — were sacrificed, and they were obliged 
 to begin the world anew. That their renewed 
 exertions have met with such happy success as to 
 warrant a hope of the retrieval of their fortunes, 
 we have every reason to believe, and we trust, for 
 the honour of human nature, that such exertions, 
 based upon the honest character and good repu- 
 tation of a quarter of a century, will be justly 
 estimated, and meet with the reward they merit. 
 
 Mrs. Howitt has written much in prose ; her 
 books for children are very attractive, from the 
 sympathy with youthful feelings, which seems to 
 well up in her loving heart as freely as a moun- 
 tain-spring sends out its pure freshness, after 
 a summer-shower. But these warm sympathies 
 make her more truly the poet ; and the acknow- 
 ledgment of this bias, made by William and Mary 
 Ilowitt, in the preface of their first joint publica- 
 tion, was certainly true of the wife. They say — 
 " Poetry has been our youthful amusement, and 
 our increasing daily enjoyment in happy, and our 
 solace in sorrowful hours. Amidst the vast and 
 delicious treasures of our national literature, we 
 have revelled with growing and unsatiated de- 
 light ; and, at the same time, living chiefly in the 
 quietness of the country, we have watched the 
 changing features of nature ; we have felt the 
 secret charm of those sweet but unostentatious 
 images which she is perpetually presenting, and 
 given full scope to those workings of the imagina- 
 tion and of the heart, which natural beauty and 
 solitude prompt and promote." 
 
 Mrs. Howitt's first prose work was " Woodleigh- 
 ton," in three volumes, which was exceedingly 
 popular. She next wrote for children the follow- 
 ing works, — " Tales in Verso," " Tales in Prose," 
 " Sketches of Natural History," " Birds and Flow- 
 ers," " Hymns and Fireside Verses ;" and also a 
 series of books, which are very popular, called 
 "Tales for the People and their Children," — of 
 these there are, " Strive and Thrive," " Hope on, 
 Hope Ever," " Sowing and Reaping," " Alice 
 Franklin," "Who shall be Greatest?" "Which is 
 the Wiser?" "Little Corn, much Care," "Work 
 and Ways," "Love and Money," "The Two Ap- 
 
 prentices," and " My Own Story." After the pub- 
 lication of these, Mrs. Howitt wrote " The History 
 of Mnry Leeson," "The Children's Year," and 
 " Our Cousins in Ohio." She published, about 
 1885, her largest poetical work, " The Seven 
 Temptations." She also edited for three years, 
 "The Drawing-lloom Scrap-Book," furnishing for 
 that work a large mass of poetry. About 1848, 
 she collected her fugitive poems in a volume, en- 
 titled "Ballads, and other Poems." 
 
 Mrs. Howitt has also written Slemoirs, in the 
 very kindest spirit, of several Americans ; those 
 of Miss Cushman and Mrs. Mowatt we have used 
 in this Avork. 
 
 " The Seven Temptations," the largest and most 
 elaborate of Mrs. Howitt's poetical works, repre- 
 sents a series of efforts, by the impersonation of 
 the Kvil Principle, to seduce human souls to his 
 power. Mrs. Howitt, in the preface, remarks; — 
 " The idea of the poem originated in a strong im- 
 pression of the immense value of the human soul, 
 and of all the varied modes of its trials, according 
 to its own infinitely varied modifications, as exist- 
 ing in different individuals. AVe see the awful 
 mass of sorrow and of crime in the world, but we 
 know only in part — in a very small degree — the 
 fearful weight of solicitations and impulses of pas- 
 sion, and the vast constraint of oircumBtancos, tliot 
 are brought into play against suffering humanity. 
 In the luminous words of ray motto, 
 
 What 'B tfono wo portly may compute, 
 But kuow not what 's I'ctiiBtcd. 
 
 Thus, without sufficient reflection, wo are fur- 
 nished with data on which to condemn our fellow- 
 creatures, but without sufficient grounds for their 
 palliation and commiseration. It is necessary, for 
 the acquisition of that charity which is the soul 
 of Christianity, for us to descend into the depths 
 of our own nature ; to put ourselves into many 
 imaginary and untried situations, that wo may 
 enable ourselves to form some tolerable notion 
 how wo might bo affected by them ; how far we 
 might bo tempted — how far deceived — how far we 
 might have occasion to lament the evil power of 
 circumstances, to weep over our own weakness, 
 and pray for the jmrdon of our crimes ; that, 
 having raised up this vivid perception of what we 
 might do, suffer, and become, we may apply the 
 rule to our fellows, and cease to be astonished, in 
 some degree, at the shapes of atrocity into which 
 some of them are transformed ; and learn to boar 
 with others as brethren, who have been tried ten- 
 fold beyond our own experience, or perhaps our 
 strength." Thus we see how earnestly the writer 
 sought to do good ; the effort was noble, if not 
 entirely successful ; many touching incidents give 
 interest to the poem, and the sentiments are 
 uniformly pure, generous and hopeful. But her 
 Ballads are the best exponents of her genius. In 
 these she is unrivalled, except, perhaps, by Mr. 
 Macaulay, in modern times. The play of her 
 warm, rich fancy, is like sunlight on icicles, giving 
 the glow and glory of its own hues to any object, 
 no matter how cold or colourless, it touches. 
 Who ever read her " Midsummer Legend," without 
 believing in fairies ? This union of the tendcrest 
 
 700 
 
HO 
 
 HO 
 
 human sympathies with the highest poetic faculty 
 — that of creative fancy — is remarkable in some 
 of her smaller poems. She has faith in human 
 progi'ess, and the love which makes her an earnest 
 worker in the field of reform. All her productions 
 manifest " that love of Christ, of the poor, aud of 
 little children, which always was, aud will be, a 
 ruling sentiment of her soul." She gains the 
 loving admiration and esteem of her readers, and 
 is as popular in America as in her own England. 
 Mrs. Howitt resides in London. 
 
 From " Early Poonis." 
 AWAY WITH THE PLEASURE. 
 
 Away with the pleasure that is not partaken ! 
 
 There is no enjoyment by one only ta'en. 
 I love in my mirth to see gladness awaken 
 
 On lips and in eyes that reflect it again. 
 When we sit by the fire that so cheerily blazes 
 
 On our cozy heartlistone, with its innocent glee, 
 Oh 1 how my soul warms, while my eye fondly gazes, 
 
 To see my delight is partaken by thee I 
 
 And when, as how often, I eagerly listen 
 
 To stories thou read'st of the dear olden day, 
 How delightful to see our eyes mutually glisten. 
 
 And feel that affection has sweetened the lay. 
 Ves. love — and when wandering at even or morning. 
 
 Through forest or wild, or by waves foaming white, 
 I have fancied new beauties tlie landscape adorning, 
 
 Because I have seen thou wast glad in the sight. 
 
 And often in crowds, where a whisper oifendeth, 
 
 And we fain would express what there might not be said, 
 How dear is the glance that none else coniprehendeth. 
 
 And how sweet is the thought that is secretly read! 
 Then away with the pleasure that is not partaken ! 
 
 Tliere is no enjoyment by one only ta'en : 
 I love in niy mirth to see gladness awaken 
 
 On lips, and in eyes, that reflect it again. 
 
 From " The Seven Temptations." 
 
 SONO OF EDAH. 
 
 Little waves upon the deep 
 Murmur soft when thou dost sleep; 
 Gentle birds upon the tree 
 Sing their sweetest songs for thee; 
 Cooling gales, with voices low, 
 111 the tree-tops gently blow 1 
 Dearest, who dost sleeping lie, 
 All things love thee,— so do I! 
 
 When thou wak'st, the sea will pour 
 Treasures for thee to the shore ; 
 And the earth, in plant and tree. 
 Bring forth fruit and flowers for thee! 
 And the glorious heaven above. 
 Smile on thee, like trusting love. 
 Dean.: \ who dost sleeping lie. 
 All things love thee, — so do I! 
 
 SONG OF MARGARET. 
 
 There is a land where beauty cannot fade, 
 
 Nor sorrow dim the eye ; 
 Where true love shall not droop nor be dismayed. 
 
 And none shall ever die. 
 
 Where is that land, oh, where ? 
 
 For I would hasten there — 
 
 Tell me — I foin would go. 
 For I am wearied with a heavy woe ; 
 The beautiful have left me all alone ! 
 The true, the tender, from my paths are gone I 
 
 Oh guide me with thy hand. 
 
 If thou dost know that land. 
 For I am burdened with oppressive care. 
 And T am weak and fearfhl with despair ! 
 
 Where is it ? — tell me where — 
 Thou that art kind and gentle— tell me where. 
 
 Friend! thou must trust in Him who trod before 
 
 The desolate paths of life; 
 Must bear in meekness, as He meekly bore, 
 
 Sorrow and pain and strife! 
 
 Think Itow the Son of God 
 
 Those thorny paths hath trod ; 
 
 Think how he longed to go. 
 Yet tarried out for thee the appointed woe ; 
 Think of his weariness in places dim, 
 \Vhere no man comforted, nor cared for Him ! 
 
 Think of the blood-like sweat 
 
 With which his brow was wet; 
 Yet how he prayed, unaided and alone 
 In that great agony — " Thy will be done !" 
 
 Friend ! do not thou despair. 
 Christ from his heaven of heavens will hear thy prayer ! 
 
 From " Ballads and Poems." 
 
 THE FAIRIES OF THE CALDOK-LOW- 
 LEGEND. 
 
 -A MIDSUMMER 
 
 'And where have you been, my Mary. 
 And where have you been from mel' 
 
 * I've been to the top of the Caldon-Low, 
 
 The Midsummer night to see !' 
 
 'And what did you see, my Mary, 
 
 All up on the Caldon-Low? 
 •I saw the blithe sunshine come down. 
 
 And I saw the merry winds blow.' 
 
 'And what did you hear, my Mary, 
 
 All upon the Caldon-Hili?' 
 ' I heard the drops of the water made. 
 
 And the green corn ears to fill.' 
 
 'Oh, tell me all, my Mary — 
 
 All, all that you ever know; 
 For you must have seen the fairies, 
 
 Last night on the Caldon-Low.' 
 
 ' Then take me on your knee, mother. 
 
 And listen, mother mine: 
 A hundred fairies danced last night. 
 
 And the harpers they were nine. 
 
 * And merry was the glee of the harp-strings, 
 
 And their dancing feet so small ; 
 But, oh, the sound of their talking 
 Was merrier far than all !' 
 
 ' And what were the words, my Mary, 
 
 That you did hear them say?' 
 'I'll tell you all, my mother — 
 
 But let me have my way ! 
 
 ' And some they played with the water. 
 And rolled it down the hill; 
 
 * And this,* they said, ' shall speedily turn 
 
 The poor old miller's mill ; 
 
 For there has been no water 
 
 Ever since the first of May ; 
 And a busy man shall the miller be 
 
 By the dawning of the day ! 
 
 Oh, the miller, how he will laugh. 
 When he sees the mill-dam rise! 
 
 The jolly old miller, how he will laugh, 
 Till the tears fill both his eyes!' 
 
 And some they seized the little winds, 
 
 That sounded over the hill. 
 And each put a horn into his mouth. 
 
 And blew so sliarp and slurill : — 
 
 ' And there,' said they, *the merry winds go. 
 
 Away from every horn ; 
 And those shall clear the mildew dank 
 
 From tlie blind old widow's corn ; 
 
 Oh, the poor, blind old widow — 
 Though she has been blind so long, 
 
 She'll be merry enough when the mildew's gone. 
 And the corn stands stiff and strong !' 
 
 701 
 
HO 
 
 HO 
 
 And some they brought the lintseed, 
 And flung it down from the Low — 
 
 ' And this,' said they, ' by the sunrise, 
 In the weaver's croft shall grow I 
 
 Oh, the poor, lame weaver, 
 
 How will he laugh outright, 
 When he sees his dwindling flax-field 
 
 All full of flowers by night! 
 
 And then upspoke a brownie, 
 
 VVith a long beard on his chin — 
 
 * I have spun up all the tow,' said he, 
 And I want some more to spin. 
 
 I've spun a piece of hempen cloth, 
 And I want to spin another — 
 
 A little sheet for Mary's bed. 
 And an apron for her mother!' 
 
 And with that I could not help but laugh, 
 And I laughed out loud' and free; 
 
 And then on the top of the Caldon-Low, 
 There was no one left but me. 
 
 And all, on the top of the Caldon-Low, 
 The mists were cold and grey, 
 
 And nothing I saw but the mossy stones 
 That round about me lay. 
 
 But, as I came down ft-ora the hill-top, 
 
 I heard, afar below, 
 How busy the jolly miller was. 
 
 And how merry the wheel did go! 
 
 And I peeped into the widow's field; 
 
 And, sure enough, was seen 
 The yellow ears of the mildewed corn 
 
 All standing stiff and green. 
 
 And down by the weaver's croft I stole, 
 
 To see if the flax were high ; 
 But I saw the weaver at his gate 
 
 With the good news in his eye! 
 
 Now, this is all I heard, mother, 
 
 And all that I did see ; 
 So, prithee, make my bed, mother, 
 
 For I'm tired as I can be I' 
 
 THE USE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 God might have made the earth bring forth 
 
 Enough for great and small, 
 The oak tree and the cedar tree, 
 
 Without a flower at all. 
 
 He might have made enough, enough 
 
 For every want of ours; 
 For luxury, medicine, and toil. 
 
 And yet have made no flowers. 
 
 The clouds might give abundant rain. 
 
 The nightly dews might fall. 
 And the herb that keepeth the life in man 
 
 Might yet have druuk them all. 
 
 Then wherefore, wherefore were they made, 
 
 And dyed with rainbow light, 
 All fashioned with supremest grace, 
 
 Upspringing day and night? 
 
 Springing in valleys green and low, 
 
 And on the mountains high; 
 And in the silent wilderness. 
 
 Where no man passes by ? 
 
 Our outward life requires them not. 
 Then, wherefore had they birth? 
 
 To minister delight to man; 
 To beautify the earth: 
 
 To comfort man — to whisper hope, 
 
 Whene'er his faith is dim; 
 For who so careth for the flowers, 
 
 Will much more care for Him! 
 
 FATHER IS COMING. 
 
 The clock is on the stroke of six, 
 
 The father's work is done ; 
 Sweep up the hearth, and mend the fire, 
 
 And put the kettle on. 
 The wild night-wind is blowing cold, 
 'T is dreary crossing o'er the wold. 
 
 He is crossing o'er the wold apace, 
 He is stronger than the storm ; 
 
 He does not feel the cold, not he. 
 His heart it is so warm. 
 
 For father's heart is stout and true 
 
 As ever human bosom knew. 
 
 He makes all toil and hardship light: 
 Would all men were the same! 
 
 So ready to be pleased, so kind. 
 So very slow to blame! 
 
 Folks need not be unkind, austere. 
 
 For love hath readier will than fear. 
 
 Nay, do not close tho shutters, child ; 
 
 For far along the lane 
 The little window looks, and he 
 
 Can see it shining plain. 
 I've heard him say he loves to mark 
 The cheerful firelight through the dark. 
 
 And we'll do all that father likes; 
 
 His wishes are so few, 
 Would they were more ! that every hour 
 
 Some wish of his I knew I 
 I 'm sure it makes a happy day, 
 When I can please him any way. 
 
 I know he's coming by this sign, 
 
 That baby's almost wild; 
 See how he laughs and crows and stares -' 
 
 Heaven bless the merry child ! 
 He 's father's self in face and limb. 
 And father's heart is strong in him. 
 
 Hark! hark! I hear his footsteps now; 
 
 He's through the garden gate. 
 Run, little Bess, and ope the door. 
 
 And do not let him wait. 
 Shout, baby, shout! and clap thy hands. 
 For father on the threshold stands. 
 
 THE CHILDREN. 
 
 Beautiful the children's faces ! 
 
 Spite of all that mars and sears ; 
 To my inmost heart appealing; 
 Calling forth love's tenderest feeling ; 
 
 Steeping all my soul with tears. 
 
 Eloquent the children's faces — 
 Poverty's lean look, which saith, 
 
 Save us I save us ! wo surrounds us ; 
 
 Little knowledge sore confounds us: 
 Life is but a lingering death ! 
 
 Give us light amid our darkness ; 
 
 Let us know the good from ill , 
 Hate us not for all our blindness; 
 Love us, lead us, show us kindness — 
 
 You can make us what you will. 
 
 We are willing ; we are ready ; 
 
 We would learn, if you would teach ; 
 We have hearts that yearn towards duly ; 
 We have minds alive to beauty ; 
 
 Souls that any heights can reach I 
 
 Raise us by your Christian knowledge ; 
 
 Consecrate to man our powers; 
 Let us take our proper station ; 
 We, the rising generation. 
 
 Let us stamp the age as ours! 
 
 We shall be what you will make us : — 
 Make us wise, and make us good ! 
 
 Make us strong for time of trial ; 
 
 Teach us temperance, self-denial. 
 Patience, kindness, fortitude ! 
 
 702 
 
IS 
 
 IS 
 
 ISABELLA II., QUEEN OF SPAIN, 
 
 Was 'born at Madrid, October 10th, 1830. Her 
 father, Ferdinand VII., died when ehe was three 
 years and six months old, and Isabella was imme- 
 diately proclaimed Queen; and her mother, Maria 
 Christina, Regent of Spain. The biography of 
 Maria Christina will he found in its place ; we 
 need only say here, that her influence had made 
 her daughter Queen, by persuading Ferdinand to 
 issue his famous decree, styled pragmatic, reTok- 
 ing the Salic law which prohibited the rule of a 
 female sovereign. This law, introduced into Cas- 
 tile by the Bourhon family on their accession to 
 the Spanish throne, could not have had much root 
 in the affections of a loyal people, who kept the 
 traditionary memory of their glorious Queen, Isa- 
 bella I., stiU in their hearts ; and this child-queen 
 was another Isabella. There is no doubt that the 
 bulk of the nation inclined warmly to sustain her 
 claims, and but for the influence of the priests 
 and fanatical monks in favour of the bigoted Don 
 Carlos, younger brother of the deceased Ferdi- 
 nand, there would have been no bloody civil war. 
 
 That Isabella II. was the choice of the people is 
 proved by the acts of the legislative Cortes, which 
 in 1834 almost unanimously decreed that the pre- 
 tender — Don Carlos, and his descendants — should 
 be for ever exiled from the Spanish throne ; and 
 this decree was confirmed by the constituent Cortes 
 in 1836, without a single dissentient voice. 
 
 Isabella II., thus made queen by her father's 
 will, was acknowledged by the national authority, 
 and surrounded from her cradle with the pomp 
 and observance of royalty ; yet her childhood and 
 youth were, probably, less happy than that of any 
 little girl in humble life, who has a good mother 
 and a quiet home, where she may grow up in 
 the love of God, the fear of evil, and in steadfast 
 devotion to her duties. Isabella was nurtured 
 among the worst influences of civil strife and 
 bloodshed, because religious fanaticism as well as 
 political prejudices were involved in the straggle. 
 
 When she was ten years old, her mother, Maria 
 Christina, resigned the regency and retired to 
 France ; Espartero became regent. Isabella was 
 for three years under the influence of instructors 
 of his choosing ; and he endeavoured, there is no 
 doubt, to have her mind rightly directed. By a 
 decree of the Cortes, the young queen was de- 
 clared to have attained her majority on the 15th 
 of October, 1843 ; she has since reigned as the 
 sovereign of Spain, and has been acknowledged 
 such by all the European governments, and by 
 the governments of America. 
 
 In 1845, Maria Christina returned to Madrid 
 and soon obtained much influence over Isabella. 
 This, it was apparent, was used to direct the 
 young Queen in her choice of a husband. Isabella 
 had one sister, Louisa, the Infanta, who was next 
 heir to the crown, if the eldest died without ofi'- 
 spring. Those keen rivals for political power, 
 England and France, watched to obtain or keep 
 a paramount influence in Spanish affairs. The 
 selfish policy of Louis Philippe, aided by Guizot 
 and Maria Christina, finally prevailed, and forced 
 upon the Spanish nation a prince of the house of 
 Bourbon as husband of Isabella. There were two 
 Bourbon princes, brothers, Francisco and Enrique, 
 sons of Don Francisco, brother of Maria Chris- 
 tina ; of these, the youngest had some talent and 
 was attractive ; the eldest was weak in intellect 
 and disagreeable in manners ; if Isabella could be 
 prevailed upon to marry this imbecile, and a son 
 of Louis Philippe could obtain the hand of the 
 Infanta Louisa, the predominance of French in- 
 fluence would be secured. It was done — both 
 plans succeeded. The following is translated from 
 the Madrid Gazette : — 
 
 " The marriage of Isabella to her cousin, Don 
 Francisco d' Assis, the eldest son of her uncle, 
 Don Francisco de Paula, and that of her sister, 
 the Infanta, to the Duke de Montpensier, the 
 youngest son of Louis Philippe, took place Octo- 
 ber 10th, 1846, on which day Queen Isabella com- 
 pleted her sixteenth year. The ceremony began 
 by the Prelate, who of^ciated, asking the follow- 
 ing questions : — 
 
 " 'Lenora Donna Isabella II., of Bourbon, Ca- 
 tholic Queen of Spain, I demand of your Majesty, 
 and of your Highness, serene Sir, Don Francisco 
 d' Assis Maria de Bourbon, Infante of Spain, in 
 case you know of any impediment to this present 
 marriage, and why it should not and ought not to 
 be contracted — that is to say, if there exist be- 
 tween your Majesty and Highness impediments 
 of consanguinity, afiinity, or spiritual relationship, 
 independently of those impediments that have been 
 dispensed with by his Holiness — if you have made 
 vows of chastity or religion — and finally, if there 
 exist impediments of any other kind, that you 
 forthwith declare them. The same I demand of 
 all here present. For the second and third time 
 I make the same demand, that you freely discover 
 any impediment you are aware of.' 
 
 " The Prelate then addressed the Queen thus — 
 
 " ' Lenora Donna IsabeDa II., of Bourbon, Ca- 
 tholic Queen of Spain, do you wish for your 
 spouse and husband, as the Holy Catholic, ApoB- 
 
 703 
 
IS 
 
 JA 
 
 tolio, and Roman Church directs, Don Francisco 
 d'Assia Maria de Bourbon, Infante of Spain ?' 
 
 "The Queen kissed her mother's hand; and 
 being again asked the same question by the Bishop, 
 replied ' Yea, I wish.' 
 
 " The Prelate then said — 
 
 " ' Does your Majesty give yourself as spouse 
 and wife to his serene Highness Don Francisco 
 d'Assis Maria de Bourbon ?' 
 
 " ' The Queen answered, 'I do.' " 
 
 She soon afterwards conferred on her husband 
 the title of king. 
 
 It hardly seems credible that a crowned Queen 
 would thus give, apparently, her free assent to her 
 own marriage, if the bridegroom had been utterly 
 hateful to her. But two circumstances are cer- 
 tain — she was not old enough to make a judi- 
 cious choice ; and she was urged into the measure 
 while she did not wish to marry at all. She 
 seemed to resign herself to the guidance of 
 others, and doubtless hoped she might find hap- 
 piness. She thus alludes to the event in her 
 speech at the opening of the Cortes, on the last 
 day of 1846. Her speeches from the throne are 
 models of their kind, whoever prepares them ; 
 and she is said to have a fine voice and gracious 
 manner, appearing, indeed, the Queen while de- 
 livering them. 
 
 " I have contracted a marriage with my august 
 cousin, Don Francisco d'Assis Maria de Bourbon, 
 agreeably to my intention announced to the pre- 
 ceding Cortes. I trust that Heaven will bless this 
 union, and that you, also, gentlemen, will unite 
 your prayers with mine to Almighty God. The 
 marriage of my beloved sister has also taken 
 place in the way which has been already explained 
 to the Cortes." 
 
 But this contentment with her lot did not long 
 continue. Early in the following year, 1847, 
 there arose a dislike on the part of the Queen 
 towards her husband, and soon the royal pair be- 
 came completely estranged from each other, and 
 neither appeared together in public, nor had the 
 slightest communication in private. The people 
 seemed to sympathize warmly with the Queen, 
 and she was loudly cheered whenever she drove 
 out, or attended any of the theatres or bull-fights 
 at Madrid. 
 
 On the accession of Narvaez to office as Presi- 
 dent of the Coimcil, he used his utmost endeavours 
 to effect a reconciliation, and at length succeeded. 
 The meeting between the royal pair occurred Oc- 
 tober 13th, 1847, and is thus described: 
 
 "When the King reached the Plaza of the Arse- 
 nal, and alighted at the principal entrance of the 
 palace, the President of the Council and the Holy 
 Father's Legate, warned the Queen of it, who ad- 
 vanced with visible emotion unto the royal cham- 
 ber, and received in her arms the royal consort." 
 
 Since then there have been estrangements and 
 reconciliations ; it seems almost hopeless to anti- 
 cipate conjugal happiness, or even quiet, for Isa- 
 bella. The only event which appears likely to 
 give a new and healthy tone to her mind, is mo- 
 therhood. She gave birth to a son in the autumn 
 of 1850, but, unfortunately, the child lived only a 
 
 few hours. If he had survived, and her affections 
 had thus been warmly awakened, there would be 
 little doubt of her becoming a changed being. 
 That she has talents of a much higher order than 
 was given her credit for in childhood is now evi- 
 dent.* She certainly possesses great physical 
 courage, and a strong will. She manages the 
 wildest and most fiery steed with the coolness and 
 skill of a knight of chivalry. She delights in 
 driving and riding, and exhibits much, even dar- 
 ing energy. She is prompt in her attention to the 
 duties of her government ; and, what is best of all, 
 she evinces that sympathy for her people, and 
 confidence in their loyalty, which are never felt 
 by a crafty, cruel, or selfish ruler. In all her 
 speeches from the throne there is a generous, even 
 liberal spirit apparent ; and were it not for the 
 obstacles which priestcraft interposes, there can 
 be little doubt that the Queen would move on- 
 ward with her government to effect the reforms so 
 much needed. In "features and complexion," 
 Isabella bears a striking resemblance to her fa- 
 ther, Ferdinand VI. , and his line of the Bourbons ; 
 but her forehead has a better development, and 
 she is, undoubtedly, of a nobler disposition. 
 
 There is, indeed, great reason to hope she will 
 yet prove worthy of the name she bears. She is 
 only twenty ; not so old by three years as Isa- 
 bella I. was when she ascended the throne. Spain 
 has never had a good great sovereign since her 
 reign. 
 
 JAGIELLO, APPOLOMA. 
 
 Distinguished for her heroic patriotism, was 
 born about the year 1825, in Lithuania, a part of 
 the land where Thaddeus Kosciusko spent his fir.«t 
 
 * The following is from the pen of a lute resident at Mii- 
 ilrid : — 
 
 "The letters written by the j'oiing Queen IsabeM.i are the 
 most chnrming things in the world ; so say not only her 
 courtiers, but her enemies, and those who have read them 
 declare if her Catholic Majesty was not Clueen of Spain, 
 she would very certainly be a blue-stocking. Besides, al- 
 though a sovereign, or rather because she is a sovereign, 
 Isabella II. is a veritable lioness ; not a lioness as understood 
 in the fashionable world, but in the true acceptation of the 
 word, a lioness, like the noble partner of the king of the 
 forest. If the young Queen ever loses her crown, she will 
 not do it without having defended it sword in hand. Siie 
 fences like Grlsler, and it is her favorite amusement. 
 
 " This is the way she employs her time. At three o'clock, 
 not in the morning, but in the day, she rises. As soon as 
 dressed, and her toilette is the least of her occupations, she 
 orders a very elegant, light equipage, a present from her 
 royal sister of England, and goes out alone ; but sometimes 
 she is accompanied by her husband, to his great despair and 
 terror, for he believes in a miracle every time that he re- 
 enters the palace safe and sound; for the young Queen is 
 her own driver, and generally urges on her horses to their 
 full speed. 
 
 " She dines at tive o'clock, eats very little and very fast ; 
 and as soon as her repast is finished, she exercises some 
 time with the sword, then she mounts her horse and takes a 
 ride. These e-xercises ended, she becomes n young and 
 pretty woman; she dances, sings, and in fact takes all the 
 possible pleasure of her se.\ and age. But when one o'clock 
 strikes, the Queen re-appears, and Isabella assembles her 
 council over which she always presides. 
 
 704 
 
J A 
 
 JA 
 
 Jays. She was educated at Cracow, the ancient 
 capital of Poland — a city filled with monuments 
 and memorials sadly recalling to the mind of every 
 Pole the past glory of his native land. There, 
 and in Warsaw and Vienna, she passed the days 
 of her early girlhood. 
 
 She was about nineteen when the attempt at revo- 
 lution of 184G broke out at Cracow. " That strug- 
 gle," says Major Tochman, " so little understood in 
 this country, although of brief duration, must and 
 will occupy an important place in Polish history. 
 It declared the emancipation of the peasantry and 
 the abolition of hereditary rank, all over Poland ; 
 proclaimed equality, personal security, and the 
 enjoyment of the fruits of labour, as inherent 
 rights of all men living on Polish soil. It was 
 suppressed by a most diabolical plot of the Aus- 
 trian government. Its mercenary soldiery, dis- 
 guised in the national costume of the peasants, 
 excited against the nobility the ignorant portion 
 of the peasantry in Gallicia, which province, with 
 other parts of ancient Poland, had to unite in in- 
 surrection with the republic of Cracow. They 
 were made to believe, by those vile emissaries, 
 that the object of the nobility was to take advan- 
 tage of the approaching revolution, to exact from 
 them higher duties. In the mean time the civil 
 and military officers of the Austrian government 
 circulated proclamations, at first secretly, then 
 publicly, offering to the peasants rewards for every 
 head of a nobleman, and for every nobleman de- 
 livered into the hands of the authorities alive. 
 Fourteen hundred men, women, and children, of 
 noble families, were murdered by the thus excited 
 and misled peasantry, before they detected the 
 fraud of the government. This paralysed the re- 
 volution already commenced in Cracow. 
 
 " The Austrian government, however, did not 
 reap the full fruit of its villany ; for when the pea- 
 sants perceived it, they arrayed themselves with 
 the friends of the murdered victims, and showed 
 so energetic a determination to insist on the rights 
 which the revolution at Cracow promised to se- 
 cure to them, that the Austrian government found 
 melf compelled to grant them many immunities." 
 3U 
 
 This was the first struggle for freedom in which 
 Mile. Jagiello, who was then at Cracow, took an ac- 
 tive part. She was seen on horseback, in the pic- 
 turesque costume of the Polish soldier, in the midst 
 of the patriots who first planted the white eagle 
 and the flag of freedom on the castles of the an- 
 cient capital of her country, and was one of the 
 handful of heroes who fought the battle near Pod- 
 gorze, against a tenfold stronger enemy. Mr. 
 Tyssowski, now of Washington, was then invested 
 with all civil and military power in the republic. 
 He was elevated to the dictatorship for the time 
 of its danger, and by him was issued the cele- 
 brated manifesto declaring for the people of Po- 
 land the great principles of liberty to which we 
 have already alluded. He is now a draughtsman 
 in the employ of our government. 
 
 After the Polish uprising which commenced 
 in Cracow was suppressed. Mile. Jagiello reas- 
 sumed female dress, and remained undetected for 
 a few weeks in that city. From thence she re- 
 moved to Warsaw, and remained there and in the 
 neighbouring country, in quiet retirement among 
 her friends. But the struggle of 1848 found her 
 again at Cracow, in the midst of the combatants. 
 Alas ! that effort was but a dream — it accom- 
 plished nothing — it perished like all other Euro- 
 pean attempts at revolutions of that year, so great 
 in grand promises, so mean in fulfilment. But their 
 fire is yet smouldering under the ashes covering 
 the Old World — ashes white and heavy as death to 
 the eye of the tyrant, but scarcely hiding the red 
 life of a terrible retribution from the prophetic 
 eye of the lover of freedom. 
 
 Mile. Jagiello then left Cracow for Vienna, 
 where she arrived in time to take an heroic part 
 in the engagement at the faubourg Widen. Her 
 chief object in going to Vienna was to inform 
 herself of the character of that struggle, and to 
 carry news to the Hungarians, who were then in 
 the midst of a war, which she and her country- 
 men regarded as involving the liberation of her 
 beloved Poland, and presaging the final regenera- 
 tion of Europe. With the aid of devoted friends, 
 she reached Presburg safely, and from that place, 
 in the disguise of a peasant, was conveyed by the 
 Hungarian peasantry carrying provisions for the 
 Austrian army, to the village of St. Paul. 
 
 After many dangers and hardships in crossing 
 the country occupied by the Austrians, after swim- 
 ming on horseback two rivers, she at last, on the 
 15th of August, 1848, reached the Hungarian 
 camp, near the village of Eneszey, just before the 
 battle there fought, in which the Austrians were' 
 defeated, and lost General Wist. This was the 
 first Hungarian battle in which our heroine took 
 part as volunteer. She was soon promoted to the- 
 rank of lieutenant, and, at the request of her 
 Hungarian friends, took charge of a hospital in. 
 Comorn. Whilst there, she joined, as volunteer,, 
 the expedition of 12,000 troops, under the com- 
 mand of the gallant General Klapka, which mado- 
 a sally, and took Raab. She returned in safety 
 to Comorn, where she remained, superintending 
 the hospital, until the capitulation of the for- 
 tress. 
 
JA 
 
 JA 
 
 She came to the United States in December, 
 1849, with Governor Ladislag Ujhazy and his fa- 
 mily, where she and her heroic friends received a 
 most enthusiastic welcome. 
 
 " Those who have never seen this Hungarian or 
 Polish heroine," says a *writer in the National 
 Era, to which we are indebted for this sketch, 
 " may be interested in hearing something of her 
 personnel. She is of medium height, and quite 
 slender. Her arm and hand are especially deli- 
 cate and beautiful, and her figure round and grace- 
 ful. She is a brunette, with large dark eyes, and 
 black, abundant hair. Her lips have an expres- 
 sion of great determination, but her smile is alto- 
 gether charming. In that the woman comes out ; 
 it is arch, soft, and winning — a rare, an inde- 
 scribable smile. Her manner is simple and en- 
 gaging, her voice is now gentle or mirthful, now 
 earnest and impassioned — sometimes sounds like 
 the utterance of some quiet, home-love, and some- 
 times startles you with a decided ring of the steel. 
 Her enthusiasm and intensity of feeling reveal 
 themselves in almost every thing she says and 
 does. An amusing instance was told me when in 
 Washington. An album was one day handed her, 
 for her autograph. She took it with a smile ; but 
 on opening it at the name of M. Bodisco, the Rus- 
 sian ambassador, pushed it from her with flashing 
 eyes, refusing to appear in the same book with 
 ■^ the tool of a tyrant !' 
 
 " Yet, after all, she is one to whom children go, 
 feeling the charm of her womanhood, without be- 
 ing awed by her greatness. She bears herself 
 with no military air ; there is nothing in her man- 
 ner to remind you of the camp, though much to 
 tell you that you are in the presence of no ordi- 
 nary woman." 
 
 JAMESON, ANNA, 
 
 Is ONE of the most gifted and accomplished of 
 the living female writers of Great Britain. Her 
 father, Mr. Murphy, was an Irish gentleman of 
 high repute as an artist, and held the office of 
 Painter in Ordinary to her Royal Highness Prin- 
 cess Charlotte. By her order he undertook to 
 paint the " Windsor Beauties," so called; but be- 
 fore these were completed, the sudden death of 
 the princess put a stop to the plan. Mr. Murphy 
 lost his place ; and his pictures, from which he had 
 :anticipated both fame and fortune, were left on 
 his hands, without any remuneration. It was to 
 aid the sale of these portraits, when engraved and 
 published, that his daughter, then Mrs. Jameson, 
 wrote the illustrative memoirs which form her 
 work, entitled " The Beauties of the Court of 
 'King Charles II.," published in London, in 1833. 
 Prior to this, however, Mrs. Jameson had be- 
 Kjome known as a graceful writer and accomplished 
 •critic on the Beautiful in Art, as well as a spirited 
 •delineator of Life. Her first work was the " Diary 
 •of an Ennuy^e," published in London, in 1825, 
 inbout two years after her marriage with Captain 
 Jameson, an officer in the British army. Of this 
 imarriage — union it has never been — we will only 
 s-ny hcri>, that it seems to have exercised an unfor- 
 
 • Sara J Clarke. 
 
 tunate influence over the mind of Mrs. Jameson, 
 which is greatly to'be regretted, because it mars, 
 in a degree, all her works ; — but especially her 
 latter ones, by fettering the noblest aspirations 
 of her genius, instinctively feminine, and there- 
 fore only capable of feeling the full compass of its 
 powers when devoted to the True and the Good. 
 We shall advert to this again. The " Diary of an 
 Ennuy^e" was published anonymously; it de- 
 picted an enthusiastic, poetic, broken-hearted 
 young lady, on her travels abroad ; much space 
 being given to descriptions of works of art at 
 Rome, and other Italian cities. This, on the 
 whole, is Mrs. Jameson's most popular and cap- 
 tivating work ; it appeals warmly to the sensibili- 
 ties of the young of her own sex : its sketches 
 of adventures, characters and pictures, are racy 
 and fresh ; and the sympathy with the secret 
 sorrows of the writer is ingeniously kept alive 
 to the end. Her second work was " Memoirs of 
 Celebrated Female Sovereigns," in two volumes, 
 published in London, in 1831. , To this she 
 gave her name. With much to commend, these 
 " Memoirs" are unsatisfactory, because the wri- 
 ter bases her plan on a wrong principle, namely, 
 the inferiority of the female sex to the male. Mrs. 
 Jameson adopts the philosophy of men, which 
 places reason as the highest human attribute ; the 
 Word of God gives us another standard ; there we 
 are taught that moral goodness is the highest per- 
 fection of human nature. 
 
 In other portions of our work,* we have ex- 
 plained our views on these questions, and only 
 remark here, that Mrs. Jameson seems, while 
 writing these " Memoirs of Queens," to have at- 
 tempted, by her deep humility as a woman to 
 propitiate her male critics on behalf of the author. 
 
 In 1832, appeared " Characteristics of Women, 
 Moral, Poetical, and Historical ;" in many re- 
 spects this is the best and most finished produc- 
 tion of Mrs. Jameson's genius. "Visits and 
 Sketches at Home and abroad ; with Tales and 
 Miscellanies," was published in 1834; and soon 
 afterwards, " Memoirs of the Loves of the Poets," 
 &c., appeared. In the autumn of 1839, Mrs. Ja- 
 meson visited America ; going directly from New 
 York to Toronto, Upper Canada, where she passed 
 the winter. Her husband had been stationed for 
 many years in Canada; she had not seen him 
 since her marriage ; it has been said that they 
 parted at the altar ; but the painful circumstance 
 that they only met as acquaintances, not even as 
 friends, was too well known to require an apology 
 for stating it here. Yet we would not allude to 
 this but for the sake of correcting the false im- 
 pressions which some of her late works leave on 
 the mind to mislead the judgment of young read- 
 ers. "Winter Studies and Summer Rambles," is 
 the title of the work published in 1842, in which 
 Mrs. Jameson records her observations on Canada 
 and the United States, as far as she travelled. 
 The shadow over these original and spirited pic- 
 tures is — unhappiness in wedded life! Every- 
 where she finds marriage a slavery, a sin, or a 
 
 * See " General Preface," also " Remarks on the Fourth 
 Era," and " Sketch of duecn Victoria." 
 
 706 
 
J A 
 
 JA 
 
 sorrow The shaft in her own bosom she plants 
 in that of every other married pair ; like a person 
 afflicted with a painful disease, she hears only of 
 the afBicted, and fancies the world to be a hospi- 
 tal of incurables. As we observed in the begin- 
 ning, the cloud over her early life has darkened 
 her spirit. She has, naturally, a love for the in- 
 nocent and the pure, — is a true woman in her 
 warm sj'mpathies with her sex, and had she been 
 fortunate (like Mrs. Howitt) in the connexion 
 which possessed for her, as it does for the noblest 
 and purest of both sexes, the holiest elements of 
 happiness and the best opportunities of self-im- 
 provement, she would have been a shining light in 
 the onward movement of Christian civilization ; 
 she would have devoted her heart and her genius 
 to the True and the Good, instead of bowing her 
 woman's soul to man's philosophy, and deifying 
 the worship of the Beautiful in Art. In this 
 work — "Winter Studies," &o., Mrs. Jameson, 
 commenting on the gratitude due those great and 
 pure men, who work out the intellectual and spi- 
 ritual good of mankind, closes thus: — "Such 
 was the example left by Jesus Christ — such a 
 man was Shakspeai'e — such a man was Goethe!" 
 To understand the depth of this moral bewilder- 
 ment, which could class Goethe with the Saviour, 
 we will insert from the volume which contains the 
 shocking comparison, her own account of the last 
 mental effort of her German idol. 
 
 " The second part of the Faust occupied Goethe 
 during the last years of his life ; he finished it at 
 the age of eighty-two. On completing it, he says, 
 ' Now I may consider the remainder of my exist- 
 ence as a free gift, and it is indifferent whether I 
 do any thing or not ;' as if he had considered his 
 whole former life as held conditionally, binding 
 him to execute certain objects to which he be- 
 lieved himself called. He survived the completion 
 of the Faust only one year. 
 
 " The purport of the second part of Faust has 
 puzzled many German and English scholars, and 
 in Germany there are already treatises and com- 
 mentaries on it, as on the Divina Commedia. I 
 never read it, and if I had, would not certainly 
 venture an opinion ' where doctors disagree;' but 
 I recollect that Von Hammer once gave me, in 
 his clear, animated manner, a comprehensive ana- 
 lysis of this wonderful production — that is, ac- 
 cording to his own interpretation of it. ' I regard 
 it,' said he, ' aa being from, beginning to end a grand 
 poetical piece of irony on the whole universe, which is 
 turned, as it were, wrong side out. In this point of 
 view I understand it ; in any other point of view 
 it appears to me incomprehensible.' " 
 
 The next work of Mrs. Jameson was " Sacred 
 and Legendary Art," two volumes, published in 
 London in 1848, in which the peculiar tastes and 
 talents of the authoress had a fine scope, and de- 
 serve what has been freely awarded her, high 
 praise. The sequel, "Legends of the Monastic 
 Orders," one volume, published in 1850, is tinc- 
 tured with the same false views noticed in some 
 of her previous works. She seems quite inclined 
 to forgive, if not to justify, all the profligacy, igno- 
 rance, and errors which monkery engendered and 
 
 entailed on the Christian world — because these 
 institutions preserved and ennobled works of art 1 
 As an author there is a false air of eloquence 
 thrown over some of her writings, even where 
 simplicity would be more suitable. Generally, in 
 her descriptive passages, thei'e is something pan- 
 tomimic, theatric, unreal ; everything figures in n 
 scenic manner. She is, no doubt, a sincere lovei- 
 of pictures, probably understands them better than 
 most connoisseurs, but readers tire of " Raphael;- 
 and Correggios," when too often thrown in their 
 faces, and call them " stuff." 
 
 Now that we have honestly stated what we do 
 not like in Mrs. J-ameson's books, we are happy tv 
 dwell on their merits, and the many commenda-. 
 ble qualities of the authoress, which these sug- 
 gest. She has an earnest and loving admiration 
 for genius, a discriminating sense of the benefits 
 it confers upon the world, and an unselfish eager- 
 ness to point out its merits and services. All thib 
 is seen in her very pleasing descriptions of the 
 many celebrated men and women she had encoun- 
 tered. She has a deep sense of the dignity of her 
 own sex ; she seeks to elevate woman, and many 
 of her reflections on this subject are wise and salu- 
 tary. We differ from her views in some materia] 
 points, but we believe her sincerely devoted to 
 what she considers the way of improvement. Of 
 her extraordinary talents there can be no doubt. 
 
 From " Visits and Sketches," &.c. 
 
 ARTISTS. 
 
 I have heard young artists say, that they have 
 been forced on a dissipated life merely as a means 
 of "getting on in the world" as the phrase is. 
 It is so base a plea, that I generally regard it an 
 the excuse for dispositions already perverted. The 
 men who talk thus are doomed; they will either 
 creep through life in mediocrity and dependence 
 to the grave ; or, at the best, if they have parts 
 as well as cunning and assurance, they may make 
 themselves the fashion, and make their fortune; 
 they may be clever portrait painters and bust- 
 makers, but when they attempt to soar into the 
 ideal department of their art, they move the laugh- 
 ter of Gods and men ; to them higher, holier foun- 
 tains of inspiration are thenceforth sealed. 
 
 * » * * That man of genius who thinks he 
 can tamper with his glorious gifts, and for a sea- 
 son indulge in social excess, stoop from his high 
 calling to the dregs of earth, abandon himself to 
 his native powers to bring himself up again ; 
 believe it, he plays a desperate game ! One 
 that in nearly ninety-nine cases out of one hun- 
 dred is fatal. 
 
 WOMEN AETISTS — SINGEKS ACTEESSES, &C. 
 
 To think of the situation of these women ! And 
 then to look upon those women who, fenced in 
 from infancy by all the restraints, the refinements, 
 the comforts, the precepts of good society — the 
 one arranging a new cap — the other embroider- 
 ing a purse — the third reading a novel — far, far 
 removed from want, and grief, and care — no^i 
 sitting in judgment, and passing sentence of ex- 
 communication on others of their sex, who hav< 
 
 707 
 
JA 
 
 J A 
 
 Ijeen steeped in excitement from childhood, their 
 nerves for ever in a state of terror between severe 
 application and maddening flattery ; cast on the 
 world without chart or compass — witli energies 
 misdirected, passions uncontrolled, and all the in- 
 flammable and imaginative part of their being 
 cultivated to excess as part of their profession — 
 of their material ! Oh, when will there be charity 
 in the world ? When will human beings, women 
 especially, show mercy and justice to each other, 
 and not judge of results without a reference to 
 causes ?" 
 
 FEMALE GAMBLEK. 
 
 Unless I could know what were the previous 
 habits and education of the victim — through what 
 influences, blessed or unblessed, her mind had 
 been trained — her moral existence built up — 
 ought I to condemn ? Who had taught this wo- 
 man self-knowledge ? Who had instructed her in 
 the elements of her own being, and guarded her 
 against her own excitable temperament? What 
 friendly voice had warned her ignorance ? What 
 weariness of spirit — what thankless husband or 
 faithless lover — had driven her to the edge of the 
 precipice ? 
 
 M. You would then plead for a female gambler ? 
 
 A. Why do you lay such an emphasis on female 
 gambler? In what respect is a female gambler 
 worse than a male? The case is more pitiable — 
 more rare — therefore, perhaps, more shocking; 
 but why more hateful ? 
 
 ENGLISH PKIDE. 
 
 It is this cold impervious pride which is the 
 perdition of us English, and of England. I re- 
 member, that in one of my several excursions on 
 the Rhine, we had on board the steamboat an 
 English family of high rank. There was the 
 lordly papa, plain and shy, who never spoke to 
 any one except his own family, and then only in 
 the lowest whisper. There was the lady mamma, 
 so truly lady-like, with fine-cut patrician features, 
 and in her countenance a kind of passive hauteur, 
 softened by an appearance of sufi'ering, and ill 
 health. There were two daughters, proud, pale, 
 fine-looking girls, dressed (i ravir, with that inde- 
 scribable air of high pretension, so elegantly im- 
 passive — so self-possessed — which some people 
 call V air distingu^, but which, as extremes meet, 
 I would rather call the refinement of vulgarity — 
 the polish we see bestowed on debased material — 
 the plating over the steel — the stucco over the 
 brick-work ! 
 
 THE DUTY OF TRAVELLEES. 
 
 Every feeling, well educated, generous, and 
 truly refined woman, who travels, is as a dove 
 sent out on a mission of peace ; and should bring 
 back at least an olive-leaf in her hand, if she bring 
 nothing else. It is her part to soften the inter- 
 course between rougher and stronger natures ; to 
 aid in the interfusion of the gentler sympathies; 
 to speed the intei-change of art and literature from 
 pole to pole : not to pervert wit, and talent, and 
 eloquence, and abuse the privileges of her sex, to 
 
 sow the seeds of hatred where she might plant those 
 of love — to embitter national discord and aversion, 
 and disseminate individual prejudice and error. 
 
 CONVERSATION. 
 
 Conversation may be compared to a lyre with 
 seven chords — philosophy, art, poetry, politics, 
 love, scandal, and the weather. There are some 
 professors, who, like Paganini, " can discourse 
 most eloquent music " upon one string only ; and 
 some who can grasp the whole instrument, and 
 with a master's hand sound it from the top to the 
 bottom of its compass. Now, Schlegel is one of 
 the latter: he can thunder in the bass or caper in 
 the treble ; he can be a whole concert in himself. 
 
 From '• The Loves of the Poets." 
 The theory, then, which I wish to illustrate, as 
 far as my limited powers permit, is this: That 
 where a woman has been exalted above the rest of 
 her sex by the talents of a lover, and consigned 
 to enduring fame and perpetuity of praise, the 
 passion was real, and was merited ; that no deep 
 or lasting interest was ever founded in fancy or in 
 fiction ; that truth, in short, is the basis of all ex- 
 cellence in amatory poetry, as in every thing else ; 
 for where truth is, there is good of some sort, and 
 where there is truth and good, there must be 
 beauty, there must be durability of fame. Truth 
 is the golden chain which links the terrestrial 
 with the celestial, which sets the seal of heaven 
 on the things of this earth, and stamps them with 
 immortality. 
 
 From " Winter Studies and Summer Rambles." 
 EDUCATION. 
 
 The true purpose of education is to cherish and 
 unfold the seed of immortality already sown with- 
 in us ; to develop, to their fullest extent, the ca- 
 pacities of every kind with which the God who 
 made us has endowed us. Then we shall be fitted 
 for all circumstances, or know how to fit circum- 
 stances to ourselves. Fit us for circumstances ! 
 Base and mechanical ! Why not set up at once a 
 " fabrique d' education," and educate us by steam? 
 The human soul, be it man's or woman's, is not, I 
 suppose, an empty bottle, into which you shall 
 pour and cram just what you like, and as you like ; 
 nor a plot of waste soil, in which you shall sow 
 what you like ; but a divine, a living germ planted 
 by an Almighty hand, which you may, indeed, 
 render more or less productive, or train to this or 
 that form — no more. And when you have taken 
 the oak sapling, and dwarfed it, and pruned it, 
 and twisted it, into an ornament for the jardinifere 
 in your drawing-room, much have you gained 
 truly ; and a pretty figure your specimen is like 
 to make in the broad plain and under the free air 
 of heaven. 
 
 The cultivation of the moral strength and the 
 active energies of a woman's mind, together with 
 the intellectual faculties and tastes, will not make 
 a woman a less good, less happy wife and mother, 
 and will enable her to find content and independ- 
 ence when denied love and happiness. 
 
 708 
 
JO 
 
 JO 
 
 AUTHORESS. 
 
 It is too true that mere vanity and fashion have 
 lately made some women authoresses ; more write 
 for money, and by this employment of their talents 
 earn their own independence, add to the comforts 
 of a parent, or supply the extravagance of a hus- 
 band. Some, who are unhappy in their domestic 
 relations, yet endowed with all that feminine crav- 
 ing after sympathy, which was intended to be the 
 charm of our sex, the blessing of yours, and some- 
 how or other has been turned to the bane of both, 
 look abroad for what they find not at home ; fling 
 into the wide world the irrepressible activity of 
 an overflowing mind and heart, which can find no 
 other unforbidden issue, — and to such "fame is 
 love disguised." Some write from the mere en- 
 ergy of intellect and will ; some few from the pure 
 wish to do good, and to add to the stock of happi- 
 ness, and the progress of thought ; and many from 
 all these motives combined in diflferent degrees. 
 ***** 
 In Germany I met with some men, who, per- 
 haps out of compliment, descanted with enthu- 
 siasm on female talent, and in behalf of female 
 authorship ; but the women almost uniformly 
 spoke of the latter with dread, as something for- 
 midable, or with contempt, as something beneath 
 them : what is an unworthy prejudice in your sex, 
 becomes, when transplanted into ours, a feeling; 
 a mistaken, but a genuine, and even a generous 
 feeling. Many women who have suflicient sense 
 and simplicity of mind to rise above the m%v^ pre- 
 judice^ would not contend with the feeling : they 
 would not scruple to encounter the public judg- 
 ment in a cause approved by their own hearts, but 
 they have not courage to brave or to oppose the 
 opinions of friends or kindred. 
 
 DK. JOHNSON AND WOMEN. 
 
 Johnson talks of " men being held down in con- 
 versation by the presence of women" — held up, 
 rather, where moral feeling is concerned ; and if 
 held down where intellect and social interests are 
 concerned, then so much the worse for such a 
 state of society. 
 
 Johnson knew absolutely nothing about women ; 
 witness that one assertion, among others more 
 insulting, that it is a matter of indifference to a 
 woman w[hether her husband be faithful or not. 
 He says, in another place: "If we men require 
 more perfection from women than from ourselves, 
 it is doing them honour." 
 
 Indeed ! if, in exacting from us more perfection, 
 you do not allow us the higher and nobler nature, 
 you do us not honour but gross injustice ; and if 
 you do allow us the higher nature, and yet regard 
 us as subject and inferior, then the injustice is the 
 greater. — There, Doctor is a dilemma for you. 
 
 JOHNSTONE, MRS., 
 Is a native of Scotland, and well deserves a 
 distinguished place among contemporary writers 
 of fiction. Her first work, " Clan Albin," was 
 among the earliest of that multitude of novels 
 which followed " Waverley " into the Highlands ; 
 
 but i\Irs. Johnstone neither emulates nor imi- 
 tates in the slightest degree the light that pre- 
 ceded her. Many writers, who were quite lost 
 in the eclipse of the " Great Unknown," have sincc 
 asserted that he did not suggest the idea of Scot- 
 land, as a scene for fiction ; that their works were 
 begun or meditated before "Waverley " appeared ; 
 among whom, Mrs. Brunton, author of "Disci- 
 pline," whose testimony is unquestionable, may 
 be placed. Perhaps, there was at that time a 
 national impulse towards " Scotch Novels," just 
 as the taste for nautical discoveries produced 
 Columbus, and the attempt at steam-boats pre- 
 ceded Fulton. 
 
 "Clan Albin" is decidedly of ih.e genre mnuy- 
 eux, the only kind that Voltaire absolutely con- 
 demns. It is full of good sentiment, but insipid 
 and tiresome, and gives no indication of the talent 
 afterwards abounding in Jlrs. Johnstone's works. 
 Her next book was "Elizabeth De Bruce," very 
 superior to her first, containing portions that were 
 highly praised by able critics. A very charming, 
 well-written work, in that difficult class — "Chil- 
 dren's Books," succeeded. " The Diversions of 
 HoUycot" may take place near Miss Edgeworth's 
 "Frank and Rosamond." Like her stories fur 
 juvenile readers, it is sprightly and natural — in- 
 culcates good principles, and much useful know- 
 ledge ; and, what is rarer, it is totally free from 
 any thing sentimental or extravagant. Mrs. John- 
 stone has continued to improve in style, and to de- 
 velop many amiable qualities as a writer; her hu- 
 mour is sui generis, equal in its way to that of 
 Charles Lamb. Some of the sketches in her " Ed- 
 inburg Tales" — those of "Richard Taylor," and 
 " Governor Fox," are not surpassed by any thing 
 in Elia. These and many others were published 
 in a monthly periodical, established at Edinburgh 
 about the year 1830, bearing the title of "John- 
 stone's Magazine," of which she was editor and, 
 we believe, proprietor. It was continued ten or 
 fifteen years. In this was published the " Story 
 of Frankland the Barrister," which is one of the 
 most perfect gems of this kind of literature — wit, 
 pathos, nice delineation of character, are all to be 
 found in it, while the moral lesson is enforced very 
 powerfully. "The Nights of the Round Table" 
 was published in 1835, and contains some admi- 
 rable tales. " Blanche Delamere " is still a later 
 work ; in it she has attempted to show what might 
 be done, and ought to be done by the nobility, to 
 lessen the load of misery pressing on the working 
 classes. We may add, that in all her later works, 
 Mrs. Johnstone, like most thinking writers in the 
 British empire, directs her pen to subjects con- - 
 nected with the distresses of the people. Her 
 tales illustrative of these speculationshave neither 
 the wit nor the fancy of their predecessors ; the 
 mournful reality seems " to cast a cloud between, 
 and sadden all she sings." 
 
 JUDSON, EMILY C, 
 FiKST known to the public by her nomme de 
 plume of "Fanny Forester," was born in the in- 
 terior of the State of New York ; her birth-place 
 she has made celebrated by the name of " Alder- 
 
 709 
 
JU 
 
 Jtr 
 
 brook." Her maiden-name was Chubbuck; her 
 family are of "the excellent," to whom belong the 
 hopes of a better world, if not the wealth of this. 
 After the usual school advantnges enjoyed by 
 young girls in the country, Miss Chubbuck had 
 the good sense to seek the higher advantage of 
 
 training others, in order to perfect her own edu- 
 cation. She was for some years a teacher in the 
 Female Seminary at Utica, New York. Here she 
 commenced her literary life, by contributing seve- 
 ral poems to the Knickerbocker Magazine ; she 
 also wrote for the American Baptist Publica- 
 tion Society, and her little works illustrative of 
 practical religion were well approved. She then 
 began to write for several periodicals, and, among 
 others, for the New Mirror, published in New York 
 city, and then edited by Morris and Willis. Miss 
 Chubbuck, in her first communication to the New 
 Mirror, had assumed the name of "Fanny For- 
 ester;" the article pleased the editors; Mr. Willis 
 was liberal in praises, and this encouragement 
 decided the writer to devote herself to literary 
 pursuits. But her constitution was delicate, and 
 after two or three years of close and successful 
 application to her pen, "Fanny Forester," as she 
 was usually called, found her health failing, and 
 came to Philadelphia to pass the winter of 1845-6, 
 in the family of the Rev. A. D. Gillette, a Baptist 
 clergyman of high standing in tlie city. The Rev. 
 Dr. Judson, American Missionary to the heathen 
 world of the East, returned about this time, for 
 a short visit to his native land. He was for the 
 second time a widower,* and much older than Miss 
 Chubbuck; but his noble deeds, and the true glory 
 of his character, rendered hira attractive to one 
 who sympathised with the warm Christian bene- 
 volence that had made him indeed a hero of the 
 Cross. They met in Philadelphia. He felt she 
 would be to him the dear companion he needed 
 in the cares and labours still before him ; she has 
 given, in a poem we shall select, her own reasons 
 for consenting to the union. 
 
 The beauty and pathos of her sentiments are so 
 
 * Smc " Anna H. Judson," page 307; also, •■ Sarah 15. Jiid- 
 HOM," page 36i( 
 
 exquisite, that the reader will feel they were her 
 heart's true promptings. 
 
 Dr. Judson and Miss Chubbuck were married, 
 July, 1846, and they immediately sailed for India. 
 They safely reached their home at Maullnain, in 
 the Burman empire, where they continued to re- 
 side, the reverend Missionary devoting himself to 
 his studies, earnestly striving to complete his great 
 work on the Burman language, while his wife was 
 the guiding angel of his young children. Towards 
 the close of the year 1847, Mrs. Judson gave birth 
 to a daughter, and her newly-awakened maternal 
 tenderness is beautifully expressed in her poem, 
 " My Bird." Her domestic happiness was not to 
 endure. Dr. Judson's health failed; he embarked 
 on a voyage to Mauritius, hoping benefit from the 
 change ; but his hour of release had arrived. He 
 died at sea, April 12th, 1850, when about nine 
 days from Maulmain. His widow and children 
 returned to the United States. 
 
 Mrs. Emily C. Judson's published works are, — 
 "Alderbrook: a Collection of Fanny Forester's 
 Village Sketches and Poems," in two volumes, 
 issued in Boston, 1846. These sketches are lively 
 and interesting, without any thrilling incident or 
 deep passion ; but the moral sentiment is always 
 elevated, and this is ever the index of improve- 
 ment. Accordingly, we find an onward and up- 
 ward progress in all that Mrs. Judson has written 
 since her marriage. The poems she has sent to 
 her friends in America are beautiful in their sim- 
 plicity of style, breathing, as they do, the holiest 
 and sweetest feelings of humanity. She has also 
 made a rich contribution to the Missionary cause 
 in her "Biographical Sketch of Mrs. Sarah B. 
 Judson," second wife of Rev. Dr. Judson. This 
 work was sent from India, and published in New 
 York in 1849. It is the tribute of love from the 
 true heart of a Christian woman on earth to the 
 true merits of a sister Christian who has passed 
 to her i-eward in heaven. 
 
 We think Mrs. Judson has yet her greatest work 
 to do. She is left in charge, not only of the little 
 orphan children of her beloved and revered hus- 
 band, but she is also the guardian, so to speak, 
 of his latest writings — of his life's history. We 
 trust she will live to write the Memoirs of Dr. 
 Judson. 
 
 From " Alderbrook." 
 THE FAREWEH. 
 
 Dear, beautiful Alderbrook ! I have loved thee 
 as I shall never love any other thing that I may 
 not meet after the sun of Time is set. Every- 
 thing, from the strong old tree that wrestles with 
 the tempest, down to the amber moss-cup cradling 
 the tiny insect at its roots, and the pebble sleeping 
 at the bottom of the brook, — everything about 
 thee has been laden with its own peculiar lesson. 
 Thou ait a rare book, my Alderbrook, written all 
 over by the Creator's finger. Dearly do I love 
 the holy truths upon thy pages ; but, " I may not 
 dwell 'mid flowers and music ever;" and I go 
 hence, bearing another, choicer book in my hand, 
 and echoing the words of the angels, " Look ! 
 look! live!" 
 
 710 
 
3V 
 
 JU 
 
 I stand on the verge of the broolt, which seems 
 to me more beautiful than any other brook on 
 earth, and take my last survey of the home of my 
 infancy. The cloud, -which has been hovering 
 ibove the trees on the verge of heaven, opens; 
 the golden light gushes forth, bathing the hill-top, 
 and streaming down its green declivity even to 
 my feet ; and I accept the encouraging omen. 
 The angel of Alderbrook, "the ministering spirit" 
 sent hither by the Almighty, blesses me. Father 
 in heaven, thy blessing, ere I go ! 
 
 Hopes full of glory, and oh, most sweetly sacred ! 
 look out upon me from the future ; but, for a mo- 
 ment, their beauty is clouded. My heart is heavy 
 ■with sorrow. The cup at my lip is very bitter. 
 Heaven help me ! White hairs are bending in 
 submissive grief, and age-dimmed eyes are made 
 dimmer by the gathering of tears. Young spirits 
 have lost their joyousness, young lips forget to 
 smile, and bounding hearts and bounding feet are 
 stilled. Oh, the rending of ties, knitted at the 
 first opening of the infant eye and strengthened 
 by numberless acts of love, is a sorrowful thing ! 
 To make the grave the only door to a meeting 
 with those in whose bosoms we nestled, in whose 
 hearts we trusted long before we knew how pre- 
 cious was such love and trust, brings with it an 
 overpowering weight of solemnity. But a grave 
 is yawning for each one of us ; and is it much to 
 choose whether we sever the tie that binds us 
 here, to-day, or lie down on the morrow? Ah, 
 the "weaver's shuttle" is flying; the "flower of 
 the grass " is withering ; the span is almost mea- 
 sured ; the tale nearly told ; the dark valley is 
 close before us — tread we with care ! 
 
 My mother, we may neither of us close the other's 
 darkened eye, and fold the cold hands upon the 
 bosom ; we may neither of us watch the sod green- 
 ing and withering above the other's ashes ; but 
 there are duties for us even more sacred than 
 these. But a few steps, mother — difficult the 
 path may be, but very bright — and then we put 
 on the robe of immortality, and meet to part 
 nevermore. And we shall not be apart even on 
 earth. There is an electric chain passing from 
 heart to heart through the throne of the Eternal ; 
 and we may keep its links all brightly burnished 
 by the breath of prayer. Still pray for me, mo- 
 ther, as in days gone by. Thou bidst me go. The 
 smile comes again to thy lip and the light to thine 
 eye, for thou hast pleasure in the sacrifice. Thy 
 blessing! Farewell, my mother, and ye loved 
 ones of the same hearth-stone I 
 
 Bright, beautiful, dear Alderbrook, farewell ! 
 
 June 1, 1846. 
 
 Ere last year's moon had left the sky, 
 A birdling sought my Indian nest, 
 
 And folded, oh I so lovingly, 
 Its tiny wings upon my breast. 
 
 From morn till evening's purple tinge. 
 In winsome helplessness she lies ; 
 
 Two rose-leaves, with a silken fringe. 
 Shut soAly on her starry eyes. 
 
 There's not in Ind a Icivi'licr hird; 
 
 Broad earth owns not a lia|)|ii(*r nest , 
 O God, thou hast a fountain stirred, 
 
 Wiiose waters never more shall restl 
 
 This beautiful, mysterious thing. 
 This seeming visitant from Heaven, 
 
 This bird with the immoilal wing, 
 To me — to me, thy hand has given. 
 
 The pulse first caught its tiny stroke, 
 The blood its crimson hue, from mine. 
 
 This life, which I have dared invoke. 
 Henceforth is parallel with thine. 
 
 A silent awe is in my room — 
 I tremble with delicious fear; 
 
 The future, with its light and gloom. 
 Time and eternity are here. 
 
 Doubts, hopes, in eager tumult rise ; 
 
 Hear, oh my God ! one earnest prayer 
 Room for my bird in paradise, 
 
 And give her angel plumage there! 
 
 J[Iaulmain, (India,) January, 1848. 
 
 THE TWO MAMMAS. 
 (for henry and EDWARD.) 
 
 'Tis strange to talk of two mammas ! 
 
 Well, come and sit by me, 
 And 1 will try to tell you how 
 
 So strange a thing can be. 
 
 Vears since you had a dear mamma, 
 
 So gentle, good, and mild, 
 Her Father, God, looked down from heaven 
 
 And loved his humble child. 
 
 "Come hither, child," he said, "and lean 
 
 Thy head upon my breast." 
 She had toiled long and wearily. 
 
 He knew she needed rest. 
 
 And so her cheek grew wan and pale, 
 
 And fainter came her breath. 
 And in the arch beneath her brow, 
 
 A shadow lay like death. 
 
 Then dear papa grew sad at heart. 
 
 Oh, very sad was he ! 
 But still he thought 'twould make her well, 
 
 To sail upon the sea. 
 
 He did not know that God bad called. 
 But thought she still might stay. 
 
 To bless his lonely Burman home. 
 For many a happy day. 
 
 And so she kissed her little boys. 
 
 With white and quivering lip. 
 And while the tears were falling far^t. 
 
 They bore her to the ship. 
 
 And Abby, Pwen, and Enna'*' went — 
 
 Oh ! it was sad to be 
 Thus parted — three upon the land. 
 
 And three upon the sea ! 
 
 But poor mamma still paler grew, 
 
 As far the vessel sped, 
 Til! wearily she closed her eyes, 
 
 And slept among the dead. 
 
 Then on a distant rocky isle, 
 Where none hut strangers rest. 
 
 They broke the cold earth for her gr;ivi. 
 And heaped it on her breast. 
 
 And there they left her all alone, — 
 Her whom they loved so well ! — 
 
 Ah me ! the mourning in that ship, 
 I dare not try to tell ! 
 
 * Pwen and Enna, names of endearment among ilie Bur- 
 mana, very commonly applied to children.— Ed. 
 
 711 
 
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 KE 
 
 ^mi how they wept, unci how they prayed, 
 
 And sleeping or awake, 
 How one great ^rief came crushingiy. 
 As if their hearts would break. 
 
 At length they reached a distant shore, 
 
 A beautiful, bright land. 
 And crowds of pitying strangers came. 
 
 And took them by the hand. 
 
 And Abby found a pleasant home. 
 And Pwen, and Enna too; 
 
 But poor papa's sad thoughts turned back. 
 To Burinah and to you. 
 
 He talked of wretched heathen men. 
 With none to do them good ; 
 
 Of children who are taught to bow 
 To gnds of stone and wood. 
 
 He told rue of his darling boys. 
 
 Poor orphans far away. 
 With no mamma to kiss their lips, 
 
 Or teach them how to pray. 
 
 And would I be their new mamma, 
 
 And join the little band 
 Of those, who for the Saviour's sake. 
 
 Dwell in a heathen land? 
 
 And when I knew how good he was, 
 
 I said that I would corne ; 
 I thought it would be sweet to live 
 
 In such a precious home ; 
 
 And look to dear papa for smiles. 
 And hear him talk and pray ; 
 
 But then I knew not it would grow 
 Still sweeter every day. 
 
 Oh, if your first maiirma could see. 
 From her bright home above. 
 
 How much of happiness is here. 
 How much there is of love, 
 
 'Twould glad her angel heart. I know. 
 And often would she come. 
 
 Gliding with noiseless spirit-step. 
 About her olden home. 
 
 M ich do I love my darling boys, 
 .^nd much do you love me; — 
 
 Our Heavenly Father sent ine here. 
 Your new mamma to be. 
 
 And if I closely follow him, 
 And hold your little hands, 
 
 I hope to lead you up to lieaven. 
 To join the angel bands. 
 
 Then with papa, and both mammas. 
 
 And her who went before. 
 And Christ who loves you more than all. 
 
 Ye '11 dwell for ever more. 
 Mimlmain. 1849. 
 
 K. 
 
 KEAN, ELLEN, 
 
 Obtained her celebrity as an actress under her 
 maiden name, Miss Tree. She was born in 1805, 
 in London, and first appeared at Covent Garden 
 Theatre, 1823, when about eighteen years of age. 
 She did not take the town by storm, as some 
 actresses have burst into fame ; but her graceful 
 and lady-like manner won the good-will of her 
 .audience, and she rose in her profession by real 
 jnerit, both of character and mind. 
 
 In 1837, she visited America, and was very suc- 
 rcessful in her theatrical engagements. After her 
 return to England, she married Charles Kean, an 
 
 actor well known for his constant efforts to imi- 
 tate the manner of his father, the distinguished 
 Edmund Kean. Shortly after their marriage, 
 Charles Kean and his wife came to America, and 
 made a professional tour through the principal 
 cities : the wife was greeted as an old favourite ; 
 but she was not the Ellen Tree whom the people 
 had loved. Mrs. Kean now resides with her hus- 
 band in England, having, we believe, retired from 
 the stage. 
 
 KEMBLE, FRANCES ANNE, 
 
 Is THE daughter of Mr. Charles Eemble, an 
 actor of high reputation, and for many years a 
 favourite with the public. Dramatic talent ap- 
 pears a natural inheritance in the Kemble family : 
 Mrs. Siddons, her brother John Kemble, and her 
 niece, the subject of this sketch, have occupied by 
 acclamation, the very highest places in their pro- 
 fession. Many of the other members have arisen 
 above mediocrity as artists, among whom an ho- 
 nourable rank must be assigned to Mrs. Sartoris, 
 who, before her marriage, was very favourably 
 received as a singer under the name of Adelaide 
 Kemble. 
 
 Fanny KemWe was born in London, about the 
 year 1813, and made her first appearance on the 
 London boards in 1829, in the character of Juliet. 
 The highest enthusiasm was excited in her favour. 
 Her extreme youth, which admirably suited the 
 impersonation, rendered her conception of the 
 passion and poetry remarkable. The British pub- 
 lic at once stamped her by their approval, as an 
 actress of genius, and she became distinguished 
 as a new star in the histrionic art. 
 
 In 1832, Miss Kemble came with her father to 
 the United States, where her theatrical career was 
 marked by unbounded success, and her talents 
 were warmly admired. In 1834, she was married 
 to Pierce Butler, Esq., of Philadelphia, a gentle- 
 man of large fortune. The unhappy termination 
 of this marriage is well known. After many do- 
 mestic difficulties, a mutual divorce was granted 
 the husband and wife in 1849, and Mrs. Butler 
 
 712 
 
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 KE 
 
 immediately resumed her name of Kemtle. We 
 must, in justice, observe here, that Mrs. KemWe's 
 bitterest enemies have never charged her with the 
 slightest deviation from the laws of conjugal fide- 
 lity ; that her fame is spotless, and her position in 
 society exactly what it ever was. Mrs. Kemble is 
 a woman of varied powers ; she has been success- 
 ful in literature, particularly in poetry ; display- 
 ing an ardent impassioned fancy, which male 
 critics consider the true fire of genius. Some of 
 her shorter poems are wonderfully impressive ; but 
 she often mars what would otherwise be very 
 charming, by epithets a little too Shaksperian, a 
 little too much savouring of the art for which she 
 was educated, and which are, to her, familiar ex- 
 pressions. Such words give a flavour, a taste of 
 the antique, when read in their original places ; 
 we consider them inadmissible in the writings of 
 a poet, a lady poet of our day ; they appear like 
 affectation or want of resource ; and sometimes 
 like want of delicacy. 
 
 The drama first claimed the genius of Fanny 
 Kemble. At a very early age she wrote a tra- 
 gedy — "Francis the First," which has passed 
 through ten editions. Her next work was " The 
 Star of Seville;" both have been acted with suc- 
 cess ; and evince a maturity of mind, and a range 
 of reading very uncommon for a young lady. In 
 1834, appeared her first work in prose, a "Jour- 
 nal," descriptive, chiefly, of the United States. 
 The youthful petulance and foolish prejudices ex- 
 hibited in this work have been, we believe, much 
 regretted by the author ; at any rate, her stric- 
 tures have long ago ceased to trouble the people 
 of America, and we leave the book to its quiet 
 slumber in the past. In 1844, her "Poems" were 
 published, and in 1847 appeared her second prose 
 work, "A Year of Consolation;" being a descrip- 
 tion of her tour through France to Rome, and her 
 residence in that city. In this, as in her former 
 prose work, the strong feelings which Mrs. Kemble 
 possesses, or, more .properly speaking, which pos- 
 sess her, find large scope. 
 
 She looks at the world through the medium of 
 her own emotions, and whatever may be under 
 discussion — the Pope, the people, or the pine 
 swamps of Georgia, the chief point to be consid- 
 ered is — -what Mrs. Kemble sufi'ered or enjoyed. 
 Unfortunately, too, she is among those travellers 
 who are nervously sensible to every desagrement ; 
 this is a constitutional defect, and as really de- 
 serving pity as poverty, or sickness, for like them, 
 it prevents the enjoyment of life's varied current. 
 A French wit has said of such — "lis meurent a 
 cent ans, ayant toujours F avenir devant eux — 
 regrettants le pass^ et se plaignent du present dont 
 ils n'ont pas su jougr." When uninfluenced by 
 these " noires vapeurs" Mrs. Kemble shows that 
 she possesses a fund of good sense, and a heart 
 filled with kind and benevolent affections. Her 
 style is open to criticism ; passages of exquisite 
 beauty, chiefly descriptive, might be selected — 
 but she indulges in slang expressions and coarse 
 epithets, that are entirely unwarrantable, coming 
 from a woman of taste, and a poetess. 
 
 In 1849, Mrs. Kemble commenced a series of 
 
 Shakspeare "Readings," in which her remarkable 
 versatility of powers is exhibited in a manner 
 as striking, and more wonderful, than on the 
 stage. Among her admirers, there are those, who, 
 judging from her "readings," pronounce her the 
 best Macbeth, and the truest Lear which have 
 ever been applauded ; while others deem she is 
 inimitable in Falstaff. In 1850, she left America 
 for England, and during the winter of 1851 was 
 giving her Shaksperian "Readings" in London. 
 
 We cannot but feel, while reviewing the events 
 of Mrs. Kemble's career, that her purposes have 
 been broken off, her plans of life disappointed, 
 and her pursuits changed, before she had time or 
 opportunity of doing the best she could in any one 
 department of literature or art. We do not hold 
 the opinion that genius is doomed to suffering ; 
 we trust brighter days are in store for Mrs. Kem- 
 ble, and look forward to her mature years produc- 
 ing works that will hold a higher place in Female 
 Literature than any she has yet published. As a 
 woman of commanding genius, she miglit do much 
 for her own sex — not by ahjuring feminine deli- 
 cacy of character, dress, or binguage, but by illus- 
 trating, as she could do — " tbe holiness that cir- 
 cles round a fair and virtuous woman," and the 
 influence such may wield. 
 
 From " A Year of Consolation." 
 A NIGHT OF TERROR. 
 
 My dismay and indignation were intense ; the 
 rain was pouring, the wind roaring, and it was 
 twelve o'clock at night. The inn into which we 
 were shown, was the most horrible cut-throat 
 looking hole I ever beheld ; all the members of 
 the household were gone to bed, except a dirty, 
 sleepy, stupid serving-girl, who ushered us into a 
 kitchen as black as darkness itself and a single 
 tallow-candle could make it, and then informed us 
 that here we must pass the night, for that the 
 coaches which generally came up to meet our con- 
 veyance, had not been able to come over the moun- 
 tains on account of the heavy snow for several 
 days. I was excessively frightened ; the look of 
 the place was horrible, that of the people not at 
 all encouraging ; when the conducteur demanded 
 the price of the coach, which I then recollected, 
 the Chef de Bureau had most cautiously refused 
 to receive, because then I should have found out 
 that I was not going to Chalons in his coach, but 
 to be shot out on the highest peak of tlie Morvan, 
 midway between Chalons and Nevers. I refused 
 to pay until, according to agreement, I was taken 
 to Chalons ; he then refused to deliver up my bag- 
 gage, and I saw that all resistance was vain, where- 
 upon I paid the money, and retreated again to the 
 
 black filthy kitchen, where I had left poor , 
 
 bidding her not stir from the side of my dressing- 
 case and writing-box I had left in her charge, 
 with my precious letters of credit and money-bag. 
 
 The fire of the kitchen was now invaded by a 
 tall brawny-looking man in a sort of rough sport- 
 ing costume ; his gun and game-bags lay on the 
 dresser ; two abominable dogs he had with him 
 went running in and out between our feet, pursu- 
 ing each other, and all but knocking us down. 1 
 
 713 
 
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 KE 
 
 ■was so terrified, disgusted, and annoyed, that I 
 literally shook from head to foot, and could have 
 found it in my heart to have cried for very cow- 
 ardice. I asked this person what was to be done ; 
 he answered me that he was in the same predica- 
 ment with myself, and that I could do, if I liked, 
 as he should, — walk over the mountain to Autun 
 the next day. 
 
 " What was the distance ?" 
 
 " Ten leagues." (Thirty miles.) 
 
 I smiled a sort of verjuice smile, and replied — 
 "Even if we two women could walk thirty miles 
 through the snow, what was to become of my bag- 
 gage ?" 
 
 • "Oh, he did not know; perhaps, if the snow 
 was not higher than the horse's bellies, or if the 
 labourers of the district had been clearing out the 
 roads at all, the master of the house might con- 
 trive some means of sending us on." 
 
 In the midst of the agony of perplexity and 
 anxiety, which all these perhapses occasioned me, 
 I heard that the devilish conductor and convey- 
 ance which had brought me to this horrid hole, 
 would return to Nevers the next day at five o'clock, 
 and making up my mind, if the worst came to the 
 worst, to return by it thither, and having blown 
 the perfidious Chef de Bureau of the country dili- 
 gence higher than he had sent me in his coach, 
 take the Paris diligence on its way through Nevers 
 for Lyons straight, — this, of course, at the cost of 
 so much time and money wasted. 
 
 With this alternative, I had my luggage carried 
 up to my room, and followed it with my faithful 
 and most invaluable , who was neither dis- 
 couraged, nor frightened, nor foolish, — nor any- 
 thing that I was, — but comported herself to ad- 
 miration. The room we were shown into was fear- 
 ful looking ; the wind blew down the huge black 
 gaping chimney, and sent the poor fire, we were 
 endeavouring in vain to kindle, in eye-smarting 
 clouds into our faces. . The fender and fire-irons 
 were rusty and broken, the ceiling cracked all 
 over, the floor sunken, and an inch thick with filth 
 and dirt. I threw open the shutters of the window, 
 and saw opposite against the black sky, the yet 
 thicker outline of the wretched hovels opposite, 
 and satisfied, that at any rate we were in the vici- 
 nity of human beings of some description, we piled 
 our trunks up against a door that opened into 
 some other room, locked the one that gave en- 
 trance from the passage, and with one lighted tal- 
 low candle, and one relay, and a box of matches 
 by my bed-side, I threw myself all dressed upon 
 
 the bed. did the same upon a sofa, and 
 
 thus we resigned ourselves to pass the night. 
 
 AKBIVAL AT VALENCE — AMERICAN WOMAN. 
 
 I thought, too, of America, of the honour and 
 security in which a woman might traverse alone 
 from Georgia to Maine, that vast country, certain 
 of assistance, attention, the mo"Bt respectful civi- 
 lity, the most humane protection, from every man 
 she meets, without the fear of injury or insult, 
 screened by the most sacred and universal care 
 from even the appearance of neglect or imperti- 
 nence — travelling alone with as much safety and 
 
 comfort as though she were the sister or the daugh- 
 ter of every man she meets. 
 
 MY OWN SPIRIT. 
 
 " Up, and be doing," is the impulse for ever 
 with me ; and when I ask myself, both sadly and 
 scornfully, what ? both my nature and my convic- 
 tions repeat the call, "up, and be doing;" for 
 surely there is something to be done from morn- 
 ing till night, and to find out what, is the ap- 
 pointed work of the onward-tending soul. 
 
 Here (as every where) we were pursued by the 
 shameless, wretched pauperism that disgusts and 
 pains one the whole time, and makes the ruined 
 aspect of the great outward things about one 
 cheerful, compared with the abject degradation of 
 that which God has made in his own image. Oh ! 
 I would not live among these people for any thing 
 in the world ; and when I think of England and 
 America, I thank God that I was born in the one, 
 and shall live in the other. 
 
 From "Francis the'First." 
 A FAIR AND VIRTUOUS W03IAN. 
 
 And I marvel, sir, 
 Ac those who do not feel the majesty, — 
 By heaven ! I 'd ahnost said the holiness, — 
 That circles round a fair and virtuous woman ! 
 There is a gentle purity that breathes 
 Jn such a one, mingled with chaste respect. 
 And modest pride of her own excellence,— 
 A shrinking nature, that is so adverse 
 To aught unseemly, that I could as soon 
 Forget the sacred love I owe to heaven. 
 As dare, with impure thoughts, to taint the air 
 Inhaled by such a being; than whom, my liege, 
 Heaven caiuiot look on anything more holy. 
 Or earth be proud of anything more fair. 
 
 woman's heaet. 
 
 A young maiden's heart 
 Is a rich soil, wherein tie many germs, 
 Hid by the cunning hand of nature there 
 To put forth blossoms in their fittest season . 
 And tho' the love of home first breaks .the soil 
 With its embracing tendrils clasping it, 
 Other affections, strong and warm, will grow. 
 While that one fades, as summer's flush of bloom 
 Succeeds the gentle budding of the spring. 
 Maids must be wives, and mothers, to fulfil 
 Th' entire and holiest end of woman's being. 
 
 From '■ The Star of Seville." 
 
 AN OLD HOME. 
 
 r love that dear old home ! My mother lived there 
 
 Her first sweet marriage years, and last sad widowed ones ; 
 
 Something of old ancestral pride it keeps. 
 
 Though fallen from its earlier power and vastness: 
 
 Marry ! we're not so wealthy as we were, 
 
 Nor yet so warlike; still it holds enough 
 
 Of ancient strength and state to prompt the memory 
 
 To many a " wherefore," and for every answer 
 
 You shall have stories long and wonderful, 
 
 Enough to make a balladmonger's fortune. 
 
 Old trees do grow around its old grey walls, 
 
 The fellows of my tnouldering grandfathers; 
 
 Faith ! they do mock ns with their young old age, 
 
 These giant wearers of a thousand snmmers! 
 
 Strange, that ihe teed we sow should bloom and flourish 
 
 When we are faded, flower, fl-uit, and all ; 
 
 Or, for all things to tend to reproduction, 
 
 Serving th' eternal purposes of life. 
 
 Drawing a vigorous sap into their veins 
 
 From the soil our very bodies fertilize. 
 
 714 
 
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 KE 
 
 Fi'om " Pooitis." 
 
 Yet once again, but once, before we sever, 
 Fill me one brimming cup. — it is the last ! 
 
 And let those lips, now parting, and for ever, 
 Breathe o'er this plerlge,— " the memory of the past !' 
 
 Joy's fleeting sun is set; and no to-morrow 
 Smiles on the gloomy path we iread so fast. 
 
 Yet, in the bitter cup, o'erfilled with sorrow. 
 Lives one sweet drop, — the memory of the past. 
 
 But one more look from those dear eyes, now shining 
 Thro' their warm teais, tln*ir loveliest and their last ; 
 
 But one more strain of hands, in friendship twining, 
 Now farewell all, save memory of the past. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Say thou not sadly, " never," and " no more," 
 
 But from thy lips hanish those falsust words; 
 While life remains, that which was thine before 
 Again may be thine; in Time's store-house lie 
 
 Days, hours, and moments, that have unknown hoards 
 Of joy, as well as sorrow: passing by, 
 Smiles comes with tears ; therefore vvitii hopeful eye 
 Look thou on dear things, though they turn away, 
 For thou and they, perchance, some future day 
 Shall meet again, and the gone bliss return ; 
 For its departure ttien make thou no mourn, 
 But with stout heart bid what thou lov'st farewell; 
 That which the past hath given, the future gives as well. 
 
 A MOTHER S MEMORIES. 
 
 The blossoms hang again upon the tree 
 
 As when with their sweet breath they greeted me, 
 
 Against my casement, on that sunny morn. 
 
 When thou, first blossom of my S[iring, wast born ; 
 
 And as I lay, panting from the fierce strife 
 
 With death and agony that won tliy life. 
 
 Their sunny clusters hung on their brown bough, 
 
 E'en as upon my breast, my May-bud, thou ; 
 
 They seem to be tliy sisters, oh, my child! ' 
 
 And now the air, full of their fragrance uiild, 
 
 Recalls that hour; a ten-fold agony 
 
 Pulls at my heart-strings as; I think of thee 
 
 Was it in vain ? Oh, was it all in vain ! 
 
 That night of hope, of terror, and of pain. 
 
 When from the shadowy boundaries of death, 
 
 I brought thee safely, breathing living breath 
 
 Upon my heart — it was a holy shrine. 
 
 Full of God's praise — they laid thee, treasure mine! 
 
 And froui its tender deptlis the blue heaven smiled. 
 
 And the white blossoms bowed to thee, my child, 
 
 And solemn joy of a new life was spread, 
 
 Like a mysterious halo round that bed. 
 
 And now liow is it, since eleven years 
 
 Have steeped that memory in bitterest tears? 
 
 Alone, heart-broken, on a distant shore, 
 
 Thy childless mother sits lamenting o'er 
 
 Flowers, which the spring calls from this foreign earth. 
 
 The twins, that crowned the morning of thy birth. 
 
 How is it with thee — lost — lost — precious one ? 
 
 In thy fresh spring-time growing up alone ? 
 
 What warmth unfolds thee 7 What sweet dews are shed. 
 
 Like Love and Patience, over thy young head ? 
 
 What holy springs feed thy deep, inner life? 
 
 What shelters thee from Passion's deadly strife ? 
 
 What guards thy growth, straight, strong, and full, and 
 
 free, 
 Lovely and glorious, oh, my fair young tree ? 
 God — Father — thou who, by this awful fate. 
 Hast lopp'd, and stripp'd, and left me desolate! 
 In the dark bitter floods that o'er my soul 
 Their billows of despair triumphaut roll. 
 IjPA me not be o'erwhelmed ! Oh, they are thine, , 
 These jewels of my life — not mine — not mine : 
 So keep them, that the blossoms of their youth 
 Shall in a gracious growth of love and truth, 
 With ..n abundant harvest honour 'I h e. 
 
 What shall I do with all the days and hours 
 'J'hat Tuust be counted ere I see thy face? 
 
 How shall I charm the interval that lowers 
 Between this time and that sweet time of grace ? 
 
 Shall I in slumber steep each weary sense, 
 Weary with longing shall I flee away, 
 
 Into past days, and with some fond pretence 
 Cheat myself to forget the present day ? 
 
 Shall love for thee lay on my soul the sin 
 Of casting from me God's great gift of time ? 
 
 Shall I, these mists of memory lock'd within. 
 Leave and forget life's purposes sublime? 
 
 Oh ! how, or by what means, shall I contrive 
 To bring the hour that brings thee back more near? 
 
 How shall I teach my drooping hope to live 
 Until that blessed time, and thou art here? 
 
 1*11 tell thee; for thy sake I will lay hold 
 Of all good aims, and consecrate to thee. 
 
 In Worthy deeds each moment that is told, 
 While thou, beloveil one ! art far from me. 
 
 For thee I will arouse my thoughts to try 
 All homeward flights, all high and holy strains, 
 
 For thy dear sake I will walk patiently 
 Through these long liours, nor call their minutes pains. 
 
 I will this dreary blank of absence make 
 A noble task-time, and will therein strive 
 
 To follow excellence, and to o'ertake 
 More good than I have won, since yet I live. 
 
 So may this doomed time build up in me 
 
 A thousand graces which shall thus be thine; 
 
 So may my love and longing hallowed be. 
 And thy dear thought an influence divine. 
 
 LINES FROM THE ITALIAN. 
 
 I planted in my heart one seed of love, 
 
 Water'd with tears, and waich'd with sleepless care; 
 It grew, and when I look'd that it should prove 
 
 A gracious tree, and blessed harvests bear. 
 Blossom nor fruit was there to crown my pain, 
 Tears, cares and labour, all had been in vain; 
 And yet I dare not pluck it from my heart, 
 Lest, with the deep-struck root, my life depart. 
 
 KENT, DUCHESS OF, 
 
 Is the sixth child and youngest daughter of 
 Francis Duke of Saxe Saalfield Cobourg, and was 
 born August 17th, 1786. She was married to 
 Enrich Charles, hereditary Prince of Leiningen. 
 Her husband died in 1814, leaving her with two 
 children, the Prince of Leiningen, and the Princess 
 Anna Feodoronna. She was then called to the 
 regency, and her administration was popular and 
 respected. In 1818, she married the Duke of 
 Kent, son of George III., of England, and on the 
 24th of May, 1819, her only child by this mar- 
 riage, Victoria, Queen of England, was born in 
 Kensington Palace. 
 
 To understand how deeply Great Britain is in- 
 debted to the Duchess of Kent, for the exceeding 
 care she bestowed in training her illustrious daugh- 
 ter, so that she might be worthy to sway the scep- 
 tre of that great empire, some knowledge of the 
 history of Victoria's father is indispensable. Ed- 
 ward, Duke of Kent, fourth son of George III., 
 was, according to a reliable work,* the noblest 
 
 *"The Life of Field Marshal his Royal Highness Ed- 
 ward. Duke of Kent." &c By Erskine Neal, M. A., Rector 
 ufKirion, 5cc. London: 1849. 
 
 715 
 
KE 
 
 KI 
 
 and best of all the sons of that royal house. Yet 
 these virtues, particularly his unflinching truth- 
 fulness, made him dreaded, disliked and perse- 
 cuted, from his youth till his death, by the influ- 
 ential members of the royal family. It was with 
 the greatest difficulty that he procured the means 
 of leaving Amorbach, (a small town in Germany, 
 where he had been residing with his wife) for Eng- 
 land, in time for her confiuement. The Duke 
 wished his child to be born in the country where 
 it might be destined to rule. 
 
 The following is an extract from one of his let- 
 ters, dated March 19th, 1819, to Dr. lludge: — 
 
 " The interesting situation of the duchess causes 
 me hourly anxiety ; and you, who so well know 
 my views and feelings, can well appreciate how 
 eagerly desirous I am to hasten our departure for 
 Old England, llie ereiU is thought likely to occur 
 about the end of next month. My wish is, that it 
 may take place on the 4th of June, as this is the 
 birth-day of ray revered father ; and that the child, 
 too, like him, may be a Briton-born." 
 
 The Duchess earnestly participated in the desire 
 to reach England; but that "royal profligate," 
 the prince regent, threw every possible perplexity 
 in the way. These were at last overcome; firm, 
 devoted, but untitled, and, comparatively speak- 
 ing, humble friends, in England made the requi- 
 site remittances, and the Duke and Duchess of 
 Kent reached Kensington Palace in time to have 
 their daughter a Briton-born. But her royal fa- 
 ther lived only eight months after her birth, and 
 the bereaved widow was left to endure a thousand 
 anxieties as well as sorrows. Her babe was deli- 
 cate in constitution, and the means for educating 
 her as the heir expectant of the most powerful 
 monarchy in the world, were inadequately and 
 grudgingly supplied. None but a soul of the 
 highest order could have successfully struggled 
 with the difficulties which beset the course of the 
 Duchess of Kent. She was equal to her task, for- 
 tunately for humanity ; the whole world is made 
 better from having on the throne of Great Britain 
 a sovereign who is firm in duty. The sketch of 
 Queen Victoria will be found in its place — we will 
 only add here, that, for the right formation of her 
 character, which makes duty a sacred principle 
 in her conduct, she must have been indebted, in a 
 great measure, to her early training. Let any 
 mother, who has endeavoured to train her own 
 daughter to perform the duties which, in private 
 life, and in a small circle, devolve on woman, con- 
 sider what conscientious care it has required ; 
 what sacrifices of self, what daily examples as 
 well aa precepts in the right way ; — and then she 
 may, partly, estimate the merits of the mother of 
 such a woman as Victoria I. of England. How 
 excellent must have been the character that could 
 acquire the authority and influence necessary to 
 direct well and wisely the education of a young 
 Princess ! This was done, too, amidst serious ob- 
 stacles and many discouragements. Miss Landon 
 in her charming way, addresses a poem to the 
 Duchess of Kent, containing this touching allu- 
 
 " 01) ! jnany a dark and sorrowing hour 
 Thy widow'd heart had known, 
 Before the bad became a flower,— 
 The orphan on a throne." 
 
 The Duchess of Kent should hold a noble rank 
 among women worthily distinguished; she has 
 performed great and important duties with such 
 rare firmness, faithfulness and success as makes 
 her a model for mothers in every rank of life. 
 
 •KIRKLAND, CAEOLINE M., 
 
 Whose maiden name was Stansbury, was born 
 in New York. At an early age she was married 
 to Jlr. William Kirkland, a scholar of great ac- 
 quirements, and also highly esteemed as a man of 
 much moral excellence of character. At the time 
 of their marriage he resigned a professorship in 
 Hamilton College, and established a seminary in 
 the town of Goshen, on Lake Seneca. A few years 
 afterwards he removed with his family to the then 
 new State of Michigan, and made that experiment 
 of " Forest Life," which gave opportunity for the 
 development of Mrs. Kirkland's lively and obser- 
 vant genius, and also furnished material for her 
 racy and entertaining works on Western manners 
 and habits. 
 
 In 1839, her fii-st book, — "A New Home — 
 Who '11 Follow ? or, Glimpses of Western Life. — 
 By Mrs. Mary Clavers, an Actual Settler," was 
 published in Boston. The freshness of feeling and 
 piquancy of style displayed in the work, won the 
 public voice at once ; and its author gained a ce- 
 lebrity very flattering to a literary debutant. This 
 may be considered, on the whole, Mrs. Kirkland's 
 best production, without disparaging its succes- 
 sprs. "The New Home" has originality, wit, 
 propriety of thought, and kindliness of feeling 
 abounding in its pages, and it would scarcely have 
 been possible for its author to excel again in the 
 same line. " Forest Life," in two volumes, was 
 the next work of Mrs. Kirkland — it has chapters 
 of equal merit to the " New Home," but as a 
 whole, is inferior. The most striking peculiari- 
 ties of character and landscape had been already 
 sketched with a firm and clear outline, that needed 
 no additional touches ; new views of what had been 
 presented with so much life and spirit, seemed but 
 the fatal " too much," which the seduction of ap- 
 plause often draws from genius. 
 
 In 1842, Mr. and Mrs. Kirkland returned to New 
 York city, where Mr. Kirkland became proprietor 
 of a journal of a religious and literary character, 
 the editing of which was in accordance with his 
 views and tastes. Mrs. Kirkland now engaged in 
 that profession which we think more deserving of 
 honour than mere literary pursuits ; she became 
 teacher and guide of a select school for young 
 ladies, whom she received into her own family. 
 She did not, however, abandon her pen ; and in 
 1845, appeared "Western Clearings," a series of 
 stories founded on her reminiscences of life in the 
 West. These had before appeared in " Annuals," 
 written for the occasion and without connexion, 
 and can only be judged separately, as clever of 
 their kind; some are veft-y charming, and some veiy 
 
 716 
 
KI 
 
 KI 
 
 humorous ; we would instance " The Schoolmas- 
 ter's Progress" as among the latter, and "Half- 
 Lengths from Life" as an excellent specimen of 
 Mrs. Kirkland's sensible and just mode of think- 
 ing, and her happy manner of describing character. 
 
 The sudden death of her husband devolving on 
 Mrs. Kirkland the whole care of her children, 
 called forth her energies as an author in a new 
 manner. She became editor of a monthly periodi- 
 cal, published in New York, called The Union 
 Magazine. In 1848, this was transferred to Phi- 
 ladelphia, and is now known as "Sartain's;" she 
 still continues one of its editors. 
 
 In 1848, Mrs. Kirkland visited the Old World ; 
 she has recorded her impressions in a work, en- 
 titled, "Holidays Abroad," a pleasant volume. 
 Besides her natural gifts, Mrs. Kirkland is a woman 
 of highly cultivated mind ; and from her extensive 
 opportunities for reading and observation, we may 
 reasonably hope for some work from her pen supe- 
 rior to any she has yet given the public. 
 
 From " A New Home," iScc. 
 
 NEW SETTLEES AT THE WEST. 
 
 Of the mingled mass of our country population, 
 a goodly and handsome propoi-tion — goodly as to 
 numbers, and handsome as to cheeks and lips, 
 and thews and sinews — consists of young married 
 people just beginning the world ; simple in their 
 habits, moderate in their aspirations, and hoard- 
 ing a little of old-fashioned romance, unconsciously 
 enough, in the secret nooks of their rustic hearts. 
 These find no fault with their bare toggeries. 
 With a shelter and a handful of furniture, they 
 have enough. If there is the wherewithal to 
 spread a warm supper for "th' old man," when 
 he comes in from work, the young wife forgets the 
 long, solitary, wordless day, and asks no greater 
 happiness than preparing it by the help of such 
 materials and such utensils as would be looked at 
 with utter contempt in a comfortable kitchen ; and 
 then the youthful pair sit down and enjoy it toge- 
 ther, with a zest that the "orc/ies parfaites" of the 
 epicure can never awaken. What lack they that 
 this world can bestow ? They have youth, and 
 health, and love and hope, occupation and amuse- 
 ment, and when you have added "meat, clothes, 
 and fire," what more has England's fair young 
 queen? These people are contented, of course. 
 «»«■** 
 
 Another large class of emigrants is composed of 
 people of broken fortunes, or who have been un- 
 successful in past undertakings. These like or 
 dislike the country on various grounds, as their 
 peculiar condition may vary. Those who are for- 
 tunate or industrious, look .at their new home 
 with a kindly eye. Those who le.arn by expe- 
 rience that idlers are no better oif in Michigan 
 than elsewhere, can find no term too virulent in 
 which to express their angry disappointment. 
 The profligate and unprincipled lead stormy and 
 uncomfortable lives anywhere; And Michigan, now 
 at least, begins to regard such characters among 
 her adopted children with a stern and unfriendly 
 eye, so that the few who may have come among 
 
 us, hoping for the unwatched and unbridled license 
 which we read of in regions nearer to the setting 
 sun, find themselves marked and shunned, as in 
 the older world. 
 
 IMPROVEMENTS AND ENJOYMENTS. 
 
 As women feel sensibly the deficiencies of the 
 "salvage" state, so they are the first to attempt 
 the refining process, the introduction of those 
 important nothings on which so much depends. 
 Small additions to the more delicate or showy 
 part of the household gear are accomplished by 
 the aid of some little extra personal exertion. 
 "Spinning-money" buys a looking-glass, perhaps, 
 or "butter-money" a nice cherry-table. Eglan- 
 tines and woo'1-vine, or wild-cucumber, are sought 
 and transplanted to shade the windows. Narrow 
 beds round the house are bright with balsams and 
 sweet-williams, four o'clocks, poppies, and mari- 
 golds; and if "th' old man" is good-natured, a 
 little gate takes the place of the great awkward 
 bars before the door. By and by, a few apple- 
 trees are set out ; sweet-briers grace the door- 
 yard, and lilacs and currant-bushes; all by female 
 effort — at least I have never yet happened to see 
 it otherwise, where these improvements have been 
 made at all. They are not all accomplished by 
 her own hand, indeed ; but hers is the moving 
 spirit, and if she do her "spiriting gently," and 
 has anything but a Caliban for a minister, she can 
 scarcely fail to throw over the real homeliness of 
 her lot something of the magic of that Ideal which 
 has been truly sung — 
 
 Nymph of our snul, and biightener of our being ; 
 She makes the common waters musical — 
 Binds the rude night-\vind.< in a silver thrall, 
 Bids Hybla's thyme and Teinpe's violet dwell 
 Round llie green marge of her moon-haunted cell. 
 ******* 
 
 This shadowy power, or power of shadows, is the 
 "arch-vanquisher of time and care" everywhere; 
 but most of all needed in the waveless calm of a 
 strictly woodland life, and tliere most enjoyed. 
 The lovers of "unwritten poetry" may find it in 
 the daily talk of our rustic neighbours — in their 
 superstitions — in the remedies which they propose 
 for every ill of humanity, the ideal makes the 
 charm of their life as it does that of all the world's, 
 peer and poet, woodcutter and serving-maid. 
 
 After allowing due weight to the many disad- 
 vantages and trials of a new country-life, it would 
 scarce be fair to pass without notice the compen- 
 sating power of a feeling, inherent, as I believe, 
 in our universal nature, which rejoices in that 
 freedom from the restraints of pride and ceremony 
 which is found only in a new country. To borrow 
 from a brilli.ant writer of our oivn, "I think we 
 have an instinct, dulled by civilization, which is 
 like the caged eaglet's, or the antelope's that is 
 reared in the Arab's tent ; .an instinct of nature 
 that scorns boundary and chain ; that yearns to 
 the free deseri; that would have the earth like 
 the sky, unappropriated and open; that rejoices 
 in immeasurable liberty of foot and dwelling- 
 place, and springs passionately back to its free- 
 
KI 
 
 KI 
 
 dom, even after years of sutduiug method and 
 spirit-breaking confinement ! " 
 
 This "instinct," so beautifully noticed by "Willis, 
 is what I would point to as the compensating 
 power of the wilderness. Those who are "to the 
 manor born," feel this most sensibly, and pity, 
 with all their simple hearts, the walled-up deni- 
 zens of the city. And the transplanted ones — 
 those who have been used to no forests but 
 "forests of chimneys" — though "the parted 
 bosom clings to wonted home," soon learn to 
 think nature no step-mother, and to discover 
 many redeeming points even in the half-wild state 
 at first so uncongenial. 
 
 That this love of unbounded and unceremonious 
 liberty is a natural and universal feeling, needs 
 no argument to show ; I am only applying it on a 
 small scale to the novel condition in which I find 
 myself in the woods of Michigan. I ascribe much 
 of the placid contentment, which seems the heri- 
 tage of rural life, to the constant familiarity with 
 woods and waters — ■ 
 
 All that the genial ray of morning gilds. 
 And all that echoes to the song of even ; 
 
 All that the mountain's sheltering hosnm }ii,'l(l3, 
 And all the dread magnificence of heaven — 
 
 to the harmony which the Creator has instituted 
 between the animate and inanimate works of His 
 h ands. 
 
 A DEBATING SOCIETY AT THE WEST. 
 
 One evening — I hope that beginning prepares 
 the reader for something highly interesting — one 
 evening the question to be debated was the equally 
 novel and striking one which regards the compa- 
 rative mental capacity of the sexes ; and as it was 
 expected that some of the best speakers on both 
 sides would be drawn out by the interesting na- 
 ture of the subject, fevery body was anxious to 
 attend. 
 
 The debate was interesting to absolute breath- 
 lessness, bath of speakers and hearers, and was 
 gallantly decided in favour of the fair by a youth- 
 ful member who occupied the barrel as president 
 for the evening. He gave it as his decided opi- 
 nion, that if the natural and social disadvantages 
 under which woman laboured and must ever con- 
 tinue to labour, could be removed ; if their edu- 
 cation could be entirely different, and their posi- 
 tion in society the reverse of what it is at present, 
 they would be very nearly, if not quite equal to 
 the nobler sex, in all but strength of mind, in 
 which very useful quality it was his opinion that 
 man would still have the advantage, especially in 
 those communities whose energies were developed 
 by the aid of debating societies. 
 
 From *'Sartain'a Magazine." 
 THE INFLUENCE OF DRESS. 
 
 There is, no doubt, a reflex influence in dress. 
 One of the best ways of inspiring the degraded 
 with self-respect is to supply them with decent 
 and suitable clothing. We are wholly unable, at 
 any stagi of cultivation, to withstand this influ- 
 ence. No lady is the same in a careless and un- 
 tasteful morning envelop, and an elegant evening 
 
 dress; the former lowers her tone — depreciates 
 her to herself, even though the latter may be quite 
 incapable of inspiring her with pride. No man 
 feels quite at ease in a shining new coat ; he is 
 conscious of an inequality between his present 
 self and the old friend whom he could have met 
 so warmly yesterday. Thejfriend may not notice 
 the coat or its influence, but the wearer never for- 
 gets it. The Spectator, or some one of those cun- 
 ning old observers, tells of a young lady who car- 
 ried herself with unusual hauteur, and seemed to 
 feel a new consciousness of power, upon no greater 
 occasion than the wearing of a new pair of ele- 
 gant garters. This affords an argument both for 
 and against dress. We ought not to wear what 
 makes us proud and creates a secret contempt of 
 others ; but neither should we neglect any thing 
 that aids our self-respect and keeps our spirits at 
 the proper pitch. Some parents, from the best 
 motives in the world, do their children serious in- 
 jury by wilfully denying them such dress as may 
 put them on an outward equality with their young 
 companions, or make them feel equal. It is in 
 vain to be philosophical for other people ; we must 
 convince their judgments and bring them over to 
 our way of thinking, before we can obtain true 
 and healthy conformity. We submit with toler- 
 able grace to restraints rendered necessary by cir- 
 cumstances, but those which appear to us capri- 
 cious or arbitrary do not often make us better, 
 especially where they touch our pride — that tis- 
 sue of irritable nerves in which our moral being 
 is enwrapt. 
 
 ***** 
 When we are used to the feeling which accom- 
 panies rich and recherche costume, a lower style 
 seems to us mean and unworthy, especially on 
 ourselves — it is well if the influence go no fur- 
 ther. What pitiable instances we see of a depres- 
 sion that has no better source than the lack of 
 means to dress expensively, after the habit had 
 been formed ; what a craven spirit is that which 
 has nothing better to sustain it than the conscious- 
 ness of elegant clothing ! Poor human nature ! 
 
 DRESS OF SERVANTS. 
 
 Every one must have noticed the eff'ect of dress 
 upon the character and condition of servants. 
 Those who have grown up in houses where slat- 
 ternly personal habits are allowed, never become 
 really respectable, even although they may have 
 many good qualities. They do not respect them- 
 selves, and their sympathy with their employers 
 is blunted by the great difference in outward ap- 
 pearance. It is true that domestics sometimes 
 act so earnestly upon this principle, that they end 
 in erring on the side of too much attention to cos- 
 tume. We remember once, and once only, finding 
 at a foreign hotel a chambermaid dressed in silk, 
 with artificial roses in her hair ; the feeling that 
 she would not be of much use to us flashing across 
 the mind at once. English servants hit the happy 
 medium oftener than any other; their tidiness 
 suggests alacrity, and we have a comfortable as- 
 surance of being well served, as soon as we look 
 upon them. It is odd what a difference one feels 
 
 718 
 
LE 
 
 LE 
 
 in offering a gratuity to a well or ill-dressed at- 
 tendant in travelling. Shabbiness favours our pe- 
 nuriousness, most remarkably! The eye scans 
 the expectant instinctively, and instead of the 
 generous impulse to give most liberally to those 
 who need, we graduate our donation by the pro- 
 bable expectation of one who has evidently not 
 found the world very generous. If the servant be 
 well enough dressed to bespeak independence, and 
 especially if he be gifted with the modest assurance 
 which is often both cause and consequence of good 
 fortune, pride whispers us at once not to disgust 
 so genteel a person by a shabby gift, and we be- 
 stow on success what we should grudge to ne- 
 cessity. 
 
 DRESS or LADIES. 
 
 Women generally have an intense dislike to the 
 picturesque style in female dress, and they are not 
 at all apt to think favourably of the stray sheep 
 who adopt it. Some "ill-advis'd" persons fancy 
 that ladies dress for the eyes of gentlemen, but 
 this opinion shows little knowledge of the sex. 
 Gentlemen dress for ladies, but ladies for each 
 other. The anxiety that is felt about the peculi- 
 arities of fashion, the chase after novelty, the 
 thirst for expense, all refer to women's judgment 
 and admiration, for of these particulars men know 
 nothing. Here we touch upon the point in ques- 
 tion. Women who depart from fashion in search 
 of the picturesque are suspected of a special de- 
 sire to be charming to the other sex, a fault natu- 
 rally unpardonable, for ought we not all to start 
 fair ? Has any individual a right to be weaving 
 private nets, and using unauthorized charms ? A 
 lady who values her character, had better not pre- 
 tend to be independent of the fashion. The extra 
 admiration of a few of her more poetical beaux 
 will not compensate for the angry sarcasms she 
 must expect from her own sex. This is a matter 
 in which we find it hard to be merciful, or even 
 candid. 
 
 Shall the becoming, then, be sacrificed to the 
 caprices of fashion, which consults neither com- 
 plexion, shape, nor air, but considers the female 
 sex only as a sort of dough, which is to be moulded 
 at pleasure, and squeezed into all possible forms, 
 at the waving of a wand? We do not go so far. 
 There are rules of taste, — standards of grace and 
 beauty, — boundaries of modesty and propriety, — 
 restraints of Christian benevolence. Saving and 
 excepting the claims of these, we say follow the 
 fashion enough to avoid singularity, and do not 
 set up to be an inventor in costume. 
 
 LEE, HANNAH F., 
 Is now a resident of Boston, Massachusetts, of 
 which state she is a native. Her birth-place was 
 Newburyport, where her father was an eminent 
 physician. Mrs. Lee has for many years been a 
 widow, and so situated as not to be influenced by 
 pecuniary motives in devoting a part of her time 
 
 to literature. She wrote from a full heart, sym- 
 pathizing with those who suffered from lack of 
 knowledge respecting the causes of their troubles. 
 Her "Three Experiments of Living," published 
 about 1838, was written during a season of com- 
 mercial distress, when every one was complaining 
 of "hard times." She embodied in this tale the 
 thoughts suggested by scenes around her, without 
 any idea of publication. The friends who read 
 her manuscript insisted on its being printed, and 
 one of them, the late John Pickering, Esq., well 
 known in the literary and scientific world, gave 
 the m.anuscript to the printer, and saw to its exe- 
 cution. The unparalleled success of this work 
 justified his opinion. Edition after edition was 
 called for, (about thirty have been issued in Ame- 
 rica,) and we may say, that in no country has a 
 work, teaching the morals of domestic life, met 
 with such success. It circulated widely from the 
 English press, and was advertised in large letters 
 in the bookstores at Dresden. The. name of the 
 author was for a long time unknown, as Mrs. Lee 
 had never prefixed it to any publication. 
 
 Her next work was the "Old Painters," written 
 with the earnest desire of benefiting youth by 
 mingling instruction with amusement. Her suc- 
 ceeding works, "Luther and his Times," "Cran- 
 mer and his Times," and the " Huguenots in 
 France and America," were written from the same 
 motive. Mrs. Lee's first publication was entitled 
 " Grace Seymour," a novel. Nearly the whole 
 edition of this work was burnt in the great fire at 
 New York, before many of the volumes had been 
 bound and issued. She has never reprinted it, 
 though some of her friends think it one of her 
 best writings. Another little book, " Rosanna, or 
 Scenes in Boston," was written by particular de- 
 sire, to increase the funds of a charity school. 
 As her name has not been prefixed to any of her 
 books, it is impossible to enumerate all >which 
 have proceeded from her pen ; we may, however, 
 mention a volume of tales, and also several small 
 tracts. One of these, " Rich Enough," was written 
 to illustrate ibe insane desire of accumulating 
 wealth which at that time prevailed. The "Con- 
 trast, or Different Modes of Education," " The 
 World before You, or the Log-Cabin," are titles 
 of two of her other little books. In 1849, she 
 published a small volume of "Stories from Life 
 for the Young." Her first known publication was 
 the appendix to Miss Hannah Adams' memoir of 
 herself, edited by Dr. Joseph Tuckerman. Nearly 
 all Mrs. Lee's works have been republished in 
 England. 
 
 In contrasting the genius of the sexes, we. should 
 always estimate the moral effect of mental power; 
 the genius which causes or creates the greatest 
 amount of good to humanity should take the 
 highest rank. The Hon. John Pickering, to whom 
 allusion is made as the friend of Mrs. Lee, was a 
 profound scholar, an eminent lawyer, a philolo- 
 gist of high attainments ; and yet, probably, the 
 greatest benefit his talents conferred on his coun- 
 try, was his aid and encouragement in developing 
 the talents of Mrs. Lee. Her moral influence has 
 had a power for good over domestic life, and oa 
 
 719 
 
LE 
 
 LE 
 
 the formation of character, ivhich incalculably 
 outweighs all speculative philosophies. Great 
 reverence is due to the memory of Mr. Pickering 
 for his high estimation of woman's moral power. 
 
 Prom " Three Experiments of Living." 
 BEGIIJNIJIO LIFE. 
 
 Most young physicians begin life with some de- 
 gree of patronage, but Frank Fulton had none ; 
 lie came to the city a stranger, from the wilds of 
 Vermont, fell in love with Jane Churchwood, — 
 uncle Joshua's niece, — a man whom nobody knew, 
 and whose independence consisted in limiting his 
 wants to his means. What little he could do for 
 Jane, he cheerfully did. But after all necessary 
 expenses were paid, the young people had but 
 just enough between them to secure their first 
 quarter's board, and place a sign on the corner 
 of the house, by special permission, with Doctor 
 Fulton handsomely inscribed upon it. The sign 
 seemed to excite but little attention, — as nobody 
 called to see the owner of it, — though he was at 
 home every hour in the day. 
 
 After a week of patient expectation, which could 
 not be said to pass heavily, — for they worked, 
 read and talked together, — Frank thought it best 
 to add to the sign, Practises for the poor gratis. At 
 the end of a few days another clause was added, 
 Furnishes medicines to those who cannot afford to pay 
 for them. In a very short time, the passers by 
 stopped to spell out the words, and Frank soon 
 began to reap the benefit of this addition. Various 
 applications were made, and though they did not 
 as yet promise any increase of revenue, he was 
 willing to pay for the first stepping-stone. What 
 had begun, however, from true New England cal- 
 culation, was continued from benevolence. He was 
 introduced to scenes of misery, that made him for- 
 get all but the desire of relieving the wretchedness 
 he witnessed ; and when he related to his young 
 and tender-hearted wife, the situation in which 
 he found a mother confined to her bed, with two 
 or three helpless children crying around her for 
 bread, Jane would put on her straw bonnet, and 
 follow him with a light step to the dreary abode. 
 The first quarter's board came round ; it was paid, 
 and left them nearly penniless. There is some- 
 thing in benevolent purpose, as well as in indus- 
 try, that cheers and supports the mind. Never 
 was Jane's step lighter, nor her smile gayer, than 
 at present. But this could not last; the next 
 quarter's board must be provided, — and how ? 
 Still the work of mercy went on, and did not 
 grow slack. 
 
 THE REWARD. 
 
 It would be pleasant to dwell longer on this 
 period of Dr. Fulton's life. It was one of honest 
 independence. Their pleasures were home plea- 
 sures, — the purest and the most satisfactory that 
 this world affords. We cannot but admit that 
 they might have been elevated and increased by 
 deeper and more fervent principle. Nature had 
 been bountiful in giving them kind and gentle dis- 
 positions, and generous emotions ; but the bark, 
 with its swelling sails and gay streamers, that 
 
 moves so gallantly over the rippling waters, strug- 
 gles feebly against the rushing wind and foaming 
 wave. Prosperous as Frank might be considered, 
 he had attained no success beyond what every 
 industrious, capable young man may obtain, who, 
 from his first setting out in life, scrupulously 
 limits his expenses within his means. This is, in 
 fact, to be his text-book and his Eegis. Not what 
 others do, — not what seems necessary and fitting 
 to his station in life, — but what he, who knows 
 his own affairs, can decide is in reality fitting. 
 Shall we, who so much prize our independence, 
 give up what, in a political view alone, is dross, 
 compared to independence of character and habits ? 
 Shall we, who can call master spirits from every 
 portion of our land, to attest to the hard-earned 
 victory of freedom and independence, give up the 
 glorious prize, and suffer our minds to be subju- 
 gated by foreign luxuries and habits ? Yet it is 
 even so ; they are fast invading our land ; they 
 have already taken possession of our sea-ports, 
 and are hastening towards the interior. Well ma}' 
 British travellers scoff, when they come amongst 
 us, and see our own native Americans adopting 
 the most frivolous parts of civilized life, — its 
 feathers and gewgaws, — our habits and customs 
 made up of awkward imitations of English and 
 French ; our weak attempts at aristocracy ; our 
 late hours of visiting, for which no possible reason 
 can be assigned, but that they do so in Europe ! 
 Let us rather, with true independence, adopt the 
 good of every nation, — their arts and improve- 
 ments, — their noble and liberal institutions, — their 
 literature, — and the grace and real refinement of 
 their manners ; but let us strive to retain our sim- 
 plicity, our sense of what is consistent with our 
 own glorious calling, and above all, the honesty 
 and wisdom of living within our income, whatever 
 it may be. This is our true standard. Let those 
 who can afford it, consult their own taste in living. 
 If they prefer elegance of furniture, who has a 
 right to gainsay it ? But let us not all aim at the 
 same luxury. Perhaps it is this consciousness 
 of unsuccessful imitation that has given a colour 
 to the charge made against us, by the English, of 
 undue irritability. Truly, there is nothing more 
 likely to produce it. Let us pursue our path with 
 a firm and steadfast purpose, as did our fathers 
 of the Revolution, and we shall little regard those 
 who, after receiving our hospitality, retire to a 
 distance, and pelt us with rubbish. 
 
 LIVING BEYOND THE MEANS. 
 
 Jane was not behind Mrs. Bradish, in costume 
 or figure. Every morning, at the hour for calls, 
 she was elegantly attired for visitors. Many came 
 from curiosity. Mrs. Hart congratulated her dear 
 friend, on seeing her moving in a sphere for which 
 it was evident nature intended her. Mrs. Reed 
 cautioned her against any mauvaise honte, that 
 might remind one of former times. Others ad- 
 mired her furniture and arrangements, without 
 any sly allusions. On one of these gala mornings, 
 uncle Joshua was ushered into the room. Jane 
 was fortunately alone, and she went forward and 
 offered two fingers with a cordial air, but whis- 
 
 720 
 
LE 
 
 LE 
 
 pered to the servant, " if any one else called while 
 lie was there, to say she was engaged." She had 
 scnipulously observed her promise, of never send- 
 i.ig word she was not at home. There was a 
 mock kind of deference in his air and manner, 
 that embarrassed Jane. 
 
 " So," said he, looking round him, " we have a 
 palace here!" 
 
 " The house we *were in was quite too small, 
 now that our children are growing so large," re- 
 plied Jane. 
 
 " They must be greatly beyond the common 
 size," said uncle Joshua, "if that house could not 
 hold them." 
 
 "It was a very inconvenient one; and we 
 thought, as it was a monstrous rent, it would do 
 better to take another. Then, after we had bought 
 this, it certainly was best to furnish it comfortably, 
 as it was for life." 
 
 "Is it paid for?" asked uncle Joshua, drily. 
 
 Jane hesitated. 
 
 "Paid for? certainly; that is, — yes, sir." 
 
 " I am glad to hear it ; otherwise, I much doubt 
 if it is taken for life." 
 
 Jane was silent. 
 
 "Very comfortable," said uncle Joshua; "that 
 is a comfortable glass for your husband to shave 
 by ; and those are comfortable curtains, to keep 
 out the sun and cold." Both of these articles 
 were strikingly elegant. " That is a comfortable 
 lamp that hangs in the middle of the room ; it 
 almost puts out my eyes with its glass danglers. 
 Times are strangely altered, Jane, since you and 
 I thought such comforts necessary." 
 
 " Frank has been very successful in his specu- 
 lations, uncle ; he does not now depend on bis pro- 
 fession for a living ; indeed, he thinks it his duty 
 to live as other people do, and place his wife and 
 children upon an equality with others." 
 
 "And what do you call an equality, — living as 
 luxuriously, and wasting as much time, as they 
 do ? Dwelling in as costly apartments, and for- 
 getting there is any other world than this? When 
 you were left to my care, and your dear mother 
 was gone from us, how often I lamented that I 
 could not supply her place, — that I could not 
 better talk to you of another world, to which she 
 had gone; but then, Jane, I comforted myself that 
 I knew something of the duties that belonged to 
 this, and that, if I faithfully instructed you in 
 these, I should be preparing you for another. 
 When I saw you growing up, dutiful and humble, 
 charitable and self-denying, sincere, and a con- 
 scientious disciple of truth, then I felt satisfied 
 that all was well. But I begin now to fear that it 
 was a short-sighted kind of instruction, — that it 
 had not power enough to enable us to hold fast to 
 what is right. I begin now to see that we must 
 have motives that do not depend on the praise or 
 censure of this world, — motives that must have 
 nothing to do with it." 
 
 " Frank told me the other day," said Jane, 
 " that he thoughl; you were growing quite reli- 
 gious." 
 
 " If I am," said uncle Joshua, " it is from the 
 eonviction that I want higher motives than this 
 2V 
 
 world can give. When I lost you, Jane, I was a 
 poor solitary being. The world, you know, is nut 
 much to me, and I was still less to that. For a 
 time, you were still my own Jane ; but when your 
 family increased, and — as was very natural — you 
 were occupied by it, then I was thrown quite on 
 myself. And a dreary prospect it was. Then I 
 asked myself, if all was to end here ? Not but 
 what I believed in another world, but it was just 
 as I believed in England or France: but now, 
 Jane, I have thought it over, till \feel that heaven 
 is a land I am going to, and the Bible my chart 
 to steer by ; and I am no longer solitary or alone. 
 Now, my dear Jane, I want you to believe it." 
 
 "I do, uncle," said Jane, affectionately; "you 
 always taught me that my mother had gone tn 
 heaven, and that if I was good, I should go, too." 
 
 "Ah, but, my dear child, I want you to feel it, 
 — to feel the comfort and blessing of God's pre- 
 sence. It seems to me that when we once realize 
 the glory of heaven, we shall not think much of 
 these earthly palaces. Do not wait till you go to 
 heaven, to realize God's presence, but feel that he 
 is with you always, — teach it to your children, — 
 win your husband to the truth." 
 
 LESLIE, ELIZA, 
 
 Is a native of Philadelphia, where she has re- 
 sided the greater portion of her life. Her paternal 
 ancestors were from Scotland ; her great-grand- 
 father, Robert Leslie, emigrated to the then colony 
 of Maryland about the year 1745. The father of 
 Miss Leslie removed to Philadelphia before she 
 was born ; but he had previously married, in Mary- 
 land, the grandaughter of a worthy Swede ; and 
 thus Miss Leslie, who has been criticised as an 
 English authoress, "has not," to quote her own 
 words, "a drop of English blood in her veins." 
 The mistake probably arose from the circumstance 
 that, when she was a child, her father took his 
 family with him to London for a few years, and 
 afterwards to Portugal ; and her brother, Charles 
 Leslie, the distinguished artist, settled in London. 
 This American family of Leslies are very talented, 
 and, moreover, have won success, which gemos 
 
 721 
 
LE 
 
 does not always achieve. Miss Anne Leslie, a 
 younger sister of Miss Eliza, has succeeded, as an 
 artist, beyond what females usually do ; she has 
 copied her brother's pictui'es with such truth and 
 spirit, that her work is often mistaken for the 
 original. 
 
 After the return of Mr. Leslie, Senior, to Phila- 
 delphia, he engaged in business ; yet, being fond 
 of books, he devoted much of his time, while 
 abroad and when in his own land, to mathematics 
 and natural philosophy. These pursuits brought 
 him, before he went abroad, into intimacy with 
 Franklin, Jefferson, Rittenhouse, and other philo- 
 sophers of the day ; and his reminiscences of 
 these distinguished men had, doubtless, an abiding 
 influence on the mind of his young and gifted 
 daughter, the bent of whose genius has always 
 been towards the useful and practical. 
 
 Miss Leslie's first book, " Seventy-Five Re- 
 ceipts," a little manual to assist ladies in their 
 housekeeping, owed its appearance to this desire 
 of being useful. She had had the benefit of an 
 institution, peculiar to Philadelphia, which may 
 be termed "A Cooking School for Young Ladies," 
 where practical instruction was given in the mys- 
 teries of making cakes, pastry, preserves, &c. At 
 this school, under the care of Mrs. Goodfellow, 
 (no relation of Robin,) who acquired a great repu- 
 tation in her way. Miss Leslie not only graduated 
 among the highest, but she had the good sense to 
 secure her acquirements by taking notes. She 
 soon found herself the authority to whom appeal 
 was made, on any special occasion, for this scien- 
 tific skill in cookery. She grew tired of writing 
 out receipts for her "five hundred friends," and, 
 yielding to the counsels of her brother, prepared 
 the book for publication, about the year 1829. 
 Its success was so signal, that the publisher pro- 
 posed to Miss Leslie the writing of a work for 
 children. With much persuasion, she was pre- 
 vailed on to undertake this, and produced several 
 books for juvenile readers, which were very popu- 
 lar and useful. " The Mirror" was the first of the 
 series; then followed "The Young American," 
 "Atlantic Tales," "Stories for Emma," and "The 
 American Girl's Book," published in 1832. Prior 
 to this. Miss Leslie commenced writing for Godey's 
 Lady's Book, and her contributions were con- 
 tinued, with but slight intermissions, till 1850. 
 She also contributed to other periodicals, and has 
 been editor of monthlies and annuals. Her various 
 papers have been, in part, collected and published, 
 with the title of "Pencil Sketches, or Outlines of 
 Character and Manners." The first volume was 
 published in 1833, and contained "Mrs. Washing- 
 ton Potts," a prize tale, which has been very much 
 praised. The second volume was published in 
 1835, and the third in 1837. During these years, 
 she prepared a large work on "Cookery," which 
 has met with great favour; also, "The House 
 Book," a useful manual for young housekeepers ; 
 and the "Ladies' New Receipt Book." 
 
 In 1841, "Althea Vernon" appeared; and in 
 1848, was published her longest and most finished 
 fictitious narrative, "Amelia; or a Young Lady's 
 Vicissitudes," in one volume. Miss Leslie has 
 
 LE 
 
 quick observation, a retentive memory, a sprightly 
 fancy, and a persevering mind ; she has also the 
 great merit of being free from afi'ectation ; her 
 purpose is always to be useful, to correct faults, 
 expose follies, and wage war with what is per- 
 verse and contemptible. If, in doing this, she 
 sometimes seems severe on what are called trifles, 
 it should be borne in mind, that from these little 
 faults grave misfortunes not unfrequently have 
 their origin; and Miss Leslie is such a true- 
 hearted American, that she earnestly desires to 
 aid her countrywomen in becoming perfect. Few 
 of our female writers have wielded so powerful 
 an influence, or been more widely read. Her 
 " Sketches and Stories," scattered through periodi- 
 cals, are soon to be issued in a convenient form for 
 popular circulation. Miss Leslie is now engaged in 
 preparing "The Behaviour Book;" and the "Life 
 of John Fitch," the first experimenter in steam na- 
 vigation. For this, she has abundant materials, as 
 that unfortunate man of science was an intimate 
 friend of her father's, who took a deep interest in 
 his projects, afterwards realized by Fulton. 
 
 From "Kitty's Relations." 
 LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT. 
 
 Albert Colesbury, of Philadelphia, fell in love 
 with Catherine Branchley, of New York, at a quar- 
 ter past ten o'clock, while dancing opposite to her 
 on the evening of his arrival at Ballston Springs ; 
 there being a ball at the Sans Souci Hotel. Per- 
 haps the precise moment selected by Cupid for 
 directing bis shaft towards the heart of our hero, 
 was that in which the young lady acknowledged, 
 with a graceful bow, and a smile of unaffected 
 sweetness, his civility in presenting to her a sprig 
 of jessamine that had fallen from her hair. Shortly 
 after, another sprig of jessamine happened to fall ; 
 and this time, Colesbury was so dishonest as not 
 to return it, but took an opportunity of slipping 
 it within his vest. 
 
 When the set was over, he hastened to procure 
 an introduction to Miss Branchley, by means of a 
 young New Yorker, whom he knew, and who had 
 just been dancing with her. Our hero would have 
 gladly engaged her for the next set, but her hand 
 was already promised to another gentleman ; how- 
 ever, she smilingly consented to give it to Coles- 
 bury for the set following. Having no inclination 
 to dance with any one else, he took his seat beside 
 Jlrs. Seabright, a young widow, whom he had fre- 
 quently met with at places of public resort, where 
 she generally did him the favour to matronize him. 
 Colesbury, unable to think of anything else, broke 
 forth into warm encomiums on the beauty of Miss 
 Branchley, and even manifested his intention of 
 endeavouring to engage her for every succeeding 
 set. To do him justice, she really was pretty. 
 
 Mrs. Seabright judiciously cautioned the im- 
 petuous inamorato against all violent measures, 
 as they would certainly have a tendency to excite 
 false hopes in the heart of a poor simple girl, who 
 had evidently just come out, and was of course 
 inexperienced in both balls and beaux. 
 
 "False hopes!" exclaimed Colesbury. "Why 
 should her hopes be false ?" 
 
 722 
 
LE 
 
 LE 
 
 " Oh !" replied Mrs. Seabriglit, who considered 
 herself a wit, "the heart of the young lady may 
 be tender, while that of the gentleman is only 
 tittder." 
 
 " She is the most exqviisite creature I ever saw 
 in my life," returned our hero — "and the hope 
 should be on my side rather than on hers. I am 
 not a man to he taken by mere external beauty — 
 but look at the faultless symmetry of her figure ! 
 
 "'Tis not a set of features, or complexion, 
 The tincture of a skin that I admire;" 
 
 Bnt was there ever a purer red and white, or a 
 nose, mouth, and chin, all more perfectly lovely ? 
 Yet these are not the charms to make an impres- 
 sion on my heart. Only look at the heavenly blue 
 of her eyes, and the wavy go of her hair ! Cer- 
 tainly I am well aware that 
 
 " AH that 's bright must fade, 
 The brightest still the fleetest." 
 
 What pearly teeth she has ; so even, and so per- 
 fect ! And then the turn of her head ! StiU I 
 have no wish to possess a beautiful casket, unless 
 it holds a gem within. But if, upon further ac- 
 quaintance with Miss Branchley, I find her mind 
 equal to her person, I shall esteem myself the 
 happiest of men, if she will allow me to hope for 
 her favour, and I will then lose no time in endea- 
 vouring to secure her as the partner of my life." 
 
 " Love at first sight is certainly a most amusing 
 thing," remarked Mrs. Seabright, " at least to the 
 by-standers." 
 
 " I am not in love," replied Colesbury, in a 
 calmer tone — "not in the least in love. I must 
 first be convinced of the mental qualities of the 
 lady." 
 
 To be brief — the next was a country dance, and 
 before it was over, Colesbury had ascertained that 
 Miss Branchley's mind was equal to her person, 
 and his resolution was taken to declare himself as 
 soon as propriety would allow. This term of pro- 
 bation did not prove very tedious, for the import- 
 ant avowal was made the very next morning on 
 their way back from the spring to the house ; the 
 fair Kitty having looked divinely while taking the 
 glass from the hand of her admirer, and holding 
 it to her beautiful lips. The suddenness of the 
 proposal somewhat startled the young lady, but 
 she neither withdrew her arm, nor ran away ; she 
 only held down her head and smiled — she had not 
 known him long enough to blush. And when he 
 eagerly inquired if he might be permitted to hope, 
 she said, "he might, ask her pa." 
 
 From " The Bloxhams and Mayfields." 
 
 THE ESGLI8H EADICAL AND THE AMEEICAK 
 CITIZEN. 
 
 The dinner was profuse and excellent — the first 
 the Bloxhams had eaten at a private house since 
 their arrival. Mrs. Bloxham, however, carefully 
 abstained from tasting of any article peculiarly 
 American, and she also emdeavoured to prevent 
 her children from doing so — telling them these 
 strange things might disagree with them. 
 
 "Why, ma," said Home Tooke, "you let us eat 
 all sorts of strange things at the Spread Eagle." 
 
 " That was to give you an opportunity of satis- 
 fying your curiosity. But they did you a great 
 deal of harm." 
 
 "When and how?" persisted the boy. "How 
 were we the worse for them, and what harm did 
 they do us? Tell me that. Yon can't say we 
 were one moment sick — any of us." 
 
 His mother endeavoured to silence him ; but his 
 father tried to laugh, and said — 
 
 " Mrs. B., you 'd better let young hopeful alone. 
 You'll find him too hard for you." 
 
 " He's worse than ever since he came to Ame- 
 rica," murmured Mrs. Bloxham. 
 
 "A clever lad, sir," continued Bloxham, turn- 
 ing to Mr. Mayfield — "a clever lad, as you may 
 easily perceive. He '11 make a figure in the world 
 yet. You 'U have him legislating for you in your 
 House of Congress before fifteen years, and help- 
 ing to guide, with tongue of fire, the restless rud- 
 der of your government." 
 
 " Tell me why," persisted Home Tooke, still 
 addressing his mother — "tell me why we were 
 allowed to eat squashes, and sweet potatoes, and 
 pot-pie, and pumpkin-pudding, and everything on 
 the table, when we were at the Spread Eagle." 
 
 " Home Tooke, my boy," said Mr. Bloxham, 
 "you are certainly sharp enough to understand 
 that when we are at an inn, and a public table, 
 where we pay all the same eat or no eat, it is ad- 
 visable to indulge ourselves with everything that 
 is to be had ; so as to be quite sure of getting the 
 worth of our money. You know we did the same 
 on board of ship. Now some of the passengers 
 were always complaining of the length of the voy- 
 age ; but I always laughed, and said — I did not 
 care if it lasted two months, as long as we were 
 on the captain's keep. Ha, ha, ha — that's me 
 exactly — there 's nothing like having the fuU worth 
 of one's money." 
 
 "But here in this house we pay no money at 
 all," said Home Tooke, "and that is better still. 
 Ma, I know very well what you are at. You 
 want us to hate everything in America ; and so 
 you 're afraid to let us eat any more of their nice 
 victuals." 
 
 " The child does not know what he 's talking 
 about," said Mrs. Bloxham. 
 
 "Yes I do," said Home Tooke; "pa says I 
 . always have my wits about me. I know I am the 
 brightest of the family — the only bright one, too." 
 
 "Mr. B.," said his wife, "I told you it would 
 be so. There's something in the air of this coun- 
 try that is not fit for English children. It makes 
 them rude, and saucy, and unbiddable, from the 
 moment they set their feet on the land of liberty, 
 as you call it." 
 
 " Why, I was just as bad at home," said Home 
 Tooke, " and I dare say a great deal worse ; for I 
 had not half such good times." 
 
 Dinner was at length over ; and as they ad- 
 journed to the front parlour, Bloxham whispered 
 to his wife, "This squire is a capital fellow — I 
 never sat down to a better feed." 
 
 "Be quiet," said Mrs. Bloxham, "some of the 
 family may hear you." 
 
 In the cool of the afternoon, Mr. Mayfield 
 
 723 
 
LE 
 
 showed his guests round the farm ; and the Blox- 
 ham children were made free of the two peach 
 orchards; having previously made themselves so 
 in the forenoon. Bloxham seemed to look about, 
 but in reality saw nothing ; for his whole attention 
 was engrossed by hearing himself relate paltry 
 and scandalous anecdotes of the king and queen, 
 with laudatory digressions on Fox, Sheridan, and 
 the Duke of Bedford ; talking of all these distin- 
 guished men as familiarly as "maids of thirteen 
 do of puppy-dogs." He even hinted, that through 
 his intimacy with Sheridan he was no stranger to 
 the Prince of Wales, whom he praised without 
 measure, as a noble, generous fellow, that was 
 always in debt, and whose feelings went entirely 
 with the people ; the said people being all burst- 
 ing with impatience for the time to arrive when 
 he should begin to reign over them. 
 
 "You know, of course," continued Bloxham, 
 "that the prince is in the opposition. The heir 
 apparent always is. I can assure you, sir, (and 
 I have had private opportunities of knowing,) his 
 royal highness (heaven bless him) is a republican 
 at heart; a thorough democrat." 
 
 " That is strange," observed Mr. Mayfield ; "it 
 is certainly not his business to be so." 
 
 " Then the greater the patriotism," pursued 
 Bloxham — "To see how his royal highness goes 
 to the balls of untitled persons ; and how agree- 
 able he makes himself to ladies that are plain 
 Miss and Mrs. ; even asking them to dance. Yes, 
 yes ; he carries in his heart's core the hammer 
 that is to strike off the grinding chains of king- 
 ridden England." 
 
 In the mean time, Mrs. Bloxham was walking 
 with Mrs. Mayfield, and entertaining her with 
 accounts of the vast superiority of everything in 
 England to everything in America. As an episode, 
 she introduced a minute description of the Lord 
 Mayor's show, a spectacle which her son. Home 
 Tooke, (who followed close behind,) averred was 
 nothing in comparison to Bartlemy fair, and not 
 half BO productive of fun as Guy Faux day. 
 
 The tea-table went on much in the same man- 
 ner as the dinner-table ; except that the children 
 followed the example of Home Tooke, and helped 
 themselves voraciously to cakes, honey, and sweet- 
 meats ; their mother no longer essaying tp check 
 them. 
 
 From " Leonilla Lynmore." 
 THE FORTUNE-TELLER. 
 
 Ruth Rambo was a large, tall woman, habited in 
 a dingy brown worsted petticoat, and a blue calico 
 long short-gown, in form something like the dresses 
 that, when worn by genteel people, are called 
 tunics. Her grey hair was partially covered by a 
 cross-barred muslin cap, bordered with coarse 
 Dutch lace, similar to that which ladies, who 
 know no better, now dignify with the name of 
 Brussels and Valenciennes. She had very cun- 
 ning dark eyes, and, though grossly ignorant, 
 possessed considerable shrewdness, combined with 
 the most unblushing assurance. 
 
 After taking her seat behind a little old table, 
 and aurreying the young ladies from head ta foot. 
 
 LE 
 
 she fixed her eyes upon their faces in such a man- 
 ner, that each imagined the gaze to be directed 
 exclusively to herself, and quailed beneath what 
 they considered its almost supernatural influence. 
 There was a silence, which was at last broken by 
 the weird-woman pronouncing, in a tone of awful 
 solemnity, the monosyllable — "Well." 
 
 Merial's courage failed ; and she made a sign 
 to the timid Leonilla, who found it necessary to 
 be spokeswoman. "We have come" — said she — 
 "to consult you on the subject of your art — the 
 art which you profess. We have come to hear 
 what are likely to be the chief events of our future 
 lives — in short, to have our fortunes told." 
 
 "Ay — now you've got it right" — said the old 
 woman — "I knew, by my art, what your errand 
 was, as soon as I saw you. So now let us proceed 
 to business, for I have no time to lose, and there 
 be them that are waiting for me ; but the last 
 shall be first, and the first shall be last. Take 
 off your bonnets, and give to the world all the 
 features of your visards and visages." 
 
 They did so ; and the sibyl, contracting her 
 brows mysteriously, and looking from the one to 
 the other, slowly uttered — "Fate bids me begin 
 with the least of you" — pointing her finger at 
 Leonilla. 
 
 Ruth Rambo then drew from her pocket a mar- 
 vellous dirty pack of cards, and said, sternly, to 
 our heroine — "How old are you? Woe betide 
 you, if you do not tell me the naked truth." 
 
 " I am just sixteen and three months" — replied 
 Leonilla. — "I can have no reason for misrepre- 
 senting my age." 
 
 "Not yet, may be" — replied the fortune-teller 
 — "but perhaps you may have, when years have 
 gone by, and the stars begin to run round upon 
 their poles. Women that's got beyant twenty, 
 often try to cheat me ; but I am an old fox, and 
 can always find them out by my art. Now I see 
 plain enough you're a foreigner." 
 
 "Oh! no, indeed, I am not" — exclaimed Leo- 
 nilla, earnestly. 
 
 " There is no cheating me" — said the old woman, 
 with increased solemnity. — "I have set before all 
 the nations of the earth, and I know a foreigner 
 when I see one." 
 
 This (after reflecting a moment) the young ladies 
 understood to mean, that Ruth Rambo had told 
 fortunes to strangers from every part of the world. 
 
 " I was born in Philadelphia" — said Leonilla-^ 
 " and have never, in my life, been out of America." 
 
 "Well — and what's Philadelphia but foreign 
 parts ; foreign to Boston, is not it ? " 
 
 She then, after shuifling the cards, produced the 
 four queens from the pack, and desired Leonilla 
 to choose one. She chose the queen of diamonds. 
 
 " That stands for yourself" — said the fortune- 
 teller. She then went through the tedious process 
 of shufiiing the cards nine times over, always 
 desiring Leonilla to out them ; the old woman 
 each time looking at the bottom card. When all 
 the shuffling and cutting was accomplished, the 
 sibyl raised her eyes to the black circle on the 
 ceiling, as if invoking its aid, paused a moment, 
 and then, with practised dexterity, ran rapidly 
 
 734 
 
LE 
 
 LE 
 
 over the whole pack of cards as she held them, 
 with her hands resting on the table. 
 
 " That's you" — said she to Leonilla, displaying 
 the queen of diamonds. — "Every card in the pack 
 has its meaning, in all the four corners of the 
 globe, and persons of art can read them as easy 
 as they can read a buk." 
 
 " Is it by the vicinity of certain other cards to 
 the queen of diamonds, that you propose to dis- 
 cover what is to happen to me ?" — asked Leonilla. 
 
 "That's tellings" — replied the old woman. — 
 " Do you suppose I am going to let people into 
 the secret of my arts and sciences ? Some goes 
 by coffee-grounds, which is low and vulgar ; and 
 some goes by the lines on the parms of your 
 hands, which is nothing but plexity and puzzle- 
 dem ; and some goes by the stars and planipos, 
 which is too far off to be certain. But cards is 
 the only true things, as all the best judges can 
 scratify. Besides, who can tell but I have awful 
 powers, holden from them that is seldom seen, but 
 always about, and may be looking at us now." 
 
 LEWALD, FANNY, 
 Is a woman of letters belonging to Berlin. By 
 no means a speculative recluse, she maintains a 
 very marked position in society, cultivating the 
 acquaintance and intimacy of all the celebrities 
 of the day, to whom she is rendered interesting, 
 not only by her reputation as an authoress, but 
 by her conversational powers. She has travelled 
 through various parts of the continent of Europe, 
 with an eye open to every striking object, and a 
 mind filled with enthusiasm for every personage 
 of note ; — let it be added, with a pen ready to 
 stamp her impressions. 
 
 Fraulien Lewald, as she is called in Germany, 
 began her literary career as a novel-writer ; her 
 first two works were "Clementine," and "Jenny;" 
 neither of which made much impression on the 
 public. She then brought out " Diogena," her 
 third novel, anonymously ; it was clever and 
 satirical, and created a sensation altogether un- 
 precedented in Germany in that department of 
 literature. Describing this success, which seems 
 to have been as complete as was that of "Jane 
 Eyre" in England and America, the Editor of the 
 Foreign Quarterly observes: — "This was the 
 more remarkable, as the book made its appear- 
 ance during a time when political events were of 
 absorbing interest, and especially when the debates 
 of the first Prussian Parliament left the reading 
 public df Berlin little time or attention to bestow 
 on romances. Notwithstanding these disadvan- 
 tages, the success of "Diogena" was complete, 
 and much ingenuity was exercised in endeavour- 
 ing to penetrate into the mystery of the author- 
 ship. Almost every distinguished name which 
 could possibly be brought into connexion with a 
 subject of this kind, was successively mentioned 
 as undoubtedly the true one, by some critic or 
 other, though it happened, unluckily, that no two 
 were agreed. On one point, however, our German 
 brethren of the craft were nearly unanimous. 
 Whoever it might be, it could not be a woman, — 
 that point was soon settled. Such firm and vigo- 
 
 rous drawing, such keen satire, such strict logical 
 sequence in carrying out the principles of the , 
 'noble romance,' could by no possibility charac- 
 terize the productions of a writer of the less 
 worthy gender. These gentlemen are, as all who 
 are familiar with German periodical literature will 
 know, especially clever at pointing out, on all 
 occasions, precisely what is, and what is not attain- 
 able to genius, which happens to wear in the flesh 
 the mortal garb of a woman, in declaring its pre- 
 cise limits, and pronouncing their authoritative 
 ' thus far shalt thou go, and no farther.' " 
 
 However, the secret was at last disclosed, and 
 Fanny Lewald became celebrated as the author of 
 "Diogena." Her next work was " Jtalienisehes 
 Bilderbuch," (Italian Picture-Book,) published at 
 Berlin in 1847, and soon afterwards reprinted in 
 London. In this work she very judiciously eschews 
 pictures and cliurches, the usual staple of a tra- 
 veller's note-book, but tells as much as possible 
 of the country and the people—" of their joys and 
 sorrows, their eating and drinking, their play and 
 their work;" which she has done as far as was 
 possible for a woman and a stranger to become 
 acquainted with them. She was in Rome toward 
 the close of the pontificate of Gregory XVI. : we 
 shall give her opinions of Italy at that period. 
 
 She next visited France, and passed there the 
 exciting winter of the Revolution. The result of 
 her observations she gave to the world in a volume, 
 published in 1850, where we see appearing, to use 
 the artist's own idea, as in a "camera obscura," 
 a most wonderful variety of men and women. 
 They pass through her pages with the same un- 
 connectedness as objects do in the aforesaid optical 
 toy ; yet the praise cannot be withheld, that they 
 have the natural air, the masterly outline, and the 
 true properties, so pleasing in the pictures of the 
 camera ; to demand from Miss Lewald delineations 
 of equal faithfulness and impartiality, would be 
 asking too much ; " mechanical powers" only could 
 reach such result. She certainly merits the ap- 
 probation of the sober-minded, that being in Paris 
 during the topsy-turvy of 1848, she was not in- 
 fected with the mania of socialism, or any of the 
 extravagances of reform, though appreciating true 
 progress in civil and religious freedom. Besides 
 the works enumerated, she published, in 1849, a 
 novel called " Prince Louis Ferdinand," which 
 has been much commended in the first journals 
 of Europe. 
 
 From "Italienisches Bilderbuch." 
 SOCIAL INTEEOGUESE IN ITALY IN 1846. 
 
 The best kind of social intercourse, that by 
 which the spiritual life is excited to a higher ac- 
 tivity, is only possible in free countries. Every- 
 where, in Russia as well as in Germany or Italy, 
 people can dine, and dance, and drink, and smoke, 
 and play at cards, and flatter the women. 
 
 But these pleasures are not very lasting ; they 
 form no bond of union between individuals, and 
 there is no real interest in them for any one who 
 requires something more of his time than that it 
 shall go as fast as possible. The better spirits 
 among us have passed beyond the childish state of 
 
 726 
 
LE 
 
 LE 
 
 mind that could be content with these things, and 
 desire, even in their recreations, a certain earnest- 
 ness, to which, however, no playful grace or gaiety 
 need be wanting. 
 
 The Italians have inherited from past ages the 
 most pleasing and graceful forms of behaviour; 
 they are children of noble birth, well-bred, and 
 accustomed to elegant manners. Had they more 
 of intellectual culture, they would be in a position 
 to develop the highest attractions of social inter- 
 course. But in Italy, the mind, and with it the 
 life of society, has been laid in fetters ; and there 
 is, consequently, a something in the manners of 
 the Italian circles that reminds one of their stately 
 but unoccupied palaces, whose dust-covered pic- 
 tures and furniture, rich as they are, have a 
 mournful and decayed aspect. 
 
 In France, the various parties, political, reli- 
 gious, and literary, are brought together by the 
 desire to discuss freely the questions that arise ; 
 for a single word spoken will often put an end to 
 a misunderstanding better than whole pamphlets 
 full of controversy ; and the variety of opinion 
 that always manifests itself in conversation, opens 
 fresh springs of interest and progress. In Italy, 
 however, such an intellectual movement has been 
 hitherto impossible. It does not want for men, 
 who, with watchful eye and hopeful soul, follow 
 the movements that take place in other countries, 
 and fervently desire them for their own ; but they 
 are denied the freedom not only of action, but of 
 word. All society is watched, and this vigilance 
 extends even to foreigners. I have heard it posi- 
 tively asserted that the entertainments of an Ita- 
 lian lady of good family, who receives a great 
 number of strangers, are paid for by the papal 
 court, and that the lady herself is in its service as 
 a spy. A very clever Abate of my acquaintance 
 pointed out to me a certain chevalier, decorated 
 with the highest papal order, who filled the same 
 office ; and afterwards, a German friend, long 
 settled in Rome, warned me, for a similar reason, 
 against the Abate himself. Whether any one of 
 the parties really deserved the accusation, is what 
 I had no means of ascertaining ; but the mere 
 possibility of being watched by spies, is enough 
 to drive people out of society ; and there can be 
 no difficulty in finding spies in a country where 
 every free thought on religion is a heresy, and 
 the betrayal of a heresy is regarded as a service 
 to God. 
 
 CONVEKSATION IN BOMB. 
 
 In Italian circles, I have found the conversation 
 very superficial, consisting much of playful and 
 not ungraceful trifling on subjects of traditional 
 gallantry, (from which, by-the-bye, the clergy is 
 by no means excluded,) and of the topics of the 
 day, treated much in the style of a court journal. 
 The comings and goings of illustrious personages, 
 the changes in the genealogical calendar, accidents 
 by flood and fire ; theatres, singers, and, though 
 last not least, the ballet; these are the points 
 round which conversation perpetually revolves. 
 Now and then one sees a group whispering toge- 
 
 ther on matters of greater importance, and from 
 such a one, there can occasionally be gleaned in- 
 telligence not to be found in books or papers, that 
 have to pass under the eye of the censor. I was 
 told, however, that all prohibited books were 
 always to be found with the cardinals, and that 
 they are read a great deal underhand. 
 
 It is in some measure the deficiency of material 
 for interesting conversation that, in Home, com- 
 pels people to have recourse to poetry and music 
 to fill up tedious intervals, which occur more 
 frequently from its being the custom in many 
 Italian houses to bring no kind of refreshments, 
 no ice, no supper, not so much as water, to the 
 guests. 
 
 ***** 
 
 The middle classes of the Italians, the official 
 persons, and the lower order of the nobility, live 
 in their own circles, and see little of strangers 
 of a similar class. The intercourse amongst the 
 aristocracy of the various nations is more lively, 
 but still seldom passes beyond an invitation to a 
 ball, a box at the opera, or a drive on the Corso. 
 The interior of the domestic circle still remains 
 closed to strangers, and, consequently, a real in- 
 timacy of mind with mind scarcely ever takes 
 place ; while in general society, all the profounder 
 interests, • — social, political, or religious, — are of 
 course intentionally avoided, as likely to lead to 
 forbidden ground. 
 
 lOTTEKT TABIES. 
 
 At night the tables are illuminated, and these 
 lottery-offices remain open till a late hour of the 
 night, when all others have long been closed. 
 Since as little as a penny may be put in, the very 
 poorest have it in their power to venture the hard 
 earnings of the day, in the delusive hope of a vast 
 return. The plan is to draw five numbers out of 
 ninety : the player takes three, and should these 
 three be found amongst the five drawn, he wins 
 the great prize ; should there be two, he wins 
 twelve hundred scudi ; but one is of no use. The 
 lottery tables are kept open to tempt the people 
 on Sundays and Saints' Days. 
 
 "SMOBFIA," A EREAM-BOOK ABOUT LOTTERIES. 
 
 I could not contain my indignation against the 
 Italian government as I read this book ! It is not 
 enough that, from their accursed avarice, they 
 plunder the subjects whom they call their chiU 
 dren, and plunge them into the ruin from which it 
 should be their care to preserve them ; not enough 
 that, by their rigid censorships, they shut out as 
 far as possible every ray of mental illumination ; 
 they must bestow privileges, forsooth, upon books 
 \ whose only purpose is to promote the more sys- 
 . tematic carrying out of this system of plunder, 
 and thicken the darkness of superstition in which 
 the people are enveloped. 
 
 Almost every article of merchandize passing be- 
 tween the Italian States is subjected to duty, as 
 if they were foreign countries. The governments 
 remain separate, when the question is of the wel- 
 fare of the people ; but to do them injury, the 
 
 726 
 
LE 
 
 Italian princes extend to each other the hand of 
 fraternal affection. One cannot in Rome buy a 
 piece of Florentine or Neapolitan silk, without 
 paying a heavy tax; but one may read at every 
 corner, "To-day the Lottery is drawn for Tus- 
 cany;" "This day, until midnight, tickets may 
 be purchased for the Lottery of Lucca!" "Last 
 night of the Lottery of Naples !" &c. How the 
 princes of Italy can reconcile these things to 
 their conscience^, passes, I must own, my com- 
 prehension. 
 
 LEWIS, ESTELLE ANNA, 
 Was born in Baltimore, Maryland. Her maiden 
 name was Kobinson ; her father being a native of 
 Cuba, descended from an English and Spanish 
 parentage. She was married, when quite young, 
 to Mr. S. D. Lewis, a lawyer of Brooklyn, Long 
 Island, where she now resides. She began to 
 write at an early age; but her first poetical effort 
 that attracted much attention, was " The Ruins of 
 Palenque," which appeared in " The New World." 
 In 1844, she published a volume of poems, entitled 
 "Records of the Heart," which was very favour- 
 ably received. In 1846, there appeared in "The 
 Democratic Review," a poem in three cantos, by 
 Mrs. Lewis, entitled "The Broken Heart;" this, 
 like her former poems, was much admired. In 
 1848, she published " The Child of the Sea, and 
 other Poems," which, by some critics, has been 
 considered her best work. It is her longest poem, 
 and has passages of exceeding beauty and deep 
 pathos ; her power in delineating passion and de- 
 scribing character is very great, and her versifica- 
 tion always harmonious and suited to the subject. 
 All her poems show uncommon versatility of imagi- 
 nation, a warm enthusiasm, and remarkable facility 
 of expression. She has written a number of fugi- 
 tive pieces for different periodicals; one of these, 
 "The Forsaken," has often been quoted for its 
 mournful and tender beauty. Another poem, 
 "The Cruise of Aureana, an Allegory," which we 
 give, is an original and beautiful production, 
 Mrs. Lewis is at present engaged in an epic poem 
 h* the Spenserian measui*e. 
 
 LE 
 
 From ■' Child of the Sea." 
 
 BEAUTY. 
 
 Now smiling, gentle, timid as the dove; 
 
 Fair, fresh as flower just culled from vernal grove ; 
 
 Her long, loose, sable tresses (lowing back 
 
 Over her marble neck and bodice black ; 
 
 Crossed on her softly tlirobbitjg breast her hands, 
 
 Before the youth Gonzalo's daughter stands, 
 
 Oh beauty ! who can paint thy magic charm 
 
 Upon the heart that glows all fresh and warm ? 
 
 Man may resign the pen, and well eschew 
 
 What Angels never would attempt to do. 
 
 Thy smile is light from Heaven's bright Censer f^nt. 
 
 To clothe the forms for those blest regions mea..t — 
 
 Thy sway, in eitlier world, omnipotent 1 
 
 SORROW. 
 
 Oh sorrow! where on earth hast thou not sped 
 Thy fatal arrows! on what lovely head 
 Hast thou not poured, alas ! thy bitter phial, 
 And cast some shadow on the Spirit's dial ! 
 Why, why, hast thou selected Woman's heart, 
 To be the mark for thy unerring dart ? 
 It is too sweet, too lovely, pure a thing, 
 To feel the smart of thy envenomeii sting- 
 But Eve first drained thy cup in Paradise — 
 And well her daughters pay th' irrevocable price I 
 
 From "The Broken Heart." 
 woman's love. 
 
 Kind Father! frown not on this tale 
 
 Of woman's love and woman's wo, 
 For love is woman's bane and bale, 
 
 And woman's Paradise below; — 
 Ves ! Love is manna sent from Heaven 
 
 To feed the weary, famished Heart, 
 That through the desert waste is driven 
 
 Of this Life's cold and selfish mart ; — 
 It is the magnet of the Mind, 
 
 Where turns the compass of the Soul,, 
 Which way soever blows the wind, 
 
 However high the billows roll — 
 A bright ray of the Deity, 
 
 That over sunles3 chaos burst. 
 Lighting all space eternally. 
 
 Still blissful, bounteous as at first — 
 The Loadstar of both Heaven'and earth- 
 Created ere Creation's birth. 
 
 From " Poems." 
 
 MY STUDY. 
 
 This is my World — my Angel-guarded Shrine, 
 
 Which I have made to suit my heart's great need, 
 
 When Sorrow dooms it overmuch to bleed; 
 
 Or, when aweary and athirst I pine 
 
 For genial showers, and sustenance divine; 
 
 When soft illusive Hopes my heart deceive. 
 
 And I would sit me down alone to grieve — 
 
 My mind to sad. or studious mnod resign. 
 
 Here oft upon the stream of Thought I lie, 
 
 Floating whichever way the waves are flowing — 
 
 Sometimes along the Banks of Childhood going, 
 
 Where all is bud, and bloom, and melody; 
 
 Or, wafted by some stronger current, glide 
 
 Where darker frowns the steeps, and deeper flows the Tide* 
 
 THB LOVERS. 
 
 They met. and looked into each other's eyes; 
 
 In hers, as in a mirror clear, he saw 
 
 A paradise, and she in his beheld 
 
 A bright and aunny world, where her pure soul 
 
 Could only light, ami life, and joyance find; 
 
 But th' serpent came between tliem ; then. 
 
 Like thunder-riven rocks, apart they dwelt, 
 
 Silent, and cold, and withering, until 
 
 Their hearts were dead, and they went to the grave, 
 
 Their misery to each other unrevealed. 
 
 727 
 
LE 
 
 LI 
 
 THE CRUISE OF AUKEANA. 
 AN ALLEGORY. 
 
 When not a breaih bespoke a gale, 
 And fair and blithely blew the breeze, 
 
 I weighed my anchor, trimmed my sail, 
 And spread it for Elysian seas. 
 
 Onward I sailed by many a realm, 
 
 A.nd many a spicy-breathing isle, 
 With Cupid only at the helm — 
 
 My star and compass. Psyche's smile. 
 
 The sea-maids by my shallop tripped, 
 
 Drinking of my inebriate bliss; 
 Old Neptune, rising briny-lipped. 
 
 Upon my brow impressed a kiss. 
 
 The warblers piped from hills and dells, 
 To greet me as I neared the strands ; 
 
 The lilies rung their snowy bells. 
 The wood-nymphs clapped their pearly hands. 
 
 Around me hung th' enamoured hours — 
 From airy ritls that oped above me. 
 
 White fingers dropped celestial flowers — 
 The very stars did seem to love me. 
 
 And my ecstatic pulse did play 
 
 To sjlvery feet of roseate blisses. 
 That danced around my soul, which lay 
 
 Feeding upon aerial kisses. 
 
 Anon a sound came out from under 
 The wave, and smote my slumbering ear: 
 
 A voice croaked out, like muttering thunder — 
 ^'Beware! thou helpless mariner!" 
 
 Oh ! swift the tempest strode the sky, 
 And stretched its wings from pole to pole ; 
 
 Then bending low, with flashing eye. 
 Hung o'er me like an angry soul. 
 
 Down bore it on me fierce and fast, 
 
 But still I trusted to my Pilot 
 To guide me safe before the blast. 
 
 And land me on some happy islet. 
 
 I heard the breakers roar ahead — 
 
 I felt my little vessel shudder — 
 I called my Pilot — He had sped — 
 
 A Fiend was standing at the rudder. 
 
 " Fear not. thou trembling mariner 1" 
 With adder glance, the Demon said ; 
 
 " 'T is but the howling blast ye hear, 
 The breakers — they are far ahead. 
 
 " Fear not, thou trembling mariner! 
 
 Be not thy lip and cheek so pale; 
 Thy shallop safely £ will steer. 
 
 And we shall soon outride the gale 
 
 " Fear not ; these moorings well I've tried. 
 And many a frail, dismasted barque 
 
 Have guided safely o'er this tide, 
 'Mid mist and murk — by day and dark." 
 
 Then, loud as trump of Time, I heard 
 The Storm-Fiend ring his awful larum ; 
 
 And then a whirlpool's jaws we neared — 
 It was the Marc Tencbrarum. 
 
 Dark rocks on rocks lay piled to Heaven, 
 Midway their front an archway yawnpd, 
 
 Through which the struggling waves were drivon 
 Into the boiling Hell beyond. 
 
 Black as Plutonian midnight, there 
 Stood Fate, the dread portcullis lifting; — 
 
 And downward many a ruin rare — 
 Heart-freighted argosy — went drifting. 
 
 Virtue, with snowy pinions brniled — 
 Envy, with rankling venom bloated — 
 
 Beauty, with all her charms unveiled. 
 Like drift-wood down the rapid floated. 
 
 Now round and round my shallop whirled, 
 Then struggling lay as in a spasm ; 
 
 I shrieked — Uie gloating Demon curled 
 His lip, and pointed to the chasm. 
 
 [ grasped the helm — and though too late, 
 Spurned back the Fiend's exulting glance ; 
 
 r called on Heaven — I called on Fate — 
 They silent left me to my chance. 
 
 And now my barque, like frightened steed, 
 Back from the hissing portal wheeled — 
 
 Now forward leaped, with lightning's speed - 
 Now downward like a drunkard reeled. 
 
 Gasping it lay ; with ruthless arm, 
 The whirlpool clove its sides asunder; 
 
 An Angel clasped my sinking form — 
 The Demon and the boat went under 1 
 
 LIND, JENNY, 
 
 The sweet singer, who has won the world by 
 her goodness no less than by her genius, was born 
 in the city of Stockholm, in the parish of St. Clara, 
 in which church she was baptized, about the year 
 1822. " Her parents^* though not in affluent cir- 
 cumstances, are (for they still live to rejoice in the 
 wonderful success of their beloved daughter) much 
 respected by all who know them. Her father is a 
 member of the legal profession. Her mother for 
 many years kept a boarding-school for girls. By 
 a former marriage, she had a daughter, who died 
 before reaching adult age. Jenny Lind is her 
 only child by second marriage. Both parents 
 are Protestants, and are members of one of the 
 churches in Stockholm. In the same church, the 
 subject of this notice made her first communion, 
 according to the practice of the Lutheran church, 
 the National Church of Sweden, and of all other 
 Scandinavian countries. Of the same church she 
 has continued a member since her fifteenth or six- 
 teenth year. 
 
 "From childhood she displayed a remarkable 
 talent for music, and was encouraged by her 
 friends to cultivate her extraordinary powers. In 
 her ninth or tenth year, she attracted the atten- 
 tion of an old teacher of music, named Croelius, 
 
 * We quote from the Sketch of the Life and Character of 
 Jenny Lind, written by the Rev. Dr, Baird. 
 
 728 
 
LI 
 
 LI 
 
 who proved to be a true friend. He secured for 
 her the friendship of Count Pucke, the adminis- 
 trator of the Royal theatre in Stockholm, who ad- 
 mitted her to the musical school attached to that 
 theatre, where she made rapid progress. At the 
 early age of fifteen, she commenced singing in 
 public, and became a great favourite with the 
 music-loving people of that city. But it was not 
 long before her voice failed, and she had to give 
 up the stage. Years of disappointment passed 
 away, during which she aided her mother in her 
 school. At length her voice began to return, and 
 her hopes revived. 
 
 " The good old Croelius now advocated her going 
 to Paris, where she spent portions of 1841-42, en- 
 joying the tuition of Garcia, the greatest musical 
 teacher in that city. Her efforts were unceasing 
 to master thoroughly the principles of the science, 
 and to improve and perfect her voice. 
 
 " Those who suppose she owes all to nature, 
 know but little of the immense labour which she 
 bestowed for many long years upon the acquisi- 
 tion of the principles of music, and the perfecting 
 of her voice — which recovered in time all its early 
 sweetness and beauty, and acquired its present 
 astonishing flexibility and strength. 
 
 " In the winter of 1843-44, she commenced in 
 Berlin her wonderful career as a public singer, 
 and soon acquired great celebrity in Germany. 
 In the summer of 1844, she returned to Stock- 
 holm, where she was received with unbounded 
 demonstrations of affection and of honour. And 
 without going into a minute account of her musical 
 tours on the Continent, it is sufficient to say, that 
 after having repeatedly visited Vienna, Berlin, 
 Copenhagen, Stockholm, and other cities in the 
 Teutonic portions of the Continent, she appeared 
 in England in the spring of 1847. During that 
 summer and two succeeding ones, she sang in 
 London, and most of the chief places in Great 
 Britain and Ireland. Everywhere her triumph 
 was complete. Each succeeding year her popu- 
 larity became, if possible, greater. 
 
 " At first, and for several years. Miss Lind sang 
 in the theatres, — in the great operas of Meyer- 
 beer, Donizetti, Verdi, Mozart, Mendelssohn, Kos- 
 sini, etc., — and was scarcely more distinguished 
 for her singing than her acting. Since the year 
 1849, she has preferred to sing in concerts, in 
 which she can get away from many things in 
 theatrical performances — for which she has long 
 had an increasing repugnance — and lay out her 
 strength upon the choice morceaux of the best 
 operas, such as the Sonnambula, Norma, Der 
 Freyschutz, Camp of Silesia, La Figlia del Regi- 
 mento, Ernani, Don Giovanni, etc. This course 
 enables her to introduce the beautiful national 
 songs of Sweden, in which her inimitable powers 
 appear to as great advantage as in the most scien- 
 tific pieces. By pursuing this course, she is ena- 
 bled to control with more ease her own movements, 
 and command with more certainty the company 
 which she would prefer. It is probable that this 
 course she will exclusively pursue, as long as she 
 continues to sing in public. These concerts, regu- 
 lated as she will have them regulated, together 
 
 with some of the best Oratorios, evidently furnish 
 what her purity of heart and of life pefers an J 
 demands ; nor can she desire greater success than 
 she has found in this course." 
 
 Many reports have been circulated respecting 
 the intended marriage of Miss Lind, while in Eng- 
 land ; M. Rosenberg, in his biographical sketch, 
 gives the following, we doubt not, correct account 
 of the origin of these rumours. " When Jenny 
 Lind first came to London, she was introduced to 
 Mrs. Grote, the wife of the Member of Parliament, 
 and soon became excessively intimate with her. 
 Shortly after, the brother of this lady returned 
 from Sweden, where, as we believe, he had been 
 for several years engaged in mercantile pursuits. 
 The name of this gentleman was Harris or Harries. 
 He, necessarily, also became intimate with Jenny 
 Lind, and this the more readily from his long 
 residence in her country, and his probably being 
 one of the few English who spoke her own native 
 tongue. From this circumstance arose the report 
 that she was actually engaged to him. Such cur- 
 rency, indeed, did it have, that at one time, when 
 she left England for France, it was said that she 
 had broken off the marriage with him, and had 
 agreed to pay him £10,000 to release her from her 
 promise. We need not say that this report was 
 destitute of the slightest foundation ; this being 
 the more evident from her continued friendship 
 for Mrs. Grote, who could scarcely have retained 
 her intimacy with Jenny had such an occurrence 
 taken place on her part towards her own brother." 
 
 Early in the year 1850, Miss Lind made an en- 
 gagement with Mr. Barnum, an American citizen, 
 to visit the New World, and allow the people of 
 the great republic the enjoyment of listening to 
 her voice. Miss Lind was to sing one hundred 
 and fifty nights, under Mr. Barnum's direction, for 
 which she was to receive S150,000, and half the 
 actual profits of every concert, in addition to this 
 stated salary of $1000 per night. Moreover, Miss 
 Lind was accompanied by a female friend, a secre- 
 tary, and two servants ; a composer and pianist, 
 M. Benedict, at a salary of $25,000, was provided 
 to assist her, and the barytone, Giovanni Belleti, 
 was also engaged, at a salary of $12,500 : all ex- 
 penses of the voyage from Europe, travelling and 
 personal in America, of this whole party, were to 
 be defrayed by Mr. Barnum. It was obvious that 
 something like half a million of dollars would be 
 the amount of expenses incurred for the engage- 
 ment ; and that Mr. Barnum would suffer a large 
 loss, was, in Europe, confidently predicted. 
 
 Miss Lind reached New York, September 2, 
 1850. The welcome given her, expressive of the 
 enthusiasm which the fame of her genius and 
 her beautiful character as a woman had ex- 
 cited in America, was such as all the royalty of 
 the Old World could not have elicited. Her first 
 appearance before an American audience was at 
 Castle Garden, September 11 ; about five thousand 
 persons were present : the receipts amounted to 
 nearly $30,000, of which about $10,000 belonged 
 to Miss, Lind, as her portion of the nett profits. 
 Of course, Mr. Barnum obtained an equal amount. 
 Not only was the certainty of her triumphs in 
 
 729 
 
LI 
 
 LY 
 
 America made sure, but also the profitable suc- 
 cess of his undertaking was established. 
 
 It is not possible to give here the sketch of her 
 artistic progi-ess through the United States ; Bos- 
 ton, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Washington, Rich- 
 mond, Charleston, she visited ; thence went to 
 Havana; and returned in February, 1851, to New 
 Orleans, where her triumphs of Song exceeded, 
 if possible, any she had before attained. One 
 predominant trait in Wiss Lind's chariicter is her 
 benevolence, and this, as some insinuate, has con- 
 tributed greatly to her popularity, it is strange 
 other great artists do not " all'ect this virtue if they 
 have it not," if it would so surely lead to fortune. 
 The ti'uth is, the sweet singer has shown, from the 
 opening of her career, the same thoughtfulness 
 for tlie poor and unfortunate. Mi.^s Bremer, in 
 her brief notice of Jliss Liud, says tliat on the 
 return of this gifted and noble girl from her first 
 successful tour in Germany, she sent through the 
 papers of Stockholm an address to the public, 
 stating that "as she once more had the happiness 
 to be in her native land, she would be glad to sing 
 again to her countrymen, and that the iuoomo of 
 the opera, in which she was for the season to 
 appear, would be devoted to raise a fund for a 
 school where elives for the theatre would be edu- 
 cated to virtue and knowledge." Christian Ander- 
 sen, one of the most distinguished men in Sweden, 
 in his reminiscences tells a similar tale of Jenny 
 Lind. lie says: "she is happy, belonging no 
 longer to the world. Yet she loves art with her 
 whole soul. She fools her vocation. Her noble 
 and pious disposition cannot be spoiled by homage. 
 On one occasion only, in my hearing, did she 
 express joy and self-consciousness in her talent. 
 It was during her last stay at Copenhagen. Every 
 evening she appeared either at the concerts or in 
 opera. She heard of a society, the object of which 
 was to take unfortunate children out of the hands 
 of their parents, by whom they were compelled to 
 beg or steal, and place them in better circum- 
 stances. Benevolent people subscribed annually 
 for their support, yet the means for this excellent 
 purpose wore but small. ' I have an evening dis- 
 engaged,' said she: 'I will give a performance 
 for these poor children, but we must have double 
 prices.' Such a performance was given, and 
 returned large proceeds. When she heard the 
 amount, her countenance lit up, and tears filled 
 her eyes. ' It is beauliful,' said she, ' that I can 
 sing so.' " 
 
 It is stated that, while performing in Germany, 
 she gave away no less a sum than 30,000 florins ; 
 lind Rev. Dr. Baird, whom we have before quoted, 
 says, "it is said, on what wo believe to be good 
 authority, that during Miss Lind's visits to Eng- 
 land, nearly sixty thousand pounds sterling, or 
 not much short of three hundred thousand dollars, 
 were secured for objects of charity in that country 
 by her efforts." 
 
 Since she came to America, she has distributed 
 to charitable societies, in the various cities she 
 has visited, probably not less than fifty thousand 
 dollars ; the whole profits of her first concert, viz. 
 $10,000, she gave to bo thus distributed in tho 
 
 city of New York. Yet she has n nobler, bocnuso 
 more necessary work of oliarity planned. Having 
 already made a liberal, though not extravagant 
 provision for her own future support, as well as 
 for tho support of her honoured parents who 
 reside in Sweden, she is now desirous of appro- 
 priating tlie avails of her visit to America to pro- 
 mote education among the poor of her native land. 
 The sketch of Miss Bremer * contains some sta- 
 tistics which will make more apparent tho oxtromo 
 need of schools for the children, and Bibles for 
 the adult population of Sweden. Ignorance and 
 vice, in Protestant countries, are darker and more 
 brutalizing than in Papal lauds. God bloss this 
 effort of a daughter of Sweden to give light lo 
 her benighted country! We agree with Dr. Baird, 
 that it is to be regretted she has given away any 
 of her profits hero. America is rich enough ; we 
 have no poor as poverty is understood in Europe, 
 and the people who relieved starving Ireland, and 
 receive and give support to tliousands on thou- 
 sands of the pauper emigrants from the Old 
 World, ought not to permit this generous woman 
 to leave any gift of money among them I No — 
 lot us rather form societies hero to aid her in her 
 glorious plan of establishing a system of froo 
 education for the children of Sweden. 
 
 We have dwelt on the goodness of Jenny Lind, 
 because it is the trait which hallows her genius. 
 The greatest endowment of the mind is not so 
 heavenly as tlio least manifestation of true charity 
 in the heart; and that tlie soul of this awiit 
 singer is warm with pious feelings, is the cliariii 
 of her voice. No description could explain its 
 power. That it has hold thousands on thousand.^ 
 spell-bound — that it has, wliorover heard, moved 
 the multitude to admiration, and been so richly 
 rewarded as to enable her to give away the vast 
 sums we have recorded — these things are its most 
 expressive praise. 
 
 LYNCH, ANNE CHARLOTTE, 
 Was born at Bennington, Vermont. Her father, 
 who died when she was a child, was one of the 
 United Irishmen, and implicated in tho same un- 
 fortunate rebellion with Robert Emmett. He was 
 banished from Ireland, and, with several of his 
 fellow-sufferers, oamo to Ameriea, whore he miir- 
 riod the daughter of an officer in the Revolutionary 
 army. After her father's death, Miss Lynch 
 removed with her widowed mother to New York, 
 where she has since resided. Her poetical talents 
 wore developed early, and her first efforts attracted 
 favourable attention ; all her subsequent writings 
 show tho continual progi'ess, both in grace of ex- 
 pression, and power and depth of thought, that 
 mark an original mind. Her effusions, both in 
 proso and poetry, have generally appeared in the 
 popular periodicals and annuals of the day. In 
 1849, she collected some of her poems in a volume, 
 which was illustrated by several of our finest art- 
 ists, making it altogether one of tho most favour- 
 able specimens of tho genius and tasto of our fomalo 
 literature. Ilor writings ore as remarkable for 
 
 * Boo payo sua. 
 
 780 
 
LY 
 
 LY 
 
 their punty and high-toned morality, as for their 
 feminine grace and feeling. Her kindly and 
 Bocial sympathies, and the love of communion 
 with superior minds, felt by all intellectual people, 
 have induced her to make her mother's house the 
 gathering-place for the literati or distinguished 
 persons in New York, thus filling, with graceful 
 hospitality, a position still left unoccupied iij our 
 other large cities, and adding one more to the 
 numerous attractions of the metropolis of the 
 Empire State. 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 Go forth in life, oh, friend I not seeking love, 
 A mendicant that with imploring eye 
 And outstretched hfiiid asks of the passeis-liy 
 
 The alms his strong necessities may move. 
 
 For such poor love, to jiity near allied, 
 Thy generous spirit may not stoop and wail, 
 
 A suppliant whose prayer n)ay lie denied 
 Like a spurned beggar's al a palace-gate: 
 
 But thy heart's affluence lavish unconirotted — 
 The largess of thy love give full and free. 
 
 As monarclis in their progress scatter gold ; 
 And be thy heart like the exhaustlcss sea. 
 
 That must its wealth of cloud and dew bestow, 
 
 Though tributary streams or ebb or flow. 
 
 JEALOUSY. 
 
 Ah no I my love knows no vain jealousy: 
 The rose that blooms and lives but in the sun. 
 Asks not what other flowers he shines upon. 
 
 If he but shine on her. Enough for me 
 Thus in thy light to dwell, and thus to share 
 The sunshine of thy smile with all things fair. 
 
 I know ihou 'rt vowed to Beauty, not to Love : 
 I would not slay thy footsteps from one shrine. 
 Nor would I bind thee by a sigh to mine. 
 
 For me — 1 have no lingering wish lo rove ; 
 For though I worship all things fair, like theo. 
 Of outward grace, of soul-nobility, 
 
 Happier than thou, I find them all in one, 
 
 And I would worship at thy shrine alone ! 
 
 FAITH. 
 
 Securely cabined in tlie ship below. 
 Through darkness and through storm I cross th<» nea, 
 A pathless wilderness of waves to ine : 
 
 But yet I do not fear, because I know 
 That he who guides the good ship o'er ihat waste 
 Sees in the stars her shining pathway traced. 
 
 Blindfold I walk this life's bewildering maze, 
 Up flinty steep, through fVozen mountain pass. 
 Through thorn-set barren and through deep moraws. 
 
 But strong in faith I tread the uneven ways. 
 And bare my head unshrinking to the blast, 
 Because my Father's arm is round nie cast; 
 
 And if the way seems rough, I only clasp 
 
 The hand that leads me with a firmer grasp. 
 
 ASPIRATION. 
 
 The planted seed, consigned to common earth, 
 
 Disdains lo moulder with the baser clay, 
 
 But rises up to meet the light of day, 
 Spreads alt its leaves, and flowers, and tendrils forth; 
 
 And, bathed and ripenedjn the genial ray, 
 Pours out its perfume on the wandering gales, 
 Till in that fragrant breath its life exhales. 
 So this immortal germ within my breast 
 
 Would strive to pierce the dull, dark clod of sense ; 
 
 With aspirations, wingtd and intense, 
 Would BO streich upward, in its tireless quest, 
 To meet the Central Soul, its source, its rest: 
 So in the fragrance of the immortal flower, 
 High thoughts and noble deeds, its life it would outpour 
 
 THE HONEY-BEE. 
 
 The honeybee that wanders alt day long 
 The field, the woodland, and the garden o'er, 
 To gather in her fragrant winter store, 
 Humming in calm content her quiet song, 
 Seeks not alone the rose's glowing breast, 
 The lily's dainty cup, the violet's lips — 
 But from all rank and noxious weeds she sips 
 The single drop of sweetness ctoaely prest 
 Within the poison chalice. Thus if we 
 Seek only to draw forth the hidden sweet 
 In all the varied human flowers we meet. 
 In the wide garden of humanity, 
 And, like the bee, if home the spoil we bear. 
 Hived in our hearts it turns to nectar there 
 
 BONES IN THE DESEET. 
 
 Where pilgrims seek the Prophet's tomb 
 
 Across the Arabian waste. 
 Upon the ever-shifting sands 
 
 A fearful path is traced. 
 
 Far up to the horizon's verge. 
 The traveller sees it rise — 
 
 A tine of ghastly bones that bleach 
 Beneath those burning skies. 
 
 Across it, tempest and simoom 
 The desert-sands have strewed. 
 
 But still that line of spectral white 
 For ever is renewed. 
 
 For white along thai burning track 
 
 The caravans move on. 
 Still do the way-worn pilgrims fall 
 
 Ere yet the shrine be won. 
 
 There the tired camel lays him down 
 
 And shuts his gentle eyes; 
 And there the fiery rider droops. 
 
 Toward Mecca looks, and dies. 
 
 They fall unheeded from the ranks: 
 On sweeps the endless train; 
 
 But there, to mark the desert path. 
 Their whitening bones remain. 
 
 As thus I reed the mournful tale 
 
 Upon the traveller's page. 
 I thought how like the march of life 
 
 Is this sad pilgrimage. 
 
 For every heart hath some fair dream, 
 
 Some object unattainod, 
 And far off in the distance ties 
 
 Some Mecca to be gained. 
 
 731 
 
LY 
 
 MA 
 
 But beauty, manhood, love, and power, 
 
 Go in their morning down. 
 And longing eyes and outstretched arnia 
 
 Tell of the goal unwon. 
 
 The mighty caravan of life 
 
 Above their dust may sweep, 
 Nor shout nor trampling feet shall break 
 
 The rest of those who sleep. 
 Oh, fountains that I have not reached. 
 
 That gush far off e'en now. 
 When shall I quench my spirit's thirst 
 
 Where your sweet waters flow ! 
 Oh, Mecca of my lifelong dreams. 
 
 Cloud palaces that rise 
 In that far distance pierced by hope, 
 
 When will ye greet mine eyes! 
 The shadows lengthen toward the east 
 
 From the declining sun. 
 And the pilgrim, as ye still recede. 
 
 Sighs for the journey done! 
 
 A THOUGHT DT THE SEA-SHOBE. 
 
 Bury me by the sea. 
 When on my heart the hand of Death is prest, 
 if the soul lingereth ere she join the blest. 
 
 And haunts awhile her clay. 
 Then mid the forest shades I would not lie, 
 For the green leaves like me would droop and die. 
 
 Nor mid the homes of men, 
 The haunts of busy life, would 1 be laid : 
 There ever was I lone, and my vexed shade 
 
 Would sleep unquiet then ; 
 'I"he surging tide of life might overwhelm 
 The shadowy boundaries of the silent roalm. 
 
 No sculptured marble pile 
 To bear my name be reared upon my breast — 
 Beneath its weight my free soul would not rest; 
 
 But let the blue sky smile, 
 The changeless stars look lovingly on me. 
 And let me sleep beside this sounding sea : 
 
 This ever-beating heart 
 Of the great Universe 1 here would the soul 
 Plume her soiled pinions for the final goal. 
 
 Ere she should thence depart — 
 Here would she fit her for the high abode — 
 Here by the sea, she would be nearer God. 
 
 I feel his presence now: 
 Thou mightiest of his vassals, as I stand 
 And watch beside thee on the sparkling sand, 
 
 Thy crested billows bow; 
 And as thy solemn chant swells through the air. 
 My spirit, awed, joins in thy ceaseless prayer. 
 
 Life's fitful fever o'er. 
 Here then would I repose, majestic sea; 
 E'en now faint glimpses of eternity 
 
 Come o'er me on thy shore : 
 My thoughts from thee to highest themes are given, 
 As thy deep distant blue is lost in Heaven. 
 
 LYSER, CAROLINE LEONHARDT, 
 
 Was born in 1814, in Zittau, and removed in 
 1832 to Dresden, where she was married to the 
 author and painter, John Peter Lyser. In 1839, 
 she made her d^bflt at Nuremberg as an ImproTi- 
 satrice, where she was received with enthusiastic 
 applause ; she afterwards appeared with the same 
 success in many other large cities of Germany. 
 She wrote "The Chaplet of Songs" in 1834, 
 "Characteristics for German Women and Girls" 
 in 1838, "Master Durer," a drama, in 1840, and 
 many novelettes. In 1860, she published an an- 
 nual, called "The Gift of Autumn." None of her 
 ■works have been translated into English ; but in 
 ■Germany her songs are very popular. 
 
 M. 
 
 MARCET, JANE, 
 
 An Englishwoman, deservedly distinguished for 
 her great scientific acquirements, and for the use- 
 fulness to which she has devoted her extraordinary 
 talents and learning. " With that apologetic air 
 which modest science is wont to assume in her 
 communications with ignorance," Mrs. Marcet 
 offered her first work, "Conversations on Chemis- 
 try," to the English public, about the year 1810. 
 No work on science in the English language, we 
 might almost say in the world, has been more 
 useful in imparting its knowledge. Its clear elu- 
 cidation, and its admirably simple method, have 
 undoubtedly contributed, in a great degree, to 
 render chemistry popular in America as well as 
 in England, by presenting the leading facts of 
 this science so plainly illustrated as to be within 
 the reach of ordinary minds. 
 
 " Men must be taught as though we taught 
 them not." We women have to bear that in mind, 
 when we find many of the learned spurning the 
 idea of a female philosopher, while the foundation 
 of their own science has been made by the " Con- 
 versations on Chemistry," which book has for 
 more than thirty years been the general text-book 
 for young men in Great Britain and in the United 
 States. 
 
 Mrs. Marcet soon issued another of her excel- 
 lent works, "Conversations on Natural Philoso- 
 phy ;" which was followed by " Conversations on 
 Political Economy," in 1827 ; and soon afterwards 
 appeared her " Conversations on Botany." All 
 her works possess great merit, and have become 
 text-books in the schools of the United States, as 
 well as in her own country. It is curious to no- 
 tice the way in which American men have availed 
 themselves of these treasures of intellect without 
 remuneration, or even acknowledgments to the 
 author. Taking these books, and merely giving 
 on the title-page, " By the author of Conversa- 
 tions," &c., they have added, " Adapted to the use 
 of Schools," and paraded th^eir own names in full, 
 without an intimation there, or in the preface, that 
 these scientific text-books were the productions of 
 a lady I "Give her of the fruit of her hands; and 
 let her own works praise her in the gates," is the 
 command of God respecting woman. In regard 
 to the subject of our sketch, this just tribute has 
 been wholly withheld ; yet few scientific writers 
 have so well merited the praise and gratitude of 
 all who read the English language. 
 
 We are informed by one of the American editors 
 of these works, that his reason for not placing the 
 name of Jane Marcet on the title-page, was be- 
 cause scientific men believed it fictitious. He also 
 acknowledges that of one work — " Conversations 
 on Chemistry," we believe — 160 editions of 1000 
 copies each have been published in the United 
 States ; — that is, one hundred and sixty thousand 
 copies, from his own prepared edition of Mrs. 
 Marcet's book ! Other editors have also been in 
 the field, and multiplied editions of all her works 
 have been scattered through our land. When the 
 " Conversations on Political Economy " appeared, 
 
 732 
 
JIA 
 
 MA 
 
 it gave its author more decided claims to a mind 
 highly cultiyated and philosophical than either 
 of the others ; but the doctrines discussed have 
 yielded to so many mutations and modifications, 
 that her theory in her own country, and especially 
 in America, now receives nothing more than a 
 partial recognition. Still, the praise is due Mrs. 
 Marcet of being the first writer who made " poli- 
 tical economy" popular. Before her work ap- 
 peared, the science was hidden from the public 
 mind in the huge tomes of dull and dignified 
 authors; now it is a study in our common schools. 
 Mrs. Marcet's style is an admirable vehicle for 
 her ideas, — clear, vigorous, excellent English ; 
 in short, "proper words in their proper places." 
 Her last work is " Conversations on Land and 
 Water." 
 
 MARIA II. DA GLORIA DONA, 
 
 Princess de Beira and queen of Portugal, was 
 born in Rio de Janeiro, South America, May 3, 
 1819. Her father, Dom Pedro, was the emperor 
 of Brazil, and on the death of his father, John II., 
 became nominally king of Portugal also, though 
 that country was governed by the Infanta Isabella 
 as regent. In May, 1826, Dom Pedro abdicated 
 the Portuguese throne in favour of his daughter, 
 Maria, (he remaining king during her minority,) 
 on condition of her marrying her uncle, Dom 
 Miguel ; but he being a fanatic in religion, and a 
 violent enemy to the constitution Dom Pedro had 
 granted, in short, a bigot and a tyrant, endea- 
 voured, with the aid of Spain, to seize the throne 
 and reign absolute king of Portugal. Dom Pedro 
 invoked the assistance of England in favour of his 
 daughter, the young Maria, and after alternate 
 victories and defeats, the Portuguese nation finally 
 received Dona Maria as their queen in 1833. 
 
 Her father, who was regent, died in 1834 ; but 
 previous to his decease, caused his daughter to be 
 declared of age, though she was then only fifteen 
 years old. He had selected the dukes of Palmella 
 and Terceira to be the leading members of her 
 cnbinet. But the young queen soon disagreed 
 with these faithful supporters of her cause in the 
 
 contest which had only so shortly before been 
 brought to a close, and the Marshal Saldanha. 
 who had placed himself at the head of the mort 
 "liberal" or democratical party, became prime 
 minister. It was hoped that this step would tend 
 to render the new government popular with the 
 mass of the people, and to allay the party disputes 
 which had begun to agitate the kingdom. The 
 event was different from what was anticipated. 
 No sooner did Saldanha undertake to control the 
 violence of his friends, than he lost his own popu- 
 larity, and the agitation in the community became 
 more violent than before. A short time after her 
 accession to the throne, Dona Maria had married 
 the Duke Augustus, of Leuchtenberg, who died 
 in March, 1835. In April, 1836, she was married 
 again to the Duke Ferdinand, of Saxe-Coburg- 
 Cohary. The latter did not make a favourable 
 impression on the Portuguese ; and the rejection 
 of the queen's nomination of him to the Cortes, 
 as commander-in-chief of the army, was the occa- 
 sion of two successive dissolutions of that body, 
 which, in their turn, contributed to aggravate the 
 prevailing discontent. An insurrection at length 
 broke out on the 9th of September, 1836, and the 
 greater portion of the troops passing over to the 
 side of the insurgents, the queen was constrained 
 to dismiss her ministers, and to abrogate the exist- 
 ing constitution of government in favour of that 
 of the year 1822. From November 4th, of this 
 year, the government was entirely controlled by 
 the National Guard of Lisbon, and the clubs. 
 The "chartists," or adherents of the constitutional 
 charter of Dom Pedro, under Saldanha and the 
 duke of Terceira, organized their forces in the 
 north of the kingdom, and threatened the capital. 
 They were obliged to capitulate on the 20th of 
 September, 1837. In the meanwhile, the extra- 
 ordinary Cortes were assembled to form a new 
 constitution ; and they performed their task in a 
 moderate and compromising spirit. Retaining the 
 modes of election, and other democratic elements 
 of the constitution of 1822, they conceded to the 
 queen an unqualified veto in all matters of legis- 
 lation. A difficulty next arose with England ; a 
 new Cortes was chosen, favourable to the views of 
 the more moderate party, and the threatened storm 
 passed over. A difi'erence with Spain, which oc- 
 curred soon after, was accommodated through the 
 mediation of the British government. The recon- 
 ciliation of the pope with the court of Lisbon, as 
 well as the acknowledgment of Dona Maria as 
 queen of Portugal by Russia, Prussia and Austria, 
 in 1841, were events that contributed to give sta- 
 bility to her throne. 
 
 In the commencement of 1842, the moderados, or 
 moderate party, made an attempt to re-establish 
 the constitution of Dom Pedro, abrogated in 1836, 
 and succeeded, through the co-operation of the 
 troops stationed at Lisbon, on the 10th of Febru- 
 ary, 1842. A new administration was immediately- 
 formed, having at its head the duke of Terceira 
 and Costa Cabral. It aimed to strengthen the 
 alliance of Portugal with England, and to repair 
 the disordered condition of the public finances. 
 The economy that has been observed in the public 
 
 733 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 expenditure, and the imposition of additional tax- 
 ation, caused several attempts to effect the oTer- 
 throw of the administration, but they were unsuc- 
 cessful. An insurrection broke out in February, 
 1844, in a regiment stationed at Torres Novas, 
 and was not finally suppressed till the end of 
 April, in the same year. Yet, notwithstanding 
 these tumults, Portugal is, on the whole, progres- 
 sive, and the people are improving. These bene- 
 ficial changes may be owing more to the good- 
 nature of the queen than to her great abilities ; 
 but she evidently desires to promote the happiness 
 of her people ; she is not a bigot ; and the contrast 
 between her character and that of Dom Miguel, 
 should lead the Portuguese to thank Providence 
 that Dona Maria is their sovereign. She is ami- 
 able and exemplary in her domestic relations, an 
 affectionate wife, and tender mother to a large 
 family of children, as the following list, which 
 does not include the youngest, will show. The 
 names of her children are : Dom Pedro de Alcan- 
 tara, heir of the throne, born September 16, 1837 ; 
 Dom Luis Felipe, duke of Oporto, born 1838 ; 
 Dom Joao, duke of Beja, born 1842; Dom Fer- 
 nando, born 1846 ; Dom Augusto, born 1847 ; 
 Dona Maria, born 1843 ; Dona Antonia, born 1845. 
 
 ARIA CHRISTINA, 
 
 Queen dowager and ex-regent of Spain, daughter 
 •of Francisco Genari, king of Naples, was born in 
 1806. She was of the Bourbon line of princes ; 
 ■consequently, a distant relation of Ferdinand VII., 
 king of Spain, to whom she was married, Decem- 
 "ber, 1829. Ferdinand was then forty-five years 
 -of age, coarse, vulgar, and sensual ; he had been 
 married three times, and had treated each of his 
 'Successive wives with the grossest abuse, — one 
 was even supposed to have died by poison, ad- 
 ministered by his hand ; his constitution was ex- 
 'hausted by a dissolute life, and his mind, always 
 iiuferior, had become nearly fatuous. Christina 
 was in the beautiful bloom of youth and health, 
 •with a vigorous, though ill-regulated mind, and 
 very captivating manners. It was not possible 
 ■ she could either love or esteem Ferdinand ; but 
 'who had ever taught her these feelings were 
 required towards her husband? Ambition and 
 policy are the governing motives of royal (and, 
 usually, of aristocratic) marriages. Shall we con- 
 demn Christina because she followed the rule of 
 her order ? Let us be just ; though she doubtless 
 married Ferdinand from selfish motives, she was 
 a much better wife than he deserved, and her in- 
 fluence in annulling the absurd Salic law has been 
 ■of advantage to the Spanish nation; because had 
 Don Carlos, a fanatic monk, succeeded his bro- 
 ther Ferdinand, the awful horrors of religious 
 despotism and persecutions, worse, far worse, 
 • even than their civil wars, would have deluged 
 the country in blood, and stifled the last sigh of 
 j freedom. 
 
 The reputation of Christina had spread through 
 ithe kingdom long before her arrival ; and on her 
 lappearance in Madrid, her youth, beauty, and 
 :affability, realized the moat sanguine expectations, 
 
 and filled all Spain with enthusiasm. She studied 
 from the first to make herself popular, and suc- 
 ceeded ; she flattered the prejudices of the people, 
 conformed to their usages, and adopted their 
 dress. All this, aided by a countenance beaming 
 with benevolence, and a charming smile which 
 always played about her lips, soon caught the 
 hearts of her subjects. 
 
 During her marriage with Ferdinand, she be- 
 came the mother of two daughters ; the present 
 queen of Spain, Isabella II., born October 10, 
 1830, and Louisa, now wife of the Duke de Mont- 
 pensier, born January 30, 1832. Through the in- 
 fluence of the queen, Ferdinand was induced, in 
 March, 1830, to revoke the Salic law. The eff'ect 
 of this measure being to deprive the king's bro- 
 ther, Don Carlos, of the succession in favour of 
 Isabella, gave rise to many intrigues during the 
 latter part of Ferdinand's life, and after his death 
 caused a dreadful civil war. During the illness 
 of the king, in the last three years of his life, 
 he appointed the queen regent of the kingdom, 
 and on his death, in September, 1833, he left 
 the regency, during the minority of Isabella, to 
 Christina. 
 
 The death of the king was the signal for a war, 
 which burst out at once in all parts of Spain. 
 The country was almost equally divided between 
 the adherents of Don Carlos, called Carlists, and 
 the supporters of Isabella II., called Christines, 
 from the regent. After changing her ministers 
 several times, Christina attempted to govern the 
 kingdom without sharing her authority with any 
 representative assembly. Finding herself unsuc- 
 cessful in this, she appointed two ministers suc- 
 cessively, who were to give a more popular form 
 to the government. But the dissatisfaction still 
 continuing, Maria Christina was forced, by a mili- 
 tary insurrection at La Granja, where she was 
 residing, on the 13th of April, 1836, to issue a 
 decree, pledging herself to adopt the constitution 
 of 1812, with such modifications as the Cortes 
 might agree to. But afterwards, when the Cortes 
 enacted the law of the " ayuntamientos," limiting 
 the powers of tlie municipalities of the kingdom, 
 it met with so much opposition, that it was found 
 impossible to execute it. Maria Christina, in her 
 perplexity, confided to Espartero, who was ex- 
 ceedingly popular, the formation of a new ministry. 
 Espartero required her consent to the repeal of 
 the obnoxious law, the dissolution of the existing 
 Cortes, and the removal from her person of cer- 
 tain individuals. Unwilling to comply with these 
 conditions, and unable otherwise to carry on the 
 government longer, she resigned the regency, and 
 retired into France, in October, 1840. Her hus- 
 band, Munoz, for she had married her favourite, 
 and the children she had by him, accompanied 
 her. Munoz had been originally a private in the 
 king's guard, and even during the king's life, 
 Christina had received him to her confidence, and 
 bestowed on him wealth and rank. There are 
 also rumours and reports current, accusing her of 
 illicit intercourse with this man while Ferdinand 
 I was living. 
 
 734 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 In a popular work,* -written by an American, 
 these charges are reiterated, and also that both 
 Isabella and Louisa belonged to Munoz. But a 
 few pages further on, the author, apparently for- 
 getting these assertions, remarks of the young 
 queen, that " her father (Ferdinand) was one of 
 the most worthless wretches who ever disgraced 
 a throne;" and afterwards says, that Isabella 
 " bears a marked resemblance to the portraits of 
 Ferdinand VI." — which is somewhat remarkable, 
 if she is the child of Munoz. In the same work, 
 detailing the scandalous quarrels of Christina with 
 the adherents of Don Carlos, even during the 
 dying scene of Ferdinand VI., it is asserted that 
 " the robust child, Louisa, came rushing from the 
 nursery, and, with puny fist and more formidable 
 tooth and nail, played a conspicuous part in the 
 peril of the fray." 
 
 Louisa was born January 30, 1832. Ferdinand 
 died September 29, 1833, when this child was just 
 twenty months old. If she could then aid her 
 friends so effectually, it is no wonder the astute 
 Louis Philippe desired to secure such a prodigy 
 of female heroism for the advancement of his am- 
 bitious plans. Seriously, this story is so palpably 
 false, that it need only be fairly stated to refute 
 itself. We allude to it here, to show how little 
 dependence is to be placed on the thousand slan- 
 derous reports put in circulation by the British 
 press, (pity an American should ever adopt them,) 
 concerning Christina. Her great crime is, that 
 she preferred the French to the English alliance, 
 and has been endeavouring, during her regency, 
 and through her influence over Isabella, to free 
 Spain from its dependence on the latter power. 
 
 Is Christina wrong in this? Does not every 
 State and people, who experience British rule or 
 British alliance, feel too heavy for endurance the 
 weight of its sovereignty, and the waste of its sel- 
 fishness ? Let miserable Ireland, plundered India, 
 bankrupt Jamaica, and opium-poisoned China, 
 reply. In Napier's " History of the Peninsular 
 War," the author, though a Briton, acknowledges 
 the selfish policy of the English government in 
 regard to Spain. He owns that the British army 
 destroyed the manufactories of cotton and woollen 
 goods which fell in their way ; and which the 
 French had spared. The Spanish manufactories 
 have never recovered from this destructive policy 
 of manufacturing England, then the dear ally of 
 Spain. 
 
 Maria Christina is a woman of vigorous mind and 
 far-seeing policy. She made Isabella queen ; she 
 sustained her on the throne ; is it likely that she 
 has been plotting to make this daughter's married 
 life miserable ? Had Christina been as wicked as 
 the English press represents her, and desired to 
 place Louisa on the throne, she would have found 
 the means to do it, — following the example of a 
 Spanish king. That Christina, who returned to 
 Madrid in 1845, used her influence to prevent the 
 marriage of Isabella with a Coburg, and to prevail 
 on her to wed a Bourbon, is no doubt true ; but 
 this was done to thwart England and benefit Spain, 
 
 * Abbott's Kings and Queens. 
 
 where her children were to rule, and not to tyran- 
 nize over her daughter. 
 
 Nor have the courts of Europe any right to 
 point the finger of scorn at Christina, because she 
 places her children by Munoz among the nobility 
 of Spain ; some of the highest among England's 
 titled families are descended from the illegitimate 
 children of their kings. 
 
 We are not vindicating the character of Chris- 
 tina because of examples of royal profligacy ; if 
 she has sinned, she should sufi'er ; but vile accu- 
 sations, or opprobrious epithets, unsupported by 
 any evidence of guilt, are to be classed as slan- 
 ders, which we do not choose to embody in our 
 Record. 
 
 MARSH, ANNE, 
 
 Was born in Staff'ordshire, Engl.and. Her father, 
 James Caldwell, Esq., was Recorder of the borough 
 of Newcastle-under-Line, and also Deputy Lieu- 
 tenant of the county of Stafford. He was not a 
 magistrate, because, being in principle a dissenter, 
 he refused to qualify by an oath of adherence to 
 the Established Church of England ; yet he was 
 highly esteemed, and was a man of remarkable 
 abilities. His fourth daughter was Anne Cald- 
 well, now Mrs. Marsh, who, in talents and cha- 
 racter, strikingly resembles her father, and does ho- 
 nour to the careful education he bestowed upon her. 
 
 The paternal care and tenderness Mrs. Marsh 
 had experienced, may have had some influence on 
 the manner of her first appearance in authorship. 
 She took, as is well known, the pseudonyme of 
 "An Old Man;" but she is by no means to be 
 confounded with those authoresses who, of late, 
 have abdicated the feminine appellation, together 
 with the delicacy and decorum which are its ap- 
 propriate boast. Her first production, " The Old 
 Man's Tales," was published in 1837, and was soon 
 followed by "Woods and Fields;" both works 
 were simple in construction and afi'ecting in their 
 catastrophes, and both deeply moved the public 
 heart to sympathize with these sad creations of 
 genius. The power of the writer was universally 
 acknowledged ; though the influence of such works 
 
 735 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 on morals was regretted by the class who believe 
 these representations of volcanic passion are never 
 salutary. Iler next work was " The Triumphs of 
 Time;" followed, at short intervals, by "Mount 
 Sorel," " Emily Wyndham," "Norman's Bridge," 
 and "Angela," — her best work, on the whole, and 
 one of which any female writer might be proud. 
 " Mordaunt Hall," which has been highly es- 
 teemed, succeeded; then "The Wilmingtons," and 
 " Lettice Arnold," a sweet, simple story; also 
 " The Second Part of the Previsions of Lady Eve- 
 lyn." And, moreover, Mrs. Marsh has written 
 "The History of the Protestant Eeforraation in 
 France," and "Tales of the First Ptcvolution," 
 translated and altered from the French. 
 
 The author of the first of this series of imagina- 
 tive works was, of course, supposed to belong to 
 the masculine gender; but the truth was not long 
 concealed. Mrs. Marsh's writings are most essen- 
 tially feminine ; none but a woman could have 
 penned them. That gushing spring of tenderness 
 was never placed in a man's bosom ; or, if it were, 
 it would have been dried up by passion, or frozen 
 by mingling with the selfish current of out-of-door 
 life, long before the age of book-making had ar- 
 rived. Mrs. Marsh has a peculiar gift of the pa- 
 thetic ; for the most part, it is difficult to read her 
 stories without tears. You may criticise these 
 stories ; you may point out incongruities, errors 
 of style and of language ; yet they have a mastery 
 over your feelings ; they cause emotions which you 
 cannot control — and this is the power of genius, 
 ay, genius itself. Her tender epithets and pro- 
 digal use of " pet names" may be censured ; few 
 writers could so constantly indulge themselves in 
 this way without taking the fatal "step" into the 
 "ridiculous," which is never to be redeemed. But 
 no candid I'eader can ever accuse Mrs. Marsh of 
 affectation ; she writes spontaneously, and it is 
 evident she throws herself into the situations she 
 describes, and pours out the overflowings of a 
 mind of deep sensibility and tenderness. 
 
 Without cramming the reader with "morality 
 in doses," Mrs. Marsh never lets an occasion pass 
 for enforcing truth and virtue ; her works are per- 
 vaded by a spirit of gentle piety, and benevolence 
 is evidently a strong principle in her nature. Her 
 later productions, though not so painfully interest- 
 ing as the two first, show more knowledge, judg- 
 ment, and right discipline of mind ; yet one fault, 
 which belongs to many female novelists, may be 
 noted — too many characters and too many inci- 
 dents are crowded in each work. Still, "Angela" 
 is one of the most charming pictures of disinte- 
 rested, struggling virtue, English literature can 
 boast; and this work and " Mordaunt Hall" have 
 obtained the notice and eulogiums of the most 
 eminent French critics. 
 
 Mrs. Marsh is very happy in delineations of 
 rural scenery ; she revels in describing parks and 
 gardens ; these pictures are, probably, idealized. 
 Such hues of beauty so justly blended; such 
 streams and shades ; such summer terraces and 
 poetic groves, might, perhaps, be sought in vain 
 through " Merry England." But it is the province 
 of the fine arts to embellish ; we go to them for 
 
 relaxation from the carking cares of life ; and this 
 poetic prose may, very legitimately, offer us " a 
 brighter landscape than the world e'er knew." 
 
 From "Angela." 
 woman's influence. 
 
 How much influence woman exercises in society ! 
 They need not busy and bestir themselves to in- 
 crease it ; the responsibility under which they lie 
 is heavy enough as it is. 
 
 It is a trite remark, this ; but I wish that all 
 women could be brought conscientiously to reflect, 
 as some few of them certainly do, upon the ac- 
 count they shall be able to render for the power 
 they do, or might have exercised. 
 
 To say nothing of that brief but despotic sway 
 which every woman possesses over the man in love 
 with her — a power immense, unaccountable, inva- 
 luable ; but in general so evanescent as but to 
 make a brilliant episode in the tale of life — how 
 almost immeasurable is the influence exercised by 
 wives, sisters, friends, and, most of all, by mothers ! 
 
 Upon the mother, most of all, the destiny of the 
 man, so far as human means are to be regarded, 
 depends. Fearful responsibility ! and by too 
 many mothers how carelessly, how thoughtlessly, 
 how frivolously, how almost wickedly, is the obli- 
 gation discharged. How carelessly, at the very 
 outset, is the young child left in the nursery, 
 abandoned to the management and training of, at 
 best, an ignorant, inefficient nurse; or too often, 
 far, far worse, to an unprincipled or interested 
 one ! From these imperfect influences, to say the 
 very best of them, at times assisted by those of 
 the footman, groom, and other inhabitants of the 
 stable-yard, to be at once handed over to the 
 chance direction of a school — chance direction, I 
 say, for in the very best of schools so much must 
 necessarily depend upon chance — upon chances of 
 observation upon the part of the master — chance 
 companions — chance temptations — chance impres- 
 sions — that without a most serious and correct 
 attention to the guiding influences from home, the 
 boy is left exposed to all sorts of false directions, 
 some of which it is almost certain he will follow. 
 Thus he grows up to be a man, imperfect and 
 contradictory; his moral character unformed — 
 his aspirations ill-directed — his temper undisci- 
 plined — his principles unsettled. He enters life 
 an ill-trained steed ; and the best that can be 
 hoped for him is, that the severe lash of disap- 
 pointment, contradiction, and suffering, will, dur- 
 ing the course of his career, supply the omissions 
 of his youth, and train him at last, through much 
 enduring, to that point from which a good educa- 
 tion would have started him. 
 
 EMPLOYMENT. 
 
 Let a lady provide herself with active and use- 
 ful employment to fill up a large portion of every 
 day, and feed and enlarge her mind by reading 
 books worth reading during the other ; and let i ler 
 read with selection, and select with care. At all 
 events, if she choose to employ her time in read- 
 ing without selection, let her not think she is em- 
 ploying herself well. 
 
 7S6 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 From " The Wilmingtons." 
 A SAD SPECTACLE. 
 
 The poor sufferer died in doubt, irresolution, 
 and ill-defined terrors, as she had lived. 
 
 She was a believer without a strengthening 
 faith ; amiable and affectionate, without self- 
 devotion and courage; sensible of her defects, 
 repentant, and contrite, without power to correct, 
 or effort to amend. 
 
 Her life had been like a confused skein of deli- 
 cate and valuable thread, tangled for want of 
 careful development. She came to the end of it, 
 and all was still confusion, and all useless in spite 
 of its adaptation to so many fine purposes ; and 
 may those in danger of the same waste of exist- 
 ence, for want of courage to meet its demands and 
 defy its pains, — and they are many, — pause upon 
 the slight sketch of this ineffectual character. 
 Forbear to sigh, for sighs are weakness, but brace 
 up the feeble knees, and endeavour to amend. 
 
 A NAEEOW MIND. 
 
 Mrs. Vernon was a very excellent woman, in 
 that form of excellence which was the result of 
 the strict but somewhat narrow education of many 
 years ago. She thought justly, but she judged 
 rigidly. She was ready to make every personal 
 sacrifice to duty herself, but she was too fond to 
 impose her own notions of duty upon others. She 
 was sympathetic and kind where she understood 
 the sentiment before her, but she was cold, and 
 almost pitiless, to sorrow of which she could not 
 appreciate the cause ; and what she could not un- 
 derstand was sure to appear to her unreasonable. 
 She was enthusiastic in her love of the excellence 
 which she comprehended, but some of the finer 
 forms of excellence she did not comprehend. Then, 
 she had not a shadow of indulgence for the frailties 
 of our nature. Every thing took a positive form 
 with her, for good or bad. She had not breadth 
 of understanding sufficient to take in the whole of 
 a matter, and stj-ike the balance of equity between 
 contending qualities. 
 
 From "Mordaunt Hall." 
 AN ENGLISH GARDEN. 
 
 A beautiful garden it was, the sun brightly 
 shining, and every thing around breathing fresh- 
 ness and sweetness. She passed through the 
 arched walk amid the thick shrubberies, which 
 led to the fine gardens of Mordaunt Hall. 
 
 The walls were lofty, and covered with fruit- 
 trees ; and the beds, laid out in fine symmetrical 
 order, were filled with rows of vegetables in pro- 
 digious abundance, growing with a luxuriance and 
 in a profusion that showed neither pains nor ex- 
 pense was spared upon their cultivation. The 
 area of two acres thus occupied was traversed 
 each way by a broad gravel-walk, on either side 
 of which were beds filled with gay, but common, 
 flowers ; with knots of roses from distance to dis- 
 tance, alternating with honeysuckles, all cut in 
 low, round bushes. The bloom of these was gone, 
 but there was no deficiency, as yet, of gay color- 
 ing; for rich tufts of China asters, purple and 
 2W 
 
 pink convolvuluses, African marigolds, sun-flowers, 
 purple phlox, and, in short, an abundance of those 
 common though autumn flowers, of which I, old 
 man as I am, find myself, from association, so fond, 
 were growing there. Opposite to the door at which 
 she entered, the long line of forcing-houses was 
 glittering in the morning sun. There were vines, 
 loaded with purple and amber bunches of fruit 
 growing in inexhaustible profusion ; while the 
 crimson peaches and green and purple figs, in 
 their full ripeness, were peeping temptingly 
 among their leaves. The abundance of every 
 thing around was so great, that it was evidently 
 impossible that the family could consume one half 
 of what was thus produced ; and, in spite of the 
 calls upon Penny's stores, resulting from the 
 recent wedding-day, over-ripe fruit strewed the 
 ground unheeded, while peas and bean-stalks, 
 still loaded, were blackening and yellowing in the 
 sun ; and vegetables running on all sides to waste. 
 
 This prodigality of wealth was, however, the 
 only thing that at all militated, to the judicious 
 eye, against the pleasure afforded by the spectacle 
 of these fine, well-ordered gardens. 
 
 The dew hung sparkling upon the leaves and 
 flowers, the sun shone reflected from a plashing 
 fountain, that played in the middle of a small pond 
 in the centre of the garden, where the walks 
 crossed. The sweet smell of the plants, the fresh, 
 pure air of the morning playing upon her cheek, 
 and the early birds hopping about, and along the 
 walks, saluting her with their cheerful carols and 
 chirpings, filled her with a sensation of unusual 
 delight, as Alice opened for her the garden door. 
 
 THE CHRISTIAN. 
 
 He who walks with God, who lives in his pre- 
 sence, whose mind is filled with the image of wis- 
 dom far above human wisdom, goodness far above 
 human goodness, justice to which a last appeal 
 may be made, and with whom justice will ever be 
 found — he who sees his beauty in this garb of 
 external nature, so exquisite an exposition of the 
 Divine mind ; for, shattered and disordered as it 
 is by some evidently external force, enough re- 
 mains to prove the beauty, grace, and order of the 
 unblemished original — he who does this lives in a 
 new element. His thoughts, his imagination, his 
 views, are purified and elevated. 
 
 SIN AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. 
 
 Oh, vice is a hideous thing ! 
 
 A hideous, dark mystery — the mystery of ini- 
 quity ! Its secret springs are hidden from our 
 view, but its more obvious causes and consequences 
 are palpable and demonstrable ; and it is with its 
 consequences, in our narrow circle of knowledge, 
 that we alone should attempt to deal. 
 
 Many subtle and questioning intellects perplex 
 themselves with the inquiry. Whence the remote, 
 original cause of the sin and evil around us, and 
 ■why? — a question it is not given to any man, 
 under the condition of our present existence, to 
 answer ; but scarcely any one sufficiently fixes his 
 attention upon that which it is our main business 
 to know, and which we can know : the efficient 
 
 737 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 oausea, and more especially the consequences, of 
 sin. 
 
 Oh, if we steadily kept our minds alive to this 
 most important subject of thought ; if men, before 
 they did evil, would only remember its inevitable 
 results ; if all the wide-extended sufferings, the 
 sorrows, the pains, the tears, inevitably following 
 upon wrong, were but present to the wrong-doer 
 at the moment of his crime, it is scarcely possible 
 that heart of flesh could resist the piteous picture ; 
 that heart of man but must turn appalled from 
 the criminal course upon which he was about to 
 enter. 
 
 But we are selfish, careless, unreflecting, blinded 
 by inclination and passion, or by that darkness 
 worse than death which attends upon the slothful 
 indifference to questions of right and wrong. Men 
 pass from day to day, yielding to the temptations 
 of covetousness or pleasure, thoughtless of conse- 
 quences to themselves in many cases, almost ut- 
 terly insensible as regards the results to others. 
 
 The true moral painter's part it is to hold up a 
 faithful picture to the heart of the long succession 
 of evils which from one crime spring. 
 
 SEDUCTION. 
 
 The crime of which Ridley had been guilty, he, 
 like many of his sex, regarded very lightly : it was 
 but a silly girl betrayed. He did not estimate — 
 how could such a heart as his estimate ? — the 
 vast sum of misery included in that small sentence. 
 
 The long agonies of a woman's heart, whose 
 aff'ections have been disappointed by the careless- 
 ness with which men in ordinary society give rise, 
 by their attentions, to feelings which are the legi- 
 timate and natural return of such attentions, is a 
 very serious breach of the law of doing as we 
 would desire to be done by ; a breach upon which 
 they, most of them, never reflect at all : but light 
 is this indeed to the crime here perpetrated. 
 
 A man should be forced to look steadily into the 
 gulf of despair — or far, far, far worse — of degra- 
 dation and moral ruin into which, for the gratifi- 
 cation of the idlest vanity or licentious passion, 
 he plunges a young, innocent, trusting creature, 
 whose only error, it may be, was to love him too 
 well. Men, if they would reflect, must and would 
 shudder and turn aghast from the horrid, horrid 
 spectacle ! 
 
 But they will not reflect, they will not learn to 
 shudder ; the subject is painful, and they pass it 
 from their mind, with a few wicked common- 
 places, at which they are too ready. Ridley's 
 treachery was double-dyed in wickedness ; but 
 had he not carried his deceit so far — had his vic- 
 tim been a more easy prey, would her fate have 
 been less cruel ? As for the fathers, mothers, 
 sisters, brothers, of those thus led to folly, no one, 
 of course, thinks of them. No man, the slave of 
 his own vices, can be expected to cast a thought 
 upon them; the sum of their misery is never even 
 calculated — the figures are not even set down. 
 
 And the children ! 
 
 Reflect upon that ; varnish it over as you may, 
 provide for them handsomely if you will, one re- 
 flection, at least, make: "What are to be the 
 
 moral impressions of a child whose being sprang 
 from a parent's sin?" I ask you only to think 
 of the dark confusion of aff'ections and principles, 
 on the hardness and indifference, or both, which 
 must be the result. Did Ridley, intelligent, re- 
 flecting, a weigher of things, a deep searcher into 
 metaphysical and moral truths, a man with at 
 least all the intellectual elements which ought to 
 form a great man — did Ridley ever trouble him- 
 self once to consider these things, things so nearly 
 connected with his own and with another's soul ? 
 
 No, certainly. 
 
 His was an imagination — ah, were mine as 
 bright! — that might have painted to him, in 
 Kving images, all the consequences of his criminal 
 self-indulgence and most wicked treachery. His 
 mind had power, had it possessed the will, to draw 
 with the pencil of Dante, the appalling picture of 
 that inner hell to which he had condemned the 
 being he pretended to love — once had loved. And 
 the poor father ! — the agonies of the gentle, unof- 
 fending man, who had welcomed him so hospitably 
 under his lowly roof; whose heart was so full of 
 kind affections, so free from guile, or jealousy, or 
 pride ! Yes, Ridley possessed power to have pic- 
 tured in a way my feeble hand vainly attempts to 
 do, the long death of the soul, the awful dark 
 despair, of a father wounded in a daughter's 
 honour. 
 
 A parent disgraced in his own loving, innocent 
 child. He shall render a heavier account for all 
 this, because he is great, and gifted, and wise, and 
 powerful, and fitted to guide a state and rule the 
 interests of a nation — he shall be the less forgiven, 
 because in the plenitude of his powers he has 
 chosen to step aside to crush a poor little insect 
 in its humble path — he shall be the less forgiven, 
 because the wider the knowledge, and the higher 
 the intellect, and the larger the observation, so 
 much the greater is the power of estimating the 
 claims and appreciating the sufferings of whatever 
 breathes ; and that the thoughtless cruelty which 
 we lament and pardon in the untutored child, is 
 odious, is execrable in the man ! 
 
 ILLEGITIMACY. 
 
 Nothing can compensate to any child the simple 
 fact meeting us at the outset, that of belonging to 
 parents not legally and inseparably united. 
 
 This is no evil created, as some have perhaps 
 been led to think, by the artificial arrangements 
 and conventions of man in society ; its source is 
 in nature — in that nature, the Author of which 
 made marriage coeval with the creation of man ; 
 healthfully to rear the precious plant wherein lies 
 the hidden germ of eternity, requires the element 
 of home — and marriage is the foundation of home. 
 Wherever or howsoever the sacredness of marriage 
 is not reverenced, depend upon it, there the man 
 will ever be found imperfectly developed. 
 
 The legitimate orphan child, be he who he may, 
 or where he may, has one great advantage with 
 which he starts in life : his place is marked ; he is 
 to set out from the place occupied by his parents. 
 Every well-meaning friend has at once a sort of 
 measure given him as to how he ought to be treated 
 
 738 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 and how educated. Every indifferent person un- 
 derstands this, acquiesces in and supports it. But 
 how different is the case of the unhappy natural 
 child! — his place is undefined; he has literally 
 none in society ; he is the sport of the caprice, the 
 prejudices, the carelessly adopted notions, of every 
 one with whom he has to do. By some he will be 
 pitied, as most unfortunate ; by others almost 
 loathed, as tainted and degraded by the vices to 
 which he owed his being. One is for elevating 
 him to the rank and treating him as belonging to 
 that of the best-endowed of his parents ; another 
 for sinking him almost below the level of the low- 
 est. What one does for him another undoes ; tlie 
 kind consideration of one but renders him more 
 susceptible to the unkindness and contempt of 
 others. He has not even the memory of a parent 
 to cheer his poor solitary heart — that sacred me- 
 mory so cherished, so sacred, which consoles while 
 it hallows and elevates the soul of the orphan. 
 He cannot even aspire to purity himself, without 
 inflicting a wound upon that deep piety of the 
 heart, that foundation-stone of the great infinite 
 of piety, the reverence of the child for its parent. 
 Mystery of iniquity ! Trailing serpent, endless 
 involutions of the consequences of sin ! 
 
 MARTINEAU, HARRIET, 
 
 Born in 1802, was one of the youngest of a 
 family of eight children. Her father was pro- 
 prietor of one of the manufactories of Norwich, in 
 which place his family, originally of French origin, 
 had resided since the revocation of the edict of 
 Nantes. Sliss Martineau has herself ascribed her 
 taste for literary pursuits to the delicacy of her 
 health in childhood, and to her deafness, which, 
 without being complete, has obliged her to seek 
 occupations and pleasures within herself; and also 
 to the affection which subsisted between her and 
 her brother, the Bev. James Martineau. When 
 her family became unfortunate in worldly affairs, 
 she was able, by her writings, to relieve them en- 
 tirely from the burden of her support, and she 
 has since realized "an elegant sufaciency " fi-om 
 her writings. 
 
 Her first work, " Devotional Exercises, for the 
 use of Young Persons," was published in 1823. 
 The following year, appeared " Christmas Day ;" 
 and in 1825, "The Friends," being a sequel of 
 the last named. In 1826, she wrote "Principle 
 and Practice," a tale, " The Rioters," and " Ori- 
 ginal Hymns." In 1827, "Mary Campbell" and 
 "The Turnout" were published; and in 1829, 
 "Sequel to Principle and Practice," "Tracts for 
 Houlston," and "My Servant Rachel." In 1830, 
 appeared her best work, because evincing more 
 tendei-ness of feeling and faith in religion than 
 any other she has written, — this was " Traditions 
 of Palestine;" also a prize essay, " The Essential 
 Faith of the Universal Church," and " Five Years 
 of Youth." In the following year, 1831, she ob- 
 tained prizes for two essays, " The Faith, as un- 
 folded by Many Prophets," and "Providence, as 
 manifested through Israel." 
 
 Miss Martineau seems here to have reached 
 her culminating point in religious sentiment ; her 
 faith never rose above sentiment, except in the 
 "Traditions of Palestine," which has passages of, 
 seemingly, true and holy fervour of spirit. In 
 1832, she commenced her series of tales, as 
 "Illustrations of Political Economy," "Illustra- 
 tions of Taxation," of "Poor Laws," &c. Miss 
 Martineau was induced to prepare these books, 
 from reading Mrs. Marcet's " Conversations on 
 Political Economy," and thinking that illustra- 
 tions through stories, theory put in action, would 
 be most effective in producing reforms. The 
 books were very popular when they appeared ; 
 but we doubt if their influence on the public mind 
 was productive of any beneficial improvement. 
 The tales were read for amusement ; the political 
 notions were forgotten, probably, before the inci- 
 dents of the story had been effaced by some newer 
 work of fiction. 
 
 In 1835, she visited the United States, where she 
 had many friends, warm admirers of her talents, 
 and of the philanthropy with which her writings 
 was imbxied. She was welcomed as a sister ; and 
 throughout her " Tour in America," the kindest 
 hospitality of the American people was lavished 
 on her. She published the result of her observa- 
 tions and reflections in 1837. She found what she 
 came to find, and no more. Her philosophical 
 and political opinions were fully formed before 
 she set her foot on American ground, and her two 
 works, "Society in America" and '; Retrospect of 
 Western Travel," are essentially a bundle of facts 
 and deductions, to prove that Harriet Martineau's 
 opinions were right. But she brought to these 
 investigations some excellent qualities and much 
 benevolent feeling. She was earnest, enthusiastic 
 and hopeful ; her books, though marred by many 
 mistakes, some misrepresentations, and, of course, 
 with absurd and erroneous deductions drawn from 
 wrong premises, were yet far more candid in tone 
 and true in spirit, than any preceding works of 
 British travellers in America had ever been. The 
 style is spirited, graphic, and frequently eloquent. 
 Miss Martineau is remarkable for her power of por- 
 tr.aying what she sees ; slie revels in the beauties 
 of landscape, and has a wonderful command of 
 
 739 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 language. Her writings are usually entertaining, 
 even to those who do not agree with her in theory 
 and sentiment. 
 
 Of her subsequent writings, we will quote the 
 opinion of an eminent British critic* " Her 
 first regular novel appeared in 1839, and was en- 
 titled 'Deerbrook.' Though improbable in many 
 of its incidents, this work abounds in eloquent and 
 striking passages. The democratic opinions of 
 the authoress (for in all but her anti-Malthusian 
 doctrines, Miss Martineau is a sort of female God- 
 win) are strikingly brought forward, and the cha- 
 racters are well drawn. ' Deerbrook ' is a story 
 of English domestic life. The next effort of Miss 
 Martineau was in the historical romance. ' The 
 Hour and the Man,' 1840, is a novel or romance, 
 founded on the history of the brave Toussaint 
 L'Ouverture, and with this man as hero. Miss 
 Martineau exhibits as the hour of action the period 
 when the slaves of St. Domingo threw off the yoke 
 of slavery. There is much passionate as well as 
 graceful writing in this tale ; its greatest defect 
 is, that there is too much disquisition, and too 
 little connected or regular fable. Among the 
 other works of Miss Martineau are several for 
 children, as ' The Peasant and the Prince,* ' The 
 Settlers^ at Home,' ' How to Observe,' &c. Her 
 latest work, ' Life in the Sick-Koom, or Essays 
 by an Invalid,' 1844, contains many interesting 
 and pleasing sketches, full of acute and delicate 
 thought and elegant description." 
 
 In 1846, Miss Martineau, in company with in- 
 telligent friends, made a journey through Egypt, 
 to Palestine, Greece, Syria, and Arabia. She has 
 given her impressions of those countries in her 
 work, " Eastern Life ; Present and Past," pub- 
 lished in 1848. That she is an intelligent traveller, 
 and knows "how to observe," better than almost 
 any tourist who had preceded her, there is no 
 doubt. Her work is exceedingly interesting ; but 
 it is marred by the mocking infidelity which she 
 allows for the first time to darken her pages, and 
 testify to the world her disbelief in divine reve- 
 lation ! 
 
 A new work from the pen of Miss Martineau, 
 " Letters on Man's Nature and Developments," has 
 lately appeared in London ; it is decidedly atheistic 
 in its tone ; the only foundation of morality, the 
 belief in God, is disavowed, and His holy word 
 derided as a book of fables, unworthy the study 
 of rational beings. There is something in this 
 avowal by a woman of utter unbelief in Chris- 
 tianity which 80 shocks the mind, that we are 
 troubled to discuss it ; we draw back, as from a pit 
 of destruction, into which to gaze, even, is to sin. 
 
 In commenting on this infidel work, an Ameri- 
 can critic, after paying a high compliment to the 
 great talents of Miss Martineau, even allowing she 
 has "masculine power and activity of mind," 
 adds, evidently Intending to depreciate the sex, 
 " hut the constitutional feebleness, waywardness, and 
 wilfulness of woman is nevertheless not unfrequently 
 evinced by her ; and as she grows older the infirm- 
 ities of her nature are more and more conspicu- 
 
 » Chambers' CyclopcBdia of English Literature. 
 
 ous." If to become an atheist and avow infidelity 
 be the sign of "feebleness, waywardness," &o., 
 how happens it that the great mass of infidels 
 are men ? Miss Martineau must now be ranked 
 with Hume, Gibbon, Shelley, Byron, and a host 
 of eminent masculine writers in Great Britain, 
 besides the greater portion of French savans and 
 German philosophers. Even Milton denied, in his 
 old age, the divinity of the Savi»ur ; a fitting se- 
 quence to his elevation of the reason of man above 
 the intuitive goodness of woman. Why is it more 
 shocking for a woman to deny the Saviour, and 
 disbelieve the Bible, than for a man ? Is it not 
 because she is the conservator of morals, endowed 
 with a quicker capacity of recognizing or feeling 
 divine truth, and with a nature more in consonance 
 with the requirements of the Gospel? Do men 
 show strength, wisdom, and decision of character, 
 when elevating human reason above divine revela- 
 tion? The apostle declares that to those who 
 " believe," the Gospel is " the power of God, and 
 the wisdom of God." Four-fifths of these believers 
 are now women. Is not the power and wisdom, 
 which the Christian faith gives, with the female 
 sex? 
 
 Miss Martineau has indeed become weak, be- 
 cause she has deserted this tower of strength — 
 "faith in the Lord Jesus Christ;" and bowed 
 down her noble nature to worship reason unen- 
 lightened by revelation, an idol set up by the 
 "feebleness, waywardness, and wilfulness" of 
 men. May God give her grace to see and escape 
 the snare of the tempter. The triumph of wo- 
 man's genius is to follow the Saviour in doing 
 good, to hold fast her faith in God, her hope in a 
 blessed immortality. What higher aim than this 
 can the ingenuity of man devise, or his reason 
 prove beneficial to the human race ? 
 
 From " How to Observe." 
 CHKISTIANITT. 
 
 It is not by dogmas that Christianity has per- 
 manently influenced the mind of Christendom. 
 No creeds are answerable for the moral revolution 
 by which physical has been made to succumb to 
 moral force ; by which unfortunates are cherished 
 by virtue of their misfortunes ; by which the pur- 
 suit of speculative truth has become an object 
 worthy of self-sacrifice. It is the character of 
 Jesus of Nazareth which has wrought to these 
 purposes. Notwithstanding all the obscuration 
 and defilement which that character has sustained 
 from superstition and other corruption, it has 
 availed to these purposes, and must prevail more 
 and more now that it is no longer possible to mis- 
 represent his sayings and conceal his deeds, as 
 was done in the dark ages. In all advancing time, 
 as corruption is surmounted, there are more and 
 more who vividly feel that life does not consist in 
 the abundance that a man possesses, but in energy 
 of spirit, and in a power and habit of self-sacrifice ; 
 there are perpetually more and more who discern 
 and live by the persuasion that the pursuit of 
 worldly power and ease is a matter totally apart 
 from the function of Christianity ; and this per- 
 suasion has not been wrought into activity by 
 
 740 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 declarations of doctrine in any form, but by the 
 spectacle, vivid before the eye of the mind, of the 
 Holy One who declined the sword and the crown, 
 lived without property, and devoted himself to die 
 by violence, in an unparalleled simplicity of duty. 
 The being himself is the mover here ; and every 
 great man is, in a similar manner, however infe- 
 rior may be the degree, a spring by which spirits 
 are moved. By the study of them may much of 
 the consequent movement be understood. 
 
 OP CELIBACY. 
 
 Celibacy of the clergy or of any other class of 
 men involves polygamy, virtual if not avowed, in 
 some other class. To this the relaxation of do- 
 mestic morals in the higher orders of all Catholic 
 societies bears testimony as strongly as the exist- 
 ence of allowed polygamy in India. It is every- 
 where professed that Christianity puts an end to 
 polygamy ; and so it does, as Christianity is un- 
 derstood in Protestant countries ; but a glance at 
 the state of morals in countries where celibacy is 
 the religion of the clergy — among the higher ranks 
 in Italy, in France, in Spain — shows that, while 
 the name of polygamy is disclaimed, the thing is 
 held in no great abhorrence. This is mentioned 
 here simply as matter of fact, necessary to our 
 inquiry as to how to observe morals and manners. 
 It is notorious that, wherever celibacy is exten- 
 sively professed, there is not only, as a conse- 
 quence, a frequent breach of profession, but a 
 much larger indulgence extended to other classes, 
 in consequence of the restrictions on one. 
 
 MAREIAQE. 
 
 Marriage exists everywhere, to be studied by 
 the moral observer. He must watch the character 
 of courtships wherever he goes ; whether the 
 young lady is negotiated for and promised by her 
 guardians, without having seen her intended, like 
 the poor girl who, when she asked her mother to 
 point out her future husband from among a number 
 of gentlemen, was silenced with the rebuke — 
 " What is that to you ?" or whether they are left 
 free to exchange their faith "by flowing stream, 
 through wood, or craggy wild," as in the United 
 States ; or whether there is a medium between 
 these two extremes, as in England. He must ob- 
 serve how fate is defied by lovers in various 
 countries. Scotch lovers agree to come together 
 after so many years spent in providing the "plen- 
 ishing." Irish lovers conclude the business, in 
 case of difficulty, by appearing before the priest 
 the next morning. There is recourse to a balcony 
 and rope-ladder in one country ; a steamboat and 
 back-settlement in another ; trust and patience in 
 a third ; and intermediate flirtations, to pass the 
 time, in a fourth. He must note the degree of 
 worldly ambition which attends marriages, and 
 which may therefore be supposed to stimulate 
 them ; how much space the house with two rooms 
 in humble life, and the country-seat and carriages 
 in higher life, occupy in the mind of bride or 
 bridegroom. He must observe whether conjugal 
 
 infidelity excites horror and rage, or whether it is 
 so much a matter of course as that no jealousy 
 interferes to mar the arrangements of mutual con- 
 venience. He must mark whether women are 
 made absolutely the property of their husbands 
 in mind and in estate, or whether the wife is 
 treated more or less professedly as an equal party 
 in the agreement. He must observe whether there 
 is an excluded class, victims to their own super- 
 stition or to a false social obligation, wandering 
 about to disturb by their jealousy or licentiousness 
 those whose lot is happier. He must observe 
 whether there are domestic arrangements for 
 home enjoyments, or whether all is planned on 
 the supposition of pleasure lying abroad ; whether 
 the reliance is on books, gardens, and play with 
 children, or on the opera, parties, the ale-house, 
 or dances on the green. He must mark whether 
 the ladies are occupied with their household cares 
 in the morning, and the society of their husbands 
 in the evening, or with embroidery and looking 
 out of balconies ; with receiving company all 
 day, or gadding abroad ; with the library or the 
 nursery; with lovers or with children. In each 
 country, called civilized, he will meet with almost 
 all these varieties ; but in each there is such a 
 prevailing character in the aspect of domestic life, 
 that intelligent observation will enable him to 
 decide, without much danger of mistake, as to 
 whether marriage is merely an arrangelhent of 
 convenience, in accordance with low morals, or a 
 sacred institution, commanding the reverence and 
 affection of a virtuous people. 
 
 CHILDKEN. 
 
 Children in all countries are, as Mrs. Grant of 
 Laggan says, first vegetables, and then they are 
 animals, and then they come to be people ; but 
 their way of growing out of one stage into another 
 is as different in different societies as their states 
 of mind when they are grown up. They all have 
 limbs, senses, and intellects ; but their growth of 
 heart and mind depends incalculably upon the 
 spirit of the society amid which they are reared. 
 The traveller must study them wherever he meets 
 them. In the country, multitudes of them lie 
 about in the streets, basking in the sun, and kill- 
 ing vermin ; while the children of the very poorest 
 persons of another country are decently clothed, 
 and either busily occupied with such domestic 
 employments as they are capable of, or at school, 
 or playing among the rocks, or climbing trees, or 
 crawling about the wooden bridges, without fear 
 of danger. From this one symptom the observer 
 might learn the poverty and idleness of the lower 
 classes of Spain, and the comfort and industry of 
 those of the United States. As to the children of 
 the richer classes, there is the widest difference 
 in the world between those who are the idols of 
 their mothers (as in societies where the heart's 
 love is lavished on the children which has not been 
 engaged by the husband), and those who are early 
 steeped in corruption (as in slave countries), and 
 those who are reared philosophers and saints, and 
 those to whom home is a sunny paradise hedged 
 
 741 
 
MA 
 
 MA 
 
 round with love and care, and those who are little 
 men and women of the world from the time they 
 can walk alone. All these kinds of children exist, 
 snre breathings of the moral atmosphere of their 
 homes. 
 
 From " Deerbrook." 
 LOVE AND HAPPINESS. 
 
 There needs no other proof that happiness is 
 the most wholesome moral atmosphere, and that 
 in which the immortality of man is destined ulti- 
 mately to thrive, than the elevation of soul, the 
 religious aspiration, which attends the first assu- 
 rance, the first sober certainty of true love. There 
 is much of this religious aspiration amidst all 
 warmth of virtuous affections. There is a vivid 
 love of God in the child that lays its cheek against 
 the cheek of its mother, and clasps its arms about 
 her neck. God is thanked (perhaps unconsciously) 
 for the brightness of his earth, on summer even- 
 ings, when a brother and sister, who have long 
 been parted, pour out their heart-stores to each 
 other, and feel their course of thought brightening 
 as it rune. When the aged parent hears of the 
 honours his children have won, or looks round 
 upon their innocent faces as the glory of his de- 
 cline, his mind reverts to Him who in them pre- 
 scribed the purpose of his life, and bestowed its 
 grace. But religious as is the mood of every good 
 affection, none is so devotional as that of love, 
 especially so called. The soul is then the very 
 temple of adoration, of faith, of holy purity, of 
 heroism, of charity. At such a moment, the 
 human creature shoots up into an angel ; there 
 is nothing on earth too defiled for its charity — 
 nothing in hell too appalling for its heroism — 
 nothing in heaven too glorious for its sympathy. 
 Strengthened, sustained, vivified by that most 
 mysterious power, union with another spirit, it 
 feels itself set well forth on the way of victory 
 over evil, sent out conquering and to conquer. 
 
 From " Eastern Life," &c. 
 
 A SCENE ON THE NILE. 
 
 It was a curious scene, — the appearing of the 
 dusky natives on all the rocks around ; tlie eager 
 zeal of those who made themselves our guards, 
 holding us by the ai-ms, as if we were going to 
 jail, and scarcely permitting us to set our feet to 
 the ground, lest we should fall ; and the daring 
 plunges and divings of man or boy, to obtain our 
 admiration or our baksheesh. A boy would come 
 riding down a slope of roaring water, as confi- 
 dently as I would ride down a sand-hill on my 
 ass. Their arms, in their fighting method of 
 swimming, go round like the spokes of a wheel. 
 Grinning boys poppled in the currents ; and little 
 seven-year-old savages must haul at the ropes, or 
 ply their little poles when the kandjia approached 
 a spike of rock, or dive to thrust their shoulders 
 between its keel and any sunken obstacle ; and 
 after every such feat they would pop up their 
 dripping heads, and cry, "Baksheesh." I felt 
 the great peculiarity of this day to be my seeing, 
 for the first, and probably for the only time of my 
 
 life, the perfection of savage faculty ; and truly it 
 is an imposing sight. The quickness of movement 
 and apprehension, the strength and suppleness of 
 frame, and the power of experience in all con- 
 cerned this day, contrasted strangely with images 
 of the book-worm and the professional man at 
 home, who can scarcely use their own limbs and 
 senses, or conceive of any control over external 
 realities. I always thought, in America, and I 
 always shall think, that the finest specimens of 
 human development I have ever seen, are in the 
 United States, where every man, however learned 
 and meditative, can ride, drive, keep his own 
 horse, and roof his own dwelling ; and every wo- 
 man, however intellectual, can do, if necessary, 
 all the work of her own house. At home I had 
 seen one extreme of power, in the helpless beings 
 whose prerogative lies wholly in the world of 
 ideas ; here I saw the other, where the dominion 
 was wholly over the power of outward nature ; 
 and I must say, I as heartily wished for the intro- 
 duction of some good bodily education at home, 
 as for intellectual enlightenment here. 
 
 McINTOSH, MARIA JANE, 
 
 Is a native of Georgia. She was born at Sun- 
 bury, a village about forty miles south of Savannah, 
 and received all the education which she derived 
 from schools at an academy in her native place. 
 In 1835, Miss Mcintosh removed to the city of 
 New York, where she has since resided. Her first 
 printed work, "Blind Alice," was published by 
 Mr. Newman, in December, 1840. It was fol- 
 lowed, at various intervals, by the other tales, 
 known as Aunt Kitty's, which appeared in the 
 following order: — "Jessie Grahame," "Florence 
 Arnott," "Grace and Clara," and "EUen Leslie;" 
 the last being published in 1842. "Conquest and 
 Self-Conquest," "Woman an Enigma," "Praise 
 and Principle," and a little tale called " The 
 Cousins," were published by the Messrs. Harper; 
 the first in 1843, the last in 1846. In 1847, the 
 Messrs. Appleton published for Miss Mcintosh, 
 "Two Lives, or to seem and to be;" and since that 
 time they have brought out " Aunt Kitty's Tales," 
 collected into one volume and carefully revised, 
 "Charms and Counter-Charms," and "Woman 
 in America — her Work and her Reward." In 
 1850, appeared her work, entitled " The Christ- 
 mas Guest," intended as a book for the holi- 
 days. 
 
 In all Miss Mcintosh's writings, there are evi- 
 dences of originality and freshness of mind, as 
 well as of good judgment and sound religious 
 principle. In her two longer tales, she has dis- 
 played unusual power in depicting the passions 
 and interesting the feelings. In her work on wo- 
 man, she has shown herself to be one who thinks 
 and judges for herself, uninfluenced and undis- 
 turbed by the clamour of conflicting opinions ; and 
 there have been few books on that much-canvassed 
 topic which show so much sound common sense, 
 as well as thought and earnestness. Her style is 
 easy and graceful, and her flrst object is evidently 
 the maintenance of pure morality and religion. 
 
 742 
 
MA 
 
 MI 
 
 From " Woman in America/' &.C. 
 
 woman's wokk. , 
 
 But while all the outward machinery of govern- 
 ment, the body, the thews and sinews of society, 
 are man's, woman, if true to her own not less im- 
 portant or less sacred mission, controls its vital 
 principle. Unseen herself, working like nature 
 in secret, she regulates its pulsations, and sends 
 forth from its heart, in pure and temperate flow, 
 the life-giving current. It is hers to warm into 
 life the earliest germs of thought and feeling in 
 the infant mind, to watch the first dawning of 
 light upon the awakening soul, to aid the first 
 faint struggles of the clay-encumbered spirit to 
 grasp the beautiful realities which here and there 
 present themselves amid the glittering falsities of 
 earth, and to guide its first tottering steps into 
 the paths of peace. And who does not feel how 
 her warm affections and quick irrepressible sym- 
 pathies fit her for this labour of love ? As the 
 young immortal advances in his career, he comes 
 to need a severer discipline, and man, with his 
 unconceding reason, and stern resolve, becomes 
 his teacher. Yet think not that woman's work is 
 done when the child has passed into the youth, 
 and the youth into the man. Still, as disease 
 lays his hand heavily upon the strong frame, and 
 sorrow wrings the proud heart of man, she, " the 
 help-meet," if faithful to her allotted work, is at 
 his side, teaching him to bend to the storms of 
 life, that he may not be broken by them ; humbly 
 stooping herself, that she may remove from his 
 path every " stone of stumbling," and gently lead- 
 ing him onward and upward to a Divine Consoler, 
 with whose blessed ministerings the necessities of 
 a more timid spirit, and a feebler physical organi- 
 zation, have made her familiar. 
 
 THE MOTHEK'S POWEE. 
 
 Look at the young immortal as it lies so fresh 
 and fair within your arms, the purity of heaven 
 on its brow, and nothing of earth within its heart 
 but the love with which it leaps to the sound of 
 the mother-voice and the tender smile of the 
 mother-eyes ; in that little being, scarce yet con- 
 scious of existence, are enfolded powers to bless 
 or to curse, extended as the universe, endoriug as 
 eternity. The hand which now clings so feebly, 
 yet so tenaciously, to your own, may uphold or 
 overthrow an empire — the voice, whose weak cry 
 scarce vrins the attention of any but a mother's 
 ear, may one day stir a nation's heart, and give 
 the first impulse to actions which will hasten or 
 retard for ages the world's millennial glories. 
 And will you, nay, dare you, strive to compress 
 these powers to the dimensions of a drawing-room, 
 and to present its paltry triumphs as the highest 
 reward of their exercises ? 
 
 THE daughter's DESTIST. 
 
 The daughter whose bounding step and joyous 
 prattle make the music of your home — shall she 
 walk through the world's dark and troubled ways, 
 an angel of charity, blessing and blessed, warm- 
 ing into life by her cordial sympathies, all those 
 
 pure, unselfish affections, by which we know our- 
 selves allied to heaven, but which fade, and too 
 often die in the atmosphere of earth? — shall "her 
 path be as that of the just, shining more and more 
 unto the perfect day," and shall she pass at length 
 gently, serenely, with peace in her soul, from her 
 earthly home to that fairer home above, of which 
 she has made it no unworthy type? — or, shall she 
 be the belle of one, two, or it may be, three sea- 
 sons, nurturing in herself and others the baleful 
 passions of envy and hate, of impurity and pride ? 
 ***** 
 And has woman at the South nothing to do in 
 promoting this "consummation most devoutly to 
 be wished ?" It must be mainly her work. Let 
 her place it before her as an object of her life. 
 Let her improve every gift and cultivate everj' 
 grace, that the increased influence thus obtained 
 may aid in its accomplishment. Let her light so 
 shine, that it may enlighten all who come within 
 her sphere. Let her be a teacher of the ignorant, 
 a guide to the straying of her own household. 
 Let her make it a law of the social life in which 
 she rules, that nothing so surely degrades a man 
 as idleness, and the vices to which it almost inevi- 
 tably leads. Thus will she proclaim the dignity 
 and worth of labour, and she will find her reward 
 in the now impress made on the yet ductile minds 
 of her children. She has seen them hitherto too 
 often go forth, like bright and wandering stars, 
 into a life containing for them no definite object. 
 In this vast void, she has seen them too often 
 driven hither and thither by their own reckless 
 impulses; and her heart has been wrung, and her 
 imploring cry has arisen to Heaven for God's 
 restraining grace, as they have seemed about to 
 rush into the unfathomable realm of night. With 
 almost Spartan heroism she has offered her " Te 
 Deums," as again and again the sound has come 
 np to her from the battle-field of life, " Mother! 
 all is lost, but honour !" But labour will tame 
 these wild impulses — will give to life a decided 
 aim; and, as the strong hand, loosed from the 
 bonds of prejudice, obeys the command of the 
 stout heart, her "pEeans" will be sounded, not for 
 defeat nobly sustained, but for victory won. We 
 have placed before her, her work and her reward. 
 
 MITCHELL, MARIA, 
 Is the daughter of William and Lydia C. Mit- 
 chell, descendants of the earlier settlers of Nan- 
 tucket Island, in the state of Massachusetts, and 
 members of the Society of Friends, or Quakers. 
 Mrs. Mitchell descended from the same stock with 
 Dr. Franklin, whose mother was from this island; 
 and it is quite remarkable, that throughout this 
 family lineage are to be traced some of those 
 traits of character which, in fuU measure, marked 
 the character and history of that distinguished 
 philosopher. The mother of Miss Mitchell was 
 much distinguished, in her youth, for her fondness 
 for books. 
 
 Of these parents Miss Maria was the third child, 
 bom August 1, 1818. At a very early age she 
 busied herself in writiiig tales for her brothers 
 and sisters, and other juvenile friends, printing 
 
MI 
 
 MI 
 
 them with her pen, and binding them in the form 
 of books. Some of these little productions were 
 very ingenious, and would have done honour to 
 maturer years. 
 
 From her mother and an excellent preceptress 
 she received the first rudiments of her education, 
 and at the age of eleven entered her father's 
 school, alternately as student and assistant teacher. 
 To the study and practice of astronomy her father 
 was a devotee. Whenever the duties of life per- 
 mitted, the whole man was engrossed with the 
 pursuit. Without instruments at that period, or 
 the means of procuring any, he contemplated the 
 heavens as a shepherd, watching the motions of 
 the firmament, and investigating its laws by his 
 own resources. It is said that his love of the 
 study originated in observing, in very early life, 
 the phenomenon of the harvest moon, and in at- 
 tempting to search out the cause before he knew 
 that it had been done by others. Later in life he 
 became possessed of instruments, and engaged in 
 practical operations ; and Miss Maria, who had 
 already distinguished herself in mathematical 
 learning, was employed as assistant in the obser- 
 vatory. 
 
 The onerous duties of a mere assistant in an 
 establishment of this kind are scarcely calculated 
 to attach one to the employment, yet Miss Mitchell 
 was enamoured of the prospect of observing by 
 herself, and commenced her career by obtaining 
 altitudes of the heavenly bodies, for the determi- 
 nation of the local time. The instrument thus 
 used was the sextant, one of the most difiicult of 
 the observatory. Mastering this, she engaged in 
 the study of lie science ; and familiarizing herself 
 with all the instruments, she became skilful in 
 their use. 
 
 From this period she pursued with zeal the 
 study of the firmament, devoting much time to the 
 examination of nebulae, and sweeping for comets, 
 'often exposing herself to the elements in the most 
 inclement seasons. Nothing can exceed her dili- 
 gence and industry — not in the departments of 
 science merely, but in the domestic relations of 
 life. Her good sense never suffers her to neglect 
 the latter in the prosecution of the former. It is 
 related of her, that while very young she was in 
 the habit of carrying constantly in her pocket bits 
 of linen cloth, to wrap up the fingers of her 
 brothers when wounded, — and to this day she is 
 the doctress of the family. 
 
 On the Ist of October, 1847, she discovered a 
 telescopic comet, for which she obtained the gold 
 medal of the king of Denmark, an interesting ac- 
 count of which has been written by Hon. Edward 
 Everett, late President of Harvard University. 
 
 Miss Mitchell calculated the elements of this 
 comet, and communicated a memoir on the subject 
 to the Smithsonian Institute. She has been for 
 some time engaged with her father in making the 
 necessary astronomical observations for the men- 
 suration of an arc of the meridian between Nan- 
 tucket and Portland, in the employment of Dr. 
 Bache, for the coast survey. At the invitation of 
 the superintendent, she also made some observations 
 
 at the northern extremity of this arc. She is also 
 engaged in the computations of the new Nantucket 
 Almanac, authorized by the government of the 
 United States, and under the superintendence of 
 Lieutenant Davis. Amidst all these employments, 
 she finds time to read many of the French and 
 German mathematical writers, and to keep up 
 with the literature of the day. She has been 
 elected a member of the American Academy of 
 Arts and Sciences, the only lady having that 
 honour, and subsequently, on the nomination of 
 Professor Agassis, a member of the American 
 Association for the Promotion of Science. 
 
 To know the distinguished honour reflected on 
 our countrywoman, we must know her competitors. 
 Miss Mitchell made her discovery of the planet on 
 the 1st of October, 1847. 
 
 On the 3d of October, the same comet was seen 
 at half-past seven, P. M., at Rome, by Father de 
 Vico, and information of the fact was immediately 
 communicated by him to Professor Schumacher, 
 at Altona. On the 7th of October, at twenty 
 minutes past nine, P. M., it was observed by Mr. 
 W. R. Dawes, at Camden Lodge, Cranbrook, Kent, 
 in England, and on the 11th it was seen by Ma- 
 dame Riimker, the wife of the Director of the 
 Observatory at Hamburg. Mr. Schumacher, in 
 announcing this last discovery, observes: — "Ma- 
 dame Riimker has for several years been on the 
 look-out for comets, and her persevering industry 
 seemed at last about to be rewarded, when a letter 
 was received from Father de Vico, addressed to 
 the editor of the Astronomische Nachrichten, from 
 which it appeared that the same comet had been 
 observed by him on the 3d instant, at Rome." 
 
 MITFORD, MARY RUSSELL, 
 Was born on the 16th of December, 1786, at 
 Abresford, in Hampshire, England. Her father 
 was of an old Northumberland family, one of the 
 Mitfords of Mitford Castle ; her mother the only 
 daughter of the Rev. Dr. Russell of Ash, in Hamp- 
 shire, and she was their only child. When still a 
 young girl, about the year 1806, Miss Mitford 
 published a volume of miscellaneous poems, and 
 two volumes of narrative poetry after the manner 
 of Scott, "Christina th* Maid of the South Seas," 
 (founded upon the story of the mutineers of the 
 Bounty, afterwards taken by Lord Byron ;) and 
 "Blanche, a Spanish Story." These books sold 
 well and obtained a fair share of popularity, and 
 some of them were reprinted in America. How- 
 ever, Miss Mitford herself was not satisfied with 
 them, and for several of the following years de- 
 voted herself to reading instead of writing ; indeed 
 it is doubtful whether she would ever have written 
 again had not she, with her parents, been reduced 
 from the high affluence to which they were born 
 to comparative poverty. Filial affection induced 
 her to resume the pen she had so long thrown 
 aside, and accordingly she wrote the series of 
 papers which afterwards formed the first volume 
 of " Our Village, Sketches of Rural Character and 
 Scenery," about 1820. But so little was the pe- 
 culiar and original excellence of her descriptions 
 
 744 
 
MI 
 
 MI 
 
 understood at first, that, after being rejected by 
 the more important publications, they at last saw 
 the light in the English "Lady's Magazine." The 
 public were not long in discovering the beauties 
 of a style so fresh yet so finished, and in appre- 
 ciating the delicate humour and the simple pathos 
 of these tales ; and the result was, that the popu- 
 larity of these sketches outgrew that of the works 
 of a loftier order from the same pen ; and every 
 nook and corner of the cluster of cottages around 
 Three-Mile-Cross, near Reading, in Berkshire, (in 
 one of which the authoress herself resides,) is as 
 well known as the streets and lanes around the 
 reader's own home. Four other volumes of sketches 
 were afterwards added ; the fifth, and last, in 1832. 
 Extending her observation from the country village 
 to the market-town. Miss Mitford published another 
 interesting volume of descriptions, entitled "Bel- 
 ford Regis." She edited three volumes, called 
 "Stories of American Life by American Writers." 
 She also published a volume of " Country Stories ;" 
 a volume of " Dramatic Scenes ;" an opera called 
 "Sadak and Kalasrade," and four tragedies, the 
 first entitled "Julian," which was represented at 
 the great London Theatre in 1823, Mr. Macready 
 playing Julian. Her next was "Foscari;" then 
 "Rienzi" and "Charles the First;" all were suc- 
 cessful. " Rienzi," in particular, long continued 
 a favourite. She also edited four volumes of 
 " Finden's Tableaux," and is now, after eight 
 years' cessation of wiiting, engaged on a series 
 of papers called " Readings of Poetry, Old and 
 New," which will probably form two or three 
 volumes, and will soon be published. 
 
 Although her tragedies show great intellectual 
 powers, and a highly cultivated mind, yet it is by 
 her sketches of English life that she has obtained 
 the greatest share of her popularity, and it is on 
 them that her fame will chiefly depend. In these 
 descriptions Mary Mitford is unrivalled. She has 
 a manner, natural to her, no doubt, but inimitable 
 and indescribable, which sheds interest around the 
 most homely subjects and coarsest characters. 
 Who ever threw by a sketch of hers half read ? 
 No one who admired a spring daisy — or that most 
 fragrant blossom, the wall-flower, which beautifies 
 every object, however rough, rude or ruinous, 
 around which it wreathes. And, though she does 
 not trace the motives of conduct very deeply, or 
 attempt to teach principles of moral duty, yet 
 there is much in her sprightly and warm sketches 
 of simple nature which draws the heart to love the 
 Author of all this beauty ; and much in her kind 
 and contented philosophy to promote love and 
 good feelings. She is a philanthropist, for she 
 joys in the happiness of other.s — a patriot, for she 
 draws the people to feel the beauties and blessings 
 which surround the most lowly lot in that "land 
 of proud names and high heroic deeds." 
 
 " As a proof that we love her, we love her dog," 
 says an American writer. "Walter Scott's stately 
 Maida is not more an historical character than 
 her springing spaniel, or Italian greyhound. If 
 she began by being prosaic in poetry, she has re- 
 deemed herself by being most poetic in pastoral 
 prose." 
 
 In 1833 Miss Mitford's name was added to the 
 pension list, a well-earned tribute to one whose 
 genius has been devoted to the honour and em- 
 bellishment of her country. 
 
 From " Our Village." 
 WHITSUN-EVE ^ MT GARDEN. 
 
 The pride of my heart and the delight of my 
 eyes is my garden. Our house, which is in di- 
 mensions very much like a bird-cage, and might, 
 with almost equal convenience, be laid on a shelf, 
 or hung up in a tree, would be utterly unbearable 
 in warm weather, were it not that we have a re- 
 treat out of doors, — and a very pleasant retreat it 
 is. To make my readers fully comprehend it, I 
 must describe our whole territories. 
 
 Fancy a small plot of ground, with a pretty low 
 irregular cottage at one end ; a large granary, 
 divided from the dwelling by a little court running 
 along one side ; and a long thatched shed open 
 towards the garden, and supported by wooden 
 pillars on the other. The bottom is bounded, 
 half by an old wall, and half by an old paling, 
 over which we see a pretty distance of woody 
 hills. The house, granary, wall, and paling, are 
 covered with vines, cherry-trees, roses, honey- 
 suckles, and jessamines, with great clusters of 
 tall hollyhocks running up between them ; a large 
 elder overhanging the little gate, and a magnifi- 
 cent bay-tree, such a tree as shall scarcely be 
 matched in these parts, breaking with its beautiful 
 conical form the horizontal lines of the buildings. 
 This is my garden; and the long pillared shed, 
 the sort of rustic arcade which runs along one 
 side, parted from the flower-beds by a row of rich 
 geraniums, is our out-of-door drawing-room. 
 
 I know nothing so pleasant as to sit there on a 
 summer afternoon, with the western sun flickering 
 through the great elder-tree, and lighting up our 
 gay parterres, where flowers and flowering shrubs 
 are set as thick as grass in a field, a wilderness 
 of blossom, interwoven, intertwined, wreathy, 
 garlandy, profuse beyond all profusion, where we 
 may guess that there is such a thing as mould, 
 but never see it. I know nothing so pleasant as 
 to sit in the shade of that dark bower, with the 
 eye resting on that bright piece of colour, lighted 
 so gloriously by the evening sun, now catching a 
 glimpse of the little birds as they fly rapidly in 
 and out of their nests — for there are always two or 
 three birds' -nests in the thick tapestry of cherry- 
 trees, honeysuckles, and China-roses, which cover 
 our walls — now tracing the gay gambols of the 
 common butterflies as they sport around the 
 dahlias ; now watching that rarer moth, which the 
 country people, fertile in pretty names, call the 
 bee-bird ; * that bird-like insect, which flutters in 
 the hottest days over the sweetest flowers, insert- 
 ing its long proboscis into the small tube of the 
 jessamine, and hovering over the scarlet blossoms 
 of the geranium, whose bright colour seems re- 
 flected on its own feathery breast; that insect 
 which seems so thoroughly a creature of the air, 
 never at rest ; always, even when feeding, self- 
 
 ^ Sphynx tigustri, privet hawk-moth. 
 
 745 
 
MI 
 
 MI 
 
 poised, and self-supported, and whose wings, in 
 their ceaseless motion, have a sound so deep, so 
 full, so lulling, so musical. Nothing so pleasant 
 as to sit amid that mixture of the iiower and the 
 leaf, watching the bee-bird! Nothing so pretty- 
 to look at as my garden ! It is quite a picture ; 
 only unluckily it resembles a picture in more qua- 
 lities than one, — it is tit for nothing but to look 
 at. One might as well think of walking in a bit 
 of framed canvass. There are walks, to be sure — 
 tiny paths of smooth gravel, by courtesy called 
 such — but they are so overhung by roses and 
 lilies, and such gay encroachers — so overi'un by 
 convolvulus, and heart's-ease, and mignionette, 
 and other sweet stragglers, that, except to edge 
 through them occasionally, for the purposes of 
 planting, or weeding, or watering, there might as 
 well be no paths at all. ' Nobody thinks of walking 
 in my garden. Even May glides along with a 
 delicate and trackless step, like a swan through 
 the water ; and we, its two-footed denizens, are 
 fain to treat it as if it were really a saloon, and 
 go out for a walk towards sun-set, just as if we 
 had not beeu sitting in the open air all day. 
 
 What a contrast from the quiet garden the lively 
 street ! Saturday night is always a time of stir 
 and bustle in our Village, and this is Whitsun- 
 Eve, the pleasantest Saturday of all the year, 
 when London journeymen and servant lads and 
 lasses snatch a short holiday to visit their families. 
 A short and precious holiday, the happiest and 
 liveliest of any ; for even the gambols and merry- 
 makings of Christmas offfer but a poor enjoyment, 
 compared with the rural diversions, the Mayings, 
 revels, and cricket-matches of Whitsuntide. 
 
 CHAEACTERS. 
 
 Thie village of ours is swarming to-night like a 
 hive of bees, and all the church-bells round are 
 pouring out their merriest peals, as if to call them 
 together. I must try to give some notion of the 
 various figures. 
 
 First there is a group suited to Teniers, a cluster 
 of out-of-door customers of the Rose, old benchers 
 of the inn, who sit round a table smoking and 
 drinking in high solemnity to the sound of Timo- 
 thy's fiddle. Next, a mass of eager boys, the 
 combatants of Monday, who are suiTounding the 
 shoemaker's shop, where an invisible hole in their 
 ball is mended by Master Keep himself, under 
 the joint superintendence of Ben Kirby and Tom 
 Coper. Ben showing much verbal respect and 
 outward deference for his umpire's judgment and 
 experience, but managing to get the ball done his 
 own way, after all ; whilst outside the shop, the 
 rest of the eleven, the less-trusted commons, are 
 shouting and bawling round Joel Brent, who is 
 twisting the waxed twine round the handles of the 
 bats — the poor bats, which please nobody — which 
 the taller youths are despising as too little and 
 too light, and the smaller are abusing as too 
 heavy and too large. Happy critics 1 winning 
 their match can hardly be a greater delight — even 
 if to win it, they be doomed ! Farther down the 
 street is the pretty black-eyed girl, Sally Wheeler, 
 come home for a holiday from B — — , escorted by 
 
 a tall footman in a dashing livery, whom she is 
 trying to curtsey off before her deaf grandmother 
 sees him. I wonder whether she will succeed. 
 
 MRS. LUCAS AND HEE DAITGHTEES. 
 
 Mrs. Lucas, still lovely and elegant, though 
 somewhat faded and care-worn, was walking pen- 
 sively up and down the grass-path of the pretty 
 flower-court : her eldest daughter, a rosy, bright 
 brunette, with her dark hair floating in all direc- 
 tions, was darting about like a bird : now tying 
 up the pinks, now watering the geraniums ; now 
 collecting the fallen rose-leaves into the straw 
 bonnet, which dangled from her arm ; and now 
 feeding a brood of bantams from a little barley 
 measure, which that sagacious and active colony 
 seemed to recognise as if by instinct, coming, long 
 before she called them, at their swiftest pace, be- 
 tween a run and a fly, to await, with their usual 
 noisy and bustling patience, the showers of grain 
 which she flung to them across the paling. It 
 was a beautiful picture of youth, and health, and 
 happiness ; and her clear, gay voice, and brilliant 
 smile, accorded well with her shape and motion, 
 as light as a butterfly, and as wild as the wind. 
 A beautiful picture was that rosy lass of fifteen, 
 in her unconscious loveliness, and I might have 
 continued gazing upon her longer, had I not been 
 attracted by an object no less charming, although 
 in a very different way. 
 
 It was a slight elegant girl, apparently about a 
 year younger than the pretty romp of the flower- 
 gardeji, not unlike her in form and feature, but 
 totally distinct in colouring and expression. 
 
 She sate in the old porch, wreathed with jessa- 
 mine and honeysuckle, with the western sun float- 
 ing round her like a glory, and displaying the 
 singular beauty of her chestnut hair, brown, with 
 a golden light, and the exceeding delicacy of her 
 smooth and finely-grained complexion, so pale, 
 and yet so healthful. Her whole face and form 
 had a bending and statue-like grace, increased by 
 the adjustment of her splendid hair, which was 
 parted on her white forehead, and gathered up 
 behind in a large knot, a natural coronet. Her 
 eye-brow9 and long eye-lashes were a few shades 
 darker than her hair, and singularly rich and 
 beautiful. She was plaiting straw, rapidly and 
 skilfully, and bent over her work with a mild and 
 placid attention, a sedate pensiveness that did not 
 belong to her age, and which contrasted strangely . 
 and sadly with the gaiety of her laughing and 
 brilliant sister, who at this moment darted up to 
 her with a handful of pinks and some groundsel. 
 Jessy received them with a smile : such a smile ! 
 spoke a few words, in a sweet, sighing voice ; put 
 the flowers in her bosom, and the groundsel in 
 the cage of a linnet that hung near her ; and then 
 resumed her seat and her work, imitating, better 
 than I have ever heard them imitated, the various 
 notes of the nightingale, who was singing in the 
 opposite hedge, whilst I, ashamed of loitering 
 longer, passed on. 
 
 The next time I saw her, my interest in this 
 lovely creature was increased tenfold, for I then 
 knew that Jessy was blind. 
 
 746 
 
MI 
 
 MO 
 
 From " Rienzi." 
 
 HOME AND LOVE. 
 
 Rie. Claudia — nay, start not ! Thou art sad to day ; 
 I found thee sitting idly, 'midst thy maids — 
 A pretty, laughing, restless band, who plied 
 Q,uick tongue and nimble finger. Mute, and pale 
 As marble, those unseeing eyes were fixed 
 On vacant air; and that fair brow was bent 
 As sternly, as if the rude stranger, TJinught, 
 Age-giving, mirth-destoying, pitiless Tliought, 
 Had knocked at thy young giddy brain. 
 
 Cla. Nay, faiher, 
 Mock not thine own poor Claudia. 
 
 Rie. Claudia used 
 To bear a merry heart with that clear voice. 
 Prattling; and that light busy foot, astir 
 In her small housewifery, the blithest bee 
 That ever wrought in hive. 
 
 Cla, Oh! mine old home! 
 
 Rie. What ails thee, lady-bird? 
 
 Cla. Mine own dear home! 
 Father, I love not this new state; these halls, 
 Wheiip comfort dies in vastness ; these trim maids, 
 Wliose service wearies me. Oh! mine old home! 
 My quiet, pleasant chamber, with the myrtle 
 Woven round the casement ; and the cedar by, 
 Shading the sun ; my garden overgrown 
 With flowers and herbs, thick-set as grass in fields ; 
 My pretty snow-white doves ; my kindest nurse ; 
 And old Camillo. — Oh ! mine own dear home ! 
 
 Rie. Why, simple child, thou hast thine old fond nurse, 
 AimI good Camillo, and shalt have thy doves, 
 Thy myrtles, flowers, and cedars ; a whole province 
 Laid in a garden an' thou wilt. My Claudia, 
 Hast thou not learnt thy power ? Ask orient gems. 
 Diamonds, and sapphires, in rich caskets, wrought 
 By cunning goldsmiths; sigh for rarest birds. 
 Of farthest Ind, like winged flowers to flit 
 Around thy stately bower; and, at thy wish. 
 The precious toys shall wait thee. Old Camillo ! 
 Thou shalt have nobler servants, — emperors, kings. 
 Electors, princes! Not a bachelor 
 In Christendom but would right proudly kneel 
 To my fair daughter. 
 
 Cla. Oh! mine own dear home! 
 
 Rie. Wilt have a list to choose from 1 Listen, sweet ! 
 If the tall cedar, and the branchy myrtle, 
 And the white doves, were tell-tales, I would ask them 
 Whose was the shadow on the sunny wall ? 
 And if, at eventide, they heard not oft 
 A tuneful mandoline, and then a voice. 
 Clear in its manly depth, whose tide of song 
 Overwhelmed the quivering instrument; and then 
 A world of whispers, mixed with low response, 
 Sweet, short, and broken as divided strains 
 Of nightingales. 
 
 Cla. Oh, father ! father ! [Runs to him, and falls upon Ms 
 neck.'\ 
 
 Rie. Well ! 
 Dost thou love him, Claudia? 
 
 Cla. Father! 
 
 Rie Dost thou love 
 Young Angelo? Ves ? Saidst thou yes? That heart — 
 That throbbing heart of thine, keeps such a coil, 
 I cannot hear thy words. He is returned 
 To Rome ; he left thee on mine errand, dear one ! 
 And now — is there no casement myrtle-wreathed, 
 No cedar in our courts, to shade to-night 
 The lover's song? 
 
 Cla. Oh, father ! father ! 
 
 Rie. Now, 
 Back to thy maidens, with a lightened heart, 
 Mine own beloved child. Thou shalt be first 
 In Rome, as thou art fairest ; never princess 
 Brought to the proud Colonna such a dower 
 As thou. Young Angelo hath chosen his mate 
 From out an eagle's nest. 
 
 Cla. Alas! alas! 
 I tremble at the height. Whene'er I think 
 Of the hot barons, of the fickle people. 
 And the inconstancy of power, I tremble 
 For thee, dear father. 
 
 Rie. Tremble! let them tremble. 
 I am their master, Claudia, whom they scorned, 
 Endured, protected. —Sweet, go dream of love; 
 X am their master, Claudia. 
 
 -^ f 
 
 
 *^,«j8sa»'*' ' <^ 
 
 MORGAN, SYDNEY, 
 
 Whose maiden name was Sydney Owenson, was 
 born In Dublin, about 1783. Her father was a 
 respectable actor at the Theatre Royal, Dublin, 
 and gave his daughter the best advantages of 
 education he could command. He was a man of 
 decided talents, a favourite in the society of the 
 city, and author of some popular Irish songs. 
 His daughter, Sydney, inherited his predilection 
 for national music and song. Very early in life, 
 when she was a mere child, she published a small 
 volume of poetical effusions; and soon after, " The 
 Lay of the Irish Harp," and a selection of twelve 
 Irish melodies, set to music. One of these is the 
 well-known song of " Kate Kearney ;" probably this 
 popular lyric will outlive all the other writings of 
 this authoress. Her next work was a novel, "St. 
 Clair, or the Heiress of Desmond," published when 
 she was about sixteen. It was soon followed by 
 "The Novice of St. Dominick;" and then her 
 most successful work, " The Wild Irish Girl," 
 which appeared in the winter of 1801. 
 
 The book had a prodigious sale. Within the 
 first two years, seven editions were published in 
 Great Britain, besides two or three in America. 
 It gained for Miss Owenson a celebrity which very 
 few writers, of either sex, have won at so early 
 an age. It gained her the love and blessings of 
 the Irish people, of course ; and a far more diffi- 
 cult achievement, it won her a high reputation in 
 England. Some of the best and brightest charac- 
 ters among the proud nobility became her friends 
 and patrons. 
 
 What were the peculiar merits of the work 
 which won this popularity? As a novel, it cer- 
 tainly cannot be rated very high. The plot shows 
 little inventive talent, and was, moreover, liable 
 to some objection on the score of moral tendency. 
 We allude to the plan of making the Earl of M — - 
 and his son both in love with the same lady. The 
 denouement is very awkwardly managed, and we 
 
 747 
 
MO 
 
 MO 
 
 think most readers must have been disgnsted, if 
 not shocked, by the scene where the unconscious 
 rivals, father and son, meet in the old chapel. 
 There is very little development of character at- 
 tempted, each person introduced being expressly 
 designed, as is at once seen, to act a particular 
 part, which is set down in the play. 
 
 Nor is the merit of the work in its style, which 
 is both high-ilown and puerile. The exaggerated 
 sentiment, so often poured out by the fervid, but 
 uncultivated writer, appears more nonsensical 
 from the pompous phraseology in which it is so 
 often expressed. We wonder how such great 
 words could have been brought together to ex- 
 press such small meanings. This is particularly 
 the case with the descriptive portions of the work. 
 In short, the author, possessing naturally the 
 wildest and warmest phase of Irish temperament, 
 had her head filled and nearly turned by what 
 she calls "the witching sorcery" of Rousseau; 
 and as her taste had been very little cultivated by 
 judicious reading, or her judgment improved by 
 observation, it is not strange that she mistook 
 hyperbole for elegance, and fancied that soft, mel- 
 lifluous words would convey ideas of superhuman 
 beauty. The following description of her heroine, 
 Glorvina, is a fair specimen of this tawdry style. 
 " Her form was so almost impalpably delicate, 
 that as it floated on the gaze, it seemed like the 
 incarnation of some pui'e ethereal spirit, which a 
 sigh too roughly breathed, might dissolve into its 
 kindred air; yet to this sylphide elegance of 
 spheral beauty was united all that symmetrical 
 contour which constitutes the luxury of human 
 loveliness. This scarcely ' mortal mixture of 
 earth's mould,' was vested in a robe of vestal 
 white, which was enfolded beneath the bosom 
 with a narrow girdle embossed with precious 
 stones." Query, how did the lady look? Can 
 the reader form any clear notion ? 
 
 Such is the prevailing style of the book, though 
 occasionally, when giving utterance to some strong 
 deep feeling, which usually finds its appropriate 
 language, the author is truly eloquent. How 
 could a novel so written, gain such popularity ? 
 Because it had a high aim, a holy purpose. It 
 owed its success entirely to the simple earnest- 
 ness with which Miss Owensou defended her 
 country. It is all Irish. She seemed to have no [ 
 thought of self, nothing but patriotism was in her 
 Boul, and this feeling redeemed the faults of in- 
 flated style, French sentimentalism, false reason- 
 ing, and all the extravagances of her youthful 
 fancy. Ireland was her inspiration and her 
 theme. Its history, language, antiquities, tradi- 
 tions, and wrongs, these she had studied as a 
 zealot does his creed, and with a fervour only in- 
 ferior in sacredness to that of religion, she poured 
 her whole heart and mind forth in the cause of 
 her own native land. 
 
 After such remarkable success, it was a matter 
 of course that Miss Owenson should continue her 
 literary career. "Patriotic Sketches," "Ida," 
 and " The Missionary," followed each other in 
 quick succession. Her next work was "O'Don- 
 neU;" then "Florence Macarthy, an Irish Tale," 
 
 was published in 1818. Previously to this Miss 
 Owensou became Lady Morgan, by marrying Sir 
 Charles Morgan, M. D., a gentleman of consider- 
 able talents, — as his own work, "Sketches of the 
 Philosophy of Life and Morals," shows. The 
 marriage seemed to give new energy and a wider 
 scope to the genius of Lady Morgan ; the tastes 
 of the husband and wife were, evidently, in sym- 
 pathy. They went abroad, and "France" and 
 "Italy," two clever specimens of Lady Morgan's 
 powers of observation and description, were the 
 result. These works are lively and entertaining. 
 Lord Byron has borne testimony to the fidelity 
 and excellence of "Italy:" if the authoress had 
 been less solicitous of making a sensation, her 
 book would have been more perfect, yet now it is 
 among the best of its kind. 
 
 " The O'Briens and the O'Flahertys," a novel 
 intended to portray national manners, appeared 
 in 1827; "The Book of the Boudoir" in 1829. 
 Among her other works are, " The Princess," a 
 story founded on the Revolution in Belgium, 
 "Dramatic Scenes from Real Life," "The Life 
 and Times of Salvator Rosa," and "Woman and 
 her Master," published in London, 1840. Two 
 volumes of this work were then issued : the 
 authoress, suffering under that painful afBiction, 
 a weakness of eyesight, was unable to complete 
 her plan, and it has never been finished. It is a 
 philosophical history of woman down to the fall 
 of the Roman Empire, — a work on which Lady 
 Morgan evidently laboured with great zeal. It 
 should be carefully read by all who wish to gain 
 a compendious knowledge of woman's history, and 
 a graphic sketch of her influence in the early 
 ages. Many new and valuable truths are promul- 
 gated ; and though some of the opinions are un- 
 sound, because unscriptural, yet the earnest wish 
 to benefit her sex, and improve society, has gifted 
 the writer with great power in setting forth much 
 that is true, and of the utmost importance. We 
 hope she will have strength and energy, and a 
 prolongation of life, to complete the work. 
 
 In estimating the merits of this indefatigable 
 writer, we will give the opinions of British critics, 
 only observing that, to us, the greatest blemish in 
 her books in an under-current, more or less strong, 
 running through many of them, bearing the phi- 
 losophical opinions, or sayings rather, of the 
 French sentimental school of infidels. We do not 
 think Lady Morgan an unbeliever ; but she gives 
 occasion for censure by expressions, occasionally, 
 that favour free-thinkers. If she had but served 
 God, in her writings, with the same enthusiastic 
 zeal she serves her country, what a glorious wo- 
 man she would have been ! 
 
 Mr. Chambers, in his Cyclopaedia of English 
 Literature, says : — 
 
 " Lady Morgan has, during the last thirty or 
 forty years, written in various departments of lite- 
 rature — in poetry, the drama, novels, biography, 
 ethics, politics, and books of travels. Whether 
 she has written any one book that will become a 
 standard portion of our literature, is doubtful, but 
 we are indebted to her pen for a number of clever, 
 lively national sketches and anecdotes. She has 
 
 748 
 
MO 
 
 MO 
 
 fought her way to distinction, eelf-educated, in the 
 midst of raillery, sarcasm, and vituperation, pro- 
 voked on the one hand by her careless and bold 
 avowal of liberal opinions on questions of politics 
 and the ' minor morals ' of life, and on the other by 
 her ill-concealed worship of the fashions and fol- 
 lies of the great, which has led her democratic 
 friends to pronounce the pretty severe opinion, 
 that ' there is not a pernicious vanity or affecta- 
 tion belonging to tuft-hunting or modishness, which 
 she does not labour to coiifirm and strengthen by 
 precept, sentiment, and her own goodly example.'* 
 If Lady Morgan has not always taste, she has 
 talent ; if she has not always delicacy, she speaks 
 boldly and freely ; if she has got into the society 
 of the great (the reputation of her writings, like 
 those of Swift, ' doing the office of a blue ribbon 
 or of a coach-and-six'), she has told us all she 
 knows about them. She has been as liberal of 
 satire and sarcasm as of adulation. She has a 
 masculine disregard of common opinion or censure, 
 and a temperament, as she herself states, ' as 
 cheery and genial as ever went to that strange 
 medley of pathos and humour — the Irish cha- 
 racter.' " 
 
 From "The Book of the Boudoir." 
 MY FIRST EOUT IN LONDON. 
 
 A few days after my arrival in London, and 
 while my little book (" Wild Irish Girl,") was 
 running rapidly through successive editions, I 
 
 was presented to the countess dowager of C k, 
 
 and invited to a rout at her fantastic and pretty 
 mansion in New Burlington Street. Oh, how her 
 Irish historical name tingled on my ears, and 
 seized on my imagination; as that of her great 
 ancestor, "the father of chemistry, and uncle to 
 lord Cork," did on the mind of my old friend, 
 professor Higgens. I was freshly launched from 
 the bogs of the barony of Tireragh, in the pro- 
 vince of Connaught, and had dropped at once into 
 the very sanctuary of English ton, without time 
 to go through the necessary course of training in 
 manners or milinery, for such an awful transition : 
 so, with no chaperon but my incipient notoriety, 
 and actually no toilet but the frock and the flower 
 in which, not many days before, I had danced a 
 jig, on an earthen floor, with an O'Rourke, prince 
 of Brefney, in the county of Leitrim, I stepped 
 into my job-carriage at the hour of ten, and, " all 
 alone by myself" — as the Irish song says — 
 
 " To Eden took my solitary way." 
 
 What added to my fears, and doubts, and hopes, 
 and embarrassments, was a note from my noble 
 hostess, received at the moment of departure, 
 which ran thus: — 
 
 " Every body has been invited expressly to meet 
 the Wild Irish Girl : so she must bring her Irish 
 harp. M- C. 0." 
 
 I arrived at New Burlington Street without my 
 Irish harp, and with a beating heart; and I heard 
 the high-sounding titles of princes and ambassadors, 
 and dukes and duchesses, announced, long before 
 
 » Westminster Review, October, 1839. 
 
 my own poor plebeian Hibernian name puzzled the 
 porter, and was bandied from footman to footman, 
 as all names are bandied, which are not written 
 down in the red-book of Fashion, nor rendered 
 familiar to the lips of her insolent menials. How 
 I wished myself back in Tireragh with my own 
 princes, the O's and Macs ; and yet this position 
 was among the items of my highest ambition ! 
 To be sought after by the great, not for any acci- 
 dental circumstance of birth, rank, or fortune, but 
 simply "pour les beaux yeux de mon m^riie,^' was a 
 principal item in the Utopia of my youthful fancy. 
 I endeavoured to recall the fact to mind ; but it 
 would not do : and as I ascended the marble 
 stairs, with their gilt balustrade, I was agitated 
 by emotions similar to those which drew from my 
 countryman, Maurice Quill, his frank exclamation 
 in the heat of the battle of Vittoria, " Oh, I wish 
 some one of my greatest enemies was kicking me 
 down Dame street!" 
 
 Lady C k met me at the door of that suite 
 
 of apartments which opens with a brilliant bou- 
 doir, and terminates with a sombre conservatory, 
 where eternal twilights fall upon fountains of 
 rose-water which never dry, and on beds of 
 flowers which never fade, — where singing birds 
 are always silent, and butterflies are for once at 
 rest. 
 
 " What, no harp, Glorvina ?" said her ladyship. 
 
 "Oh, Lady C !" 
 
 " Oh, Lady Fiddlestick ! — you are a fool, child; 
 you don't know your own interests. Here, James, 
 William, Thomas, send one of the chairmen to 
 Stanhope street, for Miss Owenson's harp. 
 
 Led on by Dr. Johnson's celebrated "little 
 Dunce," and Boswell's " divine Maria," who kindly 
 and protectingly drew my arm through hers, I 
 was at once merged into that mob of elegantes and 
 (Ugants, who always prefer narrow door-ways for 
 incipient flirtations, to the clear stage and fair 
 play of the centre of a saloon. As we stood 
 wedged on the threshold of fashion, my dazzled 
 eyes rested for a moment on a strikingly sullen- 
 looking, handsome creature, whose boyish person 
 was distinguished by an air of singularity, which 
 seemed to vibrate between hauteur and shyness. 
 He stood with his arms crossed, and alone, occu- 
 pying a corner near the door ; and though in the 
 brilliant bustling crowd, was "not of it." 
 
 "How do. Lord Byron?" said a pretty sprite 
 of fashion, as she glided her spirituality through 
 a space, which might have proved too narrow for 
 one of Leslie Forster's demi-semi souls to pass 
 through. 
 
 Lord Byron ! All " les braves Birons " of French 
 and English chivalry rushed to my mind, at the 
 sound of the historical name ! But I was then 
 ignorant, that its young and beautiful inheritor 
 was to give it greater claims on the admiration 
 of posterity, than the valiant preux of France, or 
 the loyal cavaliers of England, had yet bestowed 
 on it. For fame travels slowly in our Barony of 
 Tireragh ; and though Lord Byron had already 
 made his first step in that career which ended in 
 the triumph of his brilliant and powerful genius 
 over all his contemporaries, / had got no further 
 
 749 
 
MO 
 
 MO 
 
 in the article Byron, than the " pends-toi, hrave 
 Biron" of Henri Qualre. 
 
 After a stand and a stare of some seconds, I 
 was pushed on — and, on reaching the centre of 
 the conservatory, I found myself suddenly pounced 
 
 upon a sort of rustic seat by Lady C b, whose 
 
 effort to detain me on this very uneasy pre- 
 eminence, resembled Lingo's remonstrance of 
 "keep your temper, great Rusty-fusty;" for I 
 too was treated en princesse (the princess of Cool- 
 avin), and denied the civilized privileges of sofa 
 or chair, which were not in character with the 
 habits of a " Wild Irish Girl. " So there I sat, 
 "patience per force with wilful choler meeting," the 
 lioness of the night ! exhibited and shown off like 
 " the beautiful hyena that never was tamed," of 
 Exeter 'Change, looking almost as wild, and feel- 
 ing quite as savage ! 
 
 * * * * » 
 
 I shall never forget the cordiality with which, 
 upon this memorable occasion. Lady C k pre- 
 sented me to all that was then most illustrious for 
 rank and talent in England; even though the 
 manner savoured, perhaps, something too much 
 of the Duchess de la Fert^'s style of protection, 
 on a similar occasion, "Allans, Mademoiselk, parlez 
 — vous allez voir comme elle parte;" for if the man- 
 ner was not exactly conformable to the dignity of 
 the princess of Coolavtn, the motive rendered all 
 excusable ; and I felt with the charming proiegie 
 of the French duchesse, that " so many whimsical 
 efforts proceeded merely from a desire to bring 
 me forward." 
 
 Presenting me to each and all of the splendid 
 crowd, which an idle curiosity, easily excited, and 
 as soon satisfied, had gathered round us, she pre- 
 faced every introduction with a little exordium, 
 which seemed to amuse every one but its subject. 
 " Lord Erskine, this is the ' Wild Irish Girl,' whom 
 you are so anxious to know. I assure you, she 
 talks quite as well as she writes. Now, my dear, 
 do tell my Lord Erskine some of those Irish stories 
 
 you told us the other evening at Lord C ville's. 
 
 Fancy yourself en petit comiti, and take off the Irish 
 brogue. Mrs. Abingdon says you would make 
 a famous actress, she does indeed ! You must 
 play the short-armed orator with her ; she will be 
 
 here by-aud-by. This is the duchess of St. A ; 
 
 she has your ' Wild Irish Girl ' by heart. Where 
 
 is Sheridan? Do, my dear Mr. T ; (this is 
 
 Mr. T , my dear — geniuses should know each 
 
 other) — do, my dear Mr. T , find me Mr. 
 
 Sheridan. Oh ! here he is ! what ! you know 
 each other already ; tant mieux. This is Lord 
 Carysfort. Mr. Lewis, do come forward ; that is 
 Monk Lewis, my dear, of whom you have heard 
 so much — but you must not read his works, they 
 are very naughty. But here is one, whose works 
 I know you have read. What, you know him 
 too!" It was the Hon. William Spenser, whose 
 " Year of Sorrow," was then drawing tears from 
 all the brightest eyes in England, while his wit 
 and his pleasantry cheered every circle he distin- 
 guished by his presence. 
 
 Lewis, who stood staring at me through his eye- 
 glass, backed out at this exhibition, and disap- 
 
 peared. "Here are two ladies," opntinued her 
 ladyship, "whose wish to know you is very flat- 
 tering, for they are wits themselves, Tesprit de 
 
 Moricmar, true N 's. You don't know the 
 
 value of this introduction. You know Mr. Gell, 
 so I need not present you, he calls you the Irish 
 Corinne. Your friend Mr. Moore will be here 
 by-and-by. I have collected 'all the talents' for 
 you. Do see, somebody, if Mr. Kemble and Mrs. 
 Siddons are come yet ; and find me Lady Hamil- 
 ton. Now pray tell us the scene at the Irish 
 baronet's in the rebellion, that you told to the 
 ladies of Llangollen ; and then give us your blue 
 stocking dinner at Sir Richard Phillips's ; and 
 describe us the Irish priests. Here is your coun- 
 tryman, Lord L k, he will be your bottle 
 
 holder." 
 
 Lord L k volunteered his services. The 
 
 circle now began to widen — wits, warriors, peers, 
 ministers of state. The harp was brought for- 
 ward, and I attempted to play ; but my howl was 
 funereal ; I was ready to cry in character, but en- 
 deavoured to laugh, and to cover out my real 
 timidity by an affected ease, which was both awk- 
 ward and impolitic. The best coquetry of the 
 young and inexperienced is a frank exhibition of 
 its own unsophisticated feelings — but this is a 
 secret learned too late. 
 
 GOOD MOTHEItS. 
 
 That which the woman is, the mother will be ; 
 and her personal qualities will direct and govern 
 her maternal instinct, as her taste wiU influence 
 her appetite. If she be prejudiced and ignorant, 
 the good mother will mismanage her children ; and 
 if she be violent in temper and vehement in opin- 
 ion, the good mother will be petulant and unjust 
 towards them : if she be inconsistent and capri- 
 cious, she will alternate between fits of severity 
 and bursts of indulgence, equally fatal : if she be 
 vain, and coquettish, and selfish, she may be fond 
 of her children through her pride, but she will 
 always be ready to sacrifice their enjoyments, and 
 even their interests, to the triumphs of her'own 
 vanity, or the gratification of her egotism. 
 
 The perfection of motherhood lies, therefore, in 
 the harmonious blending of a happy instinct, with 
 those qualities which make the good member of 
 general society — with good sense and information 
 with subdued or regulated passions, and that ab- 
 negation which lays every selfish consideration at 
 the feet of duty. To make a good mother, it is 
 not suflicient to seek the happiness of the child, 
 but to seek it with foresight and effect. Her 
 actions must be regulated by long-sighted views, 
 and steadily and perseveringly directed to that 
 health of the body and of the mind, which can 
 alone enable the objects of her solicitude to meet 
 the shocks and rubs of life with firmness, and to 
 maintain that independence, in practice and prin- 
 ciple, which sets the vicissitudes of fortune at de- 
 fiance, fitting its possessor to fill the various 
 stations, whether of wealth or poverty, of honour 
 or obscurity, to which chance may conduct him. 
 
 This is my idea of the duties of maternity, and 
 
 750 
 
MO 
 
 MO 
 
 of the perfection of that most perfect creature — 
 a good mother. I know it is not everybody's idea, 
 and that there is another beau ideal of maternity 
 which is muoli more prevalent. 
 
 There is the good mother, that spends half her 
 life in hugging, flattering, and stuffing her child, 
 till, like the little Dalia-lama of Thibet, he thinks 
 he has come into the world for no other purpose 
 than to be adored like a god, and crammed like a 
 capon. This is the good mother, who, in her 
 fondness, is seen watching anxiously, after a long 
 late dinner, for the entrance of the little victim 
 which she has dressed up for sacrifice, and whose 
 vigils are prolonged beyond its natural strength, 
 that it may partake of the poisonous luxuries in 
 the last service of the feast of ceremony, till the 
 fever of over-excitement mounts to its cheek, 
 sparkles in the eye, and gives incoherency to its 
 voluble nonsense ; an excitement to be followed 
 not by the deep and dreamless sleep of infancy, 
 but by the restless slumbers and fearful visions 
 of indigestion. Alas for the mother and for the 
 child ! and alas for the guests called upon for 
 their quota of admiration upon such melancholy 
 occasions, — such terrible exhibitions of human 
 vanity and human weakness, counteracting the 
 finest instincts of human nature ! 
 
 From "Woman and her Master." 
 WOMEN IN ASIA. 
 
 It is an awful and heart-rending act to raise the 
 dark curtain which hangs before " the sanctuary 
 of women" throughout the great continent of 
 Asia, and to penetrate the domestic holds of those 
 f ain-gloi ious nations which arrogate to themselves 
 the precedence in creation, and date their power 
 and their policy from eras anterior to the written 
 records of more civilized communities. In these 
 states, on whose condition the passage of some 
 thousands of years has imposed no change, and 
 in which the suiferings of one half the species 
 have awakened no sympathy, may be discovered 
 the most graphic illustrations of the tyranny of 
 man, and of the degradation of woman. There 
 the sexes, in their mutual relations, are still where 
 the earliest necessities of the species first placed 
 them ; perpetuating, by their false position, the 
 barbarous rudiments of primeval society. The sin 
 of polygamy, still unredeemed in the East, dries 
 up the fountains of human sensibility, and crushes 
 every better impulse of feeling, — annihilating 
 even the hope of political liberty, and leaving the 
 wisest legislative reformer, at best, but a happy 
 accident, if not an anomaly and a discord. 
 
 In the Zenana of the modern Hindoo, woman is 
 still reared the slave of the most frightful super- 
 stition, — the victim of the most selfish institutes 
 which man has yet devised. Frail, her infidelity 
 to her lord is punished by a living burial ; faithful, 
 her constancy is rewarded by a place on his funeral 
 pyre ; her life and death, alike a violence to na- 
 ture, an outrage to society, and a mortifying evi- 
 dence of the incapacity of some races for improve- 
 ment and reform. 
 
 WOMEN IN CHINA. 
 
 But there is a pompous and a pedantic land, 
 which boasts supremacy in wisdom and in science 
 from an epoch anterior to all human record, save 
 its own — China, the land of many letters, of many 
 lanterns, and of few ideas. Peopled by the long- 
 eared, elliptic - eyed, flat -nosed, olive - coloured, 
 Mongolian race, it offers a population singularly 
 deficient in intellectual physiognomy ; though, to 
 its absurd ugliness, the women of the higher 
 classes occasionally off'er striking exceptions. 
 
 In China, polygamy prevails virtually, if not by 
 name ; and the sovereign, self-imprisoned in his 
 golden-roofed palace, with his one empress, six 
 queens, and three hundred (or, if he please, three 
 thousand) concubines, reflects, on the great scale, 
 the domestic establishment of those among his 
 subjects whose wealth may permit the irrational 
 indulgence of their passion or their pride. The 
 female slave, who, at the head of a band of infe- 
 rior slaves, is dignified with the name of superior, 
 (adequate to that of wife,) who has been pur- 
 chased with gold, may be returned, if on trial not 
 approved, is not deemed worthy to eat at her 
 master's table. Crippled from her cradle, morally 
 and physically, ignorant of any one of the many 
 thousand letters of her husband's alphabet, re- 
 ferred to the futile amusements of infancy for all 
 resource against utter tedium, to dress and to 
 smoke are her highest pleasures; and to totter on 
 the flat roof of her golden cage, her sole privilege. 
 She, too, feeble and imbecile as she is, is outraged 
 in the only feeling that nature may have rescued 
 from the wreck of man's oppression ; for the Chi- 
 nese wife, like the odalisque of Turkey, yields up 
 her offspring a sacrifice to the murderous policy 
 of her master. 
 
 If such is the destiny of the lady of the celestial 
 empire, the woman of the middle and lower classes 
 submits to a yet severer fate. She it is who feeds 
 and rears the silk-worm, with an attention to de- 
 tails of which the female organization is so pre- 
 eminently capable ; she reels the produce, and 
 works and weaves the silk. It is the woman, too, 
 who cultivates the most tender tea-plants, and 
 whose delicate fingers are alone fitted to roll the 
 finer tea-leaf. Having thus furnished her quota 
 to the common means of national wealth, she also 
 works that exquisite gold and silver filagree, and 
 prepares those gorgeous adornments, in which im- 
 perial vanity delights to adorn the ponderous and 
 pueril? divine-righted ruler of the celestial empire. 
 
 Descending yet lower in the social chain, the 
 female peasant of China presents a still more ex- 
 traordinary example of plodding industry. Ex- 
 posed to the inclemency of the seasons, with the 
 infant tied to her back, which she may have res- 
 cued from the wild beast, or from the devouring 
 wave, she ploughs, sows, reaps, and performs the 
 thousand offices of toil and drudgery attached to 
 the cultivation of the soil, from which she derives 
 so little benefit and enjoyment. Denied, too, all 
 moral rights, she incurs, nevertheless, a fatal 
 responsibility for her husband's delinquencies ; 
 
 751 
 
MO 
 
 MO 
 
 and suffers death with him, as his dependent, fox- 
 crimes in which she could have no moral partici- 
 pation. The natural death of her husband gives 
 her over to the family, who, to recover the money 
 expended in her purchase, may re-sell her to the 
 highest bidder, while her own is very frequently 
 the work of her own hand. Suicide, it is asserted, 
 is of frequent occurrence among the Chinese 
 females of the lowest classes ; and well may they 
 seek death, to whom, from the cradle to the tomb, 
 life holds forth not one solitary good. 
 
 MOTT, LUCRETIA, 
 
 Widely known for her philanthropy, and dis- 
 tinguished as a preacher among her own sect of 
 " Friends," or " Quakers," is a native of the island 
 of Nantucket, Mass. Her parents were Thomas 
 and Anna Coffin ; the latter, born Folger, was re- 
 lated to Dr. Franklin. Lucretia was in childhood 
 instructed to make herself useful to her mother, 
 who, in the absence of her husband, had the 
 charge of his mercantile affairs. In 1804, when 
 Lucretia was about eleven years old, her parents 
 removed to Boston, where she had the advantage 
 of attending one of the public schools. At the 
 age of thirteen, she was sent to a "Friends' 
 boarding-school," in the State of New York, where 
 she remained three years, during the last year 
 being employed as an assistant teacher; which 
 shows how great her proficiency and faithfulness 
 must have been. Her parents had, meantime, re- 
 moved to Philadelphia ; there she joined them, 
 and at the age of eighteen was married to James 
 Mott, who also belonged to the " Society of 
 Friends," and subsequently entered into mercan- 
 tile partnership with her father. Thus early was 
 Mrs. Mott settled in life ; and it is but justice to 
 her to state, that she has been attentive to dis- 
 charge well the womanly duties devolved on her — 
 has been the mother of six children, five of whom 
 are living, and do credit to their mother's forming 
 care. She has also, in the chances and changes 
 of an American merchant's life, been called to help 
 her husband in the support of their family ; and 
 she did it, as a good wife does, willingly, with her 
 whole heart. But these duties did not engross all 
 her time ; her active mind, directed and developed 
 by the peculiar teachings of her sect, took a wider 
 range than has yet been usual with her sex. We 
 do not agree with her in religious sentiment ; nor 
 can we commend her manner of teaching as an 
 example to be followed by American women. But 
 we do believe she is conscientiously sincere and 
 earnest in her endeavours to do good ; and there- 
 fore we will give extracts from a letter of hers, 
 embodying the views of faith and duty which have 
 governed her life : 
 
 " I always loved the good, often in childhood 
 desired to do the right, and prayed for strength to 
 overcome or regulate a naturally quick or hasty 
 temper. The religion of my education — that the 
 obedience of faith to manifested duty ensured sal- 
 vation — commended itself to my understanding 
 and conscience. The doctrine of human depravity 
 was not taught as an essential of the Christian's 
 creed. The free agency of man was inculcated ; 
 
 and any departure from the right was ascribed to 
 wilful disobedience of the teachings of the light 
 within us. 
 
 " The numerous evils in the world were traced 
 to this source. My sympathy was early enlisted 
 for the poor slave, by the reading-books in our 
 schools, depicting his wrongs and sufferings, and 
 the pictures and representations by Thomas Clark- 
 son, exhibiting the slave-ship, the middle passage, 
 &c. The ministry of Elias Hicks and others on 
 this subject, as well as their example in refusing 
 the products of the unrequited bondman's labour, 
 awakened a strong feeling in my heart. 
 
 " The unequal condition of woman with man 
 also early impressed my mind. Learning, while 
 at school, that the charge for the education of girls 
 was the same as that for boys, and that, when they 
 became teachers, women received only half as 
 much as men for their services, the injustice of 
 this distinction was so apparent, that I resolved to 
 claim for my sex all that an impartial Creator had 
 bestowed, which, by custom and a perverted ap- 
 plication of the Scriptures, had been wrested from 
 woman. 
 
 " At twenty-five years of age, surrounded with 
 a little family and many cares, I still felt called to 
 a more public life of devotion to duty, and en- 
 gaged in the ministry in our Society. I received 
 every encouragement from those in authority, 
 until the event of a separation among us in 1827, 
 when my convictions led me to adhere to the suffi- 
 ciency of the light within, resting on "truth as 
 authority," rather than "taking authority for 
 truth." I searched the Scriptures daily, and often 
 found the text would bear a wholly different con- 
 struction from that which was pressed upon our 
 acceptance. 
 
 "Being a non-conformist to the ordinances and 
 rituals of the professed Church, duty led me to 
 hold up the insufficiency of all these, including 
 Sabbath-day observance, as the proper test of the 
 Christian character, and that only 'he that doeth 
 righteousness is righteous.' 
 
 " The practical life, then, being the highest evi- 
 dence of a sound faith, I have felt a far greater 
 interest in the moral movements of our age, than 
 in any theological discussion. 
 
 " I hailed the Temperance Reform in its begin- 
 ning in Massachusetts, watched its progress with 
 much interest, was delighted with the fidelity of 
 its advocates, and for more than twenty years I 
 have practised total abstinence from all intoxicat- 
 ing drinks. 
 
 "The cause of Peace has had a share of my 
 efforts, taking the tiltra non-resistance ground — 
 that a Christian cannot consistently uphold, and 
 actively support, a government based on the 
 sword, or whose ultimate resort is to the destroy- 
 ing weapon. 
 
 " The oppression of the working classes by ex- 
 isting monopolies, and the lowness of wages, espe- 
 cially of women, has often engaged my attention; 
 and I have held and attended meetings with this 
 class of society, and heard their appeals with 
 heartfelt compassion, and with heartfelt desire for 
 a radical change — that systems by which the rich 
 
 752 
 
MO 
 
 MO 
 
 are made richer, and the poor poorer, should find 
 no favour among people professing to ' fear God 
 and hate covetousness.' Hence, the various asso- 
 ciations and communities tending to greater equal- 
 ity of condition — 'a home for all,' cStc— have had 
 from me a hearty God speed." 
 
 In 1840, the "World's Anti-Slavery Conven- 
 tion' was held in London. Several of the Ame- 
 rican delegates were women, among whom was 
 Lucretia Mott. No doubt she was the most able 
 of all who were sent, and much was expected from 
 her eloquence ; but the English abolitionists had 
 not reformed their old views of the sexes ; they 
 would not admit American women, any more 
 than their own, on the platform. This brought 
 what is termed "the woman question" — that is, 
 the inherent right of the female to an equal parti- 
 cipation with the male sex in all social, political, 
 and religious oifices — more into view. 
 
 Mrs. Mott advocates the doctrine of perfect 
 equality of rights, if not of duties. These views 
 form the distinctive character in her discourses, 
 though it is but just to her to add that her lan- 
 guage is mild, and her manners gentle and un- 
 assuming. As a preacher among her own order 
 — the Hicksite or Unitarian Quakers — she is more 
 widely celebrated than any other, of either sex, 
 in the United States. She has a natural gift of 
 speech ; her sermons sound better than they read, 
 because her persuasive manner prevents the lis- 
 tener from noticing the fallacies of her reason- 
 ing, so easily detected in her printed productions. 
 These consist of "Speeches" and "Sermons," 
 published in newspapers, chiefly; one "Sermon 
 to Medical Students" is printed in pamphlet form, 
 and so also is her "Discourse on Woman," deli- 
 vered in Philadelphia, December 17th, 1849. 
 
 We admire her talents, but must express our 
 profound regret that an American woman should 
 lend her influence to infidelity ! How strange Mrs. 
 Mott, with her intelligence and sagacity, does not 
 perceive that the religion of the Bible is the only 
 source of strength for woman, and that, where its 
 requirements are most fully observed by men, 
 there our sex rises highest in esteem and honour. 
 The observance of one day in seven as a sacred 
 duty is the exponent of revealed religion, because 
 it testifies the faith of men in the Bible, and also 
 their submission to its divine authority. By this 
 authority, and no other, moral virtue is placed in 
 the ascendant. Woman rises only by moral power. 
 Abolish the Sabbath, and one of the main pillars 
 of her security and influence would be stricken 
 down. Look over the world where the Sabbath is 
 not hallowed, and mark the state of the female 
 sex — everywhere defiled, despised, degraded ! 
 Doei "the ^ght within" — does human reason 
 teach the equality of the sexes, or make the 
 stronger yield the way to the weaker? Look 
 again — over those nations professing Christianity, 
 yet devoting half of the Lord's Day to the service 
 of the world. Are not the condition and powers 
 of the women considered exceedingly inferior to 
 those of men, wherever physical force rules the 
 people ? Neither civil nor religious freedom exist 
 
 but in the two nations which most strictly observe 
 the Lord's Day; and the Protestant people of 
 Great Britain and America may safely trust the 
 comparison between their condition and that of 
 the anti-Sabbath-keeping world to show the wis- 
 dom of their course. 
 
 It is the sacred province of woman to guard the 
 light of Christianity, and uphold the divine au- 
 thority of the Bible ; by these only her position is 
 elevated, and her soul finds its true sphere — that 
 of doing good. These cardinal truths, it seems, 
 Mrs. Mott has not yet discovered. In her "Dis- 
 course on Woman," she says — 
 
 "Let woman then go on — not asking as favour, 
 but claiming as right, the removal of all the hin- 
 drances to her elevation in the scale of being — let 
 her receive encouragement for the proper cultiva- 
 tion of all her powers, so that she may enter pro- 
 fitably into the active business of life ; employing 
 her own hands in ministering to her necessities, 
 strengthening her physical being by proper exer- 
 cise and observance of the laws of health. Let 
 her not be ambitious to display a fair hand, and 
 to promenade the fashionable streets of our city; 
 but rather, coveting earnestly the best gifts, let 
 her strive to occupy such walks in society as will 
 befit her true dignity in all the relations of life. 
 No fear that she will then transcend the proper 
 limits of female delicacy. True modesty will be 
 as fully preserved in acting out those important 
 vocations to which she may be called, as in the 
 nursery or at the fireside, ministering to man's 
 self-indulgence. 
 
 " Then, in the marriage union, the independence 
 of the husband and wife will be equal, their de- 
 pendence mutual, and their obligations reciprocal." 
 
 It is evident that Mrs. Mott places the " true 
 dignity of woman" in her ability to do "man's 
 work," and to become more and more like him. 
 What a degrading idea ; as though the worth of 
 porcelain should be estimated by its resemblance 
 to iron ! Does she not perceive that, in estimating 
 physical and mental ability above moral excel- 
 lence, she sacrifices her own sex, who can never 
 excel in those industrial pursuits which belong to 
 life in this world ? Woman has the hope of a 
 "better inheritance, even a heavenly," in her 
 keeping ; to raise humanity towards the angelic is 
 her office. The most "important vocation" on 
 earth is that of the mother in her nursery. The 
 true wife has a ministry more holy at home than 
 the pulpit ever displayed ; for she, "by her chaste 
 conversation, coupled with fear" — (that is, piety, 
 with gentleness and humility) — may convert and 
 save her husband when the preacher fails. 
 
 In short, the theories of Mrs. Mott would dis- 
 organize society ; but nature is more potent than 
 her reasoning. The gentle sex are endowed with 
 the faith and hope which things of this life cannot 
 satisfy. Woman's "best gifts" are employed to 
 promote goodness and happiness among those 
 whose minds take their tone from her private 
 oharacter. Measured by this standard, Mrs. Mott 
 deserves an estimation higher than her public dis- 
 plays of talent or philanthropy have ever won. 
 
MO 
 
 MO 
 
 MOWATT, ANNA COKA, 
 
 Was born in France. Her father, Mr. Ogden, 
 was a wealthy and highly respected citizen of New 
 York. On her mother's side, she is descended 
 from Francis Lewis, one of the signers of the De- 
 claration of Independence. Mr. Ogden having 
 involved his fortune in the well-known Miranda ex- 
 pedition, embarked in mercantile business, which 
 obliged him to remove to Bordeaux, where he 
 resided several years. He was the father of 
 seventeen children, of whom Mrs. Mowatt was the 
 tenth. These young people possessed histrionic 
 talent in a remarkable degree, which developed 
 itself during this residence in France. The fine 
 old chateau in which they resided, a short distance 
 from the town, possessed, as many of those old 
 French houses do, a little theatre, and it was here 
 that they early began to exercise their talents. 
 
 When Anna was about six years old, Mr. Ogden 
 returned to his native land. The children, how- 
 •ever, continued to pursue their theatrical amuse- 
 ments, and the little Anna became remarkable 
 for her skill in reading aloud. At thirteen, she 
 was an insatiable reader. Among other works, 
 she studied a great number of French plays, alter- 
 ing several of Voltaire's for private theatricals, in 
 which she took a part. When scarcely more 
 than fourteen, she attracted the attention of Mr. 
 Mowatt, a wealthy lawyer of New York, a visitor 
 in her father's family, who soon after proposed for 
 her. The proposal was accepted by all parties, 
 'ber father stipulating that the marriage should be 
 ■deferred till Anna had attained her seventeenth 
 year. 
 
 Meanwhile, the youthful fiancSe continued her 
 'Studies, attending school as formerly. Domestic 
 .clouds, however, soon began to darken, as is pro- 
 verbially the case, around this " course of true 
 Uove." There was some danger of the match 
 %eing broken off, and to prevent any further diffi- 
 •culty, an elopement was decided upon. This was 
 •effected during the bustle and confusion attend- 
 ing the preparations for a play, which the young 
 people were to a«t, in honour of their father's 
 
 birth-day. The youthful bride was soon par- 
 doned and received by her affectionate parents; 
 her husband's residence, a fine estate about four 
 miles from New York, allowing her still, from its 
 near neighbourhood, to form a part of the family 
 circle. Here, surrounded by wealth and every 
 indulgence, Mrs. Mowatt continued her studies 
 with untiring ardour, devoting herself principally 
 to the study of French, Spanish and music, and 
 never turned aside from these important occupa- 
 tions by the calls made upon her by society, which 
 her social accomplishments rendered her so well 
 fitted to adorn. During the first two years of her 
 married life she published her first works, two 
 volumes of poems, which, however, do not possess 
 more merit than belongs to the ordinary run of 
 juvenile productions. She occasionally exercised 
 her skill in writing and arranging little dramatic 
 pieces for private performance, which amusements 
 lent their aid in embellishing this brilliant period 
 of her life. 
 
 Mrs. Mowatt's health now began to decline — 
 great fears were entertained of consumption — 
 and a voyage to Europe was decided upon. Mr. 
 Mowatt's professional engagements preventing his 
 leaving New York, she accompanied some mem- 
 bers of her family abroad. She remained in 
 Bremen three months, when, being joined by her 
 husband, they repaired to Paris. Here, where 
 they had every opportunity of mingling in the 
 most influential society of that gay and intelligent 
 capital, she found time for study. She devoted 
 herself to the acquirement of the Italian language, 
 and wrote a play, in five acts, called " Gulzare, or 
 the Persian Slave," which was afterwards pub- 
 lished, though originally written for a private 
 circle. After an absence of a year and a half, 
 they returned to the United States; soon after 
 which, clouds began to darken over their once 
 prosperous career. In consequence of Mr. Mow- 
 att's residence abroad, and partly from an affec- 
 tion of the eyes, he gave up his profession of the 
 law, and embarked to a considerable extent in com- 
 mercial speculations. Unfortunately, very soon 
 after, one of those commercial crises occurred 
 that convulse the whole mercantile world, and 
 ruin, which it was impossible to avert, was im- 
 pending over them. The weakness of his eyes 
 prevented Mr. Mowatt from returning to his pro- 
 fession, and they were without resource. 
 
 Some time before these domestic events occurred, 
 dramatic readings had met with great success in 
 various cities of the Union. Mrs. Mowatt had 
 heard these readings, and when their misfortunes 
 fell upon them, the idea of turning her own talents 
 to account in the same manner occurred to her. 
 She had many difiiculties to contend with in taking 
 such a step. The injustice of society, which de- 
 grades woman in the social scale, if by her own 
 honourable exertions she endeavours to labour for 
 money, would operate against her, and of course 
 influence her friends to oppose a project which 
 must bring her before the public almost in the 
 character of a dramatic performer. The consent 
 of her husband being obtained however, she 
 quietly made all the arrangemsnts for her first 
 
 754 
 
MO 
 
 NE 
 
 attempt, ■which was to take place in Boston, de- 
 laying to inform her father of the step she contem- 
 plated, till her departure for that city. She had, 
 however, the happiness to receive his full approval 
 before her first appearance. Her success in Bos- 
 ton far exceeded her expectations ; and in Provi- 
 dence and New York, where she continued her 
 readings, it was confirmed. Mrs. Mowatt suffered 
 much from the disapprobation expressed by her 
 friends at her having undertaken this public ca- 
 reer, which was deemed by them a degradation — 
 a forfeiture of caste. Her health gave way, and 
 for two years she was a confirmed invalid. 
 
 About this time, Mr. Mowatt became principal 
 partner in a publishing concern, and the whole 
 force of Mrs. Mowatt's mind was turned to aid 
 him. Under the name of Helen Berkley, she wrote 
 a series of articles which became very popular, and 
 were translated into German and republished in 
 London. The success of these productions induced 
 Mrs. Mowatt to write in her own name; and " she 
 was accused by a wise critic of copying the witty 
 Helen Berkley ! " Her desultory writings were 
 numerous and various. Unfortunately, the pub- 
 lishing business in which Mr. Mowatt was en- 
 gaged proved unsuccessful, and new trials came 
 upon them. 
 
 Being told that nothing would be so productive 
 as dramatic writings, Mrs. Mowatt, in 1845, wrote 
 her first comedy, called " Fashion," which was 
 brought out with much splendour at the Park 
 Theatre, New York. Its success was brilliant; 
 and in Philadelphia it was performed with equal 
 eclat. In less than two months after, she accepted 
 the offer of an engagement from the manager of 
 the Park Theatre, and made her debiit in New 
 York in the Lady of Lyons. Her success was 
 complete, and her vocation was decided upon. 
 
 After a series of profitable engagements in the 
 principal cities of the Union, Mr. and Mrs. Mowatt 
 embarked for England ; and in December, 1847, 
 she made her first appearance before a foreign 
 audience in Manchester. Her success was such, 
 that a London engagement at the Princess's 
 Theatre followed, where she performed for several 
 weeks. A brilliant engagement in Dublin was 
 soon after completed ; since which time, her pro- 
 fessional career continued to be successful in 
 England, till interrupted by the loss of her hus- 
 band, who died in London, in February, 1851. 
 Mrs. Mowatt is slight and graceful in form, with 
 a lovely countenance possessing all the principal 
 requisites of beauty. In character she is "brave- 
 hearted in adversity ; benevolent, unselfish, and 
 devoted." 
 
 NEAL, ALICE BRADLEY, 
 
 Was born in Hudson, New York, and was edu- 
 cated chiefly at a seminary for young ladies, in 
 New Hampshire. In 1846, she was married to 
 Mr. Joseph C. Neal, of Philadelphia, at that time 
 
 editor of Neal's Saturday Gazette, a man highly 
 esteemed for his intellectual abilities, and warmly 
 beloved for his personal qualities. Being left a 
 widow a few months after her marriage, Mrs. 
 Neal, although very young, was entrusted with tlie 
 editorship of her husband's paper, which she has 
 
 since conducted, in connection with Mr. Peterson, 
 with remarkable ability. The Saturday Gazette 
 continuing one of the most popular weekly papers 
 of the city. She is principally known, as yet, as a 
 contributor of tales and poems to the different 
 periodicals of the day. In 1850, some of her 
 writings were collected in one volume, under the 
 title of "The Gossips of Eivertown; with Sketches 
 in Prose and Verse." Mrs. Neal seems to have 
 been endowed by nature with peculiar abilities 
 for the sphere in which she has, by Providence, 
 been placed. She began to wi'ite when quite a 
 child ; and in all her works she shows great 
 facility in the use of her pen, a keen appreciation 
 of the beautiful, and an almost intuitive penetra- 
 tion into the half-concealed springs that actuate 
 the intercourse of society. Yet it is as a poetess, 
 rather than a prose writer, that she will be chiefly 
 admired, if we may judge of the ripened fruit by 
 the fair blossoms of the early spring. The easy 
 and harmonious flow of her verses, and the ten- 
 derness and feeling expressed in them, will make 
 them always read and admired. In that most im- 
 portant literary department, writing books which 
 children love to read and gain wisdom from read- 
 ing, Mrs. Neal excels ; her two charming little 
 books, "Helen Morton's Trial" and "Pictures 
 from the Bible," are deservedly popular. 
 
 From " Poems," 
 THE bride's confession. 
 
 A sudden thrill passed through my heart. 
 
 Wild and intense — yet not of pain — 
 1 strove to quell quick, bounding throbs. 
 
 And scanned the sentence o'er a^fain. 
 It niiyht have been most idly ppiined 
 
 By one whose thoughts from love were free, 
 .And yet, as if enlr.inced. I read, 
 
 " Thou art must beautiful to nie," 
 
 755 
 
NE 
 
 NE 
 
 Tbou did'st not whisper I was dear — 
 
 There were no gleams of teoderntps. 
 Save those my trembling heart would liu|ie 
 
 'J'hiil careless sentence might express. 
 But v\ hile the blinding tears fell fast, 
 
 Until the words I scarce could see, 
 There glione, as through a wreathing mist, 
 
 "Thou art most beautiful to me." 
 
 It is passed. The sob is stifled — 
 
 Uuivering lips are wreathed with sinilt><4. 
 Mocking with their strange deceivin;;, 
 
 Walchftil love she thus beguiles — 
 With the thought that o'er her spirit 
 
 Sorrow's shadow scarce is thrown ; 
 For tliose letters have a message 
 
 To her heart, and hers alone. 
 
 To thee ! I cared not for all eyes, 
 
 £^o i WHS beautiful in thine; 
 A timid star, my faint, sad beams 
 
 Uptm tky path alone would shine. 
 Oh, what was praise, save from thy lips — 
 
 And love should all unheeded be, 
 So I could hear thy blessed voice 
 
 Say— "Thou art beautiful to me." 
 
 And I have heard those very words — 
 
 Blushing beneath thine earnest gaze — 
 Though thou, perchance, liad'st quite forgot 
 
 They had been said in by-gone days. 
 Wliile chisped hand, and circling arm. 
 
 Drew ine still nearer unto thee. 
 Thy low voice breathed upon mine ear, 
 
 "Thou, love, art beautiful to me." 
 
 And, dearest, though thine eyes alone 
 
 May see in me a single grace, 
 I care not, so thou e'er can'st find 
 
 A hidden sweetness in my face. 
 And if. as years and cares steal on. 
 
 Even that lingering light must flee, 
 WiKU matter! if from thee I hear, 
 
 " 'J'liou art still beautiful to nie!" 
 
 OLD LETTERS. 
 
 Through her tears she gazed upon them, 
 
 llecords of that brief, bright dream ! 
 And she clasped them closer — closer — 
 
 For a message they would seem 
 Coming from the lips now silent — 
 
 Coming from a hand now cold. 
 And she felt the same emotion 
 
 They had thrilled her with of old : 
 
 Blended with a holy grieving — 
 
 Blended with a throbbing pain — 
 Fyr she knew the hand had penned them 
 
 Miglit not ctasp her own again. 
 And she felt the desolation 
 
 That had fallen on her heart ; 
 Bitter memories thronged around her. 
 
 Bitter murmurs would upstart. 
 
 Slie had waited for their coming. 
 
 She had kissed them o'er and o'er — 
 And they were so fondly treasured 
 
 For the words of love they bore, 
 Words that whispered in the silence. 
 
 She had listened till his tone 
 Seemed to linger in the echo, 
 
 " Darling, thou art all mine own !" 
 
 Faster still the tears came falling 
 
 Through her while and wasted hand?. 
 Where the marriage ring — the widow's - 
 
 Ijinked their slender golden bands. 
 Sobs half stifled still were struggling 
 
 Through her pale and parted lips; 
 Oh, her beauty with life's brightness 
 
 Suffered a most drear eclipse! 
 
 Slowly folding, how she lingered 
 
 O'er the words his hands had tran-d ' 
 Though the plashing drops had fallen. 
 
 And the faint lines half (flared. 
 "Gone for ever — oh, /or ever!" 
 
 Mnrmur'd she, with wailing cry - 
 Ah, too true, for through the sileiin; 
 
 Came no voice to give reply. 
 
 THE DAT OF BEST. 
 
 " When will the Sabbath be gone, that we niny set fortli wheui 
 Amos viii. 5. 
 
 What! give one day, from dawn to eve. 
 
 To worship and to prayer! 
 Lay down all plans of worldly gain. 
 
 All worldly hope and care ? 
 Thy creed is strait as Pharisee — 
 
 Our years too quickly fly — 
 For, saith the wise man, "eat and drink, ^ 
 
 To-morrow ye may die." 
 
 So Pleasure turns with mocking smile. 
 
 And Thrift goes hurrying on, 
 While cold Formality, though mute. 
 
 Wishes the hours were gone. 
 The earth a softer smile may wear. 
 
 The very brutes rejoice, 
 And only IVom the heart of man 
 
 Ascends no grateftil voice. 
 
 Why was this day so sanctified ? 
 
 That from thy faltering tongue 
 A heartless prayer might struggle forth. 
 
 Reluctant praise be wrung? 
 Oh mite ! oh worm of dust ami death ' 
 
 Thine adulation dies, 
 A note scarce heard where ever ring.-i 
 
 The pwan of the skies. 
 
 Think of the choral strains that swell 
 
 That glad triumphal song, 
 "Glory, and might, and majesty 
 
 To thee our God belong." 
 The stars are trembling in the flood 
 
 Of melody that thrills 
 Onward and upward, till all spaee 
 
 The glorious anthem fills! 
 
 Nay, not for this the seal was set 
 
 That marks the day of rest — 
 For thine, and not thy Maker's good. 
 
 Its hallowed hours were blest. 
 He knows thy murmurs, ere it comes 
 
 To win thee flrom thy care. 
 And marks how grudgingly are paid 
 
 Thy tithes of praise and prayer. 
 
 Oh restless, grasping, sordid heart ! 
 
 Rather give praise to Pleaven 
 That all thy schemes to toil and reap 
 
 This day from thee are riven. 
 Thy pulse shall beat more tVee and calm 
 
 For Sabbath rest and peace, 
 That woos thee gently towards the home 
 
 Where Sabbaths never cease. 
 
 From Dedication of "The Gossips of Rivertown." &c. 
 TO THE MOTHER OF JOSEPH 0. NE.M,. 
 
 As Ruth, of old, wrought in her kinsman's field — 
 From the uneven stubble patiently 
 Gathering the corn ftiH hands hod lovish'd fiee. 
 
 Nor paused fl-om sun, or air, her brow to shield — 
 
 So have I gleaned, where others boldly reap; 
 Their sickles flushing through the ripen'd grain, 
 Their voices swelling in a harvest strain. 
 
 Go on before me up the toilsome steep. 
 
 And thus I bind my sheaf at oven-tide 
 For thee, my more than mother! and I come 
 Bearing my burden to the quiet home 
 
 Where thou did'st welcome me, a timid biiie ; 
 Where now thy blessed presence, day by tla>, 
 Chctireth me onward in a lonely way. 
 
NICHOLS, MARY SARGEANT GOVE- 
 
 WiFE of T. L. Nichols, M. D., formerly an Allo- 
 pathic physician in the city of New York, where 
 he is now an eminent "Water Cure" practitioner, 
 with whom she is in profession associated. Before 
 her marriage with Dr. Nichols, which took place 
 in 1848, she conducted with great success a Water 
 Cure establishment in that city, and was widely 
 known as Mrs. Gove — her name by a former mar- 
 riage — the physician for her own sex. 
 
 Few, among living women, deserve more respect 
 than Mrs. Gove-Nichols ; she has, "in her own ex- 
 ample, illustrated the beneficial results of know- 
 ledge to her sex, the possibility of success under 
 the greatest difficulties, and above all, the import- 
 ance that women, as well as men, should have an 
 aim in life, — the high and holy aim of doing good. 
 
 Mrs. Gove-Nichols, whose maiden name was 
 Neal, was born in 1810 ; her native place was 
 GofFstown, State of New Hampshire, where her 
 early years were passed. The advantages of edu- 
 cation for girls were at that time very limited, 
 and Mary Neal was not in a favoured position to 
 secure even these. But she had an ardent desire 
 to acquire knowledge, and become useful ; and 
 Providence, as she believes, aided her fervent 
 wish. When a young girl, chance threw in her 
 way a copy of Bell's Anatomy ; she studied it in 
 secret, and received that bias towards medical 
 science which decided her destiny. Every medical 
 book she could obtain she read, and when these 
 were taken from her, she turned her attention to 
 French and Latin, — good preliminary studies for 
 her profession, though she did not then know it. 
 
 When about eighteen years of age, she com- 
 menced writing for newspapers ; these poems, 
 stories, and essays, are only of importance as 
 showing the activity of her genius, which then, 
 undeveloped and without an aim, was incessantly 
 striving upward. Soon after her marriage with 
 .Mr. Gove, a work fell in her way* which gave 
 the true impulse to her ardent temperament. We 
 
 * Book of Health, published at London, being a sort of 
 Ui'Kjcstic Materia Medlca. 
 
 will give the account in Mrs. Gove's own words, 
 premising that, at about the same time she read 
 the works of Dr. John Mason Good, and her at- 
 tention was particularly arrested by his remarks 
 on the use of water ; and from his writings, and 
 the Book of Health, which she read during the 
 year 1832, she became convinced of the efficacy 
 of cold water in curing diseases. 
 
 " My warrant for this practice," she says, "was 
 obtained wholly from these books. It was not till 
 years afterwards, that I heard of Preissnitz and 
 Water Cure, as I now practise it. From this time 
 I was possessed with a passion for anatomical, 
 physiological, and pathological study. I could 
 never explain the reason of this intense feeling to 
 myself or others ; all I know is, that it took pos- 
 session of me, and mastered me wholly ; it sup- 
 ported me through efforts that would otherwise 
 have been to me inconceivable and insupportable. 
 I am naturally timid , and bashful ; few would be 
 likely to believe this who only see my doings with- 
 out being acquainted with me. But timid as 1 
 was, I sought assistance from scientific and pro- 
 fessional men. I went through mu.5eums of mor- 
 bid specimens that, but for my passion for know- 
 ledge, would have filled me with horror. 1 looked 
 on dissections till I could see a woman or child 
 dissected with far more firmness than I could now 
 look upon the killing of an animal for food. My 
 industry and earnestness were commensurate, not- 
 withstanding my health was far from being firm. 
 I had innumerable difficulties to contend against. 
 When I am dead, these may be told for the en- 
 couragement of others — not till then. When 1 
 retired to rest at night, I took my books with me : 
 the last minute I could keep awake was devoted 
 to study, and the first light that was sufficient, 
 was improved in learning the mysteries of our 
 wonderful mechanism. My intense desire to learn 
 seemed to make every one willing to help me who 
 had knowledge to impart. Kindness from the 
 medical profession, and the manifestation of a 
 helpful disposition towards my undertakings, were 
 every where the rule. 
 
 "After my marriage I resided for several years 
 in New Hampshire, and then moved to Lynn, 
 Mass., near Boston. Here I engaged in teaching, 
 and had many more facilities for pursuing my 
 studies than ever before. 
 
 "In 1837, I commenced lecturing in my school 
 on anatomy and physiology. I had before this 
 given one or two lectui'es before a Female Ly- 
 ceum, formed by my pupils and some of their 
 friends. At first I gave these health lectures, as 
 they were termed, to the young ladies of my 
 school, and their particular friends whom they 
 were allowed to invite, once in two weeks ; sub- 
 sequently, once a week. In the autumn of 1838, 
 I was invited by a society of ladies in Boston to 
 give a course of lectures before them on anatomy 
 and physiology. I gave this course of lectures to 
 a large class of ladies, and repeated it afterward 
 to a much larger number. I lectured pretty 
 constantly for several years after this beginning 
 in Boston. I lectured in Massachusetts, Maine, 
 New Hampshire, Rhode Island, New York, New 
 
 757 
 
NI 
 
 Nl 
 
 Jersey, Pennsylvania, Maryland and Ohio, and 
 also on the island of Nantucket. Physicians were 
 uniformly obliging and friendly to me. I do not 
 now recollect but one exception, and this was a 
 ' doctor,' who I believe honestly thought that know- 
 ledge was, or would be injurious to women, and 
 therefore he opposed me in my efforts to teach. 
 I have forgotten his name, and I presume the 
 world will do the same. But I have not forgotten, 
 and never can forget, the many who have held out 
 the hand of help to me, and through me to others, 
 for I have never learned selfishly ; what I have 
 gained for myself I have gained for others. 
 
 " The passion that has possessed me from my 
 first reading on pathology, I consider providential. 
 I believe fully, that I have been set apart from 
 my birth for a peculiar work. I may be called 
 enthusiastic and superstitious for this conviction, 
 but it is mine as much as my life. My ill health, 
 from earliest infancy, the poverty and struggles 
 through which I have passed, and the indomitable 
 desire which I have had to obtain knowledge, all 
 seem to me so many providences. During the 
 time that I studied alone, my enthusiasm never 
 for one moment failed. Day and night, in sick- 
 ness and in hjealth, the unquenchable desire for 
 knowledge and use burned with undiminished 
 flame. I studied day and night, though all the 
 time I had to labour for bread, — first with my 
 needle, and later with a school. 
 
 " It may be said that I was an enthusiast, and 
 that my enthusiasm sustained me. I grant this ; 
 but will those who make this assertion define the 
 word enthusiasm ? To me it means, as it meant 
 through those many long years, an unfaltering 
 trust in God, and an all-pervading desire to be 
 useful to my fellow-beings. If these constitute 
 religious enthusiasm, then I am an enthusiast." 
 
 We can add little of interest to this graphic 
 sketch of Mrs. Gove-Nichols, except to give a 
 selection or two from her latest works, which will 
 show her persevering eiforts in the profession she 
 has chosen, rather than her literary merits. Of 
 her remarkable talents, there can be no doubt, 
 nor of her sincerity. Whether she is or is not 
 right, time must determine. 
 
 Besides these engrossing medical pursuits, Mrs. 
 Gove found time to continue her literary studies. 
 In 1844, she commenced writing for the Demo- 
 cratic Review; she wrote the "Medical Elec- 
 tive Papers," in the American Keview, and was 
 a contributor to Godey's Lady's Book. She 
 prepared her " Lectures to Ladies on Anatomy 
 and Physiology," which work was published by 
 the Harpers in 1844. They also published, about 
 the same time, Mrs. Gove's little novel, "Uncle 
 John, or is it too much trouble," under the nomme 
 dc plume of Mary Orne, which she assumed when 
 writing fictitious tales. In this way she sent forth 
 " Agnes Norris, or the Heroine of Domestic Life," 
 and " The Two Loves, or Eros and Anteros ;" 
 both written in the hurry of overburdened life, 
 and, as might bo expected, evincing thatlhe spirit 
 was prompting to every means of active exertion, 
 while the natural strength was not sufiioient for 
 all these pursuits. 
 
 From " ExpcneiKe in \V.nt'jr-Cure." 
 MEDICAL PKACMOE. 
 
 It is not my object to attack any school of me- 
 dicine. I wish to give a very brief history of the 
 principles and practice of the scientific schools of 
 medicine, and also to give some results of my own 
 labours in water-cure. 
 
 I know that it is considered, by some, presump- 
 tion for a woman to come before the public as 
 a physician. It is very unpleasant to some to 
 see long-established customs broken, and long- 
 cherished prejudices set at nought, even when a 
 great good is to be achieved. But this is by no 
 means the only class of persons in the community. 
 
 " Upward and onward," is the governing thought 
 and the impelling motive of thousands. To these 
 I speak — to these I bring the results of my inves- 
 tigations and my labours. The thought and the 
 deed commend themselves to such as these with 
 no hindrance from respectable custom or grey- 
 headed prejudice. 
 
 In looking over the history of medical science, 
 we find that Allopathy has great claims on our 
 respect. The Allopathic school has always insisted 
 on its professors being educated. 
 
 Whatever has been known of anatomy, physi- 
 ology, and pathology, in the past, has been taught ' 
 by the Allopathic school ; and there is no differ- 
 ence between the professors of Allopathy and 
 Homoeopathy in this respect. Both insist on 
 thorough education. Both schools have been la- 
 borious in noting the characteristic symptoms of 
 disease, and tHe effects of what they considered 
 remedies. Perhaps the Homoeopathic school has 
 been most earnest and assiduous in this last work ; 
 but Homoeopathy being of recent date, must rest 
 its claims to our gratitude more on the zeal and 
 minuteness of its observations and discoveries, 
 than on the length of its days, or the voluminous- 
 ness of its records. The members of the Allo- 
 pathic profession have differed with regard to the 
 primary cause of disease. Those of the Homoe- 
 opathic profession, I believe, have been united. 
 
 Amongst the Allopathists, one portion have ad- 
 vocated what was termed the Humoral Pathology, 
 and another, the Nervous Pathology. Of all the 
 nervous pathologists. Dr. Billings is clearest. He 
 says, "all diseases have exhausted nervous influ- 
 ence for their cause." He says further, — 
 
 " During health, the capillary arteries go on 
 with the work of nutrition and secretion, the 
 muscles are fed, the mucous surfaces are lubri- 
 cated just enough to prevent any sensation from 
 the substances that pass along them — the serous 
 surfaces are made sufficiently soft to slide upon 
 each other without sensation, and the skin is kept 
 soft by an insensible vapour. All this time, there 
 is another process going on, which is the removal 
 of superfluous matter by the absorbents." 
 
 After demonstrating that all these processes are 
 carried on by the nervous energy. Dr. Billings 
 shows by irrefragable argument, that the loss of 
 this energy must produce disease. 
 
 Boerhaave seems, in the latter part of his life, 
 to have had a glimpse of this doctrine; indeed, 
 
 758 
 
NI 
 
 Nl 
 
 he admitted the sigency of the nervous power. In 
 proof of this, we may mention that in the 755th 
 of his aphorisms, where he lays down the proxi- 
 mate cause of intermitting fevers, he makes a 
 change in the fourth edition. Hitherto it had 
 stood — -"Whence, after an accurate examination 
 of the whole history, the proximate cause of in- 
 termittents is established to be viscosity of the 
 arterial fluid." To this in the fourth edition is 
 added, " Perhaps, also, the inertia of the nervous 
 fluid as well of the cerebrum as of the cerebellum 
 destined for the heart." 
 
 This theory of disease is shadowed in CuUen. 
 According to CuUen, the system is superintended 
 and regulated by a mobile and conservative energy 
 seated in the brain, acting wisely but necessarily 
 for the good of the whole. This energy, he con- 
 siders to be distinct from the soul, and acting not 
 only for the preservation, but the recovery of 
 health. 
 
 Faint traces of this theory of disease may be 
 found in the Brunonian system. 
 
 Darwin carries the idea farther, under the name 
 of sensorial fluid. Broussais comes next to Brown 
 with his theory of "organic contractility." 
 
 Humoral Pathology asserts, that morbid changes 
 in the blood are the cause of disease. 
 
 Homoeopathy asserts that psora is the cause of 
 disease. 
 
 A little reflection shows that all these state- 
 ments are true, and that it would be an error for 
 either school to assert that the evil it sees is only 
 the cause of disease. 
 
 It is clear, that if all the functions of the system 
 are carried on, and the whole maintained in a 
 state of health by the nervous energy, then if this 
 nervous energy is wasted by any abuse, either by 
 too much labour, too much thought, the domina- 
 tion of passion, or by taking poisonous stimulants, 
 the nervous power, being thus wasted, cannot 
 maintain the system in healtli. The consequence 
 is disease, and the deposition of morbid matter in 
 the system, which would have been thrown out if 
 the nervous power had been left to do its work. 
 
 Thus we see that the observations of nervous 
 and humoral pathologists and homceopathists have 
 all been valuable and truthful. 
 
 The practice of both these schools is understood. 
 It is to give as remedies the most virulent poisons 
 known to us. 
 
 The extreme minuteness of the doses used by 
 homoeopaths, has been a great recommendation 
 to those who have seen the bad effects of allopa- 
 thic doses, and yet have not lost their faith in 
 medicine. 
 
 I have used homoeopathic medicine with care 
 and in entire good faith, upon myself and my 
 patients. The result of my trials with it has been 
 to convince me, that though it has been, and is, a 
 great negative good to the world, it has no posi- 
 tive efiicaoy. But the hygienic rules insisted on 
 by Homceopathists are worthy of all praise. 
 
 With regard to allopathy, I must say that I 
 studied it honestly, and because it poisons and 
 oppresses the human constitution with drugs, and 
 debilitates it with bleeding, I consider it one of 
 
 the greatest evils that now rests upon the civilized 
 world. But I do not attach the blame of this evil 
 to individual practitioners of the art. Monarchy 
 and despotism are bad — gigantic in their badness, 
 but kings and despots may be good men. 
 
 These evils have their origin with the people, 
 and our only hope of removing them is in pro- 
 moting the intelligence of the people. 
 
 I maintain that the cause of disease is one — 
 the want of nervous energy. Numerous occasions 
 spring from this cause. In the fact, that diseas- 
 ing matter is left in the system, not only for years 
 but for generations, is seen the foundation of the 
 assertion of the homoeopathic school, that psora 
 is the cause of all disease. 
 
 The great questions for humanity are. What is 
 the cause of disease? and what remedial treat- 
 ment is best? 
 
 As a water cure physician, I maintain that ner- 
 vous energy is restored, and morbid matter cast 
 out of the system, by means of the proper appli- 
 cation of water cure. 
 
 We see that in case of disease, morbid matter 
 must be expelled from the system, ?ind by means 
 of the nervous energy. It becomes important, 
 then, to know whether we shall add to the evil 
 already in the system, and to the labour of the 
 already enfeebled vital energy, the most virulent 
 poisons known to us, and which are called medi- 
 cines, and thus still farther waste the vital energy 
 by compelling it to strive to expel the poison of 
 the disease and the poison of the medicine at 
 once. 
 
 I contend that we can add to the vital power 
 continually, by the water cure. 
 
 With regard to the evils of blood-letting, I have 
 only to say in the language of Scripture, " the 
 blood is the life." The regular medical profession 
 is rapidly purifying itself from the heresy of blood- 
 letting, or taking the life of patients. 
 
 Majendie, Marshall, Hall, Eberle, and many 
 others, are doing this work, and there is no doubt 
 that the good sense of the community is aiding in 
 it more than physicians or people are aware. 
 
 It is impossible to do any justice to the subject 
 of blood-letting in a paragraph, and I shall not 
 therefore attempt it. In my "Lectures to Ladies 
 on Anatomy and Physiology," page 226, some 
 interesting facts and authorities are given. The 
 regular profession of medicine has been, and is, 
 the depository of much knowledge. My hope is, 
 that it will not lag behind the age. 
 
 It is known that the faculty bleed less, and give 
 less medicine, and use more water, than formerly. 
 I see no good reason why this reform should no( 
 go on progressively with the intelligence and con- 
 sequent demand of the public. 
 
 The greatest men in the profession have sanc- 
 tioned the use of water. Hippocrates, the father 
 of medicine, Dsed water in his treatment of disease. 
 His works bear testimony to the cure of cramp, 
 convulsions, gout, and tetanus, by water. 
 
 Galen, who lived in the second century, cured 
 fever with water only. 
 
 Celsus recommends water for the cure of certaitt 
 diseases. 
 
 769 
 
NI 
 
 NI 
 
 Bueorhaayo recommends water to make the body 
 firm and sb'ong. 
 
 Hoffman, a oontompornvy of Booerhanve, wrote 
 on water for the cure of disease. Ho said if there 
 was a universal medicine, it was water, Hahn 
 also wrote on water cure ; and one of the best 
 water cure works was wi'itteu by Currie, a Fellow 
 of the Royal Society, Liverpool, and published 
 in 1799. 
 
 In 1749, Rev. John Wesley published a work 
 on water cure. He gives a list of eighty diseases 
 curable by water. 
 
 Dr. Billings and others have had a correct theory 
 of disease. Their error has beeu in introducing 
 medicines into the system, which they tliought 
 increased the nervous or contractile power. The 
 medicines being poison, and recognised as such 
 by the vital organism, have aroused all the energy 
 left iu the body to cast them out. The poison has 
 not increased the power, but stimulated what re- 
 mained, to action, and has thus resulted in still 
 greater waste to the system. Increase of action 
 has been mistaken for increase of power, and the 
 stimulation of poison for the tonic or strengthen- 
 ing effects of medicine. 
 
 The frightful effects of various kinds of medi- 
 cines can hardly be exaggerated. One of the most 
 common is calomel. 
 
 Salivation and the destruction of the organs of 
 .speech, and of the nose ; incurable rheumatisms 
 and paralysis, with rottenness of the bones, have 
 been caused by calomel, and minor ills produced 
 by it are every where. But with regard to the 
 eU'eots of medicines, a volume would not do them 
 justice. 
 
 Of liomceopathio medicines, I must say, that if 
 [ believed in their potency at all, I should believe 
 it an evil potency, because they are the poisons 
 of allopathy. Clialk, charcoal, and cuttle-fish, 
 and several other substances used by the homceo- 
 pathists, are exceptions. Those, surely, cannot 
 do injury. I should not fear to drink the water 
 of Lake Superior, if a few grains of arsenic had 
 been mixed wiUi the whole of it. On the same 
 principle I have never feared homoeopathic medi- 
 cines. 
 
 The darkness of this civilized era, with respect 
 to the effects of medicines upon the human system, 
 and the blind faith of even educated people in 
 physicians, is to me one of the most astonishing 
 phenomena in the world. But there is encourage- 
 ment. Light — more light, is the anxious cry of 
 many. 
 
 Some years since, I passed through the Albany 
 Medical College. I .saw there human bones that 
 Jiad rotted down under the poison of mercury. I 
 Maw tumours, ranged in glass vases, weighing from 
 ■one to more than twenty pounds. Doctors had 
 ■doubtless done all they could to cure these dis- 
 ■cases. With what they had done, or in spite of 
 ■it, the victims of ignorance and abuse had died. 
 Knowledge would have saved them from sufferings 
 wliich cannot be described, and from premature 
 ■death. When I saw those things, ond many more 
 that I cannot speak of, in that College, a devotion 
 to woman — to the work of spreading light on the 
 
 subject of health and disease, was kindled in my 
 heart, tJuit death only can quench. 
 
 I felt tlion that I would lay myself on the altar, 
 and be burned with fire, if woman could be saved 
 from the darkness of iguoraiioo, and the untold 
 horrors of her diseases. 
 
 QENEHAL VIKW OK MY PRAOTIOE AND SlICOKSS, 
 
 In IS-IU, I obtained books from England on the 
 Water Cure, and much ]iniotio«l inl'ormation from 
 Henry Gardner Wright, an I'Inglisli geutlcumn, 
 who spent some time in this cimntry during that 
 year. lie brought several works on >V liter Cure, 
 and being in bad lu-alUi, ho applied the witter in 
 his own case suocosslWly at my Cutlier's house, 
 where he remained some months. The books 
 that he brought, the accoiints that he gave me of 
 I'riessnitz' priK'tiee, and Water Cure practitioners 
 in. England, and his application of water in his 
 own case, added to my practical knowledge and 
 conviction on the subject, removed the last rem- 
 nant of my faith in drugs, and induced me to 
 practise water cure alone in every case that oamo 
 under my care. I soon saw what qualifications 
 were requisite to make a successful practitioner 
 of water cure. There are no rules of practice 
 applicable to all cases, but the water cure physi- 
 cian must have judgnuMit to adapt the treatment 
 to the vital or reactive power possessed by the 
 patient. A practice that would bo cmineiiUy suo- 
 ooBsl'ul in one ease, would surely destroy life in 
 another. Care and ability in tlio diagnosis of 
 disease, and skill in adapting the treatment tci the 
 strength and peculiar idiosyncraoy of the patient, 
 are indisiuMusiible to success in water cure. 
 
 In I8lt, ut the opening of Dr. Wesselhoeft's 
 water cure house in Brattleborough, Vermont, I 
 went to that place. I boarded near the water 
 cure house for three months, and observed the 
 praotioo very carefully, 1 also gave U'etiires to 
 classes, composed of ladies who were under water 
 treatment, and others, Krcim lirattlelmrough I 
 went to Lebanon Springs water cure house. Thoy 
 had no resident physician, and 1 concluded to re- 
 main for a time in that capacity. 1 locik charge 
 of the patients there for tliree months with the 
 best success, and then came to Now York, in the 
 latter part of the autumn of 1844. I went to Dr, 
 Show's water cure house in Bond street, and re- 
 mained for some weeks and saw his practice, I 
 then took rooms, and gave lectures to classes of 
 young ladies, and advice to patients, and attended 
 to out-door practice till May, 1845, wlien I wont 
 to reside at my late water euro house, 2til Tenth 
 street. There I have given lectures to classes of 
 ladies, and have taken board and day-patients, 
 and have also attended to out-door practice, as at 
 my present residence. 
 
 The first two years I had a large number of 
 board-patients, who came from a distance, from 
 Connecticut, Northern New York, Rhode Island, 
 Ohio, Kentucky, and several from the Southern 
 States, During the past year, my praotioo has 
 changed its character. Water cure houses have 
 been established in different parts of the country, 
 and patients oan bo treated nearer home ; oonso- 
 
 700 
 
NO 
 
 NO 
 
 quently, I have not had so many board-patients. 
 I have now a much larger practice in the city, 
 which is doubtless owing to the spread of intelli- 
 gence respecting water euro amongst the people, 
 and also to the fact of my having become known. 
 
 I have looked over the records of my practice 
 in this city, noting all failures and deaths, and 
 their causes. Only two patients have died under 
 my oare — both children; one died in the summer 
 of '47, the other in the summ-er of '49. The first 
 died of disease of the brain and dysentery, the 
 last of dysentery. Both were about nine months 
 of age : both were born of unhealthy mothers, 
 and were scrofulous. They seemed not to be 
 organized to live any longer. 
 
 It may seem strange that, with a large practice, 
 I have had so few deaths. I do not attribute tliis 
 to my skill altogether, though I believe that I un- 
 derstand my profession ; but it has so luippened. 
 
 I am now looking toward the education of 
 women as physicians, and particularly to attend 
 to midwifery practice. If our medical colleges 
 are not soon opened to woman, others will be 
 founded where she will be educated. The spirit 
 of the age will not any longer submit to bonds. 
 
 NOB, CANEDI MADDALENA, 
 
 Is a native of Bologna. Early in life she had 
 the opportunity at Bologna of acquiring a know- 
 ledge of literature and science, for which she 
 manifested decided abilities. She was admitted 
 to that celebrated university, and then, after going 
 through the regular studies, attended a course of 
 law lectures. In this science she became so tho- 
 roughly versed, that the faculty determined to 
 bestow a degree upon her. This was done on the 
 26th of April, 1807. The college of lawyers, in 
 endowing her with the doctoral ring, presented 
 her with a black velvet gown, embroidered in gold 
 with laurel leaves, and in the centre, woven in 
 gold letters, these words, — " Collegium Doctorum 
 Juris Archigymnasii Bouon, dat merenti." 
 
 Shortly after this she married, and has since 
 lived in the most retired domestic privacy. Nor 
 has the remembrance of her laurels or literary 
 triumphs diminished in the least the mildness 
 and modesty which are an essential part of her 
 character. 
 
 NORTON, CAROLINE ELIZABETH SARAH, 
 Grand-daughter of Richard Brinsley Sheridan, 
 has well sustained the family honours. Her father 
 was Thomas Sheridan, and her mother was the 
 daughter of Colonel and Lady Elizabeth Callander. 
 Mr. Sheridan died while his children were quite 
 young, and their mother devoted herself entirely 
 to their education. Mr. S. C. Hall, in his Gems 
 of the Modern Poets, describes the early genius 
 of Miss Caroline Sheridan, and the care her mo- 
 ther bestowed ; his notice is doubtless correct. 
 
 " To her accomplished and excellent mother," 
 he says, " may be attributed much of Mrs. Nor- 
 ton's literary fame ; — it forms another link in that 
 long chain of hereditary genius which has now 
 been extended through a whole century. Her 
 sister, the lady of the Hon. Captain Price Black- 
 
 wood, is also a writer of considerable taste and 
 power : her publications have been anonymous, 
 and she is disinclined to seek that notoriety which 
 the 'pursuits of literature' obtain; but those who 
 are acquainted with the productions of her pen 
 will readily acknowledge their surpassing merit. 
 
 The sisters used, in their childish days, to write 
 together ; and, before either of them had attained 
 the age of twelve years, they produced two little 
 books of prints and verses, called ' The Dandies' 
 Ball' and 'The Travelled Dandies;' both being 
 imitations of a species of caricature then in vogue. 
 But we believe that, at a much earlier period, 
 Mrs. Norton had written poetry, which even now 
 she would not be ashamed to see in print. Her 
 disposition to 'scribble,' was, however, checked 
 rather than encouraged by her mother; for a long 
 time, pen, ink, and paper were denied to the young 
 poetess, and works of fiction carefully kept out of 
 her way, with a view of compelling a resort to oc- 
 cupations of a more useful character. Her active 
 and energetic mind, notwithstanding, soon accom- 
 plished its cherished purpose. At the age of 
 seventeen, she wrote ' The Sorrows of Ros.alie ;' 
 and, although it was not published until some 
 time afterwards, she had scarcely passed her girl- 
 hood before she had established for herself the 
 distinction which had long been attached to her 
 maiden name." 
 
 When about nineteen years of age. Miss Sheridan 
 married the Hon. George Chapel Norton, brother 
 of the present Lord Grantley. He had proposed 
 to her three years before, but her mother had 
 postponed the engagement on account of her 
 daughter's youth ; and in the mean time Miss 
 Sheridan had made an acquaintance with one 
 whose early death prevented a union more con- 
 sonant to her feelings. When Mr. Norton again 
 sought her hand, he received it; but the marriage 
 was an unhappy one, and they were separated in 
 1840. The worl^has heard the slanders to which 
 she has been exposed, and a verdict of entire ac- 
 quittal from all who listened to them, can scarcely 
 have atoned for the cruel and baseless suspicions 
 and persecution to which she was subjected. Her 
 
 761 
 
NO 
 
 NO 
 
 reputdtion as a -virtuous woman is now established 
 beyond suspicion. England may well be proud 
 of this gifted daughter of song ; and her own sex 
 throughout the world should honour her for the 
 noble courage of soul by which she overcame the 
 malignity of unmerited persecution. 
 
 Mrs. Norton's second work was " The Undying 
 One," a poem, founded on the legend of the Wan- 
 dering Jew. In 1840, she published "The Dream, 
 and other Poems." In noticing these two works, 
 a writer iu the Quarterly Eeview says of Mrs. 
 Norton — " This lady is the Byron of our modern 
 poetesses. She has very much of that intense 
 personal passion by which Byron's poetry is dis- 
 tinguished from the larger grasp and deeper com- 
 munion with man and nature of Wordsworth. She 
 has also Byron's beautiful intervals of tenderness, 
 his strong practical thought, and his forceful ex- 
 pression. It is not an artificial imitation, but a 
 natural parallel." Another British writer,* com- 
 menting on the subject, more justly observes — 
 " That Mrs. Norton has a fervour, a tenderness, 
 and a force of expression, which greatly resemble 
 Byron's, there can be no doubt; but there all 
 similarity ceases. Byron is the personification of 
 passionate selfishness; his range of sympathy is ex- 
 tremely small. Mrs. Norton, on the other hand, 
 has a large and generous heart, essentially un- 
 selfish in its feelings, and universal in its sym- 
 pathies. (How perfectly these two persons typify 
 the diiferences in the characteristics of the sexes!) 
 Byron has a sneering, mocking, disbelieving spirit; 
 Mrs. Norton a simple, beautiful, child-like impli- 
 citness of soul. Byron's strains resemble the 
 vast, roaring, wilful waterfall, rushing headlong 
 over desolate rocks, with a sound like the wail of 
 a lost spirit ; Mrs. Norton's, the soft, full-flowing 
 river, margined with flowers, and uttering sweet 
 music." 
 
 With these opinions of Mr. Rowton we entirely 
 concur ; and there are some remarks by an Ame- 
 rican writer. Rev. Dr. Bethune, which are highly 
 creditable to his own cultivated taste and moral 
 feelings, as well as truly just to this distinguished 
 lady. "The traces of Mrs. Norton's sufl'erings 
 are burned deeply on her pages. She scorns to 
 hide the workings of her embittered memory and 
 outraged heart; yet her tone, though uncon- 
 strained, is lofty, yielding not to man, but to the 
 force of nature. What she has endured, has 
 taught her not misanthropy, but a stronger sym- 
 pathy with the weak and the wronged, a nobler 
 eloquence in appeals for freedom, truth, and 
 general ju.stice." 
 
 In 1843, .appeared her noble poem, " The Child 
 of the Islands ;" the nominal hero was the then 
 baby prince of Wales, but the real purpose of 
 Mrs. Norton was to pourtray the condition of 
 the poor in England. The philanthropy which 
 prompted the poem is as warm and holy as her 
 genius is pure and fervid. The production was 
 received with favour, and has, lib doubt, been of 
 essential service in awakening the public mind to 
 
 ♦ Frederic Rnwtou. 
 
 the cause of sufi'ering humanity. Mrs. Norton's 
 last work is a beautiful combination of her varied 
 talents, entitled "Music on the Wave;" the words 
 and music both her own — published in 1851. 
 
 The Honourable Mrs. Norton, as her true style 
 is, divides now with Mrs. Barrett Browning the 
 laurel Great Britain confers on her daughters of 
 song. Mr. Home, in his New Spirit of the Age, 
 says of these two distinguished women: — "Both 
 possess not only great mental energies, but that 
 description of strength which springs from a fine 
 nature, and manifests itself in productions which 
 evidently origin.ated in genuine impulses of feeling. 
 The subjects they both choose appear spontaneous, 
 and not resulting from study or imitation, though 
 cast into careful moulds of art. Both are excel- 
 lent artists : the one in dealing with subjects of 
 domestic interest ; the other in designs from sacred 
 subjects, poems of religious tendency, or of the 
 supernatural world. Mrs. Norton is beautifully 
 clear and intelligible in her narrative and course 
 of thought and feeling; Miss Barrett has great 
 inventiveness, but not an equal power in con- 
 struction. The one is all womanhood; the other 
 all wings." 
 
 This true womanly sentiment is a distinguishii.g 
 characteristic of Mrs. Norton's productions. Hii- 
 poems are- replete with beauties of language, of 
 images, and of thought; the most impassioned 
 passages are characterized by a sweet feminine 
 delicacy and purity of tone. Among her short 
 poems, many exquisite ones might be quoted. 
 She has also succeeded in the almost impossible 
 achievement — really good English sonnets. As 
 a prose writer, she must be ranked among the 
 best contributors to the annuals; and her novel, 
 "Woman's Reward," is hardly surpassed by any 
 of its contemporary romances. On the whole, we 
 are inclined to place Mrs. Norton at the head of 
 the living Women of Genius, who now make Eng- 
 land distinguished as the favoured country in 
 Europe for the development of the virtues, the 
 talents, and the true graces of womanhood. Mrs. 
 Norton has, we believe, powers of mind to sustain, 
 worthily, her high position. 
 
 From "The Dream." 
 IINES TO THE DUCHESS OF SnTHERLAND. 
 
 Once more, my harp! once more, although I thought 
 
 Never to wake thy silent strings again, 
 A wandering dream thy gentle chords have wrought. 
 
 And my sad heart, which long hath dwelt in pain, 
 Soars, like a wild bird from a cypress bough, 
 Into the poet's heaven, and leaves dull grief below ! 
 
 And unto thee — the beautiful and pure — 
 
 -Whnse lot is cast amid that busy world 
 Where only sluggish Dulness dwells secure. 
 
 And Fancy's generous wing is faintly furled; 
 To thee — whose friendship kept its equal truth 
 Through the most dreary hour of my embittered youth — 
 
 I dedicate the lay. Ah! never bard, 
 In days when poverty was twin with sotig; 
 
 Nnr vvatnlering harper, lonely and ill-starred. 
 Cheered by some castle's chief, and harboured long , 
 
 Not Scott's Last Minstrel, in his trembling lays. 
 
 Woke with a warmer heart the earnest meed of praise ! 
 
 762 
 
NO 
 
 NO 
 
 For easy are the alms the rich man spars 
 
 To sons of Genius, by misfortune bent; 
 But thou gav'st nie, what woman seldom dares, 
 
 Belief— in spite of many a cold dissent — 
 When, slandered and maligned, I stood apart 
 From those whose bounded power liath wiung, not crushed, 
 my heart. 
 
 Thou, then, when cowards lied away my name, 
 And scoffed to see me feebly stem the tide; 
 
 When some were kind on whom 1 had no claim, 
 And some forsook on whom my love relied, 
 
 And some, who might have battled for my sake. 
 
 Stood off in doubt, to see what turn the world would take— 
 
 Thou gav'st nie that the poor do give the poor. 
 Kind words and holy wishes, and true tears; 
 
 The loved, the near of kin. could do no more, 
 Who changed not with the gloom of varying years, 
 
 Hut clung the closer when 1 stood forlorn. 
 
 And blunted Slander's dart with their indignant scorn 
 
 For they who credit crime, are they who feel 
 Their own hearts weak to unresisted sin; 
 
 Memory, not judgment, prompts the thoughts which steal 
 O'er minds like these, an easy faith to win; 
 
 And tales of broken trutli are still believed 
 
 Most readily by those who have themselves deceived. 
 
 But like a w^hiie swan down a troubled stream, 
 Whose ruffling pinion hath the power to fling 
 
 Aside the turbid drops which darkly gleam 
 And mar the freshness of her snowy wing — 
 
 So ihou, with queenly grace and gentle pride. 
 
 Along the world's dark waves in purity dost glide 
 
 Thy pale and pearly cheek was never made 
 To crimson with a faint false-hearted shame ; 
 
 Thou did'st not shrink — of bitter tongues afraid. 
 Who hunt in packs the object of their blame; 
 
 To thee the sad denial still held true. 
 
 For from thine own good thoughts thy heart its mercy drew 
 
 And though my faint and tributary rhymes 
 
 Add nothing to the glory of thy day. 
 Yet every poet hopes that after-times 
 
 Shall set some value on his votive lay; 
 And I would fain one gentle deed record, 
 Among the many such with which thy life is stored 
 
 I 
 So when these lines, made in a mournful hour, | 
 
 Are idly opened to the stranger's eye, I 
 
 A dream of thee, aroused by Fancy's power, [ 
 
 Shall be the first to wander floating by; ] 
 
 And they who never saw thy lovely face. 
 Shall pause, to conjure up a vision of its grace! 
 
 For him— who plods his sauntering way along, 
 Whistling the fragment of some village song I 
 Dear art thou to the lover, thou sweet light. 
 Fair fleeting sister of the mournful night! 
 As in impatient hope he stands apart, 
 Companion'd only by his beating heart. 
 And with an eager fancy oft beholds 
 The vision of a white robe's fluttering folds. 
 
 OBSCURITY OP WOMAN S WORTH. 
 
 In many a village churchyard's simple grave, 
 
 Where all unmarked the cypress branches wave, 
 
 In many a vault where Death could only claim 
 
 The brief inscription of a woman's name ; 
 
 Of different ranks, and different degrees, 
 
 From daily labour to a life of ease, 
 
 (From the rich wife, who through the weary day 
 
 Wept in her jewels, grief's unceasing prey, 
 
 To the poor soul who trudged o'er marsh and moor. 
 
 And with her baby begged from door to door,— ) 
 
 Lie hearts, which, ere they found that last release. 
 
 Had lost all memory of the blessing " Peace;" 
 
 Hearts, whose long struggle through unpitied years 
 
 None saw but Him who marks the mourner's tears ; 
 
 The obscurely noble! who evaded not 
 
 The woe which He had willed should be their lot. 
 
 But nerved themselves to bear ! 
 
 Of such art thou, 
 My mother! With thy calm and holy brow. 
 And high devoted heart, which suffered still 
 Unnmrmuring. through each degree of ill. 
 And, because Fate hath willed that mine should be 
 A Poet's soul (at least in my degree,) — 
 And that my ver?e would faintly shadow forth 
 What I have seen of pure unselfish worth, — 
 Therefore I speak of Thee ; that those who read 
 That trust in woman, which is still my creed. 
 The early-widowed image may recall 
 And greet thy nature as the type of all! 
 
 TWILIGHT. 
 
 Oh! Twilight! Spirit that dost render birth ' 
 To dim enchantments; melting heaven with earth. 
 Leaving on craggy hills and running streams 
 A softness like the atmosphere of dreams; 
 Thy hour to all is welcome ! Faint and sweet 
 Thy light falls round the peasant's homeward feet, 
 Who, slow returning from his task of toil, 
 Sees the low sunset gild Ihe cultured soil. 
 And, tho' such radiance round him brightly glows. 
 Marks the small spark his cottage-window throws. 
 Still as his heart forestalls his weary pace. 
 Fondly he dreams of each familiar face. 
 Recalls the treasures of his narrow life. 
 His rosy children and his sunburnt wife, 
 To whom his coming is the chief event 
 Of simple days in cheerful labour spent. 
 The rich man's chariot hath gone whirling past, 
 A-nd these poor cottagers have only cast 
 One careless glance on all that show of pride, 
 Then to their tasks turn'd quietly aside ; 
 But him they wait for. him they welcome home. 
 Fixed sentinels look forth to see him come ; 
 The fagot sent for when the fire grew dim, 
 The frugal meal prepared, are all for him; 
 For him the watehing of that sturdy boy. 
 For him those smiles of tenderneBS and joy. 
 
 From " Poems." 
 
 WEEP NOT FOR HIM THAT DIETH. 
 
 " Weep ye not for the dead, neither bemoan him ; but weep snrp 
 for him that goelh away, for he shall return no more, nor see his 
 native coontiy." — Jeremiah xxii. 10. 
 
 Weep not for him that dieth — 
 
 For he sleeps, and is at rest; 
 And the couch whereon he lieth 
 
 Is the green earth's quiet breast; 
 But weep for him who pineth 
 
 On a far land's hateful shore, 
 WIio wearily declineth 
 
 Where ye see his face no more ! 
 
 Weep not for him that dieth. 
 
 For friends are round his bed, 
 And many a young lip sigheth 
 
 When they name the early dead : 
 But weep for him that liveth 
 
 Where none will know or care, 
 When the groan his faint heart givelh 
 
 Is the last sigh of despair. 
 
 Weep not for him that dieth. 
 
 For his struggling soul is free. 
 And the world from which it flieth 
 
 Is a world of misery ; 
 But weep for him that weareth 
 ^ The captive's galling chain- 
 To the agony he beareth, 
 
 Death were but little pain. 
 
 Weep not for him that dieth. 
 
 For he hath ceased from tears. 
 And a voice to his replieth 
 
 Which he hath not heard for years; 
 But weep for him who weepeth 
 
 On that cold land's cruel shore — 
 Blest, blest is he that sleepeth, — 
 
 Weep for the dead no more! 
 
 763 - 
 
NO 
 
 NO 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Like an enfranchised bird, who w iUily springs, 
 
 With a keen sparkle in his glanciiifi (;ye 
 And a strong etfurt in his quivering wings. 
 
 Up to ilie blue vault of the happy sky,— 
 So my enamoured heart, so !ong thine own. 
 
 At iRiigih from Love's imprisonment set free, 
 Goes forth into the open world alone, 
 
 Glad and exulting in its liberty: 
 But like that helpless bird, (confined so long, 
 
 His weary wings have lost all power lo soar,} 
 Who soon forgets to trill his joyous song. 
 
 And. feebly fluttering, sinks to earth oiicii more.— 
 So, from its former bonds released in vain. 
 My heart still feels the weight of that remembered chain 
 
 SONNET. — TO MY BOOKS 
 
 Silent companions of the lonely hour, 
 
 Friends, who can never alter or forsake, 
 Who for inctinstant roving have no powrr. 
 
 And all neglect, perforce, must calmly take — 
 Let me return to yoo; this turmoil emliri2 
 
 Which worldly cares have in my spirit wmuglit. 
 And, o'er your old familiar pages betidinir, 
 
 Refresh my mind with many a tranquil ilioiight. 
 Till, haply meeting tbere, from time to time. 
 
 Fancies, the audible echo of my own. 
 'Twill be like hearing in a foreign clime 
 
 My native language spoke in friendly tone, 
 And with a sort of welcome I shall dwell 
 On these, my unripe musings, told so well. 
 
 MAN AND WOMAN. 
 
 Warriors and statesmen have their meed of [iraise, 
 
 And what they do, or suffer, men record; 
 But the long sacrifice of wcman's days 
 
 Passes without a thought, without a word: 
 And many a lofty struggle for the sake 
 
 Of duties sternly, faithfully fulfilled — 
 For which the anxious mind must watch and wake. 
 
 And the strong feelings of the heart be still'd - 
 Goes by unheeded as the summer wind, 
 And leaves no memory, and no trace behind ! 
 Yet it may be, more lofly courage dwells 
 
 In one meek heart which braves an adverse fare. 
 Than his whose ardent soul indignant swells. 
 
 Warin'd by the fight, or cheer'd through high debai,;. 
 The soldier dies surrounded; could he live 
 Alone to suffer, and alone to strive ? 
 
 From "The Child of the Islands." 
 LONDON OUTCASTS. 
 
 What see the old trees then ? Gaunt, pallid forms 
 
 Come, creeping sadly to their hollow hearts. 
 Seeking frail shelter from the winds and storms, 
 
 In broken rest, disiurb'd by fitful starts; 
 
 There, when the chill rain falls, or lightning darts, 
 Or balmy summer nights are stealing on. 
 
 Houseless they slumber, close to wealthy marts 
 And gilded homes : there, whore the morning sun 
 'I'hat tide of wasteful joy and splendour look'd upon. 
 
 There the man hides whose better days are dropp'd 
 Round his starvation, like a veil of shame ; 
 
 Who, till the fluttering pulse of life hath atopp'd. 
 Suffers in silence, and conceals his name: 
 There the Inst victim, on whose larnish'd fame 
 
 A double taint of Death and Sin must rest. 
 Dreams of her village home and parents' blame, 
 
 And in her sleep, by pain and cold opprest. 
 r*raws close her tatter'd shawl athwart her shivering brisHr 
 
 Her history is written in her face: 
 
 The bloom hath left her cheek, but not from age 
 Youth, without innocence, or love, or grace, 
 
 Blotted with tears, still lingers on that page; 
 
 Smooth brow, soft hair, dark eyelash, seem to wage 
 With furrow'd lines a contradiction strong; 
 
 Till the wild witchcraft stories, which engage 
 ')ur childish thoughts, of magic change and vvronj;, 
 f?uL'ui realized in her — so old, and yet bo young! 
 
 And many a wretch forlorn, and huddled grn-ip 
 Of strangers met in brotheihood of woi'. 
 
 Heads that beneath their burden weakly siunp 
 Youth's tangled curls, and Age's locks of snow, 
 Kest on those wooden pillows, till the glow 
 
 Of morning o'er the brightening earth shall (i;isp ; 
 And these depart, none asking where they {T" ; 
 
 Lost in the World's confused and gathering ma^s. 
 While a new slide fills up Life's magic-lantern glu.-is. 
 
 COMMON BLESSINGS. 
 
 Those "common blessings!" In this chequered scene 
 How little thanksgiving ascends to God! 
 
 Is it, in truth, a privilege so mean 
 To wander with free footsteps o'er the sod. 
 See various blossoms paint the valley clod. 
 
 And all things into teeming beauty burst ? — 
 A miracle as great as Aaron's rod. 
 
 But that our senses, into dullness nurst, 
 Recuning Custom still with Apathy hath curst. 
 
 They who have rarest joy, know Joy's true measiiri! ; 
 
 They who most suffer, value Suffering's pause; 
 They who but seldom taste the simplest pleasure. 
 
 Kneel oftenest to the Giver and the Caiifit;. 
 
 Heavy the curtains feasting Luxury draws. 
 To hide the sunset and the silver night ; 
 
 While humbler hearts, when care no longer gnaws. 
 And some raie holiday permits delight, [si:h!. 
 
 Lingering, with love would watch that earth-enchanting 
 
 THE BLIND. 
 
 The wild bird's carol in the pleasant woods 
 
 Is all he knows of Spring! The rich perfuuie 
 Of flowers, with all their various scented buds. 
 
 Tells him to welcome Summer's heavy blnoui . 
 
 And by the wearied gleaners trooping hmne — 
 The heavy tread of many gatherfng feet,— 
 
 And by the laden wagon-loads that come 
 Brushing the narrow hedge with burden sweet, — 
 Ele guesses harvest in, and Autumn's store complete. 
 But in God's Temple the great lamp is out ; 
 
 And he must worship glory in the dark ! 
 Till Death, in midnight mystery, hath brought 
 
 The veiled Soul's re-illuminating spark,— 
 
 The pillar of the Clood enfolds the ark! 
 And. like a man that prayeth underground 
 
 In Bethlehem's rocky shrine, he can but mark 
 The lingering hours by circumstance and sound. 
 And break with gentle hymns the solemn silcncp round. 
 
 Yet still Life's Belter Light shines out abovp ! 
 
 And in that village church where first he learned 
 To bear his cheerless doom for Heaven's dear luve, 
 
 He sits, with wistful face for ever turned 
 
 To hear of those who heavenly pity earned : 
 Blind Bartimeus, and him desolate 
 
 Who for Bethesda's waters vainly yearned. 
 And inly sighs, condemned so long to wait. 
 Baffled and helpless still, beyond the Temple gate. 
 
 From " Music on the Wave." 
 THE WIDOW. 
 
 The old trite story — ever new, 
 
 To those who find its fate their own. 
 Had been that woman's lot; she loved, 
 
 Was wooed— was left — and now was lone. 
 And in the burst of her despair. 
 
 She would have yielded up her breath. 
 But that a rosy cherub stood 
 
 Ever between her soul and death. 
 Saying, " Forsake ine not, dear life. 
 
 That art the better part of mine ; 
 Have pity on the feeble grasp. 
 
 Which baby fingers round thee tv^'ine ; 
 Have pily on the dumb bright eyes 
 
 Whose sole expression is of love. 
 Still answering with a ready smile 
 
 The mother's smile that bends above; 
 Have pity on the tender limbs 
 
 Now cradled on thy rocking knee — 
 If even friends thy prayers have spurned. 
 
 Oh ! what will strangers prove to me !" 
 704 
 
PA 
 
 PA 
 
 PARDOE, JULIA, 
 Has travellexl much, and written many books. 
 Her works have all been reprinted in the United 
 States ; yet she has never been a favourite in our 
 reading republic. There seems to us something 
 wanting in her writings ; her works of fact want 
 historic truth in details, those of fiction want im- 
 passioned truth in sentiment. But the British 
 Reviews commend her talents highly ; and we 
 borrow from one* of these the following well- 
 written sketch. 
 
 " Miss Pardee is the second daughter of Mnjor 
 Thomas Pardoe, of the Royal Wagon Train, an 
 able and meritorious officer, who, after having 
 partaken of the hardships and shared the glories 
 of the Peninsular campaigns, concluded a brilliant 
 military career on the field of Waterloo, and has 
 not since been engaged in active service. 
 
 " Miss Pardoe gave promise, at a very early 
 age, of those talents which have since so greatly 
 distinguished her. Her first work, a poetical 
 production, was dedicated to her uncle. Captain 
 William Pardoe, of the Royal Navy, but is not 
 much known, and though exhibiting considerable 
 merit, will hardly bear comparison with her more 
 mature and finished productions. The earliest of 
 her publications which attained much notice, was 
 lier ' Traits and Traditions of Portugal,' a book 
 which was extensively read and admired. Written 
 in early youth, and amid all the brilliant scenes 
 which she describes, there is a freshness and 
 charm about it, which cannot fail to interest and 
 delight the reader. 
 
 " The good reception which this work met with, 
 determined the fair author to court again the 
 public favour, and she published several novels in 
 succession — 'Lord Morcar,' 'Hereward,' 'Specu- 
 lation,' and ' The Mardyns and Daventrys.' In 
 these it is easy to trace a gradual progress, both 
 in power and style, and the last-named especially 
 is a work worthy of a better fate than the gene- 
 
 * Bentli^v'B Miscellaiiv 
 
 rality of novels. But we are now approaching an 
 era in the life of Miss Pardoe. In the year 1836, 
 she accompanied her father to Constantinople, 
 and, struck by the gorgeous scenery and interest- 
 ing manners of the East, she embodied her im- 
 pressions in one of the most popular works which 
 have for many years issued from the press. ' The 
 City of the Sultan' at once raised her to the height 
 of popularity. The vividness of the descriptions, 
 their evident truthfulness, the ample opportunities 
 she enjoyed of seeing the interior of Turkish life, 
 all conspired to render her work universally known 
 and as universally admired. This was speedily 
 followed by ' The Beauties of the Bosphorus,' a 
 work, like ' The City of the Sultan,' profusely 
 .and splendidly illustrated, and this again by ' The 
 Romance of the Harem.' 
 
 " Miss Pardee's power of description and habits 
 of observation appeared to point out to her her 
 line of literature as peculiarly that of recording 
 the wonders of foreign lands, and a tour which 
 the family made through the Austrian empire, 
 enabled her to give the world the results of her 
 observations on Hungary in that excellent work, 
 ' The City of the Magyar,' a work now more than 
 ever deserving of public notice — less gay and 
 glittering than ' The City of the Sultan,' her work 
 on Hungary exhibits deeper research ; its statistics 
 are peculiarly accurate; and it is on all hands ad- 
 mitted to be one of the best books of travel ever 
 submitted to the public. 
 
 " A very short time after the publication of this 
 work, appeared ' The Hungarian Castle,' a collec- 
 tion of Hungarian legends, in three volumes, inte- 
 resting on all grounds, but especially as filling up 
 a very little known page in the legendary history 
 of Europe. 
 
 "About this time. Miss Pardoe, finding her 
 health sufl'ering from the too great intensity of 
 study and labour to which she had subjected her- 
 self, retired from the great metropolis, and has 
 since resided with her parents in a pleasant part 
 of the county of Kent. The first emanation from 
 her retirement, was a novel, entitled ' The Con- 
 fessions of a Pretty Woman,' a production which 
 was eagerly read, and rapidly passed into a second 
 edition. In due course of time this was followed 
 by another, ' The Rival Beauties.' These tales 
 are more able than pleasing; they are powerful 
 pictures of the corruptions prevalent in modem 
 society, and bear too evident marks of being 
 sketches from the life. We have placed ' The 
 Rival Beauties ' out of its proper order, that we 
 may conclude by a notice of those admirable his- 
 torical works on which Miss Pardee's fame will 
 chiefly rest — her 'Louis the Fourteenth' and 
 'Francis the First.' The extremely interesting 
 character ef their times admirably suited Misa 
 Pardee's powers as a writer, and she has in both 
 cases executed her task with great spirit and equal 
 accuracy. The amount ef information displayed 
 in these volumes is really stupendous, and the 
 depth of research necessary to produce it, fully 
 entitles Miss Pardee to take a very high rank 
 among the writers of history 
 
 " Her style is ea«y, flowing, and spirited, and 
 
PA 
 
 PA 
 
 hor iloVmoatious of oharaotor as vivitl as tlioy avo 
 just; nor would it bo easy to fiiiil any historical 
 work in whioU the tililc is so luiugleii with tlio 
 iliitce, as in those of Miss Pardoo. 
 
 " Slio is now, wo hoar with much [ilonsiirc, en- 
 gaged ou ' A Life of Mary do IModioi,' a subject 
 extremely suited to lior pen." 
 
 >Ve oaunot refrain from expressing our hope 
 that this anticipated work will, in some respocis, 
 excel lior " Louis tlio Fourteenth," whioh has been 
 much talked of, and, perhaps, much read. La 
 Bruyerfe says, "There is a tiisic for every tldng; 
 oven the worst has its partisans." This stricture 
 of a sagacious observer may neeount for the popu- 
 larity of iNliss Purdoo's "Louis the Kourlcentli ;" 
 yet, with such materials, it seems to us wonderful 
 a book could have been written by a woman with 
 30 little moral interest to commend it. Trivial 
 gossip, unfair views, and, above all, the reproduc- 
 tion of many scandalous aneedntes, that tend to 
 nothing but catering to a taste for rirassiireic, mar 
 this work ; nor are such faults redeemed by any 
 peculiar charm of stylo or arrangement. Wo like 
 Miss Pardee's novels bettci' tlinn hor histories. 
 
 Frnm " Tlio Couri and Koiffn of FriiariH the First," &c. 
 
 AJIIISKHKNTS OF TUB OODllT OF I'llAMOIS. 
 
 In the montli of May, Francis, probably some- 
 what alarmed by the deficit which had already 
 betrayed itself in the national exchequer, removed 
 his court to Amboise, whitlier Madame d'Angou- 
 ISme had preccilod him, for the purpose of cele- 
 brating at that castle the marriage of Mademoi- 
 selle do Bourbon, the sislor of the oonniitHble, 
 with the Duke de Lorrnine; and it is upon record 
 that, on this occasion, being desirous to give somo 
 variety to tlie festivities, which were limited in 
 their nature by tlie fact that, in a private resi- 
 dence, the etiquette of mourning for the lato king 
 did not permit either balls or masquerades, llio 
 young monarch caused a wild boar, whioh had 
 been taken alive in the neighbouring forest, to be 
 turned loose in the great court-yard of the oastlo, 
 having previously ordered every issue, by whioh 
 the savage denizen of the woods miglit escape, to 
 be carefully closed. This being, as it appeared, 
 fully accomplished, tlio courtly company tlien as- 
 sembled at Amboise, stationed themselves at the 
 windows, whence they amused themselves by east- 
 ing darts and other missiles at the enraged and 
 bewildered animal. 
 
 Highly excited liy this novel pastime, bc(s ran 
 high between the young nobles on their respective 
 skill; and bright eyes watched anxiously the flight 
 of every weapon as it was hurled from the respec- 
 tive casements. Suddenly, however, slirieks of 
 terror echoed through the spacious apartments. 
 The boar, tortured beyond endurance, had made 
 a furious plunge at the door whioh opened upon a 
 great staircase ; had dashed it in, and was rapidly 
 ascending the steps whioh led to the state-rooms, 
 and which were protected only by a hanging dra- 
 pery of velvet ; when the king, rushing from the 
 apartment where the horror-striokon ladies wore 
 crowding about the queen, and, thrusting aside 
 the courtiers who endeavoured to impede his 
 
 passage, throw himself full in the path of tho 
 maildened animal, and, adroitly avoiding his first 
 shook, stabbed him to tho heart. 
 
 rroni "Conl\;seiona of a Protly Woinuii." 
 
 TUAININO A BEAUTY. 
 
 My mother's personal arrangements once made, 
 she turned hor attention to myself, and masters 
 of every description wore fortliwilh provided for 
 me. The exortiuns of MiHlcniiiiseUe had already 
 commencod. It was deciilcd that, short as had 
 been tlio period of lier dictatorship, I was unde- 
 niably improved — in nppoiirance. I made a more 
 graceful courtesy, had got rid of my shyness, and 
 did not, by niiy unlandlailyliko demonstrations of 
 energy, disturb llio propriety of my dross. 
 
 Notliing coulil be better I Compliments were 
 showered upon Mademoisolle, and praises upon 
 myself; after whieli wc each made a lower and 
 more elegant cmirtcsy than before, and withdrew 
 to our iiltiniii Thuff. 
 
 Under tlic care of this invaluable jircccptress, I 
 learnt to n|iply (lie apothegm whioh has since boon 
 (falsely) nttribotcd to hor distinguished country- 
 man. Prince Talleyrand, thiit "words were given 
 to us to disguise our tlioughts." By the way, how 
 frequently it occurs tliat tho world fastens upon 
 an acknowledged wit, a shrewd saying to whioh 
 ho has never given utterance 1 It would appear 
 tliat individuals who occasionally stumble upon a 
 good tiling, of wliich they themselves do not per- 
 haps appreciate tho full merit, anxious that it 
 should not be lost, terminate it with, " as so and 
 so said ;" and in this manner, in order to save 
 their saying, snorifico tliciusolves. Even so, I 
 should imagine, was tlw really profound and diplp- 
 malie "saw," which 1 have just quoted, I'liKlciied 
 upon the modern Miicliiavel, who, nevertheless, 
 disclaimed its |iarcntii(;e. 
 
 1 learnt, also, to agree — at least in worils — with 
 every one upon every subject, and never In lietray 
 my own sentiments and opinions ; to look upon 
 every thing through tlie medium of expediency; 
 and to appreciate rank and riches beyond all 
 other human attributes. 
 
 TUB KliLKIlON or lAsniON. 
 
 lloVigion 1 had none. Madomoisollo tried the 
 village church, mid tho preaching of good Dr. 
 James, on one solitary occasion, and tlicii |ileiidcd 
 hor eonsoience as an cxoiiso for abseiiling herself 
 thenceforward. I had occasionally iicciiMi|iiinied 
 my mother and her party ; but as tlie family \mt 
 was closely curtained round with heavy damask, 
 and I sat on a cushion beside (he fire, amusing my- 
 self with the riohly-illustratod prayer-books, and 
 catching fniKineiits of their conversation, which, 
 out of respect for tho place, was carried on in soft 
 whispers, and thereby only rendered the more at- 
 tractive, I seldom lienrd more than the rospousoB, 
 and the extremely inharmunious singing of tho 
 children of Lady Madelaino's schools, which, oven 
 at that early age, used to set my (eoth on edge. 
 
 My notions of religion wore consequently of a 
 very vague and unformed description. When, n» 
 I somotimes saw my mother and her gncsts pn>- 
 
 760 
 
PA 
 
 PF 
 
 p.ii'ing to attend the morning serTioe witli undis- 
 gnised and even acknowledged i-eluctnnce, I ven- 
 tured to inquire for wliiit reason slie submitted to 
 nn annoynnce whioli it was in lier power to avoid, 
 she answered mo very sontentiously tliat she went 
 to chvu-oh "for the salce of example" — that "it 
 was necessary that the lower orders should see 
 persons of station uphold the clergy, or they 
 might presume to absent themselves in their turn, 
 wliich was a thing not to be thought of." She did 
 nut explain for what reason, nor did I enquire, for 
 she was evidently weary of the subject ; while I, 
 on my side, felt no particular interest in its con- 
 tinuance. I was accordingly quite satisfied, from 
 tliat time forth, whenever I swelled the train of 
 my mother on this septenaiy duty, that I was 
 setting an example to the "lower orders," and 
 was consequently a pereon of considerable im- 
 portance both to Dr. James and his parish. 
 
 USES OF ,\DTEKSITT. 
 
 Oh ! adversity is a shrewd task-mistress : a 
 mighty moral leveller — how it teaches us to ap- 
 preciate kindness, and to discover friends where 
 we had previously only discerned inferiors ! It 
 is, indeed, as tlve great poet of the world has said, 
 the jewel sti'uok out of the ugliness and venom of 
 the heart. Fine friends fall away — the dust of 
 the butterfly's wings is swept oif by the cold touch 
 of tils same adversity — and it is then, and only 
 then, that we turn to simple, pure, and honest 
 human hearts for comfort. Happy they, who 
 even thus tardily iiud what they seek. 
 
 PASTA, JUDITH, 
 
 ^Tas born in 1798. at Como, near Jlilan, of a 
 Jewish family. At the age of fifteen, she was ad- 
 mitted as a pupil to tlie Conservatorio of Milan, 
 then under the direction of Asiol^. Her voice was 
 naturally hard and unequal, and she had great 
 difiiculty in satisfying the master of vocalisation. 
 She made her d^but in- 1815, upon the second-rate 
 theatres, such as those of Brescia, Parma, and 
 Leghorn; from that period till 1822, she strug- 
 gled through the apprenticeship of her profession 
 without any presage of her future celebrity. At 
 that period, during the congress, she obtained a 
 brilliant success at Vei-ona. She then went to 
 Paris, where she excited vast enthusiasm, and 
 laid the foundation of a reputation never sur- 
 passed by any dramatic singer. Not that she 
 ever attained very great perfection in her vocali- 
 sation, or her method of throwing out her voice f 
 but she had the most wonderful gift of assimilating 
 herself to every character ; there was in her ac- 
 cents something so penetrating, so indescribably 
 touching, that sha possessed unlimited command 
 over the feelings of her audience. She gave the 
 deepest study to her art, and every representation 
 seemed to mark a progress. She first appeared 
 in the character of Desdemona, in London, in 
 March, 1824, This was always one of her finest 
 parts ; and some years afterwai-ds furnished a sub- 
 ject for comparison with Madame Malibran, with 
 whom it was also a favourite rile. If the latter, 
 itt her rooal eseoution and the pure feeling of 
 
 music, had an incontestable advantage, nobody 
 could deny to Madame Pasta a higher conception, 
 more unity, and, in a word, a truer expression of 
 the unfortunate Venetian. 
 
 In 1829, Madame Pasta purchased a beautiful 
 country-seat near lake Como ; and after passing 
 her summers there for some years, she at length 
 appeared to give up the stage, having lived quietly 
 for three years in this agreeable retreat. When 
 in 1840 she accepted proposals from the Russian 
 court to go to St. Petersburg, the emoluments 
 given her for tliat season were fixed at 40,000 
 dollars of our money. 
 
 Madame Pasta has received more praise, and 
 awakened more enthusiasm, than any actress of 
 the age. Bellini wrote Norma and the Sonnam- 
 bula expressly for her ; in the latter, it was sur- 
 prising to see her admirable in a simplicity so 
 very difl'erent from the stately parts in which she 
 generally excelled. Her Anna Bolena exhibits an 
 energy and dignity which have served as a model 
 to all subsequent actresses. 
 
 PFEIFFEK, MADAME, 
 H.^s distinguished lierself in a very remarkable 
 manner by travelling alone on a journey around 
 the globe. AVe give the account, taken from a 
 letter of the Rev. J. Perkins, American Missionary 
 at Oroomiah, Persia, who thus details her adven- 
 tures: — 
 
 " On the 1st of August, 1848, a knocking at the 
 door of our mission premises was soon followed 
 by the quick step of a native, who came to Dr. 
 I Wright with the statement that there stood in the 
 street a woman, who knew no language, and was 
 entirely unattended, except by a Koordish mule- 
 teer. A moment afterward, another native came 
 with the additional statement, the lady is dressed 
 in English clothes, and she says in your language, 
 Will you give me a little water ? 
 
 "Dr. Wright, whose curiosity and astonishment 
 could hardly be otherwise than highly excited, by 
 the announcement of a lady in European costume, 
 speaking English, in the street, at night, and un- 
 attended, in this remote, barbarous land, where 
 the appearance of a European man is a thing of 
 very rare occurrence, soon had ocular proof of 
 what his ears were so reluctant to admit — a bona 
 fide European lady standing before him, having a 
 letter for Mr. Stocking from an acquaintance of 
 his at Mosul, which introduced us to Madame 
 Pfeiffer, of Vienna, who had performed the circuit 
 of the world, thus fiu-, alone, and was now hasten- 
 ing toward her home. 
 
 "Who, then, is Madame Pfeiffer? She is a 
 German lady, fifty-one years old, of great intelli- 
 gence, and most perfect accomplishments, and, to 
 appearance, thoroughly sane on every subject, un- 
 less it be her style of travelling, which is at least 
 somewhat peculiar. 
 
 " Madame Pfeiffer, leaving her husband and her 
 
 two sons, (one of them an of&cer of government 
 
 I and the other an artist,) started in 1846 on her 
 
 ' tour around the world. An aged gentleman of 
 
 her acquaintance accompanied her for a short 
 
 time ; but finding that she was obliged to protect 
 
 767 
 
PF 
 
 PF 
 
 him iusteal of his protecting her, she left him, 
 and proceeJed entirely alone. 
 
 " From Europe, Madame Pfeiffer went to Brazil, 
 where she admired the brilliant flowers and the 
 magnificent forests more than almost any thing 
 else that she had seen, and where she came very 
 near being murdered by a black ruffian, who at- 
 tempted to rob her. She still carries the soars of 
 the wounds then received, but states, with evident 
 satisfaction, that she had cut oflF three of his fin- 
 gers, in self-defence, when several persons provi- 
 dentially came to her rescue. She had intended 
 to cross the continent, from Rio to the Pacific 
 ocean; but finding things in too disordered a state 
 to admit of it, she took passage in a sailing vessel 
 at Rio, in which she doubled Cape Horn, and went 
 to Chili ; and after a short stay at Valparaiso, she 
 took passage in another vessel for Tahiti, where 
 she made an agreeable visit, among the mementos 
 of which she has Queen Pomare's autograph. 
 
 " From Tahiti, our heroine traveller proceeded 
 to China, where she visited several of the points 
 most accessible to foreigners, mingling socially 
 with the missionaries there, whom she mentions 
 familiarly by name, as Dr. Bridgeman, Dr. Ball, 
 Mr. Gutzlaff, &c. ; the autograph of the last named 
 of whom she has in Chinese. One of the strongest 
 impressions which she seems to have brought from 
 the 'celestial empire' is, the imminent insecurity 
 of foreigners at Canton. 
 
 "From China, Madame Pfeifi'er went to Cal- 
 cutta ; and from that city, she travelled overland, 
 across British India, to Bombay, passing through 
 a great variety of incidents and adventures on the 
 way, and holding much pleasant intercourse with 
 Protestant missionaries, (though herself born and 
 educated a Catholic,) at various stations and of 
 different nations. 
 
 " From Bombay, Madame Pfeiffer went in a 
 steamer to Bussorah ; and thence, in another 
 steamer, up to Bagdad ; and from Bagdad, she 
 travelled in company with a caravan up to Mosul, 
 as a memento of which place she has a sculptured 
 figure of the human head, taken from the ruins of 
 ancient Nineveh. From Mosul, she crossed the 
 formidable Koordish mountains to Oroomiah — a 
 caravan journey of twelve days, (but protracted, 
 in her case, by tedious delays, to twenty days,) 
 in company with a Koordish muleteer, on a route 
 of greater exposure, humanly speaking, than any 
 other she has travelled during her circuit of the 
 world. 
 
 " After a visit of one day with us, which we all 
 wished could have been longer, Madame Pfeiffer 
 hastened on toward Tabreez, intending to go 
 thence through Georgia to Tiflis, and thence 
 across the Caucasus, through European Russia, 
 to Vienna, hoping to reach her home about the 
 first of November. 
 
 " The adventurous circumstances of Madame 
 Pfeiffer, during many parts of her tour, invest it 
 with the most romantic and thrilling interest. 
 Think, for instance, in her passage across the wild 
 Koordish mountains, of a savage Koord pointing 
 to the tassel on the Turkish fez (cap) she wore, to 
 which he took a fancy, and demanding it of her 
 
 by the significant gesture of drawing his hand 
 across his throat — meaning, of course, "Give me 
 the tassel as you value your head;" and she, in 
 turn, repelling the demand, by gestures, unable 
 to speak to him a word orally, in any language 
 he could understand. Through many such adven- 
 tures she made her way safely to Oroomiah, car- 
 rying about her person a large sum of money, (by 
 accidental necessity rather than choice,) over the 
 wild regions of Koordistan, in a manner which 
 seems to us truly marvellous. Her practical motto 
 is, never betray fear ; and to her strict adherence 
 to that, she expresses herself as greatly indebted 
 for her success in travelling. 
 
 " On the road, Madame Pfeiffer, in these re- 
 gions, wears the large veil, concealing most of the 
 person, which is commonly worn here by native 
 females, when they go abroad, and rides astride, 
 as they also ride ; but her other garments, (with 
 the exception of the Turkish cap above named,) 
 are sufficiently European, in appearance, to dis- 
 tinguish her from natives. Her language, on the 
 way, in these lands, is wholly the language of 
 signs, dictated by necessity, and which she seems 
 often to have made very expressive. On the last 
 day's ride, before reaching Oroomiah, for instance, 
 the stage being two ordinary stages, and the mule- 
 teer, at one time, proposing to halt till the next 
 day, she would rest her head upon her hand, as 
 emblematical of sleep, and repeat Oroomiah ; and 
 when the muleteer, from regard to his tired horses, 
 still insisted on halting, she added tears to her 
 gestures ; and the obstinate Koord's heart, accord- 
 ing to his own statement, was then irresistibly 
 subdued — so much so, that he went promptly and 
 cheerfully. Her helplessness and dependence, on 
 well known principles, did much, doubtless, at 
 once to win for her kindness among the bloody 
 Koords, and ward off danger. Madame Pfeiffer 
 has, however, intrinsic elements of a good tra- 
 veller. Though she had rode, on the day she 
 reached Oroomiah, almost incessantly, from one 
 o'clock, A. M., till eight o'clock, p. m., at the weari- 
 some rate of a caravan, over a very dry, hot, dusty 
 region, a distance of near sixty miles, still, on her 
 arrival, she seemed little tired — was buoyant and 
 cheerful as a lark, (which is probably her habitual 
 temperament,) and was quite ready, the next day, 
 (the only day she stopped with us,) to take a plea- 
 sure ride on Mount Seir. 
 
 " Madame Pfeiffer occupies but a single horse 
 on her journey ; her small trunk being swung on 
 one side of the animal, and her scanty bed on the 
 other, and she riding between them. Her fare on 
 the road, moreover, is extremely simple — consist- 
 ing of little more than bread and milk — a regimen 
 not more convenient to tn travei."", on t^'e score 
 of economy, than conducive, as she says, to her 
 health, and certainly to her security. To those 
 who may be curious in regard to the expenses of 
 her tour round the world, I may repeat her state- 
 ment, that she had expended, when here, just 
 about one thousand dollars. 
 
 "A passion for travel is the ruling motive that 
 carries JIadame Pfeiffer so cheerfully and cou- 
 rageously through all her manifold hardships and 
 
 TG8 
 
PE 
 
 PE 
 
 perils. She, however, has minor ohjeots — makes 
 large collections of insects and flowers. She is 
 already an authoress of some celebrity, having 
 published a work on Iceland, and another on Syria 
 and the Holy Land, the fruits of her earlier travel ; 
 and the copious notes and observations which she 
 is making during her tour around the world, will, 
 of course, in due time be given to the world. 'A 
 small affair,' she pertinently remarked, ' would it 
 have been for me to sail around the world, as 
 many have done ; it is my land journeys that 
 render my tour a great undertaking, and invest it 
 with interest.' 
 
 " Madame PfeifFer expressed her purpose, after 
 visiting home and resting a while, of taking North 
 America in her next tour. Possibly, this female 
 Ledyard will meet with some, in our native land, 
 under whose eye this notice may fall ; if so, we 
 would bespeak for her their kind offices, and 
 pledge them, in return, a rare entertainment in 
 making her acquaintance." 
 
 Madame PfeifFer reached her home in safety, 
 where she has since remained. 
 
 PEIRSON, LYDIA JANE, 
 Was born in Middletown, Connecticut. Her 
 father, William Wheeler, was a man of education 
 and of a poetic turn of mind, and from him his 
 daughter probably inherited her genjus. From 
 her earliest years. Miss Wheeler displayed that 
 fondness for poetry and music which was to cha- 
 racterize her after life, and almost in her infancy 
 was accustomed to compose verses, and sing them 
 to little wild airs of her own. These first songs 
 were all of God and nature, she being, like almost 
 all children of genius, of a devotional cast of mind 
 and exquisitely sensible of beauty. Her powers 
 of memory were unusually great ; and in several 
 instances she learned by heart whole books, such 
 as Falconer's Shipwreck, The Lady of the Lake, 
 Lalla Rookh, Byron's Bride of Abydos, Corsair, &c. 
 Although Miss Wheeler began to write at such an 
 early age, she did not publish any of her produc- 
 tions till after her marriage, esteeming, with a 
 modesty natural to a refined and sensitive mind, 
 her own writings too insignificant to interest any 
 one. When she was fifteen years of age, her pa- 
 rents removed to Canandaigua, New York ; and 
 two years after. Miss Wheeler was married to 
 Mr. Peirson, of Cazenovia, and removed with her 
 Uusband into the unsettled wilds of Tioga county, 
 Penn., whei-e she has passed the last twenty years. 
 During the first years of her utter loneliness 
 and seclusion in the forest, being shut out from 
 society and almost without books, her pen was 
 her only solace — the charm that alone warded off 
 despondency and gloom. Mrs. Peirson wrote from 
 no pecuniary motives, though for many years her 
 children were chiefly dependent on her efforts; 
 but because the spirit of poetry which filled her 
 breast would compel an utterance ; and in that 
 she found sweet relief from her many cares. She 
 has written much — chiefly for magazines and pews- 
 papers. Her published poems would fill more than 
 a thousand common octavo pages, and the half 
 that she has written is yet unpublished. Her 
 2Y 
 
 published prose exceeds her poems, two pages to 
 one, and amongst it all there cannot be found a 
 bad or worthless article. Her prose papers have 
 never been collected ; but she has published two 
 volumes of poems — "Forest Leaves," in 1845, 
 and " The Forest Minstrel," in 1847. Her writings 
 are characterized by ease, grace, delicacy, and 
 beauty, bearing marks of a genuine and sincere 
 love of nature, and are evidently the outpourings 
 of an earnest soul, full of deep and strong sensi- 
 bilities. In 1849, she edited the Lancaster Lite- 
 rary Gazette with much success. None of our 
 female writers have surmounted so many impedi- 
 ments in their literary career as Mrs. Peirson. 
 
 From " Forest Leiives." 
 
 OLD TEEES. 
 
 It was a wilderness, 
 A wild dark forest of old patriarcji trees, 
 Gigantic trees, of which no living man 
 Could say; I saw them wlien their truiil<s were less. 
 Their heads less high than now. Moss-grown, and gre> 
 They stood, the nionuments of ages past; 
 Engrav'd in characters which every eye 
 May read and understand, with one great name, 
 The name of Him w^ho rear'd them ; of all else 
 As desert ruins silent, save at limes 
 When spirits from the far mysterious past 
 Come back like children to a household hearth. 
 And mourn for all the beautiful arid dear 
 That come no more to meet them. Then a voice 
 Of strange dark sighing heaves the heavy robes 
 Above their stern old hearts. 
 
 WOMEN IN THE WHDEBNESS. 
 
 Dost thou know 
 How fares the forest dweller, in her hut 
 Of unhewn logs, erected hastily. 
 With windows all unglaz'd, and roof of bark. 
 Through which the rain drops trickle, and the storm 
 Looks down upon the sleeper? Hast thou known 
 The stern privation, and the cruel want 
 That make themselves at home in such abodes. 
 And cast their shadows between heart and heart, 
 Excluding love's warm sunlight, till the blooms 
 That look to it for life grow pale and die ? 
 If thou dost know these things, I need not tell 
 The painful story. If thou knowest not, 
 'Twere vain to tell, for thou canst not believe. — 
 She was still young, and on her face and form 
 The m.tgic light of beauty linger'd still ■ 
 The rose was on her cheek ; but o'er her brow 
 There lay a shadow, even when she smiled, 
 The fearful shadow which a darken'd heart 
 Throws on the sunshine of the spirit's joy. 
 And those blue eyes — the dewy tenderness 
 Of heaven dwelt still within them, and bright forms 
 Of human sympathies lay tremblingly 
 Amid their troubled. waters.^and her voice 
 Had in its cadence that complaining tone, 
 With which the heart, that will not be belied. 
 Tells its own smry. 
 
 THE MOTHER. 
 
 It was a winter eve. 
 The fire was blazing brightly on the hearth 
 Within a rural dwelling. She was there, 
 But, oh ! no longer young or beautiful ; 
 For toil, and sorrow, and the restlessness 
 With which strong spirits struggle with their bonds, 
 Like those wild mighty birds that will not brook 
 The chains they cannot sever; these had touch'il 
 The grace and beauty of her form and face ; 
 But in her eyes the spirit liv'd and spake, 
 And dazzled as of old. Around her sat 
 A band of children, and with gentle voice 
 
 769 
 
PB 
 
 PH 
 
 She gave familiar lessons, teaching them 
 
 The gentle virtues, knitting their young hearts 
 
 In one sweet bond of love; and leading thus 
 
 Their willing minds by easy flowery paths 
 
 Toward the hill of srieTice. Still she plied 
 
 Her needle all the while, with busy hand, 
 
 And oftentimes, amid her cheerful words, 
 
 Sigh'd all unconsciously — then smiled again. 
 
 And spoke to them of hope, and coming years. 
 
 Bright with the beams that always shine from heaven 
 
 Upon the path of piety and truth. 
 
 THE POETESS. 
 
 Her task was done. The evening prayers were said, 
 
 The good night spoken, and the kiss exchang'd, 
 
 And she was left alone. She brought her pen 
 
 And spread before her the unsullied sheet, 
 
 On which she thought to trace the imagings 
 
 Of bright and sportive fancies. But her hand 
 
 Was cold and weary, and her heart was sad. 
 
 Beside her lay a page on which her name 
 
 Was printed with high honours as a bard 
 
 Well worthy of a place amid the band, 
 
 Of which her country boasts. So she had won 
 
 The meed she coveted, the wreath of Fame, 
 
 And now she felt the utter worthlessness 
 
 Of such a glittering toy. It had no power 
 
 To still the painful throbbings of her heart. 
 
 To cool the fever of her troubled brain, 
 
 Or satisfy the yearnings of her soul. — 
 
 She droop'd her face upon her folded hands, 
 
 And wepl, oh! long and bitterly. 
 
 THE SHADOWS OF THE PAST. 
 
 The Shadows of the Past ! Oh. dim and pale. 
 
 They linger in the paths where joy has been ; 
 And Memory lifts at times oblivion's veil. 
 
 And lights the vista with her magic sheen, 
 Till stricken hearts go mad, and call in vain 
 On joys, that ne'er can thrill her chords again. 
 
 The Shadows of the Past ! Oh, beautiful 
 In the deserted bowers of bliss they stand ; 
 
 So gentle-ey'd, so meekly sorrowful. 
 Extending toward us the familiar hand ; 
 
 Oh ! we would bribe Heaven's mercy, to restore 
 
 Those blessed angels to our arms once more. 
 
 The Shadows of the Past! Oh, sad they seem. 
 
 With wither'd rnse-bnds braided in their hair, 
 And broken tablets of the heart's young dream. 
 
 Oh ! precious were the hopes dissever'd there ; 
 Woe to fhe weary heart, which, all undone, 
 Looks back and weeps — and wanders darkly on ! 
 
 TO SLEEP. 
 
 Yes, come, for I am weary, and would feel 
 Thy breath of balm upon my fever'd brow; 
 
 Soft to my couch thy breezy footsteps steal. 
 Oh, gentle soother! thou art welcome now. 
 
 How quietly thou glidest from thy bower 
 Of silken poppies, in the shadowy vale, 
 
 Where Lethe's wafers press the silent shore, 
 And drooping plants their dreaifiy breath exhale ! 
 
 Now lay thy velvet hand upon mine eyes, 
 Shut out the world, and calm my throbbing brain ; 
 
 Then fVom the twilight land of mysteries, 
 I pray thee, beckon thine enchanted train. 
 
 Shadows of gentle memories, dreas'd by thee 
 In radiant tissue of immortal light; 
 
 And yet with semblance of reality, 
 And all familiar to my mental sight. 
 
 All forms of Lqve, and Truth, and holy Hope, 
 That laid their Bhort-liv'd offerings on my heart, 
 
 When I believ'd that flowers would never droop, 
 And braided roses never fall apart. 
 
 Oh, simple faith of girlhood! Purer, far. 
 Than the cold worship of the world-wise heart, 
 
 Which desolate, and seam'd with many a scar, 
 Conceals its anguish with a veil of art 
 
 Thy dewy fingers only can restore 
 The faded treasures of life's blessed morn : 
 
 And weave around the heart, which hopes no more, 
 Sweet garlands of the rose that wears no thorn. 
 
 PHELPS, ALMIRA H. LINCOLN, 
 
 Was born in Berlin, Connecticut, in 1793. The 
 character of her father, Samuel Hart, is described 
 in the memoir of her elder sister, Mrs. Emma 
 Willard. Her mother was Lydia Hinsdale, a 
 woman of great energy and sound judgment. 
 Almira, the youngest of a large family, was in- 
 dulged in childhood ; but love of knowledge, and 
 an ambition to excel, induced her, as she grew 
 older, to seek her chief pleasure and occupation 
 in intellectual pursuits and moral improvement; 
 religious truths, also, early exercised great influ- 
 ence over her. She was, for some years, the pupil 
 of her sister Emma, and after the marriage of the 
 latter to Dr. Willard, passed two years with her 
 in Middlebury, Vermont. When about eighteen, 
 she spent a year, as a pupil, at the then cele- 
 brated school of her relative. Miss Hinsdale, in 
 Pittsfield, Massachusetts. She married, not long 
 after, Simeon Lincoln, who succeeded William L. 
 Stone as editor of the '* Connecticut Mirror," in 
 Hartford, Connecticut. 
 
 At the age of thirty, Mrs. Lincoln was left a 
 widow, with two children, and with two perplexed 
 estates, those of her husband and his father, to 
 settle, which she successfully accomplished. At 
 that time, she began the study of the Latin and 
 Greek languages and the natural sciences, and 
 also applied herself to improving her talent for 
 drawing and painting, in order to prepare herself 
 for assisting her sister^ Mrs. Willard, in the Troy 
 Seminary, where she passed seven years, engaged 
 in alternate study and instruction. 
 
 In 1831, Mrs. Lincoln married the Hon. John 
 Phelps, a distinguished lawyer of Vermont, in 
 which State she resided for the next six years. 
 In 1839, she was called on to assume the office 
 
 T70 
 
PH 
 
 PH 
 
 of Principal of the West Chester (Pa.) Female 
 Seminary, which invitation she accepted ; she 
 subsequently removed to the Patapsco Female 
 Institute, near EUicott's Mills, Maryland, -where 
 she now presides over one of the most flourishing 
 and best-conducted institutions of the country. 
 Mr. Phelps, by whose assistance and advice his 
 wife had been aided and guided in establishing 
 the Institute, died in 1849. 
 
 The first work published by Mrs. Phelps was 
 her larger Botany, generally known as "Lincoln's 
 Botany," printed about 1829. Few scientific 
 books have 'had a more general circulation than 
 this, and, for the last twenty years, it has kept 
 its place as the principal botanical class-book, 
 notwithstanding numerous competitors. Her nest 
 work was a " Dictionary of Chemistry," which, 
 though it purported to be a translation from the 
 French, contains much, in the form of notes and 
 an appendix, that is original. With the learned, 
 this work gave the. author great credit, as it 
 evinced much research and a thorough knowledge 
 of the science which it illustrated. After her 
 second marriage, she prepared her "Botany" and 
 " Chemistry for Beginners ;" and also published 
 a course of lectures on education, which had been 
 addressed to the pupils of the Troy Seminary, 
 and which pow constitutes, under the title of the 
 "Female Student, or Fireside Friend," one of the 
 volumes of the " School Library," published by 
 the Messrs. Harper. "This work," says an Eng- 
 lish publisher, in his advertisement to a second 
 London edition, " deserves to be extensively cir- 
 culated in this country (England). The author is 
 one of the most distinguished writers on education. 
 In America, great efforts are now making to im- 
 prove female education, and Mrs. Phelps wiU be 
 found an eloquent advocate for her sex." 
 
 A larger and smaller " Natural Philosophy, for 
 Schools," a " Geology for Beginners," with a 
 larger Chemistry, soon followed ; and a transla- 
 tion of Madame Necker de Saussure's " Progres- 
 sive Education," by Mrs. Willard and Mrs. Phelps, 
 with notes, and "The Mother's Journal" as an 
 appendix, by the latter, was published in 1838. 
 Her next work was a small volume, " Caroline 
 Westerly, or the Young Traveller," which consti- 
 tutes volume sixteen of Harpers' Boys' and Girls' 
 Library for Beginners. The works we have enu- 
 merated were all written by Mrs. Phelps within 
 about eight years, during the first two of which 
 she was connected with the Troy Female Semi- 
 nary, and much occupied by important duties 
 connected with its supervision. During the six 
 remaining years, she resided in Vermont, where 
 she became the mother of a son and daughter, and 
 presided over the household affairs of her home 
 with tact and ability 'equal to those who make 
 housekeeping the chief pursuit of their life. The 
 only book published by Mrs. Phelps since she has 
 been actively engaged in education, is " Ida Nor- 
 man, or Trials and their Uses," which was written 
 for the benefit of her pupils. Some of her ad- 
 dresses at the public examinations and commence- 
 ments of the Institute have been published, and 
 we understand that it is her intention soon to 
 
 issue a volume of her addresses to her pupils on 
 moral and religious subjects. 
 
 In her girlhood, Mrs. Phelps wrote occasional 
 poetry, and commenced a record of her reading, 
 observations, and the events of her life, which 
 she has continued to the present time ; and pro- 
 bably, had she 'chosen to court the muses rather 
 than cultivate the sciences, she might have been 
 equally successful. But it is as a teacher that 
 her fine talents and good influence have been most 
 beneficial to her sex and to her country. The 
 ofice of instructress to the young is a mission of 
 great power and responsibility, which Mrs. Phelps 
 has fulfilled, and still continues to fulfil, in a 
 manner deserving high honour. It was for her 
 pupils that her scientific works were prepared; 
 no woman in America, nor any in Europe, except- 
 ing Mrs. Marcet and Mrs. Somerville, has made 
 such useful and numerous contributions to the 
 stock of available scientific knowledge as Mrs. 
 Phelps. Yet had she not been a teacher, and 
 found the need of such works, it is very doubtful 
 whether she would have prepared them. 
 
 From " The Fireside Friend." 
 W05K3 OF FICTION. 
 
 Female writers have too often followed the lead- 
 ings of imagination, without enquiring to what end 
 its vagaries would tend. The fondness of the sex 
 for reading works of fiction, is proverbial. But 
 are not the authors of such works labouring to 
 prepare for their readers that kind of food which, 
 so far from rendering the mental system strong 
 and healthy, disorders and enfeebles it? Novels 
 and poetry are, indeed, the flowers of literature ; 
 they afford opportunity for the display of genius, 
 and are pleasant companions for an idle or heavy 
 hour. They may exhibit virtue in an attractive 
 light, and inspire the reader with an enthusiasm 
 to imitate the noble examples of heroes and he- 
 roines. But I would appeal to the experience of 
 every romantic female, whether, after the excite- 
 ment occasioned by the perusal of some fasci- 
 nating novel, she has returned to the scenes of 
 every-day life with a spirit calmed, and prepared 
 to meet its realities with fortitude and resigna- 
 tion ? or whether she has not, at such times, ex- 
 perienced a distaste, almost amounting to disgust, 
 for the homely beings and scenes with which 
 reality surrounded her ? And has it not required 
 a strong and painful effort to regain that mental 
 equilibrium, so necessary for prudent conduct and 
 amiable deportment ? 
 
 " For yet, alas ! the real ills of life 
 Claim the full vigour of a mind prepared, 
 Prepared for patient, long, laborious strife, 
 Its guide experience, and truth its guard." 
 
 The virtues which appear with eclat on the 
 pages of fiction, are not the humble, unobtrusive 
 ones of common life — those which, in reality, de- 
 mand the greatest efforts, and exhibit the best- 
 regulated minds; the trials which excite our 
 sympathy in these creations of fancy, are seldom 
 those of real life. False views are thus given of 
 our own duties, and what we ought to expect 
 from others. 
 
 771 
 
PH 
 
 PH 
 
 MORAL INFUJENOE. 
 
 Those who are gifted with the power to influ- 
 ence the minda of their fellow-beings, should be- 
 ware how they exert this influence. Is it enough 
 that they amuse, astonish, and delight mankind ? 
 This, too, the mountebank or opera-dancer may 
 do. But, as sure as there is a future state of 
 existence, so there is a moral influence to be ex- 
 erted by every human being according to the mea- 
 sure of his abilities. And where can this influence 
 be more powerfully, more extensively exercised, 
 than through the medium of the press ? Although 
 our voice be feeble, yet, if our testimony is on the 
 side of truth, it may have an influence on the 
 feeble-minded even greater than more powerful 
 accents. It will be heard when we shall be re- 
 moved to another tribunal than that of literary 
 criticism, where the flashes of genius are too often 
 preferred to the steady light of truth. But at 
 that great tribunal we shall be judged according to 
 the motives with which we have written, and not 
 the ability with which we have executed our task. 
 
 EDUCATION. 
 
 The true end of education is to prepare the 
 young for the active duties of life, and to enable 
 ;them to fill with propriety those stations to which, 
 iin the providence of God, they may be called. 
 'This includes, also, a preparation for eternity ; for 
 me cannot live well without those dispositions of 
 iheart which are necessary to fit \is for heaven. To 
 idischarge aright the duties of life requires not only 
 •.that the intellect shall be enlightened, but that the 
 heart shall be purified. A mother does not per- 
 form her whole duty, even when, in addition to 
 providing for the wants of her children and im- 
 ,proving their understanding, she sets before them 
 an example of justice and benevolence, of mode- 
 ration in her own desires, and a command over 
 her own passions : this may be all that is required 
 of a heathen mother; but the Christian female 
 must go with her little ones to Jesus of Nazareth, 
 ■to seek his blessing ; she must strive to elevate 
 the minds of her ofl^spring by frequent reference 
 to a future state ; she must teach them to hold the 
 world and its pursuits in subserviency to more 
 important interests, and to prize above all things 
 •that peace which, as the world giveth not, neither 
 >can it take away. 
 
 ENEEQT OF MIND. 
 
 Can we find no cause why the children of the 
 rich, setting out in life under the most favourable 
 circumstances, often sink into insignificance, while 
 their more humble competitors, struggling against 
 obstacles, rise higher and higher, till they become 
 'elevated in proportion to their former depression ? 
 Have we never beheld a plant grow weak and 
 •sickly from excess of care, while the mountain 
 ■pine, neglected and exposed to fierce winds and 
 Taging tempests, took strong root and grew into a 
 lofty tree, delighting the eye by its strength and 
 beauty ? If we look into our State Legislatures, 
 ''our National Congress, and the highest executive 
 tand ju.iicial oSces in -he contry, wo do no- find 
 
 these places chiefly occupied by those who wers 
 born to wealth, or early taught the pride of aris- 
 tocratic distinctions. Most of the distinguished 
 men of our country have made their own fortunes ; 
 most of them began life knowing that they could 
 hope for no aid or patronage, but must rely solely 
 upon the energies of their own minds and tho 
 blessing of God. 
 
 From "A Mother's Journal." 
 THE MOTHEE'S hopes. 
 
 Every mother hopes — she hopes that her infant 
 will live to comfort and cheer her old age ; to be 
 good, and, it may be, great. As far as she is enlight- 
 ened as to her maternal duties, and the means of 
 realizing her fond hopes for her child, almost every 
 mother exerts herself to do. What a pledge for 
 virtuous conduct is the character of a mother! 
 though she might trifle with her own reputation, 
 can she endure the thought of bequeathing infamy 
 to her ofi'spring ? May the time come when every 
 virtuous child may proudly say, " Behold my 
 mother !" and when every mother may joyfully say, 
 "Behold my child!" 
 
 AN infant's first ideas. 
 The little actions of an infant seem so natural, 
 that we can scarcely persuade ourselves to think 
 they are worth comment. So, in the physical 
 world mankind are prone to seek an explanation 
 of uncommon phenomena only, while the ordinary 
 changes of nature, which are in themselves equally 
 wonderful, are disregarded. Comets and earth- 
 quakes had occupied the attention of inquirers 
 long before any one had ever thought of asking 
 what caused the falljng of a stone, or how warmth 
 was produced by the burning of cold substances. 
 An infant cries after its mother ; — this is natural, 
 the mother believes ; but why is it natural ? It is 
 because the child is endowed with a mental faculty, 
 connecting its sensations with the object which 
 gives rise to them, and which is capable of awak- 
 ening emotions of affection that cluster around the 
 being whose sight suggests ideas of kindness, pro- 
 tection, and sympathy. This faculty is association, 
 which, like the attraction of gravitation in the 
 planetary system, binds together the thoughts in 
 a human soul. The mother ought to know that 
 on the proper direction of this faculty depends tho 
 moral and religious character of her child, and 
 that as soon as it can distinguish her from stran- 
 gers, it is, by the operation of the same principle, 
 capable of receiving impressions which may provo 
 favourable or unfavourable to its future well-being. 
 It is this consideration which renders the mother's 
 office so important. 
 
 EFFECT OF EXCITEMENTS. 
 
 Strong excitements have an unfavourable effect 
 upon the nerves of young children. We know this 
 to be the case with ourselves, but are apt to forget 
 that things which are common to us may be new 
 and striking to them. My child was, on a certain 
 evening, carried into a large room brilliantly 
 lighted and filled with company. He gazed around 
 ■Arith ai. oxprei: ion of iJmira.'.n and .leligh. nol 
 
 772 
 
PH 
 
 RA 
 
 uninixed with perplexity ; the latter, however, 
 soon vanished, and he laughed and shouted with 
 great glee ; and as he saw that he was observed, 
 exerted himself still farther to be amusing. He 
 was then.carried into a, room where was music and 
 dancing ; this was entirely new, and he was agi- 
 tated with a variety of emotions ; fear, wonder, 
 admii'ation, and joy seemed to prevail by turns. 
 As the scene became familiar, he again enjoyed it 
 without any mixtm-e of unpleasant feelings. 
 
 But the effect of these excitements was appa- 
 rent when he was taken to his bed-room ; his face 
 was flushed, as in a fever, his nervous system dis- 
 tui'bed, and his sleep was interrupted by screams. 
 
 THE CHILD AND NATURE. 
 
 The expression of the emotions of young chil- 
 dren, when first viewing the grand scenery of 
 nature, affords a rich treat to the penetrating ob- 
 server. At eight months old, my child, on being 
 carried to the door during^ a fall of snow, contem- 
 plated the scene with an appearance of deep atten- 
 tion. He had learned enough of the use of his 
 eyes to form some conception of the expanse before 
 him, and to perceive how different it was from the 
 narrow confines of the apartments of the house. 
 The falling snow, with its brilliant whiteness and 
 easy downwai'd motion, was strange and beautiful ; 
 and when he felt it lighting upon his face and 
 hands, he held up his open mouth, as if he would 
 test its nature by a third sense. 
 
 A few weeks after this he was taken, on a bright 
 winter's day, to ride in a sleigh : (this scene was 
 in Vermont. ) The sleigh-bells, the horses, the com- 
 panions of his ride, the trees and shrubs loaded 
 with their brilliant icy gems, the houses, and the 
 people whom we passed, all by turns received his 
 attention. If he could have described what he 
 saw as it appeai-ed to him, and the various emo- 
 tions caused by these objects, the description 
 would have added a new page in the philosophy 
 of mind. How often are the beauties of nature 
 unheeded by man, who, musing on past ills, brood- 
 ing over the possible calamities of the future, 
 building castles in the air, or wrapped up in his 
 own self-love and self-importance, forgets to look 
 abroad, or looks with a vacant stare. His out- 
 ward senses are sealed, while a fermenting process 
 may be going on in the passions within. But if, 
 with a clear conscience, a love of nature, and a 
 quick sense of the beautiful and sublime, we do 
 contemplate the glorious objects so profusely scat- 
 tered around us by a bountiful Creator, with the 
 interesting changes which ai-e constantly varying 
 the aspect of these objects, still our emotions have 
 become deadened by habit. We do not admire 
 what is familiar to us, and therefore it is, that we 
 must be ever ignorant of the true native sympathy 
 between our own hearts and the external world. 
 
 From *' Poems." 
 THE WOSDERS OF SATUKE. 
 
 The universe, how vast ! exceeding far 
 The bounds of human thought; millions of suns. 
 With their attendant worlds moving around 
 Some common centre, gravitation strange 1 
 
 Beyond the power of finite minds to scan ! 
 (.'an He, who iii the highest heav'n sublime, 
 Eiilhrorrd in glory, guides these mighty orbs — 
 Can He beliold ihis little spot of earth. 
 Lost 'niidst the grandeur of the heavenly host: 
 Can Goo liestow one thought on fallen man ? 
 
 Turn, child of ignorance and narrow views. 
 Thy wiliier'd sight from off these dazzling scenes ; 
 Tiirn to thy earth, and trace the wonders there. 
 Who pencils, with such variegated hues. 
 The lo\^'ly flower that decks the rippling stream. 
 Or gorgeously attires the lily race ? 
 Who. with attentive care each year provides 
 A germ to renovate the fading plant, 
 And gives soft show'rs and vivifying warmth, 
 Kindling within the embryo inert 
 The little spark of life, unseen by all. 
 Save him who gave it. and whose care preserves? 
 Who teaches, when this principle of life, 
 Thus animated, swells the germ within. 
 And bursts its tomb, rising to light and air — 
 Who teaches root and stem to find their place. 
 Each one to seek its proper element? 
 
 Who gilds the insect's wings, and leads it forth 
 To feast on sweets and bask in sunny ray? 
 None can the life of plant or insect give. 
 Save God alone ; — He rules and watches all . 
 Scorns not the least of all His works ; much less 
 Man, made in his image, destined to eiist 
 When e'en yon brilliant w'orlds shall cease to be.. 
 Then how should man, rejoicing in his God, 
 Delight in his perfections, shadow'd forth 
 In every little flow'r and blade of grass ! 
 Each opening bud, and care-perfected seed, 
 Is as a page, where we may read of God. 
 
 E. 
 
 RACHEL, 
 
 As her name is only known in her theatrical 
 profession, is of Jewish parentage, her father, M. 
 Felix, being among the poorest of his tribe. 
 Rachel Felix was the eldest of seven children, and 
 early began to aid her parents in their severe 
 struggle to gain subsistence for their family. Her 
 career opened as a street singer : with an old gui- 
 tar on which she played the accompaniment, the 
 little Rachel went forth to win by her songs the 
 bread she was unable to earn witli her hands. 
 
 On a cold evening in January, about the year 
 
 773 
 
RA 
 
 RE 
 
 1880, Choron, tlio founder of an aoademy for imiBio 
 in Paris, was oliai-mod by tlio silver voice of a 
 child singing out the most delightful cadences upon 
 the keen vfintry air. It was little Rachel " singing 
 for her supper." Choron pvcsseil through the 
 crowd who were gathered around her, nud in utter 
 amazement gazed upon a delicate little girl of ten 
 or twelve summers, thinly clad, and standing in 
 tlie snow, the very image of desolation. With hor 
 benumbed finger she held out a wooden bowl for 
 a sou, and in it Choron dropped a silver coin. His 
 heart was touched, and the deepest feelings of 
 interest for the little warbler were awakened. 
 
 " My child," he asked, " who taught you to sing 
 so well ?" 
 
 " Nobody, sir 1" said the little girl, while her 
 teeth chattered ; " I have learnt just as I could." 
 
 "But where did you learn tliose beautiful airs 
 which you sing, and which I do not know ?" 
 
 " Indeed, sir, I have learnt a little of them 
 everywhere. When I go about the streets I listen 
 under the windows to those ladies and gentlemen 
 who sing. I try to oatoh the airs and the words, 
 and afterwards arrange them the best way I can." 
 
 " You are cold and hungry ; come with me, and 
 I will give you food and clothing," said the good 
 Choron ; and the crowd clapped their hands. But 
 they lost their little Rachel — she never again sang 
 on the Boulevards. Clioron obtained permission 
 of her parents to give her a musical education, 
 and under his tuition her wonderful vocal powers 
 rapidly developed. Death took away her benefac- 
 tor, and she returned awhile to her miserable 
 parents. 
 
 The little girl was then just budding into the 
 bloom of a graceful and fascinating woman. She 
 looked to the stage as the means of obtaining 
 bread, and succeeded in making an engagement at 
 the Gymnase, one of the minor theatres of Paris. 
 She made no impression ; the audiences refused 
 to applaud. She was disappointed, but not discom- 
 fited. From an old clothes-merchant of hor own 
 race she borrowed an odd volume of Racine, and 
 was charmed with the tragedy of Andromache. 
 She recited the part of the daughter of Ilclene; 
 her eyes filled with the tears of deep emotion, and 
 she said to her mother, " I know my destiny — I 
 will perform tragedy." 
 
 Through the influonoe of a retired actor she 
 obtained an engagement at the Theatre Franjaise, 
 and her appearance in the characters of Racine 
 was greeted with immenso applause. The Paris- 
 ians were in ecstasies. The singing-girl of the 
 Boulevards was apotheosized as the " Tragic 
 Muse." Her salary was first fixed at 4000 francs : 
 the second season it was raised to 150,000 francs. 
 The courts of France and England soon delighted 
 to pay her homage ; and within ton years from the 
 hour when Choron took her half frozen from the 
 ■streets of Paris, she wore a gorgeous diamond 
 necklace, with the words " Viotoma to Raohbl " 
 emblazoned upon it 1 
 
 Mademoiselle Rachel is at the head of her pro- 
 fession as tragic actress, and her annual income 
 18 not far from thirty-five thousand dollars. Like 
 Jenny Lind in another public sphere, she has no 
 
 peer in her profession or the admiration of the 
 votaries of the drama. She might have been one 
 of the greatest of living singers, but she proforrod 
 to aim at the highest tragic eminence. That she 
 has accomplished. 
 
 Would that wo could add — what may bo truly 
 said of the sweet singer of Sweden — "Mademoi- 
 selle Raohel bears a s|uitles.s reputiition I" It 
 could hardly be expected, accuatoniod as the poor 
 little girl was to scenes of misery and low viee in 
 such a licentious city as I'liris, that Rachel would 
 grow up with much natural delicacy of feeling; 
 but genius shouhl have a purifying pdwer, giving 
 moral elevation of sentiment to the soul of a 
 woman. No doubt calumny hna exaggerated' the 
 reports of Mademoiselle Itaohel's amours; nor 
 ought she to be judged by the standard of ii Sid- 
 dons, who was born and trained in a land where 
 female chastity is required as the crowning grace 
 of the actress. Still we do regret that a shadow 
 has fallen on the fair fame of one who might have 
 boon, like Jenny Lind, a glory to hor sex os well 
 as to her profession. But let us record hor good 
 deeds. Mademoiselle Raohel is said to bo very 
 charitable to the poor. She has provided gene- 
 rously for her own family ; educating her sisters 
 and brothers, and never forgetting tlio humble 
 condition from which she has risen. As a memo- 
 rial of her street-minstrelsy, she religiously pro- 
 servos lior old g\iitar. 
 
 RE Y BAUD, MADAIMK CHARLES, 
 Is the iiomme do plume of Mademoiselle It. Ar- 
 naud. She resides in Paris. Why she should 
 have chosen to put away hor own name, and give 
 the celebrity of her genius to a fictitious one, has 
 never been made known ; but such is the fact. 
 She need not have done this in order to secure the 
 success of her works, which have boon received 
 with great favour by tlie Parisian public. 
 
 Madame lleybaud lias published over twenty 
 different novels and tales, none of which have 
 failed. Her most striking qualities are the unity 
 and perfeotnoss with which she constructs and 
 finishes her plot, each incident and dialogue tend- 
 ing to the completion of tho plan ; and so inge- 
 niously does she eometimes contrive the story, 
 that the most experienced novel-reader is tiiken 
 by surprise in tho unforeseen denotietneiil. Like 
 all who write much, slie has produced books 'of 
 very unequal merit, but the best exhibit both ten- 
 dornosB and wit ; and what must be highly com- 
 mended, because more rare in French novels, 
 there Is nothing extravagant in sentiment or oifen- 
 sive to morals to be found in her works. An able 
 Knglish critic has truly said, " Madame Charles 
 Reybaud, little known to English readers, is iv 
 good and captivating ivriter of considerable ability. 
 Her numerous productions may be pernaed with- 
 out fear by tho conscientious and Scrupulous 
 reader. We are doing them a Borvioe in recom- 
 mending this interesting author to their notice. 
 She will cheer many a winter evening, and tho 
 pleasant languor of a July noon ; she will oooupy 
 very agreeably tho odd hour between tho return 
 from the drive and tho appearance at the dinner- 
 
 774 
 
EO 
 
 RO 
 
 table. Her intentions and tendencies are good ; .1 
 her sentiments very sweet and delicate ; a ntrong 
 sense of religious and moral responsibility evi- 
 dently pervades lier mind. She introduces her 
 readers to the antique relics of that beautiful and 
 graceful aristocracy — let us give all their due — 
 which was destroyed by the first French revo- 
 lution," 
 
 We subjoin the titles of her most popular works, 
 commending as our favourites, "Les deux Mar- 
 guerites," "Sans Dot," and "Espagnoles et Fran- 
 9aises." The others are, — "Dona Mariauna," 
 " Fabiana," "Geraldine," "Lena," " Madame de 
 Rieux," " Mademoiselle de Chazeuil," " Marie 
 d'Euambue," " M^zelie," " Mis6 Bi'vin," "La 
 Pauvre Paysanne," "La Petite Reine," "Romans 
 du Coeur," and " Valdepeiras," 
 
 ROBINSON, THERESE ALBERTINE LOUISE, 
 
 Wipe of the accomplished scholar. Professor 
 Robinson, of New York, was born on the 26th of 
 January, 1797, at Halle, Germany. She was the 
 daughter of Professor L. H. von Jacob, a man 
 distinguished for his learning. In 1806, her father 
 became a Professor at the Russian University of 
 Charkow. Here he remained five years, dui-ing 
 which time his daughter began the study of the 
 Slavonic languages and literature. Here she also 
 wrote her first poems, afterwards published under 
 the name of Talvi, a title composed of the initials 
 of her maiden name, Therese Albertine Louise von 
 Jacob. In 1811 her father was transferred to St. 
 Petersburgh, and her studies were principally 
 confined to the modern languages ; but she also 
 devoted part of her time to historical reading, and 
 to the cultivation of her poetical talent. Her 
 indusb-y was intense and incessant. In 1816 her 
 father returned to Halle, when she found an oppor- 
 tunity to acquire the Latin language. In 1825 she 
 published at Halle several tales, under the title 
 of " Psyche," with the signature of Talvi. In 
 1822 she ti-auslated Walter Scott's " Covenanters " 
 and "Black Dwarf," under the name of Ernst 
 Berthold. An accidental circumstance attracted 
 her attention to the Servian literature, and so inte- 
 rested her in it that she learned that language and 
 translated a number of poems, which she published 
 in 1826 in two volumes, entitled "Popular Songs 
 of the Servians." 
 
 In 1828 she was married to Professor Robinson, 
 and after some time accompanied him to America. 
 Here, after studying the aboriginal languages with 
 gi-eat interest, she translated into the German Mr. 
 Pickering's work on the Indian tongues of North 
 America. This was published at Leipzio in 1834. 
 During the same year she published an English 
 work called an " Historical A^ew of the Slavic 
 Languages," which was afterwards translated into 
 the German. In 1837 she returned with her hus- 
 band and children to Germany, where she remained 
 for two or thiie years, dui-ing which time she 
 published at Leipzio a work entitled an " Attempt 
 at an Historical Characterization of tbe Popular 
 Songs of the Germanic Nations, with a Review of 
 the Songs of the Exti-a-European Races." About 
 
 *he same time she published a work in German on 
 " The Falseness of the Songs of Ossian." 
 
 After her return to America her time was prin- 
 cipally devoted to tlie study of American history. 
 The result was, "A History of John Smith," pub- 
 lished in F. Raumer's Historiches Taschenbuch in 
 1845, and a larger historical work on the " Colo- 
 uization of New England," published at Leipzic in 
 1847. Mrs. Robinson was induced to write this 
 work from iier strong desire to make the Germans 
 acquainted with the history of the United States 
 previous to the Revolution, of which they are quite 
 ignorant. It is a production showing gi-eat research 
 and judgment. 
 
 Mrs. Robinson's next works were written in 
 English ; the one published in 1850, entitled an 
 " Historical Review of the Languages and Litera- 
 ture of the Slavic Nations, with a Sketch of tln-ir 
 Popular Poetry," was originally prepared for, .lu i 
 appeared in, the Biblical Repository ; a theologioul 
 periodical started by her husband, Professor Rob- 
 inson. She afterwards revised and partly re-wrote 
 ■t. It is considered the most interesting and com- 
 plete work in existence on the literature of the 
 Slavonic nations. In the same year a small novel 
 appeared, — " Heloise, or the Unrevealed Secret," 
 — published by the Appletons in New York, and 
 simultaneously in Germany. This work is instruc- 
 tive as well as interesting, from the insight it 
 affords Into social life in Germany, and the manner 
 in which the Russian government is administered 
 in Caucasus, and the wild warfare of those regions 
 carried on. In 1851 she published, through the 
 Appletons, " Life's Discipline ; a Tale of the 
 Annals of Hungary." 
 
 The writings of this accomplished and excellent 
 woman all show the highest attainments in litera- 
 ture, an unprejudiced mind, a clear and just judg- 
 ment, a strong and comprehensive understanding, 
 ind a highly poetical temperament. Goethe speaks 
 with great admiration of her poems, both original 
 and translated. Her novels are superior both in 
 style and interest to the ordinary publications of 
 that class ; her last work especially is valuable for 
 the power of its incidents and the light it throws 
 on the Magyar character and the incipient causes 
 of the late revolution in Hungary. Mrs. Robin- 
 son is now a contributor to the German and Ame- 
 rican periodicals. 
 
 From "Life's Discipline." 
 
 SELFISHNESS. 
 
 Not the untamed passion of the human heart, 
 which, bursting out into a flame, spreading ruin- 
 ously, destroys all barriers ; not the unbridled 
 force, which, in wild outbreaks of savage rough- 
 ness, crushes under foot tender blossoms, lovely 
 flowers, — not these constitute the greatest, the 
 truest evil of the world ; it is cold, creeping egot- 
 ism, heartless selfishness; which, with its attend- 
 ants, treachery, deceit, and hypocrisy, easily bears 
 away the palm, because it knows what it is doing, 
 while passion, in blind fury, shatters its own 
 weapons. 
 
 775 
 
so 
 
 sc 
 
 lOVINQ UNWOmillLT. 
 
 The gvoatost misery which oiin befall a woman 
 is to lovo a bad man. The true ossoiioo oT lier love 
 Is tlie total abnegation of her own will ; tlio im- 
 mersion of all s6lt'-ilo|Hnuli>noo in the self of the 
 belovcil objoot. Win- to the heart if it llien falls 
 out with the bettor qualities of mankind 1 Losing 
 her faith in the moral worth of the man slie loves 
 a woman loses all tlie happiness of lovo. As long 
 as the better olomont is not entirely lost in him, 
 if it is, perhajis, tlio rough power of a passion, 
 whatever bo its name, tlmt ruined him, if the brute 
 has perhaps gained in him the niumentnry nseond- 
 enoy over the man, unil drags him to tlio deptli 
 of destruction, or oven into the slime of low vul- 
 garity ; in tliis case, it seems almost as if, beside the 
 lost esteem, there might still exist in the tenderest 
 heart an afFootion for the mined object. It is only 
 that the flame does not s/iiiii: any more 1 no more 
 with magio brightness illumines the world around it. 
 That it can only, like a deceptive heap of secretly 
 glowing embers, consume the heart which harbours 
 it against its will. But fatal to every loving weak- 
 ness in a woman's breast is creeping treachery ; 
 calculating, deluding craftiness, when she has 
 once recognised tliem under tlieir nnisk. In tho 
 cold hands of low egotism tho heart turns to ice. 
 Lovo is dead. We arc cured, — but are wo happy ? 
 
 OBIEF AND aUILT. 
 
 If it in true that constant change and tho charm 
 of iinvelty, tho ceaseless rolling on of events 
 around us, tho attraction of tho beautiful which 
 wo discover in a new, strange world, can at last 
 strengthen and heal tho most deeply woumled 
 heart, as long as it is ^jw/ which has enfeebled it; 
 this is not so when ffuilt has weighed it down : the 
 sting of oonscienoo cannot bo withdrawn with all 
 the exertion of our will : wo cannot escape that 
 pursuing monitrcsa even in the most impetuous 
 whirl of changing events and experiouoos I 
 
 Tui! soul's rdwuu. 
 For not the actions themselves are what gives 
 worth to man or takes it from him ; what should 
 gain him our approbation or draw upon liim our 
 contempt. Only when we have learned to know 
 well tho way which tho semi has taken boforo it 
 arrived at its aim, the deed ; only when we nro 
 aware what outward powers have influenced tho 
 formation of tho inward resolution; what seed 
 education and early powerful circumstances have 
 strewn in each human heart, and in what degroo 
 Trovidonco has made it susceptible for such seed ; 
 then only may we judge, admire, and approve, or 
 condemn. 
 
 s. 
 
 SCACERNI-PROSI'ERI, ANGELA, 
 
 Or Ferrara, is descended from a family in which 
 learning and learned men abounded. Carefully 
 educated at homo by hor father, she was, in hor 
 
 early yoi th, well versed in general history, geo- 
 graphy, i;oon>etry, and the French and Latin lan- 
 guages, imd also displayed a turn for the tine arts, 
 llor puronts renuived from Kerrara and resided ior 
 son\e time in Tuseany, whore Angela had still 
 greater opportunities for mental improvement, of 
 whieli she took advantage. Slio was reeeived into 
 the .Aeadeuiy Olomentina of Fine Arts in liologna, 
 and having returned with hor father to lier native 
 eouulry. was enrolled among the members of tlie 
 .Veiuleniy ,\riostea. Tlien, having booomo llie wife 
 of the Count Michel Fau.sto I'msperi, and the 
 nuitlier of several children, she devoled herself 
 entirely to licr doniestle duties. She is universally 
 beloved liy all who know hor, and her country 
 willingly grants to her thatveueration and respect 
 which belong to hor merits. She is uneasy, harmo- 
 nious, ami graceful writer. Her works consist of 
 many lyrie poem.s, songs, epigrahis, add sonnets, 
 written with great Hwcetness and learning, and a 
 touching Elegy on Guide Villa, formerly Tresident 
 of the hospital of St. James and Anna in Fer- 
 rara. 
 
 SCACHATI-IIOMAGNLI, ORINTIA, 
 Was born at (Icsona, and, fi'om hei" girlhood, 
 has been distinguished I'or intelligence. In youth 
 Ker beauty was remarkable; this, added to hef 
 highly oultivatod mind, made hor society sought 
 for in tho most brilliant circles. She was endowed 
 with great penetration into oharactoi-, tact and 
 discretion. Cirotimstanoes led hor to a country 
 life foi some years; sho there devoted herself 
 to liteiaturo, and wrote several dramatic pieces. 
 Sho a;'torwards established herself at Home, 
 whore she enjoyed tho odmiration of all, and the 
 esteem of a largo oirolo of friends. To foreigners 
 she exoroisod a generous hospitality, and hor name 
 is kno ivu to many illustrious ti'avoUors of other 
 nationil. Her works, in four volumes, worjjpub- 
 lished in 1810. 
 
 irjjuuu- 
 
 SCIIOPPK, AiMALlA VON, 
 WiKisK maiden name was Weise, is a Oermnn 
 novel-writer who has distinguished herself I'cu- the 
 number of her works, comprising about 150 vtd- 
 nmes. Wo know little of hor private histm-y 
 exce]il, from her own pen. In ]8!iH she pulilislied 
 " Kriiuierungon aus moiueui lioliiMi," vvhicli is said 
 to contain many incidents of hor own life, and 
 pourtraying hor own character under that of hef 
 heroine, Dlemeutiue. "If so," says a llritish 
 critic, " sho presents herself to tho publio as a 
 woman of no ordinary character; intelligent, but 
 unimpassionod ; of iv frank and encrnctio disposi- 
 tion, ami devoid of prudery and false sentiment." 
 Her first work was published in ]H'.;!l, and as she 
 has written at tho rate of six or seven volumes 
 per year, it is not strange that the same critio 
 should observe that " iMadanio vini Sohoppo is n 
 woman of talent, thougli hor works are hastily 
 planned and imperfectly finished." Her histcu-ical 
 tales show extensive reading ; among thoso, tho 
 coUoj lion entitled " Myosotis," published in IS-ll, 
 attracted oonsidorablo attention. A son of Madame 
 YOU Sohoppe is also an author. 
 
 776 
 
SE 
 
 SE 
 
 SEDGWICK, CATHARINE MABIA, 
 Was born in Stookbridge, Massachusetts. Her 
 father, the Honorable Theodore Sedgwick, a citi- 
 zen of high reputation, was at one time Speaker 
 of the House of Representatives, afterwards sena- 
 tor in Congress, and, at tlie time of his death, 
 filled the office of judge of the supreme court of 
 his state. Miss Sedgwick's' first book, tlie " New 
 England Tale," appeared in 182-. It was originally 
 written for a religious tract ; but as it gradually 
 expanded into a work too large for such a purpose, 
 she was prerailed on, with much difficulty, by her 
 friends to give it to the world in its present form. 
 
 It was received with such favour, that in lSi7 the 
 authoress was induced to publish her second 
 work; a novel in two volumes, entitled "Red- 
 wood." This work met wiUi great success, and 
 was republished in England and translated into 
 French and Italian. One of the characters in the 
 book. Miss Debby Lennox, bears the stamp both 
 of originality and truthfulness ; and if it stood 
 alone, would prove not only the extensive obser- 
 vation, but the great powers of invention possessed 
 by its delineator. Miss Sedgwick's next work was 
 "Hope Leslie, or Early Times in America;" a 
 novel in two volumes, published in 1827. This 
 has continued to be her most popular tale; 
 and, indeed, no novel written by an American, 
 except, perhaps, the early works of Cooper, ever 
 met with snch success. The character of the 
 heroine is a lovely embodiment of womanhood 
 with all its ideal perfections, and yet with a few 
 natural weaknesses which only render her the 
 more lifelike and interesting. The Indian girl, 
 Magawisoa, seems to be more a being of the ima- 
 gination ; too high-souled and lofty, as well as too 
 refined to be a true type of the race from which 
 she sprung. In 1830, " Clarence, a Tale of our 
 own Times," appeared; in 1832 " Le Bossu," one 
 of the Tales of Glauber Spa, and in 1835, " The 
 linwoods, or Sixty Years Since, in America." 
 During the same year she collected in one volume 
 the shorter tales which had appeared in different 
 
 periodicals ; and in 1836 she published her popu- 
 lar story of " The Poor Rich Man and the Rich 
 Poor Man;" in 1837 "Live and Let Live;" iu 
 1838 " Means and Ends, or Self-Training ;" and 
 afterwards, "A Love Token for Children," and 
 "Stories for Young Persons." In 1840 she pub- 
 lished her " Letters from Abroad to Kindred at 
 Home," in two volumes ; and not long after a 
 " Life of Lucretia M. Davidson." She has also 
 been a frequent contributor to annuals and peri- 
 odicals. For the Lady's Book she wrote her 
 tlu'illing novel, " Wilton Harvey." In the same 
 Magazine was published "A Huguenot Family," 
 "Scenes from Life in Town," "Fanny McDer- 
 mot," &c. These will appear in the new edition 
 of Miss Sedgwick's works now in course of pub- 
 lication. A writer in the National Portrait Gal- 
 lery thus truly estimates the characteristics of her 
 genius. 
 
 " It is evident that Miss Sedgwick's mind in- 
 clines towards cheerful views of life. There seems 
 to be implanted iu her heart a love of goodness 
 and of the beautiful, which turns as naturally 
 towards serenity and joy, as flowers lean towards 
 the sun. It is manifest that though possessing 
 great refinement herself, her sympathies are not 
 confined to a coterie or class, but that they are 
 called forth by every manifestation of virtue, even 
 in the most humble circumstances, and that she 
 looks with kind- regard upon those gleams of a 
 better nature which occasionally break forth amid 
 prevailing clouds and darkness. 
 
 " She affects no indifference to the accidental 
 advantages of condition. It would be impossible 
 to diminish her interest in the powers and fasci- 
 nations of genius and imagination, and she thinks 
 it no duty to attempt it. But her highest favour 
 and affection are reserved for that enduring virtue 
 which is perfected through much trial and tribu- 
 lation, and which needs no earthly witness or 
 outward reward. She delights to see the " signet 
 of hope upon the brow of infancy;" but she re- 
 members with more satisfaction the last smile of 
 unfaltering faith and love, which even death itself 
 spares for a season. 
 
 " It is impossible to speak of her works without 
 a particular regard to their moral and religious 
 character. We know no writer of the class to 
 which she belongs who has done more to inculcate 
 just religious sentiments. They are never ob- 
 truded, nor are they ever suppressed. It is not 
 the religion of observances, nor of professions, nor 
 of articles of faith, but of the heart and life. It 
 alwjiys comes forth ; not as something said or done 
 from a sense of necessity or duty, but as part of 
 the character, and inseparable from its strength, 
 as well as from its grace and beauty. It is a 
 union of that faith which works by love with that 
 charity which never faileth. 
 
 " There is another characteristic of Miss Sedg- 
 wick's writings which should not be overlooked. 
 We allude to their great good sense and practical 
 discretion ; the notableness which they evince and 
 recommend. This is so true, that we recollect 
 having heard a zealous utilitarian declare, after 
 
 777 
 
SE 
 
 SE 
 
 reading one of her works, that political economy 
 might be taught to the greatest advantage through 
 the medium of romances." 
 
 Her style is peculiarly good ; equally free 
 from stiffness and negligence, it is more distin- 
 guished by delipacy and grace than strength, and 
 the purity of her English may afford a model to 
 some of our learned scholars. 
 
 Miss Sedgwick is evidently an ardent admirer 
 of nature, and excels in describing natural scenery. 
 She has also great powers both of invention and 
 imagination, and delineates character with won- 
 derful skill. Her children are, to a certain point, 
 beautifully and naturally described ; but there are 
 in the mind of this writer two antagonistic prin- 
 ciples : — the usefully practical, and the sentiment- 
 ally romantic. This is by no means uncommon 
 with delicate and refined minds ; they like to devi- 
 ate into regions beyond the every-day world, yet 
 sense and circumstances recall them to common 
 truths ; hence arise little discrepancies which mar 
 in some degree the naturalness of the delineations. 
 Miss Edgeworth is almost the only writer of chil- 
 dren's books who has entirely avoided this fault ; 
 but it is diflcult to arrive at this excellence, and 
 it is no disparagement to Miss Sedgwick to say 
 she has not attained it. With every abatement 
 that can be made, Miss Sedgwick remains among 
 the front rank of those earnest and sincere writers 
 whose talents have been employed for the purpose 
 of doing good, and whose works have obtained a 
 great and deserved popularity. Her books have, 
 almost without exception, been reprinted and fa- 
 vourably received in England. 
 
 From *' Redweod." 
 
 THE OPINIONS OF A YANKEE SPINSTER. 
 
 "Well," said Debby, "contentment is a good 
 thing and a rare ; but I guess it dwells most where 
 people woald least expect to find it. There 's 
 Ellen Bruce, she has had troubles that would fret 
 some people to death, and yet I have seldom seen 
 her with a cloudy face." 
 
 " How do you account for that, Miss Debby ? 
 I am curious to get at this secret of happiness, for 
 I have been in great straits sometimes for the 
 want of it." 
 
 " Why, I '11 tell you. Now, Ellen, I do n't mean 
 to praise you " — and she looked at Ellen while an 
 expression of affection spread over her rough- 
 featured face. " The truth is, Ellen has been so 
 busy about making other people happy, that she 
 has no time to think of herself; instead of griev- 
 ing about her own troubles, she has tried to lessen 
 other people's ; instead of talking about her own 
 feelings and thinking about them, you would not 
 know she had any, if you did not see she always 
 knew just how other people felt." 
 
 " Stop, stop, Deborah, my good friend ;" said 
 Ellen, "you must not turn flatterer in your old 
 age." 
 
 "Flatterer! The Lord have mercy on you, 
 girl ; nothing was farther from my thoughts than 
 flattering. I meant just to tell this young lady 
 for her information, that the secret of happiness 
 
 was to forget yourself and care for the happiness 
 of others." 
 
 " You are right — I believe you are right," said 
 Miss Campbell, with animation ; " though I have 
 practised very little after your golden rule." 
 
 "The more 's the pity, young woman ; for de- 
 pend on it, it 's the safe rule and the sure ; I have 
 scriptur' warrant for it, beside my own observa- 
 tion ; which, as you may judge, has not been 
 small. It 's a strange thing, this happiness ; it 
 puts me in mind of an old Indian I have heard of, 
 who said to a boy who was begging him for a bow 
 and arrow, ' the more you say bow and ai;row, the 
 more I won't make it.' There 's poor Mr. Red- 
 wood ; as far as I can find out, he has had nothing 
 all his life to do but to go up and down and to and 
 fro upon the earth, in search of happiness ; look 
 at his face : it is as sorrowful as a tombstone, and 
 just makes you ponder upon what has been, and 
 what might have been; and his kickshaw of a 
 daughter — why I, Debby Lennox, a lone old wo- 
 man that I am, would not change places with her 
 — would not give up my peaceable feelings for 
 hers, for all the gold in the king's coffers : and 
 for the most part, since I have taken a peep into 
 what 's called the world, I have seen little to envy 
 among the great and the gay, the rich and hand- 
 some." 
 
 "And yet, Miss Debby," said Grace, "the 
 world looks upon these as the privileged classes." 
 
 "Ah ! the world is foolish and stupid besides." 
 
 "Well, Miss Deborah, I have unbounded confi- 
 dence in your wisdom, but since my lot is cast in 
 this same evil world, I should be sorry to think 
 there was no good in it." 
 
 "No good. Miss! that was what I did not and 
 would not say. There is good in everything and 
 everywhere, if we have but eyes to see it and 
 hearts to confess it. There is some pure gold 
 mixed with all this glitter ; some here that seem 
 to have as pure hearts and just minds as if they 
 had never stood in the dazzling sunshine of for- 
 tune." 
 
 " You mean to say, Deborah," said Ellen, " that 
 contentment is a modest, prudent spirit ; and that 
 for the most part she avoids the high places of the 
 earth, where the sun burns and the tempests beat, 
 and leads her favourites along quiet vales and to 
 sequestered fountains." 
 
 " Just what I would have said, Ellen, though it ' 
 may not be just as I should have said it ;" replied 
 Deborah, smiling. "You young folks like to dress 
 off everything with garlands, while such a plain 
 old body as I only thinks of the substantials." ' 
 
 THE TRAINING OP A BELLE. 
 
 Mrs. Manning's notions of education were not 
 peculiar. In her view, the few accomplishments 
 quite indispensable to a young lady, were dancing, 
 music, and French. To attain them she used all 
 the arts of persuasion and bribery ; she procured 
 a French governess, who was a monument of pa- 
 tience ; she employed a succession of teachers, 
 that much-enduring order, who bore with all long- 
 suffering, the young lady's indolence, caprices, 
 and tyranny. At the age of seven, the grand- 
 
 778 
 
SE 
 
 SE 
 
 mother's vanity no longer brooking delay, the 
 ehild was produced at halls and routes, where her 
 singular beauty attracted every eye, and her dex- 
 terous, graceful management of her little person, 
 already disciplined to the rules of Vestris, called 
 forth loud applauses. The child and grandmother 
 were alike bewildered with the incense that was 
 offered to the infant belle and future heiress ; and 
 alike unconscious of the sidelong looks of con- 
 tempt and whispered sneers which their pride and 
 folly provoked. At the age of fourteen Miss Red- 
 wood, according to the universal phrase to express 
 the debut of a young lady, was "brought out;" 
 that is, entered the lists as a candidate for the 
 admiration of fashion and the pretensions of 
 lovers. At eighteen, — the period which has been 
 selected to introduce her to our readers, — she was 
 the idol of the fashionable world, and as completely 
 mistress of all its arts and mysteries as a veteran 
 belle of five-and-twenty. 
 
 THOUGHTS OF A DYING MOTHER. 
 
 She knows not — no one knows — how to look 
 upon the troubled and vanishing dream of this 
 life, till the light of another falls upon it. No one 
 knows how mean every tiling that is transient and 
 perishable appears unto me ; how insignificant the 
 joys, nay, even the sufferings that are past, as I 
 stand trembling on the verge 6f that bright world 
 of innocence and safety, where I hope to appear 
 with the child God has given me. 
 
 TRUE POLITENESS. 
 
 He who should embody and manifest the virtues 
 taught in Christ's sermon on the Mount, would, 
 though he had never seen a drawing-room, nor 
 even heard of the artificial usages of society, com- 
 mend himself to all nations, the most refined as 
 well as the most simple. 
 
 From "The Poor Rich Man and the Rich Poor Man." 
 
 MR. aikin's philosophy. 
 
 " I must say, I think there is a useless and sense- 
 less outcry against rich men. It comes from the 
 ignorant, unobserving, and unreflecting. We must 
 remember that in our country there are no fixed 
 classes : the poor family of this generation is the 
 rich family of the next ; and more than that, the 
 poor of to-day are the rich of to-morrow, and the 
 rich of to-day the poor of to-morrow. The prizes 
 are open to all, and they fall without favour. Our 
 rich people, too, are, many of them, among the 
 very best persons in society. I know some such : 
 there is Mr. Beckwith ; he has ten talents, and a 
 faithful steward is he ; he and his whole family 
 are an honour and blessing to their country ; 
 doing in every way all the good they can. Such 
 a rich man as Morris Finley I despise, or rather 
 pity, as much as you or any man can ; but pray 
 do not let us envy him his riches ; they are some- 
 thing quite independent of himself; and can a 
 man be really poorer than he is — a poor mind, a 
 poor heart — that is the poverty to shun. As to 
 rich men being at their ease, Miner, every acqui- 
 sition brings a new want — a new responsibility." 
 
 "But, Aikin Aikin; now, candidly, would yotl 
 not be willing to take their wants and responsibil 
 ities with their purses ?" 
 
 " I cannot say, Miner ; money is the represent 
 ative of power — the means of extended usefulness . 
 and we all have dreams of the wonderful good W(S 
 should do if we had these means in our hands. 
 But this I do know ; that, till we are conscious o» 
 employing, and employing well, the means we have, 
 we ought not to crave more. But let us look ac 
 the matter in the right point of view. We are a.» 
 children of one family ; all are to live here a fev 
 years ; some in one station, and some in another. 
 We are all of us, from the highest to the lowest, 
 labourers in our Father's field ; and as vie sow, so 
 shall we reap. If we labour rightly, those words 
 of truth and immense import will sound in our ears 
 like a promise, and not like a threat. We shall 
 work at our posts like faithful children, not like 
 tasked slaves ; and shall be sure of the riches thai 
 perish not in the using. As to all other riches, ; 
 is not worth our yrhi\e to covet or envy them , 
 except in some rare cases, we have all, in this 
 country, gifts and means enough." 
 
 THE POOR RICH MAN's BLESSINGS. 
 
 I had a good education. I do not mean as to 
 learning ; that is only one part of it ; I was taught 
 to use my faculties. But, first and best of all, I 
 early learned to seek the favour of God and th; 
 approval of conscience. I have always had a 
 cheerful home, a clean room to come to, cleat 
 children, and a nice wife. Your mother has per- 
 formed her duties, great and small : as to the 
 small, she never has failed a day since we were 
 married to put on her t'other gown at evening, and 
 a clean cap with a riband bow, most always of 
 blue, the colour she knows I like best. Her trad 3 
 has helped us through many a hard-rubbing day ; 
 and it has given me peace of mind ; for I know 
 if I were taken from you, she could and would 
 support you without running to any widows' soci- 
 eties or assistant societies. 
 
 HIS ADVICE TO HIS CHILDREN. 
 
 Observe for yourselves, my children ; and do n'i 
 trust to what others tell you. If you make goad 
 use of your bodily eyes and the eyes of your mind, 
 you will see that Providence has bound the rich 
 and the poor by one chain. Their interests are 
 the same ; the prosperity of one is the prosperity 
 of all. The fountains are with the rich, but they 
 are no better than a stagnant pool till they flow in 
 streams to the labouring people. The enterprise 
 and success of the merchant give us employment 
 and rich rewards for our labour. We are depend- 
 ent on them, but they are quite as dependent Sh 
 us. If there were none of these hateful rich 
 people, who, think you, would build hospitals and 
 provide asylums for orphans, and for the deaf and 
 dumb, and the blind ? 
 
 HIS REMARKS ON MANNERS. 
 
 Manners, for the most part, are only the signa 
 of qualities. If a ehild has a kind and gentle dia 
 position, he will have the outward sign ; if he have 
 
 779 
 
SH 
 
 SH 
 
 the principle that teaches him to maintain his own 
 rights and not encroach on those of others, he will 
 have dignity and deference ; which I take to be 
 qualities of the best manners. As to forms of 
 expression, they are easily taught : this I call 
 women's work. They are naturally more mannerly 
 than we." 
 
 " You say, Harry," interposed Mrs. Aikin, " that 
 it is women's work to teach manners to the chil- 
 dren ; but do n't you think they learn them mostly 
 from example '!" 
 
 " Certainly I do ; manners, as well as every 
 thing else. JIan is called an imitative animal. 
 You can tell by the actions of a child a year old 
 what sort of people it has lived with. If parents 
 are civil and . kind to one another, if children 
 never hear from them profane or coarse language, 
 they will as naturally grow up well-behaved, as 
 that candle took the form of the mould it was run 
 
 SHELLEY, MARY WOLS TONECRAFT, 
 Daughter of William Godwin and Mary Wol- 
 stonecraft, was born in London, August, 1797. 
 Her mother dying at her birth, the daughter was 
 tenderly and carefully brought up by her father 
 and stepmother. The little girl soon evinced traits 
 of the hereditary genius which was afterwards so 
 fully developed. 
 
 In the introduction to one of her novels, she 
 herself says of her youth : 
 
 " It is not singular that, as the daughter of two 
 persons of distinguised literary celebrity, I should 
 very eiu'ly in life have thought of writing. As a 
 child I scribbled ; and my favourite pastime during 
 the hours given me for recreation, was to ' write 
 stories.' Still, I had a dearer pleasure than this, 
 which was the formation of castles in the air ; the 
 indulging in waking dreams ; the following up 
 trains of thought, which had for their subject the 
 formation of a succession of imaginary incidents. 
 My dreams were at once more fantastic and agree- 
 able than my writings. In the latter I was a close 
 imitator ; rather doing as others had done, than 
 putting down the suggestions of my own mind. 
 What I wrote was intended at least for one other 
 eye — my childhood's companion and friend; but 
 my dreams were all my own ; I accounted for them 
 to nobody ; they were mj refuge when annoyed, 
 my dearest pleasure when free. I lived princi- 
 pally in the country as a girl, and passed a consi- 
 derable time in Scotland. I made occasional visits 
 to the more picturesque parts, but my habitual 
 residence was on the blank and dreary northern 
 shores of the Tay, near Dundee. Blank and 
 dreary on retrospection I call them; they were 
 not so to me then. They were the eyry of free- 
 dom, and the pleasant region where unheeded I 
 could commune with the creatures of my fancy. 
 I wrote then, but in a most commonplace style. 
 It was beneath the trees of the grounds belonging 
 to our house, or on the bleak sides of the woodless 
 mountains near, that my true compositions, the 
 airy flights of my imagination, were born and 
 fostered. I did not make myself the heroine of 
 my tales. Life appeared to me too commonplace 
 
 an affair as regarded myself. I could not figure 
 to myself that romantic woes or wonderful events 
 would ever be my lot ; but I was not confined to 
 my own identity, and I could people the hours 
 with creations far more interesting to me at that 
 age than my own sensations." 
 
 Here is the key of the true womanly character, 
 disinterestedness. This young girl did not weave 
 the garland or create the Utopia for herself, but 
 for others. The mind of a boy works differently ; 
 he places himself in the centre of his creations, 
 and wins the laurel for his own brow. 
 
 In 1815 Miss Wolstonecraft was married to 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley, whose name at- once moves 
 the admiration, the pity, and the censure of the 
 world. That Mrs. Shelley loved her husband with 
 a truth and devotion seldom exceeded, has been 
 proven by her whole career. Their married life 
 was eminently happy, and the fidelity with which 
 she devoted her fine genius to the elucidation of 
 his writings and the defence of his character, is 
 the best eulogium that has been offered to his 
 memory. Mrs. Shelley thus sketches the first 
 year of her married life and her husband's influ- 
 ence: 
 
 " My husband was from the first very anxious 
 that I should prove myself worthy of my parent- 
 age, and enrol myself on the page of fame. He 
 was for ever inciting me to obtain literary reputa- 
 tion, which even on my own part I cared for then, 
 though since I have become infinitely indifferent 
 to it. At this time he desired that I should write, 
 not so much with the idea that I could produce 
 any thing worthy of notice, but that he might 
 himself judge how far I possessed the promise of 
 better things hereafter. Still I did nothing. 
 Travelling and the cares of a family occupied my 
 time ; and study, in the way of reading or improv- 
 ing my ideas in communication with his far more 
 cultivated mind, was all of literary employment 
 that engaged my attention." 
 
 In the summer of 1816, Lord Byron and Mr. 
 and Mrs. Shelley were residing on the banks of 
 the Lake of Geneva. They were in habits of daily 
 intercourse, and when the weather did not allow 
 of their boating excursions on the lake, the Shel- 
 leys often passed their evenings with Byron at his 
 house at Diodati. "During a week of rain at 
 this time," says Mr. Moore, "having amused 
 themselves with reading German ghost-stories, they 
 agreed at last to write something in imitation of 
 them. 'You and I,' said Lord Byron to Mrs. 
 Shelley, 'will publish ours together.' He then 
 began his tale of the Vampire ; and having the 
 whole arranged in his head, repeated to them a 
 sketch of the story one evening, but from the nar- 
 rative being in prose, made but little progress in 
 filling up his outline. The most memorable result, 
 indeed, of their story-telling compact, was Mrs. 
 Shelley's wild and powerful romance of ' Frank- 
 enstein, or the Modern Prometheus ;' one of those 
 original conceptions that take hold of the public 
 mind at once and for ever." 
 
 " Frankenstein " was published in 1817, and was 
 instantly recognised as worthy of Godwin's daugh- 
 ter and Shelley's wife, and as, in fact, possessing 
 
 780 
 
SH 
 
 SH 
 
 some of the genius and peculiarities of both. It is 
 formed on the model of St. Leon ; but the super- 
 natural power of that romantic visionary produces 
 nothing so striking or awful as the grand concep- 
 tion of "Frankenstein;" the discovery that he can, 
 by his study of natural philosophy, create a liv- 
 ing and sentient being. The hero, like Caleb Wil- 
 liams, tells his own story ; and the curiosity it excites 
 is equally concentrated and intense. A native of 
 Geneva, Frankenstein, is sent to the University of 
 Ingolstadt to pursue his studies. He had pre- ■ 
 viously dabbled in the occult sciences, and the 
 University afforded vastly extended facilities for 
 prosecuting bis abstruse researches. He pores 
 over books on physiology, makes chemical experi- 
 ments, visits even the receptacles of the dead and 
 the dissecting-room of the anatomist; and after 
 days and nights of incredible labour and fatigue, 
 his perseverance is rewarded — he succeeds in dis- 
 covering the cause of generation and life ; nay, 
 more ; he became capable of bestowing animation 
 on lifeless matter ! Full of his extraordinary dis- 
 covery, he proceeds to create a man ; and at length, 
 after innumerable trials and revolting experiments 
 to seize and infuse the principle of life into his image 
 of clay, he constructs and animates a gigantic 
 figure eight feet in height. His feelings on com- 
 pleting the creation of this monster are powerfully 
 described, but not so vividly as Mrs. Shelley has 
 depicted her own emotions when the plot of the 
 story was first seized or comprehended by her 
 imagination. 
 
 In 1817 Shelley and his wife returned to England 
 and spent several months in Buckinghamshire. 
 In 1818 they returned to Italy; their eldest child 
 died in Rome ; the parents then retired to Leghorn 
 for a few months, and after travelling to various 
 places, finally, in 1820, took up their residence at 
 Pisa. In July, 1821, Shelley's death occurred; 
 he was drowned in the Gulf of Lerici. 
 
 Mrs. Shelley had one son who survived his 
 father ; with her children she returned to England, 
 and for years supported herself by her writings. 
 In 1844 her son, Henry Florence Shelley, suc- 
 ceeded to the title and estates of his grandfather. 
 
 Mrs. Shelley's second work of fiction, " Wal- 
 purga," was published in 1823. Her other novels 
 are "Lodore," "Perkin Warbeok," " Falkner," 
 and " The Last Man." She wrote a " Journal of 
 her Travels in Italy and Germany;" also "Lives 
 of Eminent French Poets." But her last work, 
 " Memoirs of Shelley," prefixed to the complete, 
 edition of his Poems and Letters, displays her 
 character in its loveliest light. She is the guar- 
 dian angel of her dead husband's fame, as she 
 was of his happiness while he lived. Mrs. Shel- 
 ley is a woman of original genius ; " like her 
 father, she excels in mental analysis," says Mr. 
 Chambers, commenting on "Frankenstein," "and 
 in the conceptions of the grand and the powerful, 
 but fails in the management of her fable, where 
 probable incidents and familiar life are required 
 or attempted." But in " Lodore" she has shown 
 her power to depict scenes true to nature. Mrs. 
 Shelley died in London, February 1st. 1851, in the 
 afty-th.rd yeai of her age. 
 
 From "Frankenstein," 
 THE OKEATION OF THE MONSTER. 
 
 It was on a dreary night of November that I 
 beheld the accomplishment of my toils. With an 
 anxiety that almost amounted to agony, I collected 
 the instruments of life around me, that I might 
 infuse a spark of being into the lifeless thing that 
 lay at my feet. It was already one in the morn- 
 ing ; the rain pattered dismally against the panes, 
 and my candle was nearly burnt out, when, by the 
 glimmer of the half-extinguished light, I saw the 
 dull yellow eye of the creature open ; it breathed 
 hard, and a convulsive motion agitated its limbs. 
 
 How can I describe my emotions at this catas- 
 trophe, or how delineate the wretch whom with 
 such infinite pains and care I had endeavoured to 
 form? His limbs were in proportion, and I had 
 selected his features as beautiful. Beautiful ! 
 Great God ! His yellow skin scarcely covered the 
 working of muscles and arteries beneath ; his 
 hair was of a lustrous black, and flowing ; his 
 teeth of pearly whiteness ; but these luxuriances 
 only formed a more horrid contrast with his watery 
 eyes, that seemed almost of the same colour as 
 the dun-white sockets in which they were set, his 
 shrivelled complexion, and straight, black lips. 
 
 It is said that in love we idolize the object, and 
 placing him apart and selecting him from his fel- 
 lows, look on him as superior in nature to all 
 others. We do so ; but even as we idolize the 
 object of our afi'ections, do we idolize ourselves: 
 if we separate him from his fellow mortals, so do 
 we separate ourselves ; and glorying in belonging 
 to him alone, feel lifted above all other sensations, 
 all other joys and griefs, to one hallowed circle 
 from which all but his idea is banished. We walk 
 as if a mist or some more potent charm divided 
 us from all but him ; a sanctified victim, which 
 none but the priest set apart for that ofEce could 
 touch and not pollute, enshrined in a cloud of 
 glory, made glorious through beauties not our 
 own. 
 
 SHERWOOD, MRS., 
 
 Has written many books, and always with a 
 worthy purpose.' In the character of the Lady of 
 the Manor she has, perhaps unconsciously, given 
 us the key to her own. Like that good lady, Mrs. 
 Sherwood resides in the south of England ; she is 
 the widow of an English ofBcer, and passed seve- 
 ral years with her husband in India. Since his 
 decease, which occurred when she was in the prime 
 of life, Mrs. Sherwood has found her chief occu- 
 pations and pleasures in her own home, instruct- 
 ing her children and writing works to assist in the 
 Christian instruction of the young. The titles of 
 her books show for whom they were prepared. 
 " Little Henry and his Bearer" was her first lite- 
 rary production. Then followed " The History of 
 John Martin," "The Fairchild Family," "The 
 Infant's Progress," "The Indian Pilgrim," "Vic- 
 toria AnzoorauTid," "Birthday PreseD+," "Er'and 
 isoy," " The Young Foresters," "Juliana Oakley," 
 
 781 
 
SI 
 
 "Erminia," "Emancipation," and a number of 
 other stories. Her largest and most important 
 ■work, however, is "TheLady of the Manor," in four 
 volumes. Its design is to teach the doctrines of 
 the Churdi of England to young females. The 
 religious novel has always appeared to us an 
 amusement of doubtful utility. That Christian 
 morals should be inculcated in every work of fic- 
 tion sent forth in a Christian land, is imperative. 
 From the fact that the Saviour taught these prin- 
 ciples by his parables, we are constrained to 
 believe that much good may be done by showing 
 portraitures of the struggles of virtue, the sacri- 
 fices of self, and the triumphs of integrity over 
 the evils which curse the world. But the doctrines 
 of religion should, we think, be learned from the 
 Bible and from those appointed to expound its 
 teachings ; the discipline of the Church, its forms 
 and rules, are best remembered when studied 
 in their shortest and simplest arrangement ; still, 
 the advice communicated in the didactic portions 
 of Mrs. Sherwood's " Lady of the Manor " is, for 
 the most part, excellent, and has, we doubt not, 
 done great good. She is entitled to our warmest es- 
 teem as a woman of sincere piety, who has laboured 
 long and earnestly in the highest and holiest cause 
 that can occupy a female pen — the advancement 
 of Christ's kingdom on earth. In her literary 
 claims Mrs. Sherwood is excelled by many living 
 writers of her own sex ; as a Christian, we fear 
 few could be fodnd worthy to rank as her equal. 
 Her works have been widely circulated in America. 
 
 
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 SIGOURNEY, LtDIA HUNTLEY, 
 Was born in Norwich, Connecticut, in the year 
 1791. She was the only child of her parents, and 
 consfiquently was brought up with great tender- 
 ness. Her parentage was in that happy mediocrity 
 which requires industry, yet encourages hope ; 
 and the habits of order and diligence in which she 
 was carefully trained by her judicious mother have 
 no doubt been of inestimable advantage to the 
 intellectual character of the daughter. 
 
 She early exhibited indications of genius. Per- 
 haps the loneliness of her lot, without brother or 
 
 sister to share in the usual sports of childhood, 
 had an influence on her pursuits and pleasures. 
 We are by no means in favour of establishing pre- 
 cocity of intellect as the standard of real genius. 
 Still, it is true that many distinguished persons 
 have been marked in childhood as extraordinary ; 
 the opening blossom has given forth the sweet 
 odour which the rich fruit, like that of the Man- 
 gostan, embodies in its delicious perfection. At 
 eight years of age the little Lydia was a scribbler 
 of rhymes; like Pope, "lisping in numbers." 
 Her first work was published in 1815. It was a 
 small volume, entitled " Miscellaneous Pieces in 
 Prose and Verse." Before this, however, she had 
 fortunately met with a judicious and most gene- 
 rous patron. To Daniel Wadsworth, Esq., of 
 Hartford, belongs the tribute of praise which is 
 due for drawing such a mind from the obscurity 
 where it had remained "afar from the untasted 
 sunbeam." 
 
 In 1819 Miss Huntley was united in marriage 
 with Charles Sigourney, a respectable merchant 
 of Hartford, Connecticut ; a gentleman of cultivated 
 taste and good literary attainments. From that pe- 
 riod Mrs. Sigourney devoted her leisure to literary 
 pursuits ; she has produced a variety of works, 
 each and all having one general design — that of 
 doing good. 
 
 In 1822 she published "Traits of the Abori- 
 gines of America ;" a descriptive and historical 
 poem in five cantos. It depicts with truth, and 
 often with much vigour, the condition of the red 
 man before the arrival of his European conqueror, 
 and has passages of deep tenderness and wild 
 beauty. Yet, written as it is in blank verse, and 
 rather discursively, the impression it leaves on 
 the mind is not powerful. 
 
 Mrs. Sigourney's next work was in prose — "A 
 Sketch of Connecticut Forty Years Since," pub- 
 lished in 1824. During the ensuing fourteen years 
 she sent forth " Poetry for Children," " Sketches ; 
 a Collection of Prose Tales, &c.," " Poems," 
 " Zinzendorf," " Letters to Young Ladies," and 
 "Letters to Mothers." All these were favourably 
 received by the American public, and gave the 
 author a warm place in the heart of the people. 
 
 In 1840 Mrs. Sigourney went to Europe, visiting 
 England and Scotland in the summer, and passing 
 the winter in Paris, where she received much 
 kindness. She returned to her home in Hartford 
 during the spring of 1841. While on her visit, a 
 volume of her selected poems, superbly illustrated, 
 was published in London, and soon after her re- 
 turn, " Pocahontas," the most carefully finished 
 of her long poems, came out in New York. In 
 1842 her " Pleasant Memories in Pleasant Lands," 
 a record in prose and verse of her wanderings 
 abroad, was issued ; and in 1846 " Myrtis, with 
 other Etchings and Sketching," was published. 
 Since then she has sent out several works, among 
 which are "Water-drops;" an excellent contribu- 
 tion to the temperance cause. A volume of her 
 "Poems," beautifully illustrated, was published 
 in 1848. 
 
 The talents and industry of Mrs. Sigourney 
 have won for her a good reputation ; and though 
 
 782 
 
SI 
 
 SI 
 
 British critics have attempted to disparage her 
 genius by accusing lier of imitating Mrs. Hemans, 
 yet her worlds are esteemed by English Christians 
 as the most useful of their class. An American 
 critic has well defined the powers of this truly 
 American poetess ; — " Mrs. Sigourney's works 
 express with great purity and evident sincerity 
 the tender affections which are so natural to the 
 female heart, and the lofty aspirations after a 
 higher and better state of being which constitute 
 the truly ennobling and elevating principle in art 
 as well as nature. Love and and religion are the 
 unvarying elements of her .song ; if her powers 
 of expression were equal to the purity and eleva- 
 tion of her habits of thought and feeling, she 
 would be a female Milton or a Christian Pindar. 
 But though she does not inherit v 
 
 ' The force and ample pinion tliat the Theban eagles bear. 
 Sailing with supreme dominion through the liquid vaults of 
 air,' 
 
 she nevertheless manages language with ease and 
 elegance, and often with much of the curiosa feli- 
 citas, 'that ' refined felicity ' of expression, which 
 is, after all, the principal charm in poetry. In 
 blank verse she is very successful. The poems 
 that she has written in this measure have not 
 infrequently much of the manner of Wordsworth, 
 and may be nearly or quite as highly relished by 
 his admirers." 
 
 The predominance of hope with devotional 
 feeling has inclined Mrs. Sigourney to elegiac 
 poetry, in which she excels. Her muse has been 
 a comforter to the mourner. No poet has written 
 such a number of tliese songs, nor are these of 
 necessity melancholy. Many of hers sound the 
 notes of holy triumph and awalsen the brightest 
 anticipations of felicity — ay, 
 
 " Teach us of the melody of heaven." 
 She " leaves not the trophy of death at the tomb," 
 but shows us the " Kesurrection and the Life." 
 Thus she elevates the hopes of the Christian and 
 chastens the thoughts of the worldly-minded. 
 This is her mission, the true purpose of her 
 heaven-endowed mind ; for the inspirations of 
 genius are from heaven, and, when not perverted 
 by a corrupt will, rise upward as naturally as the 
 morning dew on the flower is exhaled to the sliies. 
 
 We must not omit to record that Mrs. Sigourney 
 is, in private life, an example to her sex, as well 
 as their admiration in her literary career. She is 
 a good wife and devoted mother ; and in all domes- 
 tic Icnowledge and the scrupulous performance of 
 her household duties, she shows as ready acquaint- 
 ance and as much skill as though these alone 
 formed her pursuits. Her literary studies are her 
 recreations — surely as rational a mode of occu- 
 pying the leisure of a lady as the morning call or 
 the evening party. 
 
 From " Letters to Mothers." 
 
 POWER or A MOTHER. 
 
 You have gained an increase of power. The 
 influence which is most truly valuable is that of 
 mind over mind. How entire and perfect is this 
 dominion over the unformed character of your 
 
 infant. Write what you will upon the printles? 
 tablet with your wand of love. Hitherto your 
 influence over your dearest friend, your most sub- 
 missive servant, has known bounds and obstruc- 
 tions. Now, you have over a now-born immortal 
 almost that degree of power which the mind exer- 
 cises over the body, and which Aristotle compares 
 to the " sway of a prince over a bond-man." The 
 period of this influence must indeed pass away ; 
 but while it lasts, make good use of it. 
 
 Admitting that it is the profession of our sex 
 to teach, we perceive the mother to be first in 
 point of precedence, in degree of power, in the 
 faculty of teaching, and in the department allotted. 
 For in point of precedence she is next to the Cre- 
 ator ; in power over her pupil, limitless and with- 
 out competitor ; in faculty of teaching, endowed 
 with the prerogative of a transforming love ; while 
 the glorious department allotted is a newly quick- 
 ened soul and its immortal destiny. 
 
 THE mother's teachings. 
 
 Wise men have said, and the world begins to 
 believe, that it is the province of wom.in to teach. 
 You, then, as a mother, are advanced to the head 
 of that profession. I congratulate you. You 
 hold that license which authorizes you to teach 
 always. You have attained that degree in the 
 College of Instruction by which your pupils are 
 in your presence continually, receiving lessons 
 whether you intend it or not, and if the voice of 
 precept be silent, fashioning themselves on the 
 model of your example. You cannot escape from 
 their imitation. You cannot prevent them from 
 carrying into another generation the stamp of 
 those habits which they inherit from you. If you 
 are thoughtless or supine, an unborn race will be 
 summoned as witnesses of your neglect. 
 
 woman's patriotism. 
 This, then, is the patriotism of woman ; not to 
 thunder in senates, or to usurp dominion, or to 
 seek the clarion-blast of fame, but faithfully to 
 teach by precept and example that wisdom, inte- 
 grity, and peace which are the glory of a nation. 
 Thus, in the wisdom of Providence, has she been 
 prepared by the charm of life's fairest season for 
 the happiness of love ; incited to rise above the 
 trifling amuseihents and selfish pleasures which 
 once engrossed her, that she might be elevated to 
 the maternal dignity ; cheered under its sleepless 
 cares by a new affection ; girded for its labours 
 by the examples of past ages, and adjured to fidel- 
 ity in its most sacred duties by the voice of God. 
 
 sketch op a family. 
 It is the duty of mothers to sustain the reverses 
 of fortune. Frequent and sudden as they have 
 been in our own country, it is important that 
 young females should possess some 'employment 
 by which they might obtain a livelihood in cnse 
 they should be reduced to the necessity of support- 
 ing themselves. When females are suddenly re- 
 duced from affluence to poverty, how pitiful, 
 contemptible it is, to see the mother desponding 
 and helpless, and permitting her daughters to 
 
SI 
 
 SI 
 
 embarraas those whom it is their duty to assist 
 and cheer. 
 
 " I have lost my whole fortune," said a mer- 
 chant, as he returned one evening to his home ; 
 " we can no longer keep our carriage. We must 
 leave this large house. The children can no 
 longer go to expensive schools. Yesterday I was 
 a rich man ; to-day there is nothing I can call my 
 own." 
 
 "Dear husband," said the wife, "we are still 
 rich in each other and our children. Money may 
 pass away, but God has given us a better treasure 
 in these active hands and loving hearts." 
 
 " Dear father," said the children, " do not look 
 so sober. We will help you to get a living." 
 
 " What can you do, poor things?" said he. 
 
 " You shall see ! you shall see !" answered seve- 
 ral voices. " It is a pity if we have been to school 
 for nothing. How can the father of eight children 
 be poor ? We shall work and make you rich 
 again " 
 
 " I shall help ;" said the little girl, hardly four 
 years old. " I shall not have any new things 
 bought, and I shall sell my great doll." 
 
 The heart of the husband and father, which 
 had sunk within his bosom like a stone, was lifted 
 up. The sweet enthusiasm of the scene cheered 
 him, and his nightly prayer was like a song of 
 praise. 
 
 They left their stately house. The servants were 
 dismissed. Pictures and plate, rich carpets and 
 furniture were sold, and she who had been the 
 mistress of the mansion shed no tears. 
 
 " Pay every debt," said she ; " let no one suffer 
 through us, and we may be happy." 
 
 He rented a neat cottage and a small piece of 
 ground a few miles from the city. With the aid 
 of his sons he cultivated vegetables for the mar- 
 ket. He viewed with delight and astonishment 
 the economy of his wife, nurtured as she had been 
 in wealth, and the efficiency which his daughters 
 soon acquired under her training. 
 
 The eldest instructed in the household, and also 
 assisted the youug children ; besides, they exe- 
 cuted various works which they had learned as 
 accomplishments, but which they found could be 
 disposed of to advantage. They embroidered with 
 taste some of the ornamental parts of female 
 apparel which were readily sold to a merchant in 
 the city. 
 
 They cultivated flowers, sent bouquets to market 
 in the cart that conveyed the vegetables ; they 
 plaited straw, they painted maps, they executed 
 plain needle-work. Every one was at her post, 
 busy and cheerful. The little, cottage was like a 
 bee-hive. 
 
 " I never enjoyed such health before," said the 
 father. 
 
 "And I was never so happy before," said the 
 mother. 
 
 " We never knew how many things we could do 
 when we lived in the grand house," said the chil- 
 dren, " and we love each other a great deal better 
 here. You call us your little bees." 
 
 "Yes," replied the father; "and you make 
 just such honey as the heart likes to feed on." 
 
 Economy, as well as industry, was strictly ob- 
 served; nothing was wasted. Nothing unneces- 
 sary was purchased. The eldest daughter became 
 assistant teacher in a distinguished seminary, 
 and the second took her place as instructress to 
 the family. 
 
 The dwelling, which had always been kept neat, 
 they were soon able to beautify. Its construction 
 was improved, and the vines and flowering trees 
 were replanted around it. The merehant was 
 happier under his woodbine-covered porch in a 
 summer's evening, than he had been in his showy 
 dressing-room. 
 
 " We are now thriving and prosperous," said 
 he ; " shall we retui-n to the city ?" 
 
 " Oh, no !" was the unanimous reply. 
 
 "Let us remain," said- the wife, "where we 
 have found health and contentment." 
 
 " Father," said the youngest, " all we children 
 hope you are not going to be rich again ; for 
 then," she added, " we little ones were shut up in 
 the nursery, and did not see much of you or 
 mother. Now we all live together, and sister, who 
 loves us, teaches us, and we learn to be industrious 
 and useful. We were none of us happy when we 
 were rich and did not work. So, father, please 
 not to be rich any more." 
 
 From *' Poems." 
 THE MOTHEK OP WASHINGTON.* 
 
 Long hast tliou slept unnoted. Nature stole 
 In her soft ministry around thy bed. 
 Spreading her vernal tissue, violet-gemm'd. 
 And pearl'd with dews. 
 
 She bade bright Summer bring 
 Gifts of frankincense, with sweet song of birds. 
 And Autumn cast his reaper's coronet 
 Down at thy feet, and stormy Winter speak 
 Sternly of man's neglect. But now we come 
 To do thee homage, mother of our chief! 
 Fit homage— such as honoureth him who pays. 
 
 Methinks we see thee ; as in olden time. 
 Simple in garb— majestic and serene, 
 tJnmoved by pomp or circumstance — in truth 
 Inflexible, and with a Spartan zeal 
 Repressing vice and making folly grave. 
 Thou didst not deem it woman's part to waste 
 Life in inglorious sloth — to sport a while 
 Amid the flowers, or on the summer wave, 
 Then fleet, like the ephemeron, away, 
 Building no temple in her children's hearts, 
 Save to the vanity and pride of life 
 Which she had worshipp'd. 
 
 For the might that clothed 
 The "Pater PatriK" — for the glorious deeds 
 That make Mount Vernon's tomb a Mecca shrine 
 For all the earth — what thanks to thee are due, 
 Who, 'mid his elements of being, wrought. 
 We know not — Heaven can tell! 
 
 Rise, sculptured pile! 
 And show a race unborn who rest below, 
 And say to mothers what a holy charge 
 Is theirs — with what a kingly power their love 
 Might rule the fountains of the newborn mind. 
 Warn them to wake at early dawn, and sow 
 Good seed before the World hath sown her tares ; 
 Nor in their toil decline — that angel bands 
 May put the sickle in, and reap for God, 
 And gather to his garner. Ye, who stand 
 With thrilling breast to view her trophied praise, 
 Who nobly rear'd Virginia's godlike chief — 
 Ye, whose last thought upon your nightly couch, 
 
 '► On laying the corner-stone of her monument at Fred- 
 ericksburg, Virginia. 
 
 784 
 
SI 
 
 Whose first at waking, is your cradled son, 
 What though no high ambition prompts to rear 
 A second Washington, or leave your name 
 Wrought out in marble with a nation's tears 
 Of deathless gratitude — yet may you raise 
 A monument above the stars — a soul 
 Led by your teachings and your prayers to God. 
 
 ,PRATER FOR MISSIONS, 
 
 Night wraps the realm where Jesus woke, 
 
 No guiding star the magi see, 
 And heavy hangs oppression's yoke, 
 
 Where first the Gospel said " be free." 
 
 And where the harps of angels bore 
 High message to the shepherd-throng, 
 
 "Good will and peace" are heard no more 
 To murmur Bethlehem's vales along. 
 
 Swarth India, with' her idol-train. 
 Bends low by Ganges' worshipp'd tide, 
 
 Or drowns the suttee's shrink of pain 
 With thundering gong and pagan pride. i 
 
 On Persia's hills the Sophi grope; 
 
 Dark Birmah greets salvation's ray; 
 Even jealous China's door of hope 
 
 Unbars to give the Gospel way. 
 
 Old Ocean, with his isles, awakes. 
 Cold Greenland feels unwonted flame. 
 
 And humble Afric wondering takes 
 On her sad lips a Saviour's name. 
 
 Their steps the forest-children stay. 
 
 Bound to oblivion's voiceless shore, 
 And lift their red brows to the day, 
 
 Which from the opening skies doth pour. 
 
 Then aid with prayer that holy light 
 Which from eternal death can save. 
 
 And bid Christ's heralds speed tlieir flight, 
 Ere millions find a hopeless grave. 
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON A CHILD's GRATE, 
 
 A butterfly bask'd on a baby's grave, 
 Where a lily had chanced to grow: 
 "Why art thou here, with thy gaudy dye, 
 When she of the blue and sparkling eye 
 Must sleep in the churchyard low ?" 
 
 Then it lightly soar'd through the sunny air. 
 
 And spoke from its shining track : 
 " I was a worm till I won my wings. 
 And she whom thou mourn'st, like a seraph sings: 
 
 Wouldst thou call the blest one back?" 
 
 THE ALPINE FLOWERS. 
 
 Meek dwellers 'mid yon terror-stricken cliffs! 
 With brows so pure, and incense-breathing lips, 
 Whence are ye ? Did some white-wing'd messenger 
 On Mercy's mission trust your timid germ 
 To the cold cradle of eternal snows 7 
 Or, breathing on the callous icicles. 
 Bid them with tear-drops nurse ye? — 
 
 — Tree nor shrub 
 Dare that drear atmosphere ; no polar pine 
 Uprears a veteran front ; yet there ye stand. 
 Leaning your cheeks against the thick-ribb'd ice. 
 And looking up with brilliant eyes to Him 
 Who bids you bloom unhlanch'd amid the waste 
 Of desolation. Man, who panting, toils 
 O'er slippery steeps, or, trembling, treads Ihe verge 
 Of yawning gulfs, o'er mfiich the headlong plunge 
 Is to eternity, looks shuddering up, 
 And marksye in your placid loveliness — 
 Fearless, yet frail — and, clasping his chill hands, 
 Blesses your pencill'd beauty, 'Mid the pomp 
 Of mountain summits rushing on the sky, 
 And chaining the rapt soul in breathless awe. 
 He bows to bind you drooping to his breast. 
 Inhales your spirit from the frost- wing'd gale, 
 And freer dreams of heaven. 
 2Z 
 
 SM 
 
 THE THRIVING FAMILY. 
 A SONQ. 
 
 Our father lives in Washington, 
 
 And lias a world of cares, 
 But gives his children each a farm. 
 
 Enough for them and theirs. 
 Full thirty well-grown sons has he, 
 
 A numerous race indeed. 
 Married and settled all, d'ye see. 
 
 With boys and girls to feed. 
 So, if we wisely till our lands, 
 
 We're sure to earn a living. 
 And have a penny too to spare 
 
 For spending or for giving. 
 A thriving family are we. 
 
 No lordling need deride us; 
 For we know how to use our hands. 
 
 And in our wits we pride us. 
 Hail brothers, hail! 
 
 Let nought on earth divide us. 
 
 Some of us dare the sharp north-east ; 
 
 Some clover-fields are mowing; 
 And others tend the cotton-plants 
 
 That keep the looms a-going ; 
 Some build and steer the whiie-wing'd ships 
 
 And few in speed can mate them ; 
 While others rear the corn and wheat. 
 
 Or grind the corn to freight them. 
 And if our neighbours o'er the sea 
 
 Have e'er an empty larder, 
 To send a loaf their babes to cheer 
 
 We'll work a little harder. 
 No old nobility have we, 
 
 No tyrant king to ride us; 
 Our sages in the capitol 
 
 Enact The laws that guide us. 
 Hail, brothers, haii ! 
 
 Let nought on earth divide us. 
 
 Some faults we have, we can't deny, 
 
 A foible here and there ; 
 But other households have the same. 
 
 And so we won't despair. 
 '7' will do no good to fume and frown. 
 
 And call hard names, you see, 
 And what a shame 't would be to part 
 
 So fine a family ! ■ 
 
 'Tis but a waste of time to fret, 
 
 Since Nature made us one. 
 For every quarrel cuts a thread 
 
 That healthful Love has spun. 
 Then draw the cords of union fast. 
 
 Whatever may betide us. 
 And closer cling through every blast. 
 
 For many a storm has tried us. 
 Hail, brothers, hail ! 
 
 Let nought on earth divide us. ' 
 
 SMITH, ELIZABETH OAKES, 
 
 Was born near Portland, Maine. Her maiden 
 name was Prince, and she traces her descent, from 
 both father and mother, to the early Puritans. 
 Her genius began to develop itself very early ; 
 even before she could "write she used to compose 
 little stories and print them ; at the age of eight 
 she was carrying on an extensive correspondence 
 with imaginary persons, and also keeping a jour- 
 nal. Yet, with all this, she was a very lively and 
 playful child, possessing a large family of at least 
 a dozen dolls, and also showing herself a very 
 expert little needle-woman. Her religious feelings 
 were early excited to action, and, when a mere 
 child, she would pass most of the night in prayer 
 for herself or some of her relations who happened 
 to sin against her code of morals; and occasion- 
 ally she would discipline herself still farther — 
 
 785 
 
SM 
 
 SM 
 
 would fast, or inflict some bodily torture on her- 
 self — sometimes to such an extent that a fainting- 
 fit would reveal her sufferings to her family. 
 
 At the age of sixteen Miss Prince married Seba 
 Smith, Esq., alawyer and an accomplished scholar, 
 at that time editor of the Portland Advertiser, but 
 
 who is more widely known as the original Jack 
 Downing. In 1839 Mr. Smith removed to New 
 York, and Mrs. Smith, who had written for publi- 
 cation anonymously, commenced then to write 
 under her own name ; sacrificing for the sake of 
 her children those feelings of feminine sensitive- 
 ness and delicacy which had made her before 
 shrink from publicity. She resides now at Brook- 
 lyn, Long Island, which has been her home for a 
 number of years. 
 
 Mrs. Smith's writings consist chiefly of Poems, 
 Essays, Tales, and Criticisms, which have appeared 
 in the different annuals and periodicals of the day. 
 Her first published book was entitled " Riches 
 without Wings ;" written for the young, but inte- 
 resting to readers of all ages. In 1842 she pub- 
 lished a novel, " The Western Captive," founded 
 on traditions of Indian life. In 1844 " The Sinless 
 Child, and other Poems " appeared, which were 
 very favourably received, and have passed through 
 several editions. Subsequently she wrote a tra- 
 gedy called " The Roman Tribute," founded upon 
 an incident in Roman history, when the emperor 
 saves Constantinople from pillage by paying its 
 price to Attila, the victorious Hun. Her next work 
 was also a tragedy, entitled, " Jacob Leisler," and 
 founded upon the insurrection in New York in 
 1680. In 1848 Mrs. Smith published a prose work, 
 • called " The Salamander ; a Legend for Christmas, 
 by Ernest Helfenstein." She has, moreover, writ- 
 ten numerous tales and poems for children, and 
 edited " The May Flower," " Tribute to the Beau- 
 tiful," and " Miller's Poetry of Flowers." 
 
 In 1850 her play of " The Roman Tribute " was 
 
 brought out in Philadelphia and acted with some 
 
 access. However, it did not meet the favour it 
 
 .Reserved ; Its general tone and the sentiments 
 
 expressed in it being too lofty and elevated to 
 
 please the popular mind. It is, like many plays 
 written by persons of genius, better adapted per- 
 haps to the closet than the stage in its present 
 state. Her tragedies have not been published. 
 
 Mrs. Smith holds, deservedly, a high rank 
 among the writers of America. Her metaphysical 
 and thoughtful turn of mind may prevent her from 
 being as widely popular as some of much less 
 natural genius and power, but will only make her 
 more warmly admired and loved by those who 
 study her writings with the attention they deserve. 
 The pure and lofty morality of her productions 
 will always command admiration, and some of her 
 sonnets and shorter poems are almost unequalled 
 for their finish and play of fancy. Her conversa- 
 tional talents are remarkable, and those who have 
 the privilege of her acquaintance are both charmed 
 and instructed ; her bright fancies blending with 
 her benevolence give her words a peculiar power 
 over the listener. 
 
 From " Miscellaneous Papers." 
 DREAMS OF CHILDHOOD. 
 
 I used to dream of joyous shapes floating in the 
 air which were angels to me. I must have started 
 very early in life the heresy that angels have no 
 wings, because these creatures had none in my 
 sleep. These did not speak to me, but looked 
 lovingly upoii me ; and I would clasp my hands 
 with such fervency of desire to be worthy of their 
 companionship that I often awoke in tears. I grew 
 shy when others talked of dreams, lest I should 
 be called upon to describe my world of visions, 
 which then I felt would be a desecration. I am 
 confident one reason why children dread being 
 alone in the dark is owing to the huge shapes and 
 vague impressions of similar scenes brought to 
 the mind in the process of dreaming. It is cruel 
 to compel them to darkness when this is the case. 
 I have no doubt many a child might trace the 
 morbid action of his faculties to an undue severity 
 upon this ground. " Truly the light is good, and 
 a pleasant thing it is to behold the sun." For 
 myself, I needed no indulgence on this score. 
 
 WAKING DKEAMS. 
 
 I was a courageous child, delighting in the mys- 
 tical and confidently expecting some revelation — 
 longing to have a voice call on me as did the child 
 Samuel — bending my ear to listen, and ready to 
 say "speak. Lord!" As life wore on and the 
 revelation of an actual presence was withheld, I 
 redoubled my little fasts, and was more earnest in 
 my prayers that I might be accounted worthy ; I 
 inflicted childish penances upon myself all to no 
 purpose. Dreams of rare significancy I had, 
 indeed, and day-dreams of grandeur and beauty 
 too deep for utterance ; poetry in its manifold 
 forms came to my mind's^ye, but unearthly shapes 
 and strange voices were not vouchsafed. 
 
 Prom "The Beloved of the Evening Star." 
 
 lOVE. 
 
 Strange, that an emotion of such universal 
 import as love should be treated with so little 
 
 78G 
 
SM 
 
 SM 
 
 reverence by the constitution of society; that a 
 sentiment involving so much of human happiness 
 or misery, affecting health, intellect, and life 
 itself, should be the subject for gibes and jokes, 
 instead of being met, as it should be, v? ith solemn 
 and holy thought, and deep, earnest reverence, as 
 of a mystery belonging to the soul itself, and not 
 to be profaned. Laws are made not to guard the 
 sacredness of this necessity of our being, but to 
 guard inviolate the sacredness of contract. " This 
 ought ye to do, and not to leave the other undone." 
 We all weep over the wrongs and sorrows of loving 
 hearts ; history, literature, the dweller of the 
 palace, and the peasant beside the " stile ;" each 
 and all are alive to the same sentiment and suffer 
 the same griefs, yet no man has said to his neigh- 
 bour, " Come, let us see if we cannot do some- 
 thing to right this great human wrong ; let us see 
 to it, that the congenial stand only in relation, 
 and thus do away the greatest temptation to evil 
 in the minds of the weak and erring." 
 
 We are fast casting aside the crude shackles of 
 superstition, and God only knows how much of the 
 best part of religion is going also — its simpleness 
 of faith, its earnest and affectionate hold of the 
 heart, which clings to it with the tenacity of the 
 Patriarch, when he said, " I will not let thee go 
 except thou bless me." The cold, intellectual 
 assent of the understanding, however high in the 
 8^ 'stract, is poor ' n compp rison W' i h that life-giving 
 grasp which, though dimmed by excess of faith, is 
 yet the grasp of one who feels a great and over- 
 whelming human need. 
 
 Surely it is not well to make our religion, as the 
 tendency of the age is, a matter for logical deduc- 
 tion — a subject for seventh-day speculation, when 
 it should be a daily and hourly craving of the 
 heart; a going forth of the spirit to commune 
 with spirit ; a beautiful lifting of the veil of the 
 temple to behold the mystery and glory within. 
 The instinctive faith of the child-man is better 
 than this; who "sees God in clouds and hears 
 him in the wind," and who, in the dimness of his 
 reverence, gropes amid omens and dreams, in the 
 blind fear of slighting the intimations of that all- 
 pervading power which he " ignorantly worships." 
 
 From " Woman and her Needs." 
 It appears to me we need less of legislation in 
 regard to our sex than that of enlightened public 
 opinion. Whether we wear this or that costume, 
 or go to the polls or stay away, seems of less 
 importance than a radical understanding of our 
 true selves. Let us assert first the reverence due 
 us as a portion of the'moral and intellectual type, 
 and gradually we shall take that symmetrical 
 position in human affairs which is for the best 
 good of the world — certainly, we shall have other 
 and better influence than we now have. 
 
 I am aware that the large class of the other sex, 
 enrapttired with the sensualities of Moore, and fit 
 only to admire "bread and butter girls," wiU 
 oppose this theory of marriage. It is the style 
 to prate of " sweet sixteen," and to talk of the 
 
 loveliness of girlhood ; and most lovely is it, and 
 sacred should it be held : and therefore the woman 
 should not be defrauded of the period ; she should 
 not be allowed to step from the baby-house to the 
 marriage altar. It should be considered not only 
 unwise to do so, but absolutely indelicate. It 
 should affix odium to parents and guardians, if 
 done by their instrumentality, or if by the will of 
 the girl, be regarded as an evidence of precocious 
 development, as unchaste as it is unwise. 
 
 From " The Eoman Tribute." 
 
 FEMALE PHYSICIANS. 
 
 Eudocia. Our art is learn'd by dames of gentle blood, 
 Who sit with patient toil and lips contract, 
 If so they may relieve one human pang. 
 The ghastly wound appals us not, nor yet 
 The raging fury of the moonstruck brain ; 
 Not wrinkled hags are we, with corded veins. 
 Croaking with spells the midnight watches through, 
 But some are fair as she, tlie vestal mother. 
 
 THE WRONOEB MOTHER AND HEK SON. 
 
 Boy, thou wilt be a man anon, and learn 
 Hard, cruel, manlike ways, thou wilt break hearts, 
 And think it brave pastime; thou wilt rule men, 
 And for the pleasure of thy petty will 
 Make pools of blood, and top thy pikes with heads ; 
 Burn cities, and condemn the little ones 
 To bleed and die within their mother's arms! 
 
 Cfiild. [weeping.'} I will never be so vile ; I will be brave 
 And merciful as thou hast taught me. 
 
 Eud. [fondly.] Wilt thou, pretty dear? Thou art a brave 
 boy. 
 Wil* always 'nve me? Look here into mine eyes' 
 My own bra\e boy, wuen men onall evil speak, 
 Defame and curse me, wilt thou forget to love ? 
 
 Child. Never! 
 
 Eud. Never, my brave boy ; and when evil tongues 
 Shall make thy mother's name a blush, wilt thou. 
 Mine own dear child, wilt thou believe? 
 
 Child. Never! 
 
 End My boy. dost thou remember thy poor dove, 
 Thy white-wing'd dove, which the fell hawk pursued, 
 And sprinkled all the marble with his blood? 
 
 Child. [soJJin^.] My poor, dear dove ! 
 
 Eud. Ay, thine innocent dove ! 
 Listen, child ! In the long hereafter years. 
 Wilt thou remember me as that poor dove, 
 Hawk'd down and done to death by cruel hands? 
 Think this, and God himself will bless thee! 
 
 From " Poems." 
 THE CHILD SPIRIT. 
 
 She is thy guardian angel — she, 
 
 From out the crystal gates 
 Lured by her tenderness for thee. 
 
 Upon thy pathway waits. 
 
 With rosy fingers, golden hair. 
 
 Thy couch she lingers near, 
 To smooth the brow oppress'd by care. 
 
 And dry the earth-born tear. 
 
 Thy spirit walks with her along 
 
 The peopled home of space. 
 Where thought is always breathed in song. 
 
 And love lights every face. 
 
 Oh, wildering hours of heart-felt bliss. 
 
 As hand in hand ye glide. 
 Forgetful of a world like this. 
 And all its grief beside. 
 
 Thy fingers by her own impress'd. 
 
 The lingering touch retain. 
 When morning from the dewy east 
 
 Recalls thy sense again. 
 
 7(37 
 
SM 
 
 SM 
 
 Her imirmur'd accents in thine enr, 
 
 Thrill in thy deepest henrt — 
 Alas I that voices, loved niid deur, 
 
 Should with our sleep deport. 
 
 We hcnr them in the midnight hours 
 
 Call soAly through the gloom, 
 And know they walk in heavenly bowers - 
 
 Their ashes in the tomb. 
 
 Walk, where ftiir valleys wake to sight, 
 
 And crystal waters leap — 
 Or gather, radiant with delight, 
 
 Around us in our sleep. 
 
 And these are they who never more 
 
 Our coarser senses greet. 
 But loving as they did of yore, 
 
 Our spirit-vision meet. 
 
 She, all unseen, precedes thy path, 
 
 To see what peril waits, 
 And turns aside the impending wrath 
 
 Of thy opposing fates. 
 
 She may not know how deep the wrong, 
 
 How dread the ill may bo, 
 But, with a love than death more strong, 
 
 Her wing doth shelter thee. 
 
 THE RECALL, OK SOUL MELODY. 
 
 Nor dulcimer nor harp shall breathe 
 
 Their melody for me ; 
 Within my secret soul be wrought 
 
 A holier minstrelsy I 
 Descend into thy depths, oh soul I 
 And every sense in me control. 
 
 Thou hast no voice for outward mirth, 
 
 Whose purer strains arise 
 From those that steal firom crystal gates 
 
 The hyranings of the skies ; 
 And well may earth's cold jarrings ccaso. 
 When such have soothed thee unto peace. 
 
 Within thy secret chamber rest, 
 
 And back each sense recall 
 That secketh 'mid the tranquil stars 
 
 Where melody shall fall ; 
 Call home the wanderer from the vale, 
 From mountain and tlio moonlight pale. 
 
 Within the leafy wood the sound 
 
 Of dropping rain may ring, 
 Which, rolling from the trembling leaf. 
 
 Falls on the sparrow's wing ; 
 And music round the waking flower 
 May breathe in every star-lit bower ; 
 
 Yet, come away I nor stay to hear 
 
 The breathings of a voice 
 Whose subtle tones awake a thrill 
 
 To make thee to rejoice. 
 And vibrate on the listening oar 
 Too deep, too earnest — ah, too dear. 
 
 Yes, come away, and inward turn 
 Each thought and every sense; 
 
 For sorrow lingers from without — 
 Thou canst not charm it thence; 
 
 But all attuned the soul may be 
 
 Unto a deathless melody. 
 
 THE WATBH. 
 
 How beautiful the water ist 
 
 Didst ever think of it, 
 When down it tumbles from the skies, 
 
 As in a merry fit? 
 It jostles, ringing as it falls, 
 
 On all that 's in its way ; 
 I hear it dancing on the roof, 
 
 Like some wild thing at play. 
 
 'T is rushing now adown the spout. 
 
 And guHhing out below, 
 Half fVantic in its joyousness. 
 
 And wild in eager flow. 
 The earth is dried and parch'd with hoot, 
 
 And it hath longed to be 
 Released fVom out the selfish cloud. 
 
 To cool the thirsty tree. 
 
 It washes, rather rudely too, 
 
 The flow'rot's simple grace, 
 A» if to chide the pretty thing 
 
 For dust upon its Ibce : 
 It showers the tree till every loaf 
 
 Is free from dust or stain, 
 Then waits till leaf and branch are slill'd. 
 
 And showers them o'er again. 
 
 Drop after drop Is tinkling down 
 
 To kiss the stirring brook. 
 The water dimples IVoin beneath 
 
 With its own joyous look : 
 And then the kindred drops embrace. 
 
 And singing on they gn, 
 To dance beneath the willow tree, 
 
 And glad the vale below. 
 
 How beantif\il the water isl 
 
 (t loves to come at night. 
 To make us wonder in the. morn 
 
 To find the earth so bright — 
 To ace a youthful gloss is spread 
 
 On every shrub and tree, 
 And flowerets breathing on the air 
 
 Their odours pure and fVeo, 
 
 A dainty thing the water is; 
 
 It loves (ho blossom's cup, 
 To nestle 'mid the odours there. 
 
 And fill the petals up; 
 It hangs its gems on every loaf, 
 
 Like diamonds in the sun ; 
 And then the woter wins the smile 
 
 Tlio floweret should have won. 
 
 IIow lieautil\il the water is ! 
 
 To me 't is wondrous (Hit ; 
 No spot can f.vrr lonely bo, 
 
 If water sparkle there; 
 It hath a thousand tongues of mirth, 
 
 Of grandeur, or delight, 
 And every heart is gladder made 
 
 When water greets the sight. 
 
 FAITH. 
 
 Beware of doubt — fhith is tlio subtle chain 
 
 Which binds us to the Tnflnito ; the voico 
 Of a deep life within, that will remain 
 
 Until we crowd it thence. Wo may rejoice 
 With an exceeding joy, and make our life — 
 
 Ay, this external life — becoriio a part 
 Of that which is within, o'orwrought and rifo 
 
 With faith, that childlike blessedness of heart. 
 The order and the harmony inborn 
 
 With a perpetual hymning crown our way. 
 Till callousness, and selRBlniess, and scorn, 
 
 Hhall pans as clouds where scatheless lightnings piny. 
 Clini; to thy faith — 'tis higher than the thought 
 
 That questions of thy faith- tho cold external doubt. 
 
 KELiaiON. 
 
 Alone, yet not alone, the heart doth brood 
 
 With a sad fondness o'er its hidden grief; 
 
 Broods with a miser's joy, 'wlierein relief 
 Comes with a semblance of its own quaint mond. 
 How many hearts this point of life have pass'd 1 
 And some a train of light behind have cast, 
 
 To show us what hnth been and what may bo ; 
 That thus have sufTer'd all the wise and good, 
 
 Thus wept and pray'd, thus struggled and were frvn. 
 So doth the pilot, trackless through the deep, 
 Unswerving, by the stars his reckoning keep;"* 
 
 He moves a highway not untried before, 
 And thence he courage gains, and joy doth reap ; 
 
 Unfaltering lays his course, and leaves behind 1 1n- 
 shore. 
 
 788 
 
so 
 
 so 
 
 All day, like some sweet bird, content to sing 
 
 In its small cage, she moveili to and fro i 
 And ever and anon will upward spring 
 
 To her sweet lips, fresh from the fount below. 
 The murmur'd melody of pleasant thought. 
 
 Unconscious uttered, gentle-toned and low. 
 Light household ^luties, evermore inwrought 
 
 With placid fancies of one trusting heart 
 That lives but in her smile, and ever turns 
 
 Prom life's cold seeming and the busy mart. 
 With tenderness, that heavenward ever yearns, 
 To be refVesh'd where one pure altar burns. 
 
 Shut out from hence, the mockery of life. 
 
 Thus liveth she content — the meek, fond, trusting 
 wife. 
 
 THE GKIEF-OHIID. 
 
 Two stood before an Altar I in a land 
 Made up of shadowy dreams and many tears, 
 Emotions numbering ages, not fleet years — 
 
 And there, in old Cathedral, hand in hand, 
 
 Amid the pealing anthems of a band 
 Of unseen channters, which the spirit hears, 
 Each with a burden'd breast the altar nears. 
 
 Gleams of commingled angels round them stand. 
 As each for the baptismal water bears 
 A Grief-Child, pale, and hush'd, and wierdly sweet. 
 
 Long nursed in secret, now to God resign'd : 
 All self-renounced, they kneel with holy prayers. 
 And lay tile fair Grief-Child at Jesus' feet; 
 
 Then to tlleir earth-task wend with willing mind. 
 
 SOMERVILLE, MARY, 
 
 The most learned lady.of the age, distinguished 
 alike for great scientific knowledge and all wo- 
 manly virtues ; she may well be esteemed an 
 honotir to England, her native country, and the 
 glory of her sex throughout the world. We are 
 told that her peculiar genius for mathematical and 
 philosophical studies was early developed, and her 
 natural taste directing her literary pursuits was 
 not thwarted, but kindly encouraged by her 
 friends. We see the happy result of these influ- 
 ences in the harmonious development of her 
 mind and heart. Mrs. Somerville as daughter, 
 wife, and mother, has been a pattern of feminine 
 gentleness, fidelity, and carefulness. The leisure 
 which women too often waste oil trifles because 
 tJiey are taught and encouraged through the influ- 
 
 ence of men thus to waste it, she has improved for 
 good : the result is such as should make Christians 
 in earnest to promote the intellectual cultivation 
 of woman's mind. 
 
 The first work of Mrs. Somerville was under- 
 taken by the counsel and encouragement of Lord 
 Brougham. This was a summary of " The Me- 
 chanique Celeste " of Laplace, which she prepared 
 for the Library of Useful Knowledge, under the 
 title of " Mechanism of the Heavens." The work 
 was found too voluminous for the society's publi- 
 cations, and therefore it was issued separately in 
 1831. It is a volume of over 600 pages, large 
 octavo. Its merits were acknowledged at once, 
 and her reputation as an accomplished scientific 
 writer established. It is said that soon after this 
 book appeared its author met Laplace in Paris ; 
 during their conversation upon scientific subjects 
 he remarked to her that she was the only person 
 he knew of who seemed to take the trouble to 
 understand his "Mechanique Celeste," except an 
 English lady, who had translated it. Mrs. Somer- 
 vile must have been gratified to witness his plea- 
 sure when learning that she was the lady trans- 
 lator. 
 
 Mrs. Somerville's genius was highly appreciated 
 by the Duchess of Kent and the Princess Vic- 
 toria; and to the latter, when Queen of Great 
 Britain, the second work of this illustrious author 
 is inscribed. The dedication marks the admi- 
 rable good sense and noble views of both. The 
 work was " The Connexion of the Physical Sci- 
 ences," published in 1834 : of this the Quarterly 
 Review 'observes ; "To the 'Mechanism of the 
 Heavens ' succeeded her volume on the ' Con- 
 nexion of Physical Sciences ;" unassuming in form 
 and pretensions, but so original in design and per- 
 fect in execution as well to merit the success of 
 eight editions, each carefully embodying aU of 
 augmentation that science had intermediately 
 received. Though rich in works on particular 
 sciences, and richer still in those eminent discove- 
 ries which establish the relations amongst them, 
 yet had we not before in English a book profess- 
 edly undertaking to expound these connexions, 
 which form the greatest attainment of present 
 science and the most assured augury of higher 
 knowledge beyond. Mrs. Somerville held this 
 conception steadily before her, and admirably 
 fulfilled it. Her work, indeed, though small in 
 size, is a true Kosmos in the nature of its design, 
 and in the multitude of materials collected and 
 condensed into the history it affords of the physi- 
 cal phenomena of the universe. In some respects 
 her scheme of treating these topics so far resem- 
 bles that since adopted by Humboldt, that we may 
 give Mrs. Somerville credit for partial priority of 
 design, while believing that she would be the last 
 person to assert it for herself." 
 
 This original and extraordinary work, which 
 learned masculine critics thus allow to exceed any 
 thing of the kind at that time extant, Mrs. Somer- 
 ville claims only to have devised for the especial 
 benefit of her own sex. She says — addressin" 
 the Queen — "If I have succeeded in my endea- 
 vour to make the laws by which the material 
 
 789 
 
so 
 
 so 
 
 world is governed more familiar to my country- 
 women, I shall have the gratification of thinking 
 that the gracious permission to dedicate my book 
 to your majesty has not been misplaced." We 
 know of nothing which more charmingly illustrates 
 the true moral elevation of feminine character 
 than this dedication. The Sovereign Lady and 
 the Lady Author sympathising together in an 
 earnest effort to promote the mental cultivation 
 of their sex. Mrs. SomerviJle's third and last 
 production, "Physical Geography," in two vol- 
 umes, was published in 1848. This work — " the 
 history of the earth in its whole material organ- 
 ization," is worthy to be classed among the greatest 
 efforts of the human mind, directing its energies 
 to the philosophy of science conjoined with moral 
 advancement. In truth, its excellence in this 
 department is unrivalled ; proving the correctness 
 of the Reviewer's * remark that " it is a fortunate 
 thing for any country that a portion of its litera- 
 ture should fall into the hands of the female sex ; 
 because their influence in every walk of letters is 
 almost sure to be powerful and good." Mrs. Som- 
 erville has done more by her writings to Christian- 
 ize the Sciences than any living author ; nor do we 
 recollect one, except it be Sir Isaac Newton, 
 among departed philosophers, who has approached 
 her standard of sublime speculations on the visible 
 creation united with childlike faith in the Divine 
 Creator. Physical science wUl, henceforth, have 
 a religious power ; for, though the mind of man 
 is not sufficiently in harmony with moral goodness 
 to make such an advance as Mrs. Somerville has 
 done, no more than Peter and John could see the 
 angel at the tomb of the Saviour, yet, when they 
 heard from the women that Christ was risen and 
 followed in faith, the revelation of the truth was 
 made clear to the reason of the apostles as it had 
 first been made to the love of the devoted females ; 
 thus will philosophers follow the moral guidance 
 of a woman. Mrs. Somerville has received many 
 testimonials of the esteem in which her writings 
 are held. She has been elected member of a 
 number of philosophical societies and academies 
 of science both in England and Germany. 
 
 From " Fliysica] Geography." 
 GOD AND HIS WORKS. 
 
 The earthquake and the torrent, the august 
 and terrible ministers of Almighty power, have 
 torn the solid earth and opened the seals of the 
 most ancient records of creation, written in indel- 
 ible characters on " the perpetual hills and the 
 everlasting mountains." There we read of the 
 changes that have brought the rude mass to its 
 present fair state, and of the myriads of beings 
 that have appeared on this mortal stage, have ful- 
 filled their destinies, and have been swept from 
 existence to make way for new races, which, in 
 their turn, have vanished from the scene, till the 
 creation of man completed the glorious work. 
 Who shall define the periods of those mornings 
 and evenings when God saw that his work was 
 
 * North American Review, Vol. xj[vi. p. 403. 
 
 good? And who shall declare the time allotted 
 to the human race, when the generation of the 
 most insignificant insect existed for unnumbered 
 ages ? Yet man is also to vanish in the ever- 
 changing course of events. The earth is to be 
 burnt up, and the elements to melt with fervent 
 heat — to be again reduced to chaos — possibly to 
 be renovated and adorned for other races of 
 beings. These stupendous changes may be but 
 cycles in those great laws of the universe, where 
 all is variable but the laws themselves and He 
 who ordained them. 
 
 VARIETIES OF THE HUMAN EACE. 
 
 It is no difficult matter to see how changes may 
 occur in speech, but no circumstance in the natu- 
 ral world is more inexplicable than the diversity 
 of form and colour in the human race. It had 
 already begun in the antediluvian world ; for 
 "there were giants in the land in those days." 
 No direct mention is made of colour at that time, 
 unless the mark set upon Cain, " lest any one 
 finding him should kill him," may allude to it. 
 Perhaps, also, it may be inferred that black 
 people dwelt in Ethiopia, or the land of Cush, 
 which means black in the Hebrew tongue. At all 
 events, the differences now existing must have 
 arisen after the flood ; consequently all must have 
 originated with Noah, whose wife, or the wives of 
 his sons, may have been different colours, for 
 aught we know. 
 
 Many instances have occurred of Albinos and 
 red-haired individuals having been bom of black 
 parents, and these have transmitted their peculi- 
 arities to their descendants for several genera- 
 tions ; but it may be doubted whether pure-blooded 
 white people ever had perfectly black offspring. 
 The varieties are much more likely to have arisen 
 from the effects of climate, food, customs, and 
 civilization upon migratory groups of mankind, 
 and of such a few instances have occurred in his- 
 torical times, limited, however, to smaller num- 
 bers and particular spots ; but the great mass of 
 nations had received their distinctive characters 
 at a very early period. 
 
 It has already been mentioned that oxygen is 
 inhaled with the atmospheric air, and also taken 
 in by the pores in the skin ; part of it combines 
 chemically with the carbon of the food, and is 
 expired in the form of carbonic acid gas and water ; 
 that chemical action is the cause of vital force and 
 heat in man and animals. The quantity of food 
 must be in exact proportion to the quantity of 
 oxygen inhaled, otherwise disease and loss of 
 strength would follow. Since cold air is inces- 
 santly carrying off warmth from the skin, more 
 
 exercise is requisite in winter than in summer 
 
 in cold climates than in warm ; consequently, 
 more carbon is necessary in the former than in 
 the latter, in order to maintain the chemical 
 action that generates heat, and to ward off the 
 destructive effects of the oxygen which incessantly 
 strives to consume the body. 
 
 790 
 
so 
 
 so 
 
 Animal food, wine, and spirits, contain many 
 times more carbon than fruit and vegetables; 
 therefore animal food is much more necessary In 
 a cold than in a hot climate. The Esquimaux, 
 who lives by the chase, and cats ten or twelve 
 pounds weight of meat and fat in twenty-four 
 hours, finds it not more than enough to keep up 
 his strength and animal heat, while the indolent 
 inhabitant of Bengal is sufficiently supplied with 
 both by his rice diet. Clothing and warmth make 
 the necessity for exercise and food much less, by 
 diminishing the waste of animal heat. Hunger 
 and cold united soon consume the body, because it 
 loses its power of resisting the action of the oxygen, 
 which consumes part of our substance when food 
 is wanting. Hence, nations inhabiting warm cli- 
 mates have no great merit in being abstemious, 
 nor are those committing an excess who live more 
 freely in the colder countries. The arrangement 
 of Divine wisdom is to be admired as much in 
 this as in all other things ; for if man had only 
 been capable of living on vegetable food, he never 
 could have had a permanent residence beyond the 
 latitude where corn ripens. The Esquimaux and 
 all the inhabitants of the very high latitudes of 
 both continents live entirely on fish and animal 
 food. 
 
 EDCCAIION. 
 
 The difference between the effects of manual 
 labour and the efforts of the brain appears in the 
 intellectual countenance of the educated man 
 compared with that of the peasant; though he 
 also is occasionally stamped with nature's own 
 nobility. The most savage people are also the 
 ugliest. Their countenance is deformed by violent 
 unsubdued passions, anxiety, and suffering. Deep 
 sensibility gives a beautiful and varied expression, 
 but every strong emotion is unfavourable to per- 
 fect regularity of feature ; and of that the ancient 
 Greeks were well aware when they gave that 
 . calmness of expression and repose to their un- 
 rivalled statues. The refining effects of high cul- 
 ture, and, above all, the Christian religion, by 
 subduing the evil passions and encouraging the 
 good, are more than any thing calculated to 
 improve even the external appearance. The coun- 
 tenance, though perhaps of less regular form, 
 becomes expressive of the amiable and benevolent 
 feelings of the heart — the most captivating and 
 lasting of all beauty. 
 
 BESEVOLENCE. 
 
 Poetry of the highest stamp has fled before the 
 utilitarian spirit of the age, yet there is as much 
 talent in the world, and imagination too, at the 
 present time, as ever there was at any period, 
 though directed to different objects ; but, what is 
 of more importance, there is a constant increase 
 of liberal sentiment and disinterested benevolence. 
 Three of the most beneficial systems of modern 
 times are due to the benevolence of English ladies 
 — the improvement of prison discipline, savings- 
 banks, and banks for lending small sums to the poor. 
 
 The success of all has exceeded every expectation 
 at home, and these admirable institutions are now 
 adopted abroad. The importance of popular and 
 agricultural education is becoming an object of 
 attention to the more enlightened governments ; 
 and one of the greatest improvements in education 
 is that teachers are now fitted for their duties by 
 being taught the art of teaching. The gentleness 
 with which instruction is conveyed no longer blights 
 the joyous days of youth, but, on the contrary, 
 encourages self-education, which is the most effi- 
 cient. 
 
 ***** 
 Noble and liberal sentiments mark the proceed- 
 ings of public assemblies, whether in the cause of 
 nations or individuals ; and the severity of our 
 penal laws is mitigated by a milder system. Hap- 
 pily this liberal and benevolent spirit is not con- 
 fined to Britain ; it is universal in the states of the 
 American Union ; it is spreading widely through 
 the more civilized countries of Europe. 
 
 INFLUE^'CE OF CHKISTIASITT. 
 
 No retrograde movement can now take place in 
 civilization ; the diffusion of Christian virtues and 
 of knowledge ensures the progressive advancement 
 of man, in those high moral and intellectual qua- 
 lities that constitute his true dignity. But much 
 yet remains to be done at home, especially in re- 
 ligious instruction and the prevention of crime ;• 
 and abroad, millions of our fellow-creatures, in 
 both hemispheres, are still in the lowest grade of 
 barbarism. Ages and ages must pass away before 
 they can be civilized ; but if there be any analogy 
 between the period of man's duration on earth 
 and that of the frailest plant or sheU-fish of the 
 geological periods, he must still be in his infancy; 
 and let those who doubt of his indefinite improve- 
 ment compare the state of Europe in the middle 
 ages, or only fifty years ago, with what it is at 
 present. Some, who seem to have lived before 
 their time, were then persecuted and punished for 
 opinions which are now sanctioned by the legis- 
 lature, and acknowledged by all. The moral dis- 
 position of the age appears in the refinement of 
 conversation. Selfishness and evil passions may 
 possibly ever be found in the human breast ; but 
 the progress of the race will consist in the in- 
 creasing power of public opinion, the collective 
 voice of mankind, regulated by the Christian prin- 
 ciples of morality and justice. The individuality 
 of man modifies his opinions and belief; it is a 
 part of that variety which is a universal law of 
 nature; so that there will probably always be 
 difference of views as to religious doctrine, which, 
 however, will become more spiritual, and freer 
 from the taint of human infirmity ; but the power 
 of the Christian religion will appear in purer con- 
 duct, and in the more general practice of mutual 
 forbearance, charity, and love. 
 
 SONTAG, HENRIETTA, 
 
 A VEKT distinguished singer, was born at Co- 
 
 blentr, in 1808. Her parents were actors, and 
 
 Henrietta was brought on the stage at Frankfort 
 
 when she was only five years old. In 1824, she 
 
 791 
 
so 
 
 so 
 
 performed at Berlin mth great applause, and also 
 at London and Paris. It was as a -vocalist that 
 she acquired her celebrity. Her voice was very 
 clear and flexible, her acting fine, and her personal 
 appearance attractive. About 1830, she married 
 and left the stage. 
 
 For nearly twenty years this lady was heard of 
 as the wife of count Rossi, a nobleman of distin- 
 guished rank, who was, at his marriage, the Sardi- 
 nian minister at the court of Berlin. Some years 
 afterwards he was sent ambassador to Russia, 
 and during the missions of her husband at St. 
 Petersburgh, as well as at Berlin, Madame Sontag 
 (now countess Rossi) was received at court with 
 the greatest distinction, and delighted the circles 
 of the king and the emperor by the occasional 
 display of her genius ; — at St. Petersburgh she 
 eclipsed all the female vocalists. In private life, 
 her virtues and accomplishments .rendered her 
 respectable and admired. She was naturally 
 benevolent, and her charities were immense. But 
 in consequence of those reverses to which the 
 most eminent have been liable in these revolution- 
 ary days, she has found it necessary again to re- 
 sort to her talents as an artist. London was the 
 place chosen for her reappearance. She sustained 
 the character of Linda, in July, 1849, and was 
 received with the warmest and most enthusiastic 
 applause. As an actress she is undeniably im- 
 proved, — it is impossible for a girl of twenty, 
 whatever be her genius, to have that knowledge 
 of human nature, and of the passions, which are 
 requisite for the proper conception of tragic cha- 
 racters. Sometimes this mental finish arrives 
 when nature begins to withdraw the exterior 
 charms so necessary to impersonate the heroine. 
 In the case of Madame Sontag (she resumes her 
 own name, professionally,) this drawback does not 
 exist ; she enjoys perfect health and vigour, her 
 person is elegantly formed, and her graceful, 
 ladylike demeanour is peculiarly attractive. Her 
 voice seems to have retained every element of 
 power and beauty. It is a true soprano, both in 
 tone and in compass. Her early advantages of 
 
 education were great ; and during her retirement 
 she has never ceased to cultivate herself in 
 private, thus evincing the true greatness of her 
 genius by its constant activity. 
 
 SOUTHEY, CAROLINE ANNE, 
 
 Bettek known in the literary world as Caroline 
 Bowles, an English poetess of fine genius and 
 tender piety, was bom about the close of the 
 last century. Her father was of an eminent 
 family in the county of Wilts, and vicar of a 
 parish in Northamptonshire : he gave his daughter 
 an excellent education. Her talent for poetry 
 was cultivated by her elder brother, the Rev. 
 William Lisle Bowles, himself a master of the 
 Christian lyre. Miss Bowles profited by these 
 advantages and encouragements, and in 1820 her 
 first work, "EUen Pitzarthur," was published. 
 Her next was, " The Winter's Tale, and other 
 Poems," in 1822, which was well approved. In 
 1836, "The Birth-Day, and other Poems;" "A 
 Collection of Prose and Poetical Pieces ;" " Soli- 
 tary Hours," &c. 
 
 In 1839, Miss Bowles became the second vrife 
 of Robert Southey, the poet, whom she tended, 
 during his declining and infirm age, with the ten- 
 derness and sweet sympathy which kindred taste, 
 admiring affection, and Christian love inspired. 
 He died in 1843. Mrs. Southey has written little 
 under ier present name, but her early productions 
 are sufBcient to place her among the best poets 
 of her sex. 
 
 "All high poetry must be religious," says Pro- 
 fessor Wilson ; and who that is conscious of pos- 
 sessing a soul that longs for immortality but feels 
 the truth of this doctrine ? There is an aspiration 
 in every mind for something higher, better, love- 
 lier, than can be found on earth ; and it is the 
 holiest office of poesy to embody in language 
 these vague yearnings for happiness and purity ; 
 and paint, on the dark and torn canvass of human 
 life, transparent and glowing pictures of heavenly 
 beauty and tranquillity. Few writers have done 
 this with more effect than Mrs. Southey. There 
 is a sincerity, a devotedness, ay, and an enjoyment 
 too, in her religious musings, which shows that 
 Christian feeling has elevated the poetic sentiment 
 in her heart till she can sing of the " better land " 
 with the sure and sweet conviction of its reality 
 and blessedness. In private life Mrs. Southey is 
 the Christian lady, doing good and communicating 
 happiness in her domestic pursuits as she does 
 by her literary talents. 
 
 From " Solitary Hours, and other Poema." 
 
 I NEVER CAST A TLOWEK AWAY. 
 
 I never cast a flower away, 
 The gift of one who cared for me — 
 
 A little flower — a faded flower — 
 But it was done reluctantly. 
 
 I never looked a last adieu 
 To things familiar, but my heart 
 
 Shrank with a feeling almost pain, 
 Even fl'om their lifelessness to part. 
 
 792 
 
so 
 
 so 
 
 1 never spoke the word " Farewell," 
 But with an utterance faint and broken ; 
 
 An earth-sick longing for the time 
 When it shall never more be spoken. 
 
 THJi TBEAT. 
 
 Never tell me of loving by measure and weight, 
 
 As one^s merits may lack or abound; 
 As if love could be carried to market like skate, 
 
 ■And cbeapen'd for so much a-pound. 
 
 If it can — if youra can — let them have it who care ; 
 
 You and I, friend, shall never agree ; 
 Pack up, and to market be off with your ware ; 
 
 It *s a great ileal too common for me ; 
 
 D' ye linger ? — d' ye laugh ? — I 'm in earnest, I vow ; 
 
 Though perhaps over-hasiy a thought ; 
 If you 're thinking to close with my terms as they are. 
 
 Well and good; but I won't bate a jot. 
 
 You must love me — we *11 note the chief articles now, 
 
 To preclude all mistakes in our pact — 
 And I 'II pledge ye, unask'd and beforehand, my vow 
 
 To give double for all I exact. 
 
 You must love me — not only through " evil report," 
 When ils falsehood you more than divine — 
 
 But when upon earth I can only resort v 
 
 To your heart as a voucher for mine. 
 
 You must love — not my faults — but in spite of them, me, 
 
 For the very caprices that vex ye; 
 Nay, the more should you chance (as its likely) to see 
 
 'T is my special delight to perplex ye. 
 
 You must love me, albeit all the world I offend 
 
 By impertinence, whimsies, conceit; 
 While assured (if you are not, all treaty must end) 
 
 That I never can stoop to deceit 
 
 While assured (as you must be, or there, too, we part) 
 That were all the world leagued against you, 
 
 To loosen one hair of your hold on my heart 
 Would be more than " life's labours " could do. 
 
 You must love me, howe'er I may take things amiss. 
 Whereof you in all conscience stand clear ; 
 
 And although, when you'd fain make it up with a kiss, 
 Your reward be a box on the ear. 
 
 you must love me — not only when smiling and gay. 
 
 Complying, aweet-temper'd, and civil — 
 But when moping, and frowning, and froward, or— 'say 
 
 The thing plain out — as cross as the Devil. 
 
 You must love me in all moods — in seriousness, sport; 
 
 Under all change of circumstance, too : 
 Apart or together, in crowds, or, in short. 
 
 You must love me — because I love you. 
 
 AUTUMN FLOWEKS. 
 
 Those few pale autumn flowers, 
 
 How beautiful they are! 
 Than all that went before, 
 Than all the summer store, 
 
 How lovelier far! 
 
 And why ? They are the last ! 
 
 The last! the last! the last ! 
 Oh ! by that little word. 
 How many thoughts are stirr'd — 
 
 That sister of the past! 
 
 Pale flowers ! pale, perishing flowers ! 
 
 Ye 're types of precious things ; 
 Types of those bitter moments. 
 That flit, like life's enjoyments, 
 
 On rapid, rapid wings; 
 
 Last hours with parting dear ones, 
 
 (That time that fastest spends) 
 Last tears in silence shed — 
 Last words half utter6d — 
 
 LMt looks of dying friends. 
 
 Who would but fain compress 
 
 A life into a day — 
 The last day spent with one 
 Who, ere the morrow's sun. 
 
 Must leave us, and for aye ! 
 
 Oh. precious, precious momnnts ! 
 
 Pale flowers! ye are types of those; 
 The saddest! sweetest! dearest! 
 Because, like those, the nearest 
 
 To an eternal close. 
 
 Pale flowers I — pale, perishing flowers I 
 
 I woo your gentle breath ; 
 I leave the summer rose 
 For younger, blither brows. 
 
 Tell me of change and death. 
 
 TO DEATH. 
 
 Come not in terrors clad, to claim 
 
 An unresisting prey; 
 Come like an evening shadow, Death ! 
 
 So stealthily ! so silently: 
 And shut mine eyes and steal my breath; 
 
 Then willingly, oh, willingly, 
 With thee I'll go away. 
 
 What need to clutch with iron grasp 
 What gentlest touch may take ? 
 
 What need, with aspect dark, to scare 
 So awfully, so terribly? 
 
 The weary soul would hardly care, 
 Call'd quietly, call'd tenderly, . 
 From thy dread power to break. 
 
 'Tis not as when thou markest out 
 
 The young, the blest, the gay; 
 The loved, the loving; they who dream 
 
 So happily so hopefully ; 
 Then harsh thy kindest call may seem, 
 
 And shrinkingly, reluctantly, 
 The suihmon'd may obey. 
 
 But I have drunk enough of life 
 
 (The cup assign'd to me 
 Dash'd with a little sweet at best, 
 
 So scantily, so scantily) 
 To know full well that all the rest. 
 
 More bitterly, more bitterly, 
 Drugg'd to the last will be: 
 
 And I may live to pain some heart 
 
 That kindly cares for me — 
 To pain, but not to bless. O, Death ! 
 
 Come quietly — come lovingly. 
 And shut mine eyes, and steal my breath 
 
 Then willingly, oh! willingly, 
 I '11 go away with thee. 
 
 SOUTHWORTH, EMMA D. E. NEVITTE, 
 
 Is the daughter of the late Charles Le Compe 
 Nevitte and Susannah George Wailes of St. Mary's, 
 Maryland. On either side, her ancestors Tvere 
 French andCnglish Roman Catholics, "who came 
 to America in 1632, with Calvert, and settled at St. 
 Mary*s, the first settlement in Maryland, where 
 they became extensive land-holders. Here they 
 continued to reside for nearly two hundred years, 
 holding honourable posts, and taking an active 
 part in the government of the province and the 
 state. At the age of four, Miss Nevitte lost her 
 father, and after that event resided with her 
 grandmother, Mrs. Wailes, 'a Maryland lady of 
 the old school, and a worthy member of the Epis- 
 copal church. Her mother was married a second 
 time, to Joshua L. Henshaw, Esq., formerly of 
 Boston; and to his personal instruction his step- 
 daughter is indebted for all the education she 
 received. 
 
 793 
 
so 
 
 In 1841, Miss Novitto beonmo Mrs. Soutlnvovtli ; 
 and in 1843, by a sudden and overwliolming inis- 
 t'oi'tuno, she was left ilestitulo, with two infants 
 to maintain. In 184ti slio wrote lior lirst skotoli, 
 and publisliod it anonymously; lier soooud story 
 slie sent to the "National Era," and its editor, 
 
 Dr. Bailey, not only approved the sketch, but saw 
 so clearly the genius and [mwor manifested by it, 
 that he sought out the writer, and, by his cnoour- 
 Mgemeut, induced her to venture more boldly on 
 the thorny path of authorship. Her principal 
 productions are — " lletribution,' or The Vale of 
 Shadows," Harper & Brothers, N. Y., 18-1!!; 
 "The Deserted Wife," Appleton & Co., N. Y., 
 1860 ; " The Mother-in-Law, or The Isle of 
 Hays," and " Shannondale," published in 1851. 
 She has also written several very interesting tales 
 and sketches for periodicals. 
 
 Jlrs. Southworth is yet young, both as a wo- 
 man and an author ; but she is a writer of great 
 promise, and we have reason to expect that the 
 future productions of her pen will surpass those 
 works with which she has already favoured the 
 reading community — works showing great powers 
 of the imagination, and strengtli and depth of 
 feeling, it is true, but also written in a wild and 
 extravagant manner, and occasionally with a free- 
 dom of expression that almost borders on impiety. 
 This we are constrained to say, though we feel 
 assured that no one would shrink more reluctantly 
 than the young writer herself from coolly and 
 calmly approaching, with too familiar a liand, the 
 Persons and places held sacred by all the Christian 
 world. She seems carried, by a fervid imagination, 
 in an enthusiasm for depicting character aa it is 
 actually found (in which she excels,) beyond the 
 limits prescribed by correct taste or good judg- 
 ment. In other respects her nqvols are deeply 
 interesting. Thoy show, in every page, the hand 
 of a writer of unusual genius and ability. In de- 
 Horiptione of Southern life, and of negro character 
 and mode of expression, she is unequalled. She' 
 writes evidently from a full heart and an over- 
 flowing brain, and sends her works forth to the 
 criticisms of an unimpassionod public without the 
 
 SO 
 
 advnntiiae Ihey would receive from a revision, and 
 careful pruning, in some moment when calmer 
 relleotion was in the asooudanoy. 
 
 Fi'nin " Tlio llosiMlcii \Vila." 
 K.\in,v iMininssioNa. 
 When I roooUect the strong and decided bios, 
 (viven in childhood to my own character by people 
 and circumstances over which I had no sort of 
 control, and against whoso evil intluenee I could 
 make no sort of resistance; when I sufl'er by the 
 elleCt of impressions received in infanoy, which 
 neither time, reason, nor religion have been able 
 to eft'ace — which only sorrow could impair by 
 bruising the tablet ; knowing'as I know the tender 
 impressibility of infancy, fooling as I feel the in- 
 delibility of such impressions, I tremble for the 
 unseen influenooe tliat may surround my own 
 young children — ay, even for the chance word 
 dropped by stranger lips, and heard by infant 
 ears ; for that word may be a fruitful seed that 
 shall spring up into a healthful vine, or an Upas 
 tree, twenty years after it is sown. 
 
 Infanoy is a fair page, upon which you may 
 write goodness, happiness, heaven I or sin, misery, 
 boll! — and the words once written, no chemical 
 art can erase them. The substance of the paper 
 itself must bo rubbed through by the file of suf- 
 fering before the writing can be ellaeed. Infancy 
 is the soft metal in the moulder's hands ; he m.'iy 
 shape it in the imago of a fiend, or the form of an 
 angel — and when finished, the statue hardens 
 into rook, which nothing but the hammer of Ood'a 
 providenoe can break ; nnthing but the fire of 
 God's providence can melt for remoulding. 
 
 OIIILDIIOOD. 
 
 It is very wrong to make remarks on the per- 
 sonal beauty or ugliness of chihlren in their 
 hearing. The effect is invariably injurious. It 
 is highly reprehensible to draw ini'iilioits compari- 
 sons between the beauty of children, especially 
 before their faces. This thoughtlessness is fraught 
 with the direst consequences. When you say, 
 carelessly in their presence, that "Anne is pret- 
 tier than Jane," and look at Anne as though her 
 accidental beauty were a virtue, and look at Jane 
 as though she wore in fault — think that into the 
 fertile soil of the children's hearts you have 
 dropped the seeds of evil — the seeil of vanity in 
 the heart of Anno, the seed of envy into that of 
 Jane, and the germ of discord into both. 
 
 UNHAI'PY MAHKIAQES AND THliin OAUSUS. 
 
 A ]iriniary cause of unhappy marriage is a de- 
 fective iii.iiritl and jt/ii/.siriil education. In our coun- 
 try, intellectual cducatidji is on a par with that of 
 other enlightened nations of the earth — not so 
 moral and physical education. Prudence, I'orli- 
 tudo, truth, reverence, and fidelity, are not incul- 
 cated hero as they should be. Industry, activity, 
 and entorpriso are our national good points of 
 character, and those are impressed upon children 
 by example, rather than by admonition ; and our 
 
 704 
 
so 
 
 so 
 
 virtvies, generosity, liospitality, courage, and pa- 
 ta-iotism, are the virtues of constitution and of oir- 
 cumstiince, rather than of education. 
 
 We fail to impress the duty of pbudenoe upon 
 our children, and hence rash and culpable mer- 
 cantile speculation, ending in insolvency — and 
 hence hasty, inconsiderate marriages, ending in 
 bauki'uptoy of heart, home, and happiness. We 
 fail to impress the duty of fidelity upon our 
 children, and hence irregularity and unfaithful- 
 ness in business, embezzlement of funds, &o., 
 and hence broken marriage faith and deserted 
 families." 
 
 We fail to inculcate the duty of foktitude, and 
 hence, when obligations, professional or matrimo- 
 nial, become painful, tliey are too often abandoned. 
 
 But it is PHYSICAL EPrcATiox, in its relatiou to 
 the happiness of married life, that I wish to dis- 
 cuss. We are still more thoughtlessly neglectful, 
 and I was about to say fatally neglectful, of phy- 
 sical, than of moral education. Fatally, because 
 no moral education can be completely successful, 
 unless assisted and supported by a good physical 
 ti'aiuiug. 
 
 An instance — preach patience for ever, yet a 
 dyspeptic \riU be ill-tempered. 
 
 Another — preach industry for ever, yet the 
 weak and languid mil be lazy and idle. 
 
 A third — inculcate the necessity of courage, 
 presence of mind, by eloquent precept, and by the 
 example of all the heroes and heroines of history, 
 yet the nervous \cil] start if a door claps. 
 
 One might go on ad infinitum. 
 
 A defective physical education is one of the 
 primary causes of unhappiness in the marriage 
 relation. A girl cannot be a useful or a happy 
 wife, and she cannot make her husband and her 
 children happy, or even comfortable, unless she 
 be a healthy woman. In Great Britain, a girl in 
 delicate health never expects to be married, and 
 her fiiends never desii-e it for her. American 
 girls are proverbially delicate in organization, and 
 frail in health, and their mothei-s were delicate 
 before them, and their children will be still more 
 delicate after them, unless there is a great reform 
 in physical cultivation. Such a reform is happily 
 beginning in the North. It is yet unthought of 
 in the West and South. Daily exercise by walk- 
 ing, skipping rope, calisthenics, horseback riding, 
 which bring all the limbs and muscles' into play ; 
 daily bathing in cold water on first rising in 
 the morning; fresh air, simple, plain food, the 
 disuse of coffee and tea, comfortable clothing, the 
 disuse of tight ligatures, corsets, tight-waisted 
 dresses, tight shoes, &c.. are the best features of 
 this excellent system of physical training. I be- 
 lieve that a youug person with a good constitution 
 to commence with, faithfully following these means 
 for the preservation of health, with the blessing 
 of God. will not fade or break until she is fifty. 
 nor die until she is an hundred years old. I be- 
 liere tiat youth, health, beauty, strength, and 
 life can be greatly prolonged beyond their present 
 averase. and that we were all intended to live 
 twice or three times as long as with our sad mal- 
 treatment we do live. c 
 
 MISM.ANAGEME.NT OF CHILDREN. 
 
 American children (with the exception of a very 
 few, whose parents know and practise better,) 
 grow up drinking hot tea and coffee, eating hot 
 meats and rich gravies and pastries, never bathing, 
 taking little exercise, confined in crowded school- 
 rooms or close house-rooms, and become narrow- 
 shouldered, hollow-cheeked, pale, sickly, nervous, 
 and fretful ; they marry early companions as pale, 
 sickly, nervous, and fretful as themselves, and 
 have children twice as pale, sickly, nervous, and 
 fretful as their parents, and discord and other do- 
 mestic miseries are such inevitable results that we 
 must pity, aud can scarcely blame the victims. 
 They cry out in their agony for separation, divorce, 
 for reform in social laws, when the truth is, no 
 reform would cure their evils without a reform in 
 tlieir personal habits ; such a reform as would give 
 health, consequently good-humour, and lastly, 
 happiness. 
 
 ILL-HEALTH. 
 
 Few people consider how much our moral as 
 well as our physical health depends upon exercise, 
 cleanliness, aud temperance. How much our hap- 
 piness depends upon a free circulation, unob- 
 structed perspiration, and a good digestion. How 
 much domestic discomfort is caused by the queru- 
 lousness of ill-health. Many a man of weak and 
 unsettled principles is driven to dissipation and 
 vice, aud, it may be, to crime, by the discomforts 
 of his home, of his sickly and nervous wife, fret- 
 ful and troublesome children. 
 
 E.ARLT corp-Tsmp. 
 Another prominent cause of unhappy marriages 
 is the too unguarded and luirestrained association 
 between yo<ing persons of opposite sexes in the 
 same rank of society. If the dress and address 
 of a young man are passable, if his conduct is 
 unimpeachable and his prospects fair, however 
 otherwise unknown and untried, he may be ad- 
 mitted at once to the intimacy of a young lady, and 
 after a brief courtship, too brief to give either a 
 knowledge of their own or each other's hearts, 
 take the last irrevocable step — marriage. And 
 this youth of fair maimers, fair appeai-ance, and 
 fair conduct, may turn out to be, if not positively 
 depraved, yet weak, unstable, untried, possessing 
 the best reputation, based upon the morality of 
 externals, rather than the tested, sound integrity 
 of heart ; with the most defective character, totally 
 unfit to guide himself, still less another, through 
 the shoals and quicksands of life. 
 
 DAXGEKS OF SOCIETY TO THE YOITSG. 
 
 In old times of chivalry, a knight must have 
 proved his prowess before he could successfully 
 aspire to the hand of his lady-love. The days of 
 knight-errantry are long past, but in the age of 
 man, or of the world, the days of moral warfare 
 are never over ; never over with the world while 
 it exists ; never over with man <intil death ; and 
 I would have some better proof of moral force in 
 an untried young man, than a few weeks of ac- 
 quaintance, popularity, aud meie amiability of 
 
 795 
 
so 
 
 ST 
 
 manners would give, before I could trust the tem- 
 poral and eternal welfare of my daughter to his 
 keeping. When a young girl's heart is lost and 
 won, it is too late for these prudential considera- 
 tions ; in this case, as in every other, the old 
 proverb holds good — Tidarsi i bene, e non fidarse 
 e meglio. The conversatioual acquaintanceship 
 should be prevented from maturing into the 
 dangerous intimacy. Yet do not misunderstand 
 me ; I would not have you pain or repulse a young 
 heart by the coldness of suspicion. I would not 
 have you shut yourselves up in a dark distrust 
 and shut your doors and guard your girls with 
 eastern jealousy; far from it; one need not run 
 upon Scylla in avoiding Charybdis. " Moderation 
 is the golden thread that holds together the bead- 
 roll of the virtues." I would have you take the 
 middle course — " the golden mean " between jeal- 
 ous surveillance and dangerous neglect. In all 
 other civilized and enlightened society in the 
 world, young" ladies are carefully guarded and 
 guided, chaperoned through the mazes of life. 
 In countries of the Eastern Continent this system 
 of surveillance is excessive ; here it is reprehen- 
 sibly deficient ; in England it is perfect. I confess 
 I would have our manners resemble the English in 
 this respect. 
 
 PEEMATUEE MAEEIAGES. 
 
 Still another primary cause (I speak only of 
 primary causes here deeming discord, tyranny, 
 drunkenness, infidelity and desertion, so many 
 effects,) still another primary cause of unhappiness 
 in the marriage state is, that marriage is con- 
 tracted too early in life. American girls are pro- 
 verbially married too young ; at an age which even 
 a hearty robust Englishwoman would scarcely be 
 permitted to enter upon the responsibilities of 
 marriage. How much more improper, then, must 
 it be for an American girl, with her national ex- 
 treme delicacy of organization, to take upon her- 
 self the heavy burdens and onerous duties »f 
 matrimony before her feeble constitution is ma- 
 ture, or her frail strength confirmed. But our 
 girls, with all these natural disadvantages, are 
 married early, and hence the early ' (^proverbially 
 again) wasting of health and life ; the failing 
 of beauty, decline of grace, and loss of attrac- 
 tions in the women ; and hence the vexatious, 
 nervous irritability so common in young mothers, 
 so destructive to domestic harmony and happiness. 
 How can it be otherwise with the continued tax 
 of a young and increasing family upon the imma- 
 ture strength of the youthful wife and mother ? 
 Our girls are extremely fragile at best, and wiU 
 ever be so, ay, and will grow more so, unless a better 
 system of physical education is generally adopted. 
 When these delicate girls prematurely assume the 
 cares and burdens of a family, they break down 
 under it, become thin, pale, sickly, nervous, and 
 fretful ; no longer attractive, almost repulsive ; 
 and the husband, father, if his disposition be 
 benevolent and protective, as is the nature of most 
 American men, sufl'ers martyrdom ; devotes him- 
 self a living sacrifice to his sickly wife and large 
 family. I know hundreds of such devoted men, 
 
 all unconscious of their self-devotion, passing their 
 lives in dull counting-houses, dark stores, dingy 
 offices, dirty work-shops, or crowded school-rooms, 
 so cheerfully ! to provide a comfortable or a lux- 
 urious home where their wives and children ever 
 live, but where they only come to snatch a hasty 
 meal, or, late at night, to sleep. This, I think, is 
 what Dr. Dewey calls "The Religion of Toil." 
 But if, on the other hand, this husband of the 
 sickly wife, this father of the peevish children, 
 this victim of early marriage and other abuses, 
 happens to be selfish and unprincipled, he be- 
 comes, more or less, tyrant or reprobate, or he 
 sometimes quietly leaves; goes to the West or 
 South, to sea, or to parts unknown, and is never 
 heard of again. If he be licentious as well as sel- 
 fish, his wandering fancies fix upon some youngerj 
 fresher, fairer, or some new form ; then comes the 
 thought of the possibility, the probability, the 
 almost certainty, if he pursues it, of getting a 
 legal enfranchisement from his matrimonial bonds. 
 And this is naturally suggested by the facility with 
 which divorces are granted ; true, he cannot 
 legally repudiate his wife while she remains faith- 
 ful, but he can oblige her to release him, or break 
 her neck, or her heart, or desert and starve her 
 into compliance with his measures ; or he can 
 wrest her children from her, and make their res- 
 toration to her bosom the price of his release. I 
 am not exaggerating, reader ; if you live in a city 
 and will look about you, you will find that I speak 
 truly. But to conclude, I reiterate and insist upon 
 this point, that the fundamental causes of unhap- 
 piness are in married life, a defective moral and 
 physical education, and a premature contraction of 
 the matrimonial engagement. 
 
 STEPHENS, ANN S., 
 Is a native of Derby, Connecticut. In 1831 she 
 was married to Mr. Edward Stephens, and soon 
 after removed to Portland, Maine, where her lite- 
 rary career commenced. In 1835 she established 
 a periodical called " The Portland Magazine," 
 which was edited by her for two years, and at- 
 
 796 
 
ST 
 
 ST 
 
 tained consideraUe popularity, owing, chiefly, to 
 her own contributions to it. In 1837 Mr. and 
 Mrs. Stephens removed to New York, where they 
 have since resided. Soon after her settlement in 
 that city, she became editor of " The Ladies' Com- 
 panion," and subsequently editor of the " Ladies' 
 National Magazine ;" an interesting and popular 
 work. She has also been a regular and highly 
 valued contributor to " Graham's Magazine," 
 " The Columbia Magazine," and many of the 
 other popular periodicals. For one of her stories, 
 " Mary Derweut," she received a prize of four 
 hundred dollars, yet it can by no means be con- 
 sidered her best. In truth, she is one of the most 
 successful Magazine writers of the day ; and her 
 sketches and novellettes, if collected, would fill 
 several volumes. As a poetess, Mrs. Stephens is 
 comparatively but little known; the few pieces 
 of hers that have appeared are marked by the 
 same picturesque detail and easy flow of language 
 with her prose sketches. She excels in drawing 
 pictures with her pen. — in placing before her 
 readers, by a few graphic lines and glowing words, 
 a character or scene, whether in high or low life, 
 amid the palaces of royalty or the wild depths of 
 the western forests, with such vividness and power 
 that it seems to stand " a real presence " before 
 the eye. 
 
 Mr. Charles J. Peterson, in some remarks on 
 this well-known writer, which appeared in Gra- 
 ham's Magazine, says that Mrs. Stephens possesses 
 "powers of description of the first order. She 
 has an eye quick to perceive, and a pen skilful to 
 trace the prominent parts of a picture. Like a 
 painter, she throws her whole force on the objects 
 in the front, finishing the background with a few 
 bold masses of light and shade. No writer since 
 Sir Walter Scott has excelled her in this. — In 
 sketching rural scenery, she is perhaps without a 
 rival. The village school — the white church on 
 the hill — the walk through the twilight woods — 
 the search after wild strawberries — the romp on 
 the green — the old elm by the water side, and all 
 the various pictures that pertain to country life, 
 start into view with a few skilful touches of her 
 pencil, and are remembered afterward, not as 
 ideal scenes, but as familiar objects we have often 
 visited. Her characters, and their actions, are 
 described graphically, and often with minute skill. 
 There is in^ her story of ' Malina Gray ' a scene 
 where a grey-headed father supplicates Mrs. Gray 
 that her daughter, who was to have been married 
 to his child, may see the dying young clergyman ; 
 and.we shall never forget the elaborate detail with 
 which the author describes the old man, trembling 
 with heart-breaking emotion as he leans on his 
 cane, while the Pharisaical mother quietly adjusts 
 her knitting-needle in the sheath, places her work 
 on the table, and listens with cold surprise to a 
 request so opposite to her notions of propriety. 
 The eager emotion of the father and the self- 
 righteous composure of Mrs. Gray are finely con- , 
 trasted. It is one of those pictures that time 
 cannot efface from the memory. In various other 
 of her tales are scenes described with equal force. 
 The supper party in ' The Patch- Work Quilt ' re- 
 
 minds us of the quiet humour, and minute detail, 
 of the Flemish painters." 
 
 In speaking of her style, Mr. Peterson remarks 
 that it "is sometimes too gorgeous, and would, 
 now and then, bear softening. But of late she 
 displays more chastened simplicity — the picture 
 is toned down ; and we think for the better. 
 There is a passion and earnestness about her man- 
 ner which distinguishes her from her contempo- 
 raries ; she is more masculine and condensed in 
 style than is usual with her sex. In her diction, 
 regarded as distinct from style, she is a model. 
 Her words are well chosen, and usually derived 
 from old Saxon roots ; and they come from her 
 pen in sentences often glowing like melted lava." 
 
 In the autumn of 1850, Mrs. Stephens accom- 
 panied some friends on a tour through Europe and 
 Eastern lands, expecting to be absent about two 
 years. The opportunities this journey will afford 
 a writer of her quick observation and remarkable 
 powers of description, give us good reason to ex- 
 pect, on her return, a work of greater length and 
 importance than any one she has yet put forth. 
 
 From " The Patch-Work auilt." 
 OUE HOMESTEAD. 
 
 Our homestead was an old-fashioned house, 
 built before the Revolution. It had a sharp, nar- 
 row roof in front, and one that sloped almost to 
 the ground at the back. Its white front and heavy 
 stone chimneys were completely embowered by a 
 clump of superb maples, whose heavy branches 
 lay woven together, and entangling their foliage 
 on the very roof, from the first budding time of 
 spring till the leaves fell away in autumn. A 
 thicket of damask roses, lilac trees, and snow-ball 
 bushes luxuriated in their shelter, and a slope of 
 rich, heavy sward — hedged in by a rustic fence — 
 received just enough of the warm sunshine, that 
 lay on it in the morning, and of the dews, which 
 rained from the leaves at nightfall, to keep it 
 thicker and more vividly green than any spot in 
 the neighbourhood. The house occupied a verdant 
 angle, formed by two roads that intersected each 
 other in the heart of a lovely and secluded little 
 village. Every window of our dwelling overlooked 
 some pretty spot of scenery. Here was a white 
 cottage, there a glimpse of the river with one end 
 of the wooden bridge that spanned it. There was 
 a view down a green vista of the river vale, farther 
 on a breezy grove, and, on the east and west, 
 ridges of grassy hills piled upon each other 
 against the horizon and crested with forest trees 
 
 From "A Story of Western Life." 
 A THUNDEK STORM. 
 
 There had been a moon that evening, but the 
 coming storm overwhelmed and shrouded it from 
 sight. Still a pearly glow now and then shot 
 along the small and gloomy clouds that came 
 surging up from the north, and spread themselves 
 over the sky like a lead-coloured pavement, torn 
 and agitated by unseen hands. But soon even 
 the pearly gleam disappeared. It had lingered 
 among the clouds, the last smile on the face of 
 heaven — now it was swept away, and left nothing 
 
 797 
 
ST 
 
 but blackness and gloom behind. Tlie air seemed 
 pressing down to the earth, thick, stagnant, and 
 sultry. A dismal sound ■came up from the forest, 
 as if the elements were chained among those giant 
 trees — moaning at their captivity and wrathful 
 ■with each others — still, amid darkness and gloom, 
 that horseman sped on. The road was narrow, 
 and full of ruts. Stumps, in some places, stood 
 half crumbling away in the very wagon track, but 
 with a loosened rein, and knees pressed hard to 
 his fleet animal, that doomed man plunged onward 
 to his fate. The thunder, which had been all the 
 time muttering on high, now pealed and crashed 
 above him — the lightning came down in sheets 
 of lurid fire, shedding a bluish tinge over the 
 corpselike hue of his face. Still his horse plunged 
 on amid sheets of flame or black darkness, never 
 checking his speed for an instant. 
 
 All at once that desperate rider drew the curb 
 ■with a sharp pull, which brought the horse's 
 foaming mouth down upon his chest. He stag- 
 gered, fell back upon his haunches, and recovered 
 himself with a snort of pain ; but all the time the 
 rider was bending forward till his face almost 
 touched the arched neck of his beast, his knees 
 were pressed convulsively to the drooping sides of 
 the stumbling animal, and he strove again to catch 
 the sound of hoofs which had for an instant reached 
 him through the storm. 
 
 "On, on!" The words came hissing through 
 his shut teeth, but scarcely had the gallant horse 
 made a hound forward when the curb was fiercely 
 drawn again. 
 
 " It is somewhere close by — oh, if the lightning 
 would but strike again !" 
 
 It did strike, with a crash that made the brave 
 horse leap in the air, though he had never shrunk 
 from the lightning — not three rods before them, 
 a dry tree was shivered ip ten thousand pieces, 
 and every splinter shot forth a stream of fire. 
 For one moment the horseman recoiled, the next 
 he recognized the spot. 
 
 " Thank God, there it is !" he exclaimed aloud, 
 and with this blasphemous thanksgiving on his 
 parted lips, he struck the horse and dashed into a 
 cart-path, revealed by the stricken tree. On, 
 without swerving from the path an instant, he 
 passed directly under the burning tree, and was 
 engulfed in the dark woods beyond. 
 
 THE PRISONEE's TEIAL. 
 
 Hunt was brought in and placed on a bench 
 opposite the judge, who scrupulously averted his 
 eyes from the prisoner's face while the jury was 
 empannelled and the whole preliminaries entered 
 upon. Never had a court been conducted with so 
 much of imposing form at the Bend before. Every 
 one looked grave, some even solemn, as the priso- 
 ner was arraigned. Hunt stood up ; his lips 
 turned white, and his hands, which he clasped 
 over his breast, shook a little, but his eyes were 
 bent full on the judge, and he answered " Not 
 guilty, not guilty, so help me God !" in a voice 
 that swelled clear and full through the listening 
 crowd. 
 
 As the prisoner sat down again Hannah cast a 
 
 ST 
 
 look over the crowd, rose to her feet, and, support- 
 ing her faltering steps by pressing her hand to the 
 wall, went round to the bench he occupied and 
 crept timidly to his side. He did not turn his 
 head or seem to be conscious of the action, but the 
 lines about his mouth began to quiver, and he shut 
 his heavy eyelids hard together once or twice, as 
 if determined to force back the moisture from his ■ 
 eyes before it had time to form into tears. 
 
 This stern effort to subdue the feelings tugging 
 at his heart, joined to the feeble and desolate air 
 with which the poor girl had performed her simple 
 act of devotion, had its eiFect upon the impulsive 
 and ardent beings who surrounded thera. That 
 gentle creature, so young, so pure, and helpless, 
 as she crept through the outskirts of the crowd 
 like a pretty fawn following the hunted stag even 
 among the hounds, and crouched down by the only 
 being left to her on earth, touched their sympa- 
 thies more than a thousand orations would have 
 done. Though rude backwoods-men, feeling, good 
 and generous feeling, was vigorous in their tough 
 hearts. A whisper ran through the crowd ; many 
 an unequal breath was drawn, and more than one 
 heavy lip trembled without speaking. The fore- 
 man of the jury — a blufl^, hale old fellow — drew 
 his coat-sleeve across his eyes two or three times. 
 The judge turned uneasily in his chair, and 
 seemed to be diligently counting the glasses 
 crowded on a shelf behind him ; while the black- 
 smith's wife lifted a flaring cotton handkerchief to 
 her face, shook h".r huge navariro bonnp.t mourn- 
 fully, and sobbed aloud. 
 
 " This will never do ;" whispered the prose- 
 cuting attorney, leaning toward William Wheeler, 
 who stood close behind him; "who put the girl 
 up to this stage effect ?" 
 
 Wheeler only replied by a sarcastic and yet 
 ghastly smile. The pompous young lawyer then 
 turned to the judge. 
 
 " May it please your honour, I desire that the 
 young woman there may be removed from the 
 court until she is called up as a witness," he said, 
 pointing toward poor Hannah. 
 
 The blacksmith's wife flung back her navarino, 
 grasped the handkerchief in her hand, and gave 
 the lawyer a look that would have demolished a 
 man of common nerve. The judge turned hastily 
 
 on his seat; "I'll see you " He checked 
 
 himself just in time, took up one of the law-books, 
 as if to seek for some authority, and then replied 
 with solemn dignity, " The court has decided that 
 it is no business of yours where the girl sits." 
 
 David Hunt, who had grasped his daughter's 
 hand and half risen, sunk back to his seat again 
 as these words fell on his ear, and a murmur of 
 approbation passed through the crowd. 
 
 STRICKLAND, AGNES, 
 Whose graceful pen has made the dead queens 
 of England objects of deep interest to the living 
 world, may justly be classed among the most emi- 
 nent English female writers of the day. She 
 resides at Reydon Hall, Suffolk County, about 
 twenty miles from London. Miss Strickland is 
 descended from an eminent and honourable family, 
 
 798 
 
ST 
 
 ST 
 
 the Nevilles, of Raby, who were connexions, in a 
 remote degree, of the good Queen, Katharine 
 Parr. We name this circumstance because of the 
 influence such a reminiscence has undoubtedly 
 exerted over the mind and pursuits of Miss Strick- 
 land. The love and reverence she was taught 
 from childhood to cherish for the queen of her 
 own ancestral line made the lives of these royal 
 ladies the most interesting theme she could study 
 or illustrate. 
 
 The reading public of America, as well as of 
 Great Britain, are too familiar with the result of 
 these studies to require .any description thereof; 
 yet few, probably, have considered the labour as 
 well as talent involved in the great work of these 
 ladies ; — there are two Miss Stricklands united in 
 this literary enterprise, though one sister with- 
 holds her name. " Lives of the Queens of Eng- 
 land, from the Norman Conquest, with Anecdotes," 
 is the title ; the work is in twelve volumes. The 
 first three were published in 1840 ; the others 
 appeared at intervals of a year or more till 1848 ; 
 the volume containing the history of Queen Anne 
 completed the series. 
 
 We know nothing among the aims of literature 
 more difiBcult than to write history well : learning, 
 conscientiousness, the patient spirit of research, 
 time and opportunities for such research, unflag- 
 ging industry, penetration into character, a philo- 
 sophic power of observation and reflection, are 
 some of the requisites for an historian. Besides, 
 one should be a universal reader, and versed in 
 science ; for how shall the historian describe an 
 epoch if unacquainted with its intellectual advance- 
 ment ? Then the writer must have the poet's sen- 
 sibility to discover depths of feeling and passion, 
 and a real enthusiasm for heroic and generous 
 deeds ; also the picturesque faculty of seeing the 
 groups evolved from the dust of antiquity and the 
 shelves of the library, in order to paint them 
 living beings — not departed forms — with vigour, 
 spirit, taste. If we go on augmenting, some 
 reader may say, as Rasselas did to the philoso- 
 plier — "I perceive it is impossible to become an" 
 — historian. 
 
 Miss Strickland has not, certainly, attained all 
 the requisites ; yet she has proved herself a very 
 useful writer. Her "Queens of England" have 
 induced many to whom stronger diet would have 
 been unpalatable to gain a respectable knowledge 
 of the leading facts of English history. For her 
 own sex her work is not only of deep interest, but 
 must prove in many ways highly beneficial. Her 
 own unwearied industry is an example of much 
 importance ; the devotion of her talents to a great 
 subject is another commendable trait in her cha- 
 racter ; and the success attending her labours has 
 a wide influence for good. Miss Strickland has 
 incurred considerable censure from some of the 
 British critics on account of her High Church and 
 Tory principles, which she never attempts to con- 
 ceal ; but she seems so thoroughly convinced of 
 the truth of her own opinions, that we must 
 believe she is honestly sure her statements are 
 correct. In short, she is a sincere Queen-worship- 
 per; and certainly, if there be a "divinity" to 
 
 hedge kings, who have usually been very poor 
 specimens of humanity, queens may well be ex- 
 alted. Since she commenced her work, other 
 biographies of some of these royal ladies have 
 appeared, but none has equalled Miss Strickland's 
 in the interest of the narrative or in the origi- 
 nality of materials. 
 
 We have passed over the earlier writings of Miss 
 Strickland, yet these deserve mention. " The 
 Pilgrims of Walsingham, or Tales of the Middle 
 Ages ; an Historical Romance," containing some 
 well-told stories, has gone through numerous 
 editions, and obtained much popular favour in 
 England, and been republished in the United 
 States several times. Miss Strickland has also 
 written poetry worthy of notice, if her prose had 
 not excelled it. She is now engaged in writing 
 the "Lives of the Queens of Scotland;" the first 
 volume of which has appeared. 
 
 From " The (iueens of England," vol. xii. 
 
 BEITISH QUEENS. 
 
 Whether beloved or not, the influence of the 
 wife and companion of the sovereign must always 
 be considerable ; and, for the honour of woman- 
 kind, be it remembered that it has, generally 
 speaking, been exerted for worthy purposes. Our 
 Queens have been instruments in the hands of 
 God, for the advancement of civilization and the 
 exercise of a moral and religious influence. Many 
 of them have been brought frm fore'gn clin-js to 
 plant the flowers and refinements of a more polished 
 state of society in our own ; and well have they, 
 for the most part, performed their mission. 
 
 KOMAN CATHOLIC QUEENS. 
 
 Enough of sin, enough of sorrow, have surely 
 been related of Queens of the Romish church to 
 satisfy any candid reader that they have been 
 pourtrayed not according to the ideal perfections 
 of angelic beings, but with all the follies, the in- 
 consistencies, the frailties to which fallen and cor- 
 rupt human nature is heir. If we had represented 
 them otherwise, we should have acted as absurdly 
 as those who argue, after the fashion of stultified 
 heathens, by raising a clamour, and reiterating 
 cries of, " Great is the Diana of the Ephesians." 
 
 PROTESTANT QUEENS. 
 
 Katharine Parr was the preserver of our uni- 
 versities and the nursing-mother of the Reforma- 
 tion ; and here it is impossible to refrain from 
 referring the reader to our life of that illustrious 
 lady,* as a sufiicient refutation of the ridiculous 
 accusation put forth in letters, which have been 
 addressed to the editors of daily and weekly papers, 
 complaining of our unjust partiality "in having 
 made angels of all the popish Queens, and demons 
 of all the protestant Queens ;" as if it were in the 
 power of biographers to make historical characters 
 any thing but what they were, or just to blame 
 them for recording facts for which authentic au- 
 thorities are given. Our aff'ections are naturally 
 
 * See Lives of the (iueens, vol. v. 
 
 im 
 
TA 
 
 TO 
 
 on the side of the Queens of the reformed church, 
 to which we ourselTCS belong. It is a church 
 which enjoins truth, and we do not pay her so ill 
 a compliment as to imply that she requires the 
 sophistries of falsehood to bolster up her cause. 
 It is impossible for any rational person to draw 
 controversial inferences from the relative merits 
 of Roman Catholic and Protestant Queens, since 
 no two of them have been placed in similar cir- 
 cumstances. 
 
 T. 
 
 TARNOW, FANNY, 
 Is one of the most remarkable and most fertile 
 of all the modern German authoresses. Her genius 
 was developed by misfortune and suffering : while 
 yet an infant, she fell from a window two stories 
 high, and was taken up, to the amazement of the 
 assistants, without any apparent injury, except a 
 few bruises ; but all the vital functions suffered, 
 and during ten or twelve years she was extended 
 on a couch, neither joining in any of the amuse- 
 ments of childhood, nor subjected to the usual 
 routine of female education. She educated her- 
 self. She read incessantly, and, as it was her 
 only pleasure, books of every description, good 
 and bad, were furnished her without restraint. 
 She was about eleven years old when she made 
 her first known pot 'oal attempt, inspired by her 
 own feelings and situation. It was a dialogue 
 between herself and the angel of death. In her 
 seventeenth yfear she was sufficiently recovered to 
 take charge of her father's family, after he had 
 lost, by some sudden misfortune, his whole pro- 
 perty. He held, subsequently, a small office under 
 government, the duties of which were principally 
 performed by his admirable daughter. Her first 
 writings were anonymous, and for a long time her 
 name was unknown. Her most celebrated novel, 
 the "Thekla," was published in 1815; and from 
 this time she has enjoyed a high and public repu- 
 tation. Fanny Tarnow resides, or did reside, in 
 Dresden. 
 
 TASTIT, SABINE CASIMIR AMABLE VOREST, 
 
 Was born at Metz, in 1798. She has taken 
 several prizes offered by literary academies, and 
 holds a place among the first rank of contemporary 
 French poets. Her verses are written with great 
 elegance, while the sentiments they convey are 
 refined and moral. She has been very successful 
 in her books for young persons. 
 
 THEIS DE CONSTANCE, MARIE, PRINCESS 
 OF SALM DYCK, 
 Was born at Nantes, 7th November, 1767. After 
 having received a very brilliant education, she, in 
 1789, married M. Pipelet, a physician of consider- 
 able celebrity, and established herself in Paris, 
 where she indulged her taste for literature in a 
 congenial atmosphere. One of her first works 
 was the poetical drama of " Sapho," an opera in 
 four acts, which was adapted to music by Martini, 
 
 and went through a hundred representations at 
 the Theatre Louvois. Poetical Epistles, Dramas, 
 and various other productions in verse, read by 
 Madame Pipelet at the Athenseum at Paris, and 
 afterwards published, obtained for her an honour- 
 able reputation in the literary world. She has 
 also published several ballads, of which she com- 
 posed the melodies and the piano accompaniments. 
 In 1803, she became the wife of the count de Salm 
 Dyck, who took the title of prince in 1816. Since 
 that time the princess de Salm has lived alternately 
 on the estates of her husband, in Germany, and 
 at Paris, where, by her wit, her conversational 
 powers, and her amiable manners, she has always 
 rallied round her the 61ite of artists, and men of 
 letters. 
 
 THIERRY, MADAME, 
 
 Is the wife of the distinguished historian, and 
 has merited a very charming acknowledgment 
 from that illustrious author. In one of his pre- 
 faces, adverting to his misfortune — one of the 
 greatest to a man fond of books, his blindness — 
 he declares that "his wife has been to him his 
 eyes, his memory, his unfailing helpmate ; with- 
 out whom his great works could scarcely have 
 been accomplished, so untiring and intelligent 
 was her constant assistance ; adding to the offices 
 of a zealous secretary, the sympathy and encou- 
 ragement of affection." 
 
 He adds that her abilities are equal, if not su- 
 perior, to his own ; and that only her extreme 
 modesty prevents her undertaking works of im- 
 portance. In this opinion we cannot concur with 
 the author of the "Norman Conquest." The 
 sketches Madame Thierry has published are 
 pretty stories, neatly written, and nothing more. 
 " Scenes de Moeurs," and " Adelaide," could 
 only have been written by a woman of cultivated 
 and elegant mind, but they evince no extraordi- 
 nary intellectual powers. Still, we consider her 
 entitled to a high place among distinguished wo- 
 men, because she has won from her husband such 
 a beautiful eulogium on her talents, and on the 
 manner in which she has employed them. We 
 may see, in this example, of what inestimable 
 benefit to the husband the cultivated intellect of 
 the wife may become, if he has true nobleness of 
 soul to encourage the development and rightly' 
 estimate the mind of his wife. 
 
 TOWNSEND, ELIZA, 
 Was born in Boston, Massachusetts, where she 
 still resides, during the latter part of the eighteenth 
 century. All her early poems, though attracting 
 attention and favourable notice for the poetic genius 
 they displayed,"were published anonymously, and 
 for many years her authorship was kept a secret, 
 which has prevented her from being as widely 
 known as she would otherwise have been. Her 
 poem on "The Incomprehensibility of God" is 
 generally considered her best ; and in a criticism 
 on this, the Rev. Dr. Cheever remarks that " it is 
 equal in grandeur to the Thanatopsis of Bryant," 
 and that "it will not suffer by comparison with 
 the most sublime pieces of Wordsworth or Cole- 
 
 800 
 
TR 
 
 TR 
 
 ridge," Though this praise may be somewhat too 
 high, yet it shows among what class of poets Miss 
 Townsend may claim a place — those in whom 
 religious feeling, thoughtfulness, and a deep, if 
 quiet enthusiasm are the leading traits. Her pro- 
 ductions have generally appeared in the different 
 religious periodicals of New England, and no 
 collection of them has ever been made.' Mr. 
 Griswold, whose work on ** The Female Poets of 
 America" is well known, says of this writer: — 
 *' There is a religious and poetical dignity, with 
 all the evidences of a fine and richly-cultivated 
 understanding, in most of the poems of Miss 
 Townsend, which entitle her to be ranked among 
 the distinguished literary women who were her 
 contemporaries, and in advance of all who in her 
 own country preceded her." 
 
 From " Poems." 
 
 THE INCOMPKEHENSIBILITT OF GOD. 
 
 Where art thou ? — Thou ! source aod support of all 
 That is or seen or felt ; thyself unseen, 
 Unfelt, unknown — alas, unknowable ! 
 I look abroad among thy works — the sky, 
 Vast, distant, glorious with its world of suna — 
 Life-giving earth, and ever-moving main, 
 And speaking winds — and ask if these are thee! 
 The stare that twinkle on, the eternal hills, 
 The restless tide's outgoing and return. 
 The omnipresent and deep-breathing air — 
 Though hailed as gods of old, and only les?, 
 Are not the Power I seek ; are thine, not thee ! 
 I ask thee from the past : if, in the years, 
 Since first intelligence could search its source. 
 Or in some former unremembered being, 
 (If such, perchance, were mine), did they behold thee? 
 And next interrogate Futurity, 
 So fondly tenanted with better things 
 Than e'er experience owned — but both are mute; 
 And Past and Future, vocal on all else. 
 So full of memories and phantasies, 
 Are deaf aod speechless here! Fatigued, I turn 
 From all vain parley with the elements, 
 And close my eyes, and bid the thought turn inward 
 From each material thing its anxious guest, 
 If, in the stillness of the waiting soul, 
 He may vouchsafe himself— Spirit to spirit ! 
 O Thou, at once most dreaded and desired. 
 Pavilioned still in darkness, wilt thou hide thee ? 
 What though the rash request be fraught with fate. 
 Nor human eye may look on thine and live ? 
 Welcome the penalty ! let that come now. 
 Which soon or late must come. For light like this 
 Who would not dare to die ? 
 
 Peace, ray proud aim, 
 And hush the wish that knows not what it asks. 
 Await His will, who hath appointed this. 
 With every other trial. Be that will 
 Done now, as ever. For thy curious search. 
 And unprepared solicitude to gaze 
 On Him — the Unrevealed — leSrn bence, instead, 
 To temper highest hope with humbleness. 
 Pass thy novitiate in these outer courts. 
 Till rent the veil, no longer separating 
 The Holipst of all — as erst, disclnsing 
 A brighter dispensation; whose results 
 IneQable, interminable, tend 
 E^en to the perfecting thyself— thy kind — 
 Till meet for that sublime beatitude. 
 By the firm promise of a voice from heaven 
 Pledged to the pure in heart! 
 
 TROLLOPE, MRS., 
 Has acquired a wide notoriety, and made large 
 Tofits by her writings ; yet few of her sex would, j 
 re think, be willing to stand in her place, and 
 3 A 
 
 bear her name, for all she has gained. Bom in 
 England, about 1787, she was unknown to literary 
 fame until she had reached the sober season of 
 married and middle life, when she suddenly burst 
 forth like a meteor, whose erratic course makes it 
 an object of curiosity its own nature would never 
 
 A,: 
 
 &ut\^ 
 
 have awakened. In this sketch of Mrs. Trollope 
 we shall give the notices by her own countrymen, 
 British critics, whose fairness regarding her pro- 
 ductions, on all points save one, may be considered 
 established. Mr. Chambers, in his " Cyclopsedia 
 of English Literature," thus expresses his opinion : 
 " Mrs. Trollope first came before the public in 
 1832, when her ' Domestic Manners of the Ame- 
 ricans ' was published, -and excited much attention. 
 She drew so severe a picture of American faults 
 and foibles — of their want of delicacy, their af- 
 fectations, drinking, coarse selfishness, and ridicu- 
 lous peculiarities — that the whole nation was 
 incensed at their English satirist. There is much 
 exaggeration in Mrs. TroUope's sketches ; but 
 having truth for their foundation, her book is 
 supposed to have had some effect in reforming the 
 'minor morals' and social habits of the Americans. 
 The same year our authoress continued her satiric 
 portraits in a novel entitled ' The Kefugee in 
 America,' marked by the same traits as her former 
 work, but exhibiting little art or talent in the con- 
 struction of a fable. Mrs. Trollope now tried new 
 ground. In 1833 she published ' Belgium ;' and 
 'Western Germany' in 1834, countries where she 
 found much more to gratify and interest her than 
 in America, and where she travelled in generally 
 good humour. The only serious evil which Mrs. 
 Trollope seems to have encountered in Germany 
 was the tobacco-smoke, which she vituperates with 
 unwearied perseverance. In 1837 she presented 
 another novel, ' The Vicar of Wrexhill,' an able 
 and entertaining work, full of prejudices, but con- 
 taining some excellent painting of manners and 
 eccentricities. In 1838 our authoress appears 
 again as a traveller. ' Vienna and the Austrians ' 
 was of the same oast as ' Belgium and Germany,' 
 but more deformed by prejudice^ This journey 
 
 801 
 
TR 
 
 TR 
 
 also afforded Mrs. TroUope materials for a novel, 
 which she entitled 'A Romance of Vienna.' Three 
 novels were the fruit of 1839 ; namely, ' The Wi- 
 dow Barnaby,' a highly amusing work, particularly 
 the delineation of the bustling, scheming, unprin- 
 cipled husband-hunting widow ; ' Michael Arm- 
 strong, or the Factory Boy,' a caricature of the 
 evils attendant on the manufacturing system ; and 
 'One Fault,' a domestic story, illustrating with 
 uncommon vigour and effect the dismal conse- 
 quences of that species of bad temper which pro- 
 ceeds from pride and over- sensitiveness. In 1840 
 we had ' The Widow Married ;' and in 1841 ' The 
 Blue Belles of England,' and 'Charles Chester- 
 field.' The latter relates the history of a youth 
 of genius, and contains a satirical picture of the 
 state of literature in England, branding authors, 
 editors, and publishers with unprincipled profli- 
 gacy, selfishness and corruption. In 1842 Mrs. 
 Trollope, besides throwing off another novel, ' The 
 Ward of Thorpe Combe, gave the public the result 
 of a second visit to Belgium, describing the 
 changes that had been effected since 1833, and 
 also 'A Visit to Italy.' The smart caustic style 
 of our authoress was not so well adapted to the 
 classic scenes, manners, and antiquities of Italy, 
 as to the broader features of American life and 
 character, and this worls was not so successful as 
 her previous publications. Returning to fiction, 
 we find Mrs. Trollope, as usual, prolific. Three 
 novels, of three volumes each, were the produce 
 of 1843 — ' Hargrave,' 'Jessie Phillips,' and 'The 
 Lauringtons.' The first is a sketch of a man of 
 fashion; the second an attack on the new English 
 poor-law ; and the third a lively satire on ' supe- 
 rior people,' the ' bustling Botherbys' of society. 
 Reviewing the aggregate labours of this industri- 
 ous authoress, we cannot say that she has done 
 good proportioned to her talents. Her satire is 
 directed against the mere superficialities of life, 
 and is not calculated to check vice or encourage 
 virtue. In depicting high life, she wants the 
 genial spirit and humanity of Theodore Hook. 
 She has scattered amusement among novel-readers 
 by some of her delineations ; but in all her mirth 
 there is a mocking and bitter spirit, which is often 
 as misplaced as it is unfeminine." 
 
 From another critic, Mr. R. H. Home, author 
 of A New Spirit of the Age, we take the follow- 
 ing: "The class to which Mrs. Trollope belongs 
 is, fortunately, very small ; but it will always be 
 recruited from the ranks of the unscrupulous, so 
 long as a corrupt taste is likely to yield a trifling 
 profit. She owes every thing to that audacious 
 contempt of public opinion which is the distin- 
 guishing mark of persons who are said to stick at 
 . nothing. Nothing but this sticking at nothing 
 could have produced some of the books she has 
 written in which her wonderful impunity of face 
 is so remarkable. Her constitutional coarseness 
 is the natural element of a low popularity, and is 
 sure to pass for cleverness, shrewdness, and 
 strength, where cultivated judgment and chaste 
 inspiration would be thrown away. Her books of 
 travel are crowded with plebeian criticisms on 
 works of art and the usages of courts, and are 
 
 doubtless held in great esteem by her admirers, 
 who love to see such things overhauled and . 
 dragged down to their own level. The book on 
 America is of a different class. The subject exactly 
 suited her style and her taste, and people looked on at 
 the fun as they would at a scramble of sweeps in the 
 kennel; while the reflecting few thought it a little unr 
 fair in Mrs. Trollope to find fault with the manners 
 of the Americans. Happy for her she had such a 
 topic to begin with. Had she commenced her lite- 
 rary career with Austria or France, in all likeli- 
 hood, she would have ended it there. 
 
 "But it is to her novels she is chiefly indebted for 
 her current reputation ; and it is here her defects 
 are most glaringly exhibited. She cannot adapt 
 herself to the characterization requisite in a work 
 of fiction; she cannot go out of herself; she 
 serves up every thing with the same sauce ; the 
 predominant flavour is Trollope still. The plot is 
 always preposterous, and the actors in it seem to 
 be- eternally bullying each other. She takes a 
 strange delight in the hideous and revolting, and 
 dwells with gusto upon the sins of vulgarity. Her 
 sensitiveness upon this point is striking. She 
 never omits an opportunity of detailing the faults 
 of low-bred people, and even goes out of her way 
 to fasten the stigma upon others who ought to 
 have been more gently tasselled. Then her low 
 people are sunk deeper than the lowest depths, as if 
 they had been bred in and in, to the last dregs. No- 
 thing can exceed the vulgarity of Mrs. Trollope's 
 mob of characters, except the vulgarity of her 
 select aristocracy. That is transcendent . — it caps 
 the climax. 
 
 " We have heard it urged on behalf of Mrs. 
 Trollope, that her novels are, at all events, drawn 
 from life. So are sign-paintings. It is no great 
 proof of their truth that centaurs and griffins do 
 not run loose through her pages, and that her men 
 and women have neither hoofs nor tails. The 
 tawdriest wax-works, girt up in paste and span- 
 gles, are also ' drawn from life ;' but there ends 
 the resemblance." 
 
 This last critic Is an Englishman, or it might 
 reasonably be urged that if Mrs. Trollope is low 
 in her tastes, vulgar in her ideas, and not worthy 
 of credit when writing on any subject — except 
 the Americans, her statements respecting their 
 "Domestic Manners" might possibly take their 
 colouring from her own mind and character. But 
 all abuse of Americans has been so pleasant to 
 English taste, that even Mrs. Trollope was praised 
 and paid for her first coarse caricatures, till she, 
 naturally enough, fancied herself gifted to shine 
 among the best of England's writers. They are 
 welcome to a monopoly of her fame ; we only 
 regret that she belongs to the female sex. 
 
 A few words are all that is needed to explain 
 her dislike of America. We quote from a sketch 
 which appeared in the Knickerbocker in 1833, 
 written by the Rev. Timothy Flint, who resided in 
 Cincinnati during the sojourn of Mrs. Trollope in 
 that city. He judges her more kindly than do her 
 English critics : 
 
 " In reply to the question which has been asked 
 us, we are sure, a thousand times, what sort of a 
 
 802 
 
TU 
 
 TV 
 
 person was Mrs. TroUope, and* what were her 
 objects in visiting America ? we reply, she was in 
 person a short, plump figure, with a ruddy, round, 
 Saxon face, of bright complexion, forty-five, 
 though not showing older than thirty-seven, of 
 appearance singularly unladylike, a misfortune 
 heightened by her want of taste and female intel- 
 ligence in regard to dress, or her holding herself 
 utterly above such considerations, though at times 
 she was as much finer and more expensively 
 dressed than other ladies, as she was ordinarily 
 inferior to them in her costume. Robust and mas- 
 culine in her habits, she had no fear of the ele- 
 ments ; recklessly exposing herself in long walks 
 to the fierce meridian sun or the pouring shower, 
 owing a severe fever, no doubt, to those circum- 
 stances. Voluble as a French woman, shrill and 
 piercing in the tones of her voice, piquant and 
 sarcastic in the tenor of her conversation, she was 
 a most accomplished mimic ; and as she had tra- 
 velled in France and Italy, and knew the language 
 and light literature of both these countries, and 
 was, moreover, acquainted, as we know from her 
 correspondence, with the most distinguished men 
 and women of genius in England ; as she was, in 
 particular, perfectly au fait in regard to every 
 thing that concerned theatricals and play-writing 
 and play-going people ; as she had seen every 
 body and knew every body in Europe of whom we 
 hear, her conversation was remarkably amusing. 
 
 She was in correspondence while in this country, 
 as we know, with Miss Mitford and Miss Landon, 
 and, we believe, with Campbell, the poet, and 
 other names well known to fame. Having been 
 trained to the expectation of inheriting a great 
 fortune, and having views of conventional moi-als 
 and decorum not of the severer class, not re- 
 strained by religious considerations, and mixing 
 much with the gay and pleasure-seeking, she had 
 probably run through the. common and allowed 
 range of fashion, and exhausted the common forms 
 of pleasure and worn it all out to satiety ; though 
 we have every reason to believe that, while in 
 America, whatever liberty she may have taken 
 with the lesser morals, she was exemplary in her 
 observance of the higher duties ; she was amiable 
 in the highest degree in her relations with the 
 people about her in the suburbs of Cincinnati, 
 where she resided during the greater part of her 
 stay in America, and among whom she was ex- 
 tremely popular ; enacting among them Lady 
 Bountiful with a graciousness of distribution, and 
 nursing the sick, which every where gains favour. 
 Besides Hervieu, an accomplished French painter, 
 she was accompanied by her son and two daugh- 
 ters." 
 
 Mr. Flint goes on to state that Mrs. TroUope 
 came to America in the spring of 1829, to coope- 
 rate with Miss Fanny Wright, another British 
 eccentric, who, at Nashoba, Tennessee, was en- 
 gaged in her famous and failing experiment of 
 cultivating the Ethiopians. Mrs. TroUope was 
 soon disgusted. After spending two days at Na- 
 shoba, she fled from the negro settlement, came 
 to Cincinnati, Ohio, where she passed two winters 
 building her huge Turkish bazaar, which cost her 
 
 $24,000, on which, paying $12,000 and repudi- 
 ating the remainder, she departed for England. 
 But the disappointment of her hopes was not her 
 severest trial. Owing to her want of letters of 
 introduction and to her vulgar appearance, she was 
 never visited or invited into society while in Cin- 
 cinnati, never attended a party, nor was admitted 
 into but four families ; and those, though respect- 
 able, did not give parties. Such was her know- 
 ledge of America. 
 
 We have not named all her works. In 1849 
 she published " Young Love," a novel, which a 
 writer in the London Athenaeum thus reports: 
 " The masculine vigour and shrewdness developed 
 in Mrs. TroUope's earlier novels, won for them a 
 popularity which is fast waning from the sameness 
 of material and feebleness of plot exhibited in 
 each succeeding work. The announcement, how- 
 ever, of one bearing the above title, was likely 
 enough, after the politic fashion of Mr. Bayes, to 
 ' surprise ' the public into a purchase, although it 
 did not in the slightest degree whet our appetite ; 
 for we should be perplexed to name a writer less 
 likely to pourtray, in its truth and beauty, the 
 purity and poetry, ' to dally with the Innooenoe ' 
 of 'Young Love.' " 
 
 Her latest work, issued in 1850, was " Petticoat 
 Government;" a miserable attempt to be piquant 
 and witty on a subject that Caudle had completed. 
 
 TUTHILL, LOUISA C, 
 Was born and educated in New Haven, Connec- 
 ticut. She enjoyed the best advantages, both as 
 to schools and society, and in her girlhood began 
 to amuse herself with attempts at poems, plays, 
 and novels. But no one was ever allowed to scru- 
 tinize these juvenile efforts, and before her mar- 
 riage they were devoted to a general conflagration. 
 She was married in 1817, at a very early age, to 
 Cornelius Tuthill, Esq., a distinguished member 
 of the bar in New Haven, and fond of science and 
 literature. He encouraged his wife in her literary 
 tastes and pursuits, and surprised her by causing 
 one of her poems to be published without her 
 knowledge, which was her first appearance in 
 print. In 1825 Mrs. TuthiU was left a young 
 widow with four children, and to solace herself 
 under her heavy affliction she had recourse to her 
 pen. At this time she wrote "James Somers, the 
 Pilgrim's Son," published in 1827, and " Mary's 
 Visit to B.," in 1829. She continued to write 
 anonymously for periodical literature for some 
 time, and in 1848-9, published "The Young 
 Lady's Reader," and "Young Lady's Friend;" 
 the first works to which her name was attached. 
 In 1842 Mrs. TuthiU removed to the vicinity of 
 Boston, where she wrote " I will be a Gentleman," 
 and " I wiU be a Lady ;" books for the young, 
 which have been very successful. She continued 
 the series, and produced "Onward, Right On- 
 ward," "Anything for Sport," " The Boarding- 
 School Girl," "A Strike for Freedom," and "My 
 Wife," a story in one volume. Not long after, 
 having removed to Philadelphia, Mrs. TuthiU 
 pubUshed " The History of Architecture ;" a very 
 interesting work on an art but little understood, 
 
 808 
 
TU 
 
 and for the study of which the authoress had 
 enjoyed unusual facilities. Within the last three 
 years there have appeared from the same writer 
 " The Nursery Book for Young Mothers," and 
 three little works, " The Merchant," "The Law- 
 yer," and "The Mechanic;" part of a series en- 
 titled " Success in Life." 
 
 Mrs. Tuthill is a pleasant writer ; her cheerful 
 spirit and hopeful philosophy give an attractive 
 charm even to good advice; which, like medicine, 
 requires often to be sugared before it is willingly 
 taken. All her writings bear the stamp of an 
 earnest purpose to promote the best interests of 
 society ; she has read much, and uses her know- 
 ledge of books skilfully to illustrate her own 
 views. There is also a pure current of pious 
 feeling, flowing, as it were, from her warm heart, 
 that freshens old thoughts and keeps her literary 
 field bright with the flowers that never die. 
 
 From "The Young Lady's Home." 
 A daughtee's duty. 
 
 How few daughters are fully aware of the sacri- 
 fices made for them by their parents ! Your 
 father, year after year, has toiled, perhaps, for 
 that wealth which enables him to give you the 
 luxuries and elegances of life. Day and night has 
 his anxious mind been exercised for your welfare. 
 He has spared you from home and its duties and 
 given up the pleasure of your society and your 
 assistance to fit you for life. Or, if you have 
 -been so happy as to remain beneath the parental 
 roof, you have probably been so occupied with your 
 intellectual education as to have had little time to 
 •devote to him. Now that you have more leisure, 
 ■enquire how you shall contribute to your father's 
 ■comfort and enjoyment. Have you acquired ac- 
 complishments ? Consider it the highest gratifi- 
 -cation they can afford you to exercise them for 
 .his amusement. Let the voice which he has been 
 the means of cultivating yield its sweetest notes 
 for his pleasure ; let his praise be more welcome 
 to your ear than the applause of thousands. 
 
 BEHAVIOUK TO SEKVANTS. 
 
 Never ring for a servant unless it is absolutely 
 necessary ; consider whether you have a right to 
 make even your own waiting-maid take forty steps 
 to save yourself one. Nothing shows a person's 
 ill-breeding more plainly than a harsh, imperious 
 manner towards servants. Knowing how much 
 more agreeable it is to be requested than com- 
 manded, it would seem as if every one might say, 
 "Will you do this?" or even, " Please do that;" 
 and there would be no want of propriety in saying, 
 " Will you have the kindness to do it ?" Human 
 nature resents the imperative mood, but yields a 
 ready acquiescence to gentle entreaty. You must 
 not suppose that all servants are of course merely 
 mercenary ; they may serve with affection, and 
 possess a keen sensibility to kindness. An amiable 
 dignity of deportment, joined with considerateness, 
 *nd a hearty desire for their good, may secure 
 faithful, humble allies, whose interests are identi- 
 fied with your own. Avoiding that familiarity 
 which the old proverb says breeds "contempt," 
 
 TU 
 
 consider what is really due to the feelings and 
 character of a faithful domestic, and demonstrate 
 by your conduct that you have no contempt for 
 those whom Providence has placed in a subordi- 
 nate station, and that you recognise no vulgarity 
 but such as arises from a low and vicious character. 
 
 HOME HABITS. 
 
 A young lady who would be prepared for the 
 responsible situation of a wife and the respected 
 mistress of a household, has much to learn at her 
 mother's fireside. A cumbrous set of rules and 
 maxims hung about one, like the charms which 
 the gree-gree man sells to the poor African, 'will 
 not ward off the evils, nor furnish an antidote to 
 the trials, of life. It is by the habitual exercise 
 of those affections and those principles which 
 make her the light and life of her father's hearth 
 and hall, that a young lady becomes fitted for 
 another station. At home she is in the genial 
 school ordained by Providence for the nurture of 
 those "flowers of loveliness" which will beautify 
 another habitation. The habit of cheerful acqui- 
 escence to the will of others may be acquired by 
 submission to the will of parents ; self-denial, by 
 yielding to brothers and sisters ; consideration 
 for the welfare of dependants, by care not to 
 give unnecessary trouble to servants. A young 
 lady who is not an affectionate, docile daugh- 
 ter, a loving, kind sister, cannot make a good 
 wife. 
 
 **■»■** 
 
 The well-spring of the affections is in your own 
 hearts ; let it not be a sealed fountain ; let your 
 love cheer your father, mother, brothers, sisters, 
 friends, and your gentle, docile submission to law- 
 ful authority, prove that it has been well for you 
 " to bear the yoke in your youth." 
 
 Does society claim an exorbitant share of time ? 
 This sacrifice is often yielded as if demanded by 
 that "necessity that knows no law." The hours 
 spent in society are but a small proportion of the 
 time thus yielded ; previous preparation for these 
 hours makes a far more exorbitant demand. 
 Tasteful embroidery and fine needlework afford 
 pleasant occupation to young ladies ; but when 
 employed solely for the decoration of the person, 
 they may be treacherous monopolizers. One young 
 lady has been known to spend two months upon 
 the trimming to a ball-dress, and another a half- 
 year upon an embroidered satin dress. Patient, 
 persevering industry, which, applied to better 
 purposes than the gratification of vanity and sel- 
 fishness, would deserve high encomium ; and per- 
 haps, after all this pains-taking, society would have 
 been as well pleased without the trimming and 
 embroidery. 
 
 * * * * * , 
 
 Acknowledging that society has claims, and that 
 you are to maintain kind and friendly relations 
 with the circle to which you belong ; yet, neither 
 these claims, nor your love of display, nor your 
 fondness for amusement, should lead you to the 
 sacrifice of personal happiness and of principle. 
 
 804 
 
TU 
 
 TU 
 
 CONVERSATION. 
 
 The literature of the day, improvement in the 
 arts, discoveries in science, the important events 
 that are taking place in the ■world, the eSForts 
 being made for the diffusion of knowledge and 
 religion, — these, and a thousand other interesting 
 topics, men might talk about in the society of 
 ladies -without lowering their own minds or elevat- 
 ing beyond their capacity those of their auditors, 
 or rather colloquists; for it is assumed that here 
 they meet on terms of perfect equality. If it be 
 said that, by courtesy, it is left for the ladies to 
 take the lead, then they are to blame if they find 
 no higher themes for entertainment than fashions, 
 beauty, dress, manners, flattery, and scandal. 
 Making large allowance for their fondness for 
 these topics, candour must allow that modesty, in 
 many instances, and the fear of ridicule in others, 
 deter them from bringing forward other less tri- 
 fling subjects in which they are deeply interested. 
 Cicero says of silence, — "There is not only an 
 art, but an eloquence in it ;" let, then, your silence 
 be eloquent whenever frivolous or unsuitable sub- 
 jects are introduced ; it is often the only delicate 
 way in which you can manifest disamrobation. 
 
 CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 Woman owes her present elevation of character 
 and condition to Christianity; in all countries 
 where its benign, holy influence is unfelt, she is 
 still an unintellectual, a degraded being ; and just 
 in proportion to its purity and its power over a 
 people is her domestic happiness. 
 
 INDEPENDENCE. 
 
 You cannot fulfil the duties that devolve upon 
 you in relation to others without some independ- 
 ence. You cannot live without exerting influence ; 
 perhaps many look to you for example ; if your 
 course is uncertain as that of the fluttering insect, 
 governed by the impulse of the moment, you can 
 hardly fail to mislead. Generous impulses, noble 
 impulses, are often lauded ; but so long as the 
 human heart is sinful, you may not trust implicitly 
 to its impulses; they may be right, but it is 
 mournfully certain that they may be wrong. 
 
 PRINCIPLES. 
 
 The Bible contains two grand, ultimate princi- 
 ples : namely, holiness produces happiness ; sin, 
 misery. All the commands of God are founded 
 upon this immutable truth ; the precepts of the 
 gospel flow from the same source. " Thou shalt 
 love the Lord with all thy heart, and thy neigh- 
 bour as thyself." " Do unto others as you would 
 that others should do unto you." 
 
 CONSISTENCT. 
 
 Consistency of character is the very keystone 
 of the arch ; giving completeness and strength to 
 all the virtues. 
 
 In order to be consistent in the right way, you 
 must have a just sense of the importance of the 
 objects at which you aim. A consistent lawyer is 
 one who applies all his learning, his zeal, and his 
 eloquence, to gain a bad cause as well as a good 
 
 one. A consistent fine lady is one whose parties 
 are the most splendid, whose dresses are made by 
 the most fashionable modist, whose bonnets are 
 the perfection of elegance, whose manners are as 
 regulated as her watch, to suit all times and occa- 
 sions, and who pays her bills or not, just as suits 
 her convenience. A consistent politician goes all 
 lengths with party, right or wrong, even though 
 the measures of his party tend to the destruction 
 of his country. In these cases unity of purpose 
 produces consistency. It therefore becomes of the 
 utmost consequence to ascertain what is your aim. 
 The question here is, not what you know, or what 
 you are ; but what you intend to be. The passion- 
 ate lover of science climbs the fearful precipice, 
 and perils life itself for a single little flower be- 
 longing to a genus that is wanting in his herba- 
 rium. What efforts should be deemed too great 
 to attain each flower of beauty that adorns the 
 garland of woman's worth ? 
 
 CHEERFITLNESS. 
 
 It is the peculiar duty of woman to maintain a 
 cheerful heart. Protected from the trials and 
 cares to which the other sex are exposed, to her 
 they turn for comfort and consolation. And nobly 
 does she afford it in the time of darkness and 
 affliction; but too often, in apparent prosperity, 
 instead of cheering those who are annoyed with 
 a thousand nameless vexations, she adds to their 
 perplexities and cares. How lovely does she ap- 
 pear to whom all in the domestic circle turn for 
 sympathy in their joy, and who, with winning 
 kindness, beguiles them from their sorrow. The 
 little one, tottering on the floor, clears his discon- 
 tented face and breaks into a merry laugh as he 
 catches the reflection of her sweet smile. The 
 poor, too, pray that God may bless her whose pre- 
 sence is ever to them such a rich blessing. Cherish, 
 then, in the spring-time of life, that cheerfulness 
 which is the " bloom and effluence " of Christian- 
 ity, and its fragrance shall be shed around your 
 declining years, and linger, when the spirit is fled, 
 in a sweet smile over the face that even in death 
 it can make lovely. 
 
 SELF-GOVEENMENT. 
 
 Self-government is, of course, a much more 
 difficult task for the irritable, the passionate, the 
 sanguine, than for the naturally amiable. The 
 disposition which a happy few possess resembles 
 the climate of some sweet island of the Pacific 
 Ocean, where no violent storms ever agitate the 
 mild and uniform temperature ; while others are 
 like our own Indies, where the hurricane and tor- 
 nado are frequent visitants. If you possess an 
 equable flow of animal spirits it is impossible for 
 you to conceive of the difficulty of restraining 
 and controlling an impetuous, impulsive tempera- 
 ment. The Apostles St. John and St. Paul exem- 
 plified this natural difference in temperament. 
 The beloved disciple possessed an angelic sweet- 
 ness of disposition, a kindliness, and a beautiful 
 equanimity, which rendered him the soothing,, 
 gentle friend, upon whose bosom the Saviour could 
 lean at the social board. 
 
 805 
 
VI 
 
 VICTORIA I. 
 
 Eeiqnino Queen of Great Britain and Ireland, 
 was born at Kensington Palace, May 24tli, 1819. 
 Her father was Edward Duke of Kent, fourth son 
 of George III., and her mother* was Victoria 
 Maria Louisa, daughter of the Duke of Saxe- 
 Coburg. Left a widow when her delicate infant 
 was but eight months old, the Duchess of Kent 
 devoted herself to the great purpose of training 
 her daughter to be worthy of the crown which it 
 seemed probable she might wear. Queen Victoria 
 is, therefore, the exponent of female nature rightly 
 cultivated for the highest station a mortal can 
 inherit by birth. The means by which this in- 
 struction was perfected and the results to human- 
 ity, are studies for the statesman, philosopher, and 
 Christian. 
 
 ,'j«'r&-5. 
 
 In our brief sketch we shall only allude to some 
 of the seemingly small circumstances, yet really 
 great events, because influencing a mind which 
 was to have a vast influence on other minds. 
 
 The ordering and training of Queen Victoria 
 was entirely the work of her wise-hearted mother, 
 and chiefly accomplished by female agencies. 
 That her education was of the highest and most 
 perfect order for her station, there are ample 
 proofs ; it has given to the greatest monarchy in 
 the world the best sovereign the world contains ; 
 the best of her own royal line ; the best, morally 
 speaking, that ever sat on England's throne. More 
 than this, Victoria was trained to perform all her 
 duties ; she is an accomplished lady, as perfect in 
 her feminine as in her queenly character ; a duti- 
 ful daughter, a loving wife, a watchful mother, a 
 kind mistress, a generous benefactor, an exem- 
 plary Christian ; there are no startling contrasts 
 nor weak inconsistencies in her conduct. Such 
 uniform adherence to the right and proper under 
 circumstances where selfish propensities are so 
 often stimulated and so easily gratified, must be 
 
 » See Sketch of the Duchess of Kent, page 716. 
 
 VI 
 
 the result of the conscientious principle early and 
 unceasingly cultivated. In this lies the germ of 
 all moral goodness and the elements of all true 
 greatness. From Conscientiousness enlightened by 
 the Divine precepts are educed the virtues of obe- 
 dience, temperance, truth, justice, mercy, pru- 
 dence, fidelity, benevolence, and self-control ; while 
 the sweet feelings of love, hope, and faith, whose 
 union and exaltation form the crowning grace of 
 piety, owe their best and holiest charm to the same 
 principle of right. Let us see how the teachings 
 of the mother could thus lead her child in the way 
 of righteousness whose end is always happiness, 
 either in this world or in the better one to come. 
 
 Before the birth of this precious child, the 
 Duchess of Kent had shown, in the previous cir- 
 cumstances of her life, and particularly in the- 
 personal sacrifices and risks she endured when, 
 leaving her own home in Germany, she hastened 
 to England so that her ofi'spring might be British 
 born, her deep devotion to duty, and that innate 
 wisdom which has guided her through every task 
 and trial. Perhaps nothing at the time more 
 strikingly marked the moral delicacy of the woman 
 and the decision of character so necessary to sus- 
 tain it, than the resolution she evinced to trust 
 herself to the care of the midwife whom she had 
 summoned from Germany to attend her. 
 
 In spite of the remonstrances of those who 
 fancied scientific knowledge was confined to mas- 
 culine practitioners, the Duchess of Kent was firm 
 in her purpose to employ only Dr. Charlotte,* as 
 she was called ; and thus, under a woman's care 
 and skill, Victoria was ushered into the world. 
 The Duchess of Kent nursed her infant at her own 
 bosom, always attended on the bathing and dress- 
 ing, and, as soon as the little girl could sit alone, 
 she was placed at a small table beside her mother's 
 at her meals, yet never indulged in any but the 
 prescribed simple kinds of food. Thus were the 
 sentimennta of obedience, temperance, and self-con- 
 trol early inculcated and brought into daily exer- 
 cise. 
 
 The Duke of Kent died in debt for money bor- 
 rowed of his friends. The Duchess instructed the 
 little Princess concerning these debts, and encou- 
 raged her to lay aside portions of money, which 
 might have been expended in the purchase of toys, 
 as a fund to pay these demands against her de- 
 ceased father. Thus were awakened and culti- 
 vated those noble virtues, justice, fortitude, fidelity, 
 prudence, with that filial devotion which is the 
 germ of patriotism. And thus, throughout all the 
 arrangements during the first seven years, the 
 
 * This femate physician was a regular graduate from a 
 medical college in Germany, where such midwives only, or. 
 chiefly, are employed by women of all ranks. "The Duch- 
 ess of Kent adhered to the modest and praiseworthy cus- 
 tom uf the old Teutonic nations, and confided herself to 
 Dr. Charlotte," 'says an English writer. Would that this 
 " modest and praiseworthy custom " might he prepared for and 
 followed every where. Female physicians should be edu- 
 cated to take charge of their own sex and of children ; then 
 the public health would really improve, because the founders 
 of those habits which ensure health would become enlight- 
 ened. The employment of men as midwives is unscriptiiral 
 and unnatural ; an insult to the female mind and an outrage 
 on female delicacy. 
 
 806 
 
VI 
 
 VI 
 
 order, the simplicity, the conscientiousness of the 
 teacher, were moulding the ductile and impress- 
 able mind and heart of the pupil to follow after 
 wisdom and do the right. Love, in her mother's 
 form, was ever around the little Princess ; the 
 counsels and examples of that faithful Mentor, 
 like an inspiration, served to lift up the young 
 Boul to have hope in God and faith in the Lord 
 Jesus Christ. 
 
 Well was it that the Duke of Kent left his wife 
 sole guardian over their child. The Duchess 
 could arrange the whole manner of Victoria's 
 education and superintend it. She did do this. 
 From the day of her husband's death till Victoria 
 was proclaimed Queen, the Duchess of Kent never 
 separated herself from her daughter. They slept 
 in the same apartment ; the first lessons were given 
 by maternal lips, and when careful teachers were 
 employed, still the mother was ever present, shar- 
 ing the amusements and encouraging the exer- 
 cises and innocent gaiety of the child. Thus was 
 Victoria trained. Her intellectual education was 
 as thorough as her physical and moral. From her 
 cradle she was taught to speak three languages — 
 English, German, and French. In her fifth year 
 her mother chose as preceptor for the Princess the 
 Rev. George Davys ; now, through the gratitude 
 of his pupil. Bishop of Peterborough. In the 
 cooperation afforded by this gentleman with the 
 wise plans of the Duchess for her daughter's 
 instruction, he evinced great excellence of moral 
 character, and his faithfulness was well rewarded. 
 The Duchess confided in him fully. When the 
 Princess became heir presumptive to the throne, 
 and it was intimated to her mother that some dis- 
 tinguished prelate should be appointed instructor, 
 and Earl Grey named the Bishop of Lincoln, then 
 was the conscientious and truly noble mind of tl^e 
 Duchess displayed. She expressed her perfect 
 approval of Dr. Davys as her daughter's tutor, 
 declined any change, but hinted that if a dignified 
 clergyman were indispensable to fill this important 
 office, there would be no objection if Dr. Davys 
 received the preferment he had always well mer- 
 ited. He was soon afterwards made Dean of 
 Chester. Such traits deserve notice, because il- 
 lustrative of the good influences which surrounded 
 the young Princess, and also because they ex- 
 hibit the constancy of woman's esteem when 
 gained by worthy conduct. 
 
 Besides her preceptor, Victoria had an excellent 
 instructress, the Baroness Lehzen, whose services 
 were likewise retained through the whole term of 
 her education ; and the long harmony so happily 
 maintained between the mother and her auxilia- 
 ries in this important work of preparing a sove- 
 reign to be worthy of a throne, is an example 
 worth consideration by those who would seek the 
 best models for private education. 
 
 It has been stated repeatedly and never contra- 
 dicted, that the Princess Victoria was not aware 
 of her claims on the succession until a little before 
 the death of her uncle, George IV. The Duchess 
 had thus carefully guarded her child from the per- 
 nicious flattery of inferiors, and kept her young 
 heart free from hopes or wishes which the future 
 
 might have disappointed. When the accession of 
 King William placed her next the throne, she had 
 completed her eleventh year, "and evinced abili- 
 ties and possessed accomplishments very rare for 
 that tender age in any rank of life;" says an 
 English author. " She spoke French and German 
 with fluency, and was acquainted with Italian ; 
 she had made some progress in Latin, being able 
 to read Virgil and Horace with ease ; she had 
 commenced Greek and studied Mathematics, and 
 ■ evinced peculiar aptness for that science of reality ; 
 indeed, in all the sciences connected with numbers 
 the royal pupil showed great skill and powers of 
 reason." She had also made good proficiency in 
 music and drawing ; in both of which arts she 
 afterwards became quite accomplished. Thus 
 happily engaged in acquiring knowledge of every 
 kind necessary for her royal station, among which 
 the knowledge of the people was not neglected, 
 nor the arts, sciences, and employments which 
 most conduce to the prosperity and advancement 
 of a nation, this young Princess passed the inter- 
 vening years till her majority, May 24th, 1837. 
 The day was kept as a general holiday throughout 
 the kingdom. The city of London voted ad- 
 dresses of congratulation to the Princess Victoria 
 and Duchess of Kent' on that occasion, which we 
 notice in order to give a few sentiments from the 
 reply of the Duchess ; she said : " The Princess 
 has arrived at that age which now justifies me in 
 expressing my confident expectation that she will 
 be found competent to execute the sacred trust 
 which may be reposed in her ; for, communicating 
 as she does with all classes of society, she cannot 
 but perceive that the greater the diffusion of reli- 
 gious knowledge and the love of freedom in a 
 country, the more orderly, industrious, and wealthy 
 is its population; and that, with the desire to 
 preserve the constitutional prerogatives of the 
 crown, ought to be coordinate with the protection 
 of the liberties of the people." 
 
 In four weeks from that day the sudden death 
 of William IV. gave the sovereignty of the British 
 empire to this young maiden of eighteen. Beau- 
 tifully has she fulfilled the expectations of her 
 mother and the hopes of the nation. The manner 
 in which the Duchess relinquished her power over 
 her daughter was a fitting sequel to the faithful- 
 ness with which she had exercised it. The great 
 officers of state and privy counsellors, a hundred 
 or more of the noblest in the land, assembled on 
 the morning of June 20th, at Kensington Palace. 
 They were ushered into the grand saloon. Soon 
 Victoria appeared, accompanied by her mother 
 and the officers of her household. After the 
 Duchess had seen her royal daughter enthroned 
 on a seat of state prepared for the occasion, she 
 withdrew and left the young Queen with her coun- 
 cil. From that hour the Duchess treated her 
 august daughter with the respectful observance 
 her station, according to court etiquette, demands. 
 No more advice, no farther instructions, not even 
 suggestions, were ever offered. Doubtless, if the 
 Queen seeks her mother's counsel in private it is 
 always given in love and truth ; but the good seed 
 had been sown at the right time; it put forth, by the 
 
 807 
 
VI 
 
 VI 
 
 blessing of God, spontaneously. The soul, like 
 the soil, must bear its own harTest. 
 
 On the 17th of July, 1837, the young Queen 
 made her first public appearance as sovereign over 
 h6r realm ; she prorogued Parliament in person ; 
 never was the act done more royally. 
 
 On the 28th of June, 1838, she was crowned in 
 Westminster Abbey. Never were the long and 
 tedious ceremonies more gracefully endured. From 
 that time onward there has been no diminution in 
 her zeal ; every duty devolving on her, every form 
 prescribed, every custom held important in the old 
 and cumbrous British government, Victoria I. has 
 performed, observed, and cherished. She has 
 Iseen the model of female royalty. But this is a 
 trifling matter, compared with the salutary influ- 
 ence her high principles, refined taste, and grace- 
 ful propriety of manners have wielded over those 
 who give the tone to fashionable society in Eng- 
 land. Vice and folly retire abashed from her 
 presence. 
 
 Great Britain is governed by laws, but the ruler 
 is not amenable to these laws. Hence the import- 
 ance that the sovereign should show obedience to 
 the laws of God, from which the morality of all 
 Christian codes is educed. With wickedness on 
 the throne, pollution in the palace, infidelity at 
 the head of the church, how can the nation increase 
 in piety, virtue, and goodness ? The great bless- 
 ing of a female reign * is in its purity of court- 
 morals and its decorum of manners. These 
 strengthen the religious elements of human nature 
 and give soul the supremacy over sense. 
 
 This example of strict virtue on the British 
 throne was imperatively needed ; hence the great 
 blessing conferred by the reign of Victoria, who 
 is, in her private life, a model for her people. She 
 was married on the 10th of February, 1840, to 
 her cousin. Prince Albert, of Saxe-Coburg, who 
 had been, for a time, her associate in childhood, 
 and whose development of character and talents 
 has fully justified the wisdom of her choice and 
 the worth of her influence. The union was one 
 of mutual affection, and has been remarkably ' 
 happy and fortunate. The royal pair have already 
 seven children — ^ Victoria Adelaide, Princess Royal, 
 born Nov. 21, 1840; Albert Edward, Prince of 
 Wales, bori^Nov. 9, 1841 ; Alice Maud Mary, born 
 April 2-5, 1843; Alfred Ernest, born August 6, 
 1844; Helena Augusta, born May 5, 1846 ; Louisa 
 Caroline, born March 5, 1848; Arthur Patrick, 
 born Jlay 1, 18.50. All these children are care- 
 
 * Q.iiGen8 have excelled kings in the administration of 
 civil government not from superior powers of reason, but 
 from a clearer moral sense. Isabella I. was the greatest and 
 noblest ruler who has governed Spain, because she faithfully 
 sought to do right. Theresa Maria, with a very limited 
 education, was the wisest and best ruler who has held sway 
 over the Germanic Empire, because she laboured for the 
 good of those she governed; not for her own sensual indulg- 
 ences. Elizabeth was the most able ruler of men and the 
 most watchful for the welfare of her subjects who has ever 
 filled the British throne, because she governed as the mother, 
 not as the oppressor, of her people ; holding the power for 
 good or evil which the sovereign does not now possess. 
 Compare the glories and prosperity of her reign with that 
 which preceded and that which followed. No wonder the 
 British people rejoice when the sceptre passes into the hands , 
 of a woman' ^ I 
 
 fully trained under the supervision of their royal 
 parents, and the family of the Queen is one of 
 the best governed and guided in England. 
 
 We might record royal journeys by sea and land 
 more extensive than any made since the Revolu- 
 tion ; these are only of importance to our purpose 
 as showing the activity of Victoria's mind and the 
 wise economy with which all her private affairs 
 are managed. She finds time for all she wishes 
 to do, and the means from her allowed income. 
 She is never in debt. She is liberal in her chari- 
 ties, and, from her private purse, has pensioned 
 many deserving persons, including a number 
 of the literary ladies of England. Compare Vic- 
 toria's character and conduct since she came to 
 the throne with the best sovereign of her royal 
 line. The Georges I. and II. were hardly above 
 the brutes ; we would not bring this excellent 
 Queen into comparison with such men. Nor with 
 George IV. , the profligate sensualist, who disgraced 
 the title of "gentleman;" nor with William IV., 
 of whom, on his accession, John Foster pithily 
 remarks, "It is to be hoped he is better than the 
 last, and there could not well be cheaper praise." 
 
 But we will take him who has been vaunted as 
 the good king, George III. He was narrow-minded, 
 cruel, and selfish. It is notorious that he delight- 
 ed in signing death-warrants, and never would 
 grant a pardon to the condeinned unless driven by 
 the greatest importunities. Victoria pardons even 
 against the remonstrances of her advisers ; and so 
 painful to her is the signature of her name to the 
 death-penalty that she has been relieved from the 
 duty, though the delight of the pardoning power 
 she holds firmly. Of the manner in which their 
 respective sentiments of honour and honesty con- 
 trast, the following, from the pen of an English 
 gentleman, will testify. " Frederick, Prince of 
 Wales, father of George III., died considerably in 
 debt, of which his son, rich as he was, never paid 
 a single farthing. So much for George III. as a 
 son ; let us look at him as a Fathek. No sooner 
 was George, Prince of Wales, (afterwards George 
 IV.) born, than his father laid hands on the Duchy 
 of Cornwall and all other property to which the 
 son was entitled, appropriated the rents and pro- 
 fits thereof to his own use, and never accounted to 
 the latter for any part of them whatever, (as he 
 was bound to do on the son's coming of age,) but 
 sent the son to Parliament for the payment of his 
 debts ! 
 
 How different the conduct of Victoria ! 
 
 With an income of not much more than half the 
 amount of that possessed by her grandfather, 
 George III., her almost first aot on coming to the 
 throne, was to pay her father's (the Duke of 
 Kent's) debts out of her own privy purse ; and on 
 the birth of her son, (the Prince of Wales,) she 
 had his Duchy and other property put into the 
 hands of responsible commissioners to be protected 
 and made the most of for him till he was of age." 
 
 It is impossible to study carefully the manifes- 
 tations of character in the sexes, without seeing 
 on every side proofs of the superior moral endow- 
 ments of the female. Woman is the conservator 
 of truth and purity; the first teacher and beat 
 
 808 
 
WE 
 
 WE 
 
 exemplar of the Christian -virtues. When God, 
 by -whom "kings reign," exalts a woman to the 
 government of a great kingdom, we are led to 
 believe it is for the purpose of promoting the best 
 interests of virtue, religion, and social happiness. 
 There was never a time when moral power might 
 be so eflfectually and gloriously employed as at the 
 present. The empire of physical force is crumb- 
 ling into ruins. It is fitting that the reign of 
 feeling and intellect, of industry and peace, should 
 be ushered in by a woman. 
 
 The last great pageant in which Queen Victoria 
 has performed her part so admirably, was the 
 opening of the " World's Fair," at the Crystal 
 Palace, Loudon; May the 1st, 1851. Leaning on 
 the arm of her beloved and revered husband, 
 Prince Albert, who had originated this wonderful 
 and most successful enterprise of bringing toge- 
 ther into London the world's work and wealth, the 
 Queen, leading their princely son while the hus- 
 band led their royal daughter, appeared before 
 the vast assemblage of men from all nations as one 
 who had the " monarch power," yet sweetly modi- 
 fied by the character of wife and mother. She 
 came to give publicly her sympathy and her ap- 
 proval to a great movement whose influence on the 
 happiness of the world, will, probably, be more 
 important than any which has taken place since 
 the Reformation. The opening of the great Indus- 
 trial Exhibition was an act worthy of a Queen ; 
 worthy of Victoria I. 
 
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 WEBER, HELENE MARIE, 
 
 Is the only child of Major Frederick Weber, a 
 native of Berlin, and at one time an officer of note 
 in the Prussian service. Mrs. Weber, who is yet 
 living, was an Englishwoman of great beauty and 
 fortune, daughter of a Liverpool merchant named 
 Hastings. They were married in Paris in 1824, and 
 
 Helene was bom in that city in 1825. Major Weber 
 died the next year. After his death, Mrs. Weber 
 went with her child to England ; where she resided 
 until 1837, when she removed to Brussels to facili- 
 tate Helene's education; and in 1843 she gave 
 Helene an opportunity of acquiring a thorough 
 knowledge of German by a residence in Leipzic. 
 Miss Weber is not only thoroughly educated in all 
 the usual branches studied by women, but is a pro- 
 ficient in several of the more abstruse sciences ; 
 such as chemistry, geology, mineralogy, mathe- 
 matics, political economy, &c. A celebrated French 
 critic, opposed to the course in which she is en- 
 gaged, acknowledges that " Miss Weber possesses 
 the highest order of intellect, and a thorough know- 
 ledge of social and political economy." 
 
 It was while she was living in Leipzic that she 
 began to take an interest in the cause of woman's 
 rights ; and her earliest papers on the subject 
 were published in a periodical of that city. They 
 excited a great deal of notice at the time. Their 
 success induced her to undertake a series of tracts 
 covering the whole ground of " Woman's Rights 
 and Wrongs." The first of these was published 
 at Leipzic in 1844, and during the next year it was 
 succeeded by nine others ; each bearing a second 
 title and confined to one subject. The following 
 synopsis of this series may be acceptable. 
 
 1. " Intellectual Faculties " argues that women 
 are intellectually equal to men. Man is superior 
 in profundity of mind — woman in quick percep- 
 tions and brilliant fancies. Uneducated women 
 are more apt and intelligent than uneducated men. 
 Girls are trained too delicately to allow the mind 
 to expand. 
 
 2. "Rights of Property." The property of a 
 woman should not faU to her husband by mar- 
 riage. She ought to hold it independent of him, 
 but it ought to be liable for debts contracted by 
 her, even in her husband's name, and for actual 
 family expenses, under a judicious discrimination 
 of items. The husband not to be held for debts 
 contracted by the wife, except family expenses, as 
 named previously. 
 
 3. "Wedlock." The wife not to lose her civil 
 existence by marrying. Actions in law against the 
 wife to be prosecuted against her irrespective of 
 the husband, and the latter not to be held for any 
 pecuniary penalty imposed on her. Marriages 
 ought not to be hastily contracted, and divorces 
 seldom or never granted. 
 
 4. " Politics." Women ought to enjoy an equal 
 right with men to political stations, being capable 
 to an equal degree. 
 
 5. "Ecclesiastics." Women are capable of being 
 efficient ministers of the gospel. It is a calling 
 for which they are eminently suited — even better 
 than men. 
 
 6. "Rights of Suffrage." Woman ought to 
 vote at all the ballotings : she ought not only to 
 have the right, but should ever exercise it. 
 
 7. "Dress." Distinction in the dress of the 
 sexes ought to be abolished, and each person to 
 dress as he or she prefers. She advises male attire 
 for single women, and for married women on some 
 occasions. She proves the propriety of this dress 
 
 809 
 
WE 
 
 WE 
 
 by ingenious arguments, and maintains tliat it 
 does not conflict with the Mosaic law. 
 
 8. " Vocation." Agriculture is the moat suitable 
 employment for women of adequate means. It is 
 noble, respectable, and replete with pleasure. 
 Attending shops and indoor mechanical pursuits 
 are fit vocations for the sex. Industry is one of 
 the first virtues ; every woman should produce by 
 honest labour at least as much as she consumes. 
 
 9_ " Ultraism." Fanatical reformers do great 
 harm to the cause. Over-zeal is worse to a cause 
 than downright opposition. Hitherto there have 
 been too many lines of distinction between the two 
 sexes. Many of these have been eradicated ; some 
 still remain, because they are natural lines, such 
 as man cannot interfere with ; and all attempts to 
 break down all the lines of distinction are futile 
 and fraught with evil to the cause. All organized 
 bodies are detrimental to the advancement of 
 woman's rights. Under the shelter of an aggregate 
 mass, opinions are promulgated which mere indi- 
 viduals would not avow. The work of reform 
 must advance without hot-bed aid. 
 
 10. '5 Prudery." The timidity and squeamish- 
 ness of many women keep the work back. This 
 is better than ultraism, but is yet a serious evil. 
 The duty of woman is pointed out — to secure her 
 rights and to retain what she gains. 
 
 These brief outlines will give you an idea of the 
 character of the tracts. Miss Weber is not ultra 
 herself, except in regard to dress. The essays are 
 written with singular vigour, interspersed with 
 wit and humour. They have been widely circu- 
 lated, and have done more good, perhaps, than the 
 efforts of all the female reformers united. Her 
 reasoning is close and perspicuous, and rarely fails 
 to convince. These books are in pamphlet form 
 of from ninety-six to one hundred and forty-four 
 pages each. They were issued without the writer's 
 name — not even an initial. The name was disco- 
 vered, however, before the fifth number appeared, 
 and Miss Weber became famous. The learned and 
 the noble sought her acquaintance. This was the 
 period at which she assumed male attire ; being 
 then nineteen years old. 
 
 In the spring of 1845 Miss Weber came in pos- 
 session of a handsome legacy, left her by an aunt 
 in Berlin. She then bought the farm on which 
 she now lives, fifteen miles from Brussels, called 
 by her " La Pelouse." It was in wretched condi- 
 tion, but she went energetically to work and soon 
 put it in order ; built a new house, repaired the 
 stables and outhouses, laid out gardens and orna- 
 mented grounds, and gave the whole place an 
 appearance of thrift and prosperity. Besides an 
 object of occupation and interest, she has made 
 her farm a source of profit. She oversees and 
 directs every thing in person, keeps farm-books, 
 and conducts her operations with system. Her 
 family, besides herself, consists of her mother, 
 two young girls, (her cousins,) and three servants. 
 The working people live in cottages on the farm. 
 
 Miss Weber has a fine, but rather masculine 
 form. She is tall and well-proportioned, and in 
 male attire, her favourite dress, she appears like 
 an elegant young gentleman. Her hair is cut 
 
 short ; she generally wears a black dress-coat and 
 pantaloons ; sometimes a stylish blue dress-coat 
 with superb plain gilt buttons and drab tights. 
 She always wears a buff cassimere vest, trimmed 
 with plain but highly polished gold buttons, and 
 she uses very little jewelry. Her face is womanly 
 and beautiful ; her manners are ladylike and easy, 
 and no one would suppose that she was conscious 
 of appearing in a dress differing from most of her 
 sex. Her conversation is full of vigour, animation, 
 and sincerity, enlivened by a natural turn for wit 
 and humour, but marked by the most refined 
 womanly delicacy, and a true feminine considera- 
 tion for the feelings of others. She numbers 
 among her friends the great and good of both 
 sexes. 
 
 Miss Weber is a pious and consistent church- 
 woman. All her books breathe a true Christian 
 spirit. In 1844 she published in Leipzic a smaU 
 volume of religious poems, descriptive of the finest 
 passages of Scripture. This volume was well 
 received, and gained for her the favour and per- 
 sonal friendship of the religious community. Be- 
 sides these, she has written extensively in prose 
 and verse for periodicals, and has delivered lec- 
 tures in several of the larger German cities, as 
 Berlin, Vienna, &c., before societies organized on 
 her own principles, to further the cause of reform ; 
 yet, as has been observed before, except in the 
 matter of dress, she is remarkably free from those 
 , ultra notions which prevail so extensively in 
 France. At present. Miss Weber is engaged in 
 preparing a book on "Agriculture as an Employ- 
 ment for Women." 
 
 We have given the foregoing sketch as commu- 
 nicated by a lady who visited and admired Miss 
 Weber ; nor do we doubt her claims to admiration. 
 I She has' a good degree of pr^ldenoe imited with 
 talents of a brilliant order ; but we do question 
 the utility of her theories and the truth of her 
 reasoning. That she seems to adhere to the Chris- 
 tian religion and expresses her belief in the Bible, 
 makes what is repugnant to the spirit of its holy 
 doctrines more mischievous than would be her 
 avowed infidelity. Therefore we cannot send forth 
 the record of her opinions and doings without a 
 few words of warning to our young countrywomen. 
 
 One of Miss Weber's strongest arguments in 
 favour of male costume is, that nature has made 
 sufficient differences in the personal appearance 
 of the sexes; therefore they should dress alike. 
 But is this true philosophy ? If nature has made 
 differences, ought not art to follow the intimation 
 of nature or Providence, and make the mode of 
 dress appropriate to these differences ? 
 
 But more fallacious are her ideas respecting 
 employments. If women devote themselves to 
 agriculture, who shall manage the household and 
 train the children ? Miss Weber has inherited a 
 fortune. She does not labour with her hands, nor 
 does she employ female labourers to any extent. 
 If women earn their own support, men will have 
 more time and money to spend on their own selfish 
 gratifications. It is the necessity of doing what 
 the Apostle commands every Christian man to do 
 ^" provide for his own household "■ — which keeps 
 
 810 
 
WE 
 
 many from sin and ruin. This doctrine, wliicli is 
 inciting women to compete -with men in industrial 
 arts and become independent of the care and pro- 
 tection of the stronger sex, is most dangerous in 
 its influence, and would, if it were acted out, 
 (which it will never be,) destroy all hope of Chris- 
 tian progress. 
 
 WELBY, AMELIA B, 
 
 Whose maiden name was Coppucb, was bom in 
 St. Michael's, Maryland, in 1821. About 1835, 
 her father removed to Louisville, Kentucky, where, 
 three years afterwards, she wag married to Mr. 
 George B. Welby, a merchant of that city. Mrs. 
 Welby began to wriie at a very early age, and, 
 when scarcely more than a girl, her poems, which 
 were published under the nom deplume of Amelia, 
 in the Louisville Journal, had gained for her no 
 small degree of fame, as one of the most promising 
 of our numerous band of young writers. Without 
 displaying any marked or peculiar traits of genius, 
 her writings possess a finish and graceful ease; 
 they show true and warm womanly feelings, a 
 refined delicacy, and an eye to perceive, together 
 with a mind that can appreciate the lovely and 
 beautiful in spirit, as well as in nature. They are 
 evidently not mere imitations of some favourite 
 writer, but have a character and style of their 
 own, which has probably contributed much to 
 their popularity. In 1844, a collection of her 
 poems was published in Boston, which met with 
 unusual success for that class of writings, going 
 through no less than four large editions in four 
 years. In 1850, a larger collection of her writings 
 was published by the Appletons of New York, in 
 a volume beautifully illustrated. 
 
 From •* Poems." 
 
 MY SISTERS. 
 
 Like flowers that softly bloom together, 
 
 Upon one fair and fragile stem, 
 Mingling their sweets in sunny weather 
 
 Ere strange, rude hand^ have parted them, 
 
 WE 
 
 So were we linked unto each other, 
 
 Sweet sisters, in our childish hours, 
 For then one fond and gentle mother 
 
 To us was like the stem to flowers; 
 She was the golden thread that bound us 
 
 In one bright chain together here, 
 Till Death unloosed the cord around us, 
 
 And we were severed far and near. 
 
 The floweret's stem, when broke or shattered, 
 
 Must cast its blossoms to the wind, 
 Yet, round the buds, though widely scattered, 
 
 The same soft perfume still we find ; 
 And thug, although the tie is broken 
 
 That linked us round our mother's knee, 
 The memory of words we 've spoken, 
 
 When we were children light and free, 
 Will, like the perfume of each blossom, 
 
 Live in our hearts where'er we roam, 
 As when we slept on one fond bosom, 
 
 And dwelt within one happy home. 
 
 I know that changes have come o'er us ; 
 
 Sweet sisters! we are not the same, 
 For different paths now lie before us, 
 
 And all three have a different name; 
 And yet, if Sorrow's dimming fingers 
 
 Have shadowed o'er each youthful brow, 
 So much of light around them lingers 
 
 I can not trace those shadows now. 
 ye both have ti^ose who love ye only, 
 
 Whose dearest hopes are round you thrown, 
 While, like a stream that wanders lonely, 
 
 Am 1, the youngest, wildest one. 
 
 My heart is like the wind, that beareth 
 
 Sweet scents upon its unseen wing — 
 The wind! that for no creature careth, 
 
 Vet stealeth sweets from everything; 
 It hath rich thoughts for ever leaping 
 
 Up, like the waves of flashing seas. 
 That with their music still are keeping 
 
 Soft time with every fitful breeze; 
 Each leaf tliat in the bright air quivers, 
 
 The sounds from hidden solitudes, 
 And the deep flow of far-off rivers. 
 
 And the loud rush of many floods: 
 
 All these, and more, stir in my bosom 
 
 Feelings that make my spirit glad, 
 Like dewdrops shaken in a blossom; 
 
 And yet ther*" 's a something sad 
 Mixed with those moughts, like clouds, that hover 
 
 Above us in the quiet air, 
 Veiling the moon's pale beauty over 
 
 Like a dark spirit brooding there. 
 But, sisters ! those wild thoughts were never 
 
 Yours: ye would not love, like me. 
 To gaze upon the stars for ever, 
 
 To hear the wind's wild melody. 
 
 Ye 'd rather look on smiling faces. 
 
 And linger round a cheerful hearth. 
 Than mark the stars' bright hiding-places 
 
 As they peep out upon the earth. 
 But, sisters! as the stars of even 
 
 Shrink from Day's golden-flashing eye. 
 And, melting in the depths of heaven. 
 
 Veil their soft beams within the sky; 
 So shall we pass, the joyous-hearted, 
 
 The fond, the young, like stars that wane 
 Till every link of earth be parted. 
 
 To form in heaven one mystic chain. 
 
 TO A SEA-SHELL. 
 
 Shell of the bright sea-waves! 
 What is it that we hear in thy sad moan ? 
 Is this unceasing music all thine own ? 
 
 Lute of the ocean-caves ! 
 
 Or does some spirit dwell 
 In the deep windings of thy chambers dim; 
 Breathing for ever, in its mournful hymn. 
 
 Of ocean's anthem-swell? 
 
 811 
 
WE 
 
 WE 
 
 Wert thou a murmurer long 
 In cryatal palaces beneath the seas, 
 Ere from the blue sky thou hadst heard the breeze 
 
 Pour its full tide of song? 
 
 Another thing with thee: 
 Are there not gorgeous cities in the deep, 
 Buried with flashing gems that brightly sleep, 
 
 Hid by the mighty sea? 
 
 And say, oh lone sea-shell I 
 Are there not costly things and sweet perfumes 
 Scattered in waste o'er that sea-gulf of tombs ? 
 
 Hush thy low moan and tell. 
 
 But yet, and more than all — 
 Has not each foaming wave in fury tossed 
 O'er earth's most beautiful, the brave, the lost, 
 
 Like a dark funeral pall ? 
 
 'T is vain — thou answerest not ! 
 Thou hast no voice to whisper of the dead ; 
 'T is ours alone, with sighs like odors shed, 
 
 To hold them unforgot! 
 
 Thine is as sad a strain 
 As if the spirit in thy hidden cell 
 Pined to be with the many things that dwell 
 
 In the wild, restless main. 
 
 And yet there is no sound 
 Upon the waters, whispered by the waves, 
 But seemeth like a wail from many graves, 
 
 Thrilling the air around. 
 
 The earth, oh moaning shell ! 
 The earth hath melodies more sweet than these — 
 The music-gush of rills, the hum of bees 
 
 Heard in each blossom's bell. 
 
 Are not these tones of earth, 
 Tne rustling forest, with its shivering leaves. 
 Sweeter than sounds that e'en in moonlit eves 
 
 Upon the seas have birth? 
 
 Alas! thou still wilt moan — 
 Thou 'rt like the heart that wastes itself in sighs 
 E'en when amid bewildering melodies, 
 
 If parted from its own. 
 
 THE OLD MAID. 
 
 Why sits she thus in solitude ? her heart 
 
 Seems melting in her eye's delicious blue — 
 And as it heaves, her ripe lips lie apart 
 
 As if to let its heavy throbbings through; 
 In her dark eye a depth of softness swells. 
 
 Deeper than that her careless girlhood wore ; 
 And her cheek crimsons with the hue that tells 
 
 The rich, fair fruit is ripened to the core. 
 
 It is her thirtieth birthday I with a sigh 
 
 Her soul hath turn'd from youth's luxuriant bowers, 
 And her heart taken up the last sweet tie 
 
 That measured out its links of golden hours ! 
 She feels her inmost soul within her stir 
 
 With thoughts too wild and passionate to speak; 
 Yet her full heart — its own interpreter — 
 
 Translates itself in silence on her cheek. 
 
 Joy's opening buds, affection's glowing flowers, 
 
 Once lightly sprang within her beaming track: 
 Oh, life was beautiful in those lost hours, 
 
 And yet she does not wish to wander back I 
 No! she biit loves in loneliness to think 
 
 On pleasures past, though never more to be : 
 Hope links her to the future — but the link 
 
 That binds her to the past is memory 1 
 
 From her lone path she never turns aside, 
 
 Though passionate worshippers before her fall; 
 Like some pure planet in her lonely pride, 
 
 She seems to soar and beam above them all ! 
 Not that her heart is cold ! — emotions new 
 
 And fresh as flowers are with her heartstrings knit : 
 And sweetly mournful pleasures wander through 
 
 Her virgin soul, and softly ruffle it. 
 
 For she hath lived with heart and soul alive 
 
 To all that makes life beautiful and fair; 
 Sweet Thoughts, like honey-bees, have made their hive 
 
 Of her soft bosom-cell, and cluster there; 
 Yet life is not to her what it hath been : 
 
 Her soul hath learned to look beyond its gloss — 
 And now she hovers like a star between 
 
 Her deeds of love — her Saviour on the cross! 
 
 Beneath the cares of earth she does not bow, 
 
 Though she hath ofttimes drained its bitter cup, 
 But ever wanders on with heavenward brow. 
 
 And eyes whose lovely lids are lifted up! 
 She feels that in that lovelier, happier sphere, 
 
 Her bosom yet will, birdlike, find its mate, 
 And alt the joys it found so blissful here 
 
 Within that spirit-realm perpetuate. 
 
 Yet, sometimes o'er her trembling heartstrings thrill 
 
 Soft sighs, for raptures it hath ne'er enjoyed — 
 And then she dreams of love, and strives to fill 
 
 With wild and passionate thoughts the craving void. 
 And thus she wanders on — half sad, half blest — 
 
 Without a mate for the pure, lonely heart. 
 That, yearning, throbs within her virgin breast, 
 
 Never to find its lovely counterpart! 
 
 THE BAINBOW. 
 
 I sometimes have thoughts, in my loneliest hours. 
 That lie on my heart like the dew on the flowers, 
 Of a ramble I took one bright afternoon, 
 When my heart was as light as a blossom in June ; 
 The green earth was moist with the late fall'n showers. 
 The breeze flutter'd down and blew open the flowers. 
 While a single white cloud, to its haven of rest 
 On the white wing of Peace, floated oflT in the west. 
 
 As"! threw back my tresses to catch the cool breeze 
 
 That scatter'd the rain-drops and dimpled the seas. 
 
 Far up the blue sky a fair rainbow unroll'd 
 
 Its soft-tinted pinions of purple and gold. 
 
 'T was born in a moment, yet, quick as its birth. 
 
 It had stretch'd to the uttermost ends of the earth. 
 
 And, fair as an angel, it floated as free, 
 
 With a wing on the earth and a wing on the sea 
 
 How calm was the ocean ! how gentle its swell ! 
 
 Like a woman's soft bosom it rose and it fell ; 
 
 While its light sparkling waves, stealing laughingly o'er. 
 
 When they saw the fair rainbow, knelt down on the shore 
 
 No sweet hymn ascended, no murmur of prayer. 
 
 Yet I felt that the spirit of worship was there. 
 
 And bent my young head, in devotion and love, 
 
 'Neath the form of the angel that floated above. 
 
 How wide was the sweep of its beautiful wings ! 
 How boundless its circle, how radiant its rings 1 
 If I look'd on the sky, 'twas suspended in air; 
 If 1 look'd on the ocean, the rainbow was there; 
 Thus forming a girdle, as brilliant and whole 
 As the thoughts of the rainbow that circled my soul. 
 Like the wing of the Deity, calmly unfurl'd. 
 It bent from the cloud and encircled the world. 
 
 There are moments, I think, when the spirit receives 
 Whole volumes of thought on its unwritten leaves, 
 When the folds of the heart in a moment unclose 
 Like the innermost leaves from the heart of a rose: 
 And thus, when tlie rainbow had pass'd from the sky, 
 The thoughts it awoke were too deep to pass by ; 
 It left my full soul, like the wing of a dove, 
 All fluttering with pleasure and fluttering with love. 
 
 I know that each moment of rapture or pain 
 But shortens the links in life's mystical chain ; 
 I know that my form, like that bow from the wave, 
 Must pass from the earth and lie cold in the grave ; 
 Yet oh I when death's shadows my bosom encloud, 
 When I shrink at the thought of the coffin and shroud. 
 May Hope, like the rainbow, my spirit enfold 
 In her beautiful pinions of purple and gold. 
 
 812 
 
WE 
 
 WH 
 
 HOPELESS LOVE. 
 
 The trembling waves beneath the moonbeams quiver, 
 
 Keflecting back the blue, unclouded skies; 
 The stars look down upon the still, bright river, 
 
 And smile to see themselves in paradise ; 
 Sweet songs are heard to gush in joyous bosoms, 
 
 That lightly throb beneath the greenwood tree. 
 And glossy plumes float in amid the blossoms, 
 
 And all around are happy — all but me ! 
 
 And yet, I come beneath the light, that trembles 
 
 O'er these dim paths, with listless steps to roam, 
 For here my bursting heart no more dissembles. 
 
 My sad lips quiver, and the tear-drops come, 
 I come once more to list the low-voiced turtle, 
 
 To watch the dreamy waters as they flow. 
 And lay me down beneath the fragrant myrtle. 
 
 That drops its blossoms when the west winds blow. 
 
 Oh ! there is one, on whose sweet face 1 ponder, 
 
 One angel-being 'mid the beauteous band. 
 Who in the evening's hush comes out to wander 
 
 Amid the dark-eyed daughters of the land ! 
 Her step is lightest where each light foot presses. 
 
 Her song is sweetest 'mid their songs of glee, , 
 Smiles light her lips, and rosebuds, 'mid her tresses. 
 
 Look lightly up their dark redundancy. 
 
 Youth, wealth, and fame are mine : all that entrances 
 
 The youthful heart, on me their charms confer; 
 Sweet lips smile on me. too, and melting glances 
 
 Flash up to mine — but not a glance from her! 
 Oh, I would give youth, beauty, fame, and splendour. 
 
 My all of bliss, my every hope resign, 
 To wake in that young heart one feeling tender — 
 
 To clasp that little hand, and call it mine ! 
 
 In this sweet solitude the sunny weather 
 
 Hath call'd to life light shapes and fairy-elves. 
 The rosebuds Jay their crimson lips together. 
 
 And the green leaves are whispering to themselves; 
 The clear, faint starlight, on the blue wave flushes, 
 
 And fill'd with odours sweet, the south wind blows. 
 The purple clusters load the lilac bushes. 
 
 And fragrant blossoms fringe the apple-boughs. 
 
 Yet, I am sick with love and melancholy. 
 
 My locks are heavy with the dropping dew, 
 Low murmurs haunt me— murmurs soft and holy, 
 
 And oh, my lips keep murmuring, murmuring too! 
 I hate the beauty of these calm, sweet bowers. 
 
 The bird's wild music, and the fountain's fall; 
 Oh, I am sick in this lone land of flowers, 
 
 My soul is weary — weary of them all ! 
 
 Yet had I that sweet face, on which I ponder, 
 
 To bloom for me within this Eden-home, 
 That lip to sweetly murmur when 1 wander, 
 
 That cheek to softly dimple when I come — 
 How sweet would glide my days in these lone bowers. 
 
 Far from the world and all its heartless throngs. 
 Her fairy feet should only tread on flowers, 
 
 I 'd make her home melodious with my songs ! 
 
 Ah me I such blissful hopes once fill'd my bosom, 
 
 And dreams of fame could then my heart enthral, 
 And joy and bliss around me seem'd to blossom ; 
 
 But oh, these blissful hopes are blighted — all ! 
 No smiling angel decks these Eden-bowers, 
 
 No springing footstep echoes mine in glee — 
 Oh, I am weary in this land of flowers ! 
 
 I sigh — I sigh amid them all — ah me ! 
 
 THE LAST INTERVIEW. 
 
 Here, in this lonely bower, where first I won thee, 
 I come, beloved, beneath the moon's pale ray, 
 
 To gaze once more, through struggling tears, upon thee, 
 And then to tear my broken heart away ; 
 
 1 dare not linger near thee as a brother ; 
 
 1 feel my burning heart would still be thine; 
 
 How could I hope my passionate thoughts to smother, 
 
 While yielding all the sweetness to another. 
 That should be mine! 
 
 But fate hath will'd it ; the decree, too, spoken : 
 Now life may lengthen out its weary chain. 
 For reft of thee, its loveliest links are broken ; 
 
 ' May we but clasp them all in heaven again ! 
 Yes, thou wilt there be mine ; in yon blue heaven 
 
 There are sweet meetings of the pure and fond, 
 Of joys unspeakable to such are given 
 When the sweet ties of love that here are riven 
 Unite beyond. 
 
 A glorious charm from heaven thou dost inherit 
 
 The gift of angels unto thee belongs; 
 Then breathe thy love in music, that thy spirit 
 
 May whisper to me, through thi nc own swee^ songs, 
 And though my coming life may soon resemble 
 
 The desert spots, through which my steps shall flee. 
 Though round thee then wild worshippers assemble, 
 My heart will triumph if thine own but tremble 
 Still true to me. 
 
 Yet, not when on our bower the light reposes 
 In golden glory, wilt thou sigh for me ; 
 
 Not when the young bee seeks the crimson roses, 
 And the fair sunbeams tremble o'er the sea; 
 
 But when at eve the tender heart grows fonder, 
 And the full soul with pensive love is fraught. 
 
 Then with wet lids o'er these sweet paths thou'lt wander, 
 
 And, thriil'd with love, upon my memory ponder 
 With tender thought. 
 
 And when at times thy birdlike voice entrances 
 
 The listening throng with sume enchanting lay, 
 
 If I am near thee, let thy heavenly glances 
 One gentle message to my heart convey; 
 
 I ask but this — a happier one has taken 
 
 From my lone life the charm that made it dear; 
 
 I ask but this, and promise me, unshaken ; 
 
 To me that look of love — but, oh ! 'twill waken 
 Such raptures here I 
 
 And now, farewell ! — farewell ! I dare not lengthen 
 These sweet, sad moments out ; to gaze on thee 
 
 Is bliss indeed, yet it but serves to strengthen 
 The love that now amounts to agony; 
 
 This is our last farewell — our last fond meeting; 
 The world is wide, and we must dwell apart; 
 
 My spirit gives thee, now, its last wild greeting, 
 
 With lip to lip, while pulse to pulse is beating, 
 And heart to heart ! 
 
 Farewell, farewell ! Our dream of bliss is over, 
 All save the memory of our blighted love ; 
 
 I now must yield thee to thy happier lover, 
 Yet, oh ! remember, thou art mine above ! 
 
 'Tis a sweet thought; and when by distance parted, 
 'T will lie upon our hearts a holy spell — 
 
 But the sad tears beneath thy lids have started. 
 
 And I — alas 1 — we both are broken-hearted ! — 
 Farewell 1 
 
 WHITMAN, SARAH HELEN, 
 
 Is a native of Providence, Rhode Island. Her 
 maiden name was Power. Her father died when 
 she was a child. Her mother being thus left to 
 the solitariness of a widow's lot, devoted herself 
 with unwearied care to the education of her daugh- 
 ter. The health of Miss Power was constitutionally 
 delicate, while her mental faculties developed with 
 that quickness and brilliancy which surely indi- 
 cates the predominancy of imagination. Poetry 
 was the favourite literature of her youthful stu- 
 dies, and she soon manifested the propensity, which 
 the Muse will foster in those she elects her vota- 
 ries, to "write rhyme." 
 
 In 1828, Miss Power was married to John "W. Whit- 
 man, a young lawyer of Boston. The marriage 
 was one of affection, induced by the congeniality 
 of poetical and literary tastes, but the union was 
 in a few years dissolved by the death of Mr. Whit- 
 
 813 
 
WH 
 
 WH 
 
 man. Mrs. Whitman then returned to her mo- 
 ther's arms and her early home, at Providence, 
 where she now resides. Her poetry has appeared 
 in the periodicals and annuals over the signature 
 " Helen," and always excited attention by its rich- 
 ness of imagery and sweet, melodious versification. 
 She has an uncommonly retentive memory, and 
 elaborates her poems in a rather peculiar manner ; 
 arranging, correcting, and finishing them as com- 
 positions perfectly and wholly in her mind, be they 
 ever, so long, before committing a line to paper. 
 By this means she has no unfinished performances ; 
 those that she does not complete at once are en- 
 tirely abandoned. 
 
 Her published poems have not been numerous ; 
 she appears never to have contemplated making a 
 volume^ but only allows her thoughts to visit the 
 temple of the muses to gratify her own love of the 
 beautiful and glorious in nature and art. The 
 genius of this amiable woman seems naturally of 
 that delicate presence which shrinks, like the 
 " sensitive plant," from any collision with the 
 actual world ; but the sad passages in her life have 
 probably deepened the melancholy pathos of her 
 strains. There appears no affectation in this sen- 
 sibility; she feels as warm admiration for the 
 beauties and blessings which the beneficent Cre- 
 ator has bestowed on the works and creatures of 
 his hand, as though these awakened none but 
 pleasurable emotions. Still, there is ever in her 
 heart a sensation of sadness, like that so power- 
 fully described by Keats in his "Ode on Melan- 
 choly," as if she tasted the bitter ingredient even 
 in the sweetest draught. 
 
 TO THE SPIRIT OF POETRY. 
 
 Hail! queen of high and holy thought; 
 Of dreama, with fairy beauty fraught; 
 Sweet memories of the days gone by ; 
 Glimpses of immortality. 
 Visions of grandeur, glory, power, 
 All that in inspiration's hour. 
 Like sunseVs changing glories, roll 
 Within the poet's raptured soul ! 
 
 Thy throne is in the crimson fold, 
 Around the setting day-star roird ; 
 Thou walkest through the sapphire sky. 
 When the bright moon is sailing high, 
 Touching the stars with purer light. 
 And lending holier charms to night; 
 The clouds a deeper glory wear, 
 The winds a softer music bear. 
 And earth is heaven, when thou art there 
 
 There's not a murmur on the breeze, 
 Nor ripple on the dark, blue seas, 
 Nor breath of violets, faintly sweet, 
 Nor glittering dew-drop at our feet, 
 Nor tinge of mellow radiance, where 
 Soft moonbeams melt along the air ; 
 Nor shade nor tint, on flower or tree, 
 But takes a softer grace from thee. 
 
 And love itself— the brightest gem 
 In all creation's diadem — 
 Oh ! what were mortal love, didst thou 
 Not lend a glory to his brow ? 
 Degraded, though of heavenly birth. 
 And sullied with the cares of earth ; 
 Wasted and worn by doubts and fears, 
 Its youthful smiles soon change to tears ; 
 But at thy spirit-stirring breath. 
 It burst the bonds of sin and death ; 
 And. robed in heavenly charms by thee, 
 It puts on immortality. 
 
 THE WAKING OP THE HEART. 
 
 "Pleasure sits in the flower cups, and breathes itself oat lu 
 fragrance, "—iiafte/. 
 
 As the fabled stone into music woke 
 When the morning sun o'er the marble broke, 
 So wakes the heart from its stern repose; 
 As o'er brow and bosom the spring wind blows, 
 So it stirs and trembles as each low sigh 
 Of the breezy south comes murmuring by — 
 Murmuring by like a voice of love, 
 Wooing us forth amid flowers to rove. 
 Breathing of meadow-paths thickly sown 
 With pearls from the blossoming fruit trees blown, 
 And of banks that slope to the southern sky 
 Where languid violets love to lie. 
 
 No foliage droops o'er the woodpath now, 
 No dark vines swinging from bough to bough; 
 But a trembling shadow of silvery green 
 Falls through the young leafs tender screen, 
 Like the hue that borders the snowdrop's bell, 
 Or lines the lid of an Indian shell ; 
 And a fairy light, like the firefly's glow, 
 Flickers and fades on the grass below. 
 
 There the pale Anemone lifts her eye 
 To look at the clouds as they wander by, 
 Or lurks in the shade of a palmy fern 
 To gather fresh rievvs in her waxen urn. 
 Where the mosa lies thick on the brown earth's breast. 
 The shy little Mayflower weaves her nest, 
 But the south wind sighs o'er the fragrant loam. 
 And betrays the path to her woodland home. 
 
 Already the green budding birchen spray 
 Winnows the balm from the brea h of May, 
 And the aspen thrills to a low, sweet tone 
 From the reedy bugle of Faunus blown. 
 
 In the tangled coppice the dwarf oak weaves 
 Her fringelike blossoms and crimson leaves ; 
 Tlie sallows their delicate buds unfold 
 Into downy feathers bedropped with gold; 
 While, thick as the stars in the midnight sky. 
 In the dark, wet meadows the cowslips lie. 
 
 A Ipve tint flushes the wind-flower's cheeic, 
 Rich melodies gush from the violet's beak, 
 On the rifts of the rock the wild columbines grow. 
 Their heavy honey-cups bending low — 
 As a heart which vague, sweet thoughts oppress. 
 Droops 'neath its burden of happiness. 
 
 There the waters drip from their moss-rimmed wells. 
 With a sound like the tinkling of silver bells. 
 
 THE maiden's dream. 
 
 " Thrice hallowed be that beautiful dawn of love when the maiden's 
 cheek stiU blushes at thecouscioussweetnessof her own innocent 
 thoughts." — Jean Paul. 
 
 Ask not if she loves, but look 
 
 In the blue depths of her eye, 
 Where the maiden's spirit seems 
 
 Tranced in happy dreams to lie. 
 
 All the blisses of her dream, 
 All she may not, must not speak, 
 
 Read them in her clouded eye. 
 Read them on her conscious cheek 
 
 See that cheek of virgin snow 
 Damasked with love's rosy bloom ; 
 
 Mark the lambent thoughts that glow 
 Mid her blue eye's tender gloom. 
 
 A9 if in a cool, deep well 
 
 Veiled by shadows of the night, 
 Slanting through, a starbeam fell. 
 
 Filling all its depths with light. 
 
 Something mournful and profound 
 
 Saddens all her beauty now, 
 Weds her dark eye to the ground — 
 
 Flings a shadow o'er her brow. 
 
 Hath her love-illumined soul 
 Raised the veil of coming years — 
 
 Read upon life's mystic scroll 
 Its doom of agony and tears? 
 
 814 
 
WH 
 
 WH 
 
 Te^Ts of tender sadness fall 
 From her soft and lovelit eye, 
 
 As the night dews heavily 
 Fall from summer's cloudless sky. 
 
 Still she sitteth coyly drooping 
 Her white lids in virgin pride, 
 
 Like a languid lily stooping 
 Low her folded blooms to hide. 
 
 Smarting now in soft, surprise 
 
 From the tangled web of thought, 
 
 Lo, her heart a captive lies 
 In its own sweet fancies caught. 
 
 Ah! bethink thee, maiden yet, 
 Ere to passion's doom betrayed; 
 
 Hearts where Love his seal has set, 
 Sorrow's fiercest pangs invade. 
 
 Let that young heart slumber still, 
 
 Like a bird within its nest; 
 Life can ne'er its dreams fulfil — 
 
 Love but yield thee long unrest. 
 
 Ah! in vain the dovelet tries 
 
 To break the web of tender thought — 
 The little heart a captive lies, 
 
 In its own sweet fancies caught. 
 
 STANZAS 'WITH A BRIDAL RING. 
 
 The young Moon hides her virgin heart 
 
 Within a ring of gold ; 
 So doth this little circlet all 
 
 My bosom's love infold, 
 And tell the tale that from my lips 
 
 Seems ever half untold. 
 
 Like the rich legend of the east 
 
 That never finds a close, 
 But winds in linked sweetness on 
 
 And lengthens as it goes. 
 Or like this little cycle still 
 
 Returneth whence it flows. 
 
 And still as in the elfin ring 
 Where fairies dance by night 
 
 Shall the green places of the heart 
 Be kept for ever bright. 
 
 And hope within this magic round 
 Still blossom in delight. 
 
 A SONG OF SPRING. 
 
 In April's dim and showery nights 
 When music melts along the air. 
 
 And Memory wakens at the kiss 
 
 Of wandering perfumes, faint and rare — 
 
 Sweet springtime perfumes, such as won 
 Proserpina from realms of gloom 
 
 To bathe her bright locks in the sun. 
 Or bind them with the pansy's bloom, 
 
 When light winds rifl: the fragrant bowers 
 Where orchards shed their floral wreath. 
 
 Strewing the turf with starry flowers. 
 And dropping pearls at every breath; 
 
 When all night long the boughs are stirred 
 With fitful warblings from the nest, 
 
 And the heart flutters like a bird 
 With its sweet passionate unrest — 
 
 Oh! then, beloved, I think on thee, 
 And on that life, so strangely fair, 
 
 Ere yet one cloud of memory 
 Had gathered in hope's golden air 
 
 I think on thee and thy lone grave 
 On the green hillside far away ; 
 
 I see the wilding flowers that wave 
 Around thee as the night winds sway ; 
 
 And still, though only clouds remian 
 
 On life's horizon, cold and drear. 
 The dream of youth returns again 
 
 With the sweet promise of the year 
 
 I linger till night's waning stare 
 Have ceased to tremble through the gloom, 
 
 Till through the orient's cloudy bars 
 I see the rose of morning bloom ! 
 
 All flushed and radiant with delight, 
 It opens through earth's stormy skies. 
 
 Divinely beautiful and bright 
 As on the hills of paradise. 
 
 Lo ! like a dewdrop on its breast 
 The morning star of youth and love, 
 
 Melting within the rosy east, 
 Exhales to azure depths above. 
 
 My spirit, soaring like a lark, 
 
 Would follow on its airy flight, 
 And, like yon little diamond spark. 
 
 Dissolve into the realms of light. 
 
 Sweet-missioned star! thy silver beams 
 
 Foretell a fairer life to come. 
 And through the golden gate of dreams 
 
 Allure the wandering spirit home. 
 
 A STILL DAT IN AUTUMN. 
 
 I love to wander through the woodlands hoary 
 
 In the soft light of an autumnal day, 
 When Summer gathers up her robes of glory, 
 
 And like a dream of beauty glides away. 
 
 How through each loved, familiar path she lingers, 
 Serenely smiling through the golden mist, 
 
 Tinting the wild grape with her dewy fingers 
 Till the cool emerald turns to amethyst : 
 
 Kindling the faint stars of the hazel, shining 
 To light the gloom of Autumn's mouldering halls 
 
 With hoary plumes the clematis entwining 
 Where o'er the rock her withered garland falls. 
 
 Warm lights are on the sleepy uplands waning 
 Beneath soft clouds along the horizon rolled, 
 
 Till the slant sunbeams through their fringes raining 
 Bathe all the hills in melancholy gold. 
 
 The moist winds breathe of crisp6d leaves and flowers 
 In the damp hollows of the woodland sown. 
 
 Mingling the freshness of autumnal showers 
 With spicy airs from cedarn alleys blown. 
 
 Beside the brook and on the umbered meadow, 
 Where yellow fern-tufts fleck the faded ground, 
 
 With folded lids beneath their palmy shadow 
 The gentian nods in dewy slumbers bound. 
 
 Upon those soft, fringed lids the bee sits brooding, 
 
 Like a fond lover loath to say farewell, 
 Or with shut wings, through silken folds intruding, 
 
 Creeps near her heart his drowsy tale to tell. 
 
 The little birds upon the hillside lonely 
 Flit noiselessly along from spray to spray, 
 
 Silent as a sweet wandering thought that only 
 Shows its bright wings and softly glides away 
 
 The scentless flowers in the warm sunlight dreamrni'. 
 
 Forget to breathe their fulness of delight, 
 And through the tranc6d woods soft airs are streaming, 
 
 Still as the dewfall of the summer night. 
 
 So in my heart a sweet, unwonted feeling. 
 Stirs like the wind in ocean's hollow shell — 
 
 Through all its secret chambers sadly stealing. 
 Yet finds no word its mystic charm to tell. 
 
 815 
 
WI 
 
 WI 
 
 BETROSPECTION. 
 
 My heart is in my childhood's home, 
 
 And by the far-oflf sunny braes. 
 Where, musing, once I loved to roain, 
 
 In early youth's romantic days. 
 
 The past — the past — the dreamy past. 
 Called up by memory's magic wand, 
 
 Gleams through the halo round it cast 
 Bright as e'en hope's own phantom land. 
 
 Oh never more in after life 
 Can hope itself such dreams impart 
 
 As then, with breathing beauty rife, 
 Wreatlied their soft spells around my heart. 
 
 The skies were brighter then than now, 
 More bland the wandering breezes blew, 
 
 The birds sang sweeter on the bough. 
 The wild flowers wore a richer hue. 
 
 Ideal forms of classic lore, 
 
 By moss-grown grot and crystal well, 
 Seemed still to linger as of yore, 
 
 And fairies danced in every dell. 
 
 Blither than Elf-land's fabled queen, 
 I loved the green and laughing earth; 
 
 While wooded cliff and wild ravinCj 
 Were echoing to my bosom's mirth. ' 
 
 For care had never dimmed my brow. 
 Nor friends proved heartless and untrue; 
 
 I ne'er had wept love's broken, vow. 
 Nor aught of life's dark changes knew. 
 
 Farewell, sweet scenes of past delight! 
 
 Slowly ye sink from memory's gaze. 
 Still beaming with reflected light, 
 
 As bathed in twilight's parting rays. 
 
 I wander on my weary way. 
 
 Unmindful where my lot is cast, 
 Since wheresoe'er my footsteps stray, 
 
 Thoy cannot lead me to the past. 
 
 WILLARD, EMMA, 
 
 Distinguished both as a teacher and -writer, 
 has for many years held a prominent position 
 among those who encourage and aid American lite- 
 rature and moral improvement. 
 
 * Mrs. Willard is the daughter of the late Sam- 
 
 * For this graphic notice we are chiefly indebted to a work 
 —American Biographical Sketch Book — by William Hunt. 
 
 uel Hart, of Berlin, Connecticut, where she was 
 born in February, 1787. Her father was de- 
 scended, on the maternal side, from Thomas 
 Hooker, the first minister of Hartford, who is 
 regarded as the founder of the State of Connecti- 
 cut ; he having led the colony across the wilder- 
 ness from the vicinity of Boston. Her paternal 
 ancestor was Stephen Hart, a deacon of Mr. 
 Hooker's church, and his companion through the 
 wilderness. 
 
 The love of teaching appears to have been a 
 ruling passion in Miss Hart's mind, and was de- 
 veloped in her early years. At the age of sixteen 
 she took charge of a district school in her native 
 town. The following year she opened a select 
 school, and in the summer of the next year was 
 placed at the head of the Berlin Academy. During 
 this period, being engaged at home throughout the 
 summer and winter in the capacity of instructress, 
 she managed in the spring and autumn to attend 
 one or other of the two boarding-schools at Hart- 
 ford. 
 
 During the spring of 1807, Miss Hart received 
 invitations to take charge of academies in three 
 different states, and accepted that from Westfield, 
 Massachusetts. She remained there but a few 
 weeks, when, upon a second and more pressing 
 invitation, she went to Middlebury, in Vermont. 
 Here she assumed the charge of a female academy 
 which she retained for two years. The school was 
 liberally patronized, and general satisfaction re- 
 warded the efforts of its preceptress. In 1809, 
 she resigned her academy, and was united in mar- 
 riage with Dr. John Willard, then marshal of the 
 district of Vermont, and for several years a leader 
 of the republican party of that State. 
 
 In 1814, Mrs. Willard was induced to establish 
 a boarding-school at Middlebury, when she formed 
 the determination to effect an important change in 
 female education, by the institution of a class of 
 schools of a higher character than had been estab- 
 lished in the country before. She applied herself 
 assiduously to increase her own personal abilities 
 as a teacher, by the diligent study of branches 
 with which she had before been unacquainted. 
 She introduced new studies into her school, and 
 invented new methods of teaching. She also pre- 
 pared " An Address to the Public," in which she 
 proposed "A Plan for Improving Female Educa- 
 tion." 
 
 General Van Schoonhoven, on inspecting the 
 " Plan," heartily approved it; and taking a copy, 
 exhibited it to the leading men of Waterford. At 
 their recommendation, a copy was sent to Gover- 
 nor De Witt Clinton. The latter immediately 
 wrote to Mrs. Willard, expressing a most cordial 
 desire thjit she would remove her institution to the 
 State of New York. He also recommended the 
 subject of her " Plan " in his message to the legis- 
 lature. The result was, the passage of an act to 
 incorporate the proposed institute at Waterford, 
 and another to give to female academies a share 
 of the literary fund ; being, it is believed, the first 
 law ever passed by any legislature with the direct 
 object of improving female education. 
 
 During the spring of 1819, Mrs. Willard aocord- 
 
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 ingly remo-ved to Waterford, and opened her 
 school. The higher mathematics were introduced, 
 and the course of study was made sufficiently com- 
 plete to qualify the pupils for any station in life. 
 The first young lady who was examined publicly 
 in geometry, and perhaps the first instance in the 
 country, was Miss Cramer, since Mrs. Curtis. 
 
 In the spring of 1821, difficulties attending the 
 securing of a proper building for the school in 
 Waterford, Mrs. Willard again determined upon a 
 removal. The public-spirited citizens of Troy 
 offered liberal inducements; and in May, 1821, 
 the Troy Female Seminary was opened under flat- 
 tering auspices, and abundant success crowned her 
 indefatigable exertions. Since that period, the 
 institute has been well known to the public, and 
 the name of Mrs. Willard, for more than a quarter 
 of a century, has been identified with her favourite 
 academy. Dr. Willard died in 1825 ; Jlrs. Willard 
 continued her school till her health was impaired, 
 and in 1830 she visited France. She resided in 
 Paris for several months, and from thence went to 
 England and Scotland, returning in the following 
 year. After her return, she published a volume 
 of her travels, the avails of which, amounting to 
 twelve hundred dollars, were devoted to the cause 
 of female education in Greece. It may be proper to 
 add, that she gave the avails of one or two other 
 publications to the same object. 
 
 The plan of the school for the education of na- 
 tive teachers in Greece originated with Mrs. Wil- 
 lard, and was carried forward through many 
 difficulties and some opposition from those whose 
 aid was expected. Often desponding as to the 
 final result of the attempt, Mrs. Willard laboured 
 but the more zealously, and gave largely of her 
 own substance to secure the desired advantages 
 for Greece. The plan was ultimately crowned with 
 success. " The most elevated views," says M. 
 Eichthal, in his excellent work, entitled Les Deux 
 Mondes, " have determined the important attempt 
 of some American ladies of establishing in Athens 
 a Normal school of native teachers ; thus improv- 
 ing civilization at its source. Twenty boarders, 
 (pensionnaires, ) are now receiving a special educa- 
 tion for this object ; twelve of them, chosen from 
 the difi'erent provinces, are placed in the school 
 by the government, which furnishes the expenses 
 of their education ; the others are educated at tlie 
 expense of the American ladies. Mrs. Sigourney, 
 Mrs. Hale, and Mrs. Phelps, were among those 
 who entered warmly into the views of Mrs. Wil- 
 lard, and aided her in carrying them out with their 
 pens and influence." 
 
 In 1838, Mrs. Willard resigned the charge of the 
 Troy Seminary, and returned to Hartford, where 
 she revised her celebrated Manual of American His- 
 tory, for the use of schools. The merits of this 
 work, her smaller United States History, and Uni- 
 Tersal History, have been attested by their very 
 general use in seminaries of education. 
 
 Since 1843, she has completed the revision of 
 her historical works, revised her Ancient Geogra- 
 phy, and, in compliance with invitations, has 
 written numerous addresses on different occasions, 
 being mostly on educational subjects. Two of 
 3B 
 
 these were written by request of the Western Lite- 
 rary Institute and College of Teachers, and were 
 read at annual meetings of the society, at Cincin- 
 nati ; one in 1841 and the other in 1843. In 1845, 
 by special invitation, she attended the convention 
 of county and town superintendents, held at Syra- 
 cuse. She was invited to take part in the public 
 debate ; declining that honour, the gentlemen of 
 the convention, to the number of about sixty, 
 called on her at her lodgings, where she read to 
 them a prepared address. The principal topic 
 of it was, " that women, now sufficiently educated, 
 should be employed and furnished by the men as 
 committees, charged with the minute cares and 
 supervision of the common schools ;" reasoning 
 from the premises that to man it belongs to pro- 
 vide for the children, while upon woman it is in- 
 cumbent to take the provision, and apply it eco- 
 nomically and judiciously. These sentiments were 
 received with decided approbation. 
 
 In the fall of the same year, 1845, Mrs. Willard 
 made, with great satisfaction, an educational tour 
 through some of the soutliern counties of New 
 York ; having been specially invited to attend the 
 institutions for the improvement of teachers of the 
 common schools. At Monticello, Binghamton, 
 Owego, Cairo, and Eome, she aided in instructing 
 no less than five hundred teachers of these schools, 
 and, in many cases, her partings with the young 
 female teachers were not without tears. 
 
 The inhabitants of the places where she went 
 to instruct teachers, desiring to have a share in 
 her visits, at their request she attended public 
 meetings of both sexes, where she introduced reso- 
 lutions which were unanimously passed in the 
 several counties, and aided in the debates. The 
 object was, to forward her scheme of giving to the 
 best educated and most able women of the country 
 the charge and supervision of the village schools 
 for little children ; especially of those things ap- 
 pertaining to the conveniences of such schools. 
 That the teachers of these schools should be mostly 
 females, is now universally agreed; but, argued 
 she, while the young women can be the teachers, 
 it needs the matrons, acting under the authority 
 of the men, to aid in the supervision. 
 
 In the ensuing winter of 1846, Mrs. Willard pre- 
 pared for the press a work which has given her 
 more fame abroad, and perhaps at home, than any 
 of her other writings. This work, which was 
 published in the ensuing spring, both in New York 
 and London, developed the result of a study which 
 had intensely occupied her at times for fourteen 
 years. Its title is "A Treatise on the Motive 
 Powers which produce the Circulation of the 
 Blood ;" and its object is nothing less than to in- 
 troduce and to establish the fact, that the princi- 
 pal motive power which produces circulation of 
 the blood is not, as has been heretofore supposed, 
 the heart's action, that being only secondary ; but 
 that the principal motive power is respiration, ope- 
 jrating by animal heat, and producing an effective 
 force at the lungs. Of this work the Loudon 
 Critic thus speaks: 
 
 " AVe have here an instance of a woman under- 
 taking to discuss a subject that has perplexed and 
 
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 baffled the ingenuity of the most distinguished 
 anatomists and physiologists who have considered 
 it, from Hervey down to Paxton ; and what is 
 more remariable, so acquitting herself as to show 
 that she apprehended, as well as the best of them, 
 the difficulties which beset the enquiry ; perceived 
 as quickly as they did the errors and incongruities 
 of the theories of previous writers ; and lastly, 
 herself propounded an hypothesis to account for 
 the circulation of the blood and the heart's action 
 eminently entitled to the serious attention and 
 examination of all who take an interest in physi- 
 ological science." 
 
 During the spring and summer of 1846, Mrs. 
 Willard made the tour of the southern and western 
 states, visiting every one of them except Texas. 
 In every city she met her former pupils, who gave 
 her a filial welcome. She was received by the 
 principals of schools and those employed in educa- 
 tion as an "educationalist;" and as such, was 
 invited to visit and to address schools, where, in 
 many instances, she received public testimonials 
 of consideration. 
 
 In addition to the compends of history which 
 she has written, she has invented, for the purpose 
 of teaching and impressing chronology on the 
 mind by the eye, two charts of an entirely original 
 character; one called "The American Chrono- 
 graphic for American History," and the other for 
 universal history, called the " Temple of Time." 
 In the latter, the course of time from the creation 
 of the world is thrown into perspective, and the 
 parts of this vast subject wrought into unity, and 
 the most distinguished characters which have 
 appeared in the world are set down, each in his 
 own time. This, in the chart, is better arranged 
 for the memory, than would be that of the place 
 of a city on a map of the world. 
 
 In 1849, she published " Last Leaves from Ame- 
 rican History ;" containing an interesting account 
 of our Mexican War, and of California. 
 
 The poetical compositions of Mrs. Willard are 
 few, and are chiefly comprised in a small volume 
 printed in 1830. The following, written on ship- 
 board, is a gem of its kind. It has been set to 
 music by the celebrated English composer and 
 vocalist. Knight, and is very popular as a sacred 
 song. The sentiment is so appropriate to the 
 ecene, that for an evening strain at sea it is un- 
 rivalled. 
 
 THE OCEAN HTMN. 
 
 Itock'd in the cradle of the deep, 
 I lay me down in peace to aleep; 
 Secure I rest upon the wave, 
 For thou, O Lord, hast power to save. 
 1 know thou wouldst not slight my call, 
 For thou dost mark the sparrow's fall ; 
 And calm and peaceful is my sleep, 
 Rock'il in the cradle of the deep. 
 
 And such the trust that still were mine, 
 
 The' stormy winds swept o'er the brine. 
 
 And tho' the tempest's fiery breath ^ 
 
 Roused nie from sleep, to wreck and death; 
 
 In Ocean's cave, still safe with Thee, 
 
 The germ of immortality; 
 
 And calm and peaceful is my sleep, 
 
 Rock'd in the cradle of the deep. 
 
 From " Address on behalf of the Greek Normal School.' 
 
 Greece has been not only physically but morally 
 wounded. The vile system of the Arabian deceiver 
 has surrounded her on almost every hand. What 
 circumstance could occur so likely to make way for 
 the destruction of that abominable superstition, 
 as to impart dignity, — the elevation of moral and 
 intellectual worth, to women beyond its reach but 
 within its observation ? and is it to be expected 
 that they might derive from American women as 
 wiBll as from any other the frame work of such a 
 character? If this can be made to appear; then 
 will be shown an added obligation in us, to send 
 to the daughters of fallen Greece, the blessings of 
 such an education. 
 
 The human mind will wander to future times. 
 Even the votary of pleasure, who tells us to " pluck 
 the fresh flowret ere it close," though he thinks his 
 motto is present enjoyment, yet unconsciously he 
 mingles a bitter foreboding which destroys the 
 very essence of joy. "Let us haste (he says) for 
 the flowret will soon wither — the roses soon fade. 
 Let music sound — and let us laugh loud, that we 
 need not think of death. Ay, turn away from 
 that open grave. Speak not of the approach of 
 the pestilential cholera. Quick ! quick ! let us 
 gather the roses, lest the next moment they are 
 blighted for ever !" Is this the spirit of happiness ? 
 Is it for this, that we should exchange that desire 
 of doing good, and that willingness to communicate, 
 which flows from a pious heart, as a fresh stream 
 from a rolling fountain ? Is it for this, that we 
 are to hold fast for ourselves and our families all 
 that we have or can acquire ? Forbid it, gracious 
 Saviour ! Thou that didst divest thyself of heaven's 
 glory, and for those who loved thee not wore the 
 garb of poverty and reproach, forbid that those 
 who call themselves by thy name of infinite 
 benevolence and wisdom, should thus be guilty of 
 selfishness and folly ! what if the good we under- 
 take be for the distant and the future ? when our 
 souls are free, no longer bound to a clod that 
 gravitates to the earth, these things will be neither 
 distant nor future. In the regions where immortal 
 spirits hold blessed communion, we may meet with 
 those, who perchance are led thither by means 
 to which we have been instrumental ; and with 
 them look down with joy upon the good which is 
 maturing upon earth — the souls that are ripening 
 for heaven. 
 
 From "Address to the Columbian Association." 
 HOW TO TEACH. 
 
 In searching for the fundamental principles of 
 the science of teaching, I find a few axioms as 
 indisputable, as the first principles of mathematics. 
 One of these is this, he is the best teaoheb who 
 
 MAKES THE BEST USE OP HI3 OWN TIME AND THAT 
 
 OF HIS PUPILS. For TIME is all that is given by 
 Ood in which to do the work of Impkovement. 
 
 What is the first rule to guide us in maldng the 
 best use of Time ? It is, to seek first and most to 
 improve in the best things. He is not necessarily 
 
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 the best teacher who performs the most lahour ; 
 makes his pupils work the hardest, and bustle the 
 most. A hundred cents "of copper, though they 
 make more clatter and fill more space, have only 
 a tenth of the value of one eagle of gold. 
 
 WHAT TO TEACH. 
 
 What is the best of all possible things to be 
 taught? MoKAL GOODNESS. That respects God 
 and man ; God first, and man second. To infuse 
 into the mind of a child, therefore love and fear 
 towards God — the pei-fect — in wisdom, goodness, 
 justice and power, — the Creator, Benefactor, and 
 Saviour, the secret Witness and the Judge — this 
 Is of all teaching the very best. But it cannot be 
 accomplished, merely in set times and by set 
 phrases; it should mingle in all the teacher's 
 desires and actions. The child imbibes it when he 
 sees that the instructor feels and acts on it himself. 
 When the youth is untruthful, when he wounds 
 his companion in body — in mind — in character 
 or in property, then show him that his offence is 
 against God ; that you are God's ministers to en- 
 force his laws, and must do your duty. Be thus 
 mindful in all sincerity, judge correctly, adopt no 
 subterfuge — pretend not to think the child is 
 better than he is, but deal plainly and truly, 
 though lovingly with him ; then his moral appro- 
 bation will go with you, though it should be against 
 himself, and even if circumstances require you to 
 punish him. The voice of conscience residing in 
 his heart is as the voice of God ; and if you in- 
 variably interpret that voice with correctness and 
 truth, the child will submit and obey you naturally 
 and affectionately. But if your government is 
 unjust or capricious, if you punish one day, what 
 you pass over or approve another, the dissatisfied 
 child win naturally rebel. 
 
 Next to moral goodness is health and strength 
 soundness of body and of mind. This like the 
 former is not what can be taught at set times, and 
 in set phrases ; but it must never be lost sight of. 
 It must regulate the measure and the kind of ex- 
 ercise required of the child, both bodily and 
 mental, as well as his diet, air and accommodations. 
 The regular routine of school duties consists in 
 teaching acts for the practice of future life ; or 
 sciences in which the useful or ornamental arts 
 find their first principles ; and great skill is re- 
 quired of the teacher in assigning to each pupil 
 an order of studies suitable to his age, and then 
 selecting such books and modes of teaching as 
 shall make a little time go far. 
 
 From " Treatise on the Circulation of the Blood." 
 CAKE or health. TO TOtJNG LADIES. 
 
 When I am speaking to young ^rls (the Lord 
 bless and keep them), I am in my proper element. 
 Why should it be otherwise ? I have had five 
 thousand under my charge, and spent thirty years 
 of fny life devoted to their service ; and the 
 general reader will excuse me if I add some fur- 
 ther advice to them, which the light of this theory 
 will show to be good. If it is so, others may have 
 its benefit as well as they, but it is most natural 
 to me to address myself to them. 
 
 Would you, my dear young ladies, do the will of 
 God on earth by being useful to your fellow-beings ? 
 Take care of health. Would you enjoy life ? Take 
 care of health ; for without it, existence is, for 
 every purpose of enjoyment, worse than a blank. 
 No matter how much wealth or how many luxuries 
 you can command, there is no enjoyment without 
 health. To an aching head what is a downy 
 pillow with silken curtains floating above ? What 
 is the cushioned landau and the gardened land- 
 scape to her whose disordered lungs can no longer 
 receive the inspirations of an ordinary atmosphere ? 
 And what are books, music, and paintings to her 
 whose nervous sufferings give disease to her senses, 
 and agony to her frame ? 
 
 Would you smooth for your tender parents the 
 pillow of declining life ? Take care of health. And 
 does the " prophetic pencil" sometimes trace the 
 form of one whose name perhaps is now unknown, 
 who shall hereafter devote to you a manly and 
 generous heart, and marriage sanction the bond ? 
 Would you be a blessing to such a one ? then now 
 take care of your health : or if you hesitate, let 
 imagination go still further. Fancy yourself feeble 
 as with untimely age, clad in vestments of sorrow, 
 and leaving a childless home to walk forth with 
 him to the church-yard, there to weep over yovir 
 buried offspring. 
 
 Study then to know your frame that you may, 
 before it is too late, pursue such a course as will 
 secure to you a sound and vigorous constitution. 
 
 OF the EOKCE THAT MOVES THE BLOOD. 
 
 When circulation is our life, it behoves us to 
 consider well its causes, that we may add reason 
 to instinct in its healthful preservation. That the 
 blood travels through the system by its own voli- 
 tion, none believe ; but that it is an inert mass 
 which will only move as it is moved. What then 
 are the forces which move inert bodies ? Are there 
 any which may not be resolved into one of fhese 
 three, impulse, gravitation, and heat; of which 
 the latter has the greater range in point of degree, 
 being in the expansion of a fluid from warm to 
 warmer, the most gentle of all imaginable forces, 
 while in other states it is the most powerful of any 
 known to man. It is then to one or more of these 
 forces that we must look for the motive powers 
 which produce the circulation. And the human 
 circulation has peculiar difficulties to encounter. 
 Man does not enjoy his noble erect position, with- 
 out some countervailing disadvantages. . The long 
 upright column of his blood spreading at its base, 
 presents no trifling force to be moved. And this 
 force is to be overcome by means so gentle that 
 the mind, the dweller in this house of clay, shall 
 not be disturbed by its operations. Again : the 
 parts of the body are to be used by the mind as 
 instruments, and ten thousand different motions 
 are to be performed at its bidding. What but 
 Almighty Wisdom could have effected these several 
 objects ? And is it not most reasonable to suppose 
 that this wisdom would assign for these purposes 
 not any one of the forces which move matter, but 
 combine them all? Gravitation by itself cannot 
 produce a circulation by any machinery. Impulse 
 
 819 
 
wo 
 
 wo 
 
 alone could not carry on a circulation without ex- 
 isting in such an excessive degree that it must 
 disturb the mind and endanger the body. But 
 heat, the antagonist force of gravitation, by the 
 lessening or increasing of the maximum and 
 minimum difference, can operate more or less 
 forciby as occasion requires, and at the same time 
 so gently and so quietly, that the mind shall take 
 no cognizance of its operation as a moving force. 
 It can be so placed that by its expansive force it 
 shall lift gravitation when that obstructs the way, 
 and by its transmission leave to it the co«irse, 
 when its presence as a force would become hurtful. 
 Why, then, should we hesitate to conclude that 
 this is the principal force employed, since we know 
 it exists in the human system ? And if it is the 
 principal agent which does actually perform this 
 great work, then if the quantity afforded be small, 
 so much the more perfect the machine, for so much 
 the less will it be likely either to endanger the 
 body or disturb the mind, and so much the more 
 praise is due to the Mighty Artificer. 
 
 WORTLET, LADY EMMELINE STUART, 
 Is a well-known English poetess, daughter of 
 the Duke of Rutland, and wife of the Hon. Stuart 
 Wortley. She has written a great deal, and with 
 remarkable rapidity — principally poetry, although 
 .■she has published one or two novels, which have 
 mot been very successful. Her poems would fill 
 more than a dozen volumes ; they are " The 
 Knight and the Enchantress," published in 1832 ; 
 ■"London at Night, and other poems," in 1834; 
 •" The Village Churchyard," in 1835 ; " The Vision- 
 ary," in 1837; "Lays of Leisure," in 1838; 
 accounts of her travels, and many occasional 
 ■poems. She certainly evinces unusual facility in 
 versification, but more care and finish would be an 
 improvement to her style. Some of her shorter 
 poems display brilliancy of imagination, and when 
 her theme is new and inspiring, she becomes 
 impassioned and pathetic. Her poems on America 
 fl,ttest the power of her genius as well as the 
 kindness of her heart. Lady Stuart Wortley made 
 the tour of the United States in 1849-50. She 
 ■contributed a number of poems on the subject of 
 her travels to different periodicals, and early in 
 185], her " Travels in the United States" appeared. 
 The work evinces a very different spirit from the 
 recorded opinions of Mrs. Trollope and Miss Mor- 
 tineau. The higher the birth of those who visit 
 ■our Republic, the better they assimilate with our 
 <!itizens ; as witness the reports made by Captain 
 Marryatt and the Earl of Carlisle. 
 
 Lady Stuart Wortley is a woman of refined 
 manners and highly cultivated intellect ; we hope 
 England will send forth other travellers to our 
 land of like disposition, to enjoy and to confer 
 ipleasure. Then the true sisterly union between 
 the two countries might soon be effected. There is 
 genuine goodness of heart shown in the writings of 
 this lady ; ber records of what she sees and hears 
 always bring out expressions of feelings and hopes 
 ■that do honour to human nature. These give value 
 to her works. It is not wit but wisdom — moral 
 goodness — which makes the real worth of literature. 
 
 Prom " Travels in the United States.'' 
 MK. webstee's EESIDENOE. 
 
 We have been much charmed ■with our visit to 
 Green Harbour, Marshfield, the beautiful domain 
 of Mr. Webster, it is a charming and particularly 
 enjoyable place, almost close to the sea. The 
 beach here is something marvellous, eight miles in 
 breadth, and of splendid, hard, floor-like sand, 
 and when this is covered by the rolling Atlantic, 
 the waves all but come up to the neighbouring 
 green, grassy fields. Very high tides cover them. 
 
 This house is very prettily fitted up. It strikes 
 me as being partly in the English and partly in 
 the French style, exceedingly comfortable, and 
 with a number of remarkably pretty drawing- 
 rooms opening into one another, which always is a 
 judicious arrangement I think ; it makes a party 
 agreeable and unformal. There are a variety of 
 pictures and busts by American artists, and some 
 of them are exceedingly good. There is a picture 
 in the chief dra^vring-room of Mr. Webster's gallant 
 son, who was killed in the Mexican war. The two 
 greatest of America's statemen each lost a son in 
 that war, Mr. Clay and Mr. Webster. There is 
 also a fine picture of Mr. Webster himself, which, 
 however, though a masterly painting, does not do 
 justice to the distinguished original. It was. ex- 
 ecuted some years ago ; but I really think it is not 
 so handsome as the great statesman is now, with 
 his Olympus-like brow, on which are throned such 
 divinities of thought, and with that wonderful 
 countenance of might and majesty. 
 
 The dining-room here is a charming apartment, 
 with all its windows opening to the ground, looking 
 on the garden ; and it is deliciousiy cool, protected 
 from the sun by the overshadowing masses of 
 foliage of the most magnificent weeping (American) 
 elms. These colossal trees stand just before the 
 house, and are pre-eminently beautiful : they 
 seem to unite in their own gigantic persons the 
 exquisite and exceeding grace of the weeping 
 wUlow, with the strength and grandeur of the 
 towering elm. 
 
 The walls of the dining-room are adorned chiefly 
 with English engi-avings, among which there is 
 one of my father. My bed-room is profusely 
 decorated with prints of different English country 
 houses and castles. The utmost good taste and 
 refinement are perceptible in the arrangements 
 of the house, and a most enchanting place of 
 residence it is. 
 
 * * * * » 
 
 Mr. Webster's farm here consists of one thou- 
 sand five hundred acres : he has a hundred head 
 of cattle. 
 
 MR. weestek's genius. 
 
 One cannot wonder at the Americans' extreme 
 admiration of the genius and the statesman-like 
 qualities of their distinguished countryman, his 
 glorious and electrifying eloquence, his great 
 powers of ratiocination, his solid judgment, his 
 stores of knowledge, and his large and compre- 
 hensive mind — a mind of that real expansion 
 and breadth which, heaven Imows, too few public 
 men can boast of. 
 
 820 
 
wo 
 
 wo 
 
 From " Lays of Leisure." 
 
 DREAMS. 
 
 Dii^ams, lovelicBt mutabilities of ever-changeful earth ! 
 Beauteous and precious blossoming of Time's cold desert 
 
 dearth, 
 Incarnadining life's grey mists with sun hues of the south, 
 And brightening life's horizon-rim with the orient fires of 
 
 youth. 
 
 Like the fair rainbow, linking earth to the blue exulting sky, 
 And showering o'er the space around a flood of radiancy I 
 O, wondrous are ye, and sublime in your phases and your 
 
 powers. 
 Wresting from care and feverish woe some few short splendid 
 
 hours! 
 
 From the monarch's brow ye lift the crown! the captive's 
 
 chains unbind 1 
 Youth unto frozen age ye are, and light unto the blind — 
 A refuge and a shelter to earth's wanderer, weary-hearted, ' 
 And all to the bereaved, since ye restore the long-departed I 
 
 To childhood's ken, O ! what a world of mystery and of 
 
 glory ! 
 Surpassing all even childhood meets in the gorgeous realms 
 
 of story ! 
 All dazzling dyes, all wildering light, all wonder, and all 
 
 change ! 
 Where the thoughts, like birds of paradise, through an end* 
 
 less sunshine raogo ! 
 
 From '* Recent Poems." 
 
 AMEBICAi' MINi>. 
 
 Wand'rers! whose feet, like mine, ne er press'd before 
 This proud, magnificently-vanous shore — 
 Wand'rers 1 who speed from many a distant zone 
 To gaze on Nature's transatlantic throne — 
 Ne'er lightly view the thousand scenes sublime 
 Of great America's resplendent clime. 
 But still, in thoughtful mood's observant care, 
 Weigh well the many-mi ngiing glories there, 
 Since all the loftier wonders of the land 
 Are most admired — when best ye understand! 
 It is a gracious study for the soul, 
 As, part by part, the Heaven stamp'd leaves unroll; — 
 Not only, all-majestic nature here 
 Speaks to each kindling thought, but, far and near, 
 A large and mighty meaning seems to lurk, 
 A glorious mind is every where at work ! 
 A bold, grand spirit rules and reigns around, 
 And sanctifies the common air and ground, 
 And glorifies the lowliest herb and stone 
 With living tints and touches of its own ; 
 A spirit ever flashing back the sun. 
 That scorns each prize while aught is to be won, 
 More boundless than the prairie's verdurous sweep, 
 Or th' old Atlantic's long-resounding deep. 
 And more luxuriant than the forest's crowd 
 Of patriarch trees by weightiest foliage bow'd — 
 More rich than California's teeming mould. 
 Whose hoarded sunbeams laugh to living gold — 
 More soaring, far, thaq th' immemorial hills — 
 More fresh and flowing than their streams and rills — 
 That mind, of quenchless energy and power, 
 Whichspringsfrom strength to strength, hour after hour — 
 Man's glorious mind, in its most glorious mood. 
 That seems, for aye, on every side to brood. 
 In this empurpled and exultant land. 
 So gladly bow'd beneath its bright command — 
 Man's glorious mind, on its most glorious march — 
 High-spanning earth, like Heav'n's own rainbow arch- 
 That soul, that mind, 'tis every where reveal'd! 
 It crowns the steep, it gilds the cultured field. 
 It charms the wild, and paves the rushing stream, 
 And scarce allows the sun a vagrant beam. 
 It tames the rugged soil of rocks, and flings 
 From seas to seas the shadow of its wings. 
 And Time and Space in that great Shadow rest 
 And watch to serve their ruler-son's behest.) 
 And still its growing, gathering influence spreads, 
 And still abroad Us own great life it sheds. 
 
 O'er mount and lake, and cataract, field and flood. 
 O'er rock and cave and isle, o'er plain and wood. 
 It lives, it lightens, and in might inspires 
 Each separate scene with fresh creative fires. 
 Where'er it moves a Wondering World awakes. 
 And still all nature's face its li'tieness takes; 
 It quickens still, and kindles, and pervades 
 Her startled deserts and receding shades, 
 Her mightiest solitudes and paths unknown. 
 Her hidden shrines and well-springs pure and lone 
 Hung— as The Heavens are hung above them all, 
 And holding their sublimest powers in thrall ! 
 
 A FAREWELL TO AMERICA. 
 
 Farewelll thou great and gracious land. 
 
 Glory and wonder of the earth. 
 For ever seeming to expand, 
 
 Wakening to new majestic birth — 
 
 Great, good Columbia ! 
 
 Farewell! thou chosen second home 
 Of homeless thousands — countless hosts 
 
 That fly from desolation's doom 
 To these glad, hospitable coasts 
 
 Of thine, Columbia! 
 
 Of myriads, thou 'rt the cherished goal — 
 They shape toward thee their eager flight: 
 
 A second sun thou sbin'st — to soul 
 As bright as that above the sight — 
 
 Great, bright Columbia ! 
 
 A thousand kind farewells to thee I 
 
 Ten thousand salutations fair; 
 Thanks, tears, and praises, gushing free 
 
 And many a hushed, heart-whispered praj-er, 
 For thee, Columbia. 
 
 Ay, thousand blessings, warm and true, 
 
 Ten thousand wishes for thy weal, 
 A world of homage — but thy due — 
 
 And -all that heart can form or feel, 
 
 For thee, Columbia. 
 
 For thou the stranger know'st to greet 
 With welcomes glowing as the West, 
 
 And well the wanderer's wearied feet 
 May those kind welcomes charm to rest 
 In thee, Columbia 
 
 What can I wish thee? AH hast thou 
 That thought can dream or tongue can name ; 
 
 Plumed victory and success thy brow 
 Have graced with every wreath of fame, 
 
 Thrice crowned Columbia! 
 
 Thy people's great undying love 
 
 Builds walls of adamant and steel — 
 
 Thy mightiest barrier this shall prove. 
 And pledge of ihy perpetual weal. 
 
 Thrice arm'd Columbia. 
 
 What can I wish thee? Arms and arts 
 Shed o'er thee glory's richest gleam — 
 
 Still at thy call, crowned knowledge starts - 
 What can I wish, or think, or dream 
 
 For thee, Columbia ? 
 
 "Continuance," — still the same career, 
 The same triumphant course ! — proceed I 
 
 Onward ! — with changeless, stateliest cheer, 
 The universe shall follow. Lead 1 
 
 On ! on I Columbia! 
 
 Thy step is lightning, and thy breath 
 
 An earthquake-storm, far felt around; 
 All earth's past life seems sleep or death 
 To thy great movement, without bound, 
 
 Thy march, Columbia. 
 821 
 
wo 
 
 wo 
 
 Man's loftiest happiness and good, 
 That — that thou still do"8t seek and ask; 
 
 By thee 't is nobly understood — 
 'Tis made thy one great sovereign task, 
 
 Thine aim, Columbia. 
 
 Thou crescent country I — evermore 
 
 Showing a brighter, grander face, 
 Honour to thee, still o'er and o'er. 
 
 And honour to that glorious race — 
 
 Thy sons, Columbia. 
 
 Thy Titan sons I they heave on high 
 The mountains of their greatness still"; 
 
 Yea, their own greatness seeks the sky, 
 To scale its sun-heights at tlieir will. 
 
 Be proud, Columbia ! 
 
 No need have they of towers to aid, 
 Of giant steps, or cloud capp'd steeps ; 
 
 Their tow'ring heads the heights invade 
 With feet firm planted in the deeps, 
 
 To serve Columbia. 
 
 Their spirits sweep like waves of fire 
 On the untrod shores beyond to break. 
 
 And as ihey still ascend, aspire, 
 A world's foundations seem to shake — 
 
 Not thine, Columbia ', 
 
 Thou nobler, newer world sublime ! 
 
 Thou hast a long bright race to run 
 Still shall those spirits soar and climb, 
 
 Since naught seems gained till all is won 
 For thee, Columbia. 
 
 Caucasus of creation, thou ! 
 
 Rising above all heights yet tried ; 
 The very spheres might seem to bow 
 
 To meet, half-way, thy crest of pride — 
 
 Thy stars — Columbia 1 
 
 Thy Titan sons — they conquering pass, 
 And empire in their pathway springs;* 
 
 History uplifts for them her glass ; 
 Renown for them outspreads her wings, 
 
 And shouts, " Columbia I 
 
 Thy daughters — fairy forms they wear ; 
 
 Flowers of the setting sun, in vain j 
 Their smiles a rising sun appear, 
 
 Till wins the East's own roseate reign — 
 Thy West, Columbia I 
 
 Farewell to each ! farewell to all I — 
 The free, the beautiful, the great — 
 
 To mount and wood, field, flood and fall. 
 Thy walls of strength, and walks of state, 
 And thee, Columbia I 
 
 Let tears these parting sorrows tell I 
 Sisters, sweet sisters mitie, adieu I 
 
 And, glorious brothers, fare ye well — 
 If there can be farewell to you. 
 
 And thee, Columbia! 
 
 Oh I who can say " Farewell" to thee? 
 
 Where'er wo go thy tracks we find; 
 From zone to zone, from sea to sea, 
 
 We hail thy majesty of mind, 
 
 And thee, Columbia I 
 
 Here, thy great fleets bestride the main : 
 There, thy, blest missions, call to Heaven', 
 
 Here, doth thy boundless commerce reign ; 
 And there thine artists' souls have striven — ^ 
 For thee, Columbia. 
 
 For thee, for thy true glory still, 
 
 Labours full many a gifted hand; 
 Works of thy sons' creative skill 
 
 Adorn full many a stranger land, 
 
 For thee, Columbia. 
 
 No I there is no farewell to thee — 
 Still more and more thine influence spreads ; 
 
 Where'er we move, by land or sea, 
 A life, a light thy presence sheds — 
 
 Thy flower, Columbia I 
 
 A glorious life — a dazzling light — 
 
 Blessing all those'wiio feel and see ; 
 A flash — a portion of thy might — 
 
 No t there is no farewell to thee. 
 
 Or thine, Columbia) 
 
 And least of all, when bound to shores 
 Which deathless ties with thee unite. 
 
 What though between old ocean roars? 
 England seems mingling in her might 
 
 With thee, Columbia 
 
 Then no farewell I but blessings still, 
 
 And many a kindly parting word ; 
 And may they gain the wished for skill 
 
 To touch and thrill an answering chord 
 In thee, Columbia. 
 
 Scorn not your English sister's tones — 
 Scorn not your English sister's tears, 
 
 For they are truths — and trusting ones — 
 And each a world of feeling bears, 
 
 For your Columbia I 
 
 Be blessings on yon barks ! They bring 
 Friendship and faith in glad increase. 
 
 From them what wealth of good shall spring. 
 Whose richest freight is earth's deep peace — 
 Thy peace, Columbia ? 
 
 Away with reckless strifes and wars — 
 Those barks have nobler missions found ; 
 
 The people's great ambassadors — 
 Shall they shed aught but concord round ? 
 Say thou, Columbia ! 
 
 For thou, the people's precious weal 
 
 Dost study well, and justly weigh. 
 Even with a strong and sacred zeal; 
 
 And doth not peace best serve them, say ? 
 Reply, Columbia. 
 
 Blessed be the barks I — Melhinks I hear, 
 A shout, as of the seas ! — " Rejoice 1 
 
 Earth ! rest in peace 1 " aijd far and near 
 Repeats thy thousand thundering voice, 
 
 "Peace I peace! Columbia.' 
 
 War's glory fades, and day by day, 
 Art, knowledge, enterprise, and trade 
 
 March in magnificent array; 
 That still such progress may be made. 
 
 Heaven save Columbia I 
 
 822 
 
YOUNG WEITERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 Under this title is included not only the youthful 
 who have scarcely ceased to hlush when their 
 names are mentioned in connexion with authorship, 
 but also those who, from hindrances of various 
 sorts, have not yet reached the best eminence 
 within their power. Writers of poetry and con- 
 tributors to periodicals who have not collected 
 their articles into a volume come under this rule. 
 Such can only be judged by a few desultory 
 sketches or poems ; we cannot assign them a fixed 
 position. A lady traveller who has given the par- 
 ticulars of one journey, or description of foreign 
 countries during one tour, can scarcely be said to 
 have distinguished herself in literature, unless her 
 work is of extraordinary merit. Tet, as our aim 
 is to give the perfect impression of female intellect 
 and its records, it could not be accomplished unless 
 we included the names of those who are not, per- 
 haps, widely known, and yet are contributing to 
 make the present century remarkable for its in- 
 telligent women. Moreover, there are some sketches 
 in this second section which could not be obtained 
 in season for insertion in the first section of the 
 living ; and a few, accidentally omitted. All these 
 are here brought together, associated, where 
 every lady would like to find her name, with 
 youth, hope, and promise. Arranging these 
 "Young Writers," &c., in alphabetical order, 
 nationally, shows at a glance, the degree and in- 
 clination of the developement of female intellect, 
 in every country. It is also curious to remark 
 that nearly in this order is the greatest, or, at any 
 rate, the most active and most beneficial influence 
 of the sex exerted. Those peculiarities in the 
 present developement of female genius which were 
 described in our "Remarks on the Fourth Era," 
 are here strikingly illustrated. America has the 
 most numerous band of female poets and teachers ; 
 these hold sway over the heart and the affections. 
 Out of the heart are the issues of life. A well- 
 written book for children is of more value to 
 human progress and more significant of its quiet 
 but effective onward march, than is a great work 
 on philosophy, however brilliant may be its style 
 or imposing its subject. Where these good books 
 for children and youth are in the greatest request, 
 there woman has the greatest moral influence, and 
 uses it the best. The intellect and taste are 
 highly cultivated in England ; physical education 
 is better understood there than in the United 
 States — but the heart and soul are bowed to the 
 worship of caste and condition. 
 
 AMERICAN. 
 
 ALLIN, ABEY 
 Resides in Pomfret, Connecticut. Her poems 
 have appeared in several periodicals, over the sig- 
 nature of " NiUa," her own name reversed, during 
 several past years. In 1850, these poems, with 
 some prose papers, contributed to the Boston 
 Journal, were published. " Home BaUads, a book 
 for New Englanders," is its title, descriptive of its 
 spirit and sentiments. The writings of Miss Allin 
 are filled with warm sympathies for the working- 
 day world ; she has a cheerful, hopeful philosophy, 
 and loves "home, children and friends." The 
 expression of these feelings makes her Ballads 
 popular. 
 
 BAILEY, MARGARET L., 
 
 By birth Miss Shands, was born in Sussex, 
 Virginia, in 1812. In 1833, she was married to 
 Mr. Gr. Bailey, of Cincinnati, at present editor of 
 the National Era, at Washington. During Mrs. 
 Bailey's residence in Cincinnati, she edited " The 
 Youth's Monthly Visitor," a Juvenile periodical 
 which was conducted with unusual ability and met 
 with great success, but was discontinued in 1846, 
 in consequence of her removal to Washington. 
 
 Mrs. Bailey is favourably known both as a poetess 
 and a prose writer. Her productions principally 
 have appeared in the periodicals edited by her 
 husband and herself, and have contributed much 
 to their success. 
 
 BARNES, SUSAN REBECCA, 
 Is a daughter of the Hon. Richard H. Ayer, of 
 Manchester, New Hampshire, at which place Mrs. 
 Barnes now resides. Her poems have been favor- 
 ably received, and show greater strength and 
 vigor than those that are written by the generality 
 of her sex. 
 
 BAYARD, ELISE JUSTINE, 
 
 Is a native of New York. The few poems that 
 she has published are enough to entitle her to take 
 a high rank among the poetesses of our country. 
 No collection of her writings has ever been made. 
 
 823 
 
YOUNG WRITERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 BOGART, ELIZABETH, 
 
 Daughter of the Rev. David S. Bogart, was 
 born in the city of New York, where she now re- 
 sides. She has, however, resided in other places, 
 and, in a letter to a friend, she thus describes a 
 place where the family lived when she was about 
 sixteen years of age. 
 
 *' Hempstead Htirbor is a most romantic spot on 
 the western part of Long Island — where, instead 
 of the wide-spread level country we had just left, 
 and the everlasting sounding of the magnificent 
 ocean, we found ourselves located in a lovely valley, 
 at the head of a beautiful bay with its ebbing and 
 flowing tides, and surrounded with hills covered 
 with forest trees and evergreens. I am an en- 
 thusiastic admirer of scenery, and think it was in 
 that place that the natural romance of my dispo- 
 sition was augmented and encouraged, until it was 
 brought to exercise an enduring influence over my 
 mind. I would not wish it otherwise — for it 
 appears to me to be a refining sentiment, which, 
 though it may sometimes unfit us for the rough 
 angles of the real world, amply repays us by the 
 charm of the ideal." 
 
 It was there she probably formed her taste for 
 descriptive poetry in which she most excels. She 
 has written much for the Periodicals, and generally 
 over the name of Estille ; her first productions 
 appeared in 1825. She has also written in prose, 
 and four of her tales have taken prizes ; and what 
 is of more consequence to our sketch of her, have 
 been deserving of this success. She is best known 
 by her poems, some of which have been very 
 popular. 
 
 HE CAME TOO LATE. 
 
 He came too late! Neglect iiad tried 
 
 Her constancy too long; 
 Her love had yielded to her pride, 
 
 And the deep sense of wrong. 
 She scorn'd the offering of a heart 
 
 Which lingered on its way. 
 Till it could no delight impart, 
 
 Nor spread one cheering ray. 
 
 He came too late 1 At once he felt 
 
 That all his power was o'er; 
 Indifference in her calm smile dwelt; 
 
 Slie thought of him no more. 
 Anger and grief hart passed away, 
 
 Her heart and thoughts were free ; 
 She met him, and her words were gay ; 
 
 No spell Jiad memory. 
 
 He came too late 1 The subtle chords 
 
 Of love were all unbound; 
 Not by offence of spoken words, 
 
 But by the slights that wound. 
 She knew that life lield nothing now 
 
 That could the past repay, 
 Yet she disdain'd his tardy vow, 
 
 And coldly turn'd away. 
 
 He came too late ! Her countless dreams 
 
 Of hope had long since flown ; 
 No charms dwelt in his chosen themes, 
 
 Nor in his whisper'd tone. 
 And when, with word and smile, he tried 
 
 Affection still to prove, 
 She nerved her heart with woman's pride, 
 
 And spurn'd his fickle love. 
 
 AN AUTUMN YTEW FEOM MY WINDOW. 
 
 I gaze with raptured eyes 
 Upon the lovely landscape, as it lies 
 Oulstretch'd before my window : even now 
 The mist is sailing from the mountain's brow; 
 For it is early morning, and the sun 
 His course has just begun. 
 
 How beautiful the scene 
 Of hill on hill arising, while between 
 The river, like a silvery streak appears, 
 And rugged rocks, the monurnents of years, 
 Resemble the old castles on the Rhine, 
 Which look down on the vine. 
 
 No clustering grapes, 'tis true, 
 Hang from these mountain-sides to meet the view; 
 But fairer than the vineyards is the sight 
 Of our luxuriant fores's, which, despite 
 The change of nations, hold their ancient place, 
 Lost to the Indian race. 
 
 Untiring I survey 
 The prospect from my window, day by day. 
 Something forgotten, though just seen before. 
 Something of ndvelly or beauty more 
 Than yet discover'd, ever charms my eyes, 
 And wakes a fresh surprise. 
 
 And thus, when o'er my heart 
 A weary thought is stealing, while apart 
 From friends and the gay world, I sit alone, 
 With life's dark veil upon the future thrown, 
 I look from. out my window, and there find 
 A solace for the mind. 
 
 The Indian Summer's breath 
 Sighs gently o'er the fallen leaflet's death, 
 And bids the frost-king linger on his way 
 Till Autumn's tints have brighten'd o'er decay 
 What other clime can such rich painting show ? 
 Tell us, if any know! 
 
 BOLTON, SARAH T. , 
 
 A POETESS, and a contributor to some of the 
 best periodicals of the Union, is a native of Ohio, 
 where she now lives. Thought and feeling stamp 
 her verses with the mark of sincerity and earnest- 
 ness. 
 
 BROOKS, MARY E., 
 
 Is a native of New York City. Her maiden 
 name was Aiken. She wrote for several years 
 under the name of Noma. In 1828, Miss Aiken 
 married James G. Brooks, also an author, and in 
 1829 they published their writings in a volume 
 entitled "The Rivals of Este, and other Poems." 
 
 The principal poem in the work is by Mrs. 
 Brooks. Mr. Brooks died at Albany, in 1841, 
 and since then Mrs. Brooks has resided in New 
 York. Some of her lyrics are very beautiful. 
 
 PSALM oxxxvii. 
 
 Come, sweep the harp ! one thrilling rush 
 
 Of all that warm'd its chords to song, 
 And then the strains for ever hush 
 
 Thai oft have breathed its wires along! 
 The ray is quench'd that lit our mirth, 
 
 The shrin,e is gone that claim'd the prayer; 
 And, exiles o'er the distant earth. 
 
 How can we wake the carol there? 
 
 One sigh, my harp I and then to sleep, 
 For all that loved thy song have flown ; 
 
 Why should'st thou lonely vigils keep. 
 Forsaken, broken, and alone? 
 
 824 
 
AMERICAN. 
 
 Let this sad murmur be thy last, 
 
 Nor e'er again in music swell ; 
 Thine hours of joyousnesa aro past. 
 
 And thus we sever. Fa-re thee well ! 
 
 *'0H, NEVER BELIEVE, LOVE." 
 
 Oh, never believe, love, the music that floats 
 
 So light from my harp is a truant to thee; 
 In the heart there are deeper and holier notes 
 
 Than e'er to the harp-string were utter'd by me ; 
 And like the wild numbers that silently lay* 
 
 Till morn's magic finger awoke them to song, 
 Thy thought to my soul is the life-lighting ray, 
 
 And music and rapture flow swiftly along. 
 
 And while the light flow'rets I carelessly twine, 
 
 That fancy has pluck'd in her perishing bower, 
 *Tis only to cover the heart and the shrine, 
 
 Where thine image still hallows each happier hour. 
 And never believe, love, tho' brightness they fling, 
 
 They can win from my spirit a moment of rest ; 
 It is only the touch of the nightingale's wing 
 
 As she hurries along to the leaf she loves best. 
 
 c. 
 
 CAMPBELL, JULIET H. L., 
 
 Is a native of Pennsylvania, and a daughter of 
 Judge Lewis, of that State. She was married in 
 1843, since which event she has resided in Potts- 
 ville. Mrs. Campbell's poetical talents were very 
 early developed, and she began to be known for 
 her genius when almost a child. Since her mar- 
 riage she has been a frequent and valued contri- 
 butor, both in prose and verse, to the best period- 
 icals. 
 
 A STOET OF SUNRISE. 
 
 Where the old cathedral towers. 
 
 With its dimly lighted dome. 
 Underneath its morning shadow 
 
 Nestles my belov6d home ; 
 When the summer morn is breaking 
 
 Glorious, with its golden beams, 
 Through my open latticed window 
 
 Matin music wildly streams. 
 Not the peal of deep-toned organ 
 
 Smites the air with ringing sound; 
 Not the voice of singing maiden 
 
 Sighing softer music round; 
 Long ere these have haiTd the morning, 
 
 Is the mystic anthem heard. 
 Wildly, fervently, outpouring, 
 
 From the bosom of a bird. 
 Every morn he takes his station 
 
 On the cross which crowns the spire, 
 And, with heaven-born inspiration, 
 
 Vents in voice his bosom's fire; 
 Every morn when light and shadow. 
 
 Struggling, blend their gold and grey, 
 From the cross, midway to heaven, 
 
 Streams his holy melody. 
 Like the summons from the turrets 
 
 Of an eastern mosque it seems: 
 " Come to prayer, to prayer, ye faithful !" 
 
 Echoes through my morning dreams. 
 Heedful of the invitation 
 
 Of the pious messenger, 
 Lo! I join in meek devotion 
 
 With so lone a worshipper. 
 And a'gushing, glad thanksgiving, 
 
 From my inmost heart doth thrill, 
 To our Ever Friend in heaven. 
 
 As our blent glad voices trill. 
 
 * The Statue of Memnon. 
 
 Then tho boy who rests beside me 
 
 Softly opes his starry eyes, 
 Tosses back his streaming ringlets. 
 
 Gazes round in sweet surprise. 
 He, though sleeping, felt the radiance 
 
 Struggling through the curtain'd gloom . 
 Heard the wild, harmonious hymning, 
 
 Break the stillness of my room: 
 These deliciously commingled 
 
 With the rapture of his dreams, 
 And the heaven of which I 've told him 
 
 On his childish vision gleams. 
 Guardian seraphs, viewless spirits, 
 
 Brooding o'er the enchanted air. 
 Pause, with folded wings, to listen 
 
 To the lispings of his prayer; 
 Up, to the recording angel, 
 
 When their ward on earth is done, 
 They will bear the guileless accents 
 
 Of my infant's orison. 
 
 CASE, LTJELLA J. B. 
 
 Is a native of Kingston, New Hampshire. Her 
 father was the Hon. Levi Bartlett of that state. 
 Some time after Miss Bartlett's marriage, she 
 removed to Cincinnati, where she still resides. 
 Her writings both in prose and verse, though 
 generally admired, have never yet been collected. 
 
 ENEKGY IN ADVEKSITY. 
 
 Onward ! Hath earth's ceaseless change 
 
 Trampled on thy heart? 
 Faint not. for that restless range 
 
 Soon will heal the smart. 
 Trust the future: time will prove 
 Earth hath stronger, iruer love. 
 
 Bless thy God — the heart is not 
 
 An abandoned urn. 
 Where, all lonely and forgot. 
 
 Dost and ashes mourn : 
 Bless him, that his mercy brings 
 Joy from out its withered things 
 
 Onward, for the truths of God — 
 
 Onward, for the right! 
 Firmly let the field be trod, 
 
 In life's coming fight ; 
 Heaven's own hand will lead thee on, 
 Guard thee till thy task is done ! 
 
 Then will brighter, sweeter flowers 
 
 Blossom round thy way, 
 Than ere sprung in Hope's glad howers, 
 
 In thine early day; 
 And the rolling years shall bring 
 Strength and healing on their wing. 
 
 CHANDLER, CAROLINE H. 
 Is a native of Philadelphia. Her maiden name 
 was Hieskill. She has not written much. A few 
 poems are all that have appeared with her name 
 attached to them ; yet these are sufficient to evince 
 a warm and impassioned temperament, ardent 
 feelings, and gi*eat poetic sensibility. 
 
 CHENEY, HARRIET V. 
 Is a native of Massachusetts. Her love of 
 literature was developed in childhood, probably 
 owing much to the influence of her mother's taste 
 and genius, who was author of one of the earliest 
 American novels, " The Coquette, or History of 
 Eliza Wharton." Soon after the subject of our 
 notice left school, she wrote, in conjunction with 
 her sister, *' The Sunday School, or Village 
 Sketches," which was published anonymously. 
 
YOUNG WRITERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 It was popular, the edition was soon exhausted, 
 and the authors were solicited to republish it ; — 
 but not having secured the copyright, another 
 writer had seized on the book, changed the title 
 to " Charles Hartland," and published it for his 
 own benefit. This appropriation of the writings 
 of females by men has been repeatedly done ; 
 thus Miss Hannah Adams was injured, and Miss 
 Strickland plundered ; while such men are usually 
 the most authoritative in claiming for their own sex 
 all the talents. The next work, " A Peep at the 
 Pilgrims," passed through two editions, and was 
 re-published in London. It is an interesting 
 story of the early settlers of New England, and 
 has lately been re-printed in Boston. " The Rivals 
 of Acadia," was the next ; and then for a number 
 of years Mrs. Cheney's time was wholly devoted 
 to h^r family. The death of her husband, by 
 rendering her own exertions on behaffi of her chil- 
 dren essential to their education, has called her 
 again into the field of literature. Her latest 
 books, "Sketches from the Life of Christ;" and 
 "Confessions of an early Martyr," appeared in 
 1846; she has since been a contributor to "The 
 Literary Garland," a Monthly Magazine published 
 in Montreal, Canada, where Mrs. Cheney now 
 resides. Her sister, Mks. Cushinq, is editor of 
 the " Garland," and has written several books 
 for the young, and poems: "Esther, a Dramatic 
 Poem," is a work of deep interest. These two 
 amiable and intelligent sisters are doing much, in 
 a quiet way, for the literary taste and moral im- 
 provement of the youth of Canada. 
 
 COOPER, MISS, 
 Daughter of the distinguished novelist, J. 
 Fennimore Cooper, has written a work of rare 
 merit, entitled "Rural Hours; by a Lady," 
 published in 1850. It is a journal of daily life, 
 commencing with the spring of 1848, and ending 
 with the spring of 1849. The scenery described 
 so charmingly is that surrounding her own fair 
 home in Cooperstown: out of these simple 
 materials Miss Cooper has formed one of the 
 most interesting volumes of the day, displaying 
 powers of mind of an high order. This path of 
 literature is peculiarly appropriate for our own 
 sex and our new country. Beautified as these 
 scenes from common life may be by the touch 
 of genius and the soul of piety, we are taught 
 how fair is the world we live in, when viewed 
 in the gentle spirit of love, hope, and faith. 
 
 COXE, MARGARET, 
 Was born in Burlington, New Jersey. Her 
 father was William Coxe, Esq., long an eminent 
 citizen of that place, Miss Coxe, as a delicate 
 child, was educated chiefly at home ; a choice 
 library, a beautiful garden, and a pious family, 
 united with her own love of study, gave the bias 
 to her mind which has proved of such benefit to 
 others. She is now one of the most accomplished 
 educators of her own sex in the country ; because 
 to her thorough discipline of mind is added the 
 true religion of heart which has such an influence 
 in moulding the characters of the young. Miss 
 
 Coxe has written some excellent works, among 
 which are " Botany of the Scriptures ; " " Wonders 
 of the Deep;" and "The Young Lady's Com- 
 panion," in a series of Letters, replete with the 
 faithful monitions and precepts a good mother, or 
 rather an afi'ectionate elder sister would urge on 
 those under her care. Miss Coxe is now at the 
 head of a large and popular seminary for young 
 ladies in Cincinnati, Ohio. 
 
 D. 
 
 DINNIES, ANNA PEYRE, 
 
 A POETESS known at first under the name of 
 Moina, was bom in Georgetown, South Carolina. 
 Her father. Judge Shackleford, removed to 
 Charleston when Anna was a child, where she 
 was educated. In 1830, Miss Shackleford married 
 John C. Dinnies of St. Louis, Missouri, where 
 she has since resided. The poetry of Mrs. Din- 
 nies is characterized by vigour of thought and 
 delicate tenderness of feeling. There is some- 
 thing exceedingly fascinating in the display of 
 intellectual power, when it seems entirely devoted 
 to the happiness of others. It is genius perform- 
 ing the office of a guardian angel. There is a 
 fervidness in the expressions of this writer, which 
 goes to the heart of the reader at once, and exalts 
 the strain, no matter what the theme may be. In 
 the regions of imagination she does not soar far 
 or often; the wild and mysterious are not her 
 passion; but the holy fire of poesy burns pure 
 and bright in her own heart, and she cherishes it 
 to illumine and bless her own hearth. The genius 
 that has warmed into summer beauty a frozen 
 " Clirysanthemum," that " peerless picture of a 
 modest wife," should be cherished and encouraged ; 
 for this "beauty-making power" it is which most 
 essentially aids religious truths to refine and 
 purify social and domestic life. Besides her 
 contributions to periodicals, Mrs. Dinnies pre- 
 pared a handsome volume, "The Floral Year," 
 published in 1847. 
 
 Addressed to a White Chrysanthemum, presented to the writer in 
 December. 
 
 Fair gift of Friendsliip ! and her ever bright 
 And faultless image ! welcome now thou art, 
 
 In thy pure loveliness — thy robes of white, 
 Speaking a moral to the feeling heart ; 
 
 Unscathed by heats— by wintry blasts unmoved — 
 
 Thy strength thus tested — and thy charms improved. 
 
 Emblem of innocence, which fearless braves 
 Life's dreariest scenes, its rudest storm derides. 
 
 And floats as calmly on, o'er troubled waves, 
 As where the peaceful streamlet smoothly glides; 
 
 Tlu]u 'ri blooming now as beautiful and clear, 
 
 As other blossoms do, when Spring is here. 
 
 Symbol of hope, still banishing the gloom, 
 Hung o'er the mind by stern December's reign ! 
 
 Thou cheer'st the fancy by thy steady bloom 
 With thoughts of Summer and the fertile plain, 
 
 Calling a thousand visions into play. 
 
 Of beauty redolent ^ and bright as May 1 
 
 826 
 
AMERICAN. 
 
 Type of a true and holy love ; the same 
 Through every scene that crowds life's varied page; 
 
 'Mid grief —'mid gladness, spell of every dream, 
 Tender in youth — and strong in feeble age ! 
 
 The peerless picture of a modest wife, ' 
 
 Thou bloom'st the fairest 'midst the frosts of life. 
 
 THE WIFE. 
 
 " She flung: her white arms round him — Thou art all 
 That this poor heart can cUngr to." 
 
 I could have stemmed misfortune's tide, 
 
 And borne the rich one's sneer, 
 Have braved the haughty glance of pride, 
 
 Nor shed a single tear. 
 I could have smiled on every blow 
 
 From Life's full quiver thrown, 
 While I might gazei on thee, and know 
 
 I should not be " alone." 
 
 I could — I think 1 could have brooked, 
 
 E'en for a time, that ihou 
 Upon my fading face hadst looked 
 
 With less of love than now; 
 For then I should at least have felt 
 
 The sweet hope still my own, 
 To win thee back, and, whilst I dwelt . 
 
 On earth, not been " alone." 
 
 But thus to see, from day to day, 
 
 Thy brightening eye and cheek. 
 And watch thy life-sands waste away. 
 
 Unnumbered, slowly, meek ; 
 To meet thy smiles of tenderness, 
 
 And catch the feeble tone 
 Of kindness, ever breathed to bless, 
 
 And feel, I '11 be " alone ; " 
 
 To mark thy strength each hour decay, 
 
 And yet thy hopes grow stronger. 
 As filled with heaven-ward trust, they say, 
 
 " Earth may not claim thee longer ;" 
 Nay, dearest, 't is too much — this heart 
 
 Must break when thou art gone ; 
 It must not be ; we may not part ; 
 
 T could not live " alone ! " 
 
 BODD, MARY ANN HAMMER, 
 
 Was born in 1813, She is a native of Hartford, 
 Connecticut, and still resides in that city. As a 
 poetess, she has been known for the last seventeen 
 years, but as her writings have been scattered 
 through yarious magazines, she is not as generally 
 appreciated as she deserves to be, and as she 
 probably would be, were her articles presented in 
 a more compact form to the world. Some of her 
 poems are gems of thought and feeling. 
 
 E. 
 EAMES, ELIZABETH J., 
 Was born in the state of New York. Her maiden 
 name was Jesup. She was married in 1837, and 
 removed to New Hartford, near Utica, in her native 
 state. Mrs. Eames has been for several years a 
 valued contributor to many of the most popular 
 journals of the day. 
 
 THE PICTUBE OF A DEPARTED FOEIESS. 
 
 This still, clear, radiant face I doth it resemble 
 
 In each fair, faultless lineament thine own ? 
 Methinks on that enchanting lip doth tremble 
 
 The soul that breathes thy lyre's melodious tone. 
 The soul of music, oh ! ethereal spirit. 
 
 Fills the dream-haunted sadness of thine eyes : 
 Sweet poetess ! thou surely didst inherit 
 
 Thy gilts celestial from the upper skies. 
 
 EAMES, JANE A., 
 Oe Massachusetts, is known as a very successful 
 writer of books for the young. She has prepared 
 a number of Sunday School books, for the Pro- 
 testant Episcopal S. S. Union. "My Mother's 
 Jewel ; or Happy in Life and Death," " Agnes and 
 Eliza," and several other well written and popular 
 works, are among these. 
 
 ESLING, CATHARINE H.-W., 
 Was born in Philadelphia, in 1812. Under her 
 maiden name of Waterman she was long a favourite 
 writer in the periodicals of the country, and she 
 won her place among the poetical writers of the 
 age by qualities which commend her effusions to 
 the hearts of her readers. Her poems are the 
 expressions of a true woman's soul: she excels 
 in portraying feeling, and in expressing the warm 
 and tender emotions of one to whom home has ever 
 been the lode-star of the soul. In pathos and 
 delicacy she has few equals. Her only published 
 book is entitled " The Broken Bracelet and Other 
 Poems." — 1850. 
 
 P. 
 FARRAE, MRS., 
 Wife of Professor John Farrar of Harvard 
 University, has written several works of merit. 
 Warmly interested in the cause of human im- 
 provement, she has prepared her books for the 
 young, and chiefly for those of her own sex. 
 " The Life of Lafayette," " The Life of Howard," 
 "Youth's Letter Writer," "The Children's Rob- 
 inson Crusoe," and a number of others, weU-knowu 
 to the children of New-England are her works. 
 But her most important production is " The Young 
 Lady's Friend," published in 1837, one of the best 
 manuals of its kind extant. The work has been 
 lately revised, the first set of stereotype plates 
 having been worn out, which is a sure proof of the 
 popularity of this excellent book. 
 
 FULLER, FRANCES A., 
 Was born in Monroeville, Ohio, about 1826. 
 She is just rising into notice as a young writer of 
 brilliant promise both in prose and verse. 
 
 FULLER, METTA VICTORIA, 
 Younger sister to the preceding, more generally 
 known by her mom deplume of "Singing Sibyl," 
 has attracted much attention as a young poetess 
 of uncommon facility and grace. 
 
 a. 
 
 GREEN, FRANCES HARRIET, 
 
 Whose maiden name was Whipple, was born in 
 Smithfield, Rhode Island. Her family is one of 
 the most honourable in the state, and some of the 
 members have displayed uncommon talents. While 
 
 827 
 
YOUNG WRITERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 very young she showed a decided genius, and 
 poetry was her first production. A number of her 
 fugitive pieces appeared from 1830 to 1835. Her 
 first prose work was " Memoirs of Eleanor El- 
 tridge" — a coloured woman, which was very 
 successful. Her next book was a singular one to 
 emanate from a woman's mind — " The Mechanic," 
 addressed to operatives. This appeared in 1841, 
 and in 1844, she published "Might and Right," 
 an historical sketch of the' doings of the two 
 political parties during the attempts to form a new 
 constitution for the state of Rhode Island. In the 
 following years she wrote for the " Reform Pe- 
 riodicals," so called, principally, and in 1848, 
 became editress of a magazine, " The Young 
 People's Journal," in the hope of " combining the 
 gems of science with the flowers of literature." 
 Mrs. Green is an original and often a powerful 
 writer. Her poetry is marked in its character. 
 " The Dwarf's Story " is passionate and thrilling; 
 some of her descriptive poems are exceedingly 
 beautiful, and all are imbued with the warm, 
 earnest spirit of the seeker after good. Her writings 
 show a vivid imagination and carefully cultivated 
 intellect ; but we fear she has wasted her fine talents 
 on sectarian and political discussions, and thus 
 failed of doing the good or enjoying the success her 
 philanthropy deserves, and her genius should effect. 
 
 H. 
 
 HAIGHT, SARAH ROGERS, 
 
 Is descended from ancestors distinguished for 
 their piety and learning. The Rev. John Elliot, 
 in his " Biographical Dictionary," containing a 
 brief account of the first settlers, eminent cha- 
 racters, &c., who came to New England, gives the 
 following notice : 
 
 " The church of Ipswich was supplied with a 
 pastor by the name of Rogers, above one hundred 
 years. The family descended from Mr. John 
 Rogers, who was the first English martyr to the 
 
 cause of the Reformation ; he was burnt at Smith- 
 field, 1553. 
 
 Mr. Rogers of Dedham, was his grandson; 
 whose son Nathaniel came over to New England, 
 and was in the church at Ipswich between forty 
 and fifty years. 
 
 Mr. Rogers of Littleton, who was graduated in 
 1725, with whom the compiler of this work once 
 served as an assistant, possessed very superior 
 talents ; was a very rational and learned divine, 
 a man of scientific research, and a complete gen- 
 tleman in his manners. 
 
 The branches of the family are numerous ; no 
 one name has been more conspicuous among the 
 divines of Massachusetts." 
 
 The maternal ancestors of the subject of this 
 memoir descended from Richard Smith, who was 
 an officer under Cromwell, and who emigrated from 
 England in the beginning of the eighteenth century. 
 He purchased of the natives, the territory now 
 -constituting the town of Smithtown, in Suff'olk 
 County, N. Y. The estate occupied by the original 
 patentee, has continued in the possession of his 
 direct descendants to the present time ; and the 
 gentleman who may now be considered as the 
 head of the family, worthily sustains its charac- 
 teristic reputation for energy, urbanity, and hos- 
 pitality. 
 
 Sarah Rogers was born in the city of New York, 
 and educated in its best schools. She was married 
 at a very early age, to Richard K. Haight, Esq., 
 a native and resident of the same city. A natural 
 fondness for travel, and love of adventure, stimu- 
 lated doubtless by the glowing descriptions given 
 her by her husband of those far-off lands, and 
 classic shores, over which he had already travelled 
 extensively, inspired her with an ardent desire to 
 visit them in person. 
 
 A few years elapsed, during which she cultivated 
 studies with reference to her favourite design; 
 when she was gratified to the full extent of her 
 most sanguine anticipations, in being conducted 
 over almost every country of Europe, as well as 
 portions of Asia and Africa. 
 
 The extent of her perigrinations may be inferred 
 from the following lines borrowed from her 
 " Letters from the Old World." 
 
 To Tartary'9 desert plains, from fertile Gallic lands, 
 From Norway's rocliy coasts, to Nubia's burning sands, 
 
 We've wander'd. 
 On Briton's Druid stones, Scythia's mounds on eastern 
 
 plains, 
 Odin's temples in the North, o'er Memnon's cavern'd fanes, 
 
 We've ponder'd. 
 The Gaul, Goth, and Saxon, Scandinavian and Hun, 
 Greek, Turcoman, Arab and Nubia's swarthy son, 
 
 We've confronted," &c. 
 
 To a residence of several years in various 
 foreign capitals, affording the usual concomitants 
 of society suited to every taste ; with galleries 
 and libraries, wherein the amateur and student 
 might revel at pleasure, was superadded the ad- 
 vantages of being made acquainted with men of 
 letters and science of every nation ; the friends, 
 associates, and colleagues of the conductor of her 
 wanderings. 
 
 " The extent to which she improved her rare 
 
 828 
 
AMERICAN. 
 
 opportunities, can be appreciated by those only, 
 who have the happiness to be intimately acquainted 
 with the estimable qualities of her mind and 
 heart," says the gentleman to whom we are in- 
 debted for the foregoing sketch, who has known 
 its subject from her childhood — "while those 
 who are acquainted only with the beautiful ema- 
 nations of her pen will join us in regretting that 
 Mrs. Haight has not continued her reminiscences 
 and observations." Her only published work — 
 "Letters from the Old "World : by a Lady of New 
 York," was received with much favour when it 
 appeared, in 1840. It is in two volumes, contain- 
 ing a great variety of interesting information,' and 
 at the time was considered one of the best de- 
 scriptive books of travel modern tourists had 
 furnished : it was highly creditable to the talents 
 and acquirements of Mrs. Haight. 
 
 HEWITT, MARY E., 
 
 Was born in Maiden, Massachusetts ; her maiden 
 name was Moore. Her mother, left early a widow, 
 removed to Boston, where Miss Moore continued 
 to live until her marriage with Mr. James L. 
 Hewitt, when she changed her place of residence 
 to the city of New York. In 1845, Mrs. Hewitt 
 ptiblished a small volume of poems, selected from 
 her contributions to the various periodicals, 
 entitled, " Songs of our Land, and other Poems." 
 Many of these had appeared and attracted much 
 attention, under the signature of " Jane." These 
 verses are evidently the utterance of a warm and 
 impassioned heart, and strong imagination. The 
 thoughts are expressed gracefully and harmo- 
 moniously, and bear the stamp of truth and 
 originality. In 1850, Mrs. Hewitt edited a gift 
 book, called "The Gem of the Western World;" 
 and the "Memorial" a beautiful tribute to the 
 memory of her friend, Mrs. Frances S. Osgood. 
 
 THE SPIRIT-BOND. 
 
 What is the spell that binds my soul, 
 
 As with a silver cord, to thee ; 
 That brims with joy life's golden bowl, 
 
 And wakes each pulse to ecstasy ? 
 
 Methinks, in some far distant sphere. 
 
 Some star in memory dimly set, 
 That we, for years long sundered here. 
 
 In high communion erst have met. 
 
 And yet our souls to each were dark. 
 As is the broad, mysterious sea ; 
 
 Till lighted by the electric spark, 
 Struck from the chain of svmpathy. 
 
 'T is sympathy that bi nds my soul, 
 
 As with a silver cord, to thee; 
 That brims \Yith joy life's golden bowl. 
 
 And wakes each pulse to ecstasy. 
 
 THE bride's reverie. 
 
 Lonely to-night, oh, loved one ! is our dwelling, 
 And lone and wearily hath gone the day ; 
 
 For thou, whose presence like a flood is swelling 
 With joy my life-tide — thou art far away. 
 
 And wearily for me will go the morrow, 
 While for thy voice, thy smile, I vainly yearn ; 
 
 Oh, from fond thought some comfort I will borrow, 
 To while away the hours till thou return ! 
 
 1 will remember that first, sweet revealing 
 Wherewith thy love o'er my tranced being stole; 
 
 I, like the Pythoness enraptured, feeling 
 The god divine pervading all my soul. 
 
 I will remember each fond aspiration 
 In secret mingled with thy cherished name, 
 
 Till from thy lips, in vvildering modulation, 
 Those words of ecstasy " I love thee 1" came. 
 
 And I will think of all our blest communing. 
 And all thy low-breathed words of tenderness; 
 
 Thy voice to me its melody attuning 
 Till every tone seemed fraught with a caress. 
 
 And feel thee near me, while in thought repeating 
 The treasured memories thou alone dost share — 
 
 Hark! with hushed breath and pulses wildly beating 
 I hear thy footstep bounding o'er the stair! 
 
 And I no longer to my heart am telling 
 The weary weight of loneliness it bore ; 
 
 For thou, whose love makes heavi^n within our dwelling 
 Thou art returned, and all is joy once more. 
 
 THE CHILD OF TAME. 
 
 "Je vivrai etemellement."— ia vie de Sappho. Traduction (it 
 Madame Dacier. 
 
 Nay — call me not thy rose — thine own sweet flower, 
 For, oh, my soul to thy wild words is mute! 
 
 Leave me my gift of song — my glorious dower — 
 My hand unchanged, and free to sweep the lute. 
 
 Thus, when within the tomb thy memory slumbers, 
 Mine, mine will be of those immortal names 
 
 Sung by the poet in undying numbers: 
 Call me not thine — I am the world's and fame's l 
 
 Were it not blissful, when from earth we sever, 
 To know that we shall leave, with bard and sage, 
 
 A name enrolled on fame's bright page for ever, 
 A wonder, and a theme to after age ! 
 
 Talk not of love ! I know how, wasted, broken, 
 The trusting heart learns its sad lesson o'er — 
 
 Counting the roses Passion's lips have spoken, 
 Amid the thorns that pierce it to the core. 
 
 Oh, heart of mine! that when life's summer hour 
 For thee with love's bright blossoms hung the bough 
 
 Too quickly found an asp beneath the flower — 
 And is naught left thee but ambition now ? 
 
 Alas! alas! this brow its pride forsaking. 
 Would give the glory of its laurel crown 
 
 For one fond breast whereon tn still iis aching — 
 For one true heart that I might call mine own 7 
 
 829 
 
YOUNG WRITERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 HOPKINS, LOUISA PATSON, 
 
 Daughter of the Rev. Dr. Payson, distinguislied 
 for his learning and piety, and wife of the Rev. 
 Mr. Hopkins, professor in Williams College, Mass., 
 has written a number of works for the young, 
 which are greatly valued for their excellent mode 
 of illustrating the Bible and its doctrines. Among 
 her books published previously to her marriage, 
 was "The Pastor's Daughter," which gave its 
 author a high reputation for talents as well as 
 religious zeal. Her latest work is, " The Guiding 
 Star ; or the Bible God's Message," a sequel to 
 "Henry Langdon, or what was I made for?" 
 published in 1846. These two books contain, 
 well arranged and clearly set forth, such evi- 
 dences of the truth of God's revealed Word, as 
 must make the Bible History interesting to the 
 youngest child who can read it, and furnish to 
 the mother a manual for the edification of her 
 own mind, as well as a guide to aid in instructing 
 her family. Mrs. Hopkins should hold a high 
 rank among Christian writers. 
 
 HORSFORD, MART GARDINER, 
 
 Was born in the city of New York, 1824. Her 
 father, Samuel S. Gardiner, soon after removed to 
 the family mansion on Shelter Island, where her 
 mother's ancestors had resided. Here, in this 
 secluded and beautiful place, Miss Gardiner 
 passed the greater portion of her youth, books 
 and nature her chief companions. She soon 
 became, from a reader of poetry, a writer; her 
 father's library was her best means of education, 
 although she had other good instructors. In 
 1840 she was placed in the Albany Female Semi- 
 nary, where she continued three years with great 
 advantage. Soon afterwards she began her con- 
 tributions, by request, to the Knickerbocker; and 
 also wrote for the Lady's Book, and other periodi- 
 cals. In 1847 Miss Gardiner was married to 
 Eben Norton Horsford, Rumford Professor in 
 Harvard University at Cambridge. Since her 
 marriage Mrs. Horsford has written some of her 
 most beautiful poetry. There is an exquisite 
 delicacy of fancy, united with power of thought 
 in her verses, that is rarely equalled by those who 
 have established their fame. No collection of her 
 writings has been made. 
 
 MT NATIVE ISLE. 
 
 My native isle ! my native isle ! 
 
 Forever round thy sunny steep 
 The low waves curl with sparkling fnam 
 
 And solemn murmurs deep, 
 While o'er the surging waters blue 
 
 The ceaseless breezes throng. 
 And in the grand old woods awake 
 
 An everlasting song. 
 
 The sordid strife and petty cares 
 
 That crowd the city's street, 
 The rush,- the race, the storm of Life 
 
 Upon thee never meet ; 
 JBut quiet and contented hearts 
 
 Their daily tasks fulfil, 
 And meet with simple hope and trust 
 
 The coming good or ill. 
 
 The spireless church stands plain and brown 
 
 The winding road beside ; 
 The green graves rise in silence near. 
 
 With moss-grown tablets wide; 
 And early on the Sabbath morn, 
 
 Along the flowery sod, 
 Unfettered souls, with humble prayer. 
 
 Go up to worship God. 
 
 And dearer far than sculptured fane 
 
 Is that gray church to me, 
 For in its shade my mother sleeps, 
 
 Beneath the wiilow-tree ; 
 And often when my heart is raised, 
 
 By sermon and by song, 
 Her friendly smile appears to me 
 
 From the seraphic throng. 
 
 The sunset glow, the moon-lit stream 
 
 Part of my being are; 
 Tiie fairy flowers that bloom and die, , 
 
 The skies so clear and far, 
 The stars that circle Night's dark brow. 
 
 The winds and waters free. 
 Each with a lesson all its own 
 
 Are monitors to me. 
 
 The systems in their endless march 
 
 Eternal truth proclaim ; 
 The flowers God's love from day to day 
 
 In gentlest accents name; 
 The skies for burdened hearts and faint 
 
 A code of Faith prepare ; 
 What tempest ever left the heaven 
 
 Without a blue spot there ? 
 
 My native isle ! my native isle ! 
 
 In sunnier climes I 've strayed, 
 But better love thy pebbled beach 
 
 And lonely forest glade, 
 Where low winds stir with fragrant breath 
 
 The purple violet's head, 
 And the star-grass in the early spring 
 
 Peeps from the sear leafs bed. 
 
 1 would no more of tears and strife 
 
 Might on thee ever meet, 
 But when against the tide of years 
 
 This heart has ceased to beat, 
 Where the green weeping willows bend 
 
 I fain would go to rest, 
 Where waters lave, and winds may sweep 
 
 Above my peaceful breast. 
 
 *A DREAM THAT WAS NOT ALL A DREAM.' 
 
 Through the half-curtained window stole 
 
 An autumn sunset's glow, 
 As languid on my couch I lay 
 
 With pulses weak and low. 
 
 And then methought a presence stood 
 With shining feet and fair, 
 
 Amid the waves of golden light 
 That rippled through the air; 
 
 And laid upon my heaving breast 
 With earnest glance and true, 
 
 A babe whose pure and gentle brow 
 No shade of sorrow knew. 
 
 A solemn joy was in my heart — 
 
 Immortal life was given 
 To earth, upon her battle-field 
 . To discipline for Heaven. 
 
 Strange music thrilled the quiet room 
 An unseen host were nigh. 
 
 Who leftr the infant pilgrim at 
 The threshold of our sky. 
 
 880 
 
AMERICAN. 
 
 A new, strange love woke in my heart, 
 
 Defying all control, 
 As on the soft air rose and fell 
 
 That birth-hymn for a soul. 
 
 And now again the autumn skies 
 
 As on that evening shine, 
 When from a trance of agony 
 
 I woke to joy divine : 
 
 That boundless love is in my heart, 
 
 That birth-hymn on the air ; 
 I clasp in mine with grateful faith 
 
 A tiny hand in prayer : 
 
 And bless the God who guides my way 
 
 That 'mid this world so wide 
 I day by day am walking with 
 
 An angel by my side, 
 
 HOWE, JULIA WARD, 
 
 Wife of Dr. S. G. Howe of Boston, tlie cele- 
 brated philanthropist, is a daughter of Samuel 
 Ward of New York. That she is thoroughly edu- 
 cated and accomplished, her poems, that is the 
 few she has given to the public, are sufficient to 
 prove. Purity, elevation of thought, and felicity 
 of expression, mark all her writings. She is, as 
 we might judge, * to the manner born,' for her 
 mother, Mrs. Ward, was also a woman of poetic 
 genius. 
 
 A mother's fears. 
 
 I am one who holds a treasure, 
 
 A gem of wondrous cost ; 
 But I mar my heart's deep pleasure 
 
 With the fear it may be lost. 
 
 God gives not many mothers 
 
 So fair a child as thou, 
 And those he gives to others 
 
 In death are oft laid low 
 
 I, too, might know that sorrow, 
 
 To stand by thy dying bed, 
 And wish each weary morrow 
 
 Only that 1 were dead. • 
 
 Oh ! would that I could bear thee, 
 As I bore ihee 'neath my heart, 
 
 And every sorrow spare thee, 
 And bid each pain depart 1 
 
 Tell me some act of merit 
 
 By which 1 may deserve 
 To hold the angel spirit, 
 
 And its sweet life preserve. 
 
 When I watch the little creature, 
 
 If tears of rapture flow — 
 If I worship each fair feature — 
 
 All mothers would do so. 
 
 And if I fain would shield her 
 
 From suffering, on my breast. 
 Strive every joy (o yield her, 
 T is thus that I am blest. 
 
 Oh ! for some heavenly token, 
 
 By which I may be sure 
 The vase shall not be broken — 
 
 Dispersed the essence pure ! 
 
 Then spake the Angel of Mothers 
 
 To me, in gentle tone: 
 " Be kind to the children of others, 
 
 And thus deserve thine own." 
 
 J. 
 
 JAMES, MARIA, 
 
 la the daughter of a Welsh emigrant, who came 
 to America in the early part of this century, when 
 his daughter was about seven years old, and 
 settled in the northern part of the state of New 
 York. Maria James received a very slight educa- 
 tion, but from her earliest youth evinced a poetical 
 talent very remarkable in a person circumstanced 
 as she was ; occupying generally the position of 
 a nursery-maid, or servant in families in the 
 towns of that state. Her poems, with a preface 
 by Alonzo Potter, D. D., now Bishop of Penn- 
 sylvania, were published in 1839. 
 
 JACOBS, SARAH S., 
 
 Is a native of Rhode Island, but resides at 
 present in Cambridgeport, Massachusetts. Her 
 poems, by wliich she made herself known to the 
 reading public, bear the stamp of originality and 
 beauty in no ordinary degree. She possesses 
 evidently powers which she has not yet fully un- 
 folded to the world. 
 
 K. 
 
 KINNEY, E. C, 
 
 Was born and educated in the city of New 
 York. Her maiden name was Dodge. She was 
 married to Mr. William B. Kinney, editor of the 
 Newark Daily Advertiser. Mrs. Kinney wrote 
 almost from her childhood, and her productions 
 were thrown off with the greatest ease ; yet she 
 always shrank from publicity, and her early 
 efforts appeared under an assumed name. Her 
 poems have been published principally in the 
 Knickerbocker and Graham's Magazine ; and 
 have never yet been collected. All the qualities 
 which mark a ready writer appear in her poems ; 
 ease, melody, and grace ; if they are wanting in 
 thought and strength, the glimpses of those 
 powers that appear in her writings, give evidence 
 that the author has higher capabilities than she 
 has yet unfolded to the world. 
 
 CULTIVATION. 
 
 Weeds grow unasked, and even some sweet flowers 
 Spontaneous give their fragrance to the air, 
 And bloom on hills, rn vales, and everywhere — 
 
 As shines the sun, or fall the summer showers — 
 But wither while our lips pronounce them fair! 
 Flowers of more worth repay alone the care, 
 
 The nurture, and the hopes, of watchful hours ; 
 
 While plants most cultured have most lasting powers 
 So, flowers of genius that will longest live, 
 
 Spring not in Mind's uncultivated soil. 
 
 But are the birth of time, and mental toil, 
 And all the culture Learning's hand can give : 
 
 Fancies like wild flowers, in a night may grow; 
 
 But thoughts are plants whose stately growth is slov,'. 
 
YOUNa WRITERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 THE QUAKERESS BRIDE. 
 
 The building wag humble, yet sacred to One 
 Who heeds the deep worship that utters no tone; 
 Whose presence is not to the temple confined. 
 But dwells with the contrite and lowly of mind. 
 'T wag there all unveiled, save by modesty, stood 
 The Q,uakeress bride in her pure satin hood ; 
 Her charms unadorned by the garland or gem, 
 yet fair as the lily just plucked from its stem. 
 A tear glistened bright in her dark, shaded eye. 
 And her bosom half uttered a tremulous sigh, 
 As the hand she had pledged was confidingly given, 
 And the low-murmured accents recorded in heaven. 
 
 L. 
 
 LARCOM, LUCY, 
 
 Was torn in Massachusetts. Wliile she was 
 employed as an operative at Lowell, she first began 
 to write, and her earliest effusions, both in prose 
 and verse, appeared in " The Lowell Offering," 
 and were received with particular favour. At 
 present. Miss Larcom is employed as a teacher in 
 Illinois. 
 
 LAWSON, MARY LOCKHART, 
 
 Is of Scotch extraction, but was born and resides 
 in Philadelphia. She has written poems for the 
 various periodicals that do honour both to her 
 intellect and her heart. 
 
 LEE, ELEANOR PEROT, 
 
 Daughter of Judge Ware, of Mississippi, and 
 sister of Mrs. Catharine Warfield, married Mr. 
 Lee, of Mississippi, She, together with her sister, 
 has published two volumes of poetry, one entitled, 
 "Wife of Leon, and other Poems;" and the other, 
 " The Indian Chamber, and other Poems." 
 
 LITTLE, SOPHIA L., 
 
 Dauohtek of Hon. Asher Robbins, of Rhode 
 Island, was born at Newport, in 1799. In 1824, 
 she married Mr. William Little, of Boston, where 
 Mrs. 'Little has since resided. She is a poetess 
 of much merit, Her principal works are, " The 
 Last days of Jesus ;" " The Annunciation and 
 Birth of Jesus, and the Resurrection;" "The 
 Betrothed;" and "The Branded Hand," besides 
 many fugitive poems. She has also written a 
 prose work called " The Pilgrim's Progress in the 
 Last Days." 
 
 LOCKE, JANE E., 
 
 Is a native of Massachusetts. Her poems first 
 appeared in the American Ladies' Magazine, about 
 1830. Since then she has written for several 
 periodicals, and also published a volume of mis- 
 cellaneous poems. The book met with much 
 favour from the many friends of the author, and 
 her talents have availed to benefit herself and her 
 family. Besides poetry, Mrs. Locke has written 
 some interesting prose papers, and shows an 
 earnest desire to do good in all her productions. 
 She resides in Lowell. 
 
 LOWELL, MARIA, 
 
 By birth Miss White, is a native of Watertown, 
 Massachusetts. In 1844, she was married to the 
 well-known poet, James Russell Lowell, and by 
 her own writings has shown that she is truly his 
 " sister spirit." There is great tenderness' of 
 feeling, and simplicity, in all the productions of her 
 pen ; and her household lyrics are full of pathos 
 and beauty. The poetical genius of women has 
 displayed its best powers when employed, as it 
 usually is, to exalt religious hopes, hallow do- 
 mestic feelings, and beautify the humble duties 
 of life. 
 
 THE MOBNINQ-QIOET. 
 
 We wreathed about our darling's head 
 
 The morning-glory bright ; 
 Her little face looked out beneath, 
 
 So full of life and light, 
 So lit as with a sunrise, 
 
 That we could only say, 
 *' She is the morning-glory true, 
 
 And her poor types are they.'' 
 
 So always from that happy time 
 
 We called her by their name. 
 And very fitting did it seem — 
 
 For, sure as morning came, 
 Behind her cradle bars she smiled 
 
 To catch the first faint ray. 
 As from the trellis smiles the fiower 
 
 And opens to the day. 
 
 But not so beautiful they rear 
 
 Their airy cups of blue. 
 As turned her sweet eyes to the light. 
 
 Brimmed with sleep's tender dew; 
 And not so close their tendrils fine 
 
 Round their supports are thrown, 
 As those dear arms whose outstretched plea 
 
 Clasped all hearts to her own. 
 
 We used to think how she had come. 
 
 Even as comes the flower, 
 The last and perfect added gift 
 
 To crown love's morning hour 
 And how in her was imaged forth 
 
 The love we could not say, 
 As on the little dewdrops round 
 
 Shines back the heart of day. 
 
 We never could have thought, O God, 
 
 That she must wither up. 
 Almost before a day was flown, 
 
 Like the morning-glory's cup; 
 We never thought to see her drooj. 
 
 Her fair and noble head, 
 Till she lay stretched before our eyes, 
 
 Wilted, and cold, and dead 1 
 
 The morning-glory's blossoming 
 
 Will soon be coming round : 
 We see their rows of heart-shaped leaves 
 
 Upspringing from the ground; 
 The tender things the winter killed 
 
 Renew again their birth, 
 But the glory of our morning 
 
 Has passed away from earth. 
 
 Oh, Earth! in vain our aching eyes 
 
 Stretch over thy green plain ! 
 Too harsh thy dews, too gross thine air, 
 
 Her spirit to sustain : 
 But up in groves of paradise 
 
 Full surely we shall see 
 Our.morning-gIory beautiful 
 
 Twine round our dear Lord's knee. 
 
 832 
 
AMERICAN. 
 
 M. 
 
 MAT, CAR.OLINE, 
 
 Is daughter of the Rev. Edward Harrisoii May, 
 of New York. For some time she published 
 her poems anonymously, or under the signature 
 of Caromaia. In 1848, she edited a work called, 
 *' Specimens of the American Female Poets," and 
 evinced much taste anu true poetical feeling in 
 the selections she made. In 1850, there appeared 
 another volume of selections by the same author, 
 entitled '* Treasured Thoughts from Favourite 
 Authors." This work is worthy its name; its 
 perusal will convince the reader of the judgment 
 and discrimination of the compiler. It is full of 
 lofty and refined sentiments and nohle truths, 
 selected from the best English classics. 
 
 LILIES. 
 
 Every flower is sweet to me — 
 
 The rose and violet, 
 The pink, the daisy, and sweet pea, 
 
 Hearfs-ease and mignonette. 
 And hyacinths and daffodillies: 
 But sweetest are the spotless lilies 
 
 I know not what the lilies were 
 
 That grew in ancient times — 
 When Jesus walked with children fair, 
 
 Through groves of eastern climes, . 
 And made each flower, as he passed by it, 
 A type of faith, content, and quiet. 
 
 But they were not more pure and bright 
 
 Than those our gardens show : 
 Or those that shed their silver light, 
 
 Where the dark waters flow ; 
 Or those that hide in woodland alley, 
 The fragrant lilies of the valley. 
 
 And I, in each of them, would see 
 
 Some lesson for my youth : 
 The loveliness of purity. 
 
 The stateliness of truth, 
 Whene'er I look upon the lustre 
 Of those that in the garden cluster. 
 
 Patience and hope, that keep the sou! 
 
 Unruflled and secure. 
 Though floods of grief beneath it roll, 
 
 I learn, when calm and pure 
 I see the floating water-lily. 
 Gleam amid shadows dark and chilly. 
 
 And when the fragrance that ascends, 
 
 Shows where its lovely face 
 The lily of the valley bends, 
 
 I think of that sweet grace, 
 Which sheds within the spirit lowly, 
 A rest, like heaven's, so safe and holy. 
 
 THOUGHT. 
 
 So truly, faithfully, my heart is thine. 
 
 Dear Thought, that when I am debarred from thee 
 
 By the vain tumult of vain company ; 
 And when it seems to be the fixed design 
 Of heedless hearts, who never can incline 
 
 Themselves to seek thy rich though hidden charms. 
 
 To keep me daily from thy outstretched arms — 
 My soul sinks faint within me, and I pine 
 
 As lover pines when from his love apart. 
 Who, after having been long loved, long sought, 
 
 At length has given to his persuasive art 
 Her generous soul with hope and fear full fraught: 
 
 For thou'rt the honoured mistress of my heart, 
 Pure, quiet, bountiful, beloved Thought! 
 3C 
 
 "MAY, EDITH," 
 Is the nomme de plume of one of the most 
 youthful and most promising poets of America ; 
 she was horn in Philadelphia, but for the last 
 four years has resided at Montrose, a place in a 
 secluded but most beautiful part of Pennsylvania. 
 It is now about three or four years since her first 
 poems appeared, and they displayed a degree of 
 thought, finish and beauty so unusual in the first 
 attempts of writers, that they immediately com- 
 manded attention, and *' Edith May" is now one 
 of the best known of the many young aspirants 
 for fame in this country. Her writings are about 
 to be collected and published in one volume. 
 
 I have a thought of one who drawing close 
 
 Over her brow the sackcloth, in its folds 
 
 Crouched, shutting out from her refusing eyes 
 
 God's gift of sunshine. While the all-pitying skies 
 
 Wooed her with light she would not look upon ; 
 
 While earth entreated her, and passing winds 
 
 Plucked at her garments, and around her flung 
 
 Invisible arms, light, urgent, clasping arms, 
 
 Her heart made answer — I have lain so long 
 
 On thy cold breast. Despair, did I arise 
 
 I should reel wildly, staggering with cramped limhs, 
 
 Through the white, glaring sunshine. Hide me, night I 
 
 Lest the full glories of the universe 
 
 Smite me with blindness, and exulting earth 
 
 Under the blue triumphal arch of Heaven 
 
 Victoriously passing, blast my sense 
 
 With her insulting gladness ! Once I prayed. 
 
 Once, when dismay, want, guilt, pressed me so close 
 
 I faced them in mere madness, and beholding. 
 
 From mine appalled heart sent up a shriek 
 
 That must have pierced the hollow ear of space. 
 
 Startling the angels, holding in suspense. 
 
 Awhile, the eternal harmonies. Vain heart ! 
 
 Could the mute prayer that on its fiery track 
 
 Followed in trembling hasie, prevail so far? 
 
 Amid the roll of twice ten thousand harps 
 
 Struck by white-handed seraphim, the voice 
 
 Of that unfathomed sea of human woe. 
 
 Making perpetual moan about His throne. 
 
 And surging to His footstool, dost thou dream 
 
 That its weak cry rose audibly ? 
 
 Did sleep 
 On her implpring senses lightly rest 
 His hand in benediction ? The still air 
 To her astonished gaze grew all instinct, 
 Moted with airy forms forever drawn 
 Up by some genial influence. With bent heads. 
 With hands clasped mutely, and looks downward dropped. 
 Else searching space, onward they pressed, and drew 
 Her wrapt soul with them. Tears and sighs fell thick, 
 Mixed with low, broken murmurs, and a sound. 
 Distinct, of music that flowed clearly on, 
 Like a bright singing stream that lifts its voice 
 Amid the mourning of sere autumn boughs 
 Bent with wet leaves and rain. The dense, dull air 
 As 'twere a vail they parted, and it lay 
 Above the earth like the dusk cloud that hangs 
 Over some populous mart. Yet upward still 
 Through that black space of which the hue of night 
 Is a pale mock; and she who fled with them 
 Whither she questioned not, from that great height 
 Back glancing, saw the universe as one 
 Who looking from a mountain top beholds 
 Faint, clustering lamps that twinkling through the gloom 
 Mark where a city stands. And upward still 
 'Till through tbe cloaking dark a sword of light 
 Flashed suddenly I Then over, and around 
 There shined a brightness of ten thousand suns 
 All concentrate, and her scared spirit stood 
 In its full courts of Heaven. -S^e might not look 
 On the great glory, but the seraphim 
 That leant upon their harps forever there 
 
 833 
 
YOUNG WRITERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 Turned with bright, solemn faces, loat, transfused 
 
 Into one rapturous thought. SAb only saw 
 
 How all the assembled prayers of all the worlds 
 
 Entreated, silent. Various their guise ; 
 
 Some with pure eyes uplift that dared to look 
 
 Straight on Divinity, and some, with dust 
 
 On their pale foreheads. There were infant prayers 
 
 Crowned with faint halos; saintly prayers that might- 
 
 But for some traces of forgotten tears. 
 
 Have swelled ihe ranks of Heaven. While yet she looked 
 
 On the pale verge of light, there stood a Form 
 
 Forlorn, close mantled, that with tottering feet 
 
 Crept nearer. Hers ! she know it well. Her heart 
 
 Shrank with a deadly fear. Oh God, the prayer 
 
 That on the steps of the wild shriek that bore 
 
 Woe, horror, and defiance up to Heaven 
 
 Followed with faint entreaty ! That weak moan : 
 
 That mute, despairing thing that from her heart 
 
 Scarce struggled to her lips, and there fell prone 
 
 As one across a threshold. Staggering on, 
 
 With its pale hands uplift, closer it drew, 
 
 And while she looked to see it thrust without 
 
 Into surrounding darkness, rapt and calm 
 
 Stood the ranked angels. Near, oh God, it came I 
 
 Then with the mien of her who touched His robe 
 
 When the crowd pressed Him. springing to the throne 
 
 With a low cry, fell prostrate. 
 
 In their sheaths, 
 Why slept the keen swords of the cherubim ? 
 Lo! every knee was bowed ; round every brow 
 There bloomed fresh amaranth ; from every lip 
 Burst such transcendent melody, the stars 
 Grew musical with its echoes, and dull earth 
 Dreamed of it in her slumbers! Last of all 
 Rose that pale Form and cast the mantle back. 
 And drank in the pure ligirt with steadfast eyes. 
 And showed God's seal, that, stamped upon its brow. 
 Burned like a star. 
 
 There was great joy in Heaven. 
 
 FROST PICTURES. 
 
 When, like a sullen exile driven forth. 
 
 Southward, December drags his icy chain. 
 He graves fair pictures of his native North 
 On the crisp window-pane. 
 
 So some pale captive blurs with lips unshorn 
 
 The latticed glass, and shapes rude outlines there, 
 With listless finger, and a look forlorn, 
 Cheating his dull despair. 
 
 The fairy fragments of some Arctic scene 
 
 1 see to-night ; blank wastes of polar snow. 
 Ice-laden boughs, and feathery pines that lean 
 Over ravines below. 
 
 Blaqk frozen lakes, and icy peaks blown bare, 
 Break the white surface of the crusted pane; 
 And spear-like leaves, long ferns, and blossoms fair, 
 Linked in-a silvery chain. 
 
 Draw me. I pray thee, by this slender thread ; 
 
 Fancy, thou sorceress, bending vision-wrought 
 O'er that dim well perpetually fed 
 
 By the clear springs of thought ! 
 
 Northward I turn, and tread those dreary strands, 
 
 Lakes where the wild-fowl breed, the swan abides; 
 Shores where the white fox, burrowing in the sands, 
 Harks to the droning tides. 
 
 And seas where, drifting on a raft of ice. 
 
 The she-bear rears her young, and cliffs so high 
 The dark-winged birds that emulate their rise 
 Melt through the pale blue sky. 
 
 There, all night long, with far-diverging rays, 
 And stalking shades, the red Aurora's glow; 
 From the keen heaven, meek suns with pallid blaze 
 Light up the Arctic snow 
 
 Guide me, I pray, along those waves remote. 
 That deep unslartled from its primal rest; 
 Some errant sail, the fisher's lone light boat,, 
 Borne waif-like on its breast 1 
 
 Lead me, I pray, where never shallop's keel 
 
 Brake the dull ripples throbbing to their caves; 
 Where the mailed glacier with his armed heel 
 Spurs the resisting waves! 
 
 Paint me, I pray, the phantom hosts that hold 
 Celestial tourneys when the midnight calls; 
 On airy steeds, with lances bright and bold, 
 Storming her ancient halls I 
 
 yet, while I look the magic picture fades; 
 
 Melts the bright tracery from the frosted pane ; 
 Trees, vales, and'cliffs, in sparkling snows arrayed, 
 Dissolve in silvery rain. 
 
 Without, the day's pale glories sink and swell 
 Over the black rise of yon wooded height; 
 ■ The moon's thin crescent, like a stranded shell, 
 Left on the shores of night. 
 
 Hark ! how the north wind, with a hasty hand 
 Rattling my casement, frames his mystic rhyme. 
 
 House thee, rude minstrel, chanting through the land 
 Runes of the olden time! 
 
 M'CARTEE, JESSIE G., 
 
 Wife of the Rev. Dr. M'Cartee, Minister of the 
 Reformed Dutch Church in Goshen, N. Y., is the 
 daughter of Divie Bethune, of New York, and the 
 granddaughter of Isabella Graham, so well-known 
 for her piety and benevolence. Her poems have 
 appeared principally in the different magazines 
 and annals of the day. She has never made a 
 collection of them, though they are fully worthy 
 of it, displaying as they do, a cultivated and re- 
 fined mind, a heart full of sympathy and elevated 
 by strong religious feeling, and an easy and har- 
 monious flow of versification. 
 
 MEIGS, MARY NOEL, 
 Better known as M. N. M., under which initials 
 her writings were published for a long time, is a 
 native of New York. Her maiden name was 
 Bleecker. In 1834, she was married to Mr. Pierre 
 E. M'Donald, who died in 1844. During the suc- 
 ceeding year, she published a volume called 
 "Poems by M. N. M." Her other works were 
 several juvenile books, and articles both in prose 
 and poetry for the periodicals. In 1848, she was 
 married a second time, to Mr. Meigs, of New 
 York. 
 
 N. 
 
 NICHOLS, REBECCA S., 
 
 Was born in Greenwich, New Jersey. Her 
 father was Dr. Reed of that place, jvho after- 
 wards removed to Louisville, Kentucky, where 
 Miss Reed was married to Mr. W. Nichols. In 
 1839, Mr. Nichols removed with his family to 
 Cincinnati, where they now reside. Mrs. Nichols 
 began her career as .a poetess at a very early age. 
 Her first articles were published under the signa- 
 ture of "Ellen," but latterly she wi'ites under 
 her own name, and that of *' Kate Cleveland." 
 At one time she was the editress of a periodical 
 called *'The Guest," to which she herself was 
 the principal ornament. In 1844, Mrs. Nichols 
 published a work called "Bernice, or the curse 
 of Minna, and other Poems." 
 
 834 
 
AMERICAN. 
 
 0. 
 
 OLIVER, SOPHIA HELEN, 
 
 Is a native of Lexington, Kentucky, where she 
 was born in 1811. At the age of twenty-six she 
 was married to Dr. Oliver of Louisville ; and in 
 1842, her husband being appointed a professor in 
 one of the medical colleges of Cincinnati, she 
 accompanied him to that city, where she now 
 resides. i>he is known as a writer only by her 
 poems, which are easy and graceful, and flow 
 with a natural harmony that can afford to slight 
 some of the rules of art. 
 
 PEABODT, ELIZABETH PALMER, 
 Dacghtek of Dr. N. Peabody, is descended on 
 the mother's side from the two Joseph Palmers, 
 one of whom was President and the other Secre- 
 tary of the first Provincial Congress that as- 
 sembled in Massachusetts to consider British 
 wrongs ; and both of whom, the father as Briga- 
 dier-General, the son as his aid, were engaged in 
 the battle of Lexington. Miss Peabody was born 
 May 16th, 1804, at Billerica, and lived in her 
 early life in Salem, Mass., but, since 1822, has 
 resided principally in Boston, where she has 
 been engaged in education and literary pursuits. 
 She first published a " Key to Hebrew History ; " 
 and a " Key to Grecian History ; " she next wrote 
 the " Records of a School," which went into the 
 second edition : and also contributed to the early 
 numbers of the " Journal of Education ; " to the 
 " Christian Examiner" of 1834, in which are some 
 articles on the " Spirit of the Hebrew Scriptures ;" 
 and to the " Dial," in which she wrote the articles 
 on Socialism. In 1849, Miss Peabody edited " The 
 iEsthetie Papers," to which she contributed an 
 article " On the Dorian Culture," more elaborate 
 than anything else she has written ; and a paper 
 upon " The Significance of the Alphabet," besides 
 several shorter articles and poems. Her latest 
 work is a school-book, entitled the "Polish- 
 American System of Chronology," being a modi- 
 fied translation of General Bem's method of 
 teaching history on a Chronological System. 
 
 Miss Peabody's writings are of a class unusual 
 to her sex. They evince great learning and 
 research, a mind free from the trammels of pre- 
 judice, and capable of judging for itself on what- 
 ever subject its attention may be turned, one 
 whose aim is high — no less than the progressive 
 improvement of her race, and who presses for- 
 ward to the end she has in view, with an earnest- 
 ness and energy proportioned to its importance. 
 Her poems are harmonious, and show more 
 thought than is usually seen in such occasional 
 effusions. Still we look for a greater work from 
 her pen than any she has yet sent forth. Miss 
 Peabody is of the transcendental school of writers, 
 though not among the mystics. We do not endorse 
 all her ideas, but only commend her philanthropic 
 spirit. ' 
 
 PHILLIPS, ANNA H., 
 Is one of the numerous band of young writers 
 of whom our country may well be proud. She is 
 a native of Lynn, Massachusetts ; and hitherto 
 has written only under the name of *' Helen 
 Irving." 
 
 PINDAR, SUSAN, 
 Is the daughter of Charles Pindar, a Russian 
 by birth, and holding for a time the appointment 
 of Russian Consul to Florida. She was bom at 
 a place then called " Pindar's Vale," and adjoin- 
 ing the present residence of AVashington Irving. 
 Miss Pindar was early left ah orphan, and by 
 the subsequent death of her brothers, almost 
 without a relative in this country. Her first pro- 
 ductions appeared in the Knickerbocker; in 1849, 
 she published a juvenile book entitled "Fireside 
 Fairies," and in 1850, another called " Midsummer 
 Lays." Her poems have never been collected in 
 a volume, though they seem truly worthy of such 
 an attempt at preservation. 
 
 THE SHADED FLOWEB.. 
 
 From a dark cloud's breast a raindrop fell, 
 
 In a grateful summer shower. 
 Through the tangled leaves of a vine-clad dell, 
 Till it rested at last in the opening bell 
 
 Of a little shaded flower. 
 
 Then the sun looked forth, and his glad'ning beam, 
 
 Soon drank the shower-dew up. 
 He smiled on the mountain, the valley, and stream. 
 But he did not kiss with his warm bright gleatn. 
 
 The drop in the blossom's cup. 
 
 " How sad is my fate," the floweret sighed 
 
 With the glittering weight oppressed, — 
 " My sisters smile in their graceful pride, 
 While I am condemned this load to hide. 
 
 Within my trembling breast." 
 
 Then she bowed her head on her fragile stem 
 
 And slept tllrough the long, still night. 
 But when she awoke, the prisoned gem, 
 Shone tike a glorious diadem. 
 
 As it flashed in the morning light. 
 
 The scorching sun at the noontide hour, 
 
 Looked down on the blossoms gay. 
 They drooped, and paled, 'neath his withering power. 
 All save the little shaded flower, 
 
 And she quailed not before bis ray. 
 
 Then to glisten afar, in the rainbow's dye, 
 
 He bade the drop depart,^ 
 But the flower looked up with a trusting eye. 
 Though the drop no more in her breast might be. 
 
 It had freshened the life at her heart. 
 
 And is it not thus in adversity's hour, 
 
 When the soul is with grief oppressed 
 Our spirits bow 'neath misfortune's power 
 And we nurse like the little shaded flower 
 
 A sorrow in the breast ? 
 
 And may we not hope, when our grief is fled. 
 
 That a stronger faith will be given. 
 And the tears which our burdened hearts have shed 
 Shall form when the night of gloom is sped 
 
 A rainbow of hope in Heaven ? 
 
 835 
 
YOUNa WRITERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 SAWYER, CAROLINE M., 
 
 Was born in 1812, in Newton, Mass. Her 
 maiden name was Fisher. In 1832, slie was 
 married to tlie Rev. Dr. Sawyer, a pastor over 
 one of the Universalist churches in New York, 
 where they resided until 1847, when they removed 
 to Clinton in the same state, where Dr. Sawyer 
 was chosen President of the Universalist Seminary. 
 Although Mrs. Sawyer did not publish till after 
 her marriage, she began to write both tales and 
 poems at a very early age ; by her writings we 
 can readily perceive that her education has been 
 thorough and extensive, and that the author 
 possesses a mind of much power. Her transla- 
 tions from the German are made with faithfulness 
 and spirit, and her original poems especially are 
 marked by deep thought and command of lan- 
 guage. 
 
 PEBBLES. 
 
 Give me the pebblf, little one, that I 
 
 To yo» bright pool may hurtle it away ; 
 
 Look ! how't has changed the azure wave to grey, 
 
 And blotted out the image of the sky \ 
 
 So, when our spirits calm and placid lie — 
 When all the passions of the bosom sleep. 
 And from its stirless and unruffled deep 
 
 Beams up a heaven as bright as that on high, 
 Some pebble — envy, jealousy, misdoubt — 
 
 Dashed in our bosom's slumbering waves to jar, 
 Will cloud the mirrored surface of the soul, 
 And blot its heaven of joy and beauty out. 
 
 Sin ! fling no pebble in my soul, to mar 
 Its solemn depths, and o'er it clouds to roll t 
 
 SHINDLER, MARY B., 
 
 Was born on the 15th of February, 1810, in 
 Beaufort,, S. C, where her father, the Rev. B. M. 
 Palmer, was pastor of an Independent or Congre- 
 gational church. When she was about three 
 years old, her father removed to Charleston, S. C, 
 his native place, where he remained for the 
 succeeding twenty-five years. Here Miss Palmer 
 enjoyed the best advantages of education, being 
 placed at an early age under the care of the 
 Misses Ramsay, daughters of the historian ; and 
 sent, when she became old enough, to some of the 
 best northern schools Her poetical talents were 
 very early developed, her first piece of poetry 
 having been written at the age of ten ; soon after 
 her final return from school, some of her produc- 
 tions fell into the hands of a friend, who showed 
 them to Mrs. Oilman, at that time editress of 
 the juvenile periodical called the Rose-Bud ; she 
 inserted these poems, and encouraged Miss Palmer 
 to write ; but it was not till years after, when she 
 had drunk deeply of the bitter waters of afBiotion, 
 that her heart poured out its sorrows through her 
 pen. 
 
 In June, 1835, Miss Palmer was married to Mr. 
 Charles E. Dana, and in 1837, he, with his family, 
 consisting of his wife and child, a boy of about 
 two years of age, removed to Bloomington, Iowa. 
 Here the husband and child died within two days 
 of each other, and Mrs. Dana was left alone in a 
 land of strangers. In October of the same year 
 
 she returned to her parents; and it was during 
 her residence with them that the greater part of 
 her works was written. These were composed, 
 not with any view to publication, but as she her- 
 self says in fine of her letters, " Burning thoughts 
 were struggling within my breast, and I must give 
 them utterance. My friends encouraged me to 
 write, because they thought that the expression 
 of my grief would relieve me, and so, in truth, it 
 did. But when I had accumulated a mass of 
 manuscripts, they urged me to their publication, 
 giving as a reason, that what had comforted me 
 in my sore extremity, might comfort other afflict- 
 ed ones, and it was with this hope and this idea, 
 that I first appeared before the public." 
 
 In 1840, Mrs. Dana's first work, " The Southern 
 Harp," was published by Parker & Ditson, of 
 Boston, and met with the greatest success ; in 
 1841, she published a volume called " The Parted 
 Family, and other poems;" and also "The 
 Northern Harp." All of these works passed 
 through several editions. In 1843, she published, 
 "Charles Morton, or the Young Patriot, a tale of 
 the American Revolution ; " and during the next 
 two or three years, two prose tales written for 
 seamen, one called " The Young Sailor, " and the 
 other " Forecastle Tom." About 1844, Mrs. 
 Dana's religious views underwent a great change. 
 She had been always much troubled about some 
 of the Calvinistic doctrines, and inclined to ques- 
 tion the soundness of their dogmas. One doubt 
 brought on another, till she finally became a 
 Unitarian. This caused a great commotion among 
 her friends ; letters poured in upon her from all 
 quarters, and finally she felt herself driven to the 
 necessity of replying publicly to some of the 
 communications. In 1845, her largest prose 
 work, entitled "Letters to Relatives and Friends" 
 &c. was published in Boston. 
 
 Soon after her return home, Mrs. Dana re- 
 moved with her parents to Orangeburg, a village 
 about eighty miles from Charleston. Here her 
 parents both died, in the summer of 1847, while 
 she was absent on a tour to the North, undertaken 
 on account of her health. Mrs. Dana, however, 
 still continued to reside there, and in May, 1848, 
 she was married to the Rev. Robert D. Shindler, 
 a clergyman of the Episcopal Church, to which 
 church she was united, some months after her 
 marriage. In 1850, Mr. and Mrs. Shindler re- 
 moved to Upper Marlboro, Md., where they are 
 at present residing. 
 
 Besides the works already mentioned, Mrs. 
 Shindler has written many articles for Magazines 
 and Reviews ; but another work from her pen is 
 greatly needed, a refutation of her arguments in 
 favour of Unitarianism, which were esteemed the 
 best that had ever been put forth in a popular 
 form ; as Mrs. Shindler has now relinquished that 
 belief, her own searching mind must have detected 
 the fallacies of its doctrines. Her style is well 
 suited to these dissertations. Clear, candid and 
 courteous in her expressions of opinion, she never 
 wounds the feelings of an opponent, while her 
 earnest search after truth attracts those who feel 
 little interest in the subject. 
 
 836 
 
AMERICAN. 
 
 SMITH, EM ME LINE S., 
 
 By birth Miss Sherman, is a native of New 
 Baltimore, New York. In 1836, she was married, 
 and removed to the city of New York, where she 
 now resides. In 1847, Mrs. Smith published a 
 work called " The Fairy's Search, and other 
 Poems." Besides this, she has written for several 
 of the principal periodicals. A vein of cheerful 
 content and of reverent piety runs through all 
 her poems, which are also full of felicitous ex- 
 pressions and graceful harmony. 
 
 SPROAT, ELIZA S., 
 
 Was born and still resides in Philadelphia. 
 She has written but little for publication, and 
 only in poetry ; yet all her productions that have 
 appeared show so much ease and grace, that 
 doubtless they form but a small part of her actual 
 writings. She is a Teacher in one of the public 
 schools, and holds a high place in her profession, 
 the next in importance to that of mother. The 
 office of Teacher is peculiarly adapted to improve 
 female talent ; the young lady who is distinguished 
 as a good instructress, is in the sure way to per- 
 fect her own education. 
 
 STOWE, HARRIET BEECHER, 
 
 Was born in Litchfield, Connecticut. Daughter 
 of the Rev. Dr. Beecher, now of Cincinnati, and 
 sister of Miss Catharine Beecher, whose sketch 
 we have given, the subject of our brief notice 
 could hardly fail of enjoying great advantages of 
 moral as well as intellectual culture. From the 
 age of fifteen till her marriage. Miss Harriet 
 Beecher was associated with her sister in the cares 
 of a large female seminary. Teaching is an excel- 
 lent discipline, both of the heart and mind, of a 
 young lady ; those are fortunate who, either from 
 necessity or from a wish to do good, pass some 
 intervening years in this praiseworthy profession 
 before they take on themselves the responsibilities 
 of a household of their own. Miss Harriet Beecher 
 was thus fitted to be a congenial companion of the 
 Rev. Calvin E. Stowe, whom she married when 
 about twenty-one. Her husband is a man of pro- 
 found learning, then the Professor of Languages 
 and Biblical Literature in the Divinity School at 
 Cincinnati; he is now one of the professors in 
 Brunswick College, Maine. Mrs. Stowe has been 
 the model of a good wife and mother ; of her seven 
 children six are living, so that the greater portion 
 of her time, thoughts, and strength has been spent 
 in the important duties of the family. Yet she 
 has found time to contribute to several periodicals. 
 Her writings are deservedly admired for their 
 sprightly vivacity and artistic finish combined with 
 moral sentiments of the loftiest stamp, expressed 
 in such a familiar way, that it makes wisdom seem 
 like a pleasant friend, instead of a grave Mentor. 
 None of our female writers excel Mrs. Stowe in 
 the art of entertaining her readers ; the only re- 
 gret is, that she does not write more. " The May- 
 Flower," a collection of her stories, was published 
 in 1849, and has, of course been very popular. 
 
 From " The Tea-Eose." 
 
 There it stood, in its little green vase, on a light 
 ebony stand, in the window of the drawing-room. 
 The rich satin curtains, with their costly fringes, 
 swept down on either side of it, and around it glit- 
 tered every rare and fanciful trifle which wealth 
 can ofi'er to luxury, and yet that simple rose was 
 the fairest of them all. So pure it looked, its 
 white leaves just touched with that delicious 
 creamy tint peculiar to its kind ; its cup so full, 
 so perfect ; its head bending, as if it were sinking 
 and melting away in its own richness — oh ! when 
 did ever man make any thing to equal the living, 
 perfect flower ! 
 
 But the sunlight that streamed through the 
 window revealed something fairer than the rose — 
 a young lady reclining on an ottoman, who was 
 thus addressed by her livelier cousin: "I say, 
 cousin, I have been thinking what you are to do 
 with your pet rose when you go to New York ; as, 
 to our consternation, you are determined to do. 
 You know it would be a sad pity to leave it with 
 such a scatter-brain as I am. I love flowers, 
 indeed ; that is, I like a regular bouquet, cut off 
 and tied up, to carry to a party ; but as to all this 
 tending and fussing which is needful to keep them 
 growing, I have no gifts in that line." 
 
 " Make yourself easy as to that, Kate," said 
 Florence, with a smile ; " I have no intention of 
 calling upon your talents ; I have an asylum in 
 view for my favourite." 
 
 " Oh, then, you know just what I was going to 
 say. Mrs. Marshall, I presume, has been speakr- 
 ing to you ; she was here yesterday, and I was 
 quite pathetic upon the subject; telling her the 
 loss your favourite would sustain, and so forth ; 
 and she said how delighted she would be to have 
 it in her greenhouse ; it is in such a fine state now, 
 so full of buds. I told her I knew you would like 
 to give it to her ; you are so fond of Mrs. Mar- 
 shall, you know." 
 
 " Now, Kate, I am sorry, but I have otherwise 
 engaged it." 
 
 " Who can it be to ? you have so few intimates 
 here." 
 
 " Oh, it is only one of my odd fancies." 
 
 "But do tell me, Florence." 
 
 " Well, cousin, you know the little pale girl to 
 whom we give sewing?" 
 
 "What! little Mary Stephens? How absurd, 
 Florence ! This is just another of your motherly, 
 old-maidish ways ; dressing dolls for poor children, 
 making bonnets, and knitting socks for all the 
 little dirty babies in the neighbourhood. I do 
 believe you have made more calls in those two vile, 
 ill-smelling alleys behind our house, than ever you 
 have in Chestnut-Street, though you know every- 
 body is half-dying to see you ; and now, to crown 
 all, you must give this choice little bijou to a 
 seamstress girl, when one of your most intimate 
 friends, in your own class, would value it so 
 highly. What in the world can people in their 
 circumstances want with flowers ?" 
 
 "Just the same as I do;" replied Florence, 
 calmly. " Have you not noticed that the little 
 
 887 
 
YOUNG WRITERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 girl never comes here without looking wistfully at 
 the opening buds ? And do n't you remember, the 
 other morning she asked me so prettily if I would 
 let her mother come and see it, she was so fond of 
 flowers ?" 
 
 "But, Florence, only think of this rare flower 
 standing on a table with ham, eggs, cheese, and 
 flour, and stifled in that close little room where 
 Mrs. Stephens and her daughter manage to wash, 
 iron, and cook." 
 
 " Well, Kate, and if I were obliged to live in 
 one coarse room, and wash, and iron, and cook, as 
 you say ; if I had to spend every moment of my 
 time in toil, with no prospect from my window but 
 a brick wall and dirty lane, such a flower as this 
 would be untold enjoyment to me." 
 
 " Pshaw, Florence ; all sentiment ! Poor people 
 have no time to be sentimental. Besides, I do n't 
 believe it will grow with them ; it is a greenhouse 
 flower, and used to delicate living." 
 
 " Oh, as to that, a flower never inquires whether 
 its owner is rich or poor ; and Mrs. Stephens, 
 whatever else she has not, has sunshine of as 
 good quality as this that streams through our 
 window. The beautiful things that God makes 
 are his gifts to all alike. You will see that my 
 fair rose will be as well and cheerful in Mrs. Ste- 
 phens' room as in ours." 
 
 " Well, after all, how odd ! When one gives to 
 poor people, one wants to give them something 
 useful — a bushel of potatoes, a ham, and such 
 things." 
 
 " Why, certainly, potatoes and ham must be 
 supplied ; but, having ministered to the first and 
 most craving wants, why not add any other little 
 pleasures or gratifications we may have it in our 
 power to bestow ? I know there are many of the 
 poor who have fine feeling and a keen sense of the 
 beautiful, which rusts out and dies because they 
 are too hard pressed to procure it any gratifica-. 
 tion. Poor Mrs. Stephens, for example ; I know 
 she would enjoy birds, and flowers, and music, as 
 much as I do. I have seen her eye light up as 
 she looked upon these things in our drawing-room, 
 and yet not one beautiful thing can she command. 
 From necessity, her room, her clothing, all she 
 has, must be coarse and plain. You should have 
 seen the almost rapture she and Mary felt when I 
 offered them my rose." 
 
 "Dear me! all this maybe true, but I never 
 thought of it before. I never thought that these 
 hard-working people had any ideas of taste!" 
 
 " Then why do you see the geranium or rose so 
 carefully nursed in the old cracked teapot in the 
 poorest rooin, or the morning-glory planted in a 
 box and twined about the window ? Do not these 
 show that the human heart yearns for the beautiful 
 in all ranks of life ? You remember, Kate, how 
 our washerwoman sat up a whole night, after a 
 hard day's work, to make her first baby a pretty 
 dress to be baptized in." 
 
 "Yes; and I remember howl laughed at you 
 for making such a tasteful little cap for it." 
 
 " True, Katy, but I think the look of perfect de- 
 light with which the poor mother regarded her baby 
 in its new dress and cap, was something quite worth 
 
 creating; I do believe she could not have felt 
 more grateful if I had sent her a barrel of flour." 
 
 "Well, I never thought before of giving any 
 thing to the poor but what they really needed, and 
 I have always been willing to do that when I could 
 without going far out of my way." 
 
 "Ah! cousin, if our heavenly Father gave to 
 us after this mode, we should have only coarse, 
 shapeless piles of provisions lying about the world, 
 instead of all this beautiful variety of trees, and 
 fruits, and flowers." 
 
 " Well, well, cousin, I suppose you are right, 
 but have mercy on my poor head ; it is too small 
 to hold so many new ideas all at once, so go on 
 your own way;" and the little lady began prac- 
 tising a waltzing step before the glass with great 
 satisfaction. 
 
 T. 
 TALLEY, SUSAN ARCHER, 
 
 Is a native of Virginia, and resides now near 
 Richmond. Her mind was very early and re- 
 markably developed, but at the age of nine she 
 lost her hearing entirely. This, however, seems 
 to have had little effect upon her mental facul- 
 ties, and she became a writer when very young. 
 Her poetry is remarkable for its melody as well 
 as for its depth of feeling. Miss Talley is also an 
 artist. 
 
 TUTHILL, CORNELIA, 
 Was born in New Haven, Connecticut. Her first 
 book, "Wreaths and Branches for the Church," 
 was wi'itten when she was quite young, almost a 
 school-girl. It is a collection of tales illustrating 
 the different festivals in the "Christian Year," 
 and met with a very favourable reception. Her 
 next work was entitled, " Christian Ornaments, or 
 the Spirit of the Church." Not long after appeared 
 three juvenile books called, " The Boy of Spirit ;" 
 " Where are we happiest ;" and " Hurra for New 
 England." About 1849, appeared " The Belle, 
 the Blue, and the Bigot, or Three Fields of Woman's 
 Influence." She is still a young writer, and as 
 each successive work marks improvement in 
 thought and style, we may hope for something 
 from her pen, superior to any work that she has 
 yet sent forth. 
 
 w. 
 
 WARFIELD, CATHARINE, 
 Who, with her sister, Mrs. Eleanor Lee, is 
 favourably known as a poetess, is the daughter of 
 the Hon. Nathaniel Ware of Mississippi. He 
 afterwards removed to Cincinnati, where Miss 
 Catharine Ware married Mr. Warfield of Lexington, 
 Kentucky. In 1843, Mrs. Warfield and Mrs. Lee 
 published a volume, entitled, " The Wife of Leon, 
 and other Poems, by Two Sisters of the West;" 
 and in 1846, she published another collection of 
 
 838 
 
AMERICAN. 
 
 their writings, called, " The Indian Chamber, and 
 other Poems." Mrs. "Warfield is also a prose 
 writer; her articles, published anonymously in 
 annuals and periodicals, show great power of 
 imagination and ingenious constructive talents. 
 She would doubtless succeed in novel-writing, if 
 the genius of American authors had opportunities 
 for culture, and incitements to exertion. An in- 
 ternational copyright, checking the overflow of 
 British republications, would give American wri- 
 ters a place in our own field of literature. Mrs. 
 Warfield would then cultivate her fine talents more 
 assiduously. 
 
 WELLS, ANNA MARIA, 
 Was born in Gloucester, Massachusetts. Her 
 maiden name was Foster. She began to write 
 when young, but published little till after her 
 marriage to Mr. Wells, in 1829. Her first work, 
 "Poems and Juvenile Sketches," appeared in 
 1831, since which time she is only known in the 
 literary world as a contributor to periodicals, nor 
 does she often appear there, being engaged in a 
 work of greater importance than writing poetry, 
 namely, that of instruction. She has a seminary 
 for young ladies, and deserves much honour for 
 the manner in which she has sustained and educated 
 her fatherless children. 
 
 NATDKE. 
 
 Blest are the pure and simple hearts, 
 
 UncoiiBciousIy refined 
 By the free gifts that Iieaven imparts 
 
 Through nature to the mind.- 
 Not all the pleasures wealth can buy, 
 Equal their happy destiny. 
 
 For them the Spring unfolds her flowers; 
 
 For them the Summer glows; 
 And Autinnn's gold and purple bowers. 
 
 And Winter's stainless snows, 
 Come gifted with a charm to (hem 
 
 Richer than iVionarch's diadem. 
 
 WOODBRIDGE, ABBT DWIGHT, 
 Is descended, on her father's side from Dr. 
 Jonathan Edwards, and on her mother's from one 
 of the first settlers of Hartford, Conn. She was 
 born in Maine, but spent the greater part of her 
 childhood and youth in Stockbridge, Mass., her 
 father's native place. In 1836, Miss Woodbridge 
 removed to Albany, and for nearly ten years was 
 associated with Mr. Crittenden in the care of the 
 Albany Female Academy. In May, 1846, she 
 removed with the same gentleman to Brooklyn, 
 when he undertook the charge of the Academy in 
 that place, where she has since resided. Her 
 occasional contributions to periodicals have made 
 her name known to the readers of poetry; her 
 writings are her amusement and relaxation in her 
 hours of leisure, and show much purity of taste 
 and ease of expression. 
 
 WOODMAN, HANNAH J., 
 Is a native of Boston, Massachusetts. She has 
 been for some years engaged in teaching, but 
 in the intervals allowed by her avocation, she 
 has devoted herself with success to literary pur- 
 suits. Her most important work is a volume 
 entitled " The Casket of Gems." She has also 
 written some smaller books. 
 
 BRITISH. 
 
 A. 
 
 ABDY, MRS., 
 
 Has been hitherto principally known by her 
 contributions to many of the Annuals and Maga- 
 zines of the day. As a prose writer, her tales are 
 natural and interesting ; as a poet, many of her 
 pieces are distinguished by a purity of diction 
 and loftiness of sentiment, which leave her little 
 behind the best writers among her sex. Her 
 spiritual gifts are consecrated to the service of 
 religion; and her verse is full of that serenity 
 and cheerfulness which only a warm faith can 
 inspire. Her only printed work is a " Volume of 
 Poems," for private circulation. Mrs. Abdy has 
 written several tales that would do credit to many 
 of the high names in literature, — her moral is 
 always sound and practical — her characters 
 equally remote from insipidity or exaggeration, 
 while a gentle humour pervades the whole. We 
 would recommend " The Long Engagement," as a 
 happy specimen of her manner. 
 
 THT MAIDEN NAM^. 
 
 Thy Maiden Name — oh! how that word recalls 
 
 Thoughts of glad meetings and of happy faces ; 
 I see thee boundi[ig in thy father's halls, 
 
 Once more arrayed in girlhood's blooming graces: 
 Loose float thy nut-brown locks, thy step is light, 
 
 Thy harp is ever tuned to songs of gladness. 
 Kindred and friends extol thee with delight. 
 
 And none but lovers look on thee with sadness. ^ 
 
 Thy Maiden Name — the scene is changed, and now 
 
 I see thee standing at the sacred altar; 
 Thy robes are spotless, gems are on thy brow. 
 
 Bright are thy blushes, thy faint accents falter; 
 Awhile the hazel eyes with tears are dim. 
 
 Leaving a home of kindness and piotection. 
 But soon They smile with trusting faith on him 
 
 Who owns the treasure of thy young affection. 
 
 Thy Maiden Name — since thou that name resigned, 
 
 Time,which has somewhat dimmed thy sportive beauty, 
 Has strengthened the flrm qualities of mind 
 
 Befitting the calm sphere of matron duty; 
 Tliy loved, thy chosen, estimates thy worth. 
 
 Nor do thy hopes e'er dwell upon another. 
 Save on the children who surround thy hearth. 
 
 Hearing sweet words of wisdom from their mother. 
 
 Thy Maiden Name — though soft its flowing sound. 
 
 Though high and pure its stainless reputation, 
 I will not mourn its loss — since thou hast found 
 
 A nobler duty, home, and designation : 
 Never, I feel, can England's downfall be. 
 
 Counting such wives and mothers in her pages; 
 Whose lives, displayed in their posterity, 
 
 Perchance may cast a light o'er future ages. 
 
 WHERE SHALL I DIE ? 
 
 Where shall I die ? — Shall Death's cold hand 
 Arrest iny breath while dear ones stand 
 In silent watchful love, to shed 
 Their tears around my qui'-l bed? 
 Or, shall I meet my final doom 
 Far from my country and my home? 
 Lord, to Thy will I bend the knee; 
 Thou evermore hast cared for me. 
 
 839 
 
YOUNG WRITERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 Howshallldie? — Shall Death's harsh yoke 
 Subdue me by a single stroke? 
 Or shall my fainting frame sustain 
 ■ The tedious languishing of pain, 
 Sinking in weariness away, 
 Slowly and sadly, day by day ? 
 Lord, I repose my cares on Thee ; 
 Thou evermore hast cared for me. 
 
 When shall I die? —Shall Death's stern call 
 
 Soon come, my spirit to appal ? 
 
 Or shall I live through circling years 
 
 A pilgrim in this vale of tears ; 
 
 Surviving those I loved the best. 
 
 Who in the peaceful church-yard rest ? 
 
 Lord ! I await Thy wise decree ; 
 
 Thou evermore hast cared for me. 
 
 Vet, oh, sustain me by Thy power! 
 Be with me in Life's parting hour: 
 Tell me of power and pardon won 
 Through the dear mercies of Thy Son ; 
 Then should I feel resigned to go 
 From Life's brief joy and fleeting woe. 
 If I in death the Saviour see. 
 Who evermore hath cared for me. 
 
 AUSTIN, SARAH, 
 Belongs to a family of literary celetrity, the 
 Taylors of Norwich. She is perhaps better ac- 
 quainted with German literature than any living 
 writer not a native of Germany; and is also a 
 classical scholar, and generally accomplished. 
 She has made several successful translations, 
 stamped by the approval of the original writers : 
 some fragments from Goethe — Ranke's " History 
 of the Popes," — and "History of the Reforma- 
 tion." Her " Fragments from the German Prose 
 Writers, illustrated with Biographical Notes," has 
 attained considerable popularity, and gone through 
 several editions. 
 
 B. 
 
 BRAY, MRS., 
 Is a native of Devonshire. Her first husband 
 was Charles Stothard, Esq., whom she greatly 
 assisted in his antiquarian researches, and hence 
 her knowledge of the arts and antiquities of her 
 country. In 1 836 she published a very amusing 
 book, " Description of Devonshire, bordering on 
 the Tamar and Tavy." In 1841 she produced an 
 excellent description of her travels on the conti- 
 nent, — " The ^lountains and Lakes of Switzer- 
 land," &o. She has besides published several 
 novels, which are not without merit — but do not 
 equal her graver works. " De Foix, or Sketches 
 of Manners and Customs of the Fourteenth Cen- 
 tury," " The Protestant," " Talba," " Trelawney 
 of Trelawney." Her happiest literary effort is 
 generally considered to be the " Traditions, Le- 
 gends," &o. of Devonshire, in a series of letters 
 to Southey, a book full of information and enter- 
 tainment. Mrs. Bray has set an example or fashion 
 of literature, in which ladies might excel, vastly to 
 their own advantage as well as to the profit of 
 society. Instead of vapid novels let us have vivid 
 descriptions of natural scenery, and pictures of 
 actual life. 
 
 BROOKE, CHARLOTTE, 
 
 Is a poetess of considerable reputation. Some 
 of her poems hove a sweetness of flow and deli- 
 cacy of sentiment that seem made out of music, 
 rather than for it. She seems only to have want- 
 ed some deep incitement, such as a sense of duty 
 imparts to a woman's genius, in order to have 
 excelled. 
 
 A lover's lines. 
 
 As the sweet blackberry's modest bloom 
 
 Fair- flowering, greets the sight; 
 Or strawberries, in their rich perfume. 
 
 Fragrance and bloom unite, 
 So this fair plant of tender youth 
 
 In outward charms can vie. 
 And, from within, the soul of truth. 
 
 Soft-beaming, fills her eye. 
 
 Pulse of my heart ! — dear source of care, 
 
 Stol'n sighs, and love-breathed vows! 
 Sweeter than when, through scented air. 
 
 Gay bloom the apple-boughs ! 
 With thee no days can winter seem. 
 
 Nor frost nor blast can chill ; 
 Then the soft breeze, the cheering beam. 
 
 That keeps it summer still ! 
 
 BULWER, LADY, 
 
 Has gained an tmfortunate celebrity both from 
 unhappy family occurrences, and from the manner 
 in which she has used her talents to avenge her 
 real or fancied injuries. Her maiden name was 
 Wheeler, only, daughter of a respectable widow 
 who resided in London. Miss Wheeler is re- 
 presented to have been " a pale, slender, beau- 
 tiful girl;" Edward Lytton Bulwer, fresh from 
 college, saw and loved her ; they were married 
 against the wishes of his mother. The sequel is 
 too well known to require detail — there was 
 "incompatibility of temper" — unhappiness — 
 separation. It was not till after this last event 
 that Lady Bulwer became an author ; we regret 
 to say that her pen has not improved the respect 
 we should like to entertain for one who has suffered. 
 She is unquestionably a woman of talents ; but 
 her genius is not always well-directed. There is, 
 throughout her works a sort of daring, a way of 
 writing that seems like loud talking, when you are 
 disposed to beg for less vociferation. " Chevely," 
 her first novel, has some good scenes and fine 
 passages, but it is a book of which we cannot 
 approve ; its tendency is wrong, its views of life 
 unsound ; still in reading it we feel disposed to 
 make allowance ; it appears like the outpourings 
 of a sadly grieved spirit. Her next work, " The 
 Bubble Family" is, in a literary point of view, a 
 better book; yet it is disfigured by a coarse, 
 sailor-like humour, such as would amuse coming 
 from Captain Marryatt; from the pen of a lady 
 it is sadly out of keeping. "Bianca Capello" 
 shows great acquaintance with Italian learning, 
 yet is rather a dull book. Lady Bulwer, however, 
 displays so much information upon this interesting 
 portion of Italian history, that we wonder she did 
 not choose the simple vehicle of memoirs rather than 
 this cumbrous romance. " The Peer's Daughters" 
 is a later novel, and displays a minute knowledge of 
 
 840 
 
BRITISH. 
 
 French history and manners, during the reign of 
 Louis XV. The London critics have praised this 
 worlc very highly. She has written other novels. 
 With all Lady Bulwer's faults as a writer, she cer- 
 tainly excels the " immortal" Sir Edward in the 
 main point — she is evidently a sincere and candid 
 person ; she is superior to cant, or to moralizing 
 for effect. 
 
 BURY, LADY CHARLOTTE, 
 Was in her youth esteemed " The beauty of the 
 Argyle family." As Lady Charlotte Campbell, she 
 was one of the early friends of Sir Walter Scott ; 
 the notice of a beautiful young woman of the 
 highest ranl£ whose taste for literature enables her 
 to appreciate genius, could not be otherwise than 
 flattering to a young poet whose fame was yet to 
 be established. Lady Charlotte after she became 
 a widow was left in moderate circumstances with 
 a family to advance : this state of things recom- 
 mended her to an office in the household of the 
 Princess of Wales, afterwards Queen Caroline, 
 where she was admitted to the close intimacy of 
 her mistress, from whom she received every sort 
 of kindness, including large presents in money. 
 She seems to have but indifferently requited these 
 benefits, by a very scandalous publication, entitled, 
 " Diary illustrative of the times of George IV." 
 in which, all the foibles of the unfortunate Caroline 
 of Brunswick are held up to ridicule. This book 
 appeared anonymously, but as it underwent a most 
 scathing review from Lord Brougham, in which he 
 proclaimed the author, and as Lady Charlotte 
 never offered any denial, there can be no doubt 
 that she is the delinquent. She has written a 
 great nufnber of what are termed "Fashionable 
 novels," which have not survived their little hour. 
 Some of them, if that may be considered an 
 honour, have been drawn from the oblivion into 
 which they had sunk to be republished in America, 
 in the twenty-five cent form, to augment the im- 
 mense supply of steamboat and rail-car litera- 
 ture. We will add the names of some thus dis- 
 tinguished. "A Marriage in High Life;" "The 
 Divorce;" "Love;" "The Separation;" "Flirta- 
 tion ; " &c. 
 
 CALDERON DE LA BARCA, FRANCES 
 EBSKINE, 
 Is by birth a native of Scotland, her father 
 being a descendant of the Earls of Buchan, and a 
 grandson of the celebrated Colonel Gardiner men- 
 tioned in Scott's Waverley, who fell at Preston-Pans. 
 The wife of Colonel Gardiner was Lady Frances 
 Erskine, daughter of the Earl of Buchan, and 
 famous in her time both for her beauty and her 
 correspondence with Dr. Doddridge, as well as 
 other celebrated divines. Mr. Inglis, the father of 
 Madame de Calderon, lost his property, when she 
 was quite young, and in consequence removed with 
 his family to Normandy, where they resided for 
 several years. After her father's decease. Miss 
 Inglis accompanied her mother and the rest of the 
 
 family to America. For six years Fanny Inglis 
 assisted in the instruction of a school, established 
 by her mother and sister in Boston, and waj con- 
 sidered an excellent teacher. This portion of her 
 history is a model for young ladies, who should 
 cheerfully assist in sustaining themselves and 
 others dear to them whenever such necessity 
 occurs. Fanny Inglis while in adversity showed 
 herself worthy of estimation and esteem, and the 
 honour she gained is all the higher, because paid 
 to her talents and virtues when the smiles of for- 
 tune were withdrawn. 
 
 In 1838, Miss Inglis was married to his Excel- 
 lency Don Calderon de la Barca, a collateral de- 
 scendant, we believe, of the great dramatist, 
 Calderon, and went to reside at Washington. In 
 1840, M. de Calderon being appointed to Mexico, 
 they passed two years there, and the experiences 
 of those years have been recorded in the book 
 which has rendered Madame Calderon so justly 
 celebrated. Her work entitled " Life in Mexico," 
 was published in 1843 ; it is written in a spirited, 
 graphic, and fascinating style, and it is impossible 
 not to feel that the brilliant pictures in it are 
 drawn from nature ; by reading it we obtain an 
 insight into the ways of tropical life, and the 
 habits of the Mexicans of all classes, for she 
 observes every thing. The general accuracy of her 
 account has never been questioned, while a slight 
 vein of romance running through her description, 
 has infused a spirit of life and vivacity into her 
 book, making it a most delightful as well as useful 
 work. In 1844, M. Calderon being again named 
 minister to the United States, the family returned 
 to Washington, where they have since resided. 
 During the last seven years, after three years of 
 devoted study, Madame Calderon has become a 
 Roman Catholic, with a thorough conviction that 
 she has embraced the true faith. 
 
 From "Life in Mexico.' 
 OP THE WOMEN. 
 
 You ask me how Mexican women are educated. 
 In answering you, I must put aside a few brilliant 
 exceptions, and speak en masse, the most difficult 
 thing in the world ; for these exceptions are al- 
 ways rising up before me like accusing angels, 
 and I begin to think of individuals, when I should 
 keep to generalities. Generally speaking, then, 
 the Mexican setioras and senoritas write, read and 
 play a little, sew, and take care of their houses and 
 children. When I say they read, I mean they know 
 how to read; when I say they write, I do not 
 mean they can always spell ; and when I say they 
 play, I do not assert that they have generally a 
 knowledge of music. ■ If we compare their educa- 
 tion with that of the girls of the United States, — 
 it is not a comparison but a contrast. Compare it 
 with that of Spanish women, and we shall be less 
 severe upon their fainimte descendants. In the 
 first place the climate inclines every one to indo- 
 lence, both physically and morally. One cannot 
 pore over a bpok when the blue sky is constantly 
 smiling in at the open window ; then out of doors, 
 after ten o'clock, the sun gives us due warning of 
 
YOUNG WRITERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 our tropical latitude, and even though the breeze 
 is so fresh and pleasant, one has no inclination to 
 ride or walk far. Whatever be the cause, I am 
 convinced it is impossible to talie the same exer- 
 cise with the mind or with the body in this coun- 
 try, as in Europe or in the Northern States. — 
 Then as to schools, there are none that can deserve 
 the name, and no governesses. Young girls can 
 have no emulation, for they never meet. They 
 have no public diversion and no private amuse- 
 ment. There are a few good foreign masters, 
 njost of whom have come to Mexico for the- pur- 
 pose of maliing their fortune by teaching or mar- 
 riage, or both, and whose object naturally, is to 
 make the most money in the shortest possible 
 time, that they may return home and enjoy it. — 
 The children generally appeal' to have an extra- 
 ordinary disposition for music and dancing, yet 
 there are few girls who are proficients in either. 
 
 When very young they occasionally attend the 
 schools, where boys and girls learn to read in 
 common ; or any other accomplishments that the 
 old women can teach them ; but at twelve they 
 are already considered too old to attend to these 
 promiscuous assemblages, and masters are got in 
 for drawing and music, to finish their education, 
 I asked a lady the other day, if her daughter went 
 to school. "Good heavens!" said she, quite 
 shocked, " she is past eleven years old!" It fre- 
 .quently happens that the least well-informed girls 
 :»re the children of the cleverest men, who, keep- 
 iing to the customs of their forefathers, are content 
 lif they confess regularly, attend church constantly, 
 and can embroider and sing a little. Where there 
 are more extended ideas, it is chiefly amongst 
 families who have travelled in Europe, and have 
 seen the different education of women in foreign 
 countries. Of these the fathers occasionally de- 
 vote a short portion of their time to the instruction 
 of their daughters, perhaps during their leisure 
 evening moments ; but it may easily be supposed 
 that this desultory system has little real influence 
 on the minds of the children. I do not think there 
 are above a half a dozen married women, or as 
 many girls above fourteen, who, with the excep- 
 ^tion of the mass-book, read any one book through 
 in the whole course of the year. They thus 
 greatly simplify the system of education in the 
 United States, where parties are frequently divided 
 between the advocates for solid learning, and 
 those for superficial accomplishments ; and ac- 
 cording to whom it is diflicult to amalgamate the 
 solid beef of science with the smart sauce of 
 les beaux arts. 
 
 But if a Mexican girl be ignorant, she rarely 
 shows it. They have generally the greatest pos- 
 sible tact ; never by any chance wandering out 
 ■ of their depth, or betraying by a word or sign 
 ithat they are not well informed on the subject 
 , 'Under discussion. Though seldom graceful, they 
 are never awkward, and always self-possessed. 
 They have plenty of natural talent, and where it 
 ihas been thoroughly cultivated, no women can 
 : surpass them. But they love indolence : said 
 • a beggar-woman to my English maid — "Ah, if 
 yon only knew the pleasure of doing nothing!" 
 
 COPLEY, MRS., 
 
 Ranks among the best living writers of juvenile 
 books. Her " Early Friendships " is a very pleas- 
 ing story, conveying a useful moral and tolji in a 
 well-turned style. Another interesting book of 
 hers is " Little Harry and Uncle Benjamin," which 
 teaches useful lessons for boys. 
 
 COSTELLO, LOUISA STUART, 
 la" an industrious and agreeable writer. Her 
 first work, " Specimens of the Early Poetry of 
 France," showed research and taste bestowed on 
 a subject which rarely interests any one save a 
 native of Paris. Her next book was a pleasant 
 one — "Summer among the Boccages and the 
 Vines." She also wrote "A Pilgrimage to Au- 
 vergne," "The Queen Mother," and some others. 
 But her most important work is " Memoirs of 
 Eminent Englishwomen;" published in 1844, in 
 four volumes, with a number of well-executed 
 portraits. There are, in -all, thirty-seven biogra- 
 phies given, including England's proudest names, 
 and she has had many daughters of whom she 
 may justly boast. Mrs. Costello evidently put her 
 heart in this work ; it is, however, purely English 
 in its sentiments and turns of thought — that rank 
 is greatness, and that high birth gives the high 
 soul. 
 
 D. 
 
 DARUSMONT, FRANCES, 
 
 Better known as Miss Fanny Wright, was left 
 an orphan at the age of nine years, with a younger 
 sister, the two being heirs to a considerable pro- 
 perty. They were placed under the guardianship 
 of a man who was an accomplished adept in the 
 philosophy of the French EncyclopEcdists. Her 
 parents had been strict Presbyterians, and, appa- 
 rently, she was brought up in that faith; yet the 
 poison of the French philosophical ideas was in- 
 stilled with zeal into her young and eager soul, 
 that should have been moulded by a pious mother's 
 wise care ; for, with warm feelings and a mind of 
 strong powers, Fanny Wright had an enthusiasm 
 of nature which would have its way. If such 
 women are trained rightly, what noble beings they 
 become ! 
 
 When Miss Wright came of age, she found that 
 the Old World was a hard field for her philan- 
 thropic plans. She had been taught by her infidel 
 friend, and honestly believed, that religion, or the 
 priest, rather, was the greatest obstacle in the 
 way of human happiness and social improvement. 
 She therefore came to the New World to see ano- 
 ther phase of society. Her travels and observa- 
 tions at that time extended through three years, 
 from 1818 to 1820; and her work, "Views on 
 Society and Manners in America," evinced a hope- 
 ful mind, enlarged and liberal political views, with 
 no expressed hostility to the Christian religion, 
 which she found here not in state establishments, 
 
 842 
 
BRITISH. 
 
 but in the hearts of the people. Her second work, 
 "A Few Days in Athens," published in 1822, is 
 dedicated to Jeremy Bentham. In this she endea- 
 vours to prove the truth and utility of the Epicu- 
 rean doctrine — that pleasure is the highest aim 
 of human life. It is written with vigour, and the 
 classic beauty of its style won much praise ; but 
 its tendency is earthward. 
 
 Miss Wright returned to America about 1S25, 
 and settled at Xasbobii, Tennesee, with the avowed 
 intention of cultivating the minds of some negroes 
 whom she emancipated, and thus proving the 
 equality of races. Her philanthrophy was doomed 
 to disappointment. She finally abandoned her 
 plan ; came to the eastern cities and began a course 
 of lectures, setting forth her particular views of 
 liberty. She was followed and flattered by many 
 men in New York, particularly; who formed 
 ** Fanny Wright Societies." with notions of *^ re- 
 form" similar to the present coninitmists of France. 
 Barely did an American woman join her standard, 
 and so Miss Wright could find no true friend : for 
 between the sexes there can be no real bond of 
 generous sympathy without Christian sentiment 
 hallows the intercourse. Miss Wright left Ame- 
 rica for France, where she had before resided. 
 Here she married M. Darusmont; a man who pro- 
 fessed her own philosophy; the result has not 
 been happy for her. They separated some years 
 ago ; she returned with their only child, a danghter, 
 to America, where she owtis landed property. 
 Her husband is endeavouring to wrest tMs fiN>m 
 her, and the matter is now undergoing examina- 
 tion in the law courts of the West. Meantime, 
 Madame Darusmont has recommenced her phi- 
 lanthropic lalx'iLrs on behalf of the coloured race. 
 Tfi justice to her, it must be said that she is not 
 like the fanatics who would destroy the Union to 
 carry out an abstract principle of human rights — 
 she seeks to prove the slave may be made worthy of 
 ^&eedoni, and she does this at her own care and 
 cost. There is no doubt that she has sought to do 
 good, and it is a sorrowful thought that such a 
 mind should have been so misiiirected in its form- 
 ic sr-time. We have been told by a lady who lately 
 conversed with Madame Darusmont, that she as- 
 cribes her errors of opinion (there is no substais- 
 tial charge against her purity of conduct) to the 
 misfortune of her early training : that she has 
 freed herself from many of these errors, and we 
 hope she will yet be redeemed fr«m tie heavy 
 servitude of infidelity, and Snd that, true liberty 
 and happiness which the Gospel only can give the 
 human soul. 
 
 DCTFEBIX, LADT, 
 Is the grand-daughter of Biehard Brinsley STieri- 
 dan, and a sister 6f the Hon. Mrs. Xorton. She 
 was educated irith much care by an aceompfished 
 mother, and, like her more cdebrated sister, dis- 
 played great precocity of talent ; writing in ihyme 
 as soon as she was able to write at afl. She mar- 
 ried the Hon. Opt. Price Blackwood, who died 
 soon after he had succeeded to the title of DnSe- 
 lin and Ctaneboy. Lady Dufferin has not pub- 
 lished much; she is principally known through 
 
 her songs and ballads, which, both for comic 
 humour and pathos, are among the best in otir 
 language. " The Irish Emigrant's Lament," writ- 
 ten by her, will compare favourably with any 
 lyric in the English tongne. Indeed, for its simple, 
 touching pathos, it is almost unequalled. We have 
 only to regret that she has written so little. Her 
 poems have never been collected. 
 
 E. 
 
 EGEBTOy. LADT FBAXCES, 
 AccoscpAsiEi) her husband on a journey, which 
 
 gave oecasioD to his •■ Mediterranean Sketches," 
 and from her pen •• Journal of a Tour in the Holy 
 Land." The Quarterly Review says O'f this work, 
 
 I *■■ Lady F. Egertcu's little vo-lnme, taken all in all, 
 well justifies the respect with which we have 
 always heard her name mentioned. Althcugh 
 she travelled with aB the comfort and prc'tection 
 
 I which station and wealth could secure to her, and 
 the smooth ways of pilgrimage now permit, yet 
 that one indistiensable C|iia]ification which the 
 Christian reaider demands in aU who presume to 
 approach the a^T ir-place of our faith, the absence 
 of which no array tf learning aud no brilMfmey 
 of talent can supply — namely, the genuine ptf- 
 ffrim^g heart — that we find in Lady F. Egerton's 
 unpretending journal, more than in any oiher 
 
 I modem espKEtion U' the Holy Land we know." 
 The sweetest praise Lady Erert^jn could receive 
 for her literary genios, would l.e poor to the com- 
 pliment her husband has paid her at the close of 
 his work ; the oSces he awards to her of -• Guide, 
 companion, monitress and friend," are signifioant 
 of the true womanly virtues of her heart, and of 
 the entire sympathy O'f th«r intellectual pTiTS^jjis. 
 Fortunate is the woman thns wedded. 
 
 F. 
 
 FAWCETT. HZLEX, 
 
 Tee most popular En gin si tra^c aeiress now 
 
 liring. Her gsiins for tte Mstrionie art is said, 
 
 by gQi>d JHdges, to be remarkable: but tie j.a3my 
 
 ! age of the theatre bas parsed: j'a^e'i.riis and 
 
 j baSbonery bear s^ay Ts-liere Mr=- Siddon= reigned 
 
 ' the Qaeen of the dramatic ^orld : and Miss T&w- 
 
 ceti must divide the lamel mth SDme French 
 
 j dan^nse, or Engligli clown. 
 
 1 
 
 EULLEKTOy, LADT GEORGIA:!vA, 
 
 Is a noreliit of extraor-iiiiSTT pti^rsr; we 
 
 scareely know a SciitHi of the Isst tiSi je&rs tiiat 
 
 ■ so compleT^lj taies hold of the reader as '*E31si 
 
 ; Mid'^leten." The msin incident is a mc'sr exti^a- 
 
 ; ordinaiT one, smd teing introdnc-ed iew the Tay 
 
 bejr^iaiJng tif the book, j rndnces a stiia.tioii &at 
 
 ■would haxe c-onsplet-elj OTerthrown an ordlnaiy 
 
 wiiter; 4Ms author io"«"eTer maintains the interesi 
 
 ndthout a "f^nse. The Trort is made 'oo long I^t 
 
 the introdTimon of maiij iiseless c2aaracteT^ a.j_-i 
 
 b*3 
 
YOUNft WRITERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 incidents — but tliis defect may easily be for- 
 given, where there is so much to engage the 
 attention. " Grantley Manor," the next publica- 
 tion of Lady Georgiana, has been much admired ; 
 we consider it very inferior to " Ellen Middleton." 
 
 G. 
 
 GASKILL, MRS., 
 
 By birth Miss Stromkin, is the wife of a Uni- 
 tarian clergyman at Manchester, where she 
 resides. Her two largest works are "Mary Bar- 
 ton, a Tale of Manchester Life," and " Morland 
 Cottage," — which are written with power, and 
 evince an earnest desire to alleviate the condition 
 of the suifering lower classes of her own country, 
 together with the ability to develop her thoughts 
 in a narrative at once interesting and pathetic. 
 Her characters are life-like and well sustained, 
 and her language and descriptions of natural 
 scenery are particularly fine. She promises to 
 become a very popular authoress, judging by 
 what she has already done. The Edinburgh Re- 
 view thus compliments the author; " The literary 
 merit of ' Mary Barton ' is in some respects of a 
 'very high order. Its interest is intense : often 
 painfully so ; indeed, it is here, we think, that the 
 charm of the book and the triumph of the author 
 will chiefly be found. Its pictures and reflections 
 are, however, also full of those touches of nature 
 which ' make the whole world kin : ' and its dia- 
 logues are managed with a degree of ease and 
 naturalness rarely attained even by the most ex- 
 perienced writers of fiction." Yet the reviewer 
 objects to the tendency of Mrs. Gaskill's work, 
 because it exaggerates the picture of sufferings 
 among the poor. We fancy those who endure the 
 sad lot of factory life in England, will not think 
 her statements are sufficiently darkened. 
 
 OUT OF EMPLOY. 
 
 *' There were homes over which Carson's fire 
 (his mill had been burnt down) threw a deep, 
 terrible gloom ; the homes of those who would 
 fain work, and no man gave unto them ; the homes 
 of those to whom leisure was a curse. There the 
 family music was hungry wails, when week after 
 week passed by, and there was no work to be had, 
 and consequently no Wages to pay for the bread 
 the children cried aloud fur in their young impa- 
 tience of suifering. Many a penny that would 
 have gone little way enough in oatmeal or pota- 
 toes, bought opium to still the hungry little ones, 
 and make them forget their uneasiness in heavy 
 troubled sleep. The evil and the good of our 
 nature came out strongly then. There were des- 
 perate fathers ; there were bitter-tongued mothers 
 (0 God 1 what wonder !) ; there were reckless 
 children ; the very closest bonds of nature were 
 snapt in that time of trial and distress. There 
 was faith such as the rich can never imagine upon 
 earth; there was "love strong as death," and 
 self-denial among rude, coarse men, akin to that 
 of Sir Philip Sydney's most glorious deed. The 
 
 vices of the poor sometimes astound us here: but 
 when the secrets of all hearts shall be made 
 known, their virtues will astound us in far greater 
 degree. Of this I am certain. 
 
 GRAHAM, MARIA, 
 
 Has been a frequent traveller, and has recorded 
 her experience in a pleasant and useful manner. 
 Her first work, " Journal of a Residence in India," 
 was published in 1819. Her next was "Voyage 
 to Brazil, and residence there during nearly three 
 years," published in 1820. Then followed " Jour- 
 nal of a Residence in Chili during the year 1822 ;" 
 and a " Voyage from Chili to Brazil;" — these are 
 her principal works. 
 
 GRAY, JANE S., 
 
 Is daughter of William Lewers, Esq., of Cas- 
 tle Clarney, in the north of Ireland. When very 
 young she went to America, and was married to 
 the Rev. John Gray, D. D., and since that event 
 has resided at Easton, Pennsylvania, where her 
 husband is pastor of one of the Presbyterian 
 Churches. Her poems are the natural effusions 
 of an imaginative and refined mind, inclined by a 
 love for harmony to mould her thoughts to rhyme. 
 They are stamped by a true womanly spirit of 
 piety and household aifection, and please both for 
 the sentiment and the simple and graceful manner 
 in which it is expressed. 
 
 GRIFFITH, MRS., 
 
 In conjunction with her husband, JIajor George 
 Darby Griffith, has produced a capital book of 
 travels, called " A Journey across the desert from 
 Ceylon to Marseilles." This very extended field 
 has afforded scope to many sketches of scenery 
 and circumstances new to the Western World. 
 The style is attractive, and we are equally pleased 
 with the lively descriptive powers of the lady — 
 and' the graphic illustrations of the gentleman. 
 
 GROSVENOR, LADY, 
 Now Marchioness of Westminster, has written 
 one very clever work, " Narrative of a Yacht Voy- 
 age ; " two volumes, published in London, 1842. 
 An English critic says of this: "It is simply, 
 a sensible, healthy, and well-written work, utterly 
 free from all affectations, and especially from that 
 which apes humility, and betraying the woman of 
 rank chiefly in the total absence of all attempt to 
 display it. None indeed can open these volumes 
 without feeling that they are conversing with a 
 high-bred, independent-spirited woman — too proud 
 to condescend to be vain — who, having read well, 
 and thought well, and been surrounded from in- 
 fancy with society of the highest intellect, and 
 objects of the finest art, beoomBS instructive with- 
 out any pretension to teach, and interesting, 
 though giving only the simple narrative of her 
 every-day life." What enhances the interest, is 
 that Lady Grosvenor appears to have written this 
 work for her own daughters ; the mother is often 
 paramount to the author. Her duties are her 
 pleasures ; she makes no parade of sentiment ; 
 all is natural and therefore agreeable. 
 
 844 
 
BRITISH. 
 
 GUEST, LADY CHARLOTTE, 
 
 Was born in Wales, and has done much to elu- 
 cidate its language and literature. She has 
 translated, from " The Mabinogion," an ancient 
 Welsh work, four tales into English, adding 
 many valuable notes, which show much antiqua- 
 rian lore and just philosophy. She has been a 
 contributor to the Cambrian Quarterly ; and her 
 researches and translations have been highly 
 commended. Another lady, Anna Qurney, of 
 Norfolk, niece, we believe, of Mrs. Fry, has also 
 given much time to these antiquarian pursuits. 
 Through the unwearied efforts of these two 
 women, much of the early history of their coun- 
 try has been sought out, set in order, and thus 
 will be preserved. 
 
 H. 
 
 HOBSON, MARGARET, 
 By birth Miss Holford, is very favourably 
 known as a poetess. Her chief work, entitled, 
 " Margaret of Anjou," is a poem in ten cantos, in 
 which the story of this unfortunate Queen is elo- 
 quently and graphically told. She has also written 
 "Wallace, or the Flight of Falkirk," and some 
 miscellaneous verses. Her poetical writings dis- 
 play a strong, romantic, vigorous genius, lofty and 
 daring in its flight, and essentially firm and 
 healthy in its constitution. Like Miss Baillie, slie 
 finds that simplicity is the truest strength ; and 
 she never exhibits the slightest leaning towards 
 the rhapsodical or the sentimental. Her stories 
 are skilfully conducted, and like a thread of gold 
 is the vivid interest which runs through them from 
 the first to the last. 
 
 MABGAEET OF ANJ0T7. 
 
 Now who is she, whose awful mien, 
 
 Whose dauntle-ss step's firm dignity, 
 
 Whose high arch'd brow, sedate, serene, 
 
 Whose eye, unbending, strong and keen. 
 The solemn presence hint of conscious majesty ? 
 * + * * * 
 
 ' But she is calm : — a peace profound 
 
 On the unruffled surface rests; 
 
 Yet is that breast in iron bound, 
 
 And fiird with rude and sullen guests. 
 
 No female weakness harbour'd there, 
 
 Relentings soft, nor shrinking fear, 
 
 Within its centre deep abide: 
 
 The stern resolve, the purpose dire, 
 
 And grim revenge's quenchless fire, 
 ^ The intrepid thought, cold, thawless pride. 
 
 And fortitude in torture tried,— 
 
 These are its gentlest inmates now, 
 Tho' lawless love, they say, once heard its secret vow. 
 
 MATEENAl LOVE. 
 
 In Margaret's fierce and stormy hreast 
 A thousand warring passions strove; 
 Yet now, unhid, a stranger-guest 
 Dispersed and silenced all the rest — 
 Thy voice, Maternal Love 1 
 Ambition, Hatred, Vengeance wild, 
 Hot Ire, and frozen Pride were flown, 
 While gazing on her lifeless child, 
 On Heaven she cried, in frenzied tone, 
 " Oh, save my gallant boy I oh, Edward 1 oh, my son !" 
 
 HOUSTON, MRS. 
 
 Daughtee of Mr. Jesse, an author of some 
 celebrity, is a lively, fluent writer who has pro- 
 duced two books to enlighten the world by her 
 travelling observations ; the first is called, " Texas 
 and the Gulf of Mexico," being an account of a 
 yacht voyage she made to Texas with her husband 
 in 1843 ; her last work, " He,speros," describes a 
 journey through the United States. This lady is 
 not sufficiently particular in her sources of in- 
 formation ; inferior authorities are always acces- 
 sible to the ordinary traveller, and Mrs. Houston 
 is as well satisfied with the lazy .gossip of a low- 
 bred rustic she meets in a steamboat, as if she had 
 conversed with Washington Irving. This credulity 
 has led her into the error natural to such a frame 
 of mind, of depicting as general and national 
 customs which prevail only partially, and in in- 
 ferior society. Her works want accuracy and 
 judgment. Such writings pass away like ephemera : 
 even the faults are hardly worth comment ; yet 
 sometimes the statements and opinions of Mrs. 
 Houston are so obviously incongruous that we are 
 amazed she should have committed such a blunder 
 as to record them. 
 
 A steamboat company. 
 There were some very fair faces and graceful 
 figures in that motley crew. Some New York 
 families had been picked up at their villas at 
 Poughkeepsie, and other places on the river, and 
 were returning to the city for "the season." 
 Many of these were distinguS and unexceptionable 
 in dress, manners, and appearance ; ladies, of 
 whose ladyhood it would be impossible to doubt. 
 But let them do anything but speak, anything but 
 drawl forth their words, and scream out their 
 surprise, and say, "What," "Ay," and "Ha, aw," 
 in a lengthened tone, of which it would be impos- 
 sible to convey an adequate idea. This is a great 
 pity ; for the American ladies are often agreeable, 
 and almost always well read ; indeed, I have every 
 reason to think that they are superior to us in 
 general knowledge and erudition, as they are in 
 acutenesB of observation. All these good gifts are, 
 however, marred by a want of softness of manner, 
 and by a deficiency of those "good gifts which 
 grace a gentlea'oman." The "guessing" and 
 " expecting" are also by no means confined to the 
 gentlemen ; and the frequent use of those favourite 
 verbs would, in my opinion, spoil the charm of any 
 conversation. 
 
 HUGHS, MARY, 
 FoBMEBLY Robson, was born in Newcastle upon 
 Tyne. She married Mr. Thomas Hughs, a native 
 of Dundee in Scotland. Within the year after 
 their marriage, 1818, they emigrated to America, 
 and almost immediately on their arrival Mrs. 
 Hughs with the active and eflScient assistance of 
 her husband, and under the patronage of the well- 
 known philanthropist John Vaughan, Esq., com- 
 menced a school for young ladies in Philadelphia, 
 and it is believed few undertakings ever rose more 
 rapidly into popularity, as many of the mothers 
 
 845 
 
YOUNG WRITEKS AND OTHERS. 
 
 of the present generation, in the most distinguished 
 families in the city, can testify. After having con- 
 tinued their establishment in the same house in 
 which it was commenced, for twenty-one years, 
 Mr. and Mrs. Hughs purchased a farm in the 
 neighbourhood of Doylestown, Bucks County, to 
 which they retired. Before leaving England Mrs. 
 Hughs h.ad written a number of juvenile books of 
 much merit — "Aunt Mary's Tales;" "Ornaments 
 Discovered ;" " Stories for Children ;" " Metamor- 
 phosis;" and " The Alchemist." On reaching the 
 United States, Mrs. Hughs was most agreeably 
 surprised and gratified to find that her books had 
 been republished here, and were very popular. 
 These works were her letters of introduction, and 
 thus her success in her school was secured. Mrs. 
 Hughs has contributed to several American peri- 
 odicals, and written "Emma Mortimer;" "The 
 two Schools;" "Julia Ormond," "Buds and 
 Blossoms;" and " The Ivy Wreath ;" — books which 
 have done more good than the novels of the Bell 
 family; and when moral goodness shall have its 
 right estimate, such pioneers in the path of Chris- 
 tian education will be honoured above those, no 
 matter how gifted, whose talents have been used 
 to subvert truth, or to corrupt imagination. 
 
 K. 
 
 KAVANAGH, JULIA, 
 
 Is the author of a work, "Women in France," 
 illustrative of French heroines. It has enjoyed a 
 merited popularity, as it contains much informa- 
 tion in little compass. It is, however, not free 
 from inaccuracies, which could scarcely be avoided 
 ' in so comprehensive and rapid a plan. We will 
 note one, on the subject of Madame de Genlis, 
 whom she represents to have used her musical 
 abilities, when a girl, as a passport to great as- 
 semblies, and to have received remuneration for 
 her efforts. This was a rumour invented when 
 most of Madame de Genlis' contemporaries were 
 removed from the gay world, but we have the un- 
 questionable authority of Madame de Crequi, to 
 refute such gossip. Madame de Genlis belonged by 
 birth and alliance to the ancient nobility of France : 
 her talents for music, and recitation no doubt 
 made her more welcome in circles where her social 
 position brought her, and the only recompense she 
 received was the applause of gratified vanity. 
 Miss Kavanagh has written a novel called " Nata- 
 lie," which has been favourably received. In the 
 following she gives a graphic portraiture of wo- 
 man's natural piety. 
 
 THE " GODDESS OF REASON." 
 
 The French women always shrank with horror 
 from these impious saturnalia. It was only by 
 threats thatChaumette could induce Mademoiselle 
 Maillard, the actress, to take the part of Goddess 
 of Reason in the Cathedral of Notre Dame. 
 Momoro compelled his handsome wife to receive 
 the same degrading honours in Saint-Sulpice, 
 where she is said to have fainted away with 
 
 shame. A young girl of sixteen died with grief 
 and horror at the impieties in which she had been 
 compelled to participate. It is not without reason 
 that the church has bestowed upon woman the 
 name of "the devout sex." There is a faith in 
 her soul over which reasoning, or the specious 
 sophistry too often called such, has no power. 
 She believes, because it is in her nature to look 
 up to higher things than this world can give, and 
 she neither asks nor needs any proof, beyond that 
 in her own heart, to tell her that God and Provi- 
 dence are not idle human inventions. This moral 
 and religious influence of woman considerably 
 checked the progress of atheism and materialism 
 in France. No inquisition and no laws could pre- 
 vent religious mothers from rearing up their chil- 
 dren in the faith of God, and the contempt of man's 
 authority. 
 
 LAMBERT, MISS, 
 " The Handbook of Needlework" has made this 
 lady's name familiar to the learned and the un- 
 learned ; with many it is the only book they 
 peruse, and to it they return again and again with 
 ever-new interest. Garrick was said by Dr. John- 
 son to contribute to the gayety of nations ; Miss 
 Lambert may be truly eulogised as adding to the 
 pleasure of nations, and filling up the blanks in 
 many a droning existence, animating the stupid to 
 interest, and rousing the indolent to exertion. 
 Pedantry may strive to undervalue her labours, 
 but her readers are more numerous from the 
 palace to the cottage than those Of the most 
 admired poetess or novelist. Her book has pene- 
 trated into regions where Mrs. Norton is unknown, 
 and even time-honoured Miss Edgeworth ignored ; 
 not only in the drawing-rooms of London and 
 Washington, but in the wild settlements of Oregon, 
 (we speak it advisedly) and in the burning cities 
 of Hindoostah, " The Handbook of Needlework" 
 is a favourite volume. 
 
 LONDONDERRY, MARCHIONESS OF, 
 By birth Harriet Vane, has written an elaborate 
 description of her travels and adventures, entitled, 
 " Visit to the Courts of Vienna, Constantinople," 
 &c., published in 1844. It is fortunate for litera- 
 ture that ladies of rank take an interest and a 
 share in its productions. 
 
 LOUDON, MISS, 
 
 Is the wife of the well-known agriculturist and 
 gardener, J. C. Loudon. — She is an ingenious and 
 industrious writer ; — participating in her husband's 
 tastes and pursuits, and improving by his counsel, 
 she has published several useful little works for 
 amateur florists, "The Ladies' Flower-garden;" 
 " Practical Instruction in Gardening, for Ladies ;" 
 ' ' The Young Naturalist's Journey ;" and in another 
 volume she has aimed at still more extensive 
 utility. " Philanthropic Economy, or the Philos- 
 ophy of Happiness." 
 
 846 
 
BRITISH. 
 
 LOWE, MISS, 
 
 Is daughter of the Dean of Essex. In 1840, 
 she published a Tolume entitled " Poems, chiefly 
 Dramatic," in 'which she displays unusual powers 
 of lofty and harmonious versification ; it is evident 
 that her studies and the bent of her mind have 
 both led her to drink deep from the rugged but 
 ever fresh and invigorating fountain of the ancient 
 classics. Her style somewhat resembles Milton's. 
 Here is an extract from her " Cephalus and 
 Procris," which sings in strophe and antistrophe 
 like an ancient tragic chorus. 
 
 HOUR- OF NIGHT DEPAKTINO. 
 
 Soft pacing down Ihe western sky, 
 
 Sad-suited night in silence goes ; 
 Her dragons slow, with sleepless eye, 
 
 She guideth to repose. 
 And following still the noiseless wain, 
 1 must not loiter from her train ; 
 Nor ever gaze on light's gay throng. 
 Nor join my sisters' (lance and song. 
 
 When glows the orient main. 
 Her cypress veil, far-floating spread. 
 In darkness shrouds my drooping head. 
 And solemn is our gliding tread 
 
 Towards Erebus' domain. 
 
 LYNN, ELIZA, 
 
 Was born in Keswick, Cumberland County, 
 ■where she now resides. Miss Lynn has written 
 several works of great merit ; " Ayeth ;" and " A 
 Romance of the days of Pericles," are considered 
 the best. " Ayeth" contains some wonderful de- 
 scriptive touches, as the following will show ; the 
 scene is laid without the walls of Thebes, near the 
 celebrated statue of Memnon. 
 
 SUNRISE NEAR THEBES. 
 
 Mute lay the world. A sleep and a quiet like 
 that of death was spread over all, and the still 
 shape of repose brooded over the universe. Even 
 the very airs were asleep around the trees and 
 dreaming with the flowers ; and the grass blades 
 did not stir, nor the buds pour out their incense. 
 
 One faint line of glory in the east, quivering 
 along the horizon like a thread of gold ; the stars 
 clustered near, paling away, and the dark-hued 
 mist heaping up a gorgeous throne of purple ; — 
 one faint line, widening and growing brighter — 
 stealing over the mountain crests like a radiant 
 messenger from the sky — touching the high 
 branches of the trees — descending the temple's 
 lofty pillars — glowing on the obelisks — circling 
 the head of the statue with a crown of silver light 
 — beaming on the eye, resting on the lip; and a 
 voice of music, at first as soft as the whispering 
 of young birds in the noontide, then deepening 
 into a wild thrilling of spirit's melody poured out 
 from the statue. And it spread round and about its 
 living waves, full it grew, a sea, a very flood of 
 
 harmony; a hymn of praise — the articulate 
 
 thanksgiving of dumb nature — the kindling into 
 life and worship, by the light of Love, the very 
 Btones of the ground. 
 
 M. 
 
 MARKHAM, MRS., 
 
 As her cognomen is placed on the title-page of 
 many books, though some assert it is fictitious. 
 This writer has, however, laboured with much 
 success for the improvement of the young. Three 
 generations have had the benefit of her little 
 " Histories of France," and of " England," where 
 the leading facts are produced divested of philo- 
 sophic comments so dry and useless to children. 
 Her other works are judiciously prepared, and all 
 have been successful. Many editions have been 
 published in the United States. 
 
 MEREDITH, LOUISA A., 
 
 Whose maiden name was Twamley, is an ac- 
 complished artist with her pencil, as well as an 
 agreeable and well informed writer. Her first 
 publications were in the fashion of very elegant gift 
 books ; — " Our Wild Flowers ;" and " The Romance 
 of Nature," and illustrated by exquisite flowers 
 copied from drawings after nature by the authoress. 
 The literary matter is full of information, where 
 science, free from pedantry, instructs in every 
 page. After her marriage in 1844, she accom- 
 panied her husband to Australia, and the journey 
 gave rise to "Notes and Sketches of New 
 South Wales;" a book which cannot fail to 
 please every intelligent reader, though its day of 
 novelty is over — and though the country it treats 
 of is totally without any associations of interest 
 except to the speculator or professed philanthro- 
 pist. To the genuine lover of nature "no spot is 
 waste" — and our authoress furnishes both pleasure 
 and improvement, by her sprightly sallies, and 
 accurate observations of natural phenomena. Her 
 prose has almost made her poetry forgotten ; hete 
 is one flower : 
 
 THE ELUE-BEll. 
 
 Have ye ever heard, in the twilight dim, 
 
 A low, soft strain, 
 Tliat ye fancied a distant vesper hynm. 
 
 Borne o'er the plain 
 By the zephyrs that rise on perfumed wing. 
 When the sun's last glances are glimmering? 
 
 Have ye heard that music with cadence sweet. 
 
 And merry peal. 
 Ring out, like the echoes of fairy feet. 
 
 O'er flowers that steal ? 
 And did ye deem that each trembling tone 
 Was the distant vesper-chime alone? 
 
 The source of that whispering strain I'll tell ; 
 
 For I've listened oft 
 To the music faint of the blue hare-bell, 
 
 In the gloaming soft; 
 'Tis the gay fairy-folk the peal who ring 
 At even-time for their banqueting. 
 
 And gaily the trembling bells peal out 
 
 With gentle tongue. 
 While elves and fairies career about 
 
 'Mid dance and song. 
 Oh 1 roses and lilies arc fair to see; 
 But the wild blue-beil is the flower for me. 
 
 847 
 
^OUNG WRITERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 MeTEYARD, ELIZA, 
 
 Better known by her signature of " SilTerpon," 
 writes chiefly for the London periodicals. She is 
 a favoured contributor to Eliza Cook's Journal, 
 and has written for some of the American Maga- 
 imes. Miss M^teyard is of the progressive 
 school, but has none of the gloom or misanthro- 
 phy which those whose wishes to do good outrun 
 their power, often display. She is cheerful, and 
 strives to improve the habits and minds of the 
 poor, as an effective means of bettering their phy- 
 sical condition. This is a department of benevo- 
 lence too often overlooked ; and one which the 
 tender and refined soul of woman is best qualified 
 to advance. Miss M^teyard has the true sense of 
 the beautiful in nature and art, and feels it may 
 bless the poor as well as the rich. She deserves 
 much praise for her efi'orts in the cause of reform. 
 
 MORLEY, COUNTESS OF, 
 Is author of several novels, which have attained 
 considerable popularity both in England and 
 America. Among these, the best, perhaps are 
 "Daore;" "The Divorced;" and "Family Re- 
 cords ; " the first is considered very good. 
 
 P. 
 
 PLANCHE, MATILDA, 
 
 Is the youngest daughter of J. R. Planchfe, the 
 English dramatic author. She resides at present 
 near London. Five of her little works have been 
 republished in America, entitled "A trap to 
 catch a Sunbeam ; " " Old Joliffe ; " " The Sequel 
 to Old Joliffe;" "A Merry Christmas;" and 
 " Lucy's Half Crown." That these simple little 
 tales have been popular, is fully shown by the 
 fact that more than twelve thousand of them have 
 been circulated in this country alone. The aim 
 of the author is evidently an exalted one ; to show 
 the beautiful light which goodness sheds on the 
 soul, to exhibit the power of a cheerful spirit to 
 sustain and invigorate the mind, and to prove how 
 much good may be done by a loving and earnest 
 heart, amid the common ways, and with the 
 limited means of the poorest among us ; yet the 
 moral is not obtruded, and the narrative is 
 natural and interesting. Miss Planchfe is one of 
 the most promising among the youthful authors 
 of England. 
 
 POOLE, MRS., 
 Is a sister of the celebrated "Egyptian Lane." 
 fche has written an unaffected little book, as an 
 humble auxiliary to the profound lucubrations of 
 her brother. She has no learning, and affects 
 none, but she gives an unvarnished account of the 
 ■domestic life of the modern Egyptians, which is 
 .agreeable, as all true and new knowledge ever 
 must be. Her descriptions of the climate, phe- 
 nomena of the Nile, and kindred topics, are un- 
 doubtedly accurate, but comprehend nothing more 
 
 than has often been given by others. We cannot 
 take leave of the work without noticing what is 
 to us its most serious defect — we mean the new 
 orthography — which shocks all our early and 
 fond associations. " A rose may smell as swee) 
 by any other name ; " but no caleefeh or darwee- 
 she can ever work the spell that fascinates in ou) 
 old Caliph Haroun or the dervish we have mar- 
 velled at in childhood. And it is insufferable to 
 see our chivalrio hero of the crusades, Coeur de 
 Leon's Saladin, nicknamed Salah-ed-Deen. 
 
 POSSONBY, CATHARINE, 
 Has written chiefly for the Magazines and 
 Annuals. Her poetry exhibits tenderness of 
 feeling, and the religious sentiment which always 
 elevates the fancy. She has also vfritten several 
 prose works — "The Countess D'Auvergne; or, 
 Sufferings of the Protestants in the Sixteenth 
 Century," is a work of literary merit, and in- 
 teresting in its displays of Christian heroism. 
 
 POSTANS, MRS., 
 
 Is author of "Cutch, or Random Sketches 
 taken during a Residence in one of the Northern 
 provinces of Western India." She resided many 
 years in the province of Cutch, and her work is 
 considered one of the most faithful pictures of 
 Life in India, giving a minute account of the feu- 
 dal government and customs, the religious sects 
 and superstitions of the people. The aristocratic 
 distinctions of caste are rigidly preserved, and 
 the chiefs are haughty, debauched, and cruel. 
 
 SACKinOE OP A HINDOO WIDOW. 
 
 News of the widow's intentions having spread, 
 a great concourse of people of both sexes, the 
 women clad in their gala costumes, assembled 
 round the pyre. In a short time after their 
 .arrival the fated victim appeared, accompanied by 
 the Brahmins, her relatives, and the body of the 
 deceased. The spectators showered chaplets of 
 mogree on her head, and greeted her appearance 
 with laudatory exclamations at her constancy 
 and virtue. The women especially pressed for- 
 ward to touch her garments — an act which is 
 considered meritorious, and highly desirable for 
 absolution and protection from the ' evil eye.' 
 
 The widow was a remarkably handsome woman, 
 apparently about thirty, and most superbly 
 attired. Her manner was marked by great apathy 
 to all around her, and by a complete indifference 
 to the preparations which for the first time met 
 her eye. From this circumstance an impression 
 was given that she might be under the influence 
 of opium; and in conformity with the declared 
 intention of the European ofiBoers present to in- 
 terfere should any coercive measures be adopted 
 by the Brahmins or relatives, two medical officers 
 were requested to give their opinion on the sub- 
 ject. They both agreed that she was quite free 
 from any influence calculated to induce torpor or 
 intoxication. 
 
 Captain Burnes then addressed the woman, 
 desiring to know whether the act she was about 
 to perform were voluntary or enforced, and 
 
 848 
 
BEITISH. 
 
 assuring her that, should she entertain the slight- 
 est reluctance to the fulfilment of her vow, he, on 
 the part of the British government, would guaran- 
 tee the protection of her life and property. Her 
 answer was calm, heroic, and constant to her 
 purpose : ' I die of my own free will ; give me 
 hack my husband, and I will consent to live ; if 
 I die not with him, the souls of seven husbands 
 will condemn me ! ' * * 
 
 Ere the renewal of the horrid ceremonies of 
 death were permitted, again the voice of mercy, 
 of expostulation, and even of entreaty, was heard ; 
 but the trial was vain, and the cool and collected 
 manner with which the woman still declared her 
 determination unalterable, chilled and startled the 
 most courageous. Physical pangs evidently ex- 
 cited no fears in her; her singular creed, the 
 customs of her country, and her sense of conju- 
 gal duty, excluded from her mind the natural 
 emotions of personal dread ; and never did mar- 
 tyr to a true cause go to the stake with more con- 
 stancy and firmness, than did this delicate and 
 gentle woman prepare to become the victim of a 
 deliberate sacrifice to the demoniacal tenets of her 
 heathen creed. 
 
 K. 
 
 KIGBY, MISS, 
 
 Has not contributed as much to our current 
 literature as many other English authoresses — 
 but the few volumes for which the world is in- 
 debted to her, place her in the very first class 
 among writers of tales and travels. It chanced 
 that the elder sister of this lady married an 
 Esthonian baron, who has established his resi- 
 dence on his family estates ; — she was induced 
 to visit this expatriated relative, and hence we 
 obtained " Letters from the Baltic," published in 
 1841. This work at once made its way with 
 the public and the reviewers. Solid information 
 and novelty of description conveyed in the most 
 graceful style, brightened by wit, animated by the 
 enthusiasm of an artistic taste, such are the 
 attractive qualities of "Letters from the Baltic." 
 We know of no other book that gives so clear, so 
 true, and so detailed an account of life in the 
 Russian Empire. "Russia, the country where 
 the learned man wastes his time, the patriot 
 breaks his heart, and the rogue prospers," such is 
 her concluding observation on quitting St. Peters- 
 burg. In 1846 appeared " Livonian Tales;" 
 they are three in number, and all well written. 
 
 s. 
 
 SALE, LADY, 
 
 WirE of Sir Robert Sale, has distinguished her- 
 self greatly for the noble courage with which she 
 bore the dangers and sufferings incident to the 
 terrible war in Afghanistan, the generous assist- 
 3D 
 
 ance she rendered others, and the calm good sense 
 and unshaken faithfulness which characterize her 
 record of the siege of Cabul and the retreat and 
 destruction of the British army. Her work was 
 published in 1843 — "A Journal of the Disasters 
 in Afghanistan." The book must be read to form 
 a correct idea of Lady Sale's character, and of the 
 heroic fidelity to duty which lives in the soul of a 
 woman. Sir Robert Peel said, when addressing 
 Parliament on the subject of that war, "We are 
 now acknowledging military services ; but I never 
 should excuse myself, if, in mentioning the name 
 of Sir Robert Sale, I did not record my admira- 
 tion of the character of a woman who has shed 
 lustre on her sex — Lady Sale, his wife." 
 
 SANDFORD, MRS., 
 Wife of the Rev. John Sandford, wrote a little 
 work much commended on its appearance — " Wo- 
 man in her Social and Domestic Character." This 
 was reprinted in Boston in 1832. At that time 
 few works on the subject of woman's duties and 
 influence had appeared since Mrs. More and the 
 Rev. Mr. Bennet wrote their stiS' treatises. Mrs. 
 Sandford keeps religion constantly in view, and 
 thus inculcates moral goodness as the cardinal 
 quality of worth for the sex. So far, her work is 
 excellent ; but she falls into the grave error which 
 every English writer has done in making reason 
 and physical power superior to moral goodness. She 
 constantly describes woman as inferior to man. 
 While such is the tone of British writers their 
 works will do little for the cause of Christianity. 
 That the Saviour's precepts are more generally 
 and perfectly obeyed by women than by men, no 
 person will question ; if to be a Christian and do 
 good is the highest glory of humanity, above phy- 
 sical strength, which is held in common with ani- 
 mals, above mental power, which, without this 
 moral goodness, is used in the service of devils, 
 then woman's nature is the superior ; and those 
 who teach otherwise are really promoting the 
 kingdom of darkness — the reign of licentiousness 
 and infidelity. 
 
 SEWELL, ELIZABETH M., 
 
 Is sister of the Rev. William Sewell, A. M., 
 Professor of Moral Philosophy in the University 
 of Oxford, and well known as the author of 
 "Hawkstone," and as the editor of her works. 
 Miss Sewell's first publication was anonymous — 
 " Stories on the Lord's Prayer," about 1843. The 
 next, "Amy Herbert," established her repiitation 
 as a graceful and useful writer, both in England 
 and America. It was followed, at intervals, by 
 " Gertrude," " Margaret Percival," in two vol- 
 umes, " Laneton Parsonage," and " The Earl's 
 Daughter;" besides, she united with her brother, 
 the Professor, and the Rev. W. Adams, in bringing 
 out a volume called " The Sketches," consisting 
 of stories, of which she wrote "Walter Lorimer." 
 She is also author of a little volume entitled "Is 
 it a Dream ?" All her works have been republished 
 in the United States and widely circulated. Pious 
 sentiment is the predominating characteristic of 
 the writings of fhis amiable lady. Belonging to 
 
 849 
 
YOUNG WRITERS AND OTHEES, 
 
 what is styled the High Church, she delineates 
 with much effect the educational power of reli- 
 gion. Her parents, persons of great worth and 
 respectability, are deceased, and she resides with 
 other members of her family at Seagrove Cottage, 
 in the Isle of Wight. 
 
 SHARPE, LOUISA, 
 
 Is an Englishwoman by birth, and celebrated 
 for her talents as an artist. She can create as 
 well as imitate, and in her original paintings there 
 is a high tone of moral as well as poetical feeling. 
 Her works are exquisitely graceful and feminine, 
 and she evinces real genius. Her sister, Eliza 
 Sharpe, shows an almost equal talent as an artist, 
 and her paintings are much in the same style. 
 There is also another sister who has given evi- 
 dences of genius in the same art. One of the sis- 
 ters has married a German gentleman — Mr. Sey- 
 farth, of Dresden. 
 
 SINCLAIR, CATHARINE, 
 
 Daughtee of Sir John Sinclair, the celebrated 
 agricultural writer, was born in Edinburgh. She 
 is the author of many elegant and ingenious books, 
 and has a great deal of vivacity, a good under- 
 standing, and a well-cultivated mind. Her obser- 
 vations upon character are acute, and her delinea- 
 tions of society happily executed. Superior to 
 her other merits is the guiding principle of reli- 
 gion and high-toned morality that pervades all she 
 has written. The following are her principal 
 works : " Hill and Valley, or Wales and the 
 Welch," 1839, " Shetland and the Shetlanders, or 
 the Northern Circuit," " Scotland and the Scotch, 
 or the Western Circuit," " Modern Society, or the 
 March of Intellect; a Tale," "Modern Accom- 
 plishments," 1838, " Modern Flirtations, or a 
 Month at Harrowgate," 1841, " Scotch Courtiers 
 and the Court," dedicated to the Poet Laureate, 
 1842, "Holiday House; — Tales for Children," 
 "Lord and Lady Harcourt," 1850, and "Jane 
 Bouverie," 1851. 
 
 In one of Sir John Sinclair's works he alludes 
 to the influence which his sister's writings had had 
 On their father — making him a convert to the 
 religion of the Bible ; very different from nominal 
 Christianity. No higher praise could be given to 
 her genius and her piety. 
 
 TEMPEST, MISS, 
 
 Of the Grange, near Ackworth, sister to Sir 
 Charles Tempest, Bart., of Broughton Hall, in the 
 county of York, has been appointed overseer of 
 the poor for the parish of Ackworth, together with 
 John Hagues, cow-leech, also of the parish of 
 Ackworth. The appointment was made at Went- 
 bridge on the 26th ultimo, and is endorsed by 
 "two of her majesty's justices of the peace." 
 
 Such is the announcement in the Gloucester 
 (Eng.) Chronicle of 1849. Truly, we see no rea- 
 son why ladies should not hold such appointments 
 in every country ; they have leisure to attend to 
 the duty of visiting the poor, which is a most 
 important part of the relief needed. 
 
 TULHAME, MRS., 
 An Englishwoman, who has made experiments 
 by a chemical process to mix gold, silver, platina, 
 lead, arsenic, and other metals with the texture of 
 silks, in a manner to change these into real gold 
 and silver ore stuffs. She wrote an "Essay on 
 Combustion," with the view of a new art of dyeing 
 and painting, wherein the phlogistic and antiphlo- 
 gistic hypotheses are proved erroneous. As yet, 
 her ideas have not been realized in the manufac- 
 tories of England ; from which, however, the in- 
 ference is not to be drawn, that in future an 
 improvement could not be made to give rise to a 
 new branch of industry and luxury founded on 
 her invention. 
 
 VESTRIS, MADAME, 
 The grand-daughter of Bartolozzi, the cele- 
 brated engraver, was born in London, January, 
 1797. She was carefully educated, and with no 
 view to the stage ; but her marriage with Armand 
 Vestris, the dancer, in 1813, induced her to appear 
 on the boards of the theatre, where she met with 
 the greatest success. Her fine voice enabled her 
 to undertake the most difBcult operatic parts, in 
 which she always succeeded. She excelled princi- 
 pally in comedy. Her character is by no means 
 irreproachable. 
 
 w. 
 
 WALDIE, MISS, 
 Has written an interesting work — "Rome in 
 the Nineteenth Century." 
 
 Y. 
 
 YOUNG, CHARLOTTE, 
 Has lately published a volume — The World's 
 Complaint, and other Poems" — which has been 
 favourably received by the British critics. One 
 of these remarks that " Miss Young displays 
 poetical powers of the highest order, and seems 
 destined to take a very distinguished place"among 
 the poetesses of the present generation." 
 
 EVENING. 
 How like a tender mother, 
 
 With loving thoughts beguiled. 
 Fond Nature seems to lull to rest 
 
 Each faint and weary child ! 
 Drawing the curtain tenderly, 
 
 Affectionate and mild. 
 Hark ! to the gentle lullaby 
 
 That through the trees is creeping — 
 Those sleepy trees, that nod their heads 
 
 Ere the moon as yet comes peeping, 
 Like a tender nurse, to see if all 
 
 Her little ones are sleeping. 
 One little fluttering bird. 
 
 Like a child in a dream of pain, 
 Has chirp'd and started up, 
 
 Then nestled down again. 
 Oh ! a child and a bird, as they sink to rp«t, 
 
 Are as like as any twain. 
 
 850 
 
FRENCH. 
 
 FRENCH. 
 
 A. 
 
 AYCARD, MARIE, 
 
 Is distinguished as the contributor of very 
 agreeable tales to the periodicals ; she has also 
 published one novel of considerable merit, en- 
 titled " Mademoiselle Clairval." 
 
 Modern French novels bear a reproach, which, 
 as far as male writers are concerned, they fully 
 deserve, of revolting coarseness and of ambiguous 
 morality. In justice to French women, it must be 
 observed, that from the first of these charges they 
 are entirely free, — and from the last most gene- 
 rally. They never throw aside, as their brother 
 authors do, conscience as an inconvenient weight. 
 They cannot always be acquitted of absurdity in 
 metaphysics, but their aims tend to what is right. 
 These observations are not meant to be applied to 
 those ladies who, taking upon themselves the 
 name and garb of men, have approximated their 
 views and delineations to the male standard of 
 propriety. 
 
 B. 
 
 BASTIDE, JENNY, 
 Now Madame C. Bodin, has been a very indus- 
 trious writer. We have before us a list of a 
 dozen different works from her pen. Among these 
 are "L'Abb^ Maurice;" "Anais;" "Caliste;" 
 " Jeanne ; " " Reveries dans les Montagues ; " 
 " Savinie ; " " Scenes de la vie Anglaise ; " " S^v^- 
 rine;" and "S tenia." 
 
 BAWR, MADAME, 
 Is one of the progressives ; a writer for the 
 people. Her tales are not incentives to the de- 
 moralizing practice of communism ; she rather 
 teaches patience and hope, than present change 
 and tumult. Among her works the following are 
 considered the best — "La fiUe d'honneur;" 
 "Flavy;" "Robertine;" and "Sabine." 
 
 e. 
 
 CHALLIE, MADAME DE, 
 Is distinguished among the living authoresses 
 of France, not only for devoting herself to the 
 highest regions of moral and political philosophy, 
 but for having succeeded in producing a work 
 which is admitted by enlightened judges to be 
 classed among the most distinguished writings of 
 the day. We allude to the book called " Essai 
 
 SUR LA LIBEETE, L'EGAMTE, ET LA ERATERNITE." 
 
 which was published in Paris, July, 1850. The 
 title, it must be confessed, is rather appalling ; 
 associated as it is with so much that is absurd, 
 and so much that is horrible ; but we can encou- 
 rage the reader to pass over this scare-crow, and 
 
 he will find the utmost interest, and the most in- 
 structive views, from the clear good sense and 
 enlightened intellect that has dictated the essay. 
 Madame de Challifi shows these three principles 
 originally implanted by God in the bosom of man, 
 afterwards obscured and corrupted by the vices 
 of Paganism, at last purified and restored in the 
 human life of Christ, and from that time exercis- 
 ing an ever-increasing influence. At this moment, 
 when every month produces a sterile revolution, 
 when patent theories for communities to exist 
 independent of religion, self-denial, activity, and 
 all elevating sentiments, are every day propound- 
 ed, we hail with respect a book which pleads in 
 every page with convincing reasoning the cause 
 of true liberty, sound morality, and individual 
 activity, fortified and regulated by the Christian 
 spirit. The author deserves particular commenda- 
 tion. Hitherto English women have claimed the 
 dignity of ethical and scientific treatises, while the 
 French women of the present day, however witty 
 and intelligent, have distinguished themselves in 
 the comparative trifling department of the novelist. 
 Madame de Challi^ has opened the way to a more 
 thoughtful and a more important field of literature, 
 where we trust she will be followed by some of her 
 ingenious compatriotes. We translate the follow- 
 ing from the French reviewers of the Essay : 
 
 " When we learn that this book, consecrated to 
 the explanation. of the highest metaphysical and 
 moral truths, is the work of a very young woman, 
 who gives to such studies the short time that she 
 spares from a life modestly devoted to domestic 
 duties, we feel encouraged as to the state of so- 
 ciety, some of whose phases appear so unsound. 
 There are yet many strong and pure minds, who, 
 in the obscurity of the fireside, maintain in the 
 bosom of families the feeling and the love of rec- 
 titude ; and counterbalance in this way, the dis- 
 orderly passions which walk abroad. 3Ian, with 
 all his pretensions to moral energy, is often weak 
 — his heart is drawn different ways by contrary 
 impulses — and his understanding swayed by a 
 thousand uncertainties. Woman asks strength 
 and enlightenment from God ; she finds in her 
 faith a perspicacity and firmness that all the 
 science in the world cannot give. In every age, 
 in every crisis of our history. Christian women 
 have exercised a powerful influence on French 
 society; this influence they will still exercise — 
 it is even by them that the materialism which 
 threatens us will be overcome — we will see 
 realized the words of St. Paul, " Quench not the 
 Spirit." 
 
 CRAON, PRINCESS DE, 
 
 Is author of several novels and tales that have 
 been popular with a certain class — the exclusives 
 of Parisian readers. The most popular of her 
 works are " Le Si^ge d'Orleans;" "line Soiree 
 en Famille ; " and " Thomas Morus." 
 
 CUBIERE, MADAME DE, 
 
 Is a novelist of some talent. She has written 
 the following; "Emerick de Mauroger ; " "L6o- 
 nore de Bizan ; " and " Monsieur de Goldau." 
 
 S.31 
 
YdUNG WRITERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 F. 
 
 FOA, EUGENIA, 
 
 Is a writer of works for children, and much 
 esteemed for her services in the cause of educa- 
 tion. No branch of literature is more appropriate 
 to female genius than this, apparently humble, 
 but in effect most important art of preparing 
 suitable reading for juvenile minds. Madame 
 Foa's works are sound in morals and agreeable in 
 style. 
 
 E. 
 
 ROBERT, CLEMENCE, 
 
 Is a Parisian and one of the most popular con- 
 tributors to public amusement among the writers 
 of the Roman Feuilleton. Her stories are for the 
 most part interesting ; — generally they are based 
 upon some historical event. " Vincent de Paule" 
 is one of the best, in which the evangelical piety 
 of that father of the fatherless is beautifully de- 
 scribed. It would be useless and impossible to 
 :give a catalogue of all the productions of so fertile 
 ;a pen, but we will mention some of the most noted 
 •of her tales — "Louise de Lorraine;" "Anne de 
 UHantoue ;" " Le Capitaine Mandrin;" "Le Car- 
 pffinal Wolsey ;" "Jeanne de Castille." The style 
 lof this lady is clear and expressive ; her sentiments 
 are always delicate and refined. There is in the 
 Tninds of many, a brand of impropriety upon 
 French novels — this, with one or two notorious 
 exceptions, is just only when applied to the wri- 
 tings of FrenchjiEN — the romances of the lady 
 authors are almost universally free from any taint 
 of indelicacy, and their morality is based upon 
 the truths of religion. 
 
 SOR, CHARLOTTE DE, 
 
 Is a writer of romances and tales for the annuals. 
 Her best works are said to be " Le Berger Roi;" 
 "Le due di Bassano ;" "Napoleon en Belgique ;" 
 " La plus heureuse femme du monde ;" and " Sou- 
 Tenirs de due de Vincenze." 
 
 VALMORE, MADAME DESBORDES, 
 
 Is a writer of good talents. She has been par- 
 'ticularly successful in poetry of a plaintive style. 
 iSome of these tender little effusions are true off- 
 •springs of genius. She has also written several 
 stales which have won favourable notice. 
 
 VALDOR OR WALDOR, MELANIE, 
 
 Derived from her father a'learned bibliopolist, 
 an early taste for books. Breathing naturally the 
 atmosphere of a literary society, she has grown up 
 under intellectual influences, and has secured a 
 very respectable place among the Parisian women 
 of letters. Her tales have had considerable pop- 
 ularity; some of the best are "Alphonse and 
 Juliette;" "Pages de la Vie Interieure;" "La 
 Rue aux Ours;" and "Auguste." 
 
 Various names may be added to the foregoing 
 list : — Mesdames Akagon ; D'Ayzac ; De Bkadt ; 
 DuPBiN ; D'Hautpoul ; Saint-Ouen ; Segalas ; 
 SouMET ; Senancourt ; Ulliac-Tremadeurb ; 
 and V01AB.T : these are all named in M. de Veri- 
 cour's " Modern French Literature," as living 
 female writers of some note. None of their works 
 have reached America, nor have we been able to 
 learn sufficient respecting the books or their 
 authors to warrant any particular account of 
 either. 
 
 We might also give the names of several Socialist 
 women distinguished for their eloquence in the 
 clubs during the years 1848—9. Such meetings 
 being now suppressed, these women have no way 
 of publicly displaying their talents, as the journals 
 are not free. So far as we have seen the speeches 
 of these female politicians reported, they invariably 
 appeal to religious sentiment, to the example and 
 precepts of Jesus ; yet, probably, few have ever 
 read the Bible, or know its real requirements. 
 In this ignorance is the source of those troubled 
 fountains which overwhelm every system of French 
 policy. The mothers of France do not understand 
 the need of truth " in the inner parts" -^ the con- 
 science. The Bible has been withheld from them ; 
 the dogmas of the church or the teachings of the 
 priest are substituted instead of the idea of re- 
 sponsibility to the Lord of heaven and earth. 
 His revealed Word — which Rome acknowledges 
 to be true. — has never been allowed to circulate' 
 in France ; not one family in a thousand have a 
 copy in their homes. Therefore the moral sense 
 of woman is darkened, and she lends her aid to 
 promote evil, believing it to be good. Men have 
 established the law of force to regulate society, 
 and that of wisdom is banished from the land. 
 Nea,rly half a million of Frenchmen are soldiers, 
 taken from those employments which they ought 
 to follow and support the females of each house- 
 hold ; instead of which the women are left to do 
 " man's work." Is it strange then that they begin 
 to claim also his rights ? 
 
 " The great misfortune of the villages (he might 
 have added of the whole country) is the degrada- 
 tion of the women through labours which belong 
 to men," says Aimfe Martin. Nothing will ever 
 raise the moral condition of France till she restores 
 woman to her own employments, provides for 
 female education, and gives the Bible to her 
 people. 
 
 852 
 
GERMAN. 
 
 GERMAN. 
 
 B. 
 
 BACHERDEHT, THERESE VON, 
 
 Has written " letters from the South" — (The- 
 resen's Briefe dem Siiden) — and a novel entitled 
 "Lydia;" her works are not of any particular 
 interest except to the friends of the author. 
 
 D. 
 
 DTJERINGSFELD, IDA VON, 
 
 Has published a novel, "Antonio Fosoarini," 
 said to be entertaining, and to give a good picture 
 of Venetian life in the fifteenth century. 
 
 E. 
 
 EGLOFFSTEIN, JULIE, COUNTESS VON, 
 A DISTINGUISHEI) German artist, was for many 
 years demoiselle d'honneur to the Grand Duchess 
 Luise Weimar. Her vocation for painting was 
 early displayed, but combated and discouraged as 
 derogatory to her station. A journey to Italy 
 undertaken on account of her health, fixed her 
 destiny for life ; yet in her peculiar circum- 
 stances it required real strength of mind to take 
 the step she has ; but, a less decided course 
 could not well have emancipated her from tram- 
 mels, the force of which can hardly be estimated 
 out of Germany. There is nothing mannered or 
 conventional in her style, and she possesses the 
 rare gift of original and creative genius. 
 
 " When I have looked at the Countess Julie in 
 her painting room," says Mrs. Jameson, " sur- 
 rounded by her drawings, models, and casts — all 
 the powers of her exuberant enthusiastic mind 
 flovring free in their natural direction, I have felt 
 at once pleasure, and admiration, and respect. It 
 should seem that the energy of spirit and real 
 magnanimity of mind which could trample over 
 social prejudices, not the less strong because 
 manifestly absurd, united to genius and perseve- 
 rance, may, if life be granted, safely draw upon 
 futurity both for success and for fame." ' 
 
 FRANTZ, AGNES, 
 Has written many romances, poems and saga, 
 which have given her considerable distinction 
 among the female writers of her own country. 
 
 FREILIGRATH, IDA, 
 
 Wife of the celebrated poet, is said to possess 
 high literary talent. She has assisted her husband 
 in his translations from the English poets, and has 
 written original articles, prose and poetry, of 
 much merit. 
 
 PROHBERG, REGINA, VON SALOMON, 
 
 Is a vfriter of romances and tales innumerable. 
 Some of her juvenile stories are much esteemed. 
 
 FKBYBERG, BARONESS VON, 
 
 By birth Electrina Stuntz, is one of the most 
 celebrated female artists in Germany. She resides 
 near Munich, but no longer paints professionally ; 
 yet though she is the careful mother of a large 
 family, she still finds some moments to devote to 
 her art. It is as a portrait painter that she 
 acquired her high reputation, and in that branch 
 of the art she is almost unequalled. She excels 
 in children ; and while she equals Angelica KaufF- 
 man in grace and delicacy, she far surpasses her 
 in power both of drawing and colouring. 
 
 a. 
 
 GERSDORF, WILHELMINE VON, 
 Is a very voluminous novelist ; her writings are 
 of the spirituelle cast, and though comprising 
 over thirty volumes, are sufBciently varied in 
 scenes and characters to secure popularity and 
 encourage her unflagging industry. 
 
 H. 
 
 HOHENHAUSEN, HENRIETTA VON, 
 
 Daughter of Baron von Hohenhausen and his 
 wife Philippine Amalie whose sketch is given at 
 page 355, was carefully educated, and has dis- 
 played similar tastes with her mother. Henriette 
 is author of several novels, and has written poems 
 which have been commended by German critics. 
 
 HUILE, HENRDETTB, VON HOFFMEIER, 
 
 Is a writer of romances and poems. Her works 
 are not much known. 
 
 HULSHOF, ANETTE VON DROSTE, 
 
 Is a poetess of much repute. She resides in 
 Miinster, where her poems have given her a warm 
 place in the hearts of all who appreciate pure and 
 beautiful thpughts framed for the lyre. 
 
 LYSER, CAROLINE, 
 
 Is an improvisatrice and poetess of considerable 
 celebrity. 
 
 LOQUEYSSIE, MADAME DE, 
 A German artist residing in Dresden, has 
 acquired great celebrity in her profession. She is 
 an excellent copyist. In particular she counter- 
 feits rather than copies Correggio's Magdalene so 
 beautifully that she is paid one hundred guineas 
 for each copy. . In this department of art, women: 
 are fitted to excel. 
 
 853 
 
YOUNG WRITERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 M. 
 MAREZOLL, LOUISE, 
 Has written some interesting works ; the best, 
 perliaps, Is a " History of the Swiss ReTolution," 
 which has been noticed with commendations by 
 the German critics. She was also for seTcral 
 years editor of a periodical — "The Women's 
 Journal," which met with much success. 
 
 N. 
 NEUMANN, MADAME, 
 Is author of a number of novels and legends. 
 She writes under the cognomen of Sartori. 
 
 P. 
 
 PFEIFER, CHARLOTTE BIRCH-, 
 Is noted as an actress and play-writer. She 
 entered upon the stage in Munich in the year 
 1821, and was immediately received with great 
 enthusiasm. She afterwards abandoned the stage 
 to devote herself to the preparing of plays. Her 
 best efforts are " The Fair of Frankford in the 
 year 1297 ;" " Hinks and the Freedman." 
 
 S. 
 
 SIDLAR, LUISE, 
 
 An artist of Germany, is a native of Weimar. 
 She has attained considerable celebrity in her pro- 
 fession. 
 
 STENGEL, FRANZISKA VON, 
 Resides at Manheim. She has written many 
 historical romances, and gained considerable repu- 
 tation for learning, as well as talent. 
 
 T. 
 
 TWIERLEIN, ADERKEID VON, 
 A German poetess, (her maiden name was Stol- 
 terforth,) was born at Eisenach, September 12th, 
 1800. She was made a royal Bavarian Canoness 
 in a convent on the Rhine, and became afterwards 
 the wife of the privy councillor. Baron von Twier- 
 lein. She resides at present at Geissenheim, in the 
 Rheingau. The characteristics of her poetic 
 writings are tender and lowly feelings and great 
 thoughtfulness, combined with a very elegant dic- 
 tion. Among the best of her productions we may 
 count " Stolzenfels," (Castle Proudrock,) and the 
 «pic, "Alfred, King of the Anglo-Saxons." 
 
 W. 
 
 WINKEL, MADEMOISELLE DE, 
 
 A NATIVE of Dresden, in Prussia, has distin- 
 guished herself by her talent for painting. She 
 particularly excels as a copyist. 
 
 Other names might be given as deserving, per- 
 haps, as some we have recorded ; but there is, as 
 yet, little in the development of female genius in 
 Germany that merits much attention except in a 
 comparative view. The time of woman's best in- 
 fluence has not yet come for the people of that 
 " many-sided " empire. Mrs. Jameson very truly 
 observes that " The Germans assign to no female 
 writer the same rank which in England we proudly 
 give to Joanna Baillie and Mrs. Hemans. I could 
 hear of none who had ever exercised any thing 
 like the moral influmce possessed by Maria Edg- 
 worth and Harriet Martineau in their respective 
 departments, nor could I learn that any German 
 woman had yet given public proof that the most 
 feminine qualities were reconcilable with the 
 highest scientific attainments, like Mrs. Marcet 
 and Mrs. Somerville." 
 
 ITALIAN 
 
 B. 
 
 BANDELLINI, TERESA CORELLA OLYMPIA, 
 
 Is remarkable as an improvisatrice. Teresa 
 began her career as a dancer, but the superiority 
 of her powers improving soon threw that accom- 
 plishment into the shade. 
 
 BELGIOSO," PRINCESS, 
 
 Is a very remarkable woman, celebrated for her 
 beauty and wit, but more distinguished for the 
 part she took in the late attempt at revolution in 
 Italy. Raising a troop of two hundred men at 
 her own expense, she actually led them herself, 
 against the Austrians, and is allowed to have 
 shown both skill and bravery which would have 
 done honour to an experienced soldier. We have 
 the utmost repugnance to see women, whose mis- 
 sion is " to serve and save," mingling personally 
 in the horrors of war ; we consider her then as 
 entirely passing out of her proper sphere of duty ; 
 but we cannot help noting that wherever she has 
 assumed the military function she has manifested 
 no lack of mental ability for the direction of the 
 undertaking. Probably this is owing to the fact 
 that a woman never goes into the battle but from 
 the feeling of duty — her country, or some dear 
 one, is to be served ; her intuitive moral sense gives 
 her the power which men must gain by study and 
 practice. 
 
 Madame Belgioso is now occupied with litera- 
 ture. She contributes to some of the leading 
 journals of Paris and New York, and her articles 
 stand comparison with those of any of her colla- 
 borateurs. She has been a judicious patron of the 
 arts, and her conversational talents are very much 
 admired. 
 
 The Sultan of Turkey has lately granted to this 
 lady some tracts of land on the Gulf of Nicomedia 
 for herself and the Italian emigrants attached to 
 her fortunes. 
 
 861 
 
ITALIAN. 
 
 BEOCCHI, GABAEDI MANTICA, 
 
 Of Treviso, is the only daughter of Count Gio 
 Broochi, formerly Judge in the Venetian Republic. 
 Her father spared no pains in her education ; he 
 was himself her first instructor, and afterwards 
 he obtained the assistance of some of the most 
 eminent Uterateurs of Italy to improve her in va- 
 rious studies. She had a natural genius for poetry 
 which was cultivated by every mode of training 
 and encouragement. Besides attaining various 
 modern languages, she became a proficient in 
 moral philosophy, logic, geometry, and the belles 
 lettres. After her marriage with Major Gabardi 
 di Carpi, the cares of a numerous family withdrew 
 her from exercising her talents except for the 
 benefit of her children. She still delights a small 
 circle of friends with her graceful improvisations, 
 and carefully pursues every study which she deems 
 of utility for the instruction of her beloved off- 
 spring. She has translated into verse one canto 
 of Chateaubriand's " Martyrs," and has written 
 various poems. 
 
 c. 
 
 CARACCIOLO, MARIA RAFFAELLA, 
 Resides in Naples. She had the misfortune to 
 lose her mother while she was in the age of in- 
 fancy. Her father, however, laboured conscien- 
 tiously to give her an excellent education. She 
 was admitted to the "Arcadia" under the name 
 of Leucippe Citeria. She has received honour- 
 able notice for her literary productions — and is 
 not less worthy of praise for the admirable fulfil- 
 ment of all her domestic duties. Her works are, 
 "Translation of some of Fenelon's writings;" 
 " Translation from the English of some classic 
 authors," preceded by an affectionate dedication 
 to her father. 
 
 F. 
 
 FIORINI, ELIZABETTA, 
 Of Terracina, has cultivated elegant literature 
 with success — is an excellent linguist, and well 
 versed in science. Her special tastes are for 
 Mineralogy and Botany. In the last, she has con- 
 tributed some well-written tracts, remarkable for 
 clearness and beauty of arrangement. 
 
 IVREA, MANZOLI DEL MONTE, GIOVANNA, 
 Was born in Genoa. She received the rudi- 
 ments of her education at the convent of Bene- 
 dictine nuns in Genoa, and was afterwards placed 
 at the monastery of St. Andrew in the same city, 
 where her studies were pursued on a more extend- 
 ed base. After her marriage with count Manzoli 
 del Monte, she resided in Modena, and indulged 
 in the desire of improvement, for which she was 
 
 furnished with opportunities. She was instructed 
 in Natural Philosophy by Father Pompilio Poz- 
 zetti, a man of great erudition, who directed her 
 in the study of the classics, as well as in every 
 science. Her own inclinations led her almost ex- 
 clusively to experimental science — but to gratify 
 the earnest wish of her husband, she devoted part 
 of her time to imaginative works, and these met 
 with distinguished success. She was invited to be 
 a member of " The Arcadia," at Rome, of the 
 Academy of the Indefessi at Alexandria, and that 
 of Arts, Letters, and Science at Modena. 
 
 She has written "La Tarquinia, a vision in 
 verse," "A collection of Sonnets," "A collection 
 of Epigrams, and several Odes. 
 
 M. 
 MILESI, BIANCA, 
 Or Milan, has been very carefully educated by 
 judicious parents. Possessing a mind capable of 
 the highest cultivation, every thing which in- 
 structors can effect has been done to render her 
 thoroughly accomplished. Not satisfied with a 
 proficiency in the lighter intellectual acquirements, 
 the most profound studies have received her pa- 
 tient and indefatigable attention. As her abilities 
 and her laborious course of study were well 
 known, her first appearance in the Republic of 
 Letters was greeted with an applause that her 
 subsequent works have fully justified. She is a 
 respectable artist, having studied painting at 
 Rome, and developed a genius for that art, which 
 would have rendered her remarkable even without 
 her scientific honours. 
 
 MONTI, PERTICARI COSTANZA, 
 
 Of Ferrara, is daughter of the great Vinoenzo 
 Monti; she has an hereditary claim to genius. 
 The sons of great men are proverbially deficient, 
 whether from the impartiality of nature, who will 
 not confine her gifts to one family, or because the 
 great man is too much occupied with the cares of 
 greatness to fulfil the important though minute 
 ofSces of a parent. Whatever may be the case in 
 general, Monti devoted himself to the education 
 of this his only and beloved child, and he was 
 fully rewarded by the result. Costanza diligently 
 pursued the studies he directed ; she became an 
 excellent Greek and Latin scholar, as well as mis- 
 tress of the modern tongues of Europe. Per- 
 fectly versed in general literature, she added skill 
 in music and painting to her accomplishments. 
 It was her fortune to become the wife of that 
 illustrious man whose death Italy still deplores. 
 Her marriage did not abate her ardour for intel- 
 lectual pursuits ; she persevered in her course of 
 study, and wrote poems that met with unanimous 
 applause. She returned in her widowhood to her 
 father's house, where, entirely devoted to study, 
 she lives in seclusion. So much solid information 
 joined to the graces of a poetical imagination, 
 render the name of Constanza Monti worthy to 
 accompany that of her immortal father in the 
 annals of literature. 
 
 855 
 
YOUNG WRITEKS AND OTHERS. 
 
 MOSCHENI, COSTANZA, 
 
 Oe Lucca. This lady is endowed ■with great 
 activity of mind. She has written much, and 
 published a translated poem, and an original one 
 in octave rhyme, which are highly praised. 
 
 VERONESE, ANGELA, 
 Of Treviso. Under the Arcadian name of 
 Aglaia Anassilide, she began at an early age to 
 produce the aspirations of her muse. The AbiS 
 Bernardi, and the Ab^ Viviani were so struck by 
 the talent of these little effusions, that they 
 offered the young authoress valuable criticisms 
 and instructions. So rapid was her improvement, 
 that she received praise and encouragement from 
 the celebrated Cesarotti. Her style is elegant, 
 and beauty of thought, embellished by a fine 
 imagination, is seen in all her poems. 
 
 VERZA, CURTONI-GUASTAVEZA SILVIA, 
 
 Is a Venetian. This erudite and excellent lady 
 was happily formed by nature — of an amiable 
 disposition, and wisely balanced character, adapt- 
 ed to fulfil every duty. Educated in a Benedic- 
 tine convent, her first wish was to continue among 
 the sisters who had guided her childhood. An 
 acquaintance with her future husband banished 
 these thoughts of seclusion — and a happy mar- 
 riage brought a brief felicity to her life. She 
 lost the object of her affections, and her days 
 have since been passed in widowhood. This afflic- 
 tion has perhaps given the tender flow which dis- 
 tinguishes her " Elegys ; " poems that breathe the 
 very soul of sorrow. She has written poetic 
 epistles to her nephew, and some agreeably 
 sketched portraits of friends in lively prose. 
 
 Her works are comprehended in several volumes 
 published at Verona. 
 
 z. 
 
 ZANARDI-BOTTIONI, SPECIOSA, 
 Was born at Fontanellato in the Parmesan 
 territory, a place where there was nothing to 
 awaken a thirst for knowledge, a place where 
 emulation could not exist, and where the loudest 
 blasts of Fame's trumpet are never heard. 
 Genius, however, is not the slave of place or cir- 
 cumstance. Specios4 was accustomed from a 
 child to aid her father, a petty apothecary, in the 
 work of his shop ; as the drugs passed through 
 her hands, her thoughtful mind observed the 
 chemical effects, which led to experiments, exami- 
 nation, reading. She chanced to become known 
 to a lawyer of Parma, Signor Bottioni — a corre- 
 spondence ensued, in which she displayed the 
 utmost natural eloquence and grace. She after- 
 wards became his wife, and went with him to live 
 in Parma, where there is no want of learned men 
 
 or libraries. Her first care was to select the best 
 masters, and, after acquiring a knowledge of Ita- 
 lian literature, she would not be satisfied without 
 studying the Latin and Greek authors in their 
 original languages. 
 
 She has published several prose and poetical 
 works, and some dramas, among which may be 
 cited " Madame de Maintenon," which is formed 
 on a well-managed plot — and developed by 
 naturally sustained characters. 
 
 We might easily add to this list, as the Italians 
 are proud of their literary women, and give 
 celebrity on very slight grounds. We have before 
 us sketches of over five hundred female scholars 
 and writers, more than sixty of whom were living 
 a few years since. But as no new ideas are allow- 
 ed in a country governed by bigotry and brute 
 force, there is little of variety or of interest in 
 the writings of these amiable ladies. Poems 
 borrowed in their form and spirit from the an- 
 tique, trite translations upon moral subjects, and 
 reproductions of obsolete ideas in science, make 
 up the staple of the female literature of Italy. 
 Still, that women do study, and are encouraged 
 to write, are facts full of the promise of future 
 good to the people of that lovely land. 
 
 POLISH. 
 
 Poland only lives as a countryin the hearts of 
 its people ; a separate head for its female writers 
 ' may seem unneccessary ; but its literature is now 
 its life, and while that continues patriotic and 
 pure, there is hope in the future. The most im- 
 portant portion of literature for the Poles is now 
 that which appeals to moral sentiment and diffuses 
 the love of the true and the good. The most 
 important books are those prepared for the young. 
 In this department women are the best writers, 
 and it is cheering to find there are many daugh- 
 ters of Poland doing whatever they can in the 
 field of letters. Among these are the Pbincess 
 LuoY GioBROYE, Pkinoess Eosalie Ltibomirska, 
 Countess Osteowska ; Mesdames Malecka, 
 Ttzenhacs, and Widdlcnska ; and Mademoiselle 
 
 KORZENIOWSKA. 
 
 There is one other lady whose productions 
 we have seen more particularly praised. Her 
 name is Tanska, Clementina, — born near War- 
 saw, in the year 1 800. She has written a number 
 of tales, founded on historica.1 events connected 
 with Poland, which have given her works great 
 popularity. She has also written poetry that is 
 commended by her countrymen. There are themes 
 of thrilling interest for a Polish bard — but these 
 could not be whispered loudly except by one who 
 was weary of life. Alas, for poor Poland ! 
 
 856 
 
RUSSIAN — SPANISH. 
 
 RUSSIAN. 
 
 B. 
 
 BUNINA, ANNA, 
 
 Known in the literary world as the translator 
 of Blair's Sermons into Russian. This was good 
 service to the cause of religion as well as learning. 
 Madame Banina is said to excel in the languages. 
 
 D. 
 
 DUROFP, MADEMOISELLE, 
 
 Published, in 1837, her own " Memoirs," in 
 two volumes. The work was printed at St. Peters- 
 burg, and attracted considerable attention. The 
 authoress entered, in 1806, by the name of Alex- 
 androff, into the Russian military service, and 
 distinguished herself in the campaigns by her 
 intrepidity. When her sex was discovered, the 
 Emperor Alexander granted her an audience, and 
 conferred on her the cross of St. George. Her 
 memoirs are said to be interesting. 
 
 JARZOFF, MADEMOISELLE, 
 
 Obtained in 1837, the prize offered by the Im- 
 perial Academy of Sciences at Petersburg, for 
 " Useful Reading for Children." Her books for 
 the young are much praised 
 
 K. 
 
 KULMAN, MADEMOISELLE, 
 
 Is a writer of popular tales, chiefly for the 
 journals. There are now a number of public 
 journals at St. Petersburg, devoted to literature 
 and education which afford facilities to the exercise 
 of female talent. 
 
 R. 
 
 ROSTOPCHIN, COUNTESS, 
 
 Is esteemed highly in her own country as a 
 graceful poetess. A collection of her poems was 
 published at St. Petersburg in 1843 ; of this work 
 a British critic observes, — "The Countess Rosto- 
 pchin has given proof of very superior talent in 
 this volume. Though none of the pieces are of 
 very great length, and manifest no power therefore 
 in regard to sustained effort, they display imagi- 
 nation, feeling, and originality of thought. Some 
 of the writer's earlier productions might have 
 been omitted without any injury to the collection." 
 
 s. 
 
 SHAKOVOA, ELIZABETH, 
 
 Born about 1785, is a poetess of note in her 
 own language. 
 
 So little is known of Russian literature out of 
 Russia, that we can only give the names of those 
 women we find recorded with distinguished praise 
 by their own countrymen. Among these are some 
 of high rank ; — Princesses Galitzin, Oueousoff, 
 and Vaikonsky ; the Countess Golovkin ; Mes- 
 dames Bounin, Beiaoa and Poutschoit ; and 
 Minna von Maedlab. 
 
 SPANISH. 
 
 G. 
 
 GEORGE, ANITA, 
 Was born in Cuba, where she has chiefly re- 
 sided. Her parents were Spanish, but she, from 
 her childhood, was taught to speak and write 
 English. In 1848, she came to the United States 
 and passed some time in Boston, where she com- 
 pleted a work she had previously commenced; 
 viz. : "Annals of the Queens of Spain, from the 
 period of the Conquest of the Goths down to the 
 reign of her present Majesty, Isabella II., with 
 the Remarkable Events that occurred during their 
 reigns, and Anecdotes of their Courts." The 
 work was published in 1850 in two volumes. As 
 this is the only work, of which we find any account, 
 written by a Spanish woman, since the time of St. 
 Theresa, who died in 1582, it deserves special atten- 
 tion. Three hundred years have passed over the 
 world since the holy Carmelite nun wrote the ' ' His- 
 tory of her Life ;" during these centuries, while so 
 much has been done for mental improvement by 
 the women of Protestant Anglo-Saxondom and 
 enlightened France, not a ray of intelligence has 
 beamed for the land crushed in its development 
 of soul by the Inquisition. The usurped power 
 of the Romish priesthood over the human mind 
 operates more deleteriously on the female, than on 
 the. male intellect. Woman, having that instinctive 
 moral sense which seeks always the true and the 
 good, in order to teach her children rightly, must 
 be kept in total ignorance, not only of God's holy 
 Word, but of the history of the past, of science, 
 and of philosophy, in order to allow the priests' 
 dogmas to have their full influence. They take 
 the work of education out of the hands of mothers : 
 wherever this is done, moral darkness must prevail 
 and intellectual power lose its influence to improve 
 humanity. The work of Mrs. George would never 
 have been written, had she not been taught to 
 speak and write in the language which allows 
 liberty of thought and expression. Her book 
 shows historical research and a minute knowledge 
 of the ancient regime of Spain. 
 
 857 
 
YOUNG WRITERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 SWEDISH. 
 
 B. 
 
 BEEGER, MADAME, 
 Who was Countess of Cronhjelm by birth, has 
 acquired some celebrity as a noTelist and poetess 
 during the present century. Her tale iu verse, 
 entitled, " Capriciosa," is considered one of her 
 best works. 
 
 K. 
 KNORRING, BARONESS, 
 Is a novelist of some note. Mrs. Mary Hewitt, 
 who translated one of her works " The Peasant 
 and his Landlord," says "The Baroness Knorring 
 stands (in her own country) side by side with the 
 author of ' Home,' and ' The Neighbours.' " These 
 exceDent ladies, Miss Bremer and the Baroness 
 Knorring, are doing much for the improvement in 
 morals as well as literary taste of the Swedish 
 people. The last named writer takes an earnest 
 part in the Temperance cause. "The Peasant 
 and his Landlord" is a story in point, affording 
 " one more of the many demonstrations which we 
 every day meet with, of the highest and purest 
 natures being driven from their proper course, 
 and oppressed and perverted by the worst. It 
 affords, also, a grand lesson on the subject of 
 Temperance ; and proves that though one false 
 step often leads to ruin, which is retrievable only 
 by death, yet that uprightness and virtue, through 
 suffering and through death, work out their own 
 salvation." 
 
 N. 
 
 NYBERG, MADAME, 
 
 Is a poetess, (living a few years since) who has 
 
 usually written under the name of Euphrosyne. 
 
 Her poems were favourably received in her own 
 
 country. 
 
 HUNGARIAN. 
 
 We have left till the last, and out of its order, 
 this country, because wishing to draw to its noble- 
 hearted women particular attention. 
 
 Hungary with the world in general, has, during 
 a long time, merged its identity in the great Ger- 
 manic Empire ; its history, its literature, its fame, 
 have been considered as only a part of Germany's 
 celebrity. The late patriotic struggles of this 
 ancient kingdom have, however, restored its na- 
 tional claims, and we are now ready to become 
 interested in the annals of Hungary ; in its heroes 
 and its heroines. Some of the most important of 
 the last have found their places in parts of this 
 " Record." Maria Theresa and Appolonia Jagiello 
 have been duly commemorated ; we now advert to 
 
 a few whom, in the meagre and confused pages 
 of Hungarian history, have given indications of 
 force of character. 
 
 Since the year 1392, when Maria daughter of 
 Louis the great received the crown in her own right, 
 it has frequently encircled the brow of a woman, 
 and, considering the rudeness of the peasantry, 
 the intolerance of the nobles, and the low tone of 
 political morality that prevailed in those countries, 
 the queens appear to have worn the purple to as 
 much advantage as the kings. In the very early 
 story of the kingdom we must note that Christianity 
 was introduced there by a woman. 
 
 In the tenth century, Sarolta, wife of the then 
 sovereign, Geiza, became a convert to Christianity 
 at Constantinople. She persuaded her husband 
 to adopt her creed, to form churches and invite 
 Christian priests to settle in his domain. Her 
 good influence extended still farther : she educated 
 her son, Stephen, afterwards canonized, who suc- 
 ceeded his father. St. Stephen, as he was called, 
 was the greatest man of his era. He devoted his 
 life to two objects — the introduction of Christian- 
 ity into Hungary, and the establishing a monarchy 
 that should protect the liberties of the people. 
 He considered the Christian religion the promoter 
 of civil freedom. His farther history is foreign 
 to our design, yet we must remark that St. Stephen 
 and St. Louis, two of the most conscientious and 
 worthy kings that can be found, were sons of pious, 
 able, and influential mothers. 
 
 Hungarian women seem always to have been 
 characterized by courage and magnanimity. The 
 action of Maria Theresa in appealing to her peo- 
 ple, holding her son in her arms, has been very 
 much admired. In 1132, a Queen Helena, wife 
 of King Bela II., appealing to the Diet of Arad 
 on behalf of her husband, overpowered and mu- 
 tilated by a rival,* led her two sons by the hand 
 and pleaded for her husband, whose eyes had 
 been put out. Her eloquence prevailed, and 
 what, iu that barbarous age was considered me- 
 ritorious, her husband's wrongs were cruelly 
 avenged. 
 
 Another Queen Maria, in the fifteenth century, 
 finding the king sinking into subserviency to the 
 nobles, infused into him the spirit of resistance 
 to the demands of the Diet. On one occasion, she 
 feared not to seize a pen, and, drawing a line through 
 a resolution which authorized a committee to in- 
 fringe the royal prerogative, wrote on the margin 
 "UnusRex — unus pi-inceps," and returned the 
 document to the Diet. 
 
 In 1688, we find Princess Helena Zringi defend- 
 ing a fortress for two years with all the conduct 
 of an experienced captain. When, at length, she 
 surrendered to the troops of Leopold and he shut 
 her up in a nunnery, she escaped, fled in disguise 
 and joined her husband, then a prisoner in Turkey. 
 
 The heroines of our day have shown that, with 
 more enlightened purposes, they are not behind 
 the old dames of Hungary in daring and courage. 
 Many more peculiarly feminine traits — conjugal 
 devotion, unpretending patriotism, unshaken for- 
 titude in duty, and disinterested generosity, 
 abound among the victims of 1849. 
 
 858 
 
ARGYLL, DUCHESS OF, -CHASE, ANN, 
 
 BENEFACTRESSES* 
 
 A. 
 
 ARGYLL, DUCHESS OF, 
 Formerly Lady Villiers, one of the noblest of 
 Scotland's peeresses, is lending her aid to ame- 
 liorate suffering and to reform the eri-ing. She 
 has recently originated in Scotland a system of 
 visitation of prisons by members of societies 
 formed for the' purpose, and' the most gratifying 
 success has attended their benevolent exertions. 
 The first Visiting Society was established at Inve- 
 rary ; and, though the Duchess had at first consi- 
 derable difficulties to overcome, the happy results 
 which followed the visitations encouraged her to 
 persevere until the efficacy of the system recom- 
 , mended itself to the public ; and similar societies 
 have now been set in operation in most of the 
 towns of the North. 
 
 These efforts to lift up the fallen and succour 
 the miserable are greatly to be commended ; but 
 there is a higher benevolence — that of assisting 
 to instruct the ignorant and keep the innocent from 
 temptation. The Duke of Argyll, who is head of 
 the Campbell family, has lately been delivering 
 lectures in Glasgow on popular reading ; thus, 
 both husband and wife are engaged in furthering 
 the revolution of ideas which places reformation 
 as the aim of law and knowledge, as the guaran- 
 tee of order. We record the brave deed of the 
 Duke — for brave it is to hazard the exclusiveness 
 of rank by demonstrations favourable to popular 
 education — because it gives pleasing evidence 
 that he sympathizes in the earnest benevolence of 
 his wife, the Duchess of Argyll. 
 
 One great change must come in the Old World 
 before that manner of popular education which 
 does good, and not evil, is accomplished. The 
 women must be fitted for educators and placed at 
 the head of the greater portion of schools for the 
 young. God has given to the female sex moral 
 sense in the superior degree ; as He has given to 
 the male sex mechanical talent. This moral sense 
 is what is needed in the work of rightly compre- 
 hending and moulding the young soul ; as me- 
 chanical talent is requisite to discover the properties 
 and fashion the forms of matter. Scotland has 
 led the way in freeing religion from the trammels 
 of the state ; what glory it would be if she would 
 lead the way in the work of popular education ! 
 
 * We place under this head a few names, of the living, 
 chiefly, who are in different ways working for the cause of 
 humanity. That such exertions of talent are of higher worth 
 than any which mere literary genius can attain to, is un- 
 questionable. By bringing a group of these "angels of 
 mercy in the female form " together, we show what might 
 be, what will be accomplished, when woman, placed in her 
 sphere, is fully fitted for her duties and freely permitted to 
 do what she can. Her sphere is the educational in all its 
 forms, if not in all its branches. Every thing man learns 
 should have a worthy motive, every thing he does a worthy 
 aim. To inspire his soul with the love of the good and noble 
 is woman's province in her relations of wife, mother, sister, 
 daughter. She is the first teacher ; the best exemplar of the 
 Cliristian graces and virtues; the preserver of domestic 
 purity. Ought she not to receive every advantage of learn- 
 ing which can improve her natural gifts as the teacher 
 Heaven appointed for the young ? 
 
 c. 
 
 CHASE, ANN, 
 
 Whose maiden name was M'CIarnonde, wng 
 born in the north of Ireland. Her ancestors on 
 both sides were from Scotland, and she is only the 
 second generation from those born there. The 
 first of the family who emigrated to Ireland was 
 a clergyman — the Rev. Mr. Irvine, of Glasgow. 
 His wife was Jean Douglas, of Edinburgh, a lineal 
 descendant from the Douglas so well known in 
 
 Scotch history. Her father died in 1818, when 
 Ann was only eleven years of age. The family 
 were left in straitened circumstances, and, after 
 many struggles to maintain their position at home, 
 followed the tide which an overruling Providence 
 has so long been directing westward, and found a 
 home in America. They landed in New York in 
 1824, where Ann remained one year with her 
 mother. Deprived of her guardianship and left 
 an orphan indeed, she removed to Philadelphia, 
 where her eldest brother had established himself 
 in business. With that high independence and 
 energy of character which has marked her whole 
 course of life, she immediately took a share in her 
 brother's business ; attending personally to the 
 in-door department, and keeping the books of the 
 concern. In a letter detailing these changes she 
 says ; " I joined my brother in his mercantile pur- 
 suits, and was his book-keeper, with an interest 
 in his business. I made myself well acquainted 
 with the mercantile profession in its various 
 branches, and found my mind benefited no less 
 than my pecuniary circumstances. Industry and 
 integrity of purpose are the chief handmaids of 
 fortune. They fortify the mind for the vicissitudes 
 of life." These sterling qualities, with a desire 
 to be always useful, and a high regard for truth, 
 both in word and action, have been the prominent 
 characteristics of the life of this remarkable 
 woman. 
 
 In 1832, Miss M'CIarnonde, with her brother, 
 removed to New Orleans, and thence, in August, 
 
 859 
 
BENEFACTRESSES. 
 
 1834, to Tampioo, in Maxioo. Here they booame 
 acquainted with Captain Franklin Chase, the 
 worthy Consul of the United States at Tampioo, 
 to whom Misa M'Clarnonde was married in 1886. 
 
 For twelve years Mr. and Mrs. Chase pursued 
 the even tenor of thoir way, undisturbed, to any 
 great extent, by the numerous changes which took 
 place in the government of Mexico. Under tlie 
 protection of the American flag, their business 
 was prosperous. A very considerable fortune 
 crowned their industry and enterprise. Their 
 house was the open asylum of all American 
 strangers, where the kindness and hospitality of 
 home awaited them, and where the sick were oared 
 for by Mrs. Chase with maternal assiduity and skill. 
 
 But a change at length came over them and 
 their fortunes — a change which was destined, on 
 the one hand, to rob tliom of what they had accu- 
 mulated in prosecuting quietly the arts of peace, 
 and, on the other, to make their names conspi- 
 cuous in the annals of war, and to place IMrs. 
 Chase, especially, in an enviable and Iieroio posi- 
 tion as a benefactress both of America and of 
 Mexico ; the unostentatious achiever of a bloodless 
 and expenseless victory. 
 
 It is said in the Proverbs of Solomon, that " he 
 who ruleth his spirit is greater than he that takctli 
 a city." Surely, then, she who, by ruling her 
 spirit in the exorcise of a wise and prudent inge- 
 nuity accomplishes the capture of an important 
 city without loss of blood or treasure, is entitled 
 to a high rank among the truly great and good. 
 
 The movement of the army of observation from 
 Corpus Christi to Point Isabel was the signal for 
 Mexican hostilities. On the 12th of May, 1840, 
 a decree was published by the Central Government, 
 declaring the properly of all resident Americans 
 confiscated and devoted to the purpose of carrying 
 on the war. This was followed immediately by 
 another, commanding all American citizens resid- 
 ing near the coast to retire, within eight days, at 
 least twenty leagues into the interior, or depart 
 from Mexico by sea. Those who remained in 
 Mexico would bo regarded as hostages until the 
 termination of the war. 
 
 Mr. Chase was, at this time, American Consul 
 at Tampico. He was extensively engaged in trade 
 on his own account, and had a large stock of 
 goods on hand, with many debts outstanding 
 among the Mexicans. These wore all confiscated 
 by the decree, and he compelled to abandon the 
 place. 
 
 Mrs. Chase, availing herself of the inalienable 
 rights of a British-born subject, determined to 
 remain in Tampioo and take care of her husband's 
 interests. He put her in legal possession of all 
 his property, which she was empowered to use not 
 only for herself, but to promote the success of the 
 Americans. Though narrowly watched, and 
 though all communication with the enemy had 
 been strictly forbidden as an act of treason, slie 
 contrived moans to hold a correspondence with 
 her husband, and, through him, to inform the 
 American officers of all that was transpiring in 
 the city. She had also a correspondent in the 
 city of Mexico, from whom she oKained direct 
 
 intelligence of the movements and plans of the 
 government, which she also communicated. 
 
 Some weeks passed in this way. In Uie mean- 
 time, Mrs. Chase had drawn out a plan of the 
 city, with the position of tho troops and cannon 
 relied on for its defence, which, with a survey of 
 its harbour and river, she conveyed to Commodore 
 Conner, as soon as ho arrived in the vicinity, pro- 
 posing that ho should make an immediate assault, 
 and assuring him tlmt he would get onsy pos- 
 session of the city. Just at this moment (idiogs 
 came of the capture of Monterey, increasing to 
 the highest pitch the exasperation of tho Mexicans. 
 The spite of the mob was vented chiefly upon 
 Mrs. Chase. Her house was attacked and robbed, 
 and even the authorities began to consult what 
 they should do with that "refractory woman." 
 Her servants wore taken from her, and her person 
 surrounded with others, who would be only spies 
 upon her conduct. This change, with a woman's 
 sagacity, she turned to good account. Pretending 
 to place confidence in the spies, she showed tliera 
 her plans of the city, which thijy understood had 
 been sent to her from the American squadron for 
 her advisement. She told them that the city 
 would, probably, soon be bombarded, while a force 
 of 25,000 to 80,000 men would be landed below, 
 to assault it in the rear, and that, when taken, it 
 would not be strange if the whole garrison were 
 cut to pieces. In making this communication, she 
 enjoined tlio strictest secrecy, advising thom only 
 to avail themselves of the opportunity to efl'ect 
 their own escape. 
 
 Full of this important secret, the honest spies 
 hastened to head-quarters, and revealed the whole 
 mutter to the captain-general. Great was the 
 consternation of that worthy officer, to find himself 
 in so perilous a post, and great was the consterna- 
 tion of the city, when tho news was spread abroad. 
 All was uproar and confusion. Despatches were 
 immediately sent to Santa Anna, at San Luis 
 Pfltosi, who gave orders that tho town should bo 
 evacuated on the approach of the Americans, the 
 artillery and munitions of war being first removed 
 to a place of safety. The greatest activity pre- 
 vailedi The country, for miles around, was 
 scoured, to procure mules to transport the bag- 
 gage. Two hundred and ninety were loaded and 
 despatched into the interior in the course of the 
 first night. A deputation waited upon Mrs. Chase, 
 to learn how soon the attack might be expected. 
 Allowing thom to fear that it might be very early, 
 they held a general council, civil and military, to 
 decide what should be done. Many were in favour 
 of burning the city, and leaving only a ruin for 
 the enemy to possess. But tlie owners of property, 
 seconded by tho British consul, prevailed to pre- 
 vent this plan from being carried into eft'eot. 
 Meanwhile, Mrs. ('Iiiiso had sought proteotion 
 from the British Consul, but it was refused, on tho 
 ground that she was the wife of the American 
 Consul, and acting in liis name, and tlierofore 
 could not claim the protection of a subject of a 
 neutral power. 
 
 Having sent a'full account of all those matters 
 to Commodore Connor, Mrs. Chase next prepared 
 
 800 
 
COLQUQHN, JANET, 
 
 to take advantage of the general consternation in 
 the city, and secure a bloodless victory. She 
 caused a tall flag-staff to be erected on her house, 
 for the purpose of hoisting upon it the stars and 
 stripes of her adopted country. This she did, as 
 soon as the Mexio;ui troops had withdrawn, and 
 the Spitfire and the Vixen, soon after coming up 
 the river, found the American ensign already 
 planted over the battlements of the city. The 
 city authorities were exceedingly irritated, on 
 seeing this premature display of victory on the 
 part of a mere woman, and threatened instant 
 vengeance, if the flag were not struck. They 
 even threatened to out it down ; but Mrs. Chase 
 went up, and clasping it in her arms, declared 
 tliey should cut her down with it. 
 
 On learning the approach of the armed vessels 
 below, the Mexicans left Mrs. Chase and her flag 
 unmolested, and raising a flag of truce, proceeded 
 down the river to make their peace with the in- 
 vaders. Thus, without striking a blow, the im- 
 portant city of Tampico fell into our hands, sub- 
 dued by the wisdom and courage of a single woman. 
 Tampico was important in more than one sense. 
 It is the second seaport in the Gulf, and, next to 
 Vera Cruz, the most important key to the me- 
 tropolis. A considerable quantity of stores were 
 found there, which, of course, fell into our hands. 
 It was absolutely necessary that we should possess 
 the place in order to the prosecution of the plans 
 of the army. It was there that General Scott 
 appointed his rendezvous, and made all his pre- 
 parations for the masterly attack on Vera Cruz. 
 
 Now, all tliese advantages were secured to us 
 by the energy, decision, and contrivance of Jlrs. 
 Chase, without the expenditure of a single dollar, 
 or the loss of a single life. To gain the same by 
 the ordinary course of war would have cost a 
 million, or more, of dollars, and many lives of the 
 Mexicans, at least, with, probably, some loss on 
 the side of our brave men. 
 
 The service rendered the United States by Mus. 
 Chase, has been highly appreciated, and gratefully 
 acknowledged. The officers of the Army and 
 Navy recognised it, not only by personal testi- 
 monials and commendations, but by changing the 
 name of the principal fort at Tampico, and calling 
 it Fort Ann, in honour of its real conqueror. 
 The press, throughout the land, accorded to her 
 the praise of a proud achievement. The ladies j 
 of Xew Orleans, as the representatives of the j 
 ladies of the country, testified their high sense 
 of her worth, and the benefit of her self-sacri- | 
 ficing benevolence, by presenting her a handsome 
 service of plate. '• 
 
 She deserves all these testimonials, for she saved 
 a city from the horrors of warfare. She continues 
 to reside in Tampico where Mr. Chase is still ] 
 United States Consul, while Mrs. Chase is con- ! 
 sidered a benefactress by the people of that city, ; 
 whom she is endeavouring to aid in the improve- 
 ments which their intercourse with Americans has 
 taught them to value. Thus the adopted children ■ 
 of our great Republic, daughters as well as sons, | 
 axe serving their chosen country, while their deeds 
 do honour to the land of their birth. 
 
 COLQUOHX, JANET, 
 Was the youngest daughter of Sir John Sinclair 
 of Ulster, eminent in Scotland for his enterprise 
 and philanthropy. Her mother was Miss Maitland, 
 who dying early left two little daughters, Hannah 
 and Janet. The eldest was the Miss Sinclair of 
 whom Legh Richmond wrote the memoir; she 
 died in 1818, aged thirty-eight years, and after 
 her death a little volume was published containing 
 her beautiful " Letters on the Principles of Chris- 
 tian Faith." 
 
 Janet, the subject of our sketch, was born in 
 1781, carefully and religiously educated; and 
 married at the age of nineteen to Sir James 
 Colquohn, Baronet ; she became the Lady of 
 Kossdhu. 
 
 ■Vv- c 
 
 In 1805, the year of her removal to Eossdhn, 
 Lady Colquohn began her diary, which she kept 
 steadily for forty years ; a signal proof of her 
 self-discipline and energy in duty, as well as of 
 her piety which thus found expression and ex- 
 pansion. She was mother of five childi-en whom 
 she watched over with gi-eat care ; her three sons 
 she assisted to instruct, and her daughters' eduQa- 
 tion she entirely conducted. 
 
 In every department of female knowledge she 
 was perfect : her own home was a model of order, 
 industry, and judicious economy — these things 
 are important, as showing that in her deeds of 
 extraordinary benevolence, she was not neglecting 
 those common duties which so often wholly en- 
 gross the time of her sex. 
 
 Soon after her settlement at Bossdhu, she began 
 to visit the cottagei-s on her husband's estate; 
 then the neighboiiring poor claimed her attention ; 
 thus she went on, administering alms, advice, 
 sympathy, as each were needed. At a later 
 period, when in Edinburgh, she adopted a similar 
 course of visiting among the sick and miserable 
 in that city, where so many are paupers. 
 
 In 1818, Lady Colquohn began to interest her- 
 self in that great cause, yet to be accomplished 
 throughout the earth — Female Education. She 
 
 861 
 
BENEFACTRESSES. 
 
 built a school-house, and established a School of 
 Industry for girls not far from Eossdhu, and 
 almost daily visited it and taught one class her- 
 self. With this she associated a Sunday School. 
 She instituted in this Sunday School a new plan 
 of instruction, where she was the only teacher; 
 it is thus explained in her Diary : 
 
 " I have begun a new plan at our school on 
 Sundays — a class for grown-up girls. They 
 commit nothing to memory. But I explain the 
 Bible and Catechism, The class is flourishing and 
 always increasing. Several old people attend 
 regularly, and I hope to have more. My own 
 maids also asked leave to go ; so, with the chil- 
 dren, I have a pretty large congregation, and it 
 needs some nerve. But I hope to be enabled to go 
 on, and I hear it is much liked. May God send 
 a blessing." 
 
 Besides all these labours. Lady Colquohn found 
 time to write ; and though of a most retiring dis- 
 position, she felt that she might do good with her 
 talents, and a sense of duty impelled her to 
 publish. Her first book was a tract entitled " A 
 Narrative founded on Facts," in 1822. The follow- 
 ing year appeared " Thoughts on the Keligious 
 Profession and Defective Practice in Scotland." 
 Both productions were sent out anonymously, but 
 their great success encouraged her to go on. In 
 1825, she sent out " Impressions of the Heart," 
 &c. This work was widely circulated, and from 
 its good sense and high-toned spirituality, together 
 with its refinement of taste and delicacy of feel- 
 ing every where displayed, many of her personal 
 friends suspected the authoress. Sir James Col- 
 quohn died in 1836 ; and, owing to the sweet ex- 
 ample of his wife, died a Christian. Her biogra- 
 pher, the Rev. James Hamilton, thus alludes to 
 her influence over her husband ; "At first proud 
 of her beauty and her elegant manners. Sir James 
 Colquohn learned to value his wife's gentle wisdom 
 and unworldly goodness, till at last harmony of 
 affection merged in harmony of faith. She saw 
 his prejudices against evangelical religion. She 
 scarcely hoped to remove them by conversation ; 
 but she prayed for " oil in her lamp," and sought 
 to make her own light shine. Her prayers were 
 answered; her consistency was rewarded." 
 
 A short time previous to the death of her hus- 
 band. Lady Colquohn published another book, 
 "The Kingdom of God," to which she gave her 
 name, her father on his death-bed having enjoined 
 her to do this. 
 
 She continued the school for girls, and her 
 readings and expositions at her Sunday School, 
 and visitings among the poor and afflicted. Thug 
 in the round of steady usefulness she filled up 
 every day. One of her duties, distributing tracts, 
 we have not named, nor have we space to give the 
 details of her noble charities. She was an active 
 member of many benevolent Societies, the pro- 
 jector of several, and to all she gave freely of 
 her own wealth. She was one of the examples, 
 we might with truth say leaders, but prefer, as 
 she would do, a term more befitting to her sex, — 
 of the secession, and of the establishment of the 
 Free Church in Scotland. It is doubtful if a 
 
 single individual did more to prepare the religious 
 public for this great step in human improvement 
 and real Christianity than Lady Colquohn. Her 
 writings had made the subject of personal religion 
 and accountability to God, not to a hierarcliy, 
 familiar to the people. Her last appearance as 
 an author was in 1839, in " The World's Religion, 
 as contrasted with genuine Christianity." She 
 died October 21st, 1846, aged sixty-five years. 
 We will close with Mr. Hamilton's summary of 
 her character and personal appearance. 
 
 " Tall and dignified, with an ample and in- 
 tellectual forehead, and with beautiful Grecian 
 features, lighted up by a fine complexion, an eye 
 mildly penetrating, there was something peculiarly 
 prepossessing in the youthful appearance of Lady 
 Colquohn. A total absence of all affectation 
 superadded the perfecting charm of a sweet un- 
 consciousness. Her elevated mind and gracefiil 
 manners were instinct with feminine refinement 
 and inherent nobility ; and though in later years 
 her complexion had faded and her figure stooped, 
 there came the more brightly forth the reassuring 
 gentleness, the delicate consideration, and the tact 
 in diffusing happiness, which are among the love- 
 liest attributes of the Christian lady. 
 
 " Thus devoted and thus endowed, it was her 
 blessedness to accomplish much for that Redeemer 
 whom she loved so ardently and followed so 
 affectionately. In the nearest circle of her kin- 
 dred, in her own household, amongst her younger 
 and older neighbours, to the poor of other places, 
 to casual visitors, she was the source of incalcu- 
 lable benefits. Irrespective of her munificent 
 contributions and unwearying exertions in the 
 cause of Christian Philanthrophy, the friends of 
 the Gospel felt a perpetual solace in her presence, 
 and were comforted to think that in the most 
 polished society, was exhibited such a specimen 
 of pure and consistent piety. Her light shone to 
 the last, and was brightest at the end, and her 
 Father in heaven was glorified. 
 
 " On the whole I have never seen any character 
 so blameless and harmless and without rebuke ; 
 so free from infirmities, and so adorned by vir- 
 tues." 
 
 D. 
 
 DIX, DOROTHEA L., 
 
 Was born in Massachusetts, and passed her 
 childhood and youth in Boston, or its vicinity. 
 She was an apt scholar, and began early to make 
 her talents useful. Gathering around her in the 
 home of her grandmother, an excellent and re- 
 spectable lady, a select school of young girls, to 
 whom she was less like a teacher than a loving 
 elder sister, gaining their confidence and leading 
 them on with her in the way of improvement, 
 Miss Dix became known by her virtues and won 
 her way to public esteem. At this time she culti- 
 vated her literary taste, and prepared several 
 books; the first, published in Boston, 1829, enti- 
 tled " The Garland of Flora," is proof of that 
 genuine love of flowers and of poetry which marks 
 
 862 
 
DIX, DOROTHEA L. 
 
 the delicately-toned mind, disciplined by reflec- 
 tion, as weU as study. Jliss Dix afterwards pre- 
 pared a number of books for children, among 
 which" Ti;ere " ConversatioDS about Common 
 Things," "Alice and Ruth," "Evening Hours," 
 and seTeral others. Her name was not given to 
 any of her works, but we allude to them here to 
 show that a refined literary taste and genius are 
 compatible with the most active philanthropy, 
 even when compelled to seek its objects through 
 researches that are both painful and terrible. 
 
 The declining health of Miss Dix made a change 
 necessary ; and as, by the decease of her relative, 
 she had been left sufficiently provided for to render 
 her own exertions unnecessary for herself, she 
 gave np her school in 183-1 and went to Europe. 
 In Liverpool she was confined by a long and dan- 
 gerous illness, but, notwithstanding her weak con- 
 dition, she gained, while abroad, much valuable 
 information, particularly about charitable institu- I 
 tions. In 18-37 she returned to Boston, and soon 
 commenced visiting the Poor-Honse and Houses 
 of Refuge for the unfortunate. She also became 
 interested for the boys in the Xaval Asylum. Then 
 she went to the Prisons and Lunatic Asylums : 
 every where seeking to ameliorate snfl'ering and 
 intrnct the ignorant. In this course of benevo- 
 lence she was encouraged by her particular friend, 
 and, we believe, pastor, the Kev. TVilliam E. Chan- 
 ning, D. D., of whose two children she had at one 
 time been the governess. For about ten years, or 
 Esnce 1841, lliss Dix has given her thoughts, time, 
 and influence to ameliorate the condition of poor 
 lunatics, and to persuade the public to furnish 
 suitable asylums ; also to improve the moral dis- 
 cipline of prisons and places of confinement for 
 criminals. For this purpose she has visited every 
 state in the Union (except, perhaps, one) this side 
 of the Rocky Mountains : travelling, probably, a 
 number of miles which would three times circle 
 the globe. Every where seeking out intelligent 
 and benevolent men, she has endeavoured to infuse 
 into their hearts the enthusiasm that kindled her 
 own. Visiting the poor-houses, the prisons, the 
 places of confinement for the insane, she has 
 learned their condition, pleaded their cause, and 
 materially incited the exertions of individuals and 
 legislative bodies to provide suitable asylums for 
 this suffering class. In founding the state hospi- 
 tals in Pennsylvania, Xew Jersey, Rhode Island, 
 Indiana, Illinois, Louisiana, and Xorth Carolina, 
 her exertions were of much importance by pre- 
 paring the public mind to sympathise with this 
 peculiar charity. But iliss Dix did not stop at 
 this point. In her enthusiasm she sees only two 
 classes of people — the insane and the sane ; the 
 • one to do, the other to be done for ; so she carried 
 her cares to Congress, and, in the sessions of 
 1848-9, presented a memorial asking an appropri- 
 ation of five millions of acres of the public 
 domain to endow hospitals for the indigent in- 
 sane. The grant was not made, and she again 
 appeared in Washington in 18-50, renewing her 
 application, but increasing the amount of land 
 reqjired to ten milUom of acres. A favourable 
 
 report was made ; a bill was framed, passed the 
 House, but was lost in the Senate for want of time. 
 There are two kinds of philanthropy ; one has 
 its source in the heart, the other in the conscience; 
 the first induces pity, the second justice, or the 
 sense of right. The last is the most diflicult, but, 
 on a large scale, the most beneficial; it is the phi- 
 lanthropy which should guide rulers who make 
 and administer the laws of a free government. 
 The benevolence of pity is for individuals who 
 can examine into cases of distress and interest 
 the feelings of such as are willing to bestow char- 
 ities out of their own means. Public pity, invoked 
 contrary to the principles of justice, often induces 
 the warm-hearted, in order to accomplish present 
 relief, to do what is wrong in itself and fraught 
 with great calamities in the end. The philan- 
 thropy of the good Las Casas was of this kind. 
 Pitying the woes of the red race that he saw wast- 
 ing beneath a cruel servitude, he consigned the 
 black race to the horrors of intestine wars and 
 expatriation in addition to servitude ; at the same 
 time, by his misdirected benevolence, inflicting on 
 the white Christian man a stain, a sin, an evil, for 
 which no created being can, as yet, find the remedy 
 nor foresee the result. 
 
 Rulers wishing to gain praise for philanthropy, 
 do, at the public cost, high-sounding deeds of 
 charity, to be known of all men. Throughout 
 Christian Europe, the more oppressive the govern- 
 ment, the more magnificent the charitable es- 
 tablishments. Xot education, but alms, is the 
 right of the people there. Many of these chari- 
 ] ties, so called, are the worst of evils. Every 
 j Foundling Hospital and Lying-in Asylum for 
 fraU mothers is a shame and a curse to the city 
 and the nation that established it ; yet doubtless 
 much of real benevolent feeling has been lavished 
 on such institutions. It follows that charity, to 
 be beneficial, must be rightly directed ; that good 
 intentions are not always to be trusted, lest lavish 
 generosity to one object interrupt or set aside 
 the just provision for other and more important 
 objects. Ten millions of acres of land at the 
 public price is worth twelve millions of dollars! 
 Is not this an immense amount to be given for 
 the support of twenty-three thousand insane per- 
 sons ? That is the largest estimate for the United 
 States. Moreover there is already provision made 
 by public and private institutions, for the relief 
 of this class of unfortunates in twenty-two of the 
 thirty-one States. TVould it not be well to bestow 
 a portion of the national domain in preventing 
 lunacy? Xearly one-fifth of the insane reduce 
 themselves to this deplorable condition by in- 
 temperance and other vices ; the result of neglect- 
 ed childhood and ignorance. Two millions of 
 children and youth in our country are now growing 
 np without school instruction ! Ignorant foreigners 
 with their children are thronging to our land. 
 The parents neither know the value of education, 
 nor are able to obtain it for their children. It 
 must be given them; instructors must be fitted 
 and sent among them. Twenty thousand addition- 
 al female teachers are required at this moment, 
 
 863 
 
BENEFACTRESSES. 
 
 in order that the moral instruction of the young 
 in our country may keep pace with physical and 
 mental development. 
 
 Is it not the duty of the American Government to 
 provide for popular education, rather than to 
 bestow gratuities on any class of people ? 
 
 That no one is better fitted to plead the cause 
 of the ignorant poor than Miss Dix, her success 
 in her present benevolent mission proves. Tiat 
 she sees the need of institutions for this neglected 
 class of the community, is apparent from her 
 Memorials. In that presented at the Congress- 
 ional session of 1850, she remarks justly — " The 
 whole public good must be sought and advanced 
 through those channels which most certainly con- 
 tribute to the moral elevation and true dignity of 
 a great people." Unless education is universal, 
 how can this moral elevation and true dignity be 
 attained ? Again — " Primarily, then, the high- 
 est order of means for confirming the prosperity 
 of a people, and the duration of government, 
 must be the education of the ignorant, and 
 restoring the health and maintaining the sick 
 mind in its integrity." Thus she places as the 
 first duty of legislators, the education of the 
 people. Cannot these two objects be combined ? 
 At the next session of Congress, why not allow 
 half of the twelve millions of property to be 
 allotted for popular educational purposes ? to found 
 and endow Normal Schools, one in each State 
 and Territory ; and prepare Female Teachers, 
 and send them through the length and breadth 
 of our country ? Already Oregon has required 
 such teachers ; and every where they are needed. 
 
 We make these suggestions in the hope that 
 some one. Miss Dix we should prefer, would take 
 up the cause of neglected childhood, as the 
 surest way of curing the evils and sufferings that 
 afflict humanity. Christ healed the lunatic ; but 
 He took young children in his arms and blessed 
 them, and declared them to be of his kingdom. 
 What an awful thought it is, that Christian legis- 
 lators are not in earnest to save these little ones 
 from falling under the power of the kingdom of 
 darkness ! 
 
 Miss Dix could worthily plead for these inno- 
 cents. She has a peculiar gift of winning suc- 
 cess. The secret of 'her power is her earnest 
 zeal, and her untiring industry. She acquires a 
 thorough knowledge of her subject. She draws 
 up her papers with unequalled skill. We have 
 before us two of her Memorials — one presented 
 at Harrisburg, the other at Washington. They 
 are models for the study of whoever would pre- 
 pare petitions to a public body of men. So 
 clearly does she set forth the object and arrange 
 the arguments 'in favour of her plan, that the 
 Committee to whom it is referred, adopt her Me- 
 morial as their own Report. The advantage this 
 gives of success is wonderful. In framing her 
 Memorials, she follows the manner commended 
 by Sterne — takes single oases of suffering — 
 paints pictures at which the heart is so moved 
 that the understanding loses its power, and yields 
 to the idea that no misery is so terrible as that 
 of a raving maniac ! He is a drunkard, perhaps, 
 
 who has sacrificed Ms time, property, and health, 
 to his sensual appetites. He has wilfully destroy- 
 ed his own mind ; yet he must be provided for at 
 public expense — not merely with every necessary 
 — but with comforts, luxuries; the means of in- 
 struction, and even amusements ; while his broken- 
 hearted wife, his beggared children are left to the 
 hardest poverty, to struggle on as they may with- 
 out sympathy or relief! Is it not a charity as 
 necessary, as noble to provide the means of sup- 
 port, instruction, and improvement, for that 
 hungry, ragged, but sane group of innocent 
 beings, who may be preserved from temptation, 
 and thus made useful members of society, as it 
 is to restore consciousness to a soul so embruted 
 in sin, that it cannot, by human agency, be re- 
 covered from its fall ? 
 
 But Miss Dix only sees the insane, and those 
 ■*ho follow her reasonings, or rather descriptions, 
 are almost if not altogether persuaded she is right. 
 Then she is gentle in manners and has a remark- 
 ably sweet voice; wonderful instances are told 
 of its power, not only over the lunatic, but over 
 the learned. She goes herself to the places where 
 Legislators meet, and pleads with those who have 
 the control of pjjblic matters. Thus she is en- 
 gaged, in season and out of season, in one cause, 
 to her the most important of all — and she succeeds. 
 Her example is a remarkable proof of the power 
 of disinterested zeal concentrated on one purpose. 
 
 FELLER, HENRIETTA, 
 A NATIVE of Lausanne, Switzerland. Her 
 family was one of the most respectable in the 
 place, and her education and accomplishments 
 such as to entitle her to hold a prominent position 
 in a society where literature and the refinements 
 of social intercourse are greatly valued. She 
 married M. Feller, one of the magistrates of that 
 city, a man highly esteemed, whose independent 
 circumstances surroundBd her with all the ele- 
 gancies of life. 
 
 Madame Feller had been educated in the 
 Protestant faith, and thought herself a Christian, 
 though she had never made personal piety a sub. 
 
 Pe4 
 
FELLEE, HEXBIETTA, 
 
 ject of much thonght. Nevertheless, like most 
 raotheTS, she was faithful to teach her only child, 
 a loTely little ^rl, whatever of truth and good- 
 ness she knew herself, and it was through the 
 death of this cherished child that Madame Feller 
 was brought to view religion as a solemn and all- 
 important duty. Her husband followed their 
 child to the grare in a few years. His death was 
 that of a Christian ; and, in submission to the will 
 of her Heavenly Father, Madame Feller now 
 devoted her life to the good of others. Every 
 creatnre of God's had claims upon her sympathy. 
 Her strong and ardent mind would not be satisfied 
 with that passive goodness, in which most of her 
 sex who call themselves Christians, are content to 
 
 Bible. That was her mission. The necessity of 
 her labours may be somewhat understood from 
 the fact that there then was not more than one in 
 twenty, of the French colonists in Canada, who 
 could read, and scarcely a copy of the Bible to be 
 found among the Catholic population. 
 
 Madame Feller had obtained considerable in- 
 fluence at St. Johns. So conciliating were her 
 manners, so pure and peaceful her life, so devoted 
 was her heart to the cause of doing good to the 
 wretched, and instructing the ignorant, that many 
 who regarded her as a heretic, could not but 
 admire her zeal, and bless her charity. But when 
 the first rebellion in Lower Canada broke out, 
 the blind fury of those who felt they were op- 
 
 pass their lives. She wanted to work in the cause ^ pressed, but were not qualified to discriminate 
 
 of her Saviour. She felt that labourers were 
 needed in His service, and she determined to 
 devote herself as a missionary in His cause. In 
 1835 she joined at Montreal two of her friends, 
 M. and Madame Oliveir, who had gone out to 
 Canada to open a Missionary SchooL Here she 
 commenced her labours among a people who are 
 described as " a degraded race, wanting the com- 
 mon necessaries of life, without instruction, 
 ignorant of the Bible and of the love of God 
 to man, living in the most stupid indifference and 
 insensibUity, and dying with scarcely a hope or 
 thought of eternal life." 
 
 between their friends and foes, was, at St. Johns, 
 
 ' turned against Madame Feller and her adherents. 
 
 .She was driven by violent outrages from the 
 
 country, and with about sixty of her pupils and 
 
 supporters, took shelter in our republic. She 
 
 was received at Champlain, whither she fled, with 
 
 the greatest kindness; though her sufferings 
 
 during her flight had been severe, and during the 
 
 winter she passed in the United States, she and 
 
 her poor followers had to endure many privations. 
 
 But as soon as order was in some measure 
 
 I restored in the Provinces, the British authorities 
 
 i invited Madame Feller to return, promising her 
 
 Among these people Madame Feller took up protection for the future, and urging her to 
 her residence, earnest in the desire to do them : appear against those who had injured her, and 
 good, and undeterred by the doubts and dislike ' they should be pimished. She accepted with 
 of those who in their blind ignorance distrusted gratitude the offer of returning to her mission 
 the hand which succoured them. I labours, but she steadfastly refused to witness 
 
 Partly on account of iU health, but chiefly from i against those who had injured her. 
 the opposition he met with, M. Oliveir and his j " I came to Canada," said she, " to do good to 
 wife were compelled to leave Montreal soon after ; all, so far as I have the ability — to those who 
 
 Madame Feller joined them. But she remained, 
 strong in the hope of doing good. ' 
 
 On leaving Switzerland, Madame Feller pro- ! 
 vided, as she supposed, sufBcient funds to support ; 
 herself for life in America. She had intended aU j 
 her missionary labours should be at her own 
 expense. She brought her money with her, and | 
 placed it in the hands of a gentleman of Mon- ( 
 treal, who was considered honest and safe. But : 
 he failed in business, and so completely was he 
 ruined that she could not recover one dollar of 
 her deposit. To add to her distress, she was 
 
 injure and persecute, as well as to those who love 
 and aid me. What these poor people did, they did 
 in ignorance. I pity and forgive them, and only 
 desire the opportunity of doing them favours." 
 
 Her resolution soon became known, and the true 
 Christian spirit of her conduct subdued her enemies. 
 From that time she was comparatively unmolested. 
 Her school increased, her influence augmented, 
 and her character was respected even by those 
 who still opposed her mission. In the autumn of 
 1836 she removed to Grand Eigne, a settlement 
 about twenty miles from Montreal, where she 
 
 prevented getting up a school in Montreal by the j opened her school. In July, 1837, Madame Feller 
 
 prejudices of those who had persecuted M. Oli- - ■ . - .. t. 
 
 veir; and after struggling in vain against the 
 
 tide, she was compelled to take refuge at St. 
 
 Johns. Here too she met with opposers, and as 
 
 she had no funds, could do nothing. She had 
 
 as visited by the Rev. Mr. Gilman, pastor of a 
 Baptist Church in Montreal. He found her with 
 her school in a bam, open to the wind and rain. 
 She herself was living in a small garret. Im- 
 pressed with her devotion, he determined to use 
 
 written to her friends in Switzerland of her des- I every exertion to obtain a house for the Mission, 
 titute condition, but before help arrived, she was In Montreal and in the various towns in the 
 reduced to great distress. Her utterly forlorn United States, he met with a warm and cheering 
 condition at St. .Johns weighed heavily upon her 1 response to his call for aid ; suflicient funds were 
 heart. But this cloud did not long oppress her. ' soon obtained to warrant the commencement of 
 She remembered she was doing God's work, and | the building, and the Mission house was subse- 
 that she must not faint under trials that had been j quently finished on a much larger scale than was 
 foreshadowed to her. Means of support from her j at first projected ; — the visits of Madame Feller 
 friends in Switzerland soon reached her, and she | to the Atlantic cities for several successive years, 
 again began to teach all the pnpUs she could i haring signally prospered. This institution and 
 obtain adultB as well as children, to read the its branches now have over three hundred pupils. 
 
 3E 
 
 865 
 
BENEFACTRESSES. 
 
 There is a Normal department, Trhere about thirty 
 young men, French Canadians, are preparing 
 themselves to become teachers, colporteurs or 
 missionaries ; and there is also a female depart- 
 ment of the same kind lately established. The 
 great aim of those engaged in this benevolent 
 enterprise, is to teach all the children in the 
 Canadas to read, and then place a Bible in the 
 possession of every family. 
 
 Madame Feller's character has been purified in 
 the fiery baptism of adversity. She lives for others, 
 and in the devotion of heart and soul to the cause 
 of benevolence, her powers of mind have acquired 
 such strength, comprehensiveness, and diseern- 
 liient, as few of either sex can ever attain. By her 
 wisdom and perseverance, she has overcome what 
 seemed before impossibilities, and has planted the 
 most extensive and important educational and mis- 
 sionary establishment that the Protestants have 
 ever had in British America : and she is now the 
 beloved mother, the revered Directress of the 
 Whole. Her fifteen years of labour have only served 
 to add new energies to her nature, new graces to 
 her soul. Nothing discourages, nothing disturbs 
 her. To her God she commits herself and her 
 cares, with the same trust and love a favourite 
 child feels in the arms of its father. 
 
 F. 
 
 FISKE, CATHABINE, 
 A TRUE Benefactrice, because she earned what 
 she ffave, and, while doiag deeds of mercy, never 
 forgot the claims of justice. Catharine Fiske was 
 born in Worcester, Massachusetts, on the 30th of 
 July, 1784. Her father died when she was a few 
 months old, committing his only precious child to 
 her heavenly Father. Her mother married a 
 second husband, who was not a provident man ; 
 he removed with his family to different places, 
 residing for a time in Vermont, in one of its most 
 remote and wild settlements. Still, the self-edu- 
 cation of Catharine Fiske went on wherever she 
 was, for she had a mind that would improve. One 
 who knew her well gives this account of her early 
 years : 
 
 "She ever appeared different from most other 
 children, in that she was remarkably uniform in 
 her feelings and perfectly mild as to temper. 
 When ever so much crossed or tried she had good 
 command over her passions. She was never gay 
 and flighty,- like others of her age ; never in the 
 least uneasy at her situation, let it be ever so 
 unpleasant. She could always find some one that 
 had many more unpleasant tasks to perform than 
 herself, and patiently endured all her disappoint- 
 ments, which were many, in early life. She was 
 very fond of her little companions, endeavouring 
 as much as possible to make them cheerful and 
 happy. And they were not all that she endeavoured 
 to make happy, for the affed she always felt inte- 
 rested in, and endeavoured to do all for them that 
 came within her sphere. She was uncommonly 
 attached to books, and read a great many hours 
 
 and days when other children were at play. An'l 
 when she did not understand the author, some one 
 must explain it to her satisfaction, or she could 
 not very willingly lay her book aside ; and, when 
 once made to understand, it was never forgotten. 
 She was exceedingly kind in her feelings toward 
 the poor and distressed, administering to their 
 wants all that was in her power. Her opportuni- 
 ties for school were rather limited, even for those 
 days, excepting that her friends at Worcester gave 
 her some advantages in schooling." 
 
 She commenced her life-profession of teacher 
 when only fifteen, continuing it till her death. 
 May 20, 1837, aged fifty-three years. She was 
 a faithful and efficient labourer in the service 
 of humanity ; preparing the young, especially of 
 her own sex, for their important stations and 
 responsible duties. For a number of years she 
 was instructor in the public or district schools, 
 but in 1814 she opened her Female Seminary at 
 Keene, New Hampshire, where she presided during 
 the remainder of her life. Thus for twenty-three 
 years was she steadily engaged ; having under her 
 care, in all, more than two thousand five hundred 
 pupils, young ladies from every state in the Union ; 
 and her success in moulding this variety of cha- 
 racters to an uniform model of high moral excel- 
 lence was astonishing. In no single instance did 
 her influence fail to effect a salutary impression ; 
 nor ever did a pupil leave her school but with 
 respect for its principal. 
 
 The following summary of her merits as an in- 
 structor is from the pen of a learned clergyman,* 
 who had known her long and intimately : 
 
 " Miss Fiske's tact in eliciting the dormant ener- 
 gies of some minds, and the stimulus afforded to 
 those that were apt to learn, rendered her inte- 
 resting to all who came under her immediate su- 
 pervision. There was nothing that they would 
 not try to do ; they attempted nothing but what 
 they successfully accomplished; being led on at 
 every step by a kindness and plainness that gave 
 novelty and interest to each subject. She seemed 
 to act under the impression that ' whatever was 
 worth doing at all, was worth doing well.' 
 
 " How it was that she made provision for such 
 a numerous household, and superintended all its 
 culinary and economical concerns while she was 
 giving directions how to manage her farm, at the 
 same time teaching the chemistry of maldng 
 bread, demonstrating the astronomical and mathe* 
 matical calculations of Newton and La Place, 
 pointing out from the wild flower of the valley of 
 the Ashuelot the great principles to which Linnaeus 
 devoted himself, enforcing with appropriate re- 
 marks the syllogisms of Hedge and the mental 
 and moral sentiments of Watts on the Mind, 
 together with remarks appropriate to the smallest 
 girl to initiate her into the mysteries of her 
 mother tongue, I need not stop to tell nor attempt 
 to describe ! All do know that it was accomplished 
 
 * Rev. Z. S. Barstow, pastor of tlie Congregational Chun;li 
 in Keene. Of the wonderful abilities as a teacher possessed 
 by Miss Fislte the author of this worlt can testify ; having 
 been for a time under her instruction, and also entrusting 
 her daughters in their childhood to Iier forming care. 
 
FISKE, CATHARINE, 
 
 with a simplicity and want of display, as though 
 il required no effort, and as if there were nothing 
 to exhaust the mind or to disturb its equilibrium ; 
 thus showing the ' perfection of art by concealing' 
 its machinery and exhibiting only its happy re- 
 sults ! " 
 
 She performed all these things while, often, a 
 sufferer from pain, her health being delicate al- 
 ways, and often so feeble that a person of less 
 fortitude in duty would have become a confirmed 
 invalid. Her strength was not physical, but 
 moral ; this was the compelling power of her mind. 
 Among her papers was found a document without 
 date, but apparently Written in early life, in which 
 she specifies the course that, by the help of God, 
 she was resolved to pursue ; in it are these reso- 
 lutions : 
 
 " The Sabbath I will keep with due and sincere 
 attention. I will speak with truth and candour, 
 which is to speak as I think, if I speak at all. 
 I will do as / pretend and profess, perform and 
 make good my promise, and really be what I pre- 
 tend to be. Likewise, I will abstain from all ex- 
 cessive recreation, all idle and vain thoughts, and 
 all kinds of procrastination. I vriU not precipi- 
 tately nor unjustly, nor maliciously censure any 
 fellow-being; but pity, admonish, and relieve, 
 when possible. In a word, I will do as I would 
 that they should do unto myself. 
 
 ** I will believe the Gospel promises, obey its com- 
 mands, and read them with all possible attention. I 
 will read such other books as are clothed with 
 unaffected piety and real morality. I will avoid 
 iiTeligious companions, and associate with the 
 virtuous, with sincere attention to their conversa- 
 tion. I will earnestly strive not to swerve from 
 the strictest rules of virtue and piety." 
 
 Her piety was not only without ostentation, but 
 almost vrithout expression in words — it was 
 through her daily deeds that the beauty of her 
 Christian character was manifested. The field of 
 her usefulness was, by no means, limited to public 
 instruction. In her household, at the fireside, her 
 life was one sweet strain of moral humanity ; the 
 inspiring breath of every virtue ; a benign gospel, 
 preached to every listening and attentive ear in 
 tones and acts of kindness and love, in a spirit of 
 overflowing benevolence, and in the silent teach- 
 ings of patience under sufferings. In one of her 
 morning prayers, written for her family and 
 school, which, in a soft, but clear and impressive 
 voice, she daily read, this passage occurs : 
 
 "Oh, our God, we can form most serious reso- 
 lutions of amendment in our temper and conduct, 
 but these resolutions we shall be unable to perform 
 without the aid of thy spirit. Give us grace, 
 God, that we may be guarded against pride, covet- 
 ousness, malice, and every vicious feeling; that 
 we may observe the laws of equity and truth in 
 all our dealings ; that we possess the religion of 
 Jesus Christ in all its purity, visiting the widow 
 and fatherless, and keeping ourselves unspotted 
 from the world." 
 
 Such principles were her guide in the daily 
 business of life ; and her management of all the 
 means of doing good, pecuniary as well as moral, 
 
 was, even in her worldly affairs, a pattern of fore- 
 sight and wise economy which few men have 
 equalled. By her steady perseverance and upright 
 course she accumulated, for a country village, an 
 " elegant sufficiency ;" her property being, on her 
 decease, appraised at over ten thousand dollars. 
 This she had earned and saved unaided and alone ; 
 supporting, meanwhile, her mother, widowed a 
 second time, and always giving liberally to such 
 charities and plans for improvement as the commu- 
 nity around her required. Miss Catharine Fiske 
 may truly be styled the Benefactress of Keene. No 
 individual did so much as she during the twenty- 
 six years of her sojourn there for the material 
 prosperity of that pleasant town, combined with 
 the intellectual and moral improvement of the 
 people ; and the elevated and refined tone of social 
 life which now distingubhes it, inducing many 
 intellectual and rich denizens of Boston and other 
 cities to make it their chosen place of retreat, is, 
 in a great measure, traceable to the influence of 
 her school and her beautiful exhibition of the 
 character of an educated Christian lady. And 
 who shall estimate the amount of good to fami- 
 lies, society, the whole land, which her influence 
 had in moulding the characters of her pupils, the 
 twenty-five hundred young girls committed to her 
 care ? Most of these are now mothers, stamping 
 on thousands and thousands of young, unformed 
 minds, the seal of those eminent virtues they 
 honoured in her. Many an impression may be 
 faint, but if it be irve, it will come out brighter 
 and clearer as the fires of passion and temptation 
 bum around it. Was she not a public Benefac- 
 tress ? Her visible influence for good did not 
 cease with her life. She had no relation but her 
 aged mother. The disposition made of her pro- 
 perty showed, to quote again from the excellent 
 sketch of Mr. Barstow, " the desire of Miss Fiske 
 that it might do good from generation to genera- 
 tion." Her first expressed wish was that her be- 
 loved mother should have every possible comfort 
 during her life ; then she directed a certain and 
 liberal annuity to one faithful assistant teacher, 
 who had been a long time in the school ; then pro- 
 vision was made for the relief of domestics and 
 any of her pupUs reduced to distress; after a 
 term of years, when all these private benefactions 
 had been accomplished, the residue of the property 
 and its accumulations were to go in aid of the first 
 Charitable Asylum for the Insane established in 
 New Hampshire. 
 
 In the wise allotment of Providence, men are 
 the providers, women the dispensers ; the earnings 
 of the one sex, to become most beneficial, should 
 be submitted to the economy of the other. Few 
 are the instances recorded where a female has 
 accumulated property ; what she earns is for im- 
 mediate and pressing exigencies, to supply which 
 is really the province of the stronger sex. Miss 
 Fiske is a remarkable exception ; she united in 
 her character the best qualities of both the sexes. 
 Well might Mr. Barstow close his notice of her 
 by asserting that " she was a woman of great 
 originality, of uncommon powers, of great influ- 
 ence, of true humility, of comprehensive plans. 
 
BENEFACTRESSES. 
 
 and of real philosophioal greatness." Ilor history 
 belongs to her country. And may it show all thiit 
 the circumstances of birth, orphanage, or physical 
 weakness, and, in our country, wo may add, of 
 respect which talents and virtue will secure. May 
 sex, militate nothing against the usefulness and 
 it show the trifling, the giddy, and the thoughtless, 
 that it is no proof of greatness to despise re- 
 ligion, and that true piety is the only passport to 
 heaven ! 
 
 H. 
 
 HILL, FRANCES M., 
 
 Deservedly honoured for her long and bcne- 
 'ficial exertions in the cause of female education 
 in Greece, was born in the city of New York. 
 Her father, John W. Mulligan, Esq., still living, 
 is a lawyer of high repute, one of the oldest 
 members of the bar in that city. Besides Mrs. 
 Hill, two other daughters of Mr. Mulligan have 
 been teachers in the missionary scliool at Athens ; 
 the father who has educated his children so wisely 
 and encouraged them to employ their talents in 
 the service of God and humanity must bo worthy 
 of the exceeding great reward he is enjoying in 
 their extended usefulness and wonderful success. 
 
 The marriage of Miss Frances M, Mulligan 
 with the Rev. John II. Hill, seems to have been 
 •one of those unions ordered in heaven for an ex- 
 .ample of the conjugal happiness Christians may 
 enjoy if suitably mated, while by their united 
 faith and labours every obstacle in the path of 
 duty is removed or surmounted, and the good 
 accomplished is almost incredible. Such has been 
 the mission of Mr. and Mrs. Hill. 
 
 In 1831, there was an attempt made by the Pro- 
 testant Episcopal Church in America to assist the 
 ■most ancient Eastern Church of Christ, that of the 
 'Greek. In pursuance of this plan the Rev. John 
 H. Hill and his wife were sent to Athens, to found 
 :and superintend such seminaries of learning and 
 •Christian morals as they might find practicable 
 
 and useful. Athens, on their arrival, presented 
 to them, when entering within its crumbling walls, 
 a scene of desolation such as inevitably follows in 
 the bloody train of war. The city was one mass 
 of ruins, over and among which these missionary 
 teachers had then to pick tlieir almost pathless 
 way. In the course of a few weeks they began to 
 gather around them the destitute half-clad and 
 ignorant daughters of Greece, although many of 
 these were among the well-born, who had been 
 reduced to poverty by the war, which had, for a 
 time, levelled all classes. Upon Mr. and Jlrs. 
 Hill was devolved the momentous task of moulding 
 the new social features of the Greek people just 
 escaped from Turkish bondage, and soon to take 
 their position among the civilized nations of 
 Europe. 
 
 Mrs. Hill immediately commenced her school 
 for girls, in which i\[r. Hill has always been her 
 coadjutor, adviser, and what God designed the 
 husband should be to his wife, her protector and 
 head. It is a beautiful trait in the character of 
 Mrs. Hill, worth remark, in this ago of innovation, 
 when foolish women (meaning those who do nut 
 place duties paramount to rights) are clamouring 
 for independence in the married as well as single 
 state, to note the sweet modesty which characterizes 
 her sentiments on the subject. In a letter to a 
 friend, she thus alludes to her position : — 
 
 " I think you will agree witli me that if it had 
 not been for the establishment of the mission to 
 Greece, I might have passed the even tenor of my 
 life like thousands of others, unnoticed and un- 
 known, save in the family circle ; or, at the most, 
 not beyond my intimate friends. If my name has 
 become more known to the public than that of 
 other female members of the mission, it has been 
 simply on account of my connexion with him, who 
 is at its head." She goes on to give a due share 
 of pi'aise to the assistants, and says that wliat has 
 been accomplished "is owing to the combined 
 efforts of all who have been engaged in tlie work." 
 
 Mr. Ilill opened a school for Greelc boys at the 
 same lime ; it has succeeded and done much good, 
 but the greatest blessing to Greece lias been the 
 school for girls. Divine Proviilenre is thu» surely 
 working out through the special influence of the 
 female sex, a wonderful system for regenerating the 
 Eastern World. That such a change of sentiment 
 should occur respecting the capacity of women to 
 acquire knowledge and bocomo the teacliers of na- 
 tional schools in the country where, until twenty 
 years ago, all learning was confined to the other 
 sex, seems little short of a miracle. Mrs. Ilill has 
 so grapliioally described the process that we will 
 quote from her admirable letter, premising that 
 the school was opened in the magazine or cellar 
 of the house in wliich tliey resided — that the first 
 day she had twenty pupils and in two months one 
 hundred and sixty. That not more than six could 
 read, and only ten or twelve knew a letter. 
 
 "We began with the alphabet! but even before 
 the point had been reached where elementary 
 education advances to that of a higher order, 
 circumstances already pointed out the necessity 
 of providing for it. Our views were transmitted 
 
 868 
 
HILL, FKANCES M., 
 
 to some of our friends in the United States — they 
 met with a gratifying response from many ladies 
 of very high character in our own communion ; 
 and some ladies of different denominations united 
 in a society, under the direction of Mrs. Emma 
 Willard of Troy, New York, for the avowed pur- 
 pose of educating female teachers in Greece under 
 our immediate care and superintendence. This 
 department continued in very successful operation 
 from 1834 to 184:i. In the meanwhile, and during 
 this period, another progressive change took place. 
 Athens, which had been under tlie Turkish rule 
 until 1833, became in 1834 the capital of the new 
 kingdom of Greece, and the families of those who 
 were connected with government, came to reside 
 in Athens. No provision having been made in any 
 quai-ter for the education of the daughters of these 
 families, an appeal to us on the part of the parents 
 of such to permit their daughters to enjoy those 
 privileges of education which we were affording to 
 the native females of Athens exclusively, could 
 not be put aside — and in this manner, the daughters 
 of the most influential and best educated families 
 in Greece, were added to those who were already 
 with us and who were destined to be employed in 
 extending the same benefits to their fellow country- 
 women. About the same time, in consequence of 
 the destitution of means which existed nearly 
 throughout the Levant, applications were made to 
 us from the more wealthy families in Smyrna and 
 Constantinople, and Jassy and Bucharest, in the 
 North and East, as well as from the Ionian Islands 
 in the West. And at one period we actually had 
 pupils from all those places congregated under 
 our roof. The domestic establishment of our 
 Mission from 1837 to 1842, embraced 60 pupils, 
 while at the same time there were no less than 
 from 500 to 600 in daily attendance upon the 
 schools, as exteiiies. The Greeks, however, with 
 a laudable pride, were not willing to allow 
 strangers to do everything for them. They were 
 not long in setting on foot measures for bearing a 
 part themselves, in the great work of female edu- 
 cation. A society was formed (in Greek, h ^iXtt- 
 :raiS€iiTtK!) 'Eraipi'o) which had for one of its objects 
 the preparation of female teachers. To this 
 Society, in 1842. we made over the whole of our 
 domestic establishment. The necessity which had 
 imposed upon us this duty, had ceased, and the 
 inipiihe had been given : the work, moreover, had 
 become much too laborious for those who were 
 engaged in it. The funds of that Society are 
 continually increasing by liberal donations from 
 wealthy Greeks residing in Germany, in the 
 Danube provinces, and elsewhere. 
 
 With regard to the number of pupils who have 
 been educated in our schools, it would be diflicult 
 to make an exact estimate. If we assume 250 
 for the annual average of such as had completed 
 their education, and gone out into the world ; and 
 if we commence our reckoning from 1836, i. e. 
 five yeai-s after we commenced our labours here, 
 we may fairly, I think, put down the number at 
 3500. I have no wish to exaggerate numbers, 
 and I hope 1 am within the limit of facts. 
 
 Although there are no female schools which 
 
 can, strictly speaking, be called branches of the 
 Mission School at Athens, there is scarcely one 
 throughout the Kingdom, of which either the 
 Directresses or some of the Teachers, have not 
 been educated, wholly or in part, by us. For 
 years we had a Normal School for the education 
 of female teachers, sent to us by tlie Government 
 from different provinces of the Kingdom. Several 
 of these, by the terms of the agreement we made 
 with the Government, after being examined and 
 receiving their Diplomas, were sent into the 
 Morea and other parts to open schools in their 
 respective districts as Government Teachers. One 
 of these laboured most effectually in the island 
 of Hydra for seven years, where no school for 
 females had ever existed. The school she estab- 
 lished is still continued there, and is very flourish- 
 ing — but she, after seven years' labour there, re- 
 tui-ned, and is now one of the most efficient of our 
 teachers in the Mission Schools. 
 
 The effects of female education here has been 
 most gratifying. We have had the pleasure of 
 observing many of our early pupils in domestic 
 life, as wives and mothers at the head of their 
 families, discharging the high trust reposed in 
 them, with a care and assiduity most exemplary 
 and praiseworthy. We know of many instances 
 where the Mother who had been educated under 
 our eye, has waited with anxiety for the period 
 when she could place her children under the salu- 
 tary influence of our system of instruction. We 
 have seen the powerful effect of a good and vir- 
 tuous education overcoming the custom of ages, 
 and the power of Mammon. Many parents who 
 have had no other dowry to bestow upon their 
 daughters but this — "that they had been edu- 
 cated in our schools," — have married their 
 daughters to men of education and good sense, 
 able to support them well- — and we have seen 
 their mothers coming to us with tears of grati- 
 tude, acknowledging the lasting benefits conferred 
 by education, when they found that an instructed 
 mind was prized by men of sense, more than 
 money or lands. 
 
 This is a concise summary of the progress of 
 female education in Greece ; and I think / may 
 add that the female sex has made greater use of 
 their advantages, and greater improvement in 
 proportion to their advantages, than the male 
 sex." 
 
 Such immense benefits to a nation are the work 
 of one true missionary family, where the object has 
 been to lay the foundation of Christian character 
 in the hearts of little children, the girls receiving 
 equal instruction with the boys. Is there a Mis- 
 sion School in the world that has ever accomplish- 
 ed so much good within the same number of 
 years ? and done the work with so little expense ? 
 
 We might describe its blessings to the Greek 
 people, and the great popularity it enjoys; tell 
 how the rulers of that land pay homage to the 
 moral power of the missionaries, and consider it 
 an honour that Mrs. Hill's school for girls is in 
 their chief city : how distinguished foreigners give 
 praise to her noble deeds, and acknowledge this 
 institution as the chief agent of improvement in, 
 
 869 
 
BENEFACTRESSES. 
 
 Athens ; how the whole nation looks to her and 
 her husband as its Benefactors ; hut the limits of 
 this sketch will not permit. It is enough to say 
 that the great work of the American Mission in 
 Greece is acknowledged to be the means of incal- 
 culable and unqualified good to the land of Peri- 
 cles and Aspasia ; who never, in their proudest 
 triumphs, enjoyed that of ruling over the moral 
 sense and enlightened conscience of their admi- 
 rers. 
 
 Only one branch — an important one — of in- 
 struction needs to be added to make the system 
 of Mrs. Hill complete — that of preserving health. 
 Women are the natural guardians of infancy ; 
 they should be carefully instructed in Medical 
 Science. Anatomy, Physiology, Hygiene, are 
 studies more appropriate to their condition and 
 duties than to those of men. That the one sex 
 has monopolized all the knowledge on this science 
 is no reason they should continue to hold it, any 
 more than because the old Greek philosophers 
 taught only by lectures, therefore books should 
 be thrown aside. The art of printing has opened 
 the temple of learning to woman ; every year is 
 giviag new and unquestionable proofs that she is 
 the heaven-appointed help of man in all that 
 really improves the race. Health is one of the 
 first earthly blessings ; it is necessary to the best 
 development of the soul, as well as body ; — let 
 the art or science which teaches how to preserve 
 it and to restore it, be taught to those who are 
 watchers by the cradle of infancy, and soothers 
 by the couch of suffering. The whole East, Ma- 
 hommedans as well as Christians, might be reach- 
 ed by the ministry of pious female physicians for 
 their own sex. The important practice of Mid- 
 wifery has never passed into the hands of men 
 in the land where the son of a midwife was the 
 wisest heathen philosopher who has ever appear- 
 ed. The greatest benefaction the Mission at 
 Athens could now confer on humanity, would be 
 to educate Female Physicians, into whose hands 
 might be given the care of women and children. 
 
 TP. 
 
 PETER, SARAH, 
 
 Is the projector and real founder of the " School 
 of Design for Women," established in Philadelphia, 
 an institution promising much usefulness to the 
 country as well as being particularly beneficial to 
 a portion of her own sex. Such services deserve 
 a record that will keep them in remembrance. 
 
 Mrs. Peter, now wife of William Peter, Esq., 
 British Consul for the State of Pennsylvania, was 
 born near Chillicothe, in Ohio. Her father, the 
 Hon. Thomas Worthington, held high offices in that 
 State, had been Governor and United States 
 Senator, and was warmly and deservedly esteemed. 
 Indeed he was one of those truly called " Fathers 
 of Ohio," for he was among its first and most 
 efficient settlers. Born in Virginia, inheritor of a 
 large estate, he emancipated his slaves, sold his 
 pleasant home and removed with his family to the 
 
 then wild region of the West. His wife was a 
 most excellent woman, one of the noble matron- 
 age of, America, whose piety, prudence and energy 
 have moulded the characters of men not only 
 able to win freedom but who are worthy of its 
 privileges and blessings. Inheriting from such 
 parents a mind of strong and energetic powers, 
 Miss Worthington was trained to use her talents for 
 high and holy purposes ; the false idea often pro- 
 mulgated that girlg are to be the ornaments 
 merely of society was not sufi^ered to enervate her 
 character with that sickly sentimentality which is 
 only refined selfishness. She was taught that her 
 genius to be really noble must be usefuUy em- 
 
 
 
 
 
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 ployed ; that wisdom consists in keeping one's 
 lamp always trimmed and burning, an injunction 
 binding equally on both sexes. She was carefully 
 and liberally educated, or rather had entered on 
 such a course, for the grave error was committed 
 by her parents of permitting her to be taken from 
 school and married at the age of sixteen. Her 
 first husband was Edward King, son of Hon. Rufus 
 King, of New York. He died in 1836, leaving her 
 with two sons, whose training she had carefully 
 superintended. They were then fitted for college ; 
 she took them to Massachusetts, entering them at 
 Harvard University, and settled herself in Cam- 
 bridge for the ensuing four years to watch over 
 their education and to perfect her own. We give 
 these particulars of her private life not only as 
 highly honourable to her, but as an example and 
 encouragement to all widowed mothers, and 
 mothers however situated, who can do much, if 
 they will earnestly endeavour, both to cultivate 
 their own talents and develope and direct the minds 
 of their sons. A girl of sixteen is not educated ; 
 it is wrong, it is cruel to impose on immature 
 youth the cares and sorrows of married woman- 
 hood ; few have the constitution, courage and 
 moral energy to overcome the disadvantages of 
 such an early marriage. The subject of our 
 sketch did surmount them all, improving her own 
 mind in order to instruct her sons, maintaining 
 always her dignified pcsition as their moral guide 
 and intelligent friend whose wise counsel they 
 
 870 
 
PETER, SARAH, 
 
 considered it a privilege to enjoy and by following 
 they escaped the temptations and vices which de- 
 stroy so many of our young men; she has the 
 reward of her faithfulness, in seeing her living 
 son pursuing an honourable career, and, the one 
 summoned away, living the life and dying the 
 death of a Christian. In 1844, Mrs. King's 
 second marriage took place, and she became Mrs. 
 Peter. Her sons were settled in life. She could 
 devote her leisure to those benevolent plans which 
 had for a long time been near her heart. 
 
 Mr. Peter was ready to aid her ; he was not 
 jealous of female talent and influence ; good men 
 seldom are. Particular circumstances had directed 
 her thoughts to the condition of her own sex. 
 She saw that to improve the world it was neces- 
 sary to begin with its first teachers. Women had 
 the forming power ; it was needed that they should 
 not only be fitted for this high and responsible 
 oiEce, but be held in great honour because God 
 had given them such mighty moral influence. To 
 rescue them from the degradation of inferiority 
 which the sensuality and infidel philosophy of man 
 have sought to throw on the mental powers of the 
 female sex, was and is her aim. In order to effect 
 this she has sought to open employments more 
 elevating as well as remunerating to those who 
 are compelled to support themselves, not that 
 Mrs. Peter would counsel women to compete with 
 men for worldly distinctions, or make their claims 
 to honour rest on contributing an equal share to 
 the pecuniary wealth of the state. God designed 
 woman for the higher ofiioe of all that is lovely 
 and good. If she were to enter into the business 
 of the world and become as eager in its pursuit as 
 man, there would be no hope of improvement for 
 the race. But instances occur even in our favoured 
 land, where females are bound, in duty, to sustain 
 themselves — perhaps others. In order to assist 
 these, Mrs. Peter projected the opening of a School 
 of Design for women ; her motives and her efforts 
 are so truly and touchingly set forth in her letter 
 to the president of the Franklin Institute (for the 
 promotion of the mechanic arts — a school for young 
 men, &c.,) that we will quote a few passages : — 
 
 " Having for a series of years observed with 
 deep concern the deprivation and suffering to 
 which a large and increasing number of deserving 
 women are exposed in this city and elsewhere, for 
 want of a wider scope in which to exercise their 
 abilities for the maintenance of themselves and 
 children ; and, after bestowing much thought and 
 enquiry with reference to the best means of allevi- 
 ating the miseries incident to their condition, I 
 resolved, about two years since, to attempt the 
 instruction of a class of young girls in the practice 
 of such of the arts of design as were within my 
 reach. I selected this department of industry, 
 not only because it presents a wide field, as yet 
 unoccupied by our countrymen, but also because 
 these arts can be practised at home, without ma- 
 terially interfering with the routine of domestic 
 duty, which is the peculiar province of women. 
 
 "In the month of November, 1848, I gathered 
 a drawing class of some twenty young women, 
 under the instruction of an accomplished teacher. 
 
 A few months later he was assisted by the gratu- 
 itous lectures, on perspective, of a gentleman who 
 kindly ofi'ered his services. About the same 
 period a class was formed from among the pupils 
 to draw and engrave maps ; but after a time, in 
 consequence of the impossibility of procuring a 
 permanent teacher, this part of my plan was re- 
 linquished. At the expiration of a year, several 
 of the pupils commenced the art of wood en^ 
 graving, which they still practise with every pros- 
 pect of success. Meantime the drawing class has 
 steadily pursued its way, exhibiting a degree of 
 perseverance which assures to its members, sooner 
 or later, the remuneration which they deserve. 
 
 " It is believed that such a School of Design, 
 wisely managed, and on a scale worthy of its 
 locality, would be conducive of great benefit by 
 adding to the productive industry of Philadelphia 
 in a department where the demand greatly exceeds 
 the supply ; and that it would also prove a valuable 
 adjunct to many arts and trades which require the 
 invention or reproduction of forms and patterns 
 for articles of use or ornament, as, for instance, 
 household goods and utensils of every description, 
 mouldings and carvings, paper hangings, carpets, 
 calico printing, &c., &c., for which patterns must 
 now be procured from abroad, at much expense 
 and uncertainty. 
 
 ***** 
 
 "For our men, there are now, and there must 
 long continue to exist, so many more direct and 
 more easily to be attained avenues to fortune, 
 that high excellence in the industrial arts of de- 
 sign can rarely be expected from them. Our 
 women, on the contrary, are confined to the 
 narrowest possible range of employment; and 
 owing to the unceasing drain, by emigration to 
 the West and elsewhere, of young and enterprising 
 men, we have a constantly increasing number of 
 young women, who are chiefly or entirely de- 
 pendent upon their own resources, possessing 
 respectable acquirements, good abilities, some- 
 times even fine talents, yet who are shut out from 
 every means of exercising them profitably for 
 themselves or others. To such as these the es- 
 tablishment of a School of Design opens at once 
 the prospect of a comfortable livelihood, with the 
 assurance of a useful and not ignoble career." 
 
 This appeal had a good eff'ect. The oflScers of 
 the Franklin Institute consented to take " The 
 School of Design for Women" under their care, 
 provided a sum sufficient to insure the efficiency 
 of the plan could be raised from the liberality of 
 the community. By the earnest exertions of Mrs. 
 Peter and other friends of the benefaction, the 
 necessary funds were soon obtained, without any 
 appeal to legislative aid. 
 
 On the 2d of December, 1850, all preliminaries 
 having been settled, the " School of Design for 
 Women" was opened. The subscribers, students 
 and friends attended ; Bishop Potter (of the 
 diocese) presided, and, before invoking the Divine 
 blessing, made an address full of wise suggestions 
 and warm hopes : after the prayer, Hon. J. R. In- 
 gersoU delivered an eloquent speech in favour of 
 female education. The school is prospering. 
 
 871 
 
BENEFACTRESSES. 
 
 W. 
 WHITTLESEY, ABIGAIL GOODRICH, 
 WuiKLT known as the benefactress of niotlievs, 
 was born in Ridgotield, Connecticut, wliero lier 
 father, the Rev. Siimuel Goodrich, was then set- 
 tled as pastor over tho Congregational Church. 
 He afterwards reniovcil to Berlin, in tliat state, 
 where Miss Goodrich was chiefly educated. Her 
 family are remarkable for piety and talents ; 
 among these may be niniied her two brothers, tlie 
 Rev. Charles A. Goodrich and tho Hon. Samuel 
 G. Goodrich, (Peter Parley,) who have long been 
 known as able and interesting writers. 
 
 Miss Goodrich, under her wise and pious in- 
 structors, became in early youth devoted to tho 
 service of her Saviour, and, fortunately for her 
 happiness, met with a congenial mind and heart 
 in the Rov. Samuel Whittlesey, to whom alio was 
 married in 1808. He was then the settled clergy- 
 man in a country parish, where he continued, 
 eminently successful, for many years, while his 
 amiable wife became intimately acquainted with 
 the habits, circumstances, and wants of women 
 who live in the country. In this respect, her ex- 
 perience contributed to fit her for the post which 
 she subsequently occupied ; viz., that of a writer 
 in behalf of mothers, and particularly as tho edi- 
 tress of a magazine devoted to their interests. In 
 this relation to tho literary and religious public 
 she has long been known and deservedly admired. 
 The periodical referred to was for many years 
 conducted by her Under tho name of the " Mo- 
 ther's Magazine." She is now tho editress of a 
 new one, commenced a year or two since, entitled 
 " Tho Magazine for Mothers and Daughters." 
 
 But Mrs. Whittlesey had other experience than 
 that pertaining to tho country antecedently to her 
 entrance on tho profes.'iion of authorship in the 
 line above-mentioned, ond which fitted her still 
 further for this honourable and useful calling. 
 After Mr. Whittlesey, at his own request, received 
 
 a dismission from his pastoral relation at New 
 Pri'stoM, he took in ohai-ge the " Anierioan .Vsyluni 
 of tho Deaf and Dumb," at Hartford, in wliioh 
 very res|ionsible station Mrs. Whittlesey's eflicient 
 labours, as well as those of her li\ialmnd, contri- 
 buted largely to the prosperity of tho institution. 
 SubseqiK'iitly, they had charge of large anil flou- 
 rishing i'eniale seminaviea in Canandaigua and in 
 Utica, N. V. Coming in contact, thus, with nniny 
 of her sex in tho t'orniing period of liiV ami in the 
 proi'oss of intolleotual and moral education in 
 which she herself had so direct an agency, her 
 observations and experience were of tho utmost 
 consequence to lier in her appreciation of the 
 wants of the mothers and daughters of the land. 
 She saw, also, how necessary was the development 
 of female character and influence. 
 
 With such a stock of knowledge and experience, 
 and with an ardent desire to serve her Divine 
 Master in doing good to her sex and tho world, 
 she projected the " Mother's Magazine." It was 
 in tho city of Utioa that this important utnler- 
 taking was matured and carried into effect; the 
 publication commencing in the year 1833. The 
 " Mother's Magazine " was as original in its con- 
 ception as it has proved to be able in its execu- 
 tion and useful in its influence. It was the ofl'- 
 spring of much thought, consultation, and prayor. 
 attended, indeed, with the usual anxiety and mis- 
 givings incident to new enterprises. The projector 
 of the work, however, was probably less appre- 
 hensive of the result than many others, llioush 
 even she could hardly have conjectured " where- 
 unto this would grow " through tho scries of years 
 it has continued. It is commonly found in expe- 
 rience, that they who have tho talent or tho grace 
 to conceive and bring into oxistenoo important 
 measures for human benefit are the most hopeful 
 of success. They see beyond others in that 
 partiovilar in consequence of tho thought anil 
 mental struggle which their project has cost tlicm. 
 They have considered more closely its bearings 
 and relations, and feci nioro ... 'y the want 
 which originated it. What other minds less gil'lcil 
 with foresight or more sceptical as to results riillicr 
 desire than expect, is with them often reduced to 
 a moral certainty. 
 
 Mrs. Whittlesey's feelings were deeply interested 
 in that portion of her sex which she wished nniro 
 particularly to reach. This she sometime previ- 
 ously evinced in procuring tlie tract "An Address 
 to Mothers," to bo written. She was therefore 
 tho person, in view both of her ability anil her 
 zeal, her advantages and oxiiorieneo, to prepare 
 a medium of communication with her sisters, the 
 mothers of the land, She )iriipi)sed in her Wngii- 
 zine the twofold object of enlightening llie minds 
 of this portion of her box on tho subject of their 
 relation to the oommunity and to the church and 
 tho duties growing out of that relation ; and at the 
 same time of presenting the motives and encou- 
 ragements to appropriate and otfoctive labour in 
 their own peculiar sphere. Then, she hoped to 
 operate, through mothers, on all classes of the 
 community ; on the male part, as well as tho fe- 
 male; on husbands, and fathoi-s, and sons, as well 
 
WHITTLESEY, ABIGAIL GOODRICH — V ARIOUS NAMES. 
 
 as wives, and daughters, and the sex generally. 
 But it was to do only woman's work by woman's 
 agency. It was in no Mary Wolstonecraft spirit 
 that the good which she wished to bring about 
 was to be sought. It was not by trenching on the 
 province of men, nor by usurping their place, that 
 she would eflfect a reformation or improvement in 
 the whole subject of the moral training of the 
 young, and arm woman with her true power. 
 Woman she would keep to her own influence, but 
 it was an influence neither inconsiderable nor 
 doubtful. It was not to be confined within narrow 
 limits. It could not be easily evaded whenever 
 or wherever it should appear. It was insinuating, 
 permeating like the air ; it was gentle as the dews, 
 reaching and blessing alike the root and the 
 branches of the living, intellectual, moral being. 
 It was truly a material work that Mrs. Wliittlesley 
 through her journal sought to accomplish — the 
 preparation and efiiciency of mothers as agents 
 in moulding the character of their offspring. It 
 was a truly feminine, delicate, graceful, though 
 dignified and potent work. 
 
 Having laid her own beloved ones in their in- 
 fancy upon God's altar, and sought by all appro- 
 priate means to train them for the service of their 
 Divine Master, and having joyfully seen the most 
 of them in the morning of life dedicating them- 
 selves to his service, she has, with convincing 
 power and energy, urged the mothers of the land 
 to employ those means in the education of their 
 children which in her case God had so signally 
 blessed. She has given great prominence to the 
 cause of missions iu the pages of her journal, and 
 entreated parents to train up their children not 
 only for the church at home, but with special refe- 
 rence to extending the triumphs of the cross in 
 heathen lands. Many children of missionaries 
 have been committed to her maternal care, and 
 have obtained through her the means of education 
 and support ; but, not content with this, she gladly 
 surrendered her first-born son to become a foreign 
 missionary. His qualifications for usefulness and 
 his long course of training were such as to excite 
 the fond hope that he would be long spared to 
 labour on earth ; but the Master was in these fast 
 ripening him for some higher post of responsibility 
 in the upper sanctuary. A long life of service to 
 the church at home could never have made him 
 so holy a man as did the few years he was em- 
 ployed in missionary labour in India. 
 
 Maternal Associations have long been subjects 
 of her fostering care. Through her influence and 
 correspondence these institutions were greatly 
 multiplied in this country, in Europe, and other 
 foreign lands, before the commencement of her 
 Magazine, one design of which was to extend 
 their influence and to furnish a means of commu- 
 nication between them. 
 
 In her personal appearance Mrs. Whittlesey is 
 prepossessing and dignified ; in her address easy 
 and unaffected ; in her conversation gentle, delibe- 
 rate, and persuasive ; in her natural temperament 
 genial, warm, and sympathetic ; in her judgment 
 sound and discriminative, arriving at her conclu- 
 sions less, perhaps, by a formal process of induc- 
 
 tion, than by a native aptness and a sanctified 
 taste. She was made for influence in whatever 
 path of life she might have chosen. In that 
 which Providence has actually assigned to her, 
 she has sought to wield it for the noblest ends. 
 We rejoice in its extent, since it is apparent that 
 she views it only as a talent to be employed in 
 her Saviour's service. For her efl'orts to raise the 
 standard of maternal hope and fidelity, to sow the 
 seeds of domestic virtue and happiness far and 
 near, and to improve and elevate the character of 
 female influence iu general, she is destined, we 
 believe, to be long and affectionately remembered 
 as a most efficient and noble Benefactress. 
 
 VAKIOUS NAMES. 
 
 Many other ladies are distinguished for benefi- 
 cent acts and influences of great importance to 
 humanity and religion ; a few of these we will 
 particularize. 
 
 The MAnoHiONESS or Hastings, (by birth Flora 
 Muir Campbell, Countess of Loudoun,) lent her 
 efficient aid to the female missionaries in Calcutta 
 while herhusband was Governor-General of Bengal. 
 On the arrival' of Miss Cooke — better known as Mrs. 
 Wilson — in India, the Marchioness kindly received, 
 encouraged and assisted her to found those " Fe- 
 male Schools" which are doing more than any other 
 human influence to Christianize the heathen. The 
 noble lady often went herself to the abodes of the 
 poor natives, visiting lanes and guUeys where Euro- 
 peans are seldom seen, and by her kindly and gentle 
 persuasions induced the miserable mothers to allow 
 their little daughters to attend school. Thus she 
 laboured in the ti'ue mission cause, visiting the 
 schools, furnishing work for the pupils, and giving 
 rewards to the deserving. 
 
 Lady Amhekst, whose husband. Lord Amherst, 
 succeeded the Marquis of Hastings in the Gov- 
 ernorship of India, is also distinguished for the 
 interest she took in the success of " The Ladies' 
 Society for Native Female Education in Calcutta," 
 of which she was Patroness. 
 
 Mks. Peiscilla Chapman is anotherbenefactress 
 of the poor heathen. She has been an earnest 
 helper in obtaining funds in England for the sup- 
 port of the Female Schools in India. Her work 
 " Hindoo Female Education," published in London, 
 1839, had great influence in awakening public 
 attention to the importance of providing instruction 
 for the native female population of the East. 
 
 Madame Boivin, a French woman, deserves a 
 distinguished place among those who devote great 
 talents to the cause of her own sex. She held, for 
 many years, the office of Sage-Jemme of the Maison 
 des Accouchemens in Paris, and by her successful 
 practice and excellent writings has opened the way 
 for women to become physicians for their own sex 
 and for children. Her medical works are held in 
 high repute by the faculty of America as well as 
 
 of France. 
 
 873 
 
SUPPLEMENT.* 
 
 A. 
 
 ADAMS, SARAH FLOWEE, 
 Was the youngest daughter of Benjamin Flower, 
 an English political writer and reformer of some 
 note residing in Cambridgeshire. Her elder sister, 
 Eliza Flower, as well as Mrs. Adams, was gifted 
 with a rare genius, which she devoted to music. 
 An English critic remarks of her: "Eliza 
 Flower, in musical composition, attained a higher 
 rank than, before her time, had been reached by 
 any of her sex. Nor is it too much to say, that 
 she has been excelled by no living composer in the 
 particular order'of composition to which she de- 
 voted herself. The first, and, as yet, but partial 
 collection of her works, entitled ' Adoration, Aspi- 
 ration, and Belief,' contains strains of an origi- 
 nality and sublimity, combined with a felicitous 
 musical expression of words, as adapted to con- 
 gregational and social worship, which have never 
 been surpassed. Another victim of consumption, 
 she died in 1846 ; and the delicate constitution of 
 her sister gave way, and finally sunk under the 
 blow." 
 
 Mrs. Adams was a poet ; her " Vivia Perpetua " 
 has been greatly admired. She wrote, occasion- 
 ally, criticisms, but her soul was breathed forth 
 in her devotional lyrics. She died in August, 
 1848 ; one of her own beautiful hymns, the fol- 
 lowing, was sung over her grave : 
 
 He sendeth sun, he sendeth shower, 
 Alike Ihey 're needful to the flower ; 
 And joys and tears alike are sent 
 To give the soul fit nourishment. 
 As comes to me or cloud or sun, 
 Father! thy will, not mine, be done. 
 
 Can loving children e'er reprove 
 
 With murmurs whom they trust and love ? 
 
 Creator, 1 would ever be 
 
 A trusting, loving child to thee ; 
 
 As comes to me or cloud or sun. 
 
 Father! thy will, not mine, be done. 
 
 O, ne'er will I at life repine ; 
 Enough that thou hast made it mine. 
 Where falls the shadow cold of death, 
 I yet will sing with parting breath, 
 As comes to me or shade or sun. 
 Father ! thy will, not mine, be done. 
 
 * Notwithstanding our care, a few precious names were 
 overlooked in their proper order; others, that were arranged 
 in the Era of the Living when we began our Record, are 
 now numbered amongst the dead ; these are included in the 
 Supplejnent 
 
 ARBOUVILLE, COUNTESS D', 
 
 Who died in April, 1850, was a woman of real 
 genius. Her writings appeared in Paris, at first 
 anonymously. She was by nature almost mor- 
 bidly sensitive and unwilling to be known as a 
 candidate for literary honours, but the entire suc- 
 cess of her works made her friends desirous to 
 claim for her the praise awarded to the author. 
 Her first work was " Resignation," published in 
 1846; then appeared successively "The Village 
 Doctor," " The Histoire Hollandaise," and a vol- 
 ume of poems called " The Manuscript of my 
 Aunt," the introduction to which is a touching 
 little story of early death. The poems are prin- 
 cipally elegies, ballads, and verses of that unpre- 
 tending order; like her prose works, they are 
 tender, elegant, and mournful. The prominent 
 characteristic of her tales is the poetic melan- 
 choly which inspires every thought and colours 
 every picture. Love of the most refined, the 
 most true, the most absorbing nature, is every 
 where the theme ; every where its victim is 
 doomed to suffering. A dark veil shadows every 
 scene. The delicacy of style, thought, and nar- 
 rative is indescribable. Her best production is 
 the " Histoire Hollandaise." This tale is beauti- 
 fully written ; it is like a strain of mournful music 
 that rends our very souls, unbroken by a note of 
 
 joy- 
 
 " Like wintry suns, it rose in tears, 
 Like them, in tears it set." 
 
 Very powerful is the effect of the ballads as they 
 are introduced ; like Desdemona's song of "Wil- 
 low," they have a presaging woe about them that 
 weighs upon the spirit and prepares for the com- 
 ing ill. As poems of that sort they have great 
 merit, even taken as disjecta membra. 
 
 The death of Madame d'Arbouvllle must be de- 
 plored as a loss to the reading world, which reasona- 
 bly have anticipated admirable things from herj)en. 
 
 c. 
 
 CALLCOTT, LADY, 
 
 Was the daughter of Rear-Admiral George 
 Dundas. The following sketch is from the London 
 Athenasum .• 
 
 " Few women had seen so much of the world 
 or travelled so much, and none, perhaps, have 
 
 874 
 
SUPPLEMENTARY NAMES. 
 
 turned the results of their activity to more bene- 
 volent account. A great part of her early life was 
 spent cither at sea or in travel, and to the last no 
 subject was more animating to her than a ship, 
 and no hero excited her enthusiasm to so high a 
 degree as Nelson. ' 
 
 She was born in the year 1788, and before she 
 was twenty-one years of age she was travelling in 
 India, the wife of Captain Thomas Graham, R. N. 
 According to the account of her travels, she went 
 to India in 1809 and visited all the three presiden- 
 cies, making acquaintances at all of them learned 
 for oriental knowledge and research. She visited 
 the caves of Elephanta, the Island of Salsette, the 
 excavations of Carli in the Mahratta Mountains, 
 and Poonah, the Mahratta capital. On her return 
 to Bombay she voyaged along the coast as far as 
 Negombo, afterwards visiting Trincomali, on the 
 east side of the Island, on her way to Madras. 
 From Madras she went to Calcutta, which termi- 
 nated her travels in India, as she only returned to 
 the Coromandel coast to embark for England in 
 the beginning of 1811. She published these travels 
 in 1812, being then twenty-four years of age. Ten 
 years afterwards she sailed with Captain Graham 
 for South America. In the mean time she had 
 resided in Italy and published two works ; one, 
 " Three Months in the Environs of Rome," 1820 ; 
 a second, " The Memoirs of the Life of Poussin," 
 in the same year. Ciptain Graham, who com- 
 manded the Dorus, died on the voyage to South 
 America, and his remains were carried into Valpa- 
 raiso and interred within the fortress. His wife 
 was in Chili during the series of earthquakes which 
 lasted from the 20th of November, 1823, and 
 scarcely a day passed without receiving violent 
 shocks. It was with difficulty she escaped from 
 her house, which was partly laid in ruins. 
 
 During her stay in South America, Mrs. Graham 
 became the instructress of Dona Maria, now Queen 
 of Portugal. Some years afterwards she married 
 Mr. Callcott, the Royal Academician, and with him 
 again visited Italy. Among the published fruits of 
 this tour may be mentioned Lady Callcott's account 
 of Giotto's Chapel, at Padua ; a privately printed 
 . work, with exquisite outlines — remembrances 
 drawn by Sir Augustus Callcott — and a kind contri- 
 bution to the illustrated edition of the Seven Ages 
 of Shakspeare. Lady Callcott also published a 
 "History of Spain," in 2 vols., in 1822 ; and after 
 the commencement of her illness, arising from 
 the rupture of a blood-vessel, she published "Es- 
 says towards the History of Painting," 1836, which 
 involved so great an amount of labour that her 
 declining health and strength obliged her to aban- 
 don it before completion. She died in 1843, aged 
 fifty-five. In her character she was noble, direct, 
 generous, forgiving, quick, sensitive, kind, sympa- 
 thetic, and religious ; all that knew her will hold 
 her memory in affectionate remembrance. Her 
 acquirements and knowledge were extensive. She 
 was an artist, both in feeling and practice, an ex- 
 cellent linguist, and her memory was extremely 
 accurate and tenacious. 
 
 None felt Lady Callcott's loss more than the 
 little children, who were always encouraged as 
 
 loved and welcome guests, and for whom her kind- 
 ness had always prepared some little present of a 
 doll. Not a small part of her last years was spent 
 in providing amusement and instruction for them, 
 and successfully, too ; she wrote for them " Little 
 Arthur's History of England," and a delightfully 
 simple and natural tale, "The Little Bracken- 
 burners." Her last work was a " Scripture Her- 
 bal." 
 
 COMSTOCK, SARAH DAVIS, 
 Was the daughter of Robert S. Davis, of Brook- 
 line, Massachusetts. She early became a member 
 of the Baptist church in her native town, and gave 
 full evidence of being imbued with the self-denying 
 spirit of a Christian. The Rev. Grover S. Com- 
 stock, a clergyman in the Baptist Church, selected 
 her as his companion in the life of toil and hard- 
 ship he had chosen as a missionary to Burmah, 
 and she faithfully fulfilled the task she then under- 
 took in a true martyr-spirit. In June, 1834, Mr. 
 and Mrs. Comstock were publicly consecrated to 
 the work in Boston, and sailed immediately for 
 their field of labour, which they reached on the 
 6th of December, in the same year. In his labours 
 between Arraoan and Burmah, Mr. Comstock found 
 his wife of great assistance. "Whenever women 
 came near their house, she would instantly leave 
 her occupations, if possible, to tell them of the 
 Saviour; she collected a school, translated the 
 Scripture Catechism, and administered both medi- 
 cine and advice to the sick, besides teaching her 
 own children and attending to household duties. 
 In the evening, whenever she could be out, she 
 might often be found with several native women 
 collected around her, to whom she was imparting 
 religious knowledge. 
 
 Mrs. Comstock's faith was strong that ere long 
 Arracan would, as a country, acknowledge^od 
 as its ruler, and in this expectation, she laboured 
 until death came to lead her away to her infinite 
 reward. She died of a disease peculiar to the 
 climate on the 28th of April, 1843 ; leaving four 
 children, two of whom had previously been sent 
 to America for instruction ; the other two soon 
 followed her to the grave. Nothing could exceed 
 the sorrow expressed by the natives for her loss. 
 More than two thousand came on the day after 
 her death to share their grief with her afflicted 
 husband, who survived her loss but for a few 
 months. 
 
 CZARTORYSKI, ISABELLA PRINCESS, 
 Wife of Prince Adam Czartoryski, was born in 
 Warsaw about the year 1743. She was a lady of 
 refined and cultivated taste in literature, and a 
 lover of nature. Her first published work was on 
 "Gardens," magnificently illustrated, in which 
 she displayed her peculiar talents and gave much 
 valuable information. She embellished the grounds 
 of her beautiful residence at Pulaway according 
 to the principles set forth in her work, but she did 
 not enjoy it long : it was confiscated to the Rus- 
 sians. She afterwards wrote " The Pilgrim of 
 Doramil," based on Polish history and intended 
 to promote morality, which work has been much 
 
 875 
 
SUPPLEMENTARY NAMES. 
 
 admired. Her daughter has written several excel- 
 lent stories depicting the manners and domestic life 
 of the Polish peasantry. Princess Czartoryski died 
 in 1835. Her family is a branch of the Jagellons, 
 rightful heirs to the hereditary throne of Poland. 
 
 D. 
 
 DASHKOVA, EEATERINA KOMANOVNA, 
 A Russian Princess, was born in 1754. She 
 wrote comedies and novels, such as the authors 
 of that country prepare, containing about fifty 
 pages per volume. She also made some valuable 
 translations from French and Italian literature. 
 
 A Russian critic says, " Twenty or thirty pages 
 are sufficient for a volume ; 150 pages are divided 
 into three volumes. Moreover, Russian words 
 are of seven, eight, and ten syllables, which in 
 English would be of only two and three syllables. 
 Thus, 150 Russian printed pages would only till 
 about 60 or 80 English." 
 
 DONNE, MARIA DALLE-, 
 
 Was born 1776, in a village called Roncastaldo, 
 eighteen miles from Bologna. Her parents were 
 worthy people, placed in humble life, but she had 
 an uncle who was an ecclesiastic, and he, struck 
 with her uncommon intelligence as a child, deter- 
 mined to take charge of her education, and for 
 this purpose carried her home with him to Bologna. 
 This good priest had apartments near the medical 
 college, and was on terms of the most intimate 
 friendship with the celebrated and learned Dr. 
 Luigi Rodati. The latter, observing the quick tal- 
 ents of the little girl, took pleasure in asking her 
 questions to exercise her mind, and at last became 
 so interested in her mental developments that he in- 
 structed her in Latin and the other parts of know- 
 ledge which are in general reserved for those 
 intended for professional studies. Besides his 
 own cares, he obtained for her the friendship and 
 tuition of Canterzani ; a man who could boast of 
 an European reputation, as hia fame for learning 
 
 and knowledge extended through that continent. 
 He was so delighted with the genius, the industry, 
 and amiable character of Maria, that he neglected 
 nothing to cultivate her abilities to the utmost. 
 The most abstruse sciences were studied and tho- 
 roughly investigated, and her natural inclinations 
 tending to medical researches, she was led to the 
 study of comparative anatomy and experimental 
 physio. Her masters were, besides Canterzani 
 and Rodati, the noted surgeon, Tarsizio Riviera, 
 a man of most profound erudition, the great phy- 
 sician Aldini, and the pathologist Uttini. These 
 gentlemen, who valued Maria as much for her 
 excellent disposition and conscientious character 
 as for her shining qualifications, considering that 
 she was extremely poor, deliberated whether she 
 should assume the profession of medicine as a 
 means of support. A deformity of the shoulders, 
 which deprived her of a share in the ordinary 
 amusements of young persons, seemed to isolate 
 her among her companions ; and these learned 
 professors, perfectly convinced of her competency, 
 persuaded her to offer herself as a candidate for 
 a medical degree, and, by practising this useful 
 and honorable art, to provide for herself. She, 
 with characteristic good sense, objected that the 
 prejudice against her sex assuming such functions 
 would prevent her admission, whatever might be 
 her qualifications. This was undeniable, but her 
 friends thought if she would submit herself to a 
 public and close examination for three days, that 
 all prejudice must be dispelled by evident and in- 
 controvertible facts. On the 1st of Angust, 1799, 
 the vast building used for the purpose of the ex- 
 amination was thronged. Every man of science, 
 every doctor, speeded to witness the defeat, as 
 he anticipated, of this presumptuous young 
 woman. She was modestly attired in black ; her 
 tranquil countenance and decorous mien seemed 
 equally removed from arrogance and false shame. 
 The ordeal she went through was of the most 
 trying sort. Difficulties were offered that the pro- 
 posers themselves were unable to solve. The 
 candidate, without the smallest discomposure, 
 with most profound analysis, and with the clearest 
 reasoning, manifested her perfect acquaintance 
 with every subject propounded. The assembly 
 kindled into enthusiasm, and she was unanimously 
 invested with every honour the faculty had to dis- 
 tribute. From that time, under the title of Doc- 
 tress, she practised medicine with the greatest 
 success. Nor was her knowledge limited to that 
 science — it could not be denied by unwilling men, 
 that this woman could compete with them on all 
 points ; whether of philosophy or eloquence. Her 
 Latin speeches were second to none, and her lec- 
 tures were delivered in the most elegant and forci- 
 ble manner. In the sequel she was nominated 
 Professor of Obstetrics, and presided over a school 
 for women in that branch of medical art. To her 
 pupils she was motherly, generous, and kind ; but 
 as an instructress she was eminently severe. She 
 considered their functions of such importance that 
 she exacted the most particular knowledge, and 
 would admit no neglect. 
 
 The Doctress found time to cultivate the belles 
 
 876 
 
SUPPLEMENTARY NAMES. 
 
 lettres, and excelled in writing both Latin nnd 
 Italian verses, but of this accomplishment she 
 thought so lightly that she never kept any copies 
 of her productions. In music she had attained 
 sufficient proficiency to play on the organ in her 
 parish church, St. Caterina di Saragozza, "when 
 any emergency demanded her aid. 
 
 In 1842, this excellent, pious, and valuable 
 woman, having dismissed her servants one eve- 
 ning, retired to bed. In a short time one of the 
 women heard a slight groan from her mistress ; 
 she ran to the bed, and found her seized with 
 apoplexy. She hurried for a physician, but it 
 was too late ; when he arrived, Maria was dead. 
 
 DRUZBACKA, ELIZABETH, 
 BoBN in Poland in 1693, was celebrated as a 
 poetess. She wrote some very beautiful idyls, 
 full of the sweetest descriptions of nature, in 
 which it is said she has excelled Thomson. She 
 died in 1763, aged seventy years. 
 
 P 
 
 FONTAINES, MARIE LOUISE CHARLOTTE 
 COUNTESS DE, 
 
 Was the daughter of the Marquis de Giorg, 
 Governor of Metz. Mademoiselle de Giorg married 
 the Count de Fontaines, by whom she had a son 
 and a daughter. She died in 1780. 
 
 Madame de Fontaines acquired considerable re- 
 putation by her novels, which are of the school of 
 Madame La Fayette, to whom she is inferior in 
 sensibility, and in the power of developing charac- 
 ter ; the French critics pronounce her diction to 
 be purer ; a merit which resulted from the epoch 
 when she wrote ; the language being at that time 
 more settled than it was when "The Princess of 
 Cleves " was composed. Voltaire, who was on 
 terms of intimate friendship with Madame Fon- 
 taines, wrote some verses in her praise, in which 
 he equals her style to that of Fenelon. This is a 
 very exaggerated compliment. More just and 
 more acceptable it would have been to confess 
 that the plot of his fine tragedy, " Tancrfede," 
 is taken from one of her novels — " The Countess 
 of Savoy." La Harpe, in his analysis of " Tan- 
 crfede," indicates its source. In this play, the 
 great beauty of the poetry and the very interest- 
 ing and powerful evolvement of the characters 
 evince so superior a genius to the mere formation 
 of the story, that the poet might have yielded up 
 to the lady what was due to her without a single 
 leaf falling from his laurel. But, man-like, he 
 did not choose to acknowledge that he had been 
 helped by a woman, while availing himself of the 
 advantage. 
 
 FOUQUE, BARONESS CAROLINE DE LA 
 MOTTE, 
 
 Was the first wife of the Baron de la Motte 
 Fouqu^, so well known for his inimitable tale of 
 Undine. She ranks among the most accomplished 
 women of Germany. Her works are numerous, 
 
 and have attained a high degree of celebrity ; we 
 will indicate a few of them: "Letters on Greek 
 Mythology," "Letters from Berlin," "Women of 
 the World," " Woman's Love," " The two Friends," 
 " The Heroine of La Vendue," " Tales," in four 
 volumes, "Theodora," "Henry and Maria," 
 " Lodoiska and her Daughter." 
 
 GERMAIN, SOPHIE, 
 
 Born at Paris in 1776, made, at a comparatively 
 early age, an extraordinary progress in the mathe- 
 matical sciences, and, in 1816, obtained the prize 
 of the Academy of Sciences for a memoir on the 
 vibration of elastic laminse. She pursued this 
 subject further in her " Recherches sur la th^orie 
 des surfaces flastiques," published in 1820; in 
 another memoir presented to the Academy in 1826, 
 and in an article in the " Anales de physique et 
 chimie," which appeared in 1828. During the 
 revolution of the three days, she was quietly 
 engaged at Paris in the preparation of a memoir 
 on the curvature of surfaces, which was, when 
 finished, inserted in Crelle's Journal of the Mathe- 
 matics. She died in 1831 of a cancer. Distin- 
 guished as she was by her acquirements and per- 
 formances in the exact sciences, her attention had 
 been far from being exclusively confined to them, 
 but was, on the contrary, directed, in no incon- 
 siderable degree, also to natural science, geogra- 
 phy, history, and the speculations of philosophy. 
 
 HALL, SARAH, 
 BoKN at Philadelphia on the 30th of October, 
 1761, was daughter of the Rev. John Ewing, D. 
 D., who was for many years Provost of the Uni- 
 versity of Pennsylvania, and Pastor of the First 
 Presbyterian Church in Philadelphia. Although 
 brought up in the troublesome times of the Revo- 
 lution, and when it was not customary to bestow 
 much cultivation on the female mind, with access to 
 few books or other of the usual means of study, Jliss 
 Ewing became the mistress of accomplishments 
 
 877 
 
SUPPLEMENTARY NAMES. 
 
 such as few possess. From her earliest years her 
 active and inquisitive mind was ever on the alert 
 for Isnowledge, and, fortunately, she possessed, in 
 the society of her father — one of the most distin- 
 guished scholars of his day — a prolific source of 
 information, which she failed not to improve to 
 the utmost. By means of conversations with him, 
 and observing the heavenly bodies under his direc- 
 tion, she became quite a proficient in the science 
 of astronomy, which, through her whole life, con- 
 tinued one of her favourite pursuits. She also 
 obtained a critical acquaintance with the principles 
 of grammar, and an extensive knowledge of the 
 ancient classics, by hearing her brothers recite 
 their Latin and Greek lessons to their father, and 
 by listening to the conversations of the learned men 
 who frequented his house. True genius is stimu- 
 lated to exertion by the obstacles that embarrass 
 it in the pursuit of knowledge ; and in the case 
 of Miss Ewing the difficulties which she was 
 obliged to surmount only served to redouble her 
 industry and to give increased value to the hard- 
 earned acquisitions of her mind. 
 
 In 1782, Miss Ewing was married to Mr. John 
 Hall, the son of a wealthy planter in Maryland, 
 to which state they removed. Here she spent 
 about eight years ; but her taste was not for re- 
 tirement ; she loved books, society, and her friends 
 too well to be satisfied with a country life in a 
 secluded neighbourhood, and they removed to 
 Philadelphia, where Mr. Hall filled successively 
 the ofiices of Secretary of the Land Office, and 
 Marshal of the United States for the District of 
 Pennsylvania. Here they remained till 1801 ; 
 then they resided in Lamberton, New Jersey, 
 till 1805; thence they removed to Mr. Hall's 
 paternal estate, in Jlaryland, where they lived 
 until 1811 ; they then returned to Philadelphia, 
 where Mr. Hall died, in 1826. Mrs. Hall survived 
 her husband only four years, dying on the 8th of 
 April, 1830, aged sixty-nine. 
 
 During all these removals and the vicissitudes 
 which occasioned them, Mrs. Hall never neglected, 
 in the least particular, her duties as the head of 
 a family ; and in order to find time for reading 
 without infringing on them, she, for the last forty 
 years of her life, devoted to this exercise the 
 hours usually appropriated to repose. 
 
 When the Port Folio was established by Dennie, 
 in 1800, she was one of the literary circle to whom 
 that work was indebted for its celebrity. Some 
 of the most sprightly essays and pointed criticisms 
 ■which appeared in this paper at the time of its 
 greatest popularity, were from the pen of Mrs. 
 Hall. When the Port Folio came under the direc- 
 tion of her son, she continually aided him in his 
 labours ; and her contributions may readily be 
 distinguished, as well by their vivacity, as the 
 classic purity of their diction. She was an admi- 
 rable letter-writer, and possessed uncommon 
 powers of conversation, which she exercised in a 
 manner at once instructive and entertaining. 
 While her children were young, it was her prac- 
 tice to allure their minds to study by such conver- 
 sation as would awaken curiosity and give a proper 
 direction to the taste, the judgment, and the 
 
 heart ; and, instead of influencing them by author- 
 ity in the choice of books, to instil into them such 
 principles as would induce them tq make the pro- 
 per selection. 
 
 Throughout her whole life Mrs. Hall was always 
 a sincere and humble Christian ; and, although an 
 innate delicacy of mind induced her to withhold 
 the expression of every thought and feeling which 
 concerned only herself, yet she was remarkably 
 exact in her religious observances, and assiduous 
 in teaching not only her children, but all within 
 her influence, that belief and those hopes which 
 formed the consolation of her own life. She 
 delighted to converse on religious topics, and few , 
 men excelled her in profound knowledge of the 
 Holy Scriptures. She studied these with diligence 
 and prayer, and became as eminent for scholarship 
 in this department of learning, as she was for wit, 
 vivacity, and genius. The only book she ever 
 published, " Conversations on the Bible," a duo- 
 decimo of 365 pages, aifords ample testimony that 
 her memory is entitled to such praise. This work, 
 which was very well received, both in this country 
 and in England, contains a fund of information 
 which could only have been collected by diligent 
 research and profound thought. While engaged 
 in this undertaking she began the study of the 
 Hebrew, to enable herself to make the necessary 
 researches, and attained a considerable proficiency 
 in this difiicult language. When it is stated that 
 Mrs. Hall commenced this work after she had 
 passed the age of fifty, when she had been the 
 mother of eleven children, and that during her 
 whole life she was distinguished for her industry, 
 economy, and attention to all the duties of her 
 station, it must be allowed that she was no ordi- 
 nary woman. Her other writings were confined 
 to contributions to the leading literary periodicals 
 of the day. 
 
 HARCOUET, AGNES D', 
 
 Abbess of the celebrated convent of Longchamp, 
 near Paris, founded by the pious sister of St. 
 Louis, Isabella de France, was the daughter of 
 Juan d' Haroourt. She was appointed Abbess in 
 1263, two years after the establishment of the 
 convent, by Isabella, and remained so till her 
 death, in November, 1291. Agnes had received 
 an education worthy of her illustrious birth, as 
 was fully proved by the work she left : it was the 
 " Life of Isabella," written with so much naiveti and 
 such an exquisite simplicity, as to be considered 
 one of the most valuable works of the early French 
 writers. Before the revolution of 1789, the Abbey 
 of Longchamp possessed the original manuscript 
 of this work, written with the greatest care, per- 
 haps by Agnes herself, on a roll of vellum. 
 
 HAYS, MARY, 
 
 An Englishwoman of good talents, who made 
 the condition and welfare of her own sex her 
 chief object of study. Her only work of conse- 
 quence was entitled " Female Biography ; or Me- 
 moirs of Illustrious and Celebrated Women of all 
 Ages and Countries ;" in three volumes. 
 
 878 
 
STTPPLEMENTARY NAMES. 
 
 I. 
 JAMES, ANNIE P., 
 
 Was born in Salem, Massachusetts, on the 22(i 
 of December, 1825. Daughter of Mr. Joshua 
 Saiford, of that city, she was carefully educated 
 by her parents. When less than ten years of age 
 she commenced a journal, which she continued till 
 her death ; and even at that early age she evinced 
 a mind of unusual capacity and depth, and a lovely 
 disposition. In September, 1842, Miss Saiford 
 became a member of the Baptist Church in Salem, 
 of which she afterwards was so bright an orna- 
 ment. From the time of her first union with the 
 church she was deeply interested in the missionary 
 cause, and was elected Corresponding Secretary 
 of the "Boardman Missionary Society." In the 
 early part of 18i7, Dr. Sexton James, of Phila- 
 delphia, about to become a missionary to China, 
 visited Salem and was introduced to Miss Saiford. 
 The intimacy ended in a marriage, which took 
 place in October of the same year, and in Novem- 
 ber they set sail for China. They arrived at 
 Hong-kong on the 25th of March, 1848, and a few 
 days after went on a visit to Canton, as there was 
 no prospect of their having an opportunity to 
 proceed to Shanghai, their place of destination, 
 for some weeks. On the 13th of April, Dr. and 
 Mrs. James embarked on board the schooner 
 " Paradox " to return to Hong-kong, and on the 
 15th, just as they came in sight of the port, a 
 sudden squall came up. The schooner was thrown 
 on her side and sunk almost instantly. Dr. James 
 and his wife were in their cabin, and, it is sup- 
 posed, were drowned immediately. Their bodies 
 were never recovered. 
 
 J. 
 
 JOAN, THE POPESS, 
 
 AccoEDiNG to a story long believed but now 
 acknowledged to be a fiction, was a woman who, 
 for a time, held the keys of St. Peter, and was 
 the acknowledged head of the Roman hierarchy. 
 The legend says that she was a native of Jletz. 
 Her name was Gilberts, or Agnes ; she fell in 
 love with an Englishman at Fulda, went to 
 travel with him, studied at Athens, and visited 
 Rome. Continuing to conceal her sex, she took 
 the name of Johannes Angelina, and rose, by her 
 talents, from the station of a notary to the papal 
 chair under the name of John YIII. This was 
 between the years 854-6. She governed weU, 
 but, having become pregnant by a servant, or, as 
 some say, by a cardinal, she was delivered in a 
 solemn procession, and died on the spot, near the 
 Coliseum, which place the popes are said to have 
 avoided ever after in their processions. Such is 
 the fable, which we give solely because it is found 
 in so many authors, though it is unworthy of cre- 
 dit. Two Protestants, learned and impartial men, 
 (Blondell and Bayle,) concur in their conclusion 
 that the story of Pope Joan is a baseless fiction. 
 
 L. 
 
 LLANGOLLEN, THE LADIES OF, 
 
 That happiness is to be sought in the obvious 
 paths of that state of life in which it has pleased 
 God to place us, that the largest heart and 
 most excited heroism of virtue may find scope in 
 the duties that lie nearest to us, are truths that 
 have been demonstrated for ages. But there is a 
 sort of Quixotism in some minds that spurns the 
 condition allotted by Providence. These people 
 try to " go farther" than the rest of the world, 
 and, it must be added, they invariably "fare 
 worse." 
 
 Lady Eleanor Butler was born in Dublin, 1761. 
 While in her cradle she had the misfortune to lose 
 both her parents, and from her earliest recollec- 
 tion she formed a tender intimacy with Jliss Pon- 
 sonby, their imaginations being incited by the 
 circumstances — that they were born in Dublin on 
 the same day of the year, and both lost their 
 parents at the same epoch. It was easy for two 
 romantic, warm-hearted girls, to persuade them- 
 selves that they were born for each other, and that 
 they would renounce all other ties, and fly to a 
 solitude where friendship was to supply the charm 
 for every care. Thus agreeing together,' they fied 
 secretly from Ireland, and, having heard of the 
 romantic beauties of Wales, they went to Llangol- 
 len, took a cottage beautifully situated near the 
 top of a mountain, and commenced their life of 
 friendship. However, their guardians having dis- 
 covered their retreat, compelled them to return to 
 Dublin. The young ladies were obliged to sub- 
 mit, but declared that on coming of age they would 
 return to Llangollen ; which they did. 
 
 Jliss Ponsonby was not rich, but Lady Eleanor 
 possessed considerable property. She purchased 
 the cottage, and built upon its site an elegant 
 residence, replete with every comfort and luxury 
 they desired. Here they actually dwelt for the 
 remainder of their lives, which were lengthened 
 to old age. They were visited by many strangers, 
 and enjoyed such society, though professing to 
 love solitude. As they grew old and the romance 
 of the situation faded, their latest visitors repre- 
 sent them as insipid old women, eagerly listening 
 to news of the world, and seeming to derive their 
 principal amusement from superintending the 
 farm. Miss Ponsonby, unfortunately, survived 
 her friend for many tedious years. The blank 
 that remained to her may be imagined. She died 
 about 18-30 ; the exact date we have not ascer- 
 tained. 
 
 LEE, MART ELIZABETH, 
 A WBiTEB of prose and verse, was born at 
 Charleston, South Carolina, on the 23d March, 
 1813. She belonged to an old family which had 
 always maintained a highly respectable rank in 
 society. Mary at a very early period evinced the 
 possession of a delicate and sensitive organization 
 with large promise of talent. She was fortunate 
 in early literary associations, which, in a conside- 
 rable degree, were made to supply the want of a 
 
 879 
 
SUPPLEMENTARY NAMES 
 
 close and methodical education. She soon exhi- 
 bited an eager appetite for books. For tliose slie 
 obaudoned the usual amusoinents of childhood. 
 Indeed, she never entertained them. The toy and 
 tlie doll, so essential to juvenile happiness, contri- 
 buted at no period to hers. Her pleasures were 
 
 derived wholly from reading, and the conversation 
 of those whose attachment to letters was decided. 
 In this way she added daily to her intellectual 
 resources, and stimulated, even to excess, the solo 
 desire of her mind. Her memory was one of re- 
 markable capacity, and she retained without an 
 effort whatever commended itself to her imagina- 
 tion. She thus laid in rare stores for thought, 
 which, as she advanced to maturity, were never 
 left unemployed. Her faculty for the acquisition 
 of languages, with or without a tutor, was singu- 
 larly large ; and, with a memory so retentive as 
 that which she possessed, it was never exercised 
 in vain. Until the ago of ten, her education was 
 entirely carried on at home. When, at this period, 
 it was deemed advisable to enlarge her studies in 
 aooordanoe with the increasing developments of 
 her mind, and she was sent to school, its exer- 
 cises and excitements were found to prey upon 
 her delicate constitution. The very emulation 
 wliioli such an institution almost necessarily pro- 
 vokes in an ardent and eager nature, was injuri- 
 ous to hers. Her health became impaired, and 
 it was found necessary when she was but twelve 
 years of age to withdraw her once more to the placid 
 sphere of domestic study. Here, then, and almost 
 at this early period, she began the education of 
 herself — that most valuable of all kinds of educa- 
 tion, and the only one which makes school educa- 
 tion of value. In the securities of home she 
 pursued her voluntary tasks with equal industry 
 and pleasure. Ilor application was sleepless, her 
 acquisitions surprising. She succeeded in obtain- 
 ing a considerable mastery over the French, Ita- 
 lian, and German languages, while perfecting 
 herself by constant attention in all the graces of 
 her own. In th^se exercises she naturally became 
 a contributor to the periodical literature of the 
 
 country. Her vein was at once direct and deli- 
 cate; simple, unaffected, and trutliful, yet full of 
 grace, sweetness, and beauty. Her tone ^Yas j^nivo, 
 mostly, almost to solemnity, yet rolievod and 
 warmed by a fancy that, if never fruliosouie, was 
 at least usually cheerful. With her ino-cnsing 
 reputation, her versos .soon made tlieir way into 
 most of the popular periodicals of the day. Seve- 
 ral of her pieces fastened themselves upon the 
 memory, and became griiteful to the hearts, of her 
 readers. Their unobtrusive swcetiu>ss, their grave 
 delicacy, the propriety of their sentiments, and 
 uniform gentleness and purity of tone, beguiled 
 those sympathies which the delicate constitution 
 of her genius would never have sought to ooeree. 
 " The Lone Star," " Gorrcggio's Holy Family," 
 "The Hour of Death," "The Deathbed of I'rince 
 llcnry," "The Blind Negro Communicant," and 
 many other pieces, in this manner stole silently 
 upon the popular affections and served to extend 
 her reputation. Her practice in verse, as is com- 
 monly the case, preceded lier exercises in prose. 
 At a Inter day she became as diligent in the latter 
 as in the former province. Essays, sketches, tales, 
 all proceeiled rapidly from her pen, and were 
 eagerly read in the annuals and magazines into 
 which they found their way. Sometimes she ven- 
 tured upon a critical paper for the reviews, and, 
 through this medium she has given us some just 
 and thoughtful criticisms upon foreign writers. 
 One volume, designed by her for the young, entitled 
 "Social Evenings, or Historical Tales," was juib- 
 lished by the Alassachusctts School Library .Asso- 
 ciation, and is stated to be one of the most popular 
 of the collection. Its characteristics are simpli- 
 city, good sense, accuracy of statement, and com- 
 pactness of detail, all carefully chosen and grouped 
 in accordance with the leading purpose of the 
 publication. At a later period in life her labours 
 were continued amidst great sullVring. and with a 
 constant apprehension of a fatal termination. Her 
 constitution, always delicate, was gradually yield- 
 ing to her complaint, which was assisted in its 
 progress by the intense activity of her mind. But 
 this very activity, which helped her foe, was her 
 principal solace. Of the tenacity with which sho 
 held to her employments we may form some notion 
 from a single fact. Her right hand having become 
 paralyzed, she transferred the pen to tlie left, and 
 acquired a now stylo of penmanship, which, en- 
 tirely different from that which sho wrote before, 
 is yet singularly uniform, and even spirited and 
 graceful. She bore her afflictions with a wonderful 
 fortitude, a sweet, becoming cheerfulness, and a 
 still unwearied exercise of her mental faculties, 
 all concurring to illustrate the pure and noble 
 Christian spirit, the cultivation of which had been 
 carefully blended with that of her intoUcotual ami 
 moral nature. After years of suffering, sho 
 expired peacefully and hopefully in the arms of 
 her family, on the 23d of September, 1849, at tho 
 early age of thirty-six. A selection from her 
 poetical writings has recently been made and 
 published in Charleston by Messrs Walker and 
 Richards in a beautiful duodooimo of 224 pages. 
 
 880 
 
SUPPLEMENTARY NAMES. 
 
 A tolerable portrait prefaces this volume, which 
 has been edited, with a touching and graceful 
 memoir, by her friend and pastor, the Rev. S. Gil- 
 man, D. D. 
 
 LtZARDIERE, MADEMOISELLE, 
 
 Was a native of France. Without any en- 
 couragement she manifested an invincible taste 
 for historical researches. In this she met with 
 ■great opposition from her family. At a period 
 when France, as a nation, was given up to most 
 frivolous pursuits, when the court was occupied 
 entirely by futile pleasures, to say no worse, it 
 seemed monstrous, and inadmissible to common- 
 place people, that a young girl should give up the 
 world, and the usual routine of girlish life, to 
 devote herself to musty manuscripts and severe 
 study. Her perseverance, however, removed all 
 obstacles, and she was at last indulged by her 
 parents with the means of carrying out her views. 
 She devoted the best years of her youth to the 
 most laborious literary pursuits ; living in soli- 
 tude, unknown by the public, but encouraged by 
 the approbation and sympathy of a few scientific 
 men, among whom her principal fi'iend was Male- 
 sherbes, the heroic advocate of Louis XVI. After 
 twenty-five years of careful research, her work was 
 printed anonymously, under the title of " Theory 
 of the Political Laws of the French Monarchy." 
 Alas ! the book was printed in 1790, when the 
 very word monarchy was an abomination. It was 
 published after the Revolution, but the time was 
 past ; political science had also undergone a revo- 
 lution, and the labours of a lifetime were lost. 
 Augustin Thierry, unquestionably the best judge 
 in the world of the subject of Mademoiselle Lfoar- 
 dibre, since his own writings have formed an epoch 
 in the manner of studying and treating such re- 
 searches, gives her almost the preference over all 
 the learned men who were her predecessors in this 
 study. He speaks highly of lier erudition and 
 philosophic mode of reasoning ; her theory he 
 completely destroys, as he does those of all the 
 foregoing savants, not excepting the great Mon- 
 tesquieu. After refuting her errors, he says, — 
 
 " We must admit, however, that the theory 
 of Mademoiselle L(Szardifere is consistent, inge- 
 nious, and often full of sagacity. She appears 
 gifted with remarkable powers of analysis. She 
 seeks out and sets forth all the important prob- 
 lems, and never leaves them till she has exhausted 
 every text that bears upon them. In a word, there 
 is not here, as in the preceding systems, an aimless 
 scattering of the primitive elements of our history ; 
 they are all recognised and admitted ; and it is 
 by an almost insensible inflection that the author 
 has bent them to her own system. * * * 
 If her book had appeared at the right time, per- 
 haps it would have divided public opinion and have 
 founded a sect, like the system of Mably; per- 
 haps, as it is more complete, more profound, and 
 nearer the originals, it would have gained the suf- 
 frage of the deepest thinkers. In reality the two 
 theories are much alike : the same element is in 
 the book of Abe Mably, but in that of Mademoi- 
 3F 
 
 selle Ldzardifere it is more strongly marked, and, 
 above all, more learnedly argued." 
 
 The science of political history is so difiicult, and 
 demands so much learning, that few have written 
 sagaciously upon it, and we have, therefore, given 
 Mademoiselle L(5zardifere the honourable testimony 
 of Thierry, which her merit had well earned. 
 
 M. 
 MACOMBER, ELEANOR, 
 
 Was born in 1801, at Lake Pleasant, Hamilton 
 County, New York. Here her childhood and youth 
 were passed until she removed to Albany, where 
 she first formed that determination to which she 
 adhered so nobly through all obstacles — of devot- 
 ing her life to Him who had given up His for us. 
 In 1830 she was sent out by the Missionary Board 
 of the Baptist denomination as teacher among the 
 Ojibwas at Sault de Ste Marie, in Michigan. Here 
 she continued for nearly four years, when, her 
 health failing, she returned to her friends. In 
 1836 she connected herself with the Karen mis- 
 sion, Burmah, and went out to Maulmain in the 
 latter part of the same year. After her arrival 
 she was stationed at Dong-Yahn, about thirty-five 
 miles from Maulmain. Here she lived and la- 
 boured almost alone, doing the great work which 
 was assigned her. In the midst of discourage- 
 ments she fainted not, but performed labours and 
 endured afflictions almost incredible. When she 
 arrived at the scene of her future labours, she 
 found vice and sin reigning triumphant. On every 
 hand intemperance and sensuality were observable. 
 She immediately commenced in their midst the 
 worship of God. On the Sabbath the people were 
 drawn together to hear the story of the cross, and 
 during the week her house was thrown open for 
 morning and evening prayers. By her persever- 
 ance she soon collected a small school, and, in less 
 than a year, a church of natives, numbering more 
 than twenty persons, was formed and placed under 
 the care of the Rev. Mr. Stephens. Intemperance, 
 sensuality, and other vices gradually disappeared, 
 and tlie Christian virtues took their place. 
 
 The idea of a weak, friendless, and lone woman 
 trusting herself among a drunken and sensual 
 people, and there, with no husband, father, or 
 brother, establishing public worship, opening her 
 house for prayer and praise, and gathering schools 
 in the midst of wild and unlettered natives, is one 
 full of moral grandeur. Intelligent, active, and 
 laborious. Miss Macomber was not content with 
 teaching all who came to her ; she went out to the 
 surrounding tribes, attended only by one or two. 
 converts, and, fording rivers, crossing ravines, 
 climbing high hills and mountains, she everywhere 
 carried the doctrines of salvation. Even the 
 heathen heart was touched by this spectacle, and 
 this estimable woman was respected and loved by 
 those who hated the Gospel she taught. 
 
 Miss Macomber died April 16th, 1840, of the 
 jungle fever, at Maulmain, where she had been 
 carried for the purpose of obtaining medical aid. 
 
 881 
 
SUPPLEMENTARY NAMES. 
 
 Her death wag deeply lamented by the natives ; 
 even those who did not love the Saviour mourned 
 the loss of His servant, whose kindness and hos- 
 pitality they had experienced, and followed her to 
 the grave with wails of sorrow. 
 
 M'CREA, JANE, 
 
 Daughtee, of James M'Crea, an Episcopal cler- 
 gyman of New Jersey, was residing in 1777, with 
 her brother, near Fort Edward, on the western 
 bank of the Hudson. She was betrothed to a 
 young royalist named David Jones, a captain in 
 Burgoyne's army. He sent a number of Indians 
 with a letter to her, urging her to place herself 
 under their escort and to come to him. Fearful 
 of some mischance, Captain Jones despatched 
 another party of Indians on the same errand. 
 These two bands meeting, began to dispute about 
 the reward that was to be divided between them ; 
 violent words followed, and, in the midst of the 
 quarrel, one of the chiefs shot Miss M'Crea. She 
 fell immediately, and the Indian scalped her; and 
 then, fearful of pursuit, they all fled. Her bro- 
 ther, hearing of his sister's fate, came and buried 
 the body. Captain Jones did not long survive this 
 sad disaster. 
 
 MATILDA, 
 QuKEN of Henry I. of England, daughter of 
 Malcolm Canmore, king of Scotland. See her 
 biography in Second Era, page 131. 
 
 MARTIN, MRS. BELL, 
 Was daughter of Mr. Martin, a rich commoner 
 •of England. She inherited a very large landed 
 property, several estates of which were«in Ireland. 
 Miss Martin married her cousin, whose name 
 -was Bell ; he took her family name by act of Par- 
 liament. Mrs. Bell Martin was an authoress of 
 some repute. She wrote "Julia Howard," a 
 novel of considerable merit, and also several works 
 3n the French language. But she was more emi- 
 ment for her virtues than her genius. During the 
 itroublous times of the famine in Ireland, Mrs. 
 Bell Martin attempted, in the spirit of true hu- 
 
 manity, to prevent the poor people on her estates 
 from suffering the horrible privations endured by 
 the labourers in general. Her tenants amounted 
 to as many as twenty thousand, and her lands to 
 over two hundred thousand acres. She caused 
 important improvements to be made, in order to 
 give work and wages to the people, till her own 
 means became straitened. Then, obliged to re- 
 trench her expenditures, she left her own country 
 to travel in America and learn the manner of living 
 in a republic where all are in comfort. She was . 
 taken ill on the voyage, and died ten days after 
 reaching New York, near the close of 1850. 
 
 MAURY, MRS., 
 Or Liverpool, England, wrote two works on the 
 United States, " The English Woman in America," 
 and " The Statesmen of America." We have had 
 such frequent occasions to resent the want of can- 
 dour in British tourists ; we have so fretted and 
 winced at their merited and unmerited sneers, 
 that when we find one willing to love us and our 
 faulu, gratitude and patriotism arise to disarm 
 criticism. We are truly obliged to Mrs. Maury 
 for her enthusiasm ; and we say, not ungraciously 
 but deprecatingly, that too much praise is the 
 next thing to too much blame, as it spirits up our 
 ill-wishers to question our veritable deserts. Set- 
 ting aside this engouement for every thing Ameri- 
 can, Mrs. Maury is an agreeable, ingenious writer ; 
 some of her sketches of insignificant people are 
 painted with a vigour and animation that would 
 do credit to certain of the great literary reputa- 
 tions of th? day. Mrs. JIaury's enthusiasm for 
 every thing in the New World was no doubt to be 
 attributed, in part, to the circumstance that Mr. 
 Maury was an American by birth. His native 
 State was Virginia, and hither the family came in 
 1 848 ; Mrs. Maury anticipating much happiness 
 in this, her adopted country. But she was not to 
 realize her hopes here ; she died in a few months 
 after her settlement on their estate in Virginia. 
 
 MAYO, ABIGAIL, 
 Wife of Colonel John Mayo, of Richmond, Vir- 
 ginia, did much for the cause of female education 
 in that city and state. Gifted with a superior 
 mind and great moral excellence, she understood, 
 intuitively, as it were, the good influence that cul- 
 tivated intellect gives the sex. There were no 
 Female Seminaries then at the South ; those who 
 wished to give their daughters the advantages of 
 education were obliged to send them from home, 
 or keep a governess in their own family. Mrs. 
 Mayo resolved to remedy this ; she established a 
 school, placing at its head Mrs. Broome, niece of 
 Lord Nugent, and cousin of Lord Byron, an Eng- 
 lish lady, who, leaving Canada for the United 
 States, had been befriended by Mrs. Mayo. The 
 Seminary was successful. Two of Mrs. Mayo's 
 daughters, one now the wife of General Scott, the 
 other of Dr. R. H. Cabell, of Richmond, were 
 among the accomplished pupils educated in this 
 school. The good effect of the experiment has 
 never been lost. Richmond has since been famed 
 for its excellent Female Seminaries. 
 
 882 
 
SUPPLEMENTARY NAMES. 
 
 MIRBEL, LEZINSKA RUE DE, 
 Was born at Paris, daughter of a commissary 
 of the marine. She belonged to a family, every 
 branch of which was opulent, except her own. 
 Nature had endowed her, however, with a firm- 
 ness of character and a loftiness of spirit which 
 rendered poverty honourable, as, instead of de- 
 grading, it spurred her to those exertions which 
 have given her name a European celebrity. She 
 determined, at a very early age, to accomplish an 
 object which she set before herself ; that was, to 
 become independent by her own efforts, and to 
 supply the wants of her mother and her young 
 brother. After long and due consideration, she 
 determined upon applying herself to miniature 
 painting, which she felt was her particular voca- 
 tion. She was then eighteen, and remarkable for 
 beauty and intelligence. Having entered herself 
 as a student with Augustin, she regulated her 
 hours upon the strictest rules of industry and 
 method ; every moment had its employment ; a 
 tinie was allotted to the necessary practice of her 
 art ; a time to reading, and a time to needle-work. 
 Up at four o'clock in the morning, she was always 
 ready and never hurried ; the evening she devoted 
 to society, and the day to the most persevering 
 labours. Her youthful spirit knew no languor, 
 either moral or physical. Filling her place grace- 
 fully in the drawing-room, in the studio she was 
 the most severe and indefatigable of students. 
 Preparing by earnest and fatiguing application 
 her distant future success — 
 
 *' For sluggard's brows the laurel never grows 
 Renown is not the child of indolent repose." 
 
 The besetting sin of miniature painters is want of 
 skill in drawing ; Augustin could teach her the 
 way of mixing and laying on colours, and the little 
 mysteries of the trade ; but this was not art, it 
 was not drawing. A friend of her family, M. 
 Belloc, a very distinguished connoisseur, advised 
 her to withdraw from the school of Augustin, and 
 to give herself up exclusively and strenuously to 
 the study of drawing. She took this judicious 
 advice, and under his friendly direction applied 
 herself to copy the greatest masters of her special 
 branch of art. Her talent became rapidly deve- 
 loped, and she soon acquired a distinguished re- 
 putation. After her marriage with M. de Mirbel, 
 she continued her eiforts for improvement, which 
 were attended by fame, fortune, and success. 
 While the merit of her miniatures was acknow- 
 ledged all over Europe, her charming manners 
 and intelligent mind rendered her house the resort 
 of the most distinguished literary and artistic 
 personages of the day. She died in September, 
 1849, deeply regretted by all who could estimate 
 her genius and worth. 
 
 MOSEBY, MARY WEBSTER, 
 WirE of John G. Moseby, Esq., of Richmond, Vir- 
 ginia, was gifted with poetic genius of no ordinary 
 power. Her only published work was of undoubt- 
 ed merit, " Pocahontas, a Legend ; with Historical 
 and Traditional Notes ;" issued in 1840. She also 
 
 wrote for periodicals, and was highly esteemed for 
 her virtues and literary accomplishments. Deeply 
 versed in the holy Scriptures, and giving much 
 time to Biblical researches, she was always at 
 home on religious topics ; and fervent piety was 
 the loveliest attribute of her genius. Her father 
 was Mr. Robert Pleasants, and she was connected 
 by blood with the Randolph family. Mrs. Mose- 
 by died in Richmond city in 1844, aged fifty-two. 
 
 N. 
 NORDENFLYCHT, MADAME, 
 
 Was a Sweedish writer of popular songs, which, 
 in her day, gained her great celebrity. She also 
 wrote a volume of elegies and epistles, remarkablf 
 for their truth and tenderness. They spread her 
 reputation far beyond her own country ; Gesner, 
 Haller, and Holberg, have each celebrated hev 
 talents. She had retired from the world on the 
 loss of her husband, and in this retirement wrote 
 her sweet verses. This drew intellectual people 
 to her house, and very soon her drawing-room was 
 the focus of the first literary society formed in 
 Sweden ; and this habit of meeting was continued 
 weekly after the death of Madame Nordenflycht, 
 under the classical title of " Utile Dulci." 
 
 0. 
 
 ORLEANS, MARIE D' 
 Was the third daughter of Louis Philippe, the 
 king of the French. Her genius was the pride of 
 her family, and her early death was a sore afflic- 
 tion, for she possessed great loveliness of charac- 
 ter, and her piety and intelligence made her 
 truly beloved and respected. Early manifesting 
 artistic talent, and having made good proficiency 
 in drawing and painting, she essayed her powers 
 as a sculptor. Several of her productions in mar- 
 ble won the critical commendation of the best 
 judges, not over-willing to concede this laurel to 
 a woman, even though a king's daughter. She 
 finally determined to attempt a work which would 
 be associated with the most wonderful epoch of 
 French history, and one of the most noble heroines 
 the world has ever produced. This was the figure 
 of Joan of Arc, completed in 1836, which places 
 the artist at the head of the French sculptors. 
 It may very confidently be predicted that, in future 
 years, when the late political agitations and muta- 
 tions in the Orleans family will occupy an unre- 
 garded page of general history, when the Ulyssean 
 craft of the father and the "regal alliance" of 
 the sons will be of no interest to mankind, then 
 the immortal fruits of the genius of this unas- 
 suming young woman will cast a lustre over the 
 name of Orleans. 
 
 In the fourteenth and beginning of the fifteenth 
 centuries, amidst the disgusting barbarities, the 
 perfidious warfare, the licentiousness, that form 
 the annals of that most disgraceful period of 
 
 883 
 
SUPPLEMENTARY NAMES. 
 
 French history, what name is it that we turn to 
 with interest, what figure do we contemplate with 
 some congeniality ? Not the brute warriors, nor 
 manceuvring statesmen, but the poet, Charles d'- 
 Orleans, whose verses, from their national spirit, 
 paved the way to the deliverance and regeneration 
 afterwards effected by the maiden of Domremy. 
 
 P. 
 
 PICKERING, ELLEN, 
 
 An English novel-writer, of whom it may truly 
 he said that she has given more innocent amuse- 
 ment in the way of this literature, with less of 
 dangerous excitement, than any one author of her 
 class. She wrote rapidly, having in the course of 
 a few years sent forth a dozen or more of works ; 
 among which, "The Grumbler;" "The Fright;" 
 " Nan Darrell ;" and " The Quiet Husband," are 
 distinguished for the unflagging interest, for dif- 
 ferent causes, which they exercise over the imagi- 
 nation of young readers. 
 
 Miss Pickering, judging from her books, must 
 have had a mind which felt and cultivated the 
 feminine qualities of delicacy, honesty, purity; 
 her principles are excellent ; nothing coarse in 
 thought or language ever sullied her. page. Her 
 enthusiasm is always in favour of virtue and truth. 
 But she too often sacrifices probability to the wish 
 of showing the perfection of her heroine in the 
 most attractive light. For instance, the "Admi- 
 rable Crichton " could hardly have equalled the 
 facility with which her poor heroine, under the 
 most unpromising circumstances, becomes per- 
 fectly accomplished; arts and sciences which 
 usually require time, money, excellent instructors, 
 are attained by her in one brief visit, where a 
 well-educated friend imparts both practice and 
 theory ; or the crumbs, let fall by a half-educated 
 governess, work miracles for the neglected child. 
 The young lady, too, is at fifteen or sixteen equal 
 to the most complicated situations ; her judgment 
 is never at fault ; and as to human frailty, that 
 is an inadmissible supposition. 
 
 As a pendant, the uncle, grandfather, cousin, 
 or whoever may be the oppressor, is a wretch 
 quite devoid of the milk of human kindness. All 
 the mixed motives that sway this earth's denizens 
 have been without impression upon the adamant of 
 his heart, until the right moment comes for him 
 to show the sunny side of his nature ; the habits 
 of thirty or forty years are then laid aside as easily 
 as gloves when we retur'n from a walk. These are 
 blemishes in the character of Mi.ss Pickering's 
 novels, and may have an injurious influence on those 
 who expect to realize scenes similar in actual life. 
 But the author is always sedulous to point a wise 
 moral, though not always judicious in the means. 
 
 Miss Pickering's last work was " The Grandfa- 
 ther," which she did not live to finish. She died 
 near London, In 1843. The novel was completed 
 by her friend, Elizabeth Youatt, and published in 
 
 1844. All her works have been republished in 
 the United States, and widely circulated, in the 
 cheap form principally. 
 
 Of 
 303. 
 
 PRINCESS ELIZABETH, 
 France, sister of Louis XVI. See page 
 
 QUEENSBURY, CATHERINE HYDE, 
 DUCHESS OF, 
 Was the daughter of Henry, Earl of Clarendon 
 and Rochester, and wife of Charles Douglas, third 
 duke of Queensbury. She was a celebrated beauty, 
 and received tributes from Pope and from Prior. 
 Forty years after the well-known poem of Prior, 
 Walpole left on her toilet the following doggerel 
 lines : — 
 
 " To many a Kitty, Love his car, 
 Would for a day engage, 
 But Prior's Kitty, ever fair, 
 Ketains it for an age." 
 
 A forgotten poet, Whitehead, has celebrated her 
 octogenary charms. Since the Grecian Helen, no 
 lady seems so nearly to have filled a century of 
 praise. What is rare in a woman so admired, she 
 was modest, unaffected, devoted to her family 
 and friends. She and the duke were fond of lite- 
 rary society, and maintained an intimacy with 
 Swift, Pope, and especially Gay. To the last, the 
 duchess was unspeakably kind ; she not only gave 
 him the shelter of her roof, but paid attention to 
 the minute, every-dny comforts, which the un- 
 
 I practical poet could never manage for himself. 
 
 ; At the prohibition of his opera, "Polly," their 
 graces were so warm in their resentment, that 
 they were forbidden to appear at court. The 
 duchess corresponded with many persons of note ; 
 her letters are to be met with dispersed among 
 the collections that are brought forward for the 
 gratification of modern curiosity. They exhibit 
 considerable sprightliness and good sense. The 
 style is unstudied, but not defective. The follow- 
 ing extract may be made, as it is pleasing to see 
 the tenderness of heart it shows. Gay had been 
 dead two years at the time it was written. 
 
 884 
 
SUPPLEMENTARY NAMES. 
 
 " For four or five years last past, we 
 
 had set our hearts on a certain hill, that I am sure 
 you have heard me mention ; and now, not only of 
 that, but of the whole estate we are in possession, 
 and as yet I have not felt delighted, only mighty 
 well satisfied. Is not this astonishing? I often 
 want poor Mr. Gay, and on this occasion extremely. 
 Nothing evaporates sooner than joy untold, or 
 even told, unless to one so entirely in your interest 
 as he was, who bore at least an equal share in 
 every satisfaction or dissatisfaction that attended 
 us. I am not in the spleen that I write thus ; on 
 the contrary, it is a sort of pleasure to think over 
 his good qualities. His loss was really great, but 
 it is a satisfaction to have once known so good a 
 man. As you were as much his friend as I, it is 
 needless to ask your pardon for dwelling so long 
 on this subject." 
 
 Besides her fondness for literature, the duchess 
 had a taste for painting, in which art she was 
 something of a proficient. She died in 1777, sur- 
 viving her husband one year. 
 
 ROBERTS, EMMA, 
 Was born about the year 1794, and descended 
 from a Welsh family of great respectability. After 
 her father's decease, Emma Roberts, who was the 
 younger of two sisters, resided with her mother, 
 a lady of some literary pretensions, in the city of 
 Bath, where she early devoted herself to the ac- 
 quisition of knowledge. While prosecuting her 
 researches for her first literary performance, she 
 evinced so much diligence and perseverance, that 
 the officers of the British Museum, where she was 
 accustomed to study, were induced to render her 
 every assistance in their power. This work was 
 published in two volumes, in 1827, under the title 
 of " Memoirs of the Rival Houses of York and 
 Lancaster; or the White and Red Roses," and, 
 although it is written in a perspicuous and pleasing 
 manner, yet it did not meet with that success to 
 which it was entitled by its merits. 
 
 On the death of her mother, and the marriage 
 of her sister to Captain R. A. M'Naughten, of the 
 Bengal army. Miss Roberts was induced to accom- 
 pany her brother-in-law and sister to India, in 
 1828, where she spent the two following years 
 between the stations of Agra, Cawnpore, and Eta- 
 wa, in the upper provinces of the Bengal Presi- 
 dency. A spirited account of these places subse- 
 quently appeared from her pen in " The Asiatic 
 Journal," the first description being published in 
 December, 1832. A selection of these papers wa9 
 made in 1835, under the title of "Scenes and 
 Characteristics of Hindoostan," and, unlike most 
 works upon India, it met with a favourable recep- 
 tion from the English public. During her resi- 
 dence at Cawnpore, Miss Roberts published a little 
 volume of poetry, entitled "Oriental Scenes," 
 which she dedicated to her friend. Miss Landou. 
 It was republished in England, in 1832, and con- 
 tains some very pleasing specimens of glowing 
 description and graceful imagery. 
 
 The death of her sister, which took place in 
 1831, caused Miss Roberts to return to Calcutta. 
 Here her pen was in constant activity, and, besides 
 
 various contributions to periodicals, she undertook 
 the task of editing a newspaper — "The Oriental 
 Observer." After residing for a year in Calcutta, 
 the loss of her health forced her to return home, 
 and she reached London in 1833. Here she con- 
 tinued her literary efforts, and the amount of labour 
 performed by her would appear astonishing to any 
 one who did not know her industry and readiness 
 in composition. History, biography, poetry, tales, 
 local descriptions, foreign correspondence, and 
 didactic essays, by turns employed her versatile 
 powers. She also edited " The Sixty-fourth Edition 
 of Mrs. Rundle's New System of Cookery, &c.," 
 to which she added several receipts of her own. 
 A pleasing biographical sketch of Mrs. Maclean, 
 or L. E. L., was also written by the same lady, 
 which was published with " The Zenena, and other 
 Poems," in 1840. In the fall of 1839, Miss Ro- 
 berts formed the bold design of travelling to India 
 through Egypt, accompanied only by a female 
 friend. Previous to her departure she entered 
 into an agreement with the Asiatic Journal to 
 transmit, on her journey, a series of papers for 
 publication descriptive of her route. The last of 
 these communications appeared in the same num- 
 ber which announced her death ; and since then 
 they have been collected and published under the 
 title of " Notes of an Overland Journey through 
 France and Egypt, to Bombay, by the late Miss 
 Emma Roberts." 
 
 On the evening of the 29th of October, Miss 
 Roberts and her friend landed in the harbour of 
 Bombay, having been less than two months in per- 
 forming their hurried journey from London. Her 
 aid was almost immediately requested by the con- 
 ductors of periodical works at Bombay, and she 
 likewise undertook the editorship of a new weekly 
 paper — " The Bombay United Service Gazette." 
 She also engaged in schemes for improving the 
 condition of the native women, by devising em- 
 ployment for them suited to their taste and capa- 
 city, and in her "Notes" appear some sensible 
 remarks on native education. 
 
 These multifarious engagements in a tropical 
 climate soon proved too much for Miss Roberts' 
 constitution, already weakened by excessive exer- 
 tion. She died suddenly, on the 16th of Septem- 
 ber, 1840, while on a visit to a friend at Poonah, 
 and was buried near Mrs. Fletcher ; better known 
 to the English world by her maiden name of Jews- 
 bury. The death of Miss Roberts excited universal 
 sorrow, among both natives and Europeans, in 
 India, and many flattering tributes were paid to 
 her memory in the public journals. 
 
 REEVE, CLARA, 
 
 Was born in 1745, at Ipswich, England, daugh- 
 ter of a clergyman. An early admiration of 
 Horace Walpole's " Castle of Otranto " induced 
 Miss Reeve to imitate it in a Gothic story entitled 
 " The Old English Baron." Mr. Chambers, in his 
 Cyclopaedia, says of this work, — 
 
 " In some respects the lady has the advantage 
 of Walpole : her supernatural machinery is better 
 managed, so as to produce mysteriousness and 
 eflfect, but her style has not the point or elegance 
 
 885 
 
SUPPLEMENTARY NAMES. 
 
 of that of hov prototype. Miss Reeve wrote several 
 other novels, ' all marked,' says Sir \\'aUor Soott, 
 ' by excellent good sense, pure morality, and 
 ft oompoteut command of those qualities which 
 constitute a good romance.' They have i'ailcd, 
 liowever, to keep possession of public favour, and 
 the fame of the author rests on her ' Old English 
 Baron,' which is now generally printed along 
 with the story of Walpole." 
 
 "The Old English Baron" was published in 
 1777, and Miss Reeve died in 1803. 
 
 s. 
 
 SAUSSURE, MADAME NECKER DE, 
 
 Was the daughter of M. do Saussuro, and born 
 in the city of Geneva about the year 1708. Her 
 father, a man of profound learning, was very 
 ciircful to cultivate the mind of his daughter, and 
 yet very fearful she would display lier learning 
 pedantically. 
 
 At the age of nineteen she married M. Nccker, 
 nephew of the celebrated minister of finance, and, 
 as was then considered, very brilliant prospects 
 opened before the young couple. The Revolution 
 destroyed these hopes, but it brought the uncle 
 and nephew and their families together, ond Ma- 
 dame de Saussuro became intimate with Madame 
 do Staiil. " From that time my thoughts were 
 more particularly directed towards moral science 
 nnd literature," says Madame do Saussuro, in a 
 letter to an American friend.* 
 
 The troubles of Geneva obliging M. Saussuro 
 unil his family to pass some years in Switzerland, 
 where the education of their children became the 
 chief occupation of both parents, it was not till 
 after the decease of her husband that Madame 
 de Saussurc began to publish her writings : she 
 thus describes her feelings and opinions on her 
 own authorship : 
 
 " It was not until my youth had passed that I 
 appeared before the public under my own name, 
 and I congratulate myself that it was so. The 
 works that I should have written in early life 
 would not have satisfied me now. The attempt 
 to write would probably have been bonolicial to 
 me ; but there are so many causes of excitement 
 in early life, personal affections and the desire to 
 win the love and esteem of others occupy the mind 
 so fully, that the young rarely press steadily on- 
 ward to the most elevated mark. My education 
 had been of an exciting nature, and the ciroum- 
 etances of my life were calculated to foster a 
 spirit of romance. It is very probable, therefore, 
 that my early writings would have been imbued 
 Willi more fancy than good sense. In this last of 
 all my works that I now send you, I have believed 
 it my duty to paint the destiny of woman, dark as 
 the pictures may be, in true colours ; but possibly 
 the recollections and habits of youth have acquired 
 too much power over me. You will judge. But 
 I hope that, at least, ago, deafness, sorrows, and 
 the active duties of religion, have rendered my 
 
 * 1H1»« Elninii Willurd, of Troy, 
 
 motives simiUo and pure, and hove formed, in some 
 respects, such a character as I have pourti-ayod 
 for the example of others." 
 
 " The last of all her works" to which she al- 
 ludes, was " Progressive Education ;" her best and 
 most important production. It was translated 
 into English and published in Boston. It desorvoa 
 to have a place in every mother's library. 
 
 Madame de Saussuro also wrote a " Biography 
 of Aladamo de Staiil," and translated from the 
 Gorman Sohlegel's " Course of Drauiatio Litoro- 
 turo ;" but her most earnest efforts were directed 
 to the cause of education. She does not ovineo 
 brilliancy of genius, yet few, if any, of the French 
 female writers have displayed such good sense and 
 Christian principles iu their productions. She 
 died in 1847. 
 
 SOOTT, JULIA ir., 
 
 Wa.i born in 180!), in the northern part of Penn- 
 sylvania. Her maiden name was Kinney. She 
 begun to write versos when she was very young, 
 and her first pieces were published when she was 
 little more than sixteen. For several years Miss 
 Kinney continued to write with much ability for 
 several of the dillerent periodicals. In 1HIJ5 she 
 was married to Dr. David L. Soott, of Towando, 
 where she died in 18l'2. Her poems, together 
 with a biography of the writer by Miss S. 0. 
 Edgarton, were published in 18'li!. Ilcr songs 
 are those of "the household;" full of gentle and 
 feminine feeling and tender pathos. 
 
 SHUCK, HENRIETTA, 
 
 Was born in Kilmarnock, Virginia, on the 28th 
 of October, 1817. She was the daughter of the 
 Rev. Addison Hall, a Baptist clergyman of that 
 place, and there her early years were spent. In 
 1H;M, Miss Hall was summoned from Fredericks- 
 burg, where she was at school, by her father to 
 attend a oamp-meeting which wos held near her 
 birth-plaoo. She was converted on that occasion, 
 and was baptized on the Ud day of September, 1881, 
 when she was hardly fourteen ; but her extreme 
 youth did not prevent her from keeping faithfully 
 the vows she so early took upon herself. On the 
 8th of September, 1886, Miss Hall was married 
 to the Rev. J. Lewis Shuck, a missionary about to 
 bo sent by the Baptist church to China, for which 
 country they embarked on the 22d of September. 
 They reached Singapore in May, 1886, where 
 their oldest son was born, and in the following 
 September they arrived at Miicno, whore they 
 remained till March, 1842, when they removed 
 to Ilong-kong. While at i\Iuoni), Mr. and Mrs. 
 Shuck were allowed to prosooule tho study of the 
 Ohiiiese language, tho instruction of youth, and 
 teaching the people. On their arrival nt Hong- 
 kong they renewed their labours on an enlarged 
 scale, and wilhuut restraint. Mrs. Shuck inte- 
 rested herself principally in tho schools. She 
 possessed considerable knowledge of tho written 
 language, and still greater familiarity with the 
 colloquial of tho Chinese, and devoted joyfully 
 and suooossfully hor time and talents to tho mis- 
 sion. During tho last year of her life, a now 
 
 880 
 
SUPPLEMENTARY NAMES. 
 
 sohool-houso had beon erected, and a soliool 
 gathered under her care of twenty Chinese boys 
 and six girls, besides lier own four children. Her 
 prospects of usefulness had never beon greater 
 than during this year. But in the midst of her 
 highest hope, while childi-eu wove seeking instruc- 
 tion and the heathen were enquiring the way to 
 Christ, her life was suddenly out short. She died 
 on tlie 27th of November, 1847, soon after the 
 birth of her fifth child. 
 
 Under a secret conviction that her end was near, 
 she had " set her house in order," and was pro- 
 pared for the event, while, at the same time, she 
 prosecuted her daily duties with her usual cheer- 
 fulness, and laid out plans for labour which would 
 have required a long life to perform. During 
 Mrs. Shuck's eight years' residence in China she 
 did much to help her husband in his work, besides 
 giving direct instruction. Her aid and ready 
 sympatliy were always ofifered to the stranger or 
 the afflicted, and she was constantly employed in 
 acts of kindness and charity. 
 
 SIMITH, MARGARET HARRISON, 
 
 Long known as one of the earliest and most 
 honoured of those educated women who went to 
 ■Washington when it was made the seat of the 
 American government, and gave, by their good- 
 ness, intelligence, and true refinement of feeling, 
 tliat tone of Christian courtesy to the manners 
 which is befitting the Metropolitan society of a 
 Free Republic. 
 
 Mrs. Harrison Smith was a native of Pennsyl- 
 vania, and born in 1778. Her father was Colonel 
 John Bayard, who was in the public service during 
 tlie revolutionary war, commanding a regiment 
 of cavalry from Philadelphia. He was likewise 
 Speaker of the Pennsylvania Legislature under 
 the first Constitution of that State, when her Le- 
 gislature consisted of but one body. It may be 
 interesting to remai'k that as Speaker he signed 
 the first legislative act ever passed in the United 
 States for the abolition of slavery. 
 
 The associations of Colonel Bayard were chiefly 
 with the leading whigs of that pei-iod, and his 
 daughter thus early imbibed the ardent sentiments 
 of American liberty which she retained during 
 life. At the age of thirteen years we find her in 
 New Brunswick in the family of Mr. Kirkpatrick, 
 (afterwards Chief Justice of tlie State of New 
 Jersey, who had married her elder sister.) In a 
 short journal of that time, we learn that even at 
 that age she had commenced writing poetry, her 
 imagination having been warmed and excited by 
 the beautiful scenery surrounding the Institution 
 at Bethlehem, where she received her education, 
 ns also by the peculiar habits and duties of that 
 Moravian Seminary. From the time of leaving 
 school until the year 1800, she lived at intervals 
 in Philadelphia, New Brunswick, and New York, 
 in each place surrounded by a literary circle of 
 acquaintances, devoting most of her time to read- 
 ing and study. Aware then of the fervour of her 
 imagination, she endeavoured to cool it by tlie 
 perusal of works of a serious and useful kind; 
 and thus while she cultivated that faculty, she 
 
 strove to strengthen her mind, and make herself 
 fit for the practical duties and virtues of life. She 
 appears even then to have acquired a knowledge 
 of her own character, and to have pursued her 
 various studies actuated by a principle of duty ; 
 having entered thus eai'ly on the right path, we 
 may say that this principle governed her conduct 
 throughout life, and enabled her at all times to 
 sacrifice self. 
 
 In the fall of 1800, she was married to Samuel 
 Harrison Smith. This event, at all times a most 
 important one to woman, was peculiarly so to her, 
 for it was to separate her from her family and 
 friends, and introduce her upon an entirely new 
 stage of existence in the new Metropolis of the 
 nation. Mr. Smith, upon the invitation of his 
 friend Mr. Jefferson, then the Vice-President of 
 the United States, and just about to become the 
 President, had determined to establish the Na- 
 tional Intelligencer at Washington, and imme- 
 diately after his marriage he accordingly removed 
 to that city. At this period Washington was lite- 
 rally a forest and swamp, with few or rather no 
 conveniences or comforts ; its houses mostly new 
 and unfinished ; Pennsylvania Avenue, now its 
 crowded thoroughfare, a road dangerous for car- 
 riages to traverse. Mrs. Harrison Smith's letters 
 tell of many a romantic wandering among its 
 woods, and gathering of wild-wood flowers. From 
 that day until her death in 1844, she resided in 
 Washington or its immediate vicinity, mingling in 
 all its varied society, and becoming personally ac- 
 quainted with all the distinguished politicians of 
 the country and foreign scientific visitors assem- 
 bled there. Her taste for literature continued 
 unabated, and indeed grew in strength, and she 
 was at times led to compose and publish several 
 tales and sketches. 
 
 Her first work she was induced to publish from 
 motives of benevolence, devoting its proceeds (hav- 
 ing no other means) to the assistance of a charita- 
 ble institution in which she was deeply interested, 
 and in the founding of which she had taken an 
 active part. Indeed none of her writings-was with 
 a view to personal emolument, but to amuse and 
 occupy the period which she spent in the retire- 
 ment of the country, and in the hope that the 
 moral inculcated by them might be of service to 
 others, leading them to reflection and the purest 
 virtue. Her first work, " A Winter in Washington, 
 or the Seymour Family," in two volumes, was pub- 
 lished in 1827. Her next, "What is Gentility?" 
 appeared in 1830 ; and then she began contri- 
 buting to the Journals. She wi-ote many classical 
 tales (for she was versed in ancient as well as mo- 
 dern literature) and biographical sketches, in a 
 spirited, agreeable vein, that was her natural 
 style. Among tliese are " Presidential Inaugura- 
 tions;" "The Cornelias:" "Roman Sketches;" 
 "Aria;" " Deserted Child ;" " William H. Craw- 
 ford ;" " Constantine ;" and many others, publish- 
 ed in the Lady's Book and Southern Literary 
 Messenger. But her literary merit was of little 
 consequence compared with her moral goodness, 
 that beneficence of soul which always seemed 
 ready to flow out on every side where her influ- 
 
 887 
 
SUPPLEMENTARY NAMES. 
 
 ence by word or deed could reach. In every por- 
 tion of her life, Religion and its history was to her 
 a subject of active interest and study ; and this 
 study had brought to her mind the perfect convic- 
 tion of the truth of the Bible ; and the ever and 
 immediate presence of the great God, Creator, Pro- 
 tector, and Saviour, was to her a reality. In the 
 days of her peace and calmness she could repose 
 her head on His bosom ; in the hours of distress 
 and anguish humbly and meekly she threw herself 
 at His feet, in the full confidence that whatever 
 He ordered was right. Her whole life was a beau- 
 tiful illustration of the power of the Christian 
 religion to exalt the female character and give 
 hope and happiness to the lot of woman. 
 
 THURSTON, LAURA M., 
 Bt birth Miss Hawley, was born in Norfolk, 
 Connecticut, in 1812. Her early youth was passed 
 in teaching. In 1839, she was married to Mr. 
 Thurston, of New Albany, Indiana, at which place 
 she had been engaged in her professional pursuits, 
 and where she died in 1842. She wrote under the 
 signature of " Viola," and her poems first appear- 
 ed generally in the western papers. Ease, har- 
 mony, and sensibility, are the principal charac- 
 teristic of her productions. 
 
 VAN LENNEP, MARY ELIZABETH, 
 Dacghteb of the Rev. Dr. Hawes, pastor of the 
 Baptist church in Hartford, Connecticut, was born 
 in that city, April 16th, 1821. The childhood and 
 youth of Miss Hawes were spent principally in 
 Hartford and New Haven, where her advantages 
 were great. Her parents were qualified, mentally 
 and morally, to give her suitable instruction, and 
 favoured by God with pecuniary ability. In early 
 youth she was distinguished for her love of truth, 
 her gentleness, and her sympathizing disposition. 
 While in her tenth year, Mary Hawes lost a 
 younger brother, and soon after his death she be- 
 came, in heart and life, a Christian. Her father 
 waited long, and observed the young disciple 
 narrowly, before he would permit her to make a 
 public profession of her faith ; but, satisfied by 
 ier consistent deportment, he at last welcomed 
 ,her among his flock, and she never gave him cause 
 to regret the step he had sanctioned. She became 
 a zealous and active member of the church, and 
 devoted herself especially to the Sunday School 
 and the missionary cause. 
 
 On the 4th of September, 1843, Miss Hawes 
 was married to the Rev. Henry J. Van Lennep, a 
 
 missionary to Turkey, under the patronage of tha 
 American Board of Commissioners for Foreign 
 Missions. They sailed from Boston on the 11th of 
 October of the same year, and arrived at Smyrna 
 in December. In May, 1844, the mission family 
 removed to Constantinople, where Mrs. Van Len- 
 nep commenced a school, numbering at first only 
 five scholars, to which she devoted herself with 
 her usual zeal and fidelity. Her career, which 
 had promised to be one of much usefulness, was 
 not permitted to be long. She was attacked by a 
 painful disease early in August, of which she died 
 on the 27th of September, 1844. Her body lies 
 buried in the Protestant grave-yard near Constan- 
 tinople. 
 
 VIRMBIRO, COUNTESS, 
 A NOBLE Portuguese lady, obtained, in 1771, a 
 prize proposed by the Academy at Lisbon for the 
 best tragedy ; and the laurel-crown was awarded 
 to her. The title of her tragedy was " Osmia." 
 On opening the sealed envelope accompanying the 
 manuscript, there was found only a direction, in 
 case " Osmia" should prove successful, to devote 
 the proceeds to the cultivation of olives, a fruit 
 from which the Portuguese might derive much 
 advantage. It was not till ten years afterwards 
 that the name of the modest writer was known. 
 She died in 1773. 
 
 LONGEVITY. 
 
 That women live longer than men is conceded 
 by all writers on the subject. This circumstance 
 goes far to prove the more perfect organization of 
 the female ; because, in addition to her superior 
 delicacy and complexity of structure, she has to 
 develop and sustain the life of her ofiFspring, which 
 would exhaust her own, were she not endowed with 
 a degree of vitality above that of the male. In 
 machinery, made by human ingenuity, is not that 
 which unites delicacy and complexity of workman- 
 ship with the greatest variety and durability of 
 action accounted the most perfect? In 1830, it 
 was found that, in the city of New York alone, 
 out of 8009 persons upwards of seventy years of 
 age, 4175 were women, to 3824 men ! 
 
 MARY BENTON, 
 
 Is the oldest living female of whom we have re- 
 ceived notice. She is an English-woman, residing 
 at Gateshead — born February 12th, 1781, and is 
 120 years old. Her faculties are still useful. 
 
 BAILLIE, JOANNA, 
 Died at her residence, in Hampstead, near Lon- 
 don, February 23, 1851, aged eighty-seven. See 
 Sketch, page 574. 
 
AMERICAN MISSIONAHY WOMEN. 
 
 The office of motlier is the highest a human being can hold. On its faithful and intel- 
 ligent performance hangs the hope of the world. Next to the sacred office of the mother in her 
 family, who takes the children God has given her and trains them for His service on earth and 
 His kingdom in heaven, comes that of the mother in Israel, the faithful female Missionary, who 
 gathers under her loving care the lost lambs of Christ's flock. 
 
 The Saviour and Apostles bear such ample witness to the worth of woman's services in the 
 true church, it would seem a marvel that men who profess to be Christians should ever have dis- 
 regarded those examples and degraded her from the rank of visible helper, which Christ gave 
 her, if we did not recur to the " beginning" and there find the solution. 
 
 " I will put enmity between thee and the woman," said the Lord God to the serpent or spirit 
 of evil. Every wicked man — and the hypocrites are not few — in the church, and the " old 
 leaven" of sin remaining in good men, are at "enmity" with the superior moral truth and purity 
 of the female sex. Hence the devices of Satan, through his human agents, to keep from woman 
 all means of knowledge, all opportunities of active influence in the Saviour's cause. Hence 
 licentiousness, the degradation of woman to the sensual passions of men, reigns over the whole 
 heathen world. Would that it reigned only there ! but in three-fourths of those nations which 
 profess Christianity, women are kept in almost total ignorance of their own powers, and, of 
 course, have not the knowledge of their own duties. None but the Protestant Church has God's 
 Word for its law. All other churches are ruled by the civil or spiritual authority of men. 
 Everywhere these men, kings or priests, are at "enmity" with the development of female intel- 
 lect, which would, with its heaven-kindled light, soon unveil the monstrous falsehoods, corrup- 
 tions, and impurities, which now are hidden under the mask of religious forms, ceremonies, and 
 traditions. 
 
 The Protestant Church is slowly but surely moving onward in its Gospel duty of evangelizing 
 the world ; but these movements are almost entirely confined to Great Britain and the United 
 States. The American Protestant Churches entering on missionary labours among heathens and 
 infidels, adopted from the first the apostolic manner of disseminating divine truths and teaching 
 human duties. They employed women as well as men. With the ordained missionary preacher 
 went his wife as the "help" Heaven had appointed him, and the success has been most encou- 
 raging. 
 
 It was my wish to give the world a Record of the deeds of these noble women. A number 
 of them are noticed in the body of this work, but far the greater portion have, as yet, no history 
 but with their own families and in the hearts of those they have served. Still, it vrill be an 
 encouragement to such of the sex as wish to work in God's cause, to read even the names of 
 their sisters who have felt the same desires and hopes, and gone forward, doing what they could. 
 
 American Foreign Missionaries of both sexes have, in one respect, peculiar claims on the 
 sympathy of the Christian world. They leave their own country, the protecting power of ^heir 
 own government, and, resting only on the Saviour's promise — "Lo, I am with you alway" — 
 they carry His Gospel into the darkest places of the kingdom of evil, and plant their homes in 
 the land of Buddha, of Brahm, of Fo, of Mahomet, without shrinking from the conflict with all 
 that is most vile, loathsome, and miserable, in the prosecution of their voluntarily assumed 
 duties. In such places has dwelt many a pious daughter of America, and the success of Foreigu 
 Missions is greatly owing to their intelligence and zeal. 
 
AMERICAN MISSIONARY WOMEN. 
 
 It will be seen by the list of names that I have obtained records of the Female Missionaries 
 sent out by four of the great denominations of American Christians. From the Methodist Epis- 
 copal Church the names were not furnished, I regret to say, as that large branch of the true 
 Church owes much of its prosperity to its pious women. In the last Annual Report — thirty- 
 second, 1850 — of the Methodist Missionary Society, there are the names of life-subscribers and 
 of those who have given bequests. Of the latter the largest was made by a woman — ^Mrs. Frey, 
 widow of the Rev. Christopher Frey, gave $2516.71, and more than one-third of the eleven 
 thousand life-subscribers are women. 
 
 Great Britain has the oldest Protestant Missionary Societies, and sends many female helpers ; 
 but their names were not accessible to me. I hope some one among their own people will give 
 the Record of such heroines who do honour to the British nation. The Sketch of Mrs. Wilson 
 (see page 555) is one of the holiest records of British Christianity in India. Has any man done 
 there a greater work for the cause of Christ than did that self-educated woman ? The pious 
 daughters of England only want suitable education and encouragement, and they would go forth 
 by hundreds and gather the poor little heathen children into schools, and carry messages of the 
 Saviour's love to the miserable heathen mothers. Teaching the ignorant and ministering to the 
 sick of their own sex must be the work of educated Christian women. 
 
 As yet, how meagre are the means for the training of Female Missionaries ! Though female 
 teachers have much the largest share in the gratuitous labour of Sunday-schools in our country, 
 and write two-thirds of the books for children and youth, yet there is not one liberally-endowed 
 seminary for young women in the United States ; while for young men there are one hundred 
 and twenty-five colleges. A change in this system is now imperatively needed. Three-fifths 
 of the human race are still in heathen darkness. One-half of these are females, who can never 
 be reached by the ministrations of men. Ought not the missionary's wife who is sent among 
 heathen people to be able to instruct her own sex wherever she goes ? Does she not need as 
 careful and complete an education as her husband — that is, to be instructed in the languages, 
 moral and mental philosophy, physiology, and every sort of knowledge pertaining to the human 
 nature, which, at its very source, is put by God himself under her forming care ? 
 
 One important department of a mother's duty is to preserve the health of her family, and so 
 train her son that he shall go forth to his allotted task of " subduing the world" with a sound 
 mind in a sound body. 
 
 How can she do this, unless she understands the laws of health ? Medical science belongs 
 to woman's department of knowledge ; and never will it be well with the world till she is per- 
 mitted, ay, encouraged, to study it, and become the physician for her own sex. 
 
 To pious, intelligent women, thus prepared, what a mission-field for doing good would be 
 opened ! In India, China, Turkey, and all over the heathen world, they would, in their character 
 of physicians, find access to the homes and the harems where women dwell, and where the good 
 seed sown would bear an hundred-fold, because it would take root in the bosom of the sufferer, 
 and in the heart of childhood. 
 
 That the practice of midwifery by men should ever have become tolerated among Christian 
 nations, is one of those monstrous anomalies in right reason as well as custom, which, if we 
 did not Icnoio existed, we could never believe. In this respect, heathen women are superior to 
 those of Christian America. It is devoutly to be hoped such an humiliating reproach may soon 
 be removed. Man-midwifery is unscriptural and unnatural ; and good men will unite in the 
 efibrts now making to give this branch of medical practice to the care of educated women, who 
 may make their profession of great service in the cause of missions abroad as well as of Chris- 
 tian morals at home. Two public seminaries for the education of these physicians are already 
 incorporated — one at Boston, under the care of "The Female Medical Education Society," 
 which has had about sixty students ; the other is " The Female Medical College of Pennsyl- 
 vania," located at Philadelphia, which has received about forty students. Thus, over one 
 hundred American females are now pursuing medical studies with the view of becoming phy- 
 sicialis for their own sex and for children. God grant them success ! 
 
 Christ commissioned women to teach the Apostles of His resurrection from the dead ; ApoUos 
 was instructed by a woman ; deaconesses were appointed in the churches ; Timothy owed his 
 faith to his female teachers, and the "Elect Lady" was addressed by the holiest among the 
 Apostles, as worthy of great honour for her Christian character. Such were the women of the 
 Xow Testament ! 
 
 890 
 
FEMALE MISSIONAEIES 
 
 OF THE 
 
 AMERICAN BOARD OF FOREIGN MISSIONS. 
 
 JS^ Those marked ■with an (*) are deceased. 
 
 KaMKS. 
 
 MudcB JTrnmc 
 
 HQ»baD<ra Name. 
 
 Field oT Laljoar. 
 
 Abbott, A.. Mrs. 
 
 Abraham. Sarah Ii.. Mrs. .... 
 
 Adams, Sarah C. Mrs 
 
 Adam^s, Fidelia, MiS5 
 
 Adams. Mr? 
 
 Adger, Elizabeth R., Mrs. ... 
 
 Agnew, Eliza, Miss 
 
 Aiton. Mrs. 
 
 *.AUen. Myra, Mrs 
 
 Allen. Orpah, Mrs. 
 
 Allen, Nancy, Mi*, 
 
 Alexander, Mary Ann, Mrs. 
 
 AlUs, Emeline, Mrs. 
 
 Andrews, Mrs. 
 
 Andrews. P., Mrs. 
 
 *Apthorp. Mary. Mrs 
 
 *Aims. Mary. Mrs. i 
 
 Aims, Harriet, Miss 
 
 ArmstroHg. Clarissa, Mrs. ... 
 
 Austin. Lydia, Mrs. 
 
 Austen, Lydia. Mrs. 
 
 Avery. Mary, Miss , 
 
 Ayen, Elizabeth, Mrs, 
 
 "Wilson 
 
 I Biddle .... 
 Tan Line . 
 
 .1 Amos Abbott 
 
 „ I Rev. Andrew Abraham.. 
 .. *Newtou Adams, M.D... 
 
 I Rev. Moses A. Adams . 
 Rev. John B. Adger ... 
 
 Wood 
 
 Graves 
 
 Eames 
 
 i M'Kinney 
 I Palmer 
 
 ' Rev. John F. Aiton .. 
 i Rev. David 0. Allen . 
 
 1 England 
 
 ' New York 
 
 j Termont 
 
 South Carolina . 
 New York 
 
 Mahrartas .... 
 
 Sciuth Africa 
 
 South Africa 
 ( N. Y. Indians 
 i Sions 
 
 Turkt^v 
 
 *Bushnell. Lydia Ann, Mrs. .. 
 
 Bailev, Caroline, Mrs. 
 
 Baldwin, Charlotte. Mrs. 
 
 Baldwin. Harriet. Mrs, 
 
 Ball, Lucv K:„ Mrs. , 
 
 BallantlQe. Elizabeth, Mrs..... 
 
 Baidwell, Rachel, Mrs. 
 
 Baidwell. Larinia, Mrs, 
 
 Barnes, Nancy, Mrs. 
 
 Beadle, Hannah, Mrs. 
 
 *Bilden, Catharine. !Miss 
 
 Burham, Maria H,. Mrs. 
 
 Benjamin, Mary G.. Mrs. 
 
 Benton, Loanza, Mrs. 
 
 Bingham, Sy^. Mrs. 
 
 Bird. Ann. Mrs. 
 
 *Bishop, Elizabeth, Mrs. 
 
 Bi^op, Delia, Mrs. 
 
 Bishop. Asenath, Miss 
 
 Bissell. Theresa, Miss 
 
 *Bissel], Mrs. 
 
 Blain. Mrs. 
 
 Blatchlev, 
 
 Bliss, Emily, Mrs. 
 
 Bliss, Cassandra. Mrs. 
 
 Bliss. Isabella hL Mrs. 
 
 Bli^ Eunice B. 
 
 Blunt. Harriet. Mrs. 
 
 BoiTES, Isabella W_ Mrs. 
 
 Bond, Ellen M- Mrs. 
 
 Bofworth, Mrs- 
 
 Boutwell. Helen, Mrs. 
 
 Bradlev, Catherine. Mrs. 
 
 *Bradl'ey, Enulie, ilrs. 
 
 Breath. Sarah Ann, Mrs. 
 
 Breed. Mrs. 
 
 Brewster, Sarah, Mrs. 
 
 Bright, Cbarlotre, Mtsl 
 
 Brown. Sarah F- Miss 
 
 Brown, Lvdw- Miss ■ 
 
 Brvant. Doliv F- Mrs. 
 
 Buer, Elira R- Miss 
 
 *Burge=s, Mary, Mrs. 
 
 Burgess. Mrs. 
 
 Bumham. ^nna. Miss 
 
 Bumell. Martha. Mrs. 
 
 *Butler, Estiier, Mrs. ~ 
 
 Butler, Lucy, Mrs. 
 
 Butler, Anna. Mrs. 
 
 Botrick. Elizabeth. Mrs. 
 
 Byington, Sophia- Mrs, 
 
 *Calhoan, Emilv P- Mrs. ..... 
 
 Campbell. DoUy, Mrs. 
 
 Caprfl, Mary Ann. Miss 
 
 Castle. Angeline L., Mrs. 
 
 Caswell, Anna- Mrs 
 
 Chamberlains Mrs. 
 
 Chamberlain, Maria, Mrs. 
 
 Chamberlam, Flora. Mrs. 
 
 *Champioii. Susan. Mrs. 
 
 Thandler, OiarloTie M- Mis. .. 
 
 Chapin. Mair Ann, Mrs. 
 
 ftChenv. Oiaxloue F« Mrs. 
 
 Choate- Mary B-, Miss 
 
 Pierce 
 
 Robertson . 
 Maiwell .. 
 
 Chapman.. 
 Hovey — 
 Chapman. 
 
 Taylor 
 
 Beer? „ 
 
 Hubbard—. 
 
 Fowler 
 
 Fairchild ... 
 
 MilU 
 
 Darlini: 
 
 Furbust .... 
 
 How..-^ 
 
 Woxiijury . 
 Jones 
 
 Rev. Harrison Allen 
 
 Rev. Wm. P. Alexander 
 
 Samuel Allis 
 
 Rev. Lorrin Andrews .. 
 S, M. L. Andrews, M. D. 
 Rev. Georse F. Apthorp j 
 Rev. William Aims 
 
 Massachusetts 
 
 Termont 
 
 Massachusetts 
 
 Delaware 
 
 Connecticut „.. 
 
 Connecticut _.. 
 
 Tirginia 
 
 Pennsylvania .. 
 
 Rev. Richaid Armstrong j Massachusetts 
 
 Daniel H. Austin ; Conneoticut _.. 
 
 Peter Austen I Connecticut .... 
 
 Frederick Ayen I Massachusetts .... 
 
 M':'U5 
 
 Mithrattas 
 
 Mshrattas 
 
 Cbociaws 
 
 Sandwich Islands .. 
 
 Pavmee? 
 
 Sandwich Inlands .. 
 Sandwich Islands .. 
 
 Ceylon 
 
 Indian Archipelago 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Sandwich Islands ... 
 
 Osages 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Cherokees - _ 
 
 Qjibwas , 
 
 Rev. A. Beers 
 
 Edward B.ailev 
 
 Bwiirbt Baldwin, M.D.... 
 Rev. Caleb C. Baldwin ... 
 
 Rev. Dyon Ball 
 
 I Rev. Heiiry Ballantine-- 
 Eev, Horatio Bardwell ... 
 Elijah Bardwell ... 
 
 New Jersey 
 
 Massachusetts ... 
 
 Connecticut. 
 
 New Jersey 
 
 Connecticut- 
 
 New Hampshire- 
 Massachusetts ... 
 
 Eiias R. Beadle 
 
 Massachusetts 
 Connecticat.... 
 
 : Nuttinj - 
 Wliee^r . 
 
 ; i^ouliing 
 
 ■ Mo^ei?T .. 
 Par^^ef ... 
 
 ■ Edwaris . 
 StjEe 
 
 Rev. Nathan S. Burham 
 Rev. Nathan Benjamin .. 
 Rev. William A. Benton 
 
 Rev. Hiram Bingham 
 
 Rev. Isaac Bird 
 
 Rev. Artemas Bishop .... 
 
 Massachusetts 
 
 Rhode Island .. 
 
 Massachusetts 
 
 Massachusetts 
 
 Massachusetts 
 
 Massadiusetts 
 
 New York 
 
 New York. 
 
 Li-vris Ei>>e]l 
 
 Wi;]:L-iin C. B".;\iii 
 
 AlrT-ab:im Blaiclilev. MJ'. 
 
 . Curtis 
 
 .] Hooper 
 
 . Porter 
 
 .1 Dav 
 
 . E::^.-rTb.. 
 
 .' Adser 
 
 Howell 
 
 Rev 
 
 AiIi^ 
 
 Re 
 
 New York 
 
 Massachusetts ... 
 
 Maine 
 
 Massachusetts _. 
 Connerticut- 
 
 Maine . 
 
 Crooks — 
 Wheeler . 
 RoToe -.. 
 Young ... 
 
 Wiihrow.. 
 ' Stoker 
 
 . I:<HacE:i>? 
 
 . A-her Eli- 
 
 . E-jwiD E. Bliff . 
 
 . I--iacG- Bl:r> .. 
 
 rth E. B.iiEi. 
 
 r^rje W. B-'SS 
 
 Rev. E'Ja^Brni, . ..":.. 
 
 Eenner B— -w.;.rLL 
 
 Rev. Wm. T. Boutwell 
 
 1 Hanover Bradley ' Connecticnt, 
 
 Daniel B. Bradley, M.D. New York 
 
 E3win Breath New York. 
 
 Davi-l Breed 
 
 Sidney L. Brewster 
 
 i Samuel B. Bright Pennsylvania 
 
 j 7- New Jersey 
 
 ! i New Hamp^iire.. 
 
 Rev. James C, Rryant ._ New Hampshire. 
 
 West Africa 
 
 Sandwich Islands .. 
 Sandwich Islands .. 
 
 China 
 
 Singapore 
 
 Mahrattas _ 
 
 Mahrattas _ 
 
 Choctaws j 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Syria i 
 
 Choctaws i 
 
 Siam _ -1 
 
 Greece ■ 
 
 Western Asia \ 
 
 Sandwich Islands 
 
 Syria _. 
 
 Sandwich Islands » i 
 
 Sandwich I^ands ' 
 
 N, Y. Tudiang ■ 
 
 Cherokees — ™ 
 
 Choctaws ! 
 
 Chickasaws I 
 
 Sandwich Islands — ! 
 Sandwidi Isl ands — ' 
 
 N.Y. Indians * 
 
 NesTorians . 
 
 Western Asia _. 
 
 Cherokees ' 
 
 MahraTTas _ _! 
 
 Sandwich Islands j 
 
 Cherokees _ ..J 
 
 Qjibwas _ I 
 
 N. Y. Indians i 
 
 sawyer—. 
 
 Post 
 
 Ames 
 
 Parker .... 
 Proctor — 
 Nye _ 
 
 Reynolds . 
 Farran — 
 
 Kev. Ebraiezer Boigess— Connecticut- 
 
 Tenney.. 
 
 Thomas S. BumeU i Massachnsrfte . 
 
 Eiizur Butler. M.D ■ Connectwait 
 
 Ma^^isat^usietts . 
 
 John A. Butler Maine ._ 
 
 Daniel S. Butrick Massadiusetts 
 
 Kev. Cyrus Byington — i — 
 
 Kev. Simer-n H. Calhoun; Massadiusetts 
 R- Campbell 
 
 Persia _ 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Matunees 
 
 Ct-yioTi 
 
 SandwiiA Islands . 
 
 South Africa _ 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Mahrat^s— 
 
 Mahrartas _ 
 
 (rhx^taws 
 
 Crjlcn 
 
 Clier'jkees 
 
 CLerokees 
 
 S'l'Tiih Airira 
 
 Cb.rroke«s 
 
 CtiCTta'S"; 
 
 Patten ..... 
 
 Hoyt 
 
 Lamed 
 
 Hopkins .. 
 
 Tenney 
 
 LathTop — 
 
 Samuel N. Castle 
 
 Kev. Jesse Casw^.,,. 
 
 i Daniel Chambeiiain 
 
 1 Levi Chamberlain 
 
 j WillMm Chambedain — 
 ■ Bev. George Champion™ 
 I Rev. John £. Chandler... 
 I Alonxo Cbapin. M- D. — 
 I Kev. Henry Cbeny _ 
 
 New York- 
 
 Termont -. 
 Termont - 
 
 Syria -~ 
 
 C^ibwas — — 
 
 Ceylon 
 
 Sandwii^ I^ands . 
 
 Pennsylvania .- . 
 
 Offlonectient- 
 
 Massachusetts . 
 
 New York 
 
 Masswhus^ts . 
 Connerticnt, 
 
 Saadwidi Islands — 
 
 ^aIl dwid TglMid< 
 
 ; Cherokees 
 
 Sf'Uth Afr%a 
 
 Madura, India 
 
 1 Sandwich Islands 
 
 ! Madura, India 
 
 I Osai?K 
 
 1SS4 ! 
 
 isi9 ; 
 
 l^S4 '. 
 1S37 t 
 l^S 
 1SS4 
 
 l^oy ' 
 
 1S4§ 
 1S27 ' 
 1&34 ! 
 1S29 
 1S31 
 1S36 1 
 l^■:7 
 lsS6 
 ls:>3 
 isio ■ 
 Isli! : 
 IS3I , 
 1^21 
 1S30 ; 
 Islti , 
 IS25 ■ 
 
 lSi2 
 
 ISoD ■ 
 
 1S30 ' 
 IStS 
 lv3S 1 
 
 Ifio 
 IS-20 
 1S36 
 I?39 
 lst.5 
 
 1S36 
 1>47 
 1S19 
 ly22 
 1^22 
 1S27 
 lf23 
 ls39 
 1S45 
 1S23 
 1S22 
 1836 
 1S32 
 1S43 
 1S47 
 1S22 
 1S32 
 1S41 
 1S2.5 
 1S34 
 IKS 
 1S34 
 1S49 
 ISIS 
 ISZl 
 1^21 
 
 ls3y 
 
 1534 
 1S46 
 1?2.5 
 
 IStS 
 
 1S20 
 
 1V27 
 l^-r-O 
 1517 
 1S20 
 
 1^9 
 1nS5 
 
 ls4^j 
 
 ls?-fi 
 
 Ifoi* 
 1^19 
 1S22 
 1517 
 iNSi 
 lsi7 
 1S31 
 1S36 
 1S33 
 
AMERICAN MISSIONARY WOMEN. 
 
 NAMES 
 
 Where Bomi 
 
 I 
 
 Field ar Labour. 
 
 Clark, Mary, Mrs 
 
 Clough, Eunice, Misa 
 
 Coan, Fidelia, Mra 
 
 Coan,R. S., Mrs 
 
 Cochran, Deborah W,, Mrs.... 
 
 Colton, Maria, Miss 
 
 Cooke, Delia, MifiS 
 
 Cooke, Juliette, Mrs 
 
 Conde, Andelucia, Mrs 
 
 *Condit, Azuba C, Miss 
 
 Congar, Mrs 
 
 Cope, Emily, Mrs 
 
 Copeland, Abigail H., Mrs. ... 
 
 Crane, Julia A. J., Mrs 
 
 Crane, Maria D., Mrs 
 
 *Crosby, Harriet E., Miss ... 
 Cummings, Abigail M., Mrs. 
 Cushman, Laura, Mrs 
 
 Kittredge.. 
 
 Rev. Epbraim W. Clark 
 
 Day, Mrs 
 
 *Dean, Sarah, Mrs 
 
 De Forest, Catharine S., Mrs.. 
 
 *Dibble, Mari^ M., Mrs 
 
 Dibble, Antoinette, Mrs 
 
 Dickenson, Mary J., Miss .... 
 
 Dimond, Ann Maria, Mrs 
 
 Dodd, Lydia IL, Mrs 
 
 Dodge, Martha W., Mrs. 
 
 Dodge, Emeline, Mrs 
 
 Dodge, Sally, Mrs 
 
 *Dole, Emily H., Mrs 
 
 Doolittle, Sophia A., Mrs 
 
 *Doty, Clarissa D., Mrs 
 
 Doty, Eleanor A., Mrs 
 
 *Do\vner, Lucinda, Miss 
 
 Dulles, Harriet L., Mrs 
 
 Dunbar, Esther, Mrs 
 
 Duumore, Susan, Mrs 
 
 *Dwightt, Elizabeth, Mrs 
 
 Dwightt, Mary, Mrs 
 
 Dwightt, Mary, Mrs 
 
 *Dycr, Mrs 
 
 Eckard, Margaret E., Mrs. 
 Edwards, Jerusha, Miss ... 
 
 Elliot, Mary, Mrs. 
 
 Ecles, Myra, Mrs 
 
 Ellis, Sarah, Mr.s 
 
 Ellsworth, Elixa, Mrs 
 
 Ellsworth, Mrs 
 
 Ely, Louisa, Mrs 
 
 Ely, Catherine, 3Irs 
 
 Emerson, Ursula S., Mrs. 
 Ennis, Henrietta B., Mrs. 
 
 Etis, Mary, Miss 
 
 Everett, Mrs 
 
 Fairbank, Mrs 
 
 Farrar, Cynthia, Miss 
 
 Fay, Catharine, Miss 
 
 *Fernal, Mrs 
 
 Ferny, Mrs 
 
 *Finney, Susanna, Mrs 
 
 Fish, Fidelia, Miss 
 
 Fleming, Margaret, Mrs 
 
 Fletcher, Elizabeth W., Mrs. 
 
 Footc, Rosanna, Mr.i 
 
 Forbes, Rebecca D., Mrs 
 
 Ford, Ann J., Mrs 
 
 Ford, Mary, Mr,s 
 
 Foster, Nancy, Miss 
 
 Fox, Caroline A., Miss 
 
 French, Jane, Mrs 
 
 French, Sarah C, Mrs 
 
 Frost, Clarissa, Mrs.. 
 
 Fuller, Catharine, Miss 
 
 Gage, Betsey, Mrs , 
 
 Garey, Frances M., Mrs. ... 
 
 Gaston, Mrs 
 
 Qiddings, Eliza, Miss 
 
 Gleason, Bethial W., Mrs. 
 
 Goodall, Hannah, Miss 
 
 Goodell, Abigail P., Mrs. ., 
 
 Goodrich, Mrs 
 
 Goulding, Harriet, Miss .., 
 
 Grant, Judith T., Mrs 
 
 Graves, Mary, Mrs , 
 
 Gray, Mary A., Mrs 
 
 Green, Theodicia, Mrs , 
 
 *Gront, Hannah, Mrs 
 
 Gront, Lydia, Mrs 
 
 Gront, Mra 
 
 Gulick, Fanny H., Mrs. ... 
 
 Church . 
 Power .. 
 Plumb . 
 
 Rev. Titus Coan , 
 
 Rev. G. Whitefield Coan 
 Rev. Joseph G. Cochran 
 
 Montague.. 
 Lee 
 
 Amos S. Cooke 
 
 Rev. Daniel T. Conde , 
 
 New Hampshire... Sandwich Islands . 
 
 New Hampshire... Choctaws 
 
 New York Sandwich Islands . 
 
 New York I Persia 
 
 New York i Nestorians 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Connecticut ! Ojibwas , 
 
 Massachusetts.. 
 Vermont 
 
 Rilbourne . 
 
 Rice 
 
 Ostrandcr.. 
 Turn bull .. 
 
 Ahijah Congar 
 
 Rev. Edward Cope 
 
 Henry K. Copeland ., 
 Rev. Nathaniel M. Crane 
 Rev. Oliver Crane 
 
 Massachusetts. . 
 
 New York 
 
 New York 
 
 Stearns.... 
 Bardwell . 
 
 Rev. Seneca Cummings 
 Calvin Cushman 
 
 New Hampshire.. 
 Massachusetts 
 
 Coleman .... 
 Sergeant .... 
 Tomlinson 
 Tomlinson 
 
 KillogDay 
 
 Erastus Dean 
 
 Henry A. De Forest . 
 Rev. Sheldon Dibble . 
 
 Massachusetts.. 
 Massachusetts.. 
 
 Auner 
 
 Babbitt 
 
 Merrill 
 
 Bradshaw.. 
 
 Gale 
 
 Ballard 
 
 Hamilton .. 
 
 Ackley 
 
 Smith 
 
 Henry Dimond 
 
 Rev. Edward M. Dodd 
 
 Asa Dodge, M. D 
 
 Roderick L. Dodge, M. D. 
 Nathaniel B. Dodge .. 
 
 Rev. Daniel Dole 
 
 Rev. Justus Doolittle 
 Rev. Elihu Doty 
 
 New York 
 
 New Jersey 
 
 Maine 
 
 Vermont 
 
 Massachusetts . 
 
 Maine 
 
 New York 
 
 Connecticut 
 
 New Jersey 
 
 Win slow , 
 
 Smith 
 
 Wheeler . 
 Barker .... 
 
 Lane 
 
 Billings.... 
 
 Rev. John M. Dulles.. 
 Rev. John Dunbar ... 
 Rev. George W. Dunmore 
 Rev. H. (To. Dwightt .. 
 
 Rev. Robert 0. Dwightt , 
 Anson Dyer 
 
 Ceylon 
 
 Massachusetts.. 
 Massachusetts.. 
 Massachusetts.. 
 Massachusetts.. 
 
 Bayard . 
 
 Rev. James Eckard 
 
 Georgia 
 
 Ward 
 
 Fairbank . 
 
 Hoyt 
 
 Tolman ... 
 Coleman .. 
 Everest .... 
 
 Bissel 
 
 Newell 
 
 Haines .... 
 
 John Elliot , 
 
 Rev. Cushing Ecles ... 
 
 Sylvester Ellis 
 
 John C. Ellsworth 
 
 Frederick Ellsworth .. 
 
 James Ely , 
 
 Edmund F. Ely 
 
 Rev. John Emerson .. 
 Rev. Jacob Ennis ..... 
 
 Vermont 
 
 Massachusetts ... 
 
 Connecticut 
 
 Vermont 
 
 Rev. Joel S. Everett . 
 Samuel B. Fairbank .. 
 
 Connecticut 
 
 Sault St. Mario ., 
 New Hampshire.. 
 
 New York 
 
 Pennsylvania 
 
 New Hampshire.. 
 
 Washburn 
 
 Luke Fernal 
 
 Rev. William Ferny . 
 Rev. Alfred Finney .. 
 
 Scudder .... 
 
 Safford 
 
 Whittlesey . 
 
 Smith 
 
 Tooker 
 
 Perry 
 
 Rev. John Fleming 
 
 Rev. Adin H. Fletcher .. 
 
 Rev. Horace Foots 
 
 Rev. Cochrane Forbes .. 
 
 Rev. George Ford 
 
 Rev. Jonathan E. Ford 
 
 New Hampshire.. 
 
 Ohio 
 
 New Jersey 
 
 New York 
 
 Massachusetts ... 
 
 Hotchkins , 
 
 Allison 
 
 Emerson ... 
 
 Rev. Ozzo French 
 
 Rev. Henry S. G. French 
 Rev. Edward Frost , 
 
 New York 
 
 Maine 
 
 New Hampshire.. 
 
 Massachusetts ... 
 
 Putnam . 
 Skinner 
 
 David Gage 
 
 Lucius Garey 
 
 George B. Gaston . 
 
 Tracey 
 Davis ... 
 
 Anson Gleason . 
 
 Rev. William Goodell 
 Rev. Joseph Goodrich 
 
 Connecticut 
 
 Massachusetts 
 Massachusetts 
 
 Campbell . 
 
 Lee 
 
 Dix 
 
 Arnold .... 
 
 Davis 
 
 Bates 
 
 Asahel Grant, M. D 
 
 Rev. Allen Graves 
 
 William H. Gray 
 
 Rev. Jonathan S. Green 
 
 Rev. Aldin Gront 
 
 Rev. Lewis Gront 
 
 New York 
 
 New York 
 
 New York 
 
 Connecticut 
 
 Massachusetts 
 Vermont 
 
 Thomas.. 
 
 Rev. Peter J. Gulick.. 
 
 Hall, Margaret, Mrs.... 
 Hall, Frances A., Mrs. 
 Hall, Sarah L., Mrs. ... 
 Hall, Isabella, Mra. ... 
 
 Lewis 
 
 Willnrd , 
 Williams.. 
 
 Rev. Gordon Hall 
 
 Rev. Alanson C. Hall . 
 Edwin O.Hall 
 
 Connecticut.. 
 England 
 
 Murray Moody Hall 
 
 New Jersey . 
 New York.... 
 
 Sandwich Islands . 
 Sandwich Islands . 
 
 Borneo 
 
 Cherokees 
 
 Madura 
 
 Cherokees 
 
 Madura 
 
 Western Asia 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 China 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Cherokees 
 
 Cherokees 
 
 Syria 
 
 Sandwich Islands . 
 Sandwich Islands . 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Sandwich Islands . 
 
 Salonica 
 
 Syria 
 
 Cherokees 
 
 Sandwich Islands . 
 
 China 
 
 Borneo 
 
 China 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Madras 
 
 Pawnees 
 
 ■Western Africa .... 
 
 Turkey 
 
 Turkey 
 
 Madura 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Ceylon 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 N. Y. Indians 
 
 Oregon Indians .... 
 
 Cherokees 
 
 Cherokees 
 
 Cherokees 
 
 Sandwich Islands ■ 
 
 Ojibwas 
 
 Sandwich Islands . 
 Borneo 
 
 Turkey.. 
 
 Mahrattas 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Cherokees 
 
 Mackinaw 
 
 Cherokees 
 
 Persia 
 
 Creeks 
 
 Ceylon 
 
 Syria 
 
 Sandwich Islands . 
 
 Aladura 
 
 Syria 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Mahrattas 
 
 Siam 
 
 Bombay 
 
 Cherokees 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Maskinaw 
 
 Pawnees 
 
 Cherokees 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Ojibwas 
 
 Turkey 
 
 Sandwich Islands . 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Persia 
 
 Mahrattas 
 
 Oregon 
 
 Sandwich Islands . 
 
 South Africa 
 
 South Africa 
 
 South Africa 
 
 Sandwich Islands . 
 
 Mahrattas 
 
 Madura 
 
 Sandwich Islands . 
 Cherokees 
 
 1827 
 1829 
 1827 
 1849 
 1847 
 1846 
 1825 
 1836 
 1836 
 1836 
 1819 
 1836 
 1839 
 1836 
 1849 
 1844 
 1848 
 1820 
 
 1842 
 1822 
 1842 
 1830 
 1839 
 1844 
 1834 
 1849 
 1832 
 1834 
 1821 
 1841 
 1850 
 1836 
 1847 
 1845 
 1849 
 1836 
 1850 
 1830 
 1839 
 1835 
 1820 
 
 1S33 
 1848 
 1827 
 1838 
 1822 
 1821 
 1S22 
 1822 
 1835 
 1831 
 1836 
 1821 
 1845 
 
 1846 
 1827 
 1845 
 1826 
 1823 
 1819 
 1843 
 1833 
 1846 
 1848 
 1831 
 1847 
 1848 
 1827 
 1848 
 1839 
 1839 
 1827 
 1828 
 
 1826 
 1834 
 1840 
 1846 
 1823 
 1828 
 1822 
 1822 
 1846 
 1835 
 1817 
 1838 
 1827 
 1834 
 1846 
 1840 
 1827 
 
 1816 
 1834 
 1834 
 1817 
 
AMERICAN BOARD OF FOREIGN MISSIONS. 
 
 HuHbond's Nqidu. 
 
 Fii'ld of Labour. 
 
 When Hcnt 
 
 1828 
 1834 
 1840 
 1845 
 1838 
 1849, 
 1822 
 1847 
 1835 
 1839 
 1824 
 1846 
 1830 
 1828 
 1841 
 1831 
 1820 
 1823 
 1829 
 1833 
 1837 
 1823 
 1823 
 1827 
 1819 
 1826 
 1841 
 1843 
 1849 
 1823 
 1849 
 1834 
 1823 
 1846 
 1817 
 1834 
 1825 
 1835 
 1839 
 1839 
 1839 
 1844 
 1841 
 1833 
 
 1849 
 1836 
 
 1835 
 18?4 
 1841 
 1818 
 1836 
 1841 
 1833 
 1830 
 1839 
 1835 
 1821 
 1830 
 1827 
 
 1818 
 1827 
 1840 
 1840 
 1845 
 1819 
 1823 
 1848 
 1836 
 
 1836 
 1844 
 1836 
 1827 
 1843 
 1839 
 1850 
 1842 
 1835 
 J837 
 1847 
 1834 
 1836 
 1833 
 1819 
 1845 
 1831 
 1838 
 1833 
 1831 
 
 Hall, Botsey, Mrs 
 
 Hall, Matilda, Mra 
 
 Hall, Eineline, Mrs 
 
 Hall, Margaret, Miss 
 
 Hidl, LydiaS., Miss 
 
 *Hamlin, Henrietta A. L., Miss 
 
 Hancock, Mrs 
 
 Harris, Marianne, Mrs 
 
 HaKcn, Martha R., Mrs 
 
 *llebard, Rebecca W., Mrs 
 
 Hemeaway, Ijucia, Mrs 
 
 Henderson, Nancy, Miss 
 
 Herrick, Elizabeth H., Mrs. ... 
 *Hervoy, Klizabeth II., Mrs. ... 
 Heydenburk, Iluldah W., Mrs. 
 
 Hinsdale, Sarah C, Mrs 
 
 Hitchcock, Rebecca, Mrs 
 
 Hitchcock, Nancy, Mrs 
 
 *IIitchcock, Sophronia, Mrs. ... 
 
 Hitchcock, Lucy, Mrs , 
 
 lioisington, Nancy, Mrs 
 
 Holladay, Ann Y., Mrs , 
 
 Holland, Electa, Mrs , 
 
 *Hooper, Vina, Mrs 
 
 Hooper, Eliza, Mrs ^, 
 
 Iloluian, Lucia, Mrs 
 
 Holmes, Sarah A., Mrs 
 
 Howes, Mrs 
 
 Hopkins, Mrs 
 
 Hosmer, Angelina, Miss 
 
 Hotchkin, Philena, Mrs 
 
 Hough, Elizabeth J., Miss 
 
 *Houston, Mary R., Mrs 
 
 Hows, Lucy, Mrs 
 
 Howland, Susan, Mrs 
 
 Hoyt, Esther, Mrs 
 
 Hubbard, Emma, Mrs 
 
 Hudson, Mrs 
 
 Huggins, Lydia, Mrs 
 
 Huggins, Fanny, Miss 
 
 Hume, Hannah D., Mrs 
 
 Hunt, Abigail, Mrs 
 
 Hunt, Mrs 
 
 Hunter, Elizabeth, Mra 
 
 Hutchings, Elizabeth C, Mrs. 
 
 Ireland, Jane, Mrs. 
 Ives, Mary A., Mrs. 
 
 Parker 
 
 Hotchkiss.. 
 Gay lord ... 
 
 Rev. Sherman Hall , 
 
 Chauncey Hall , 
 
 "William Hall 
 
 Massachusetts 
 Connecticut .... 
 Connecticut ,... 
 
 Jackson . 
 
 LaTourettc ... 
 
 Chapin 
 
 WilliamB 
 
 Hunt 
 
 Rev. Cyrus Hamlin .. 
 Joseph \V. Hancock .. 
 Rev. Thomas Harris.. 
 
 Rev. Allen Hazen 
 
 Rev. Story Hebard ... 
 Rev. Asa Hemenway.. 
 
 Vermont . 
 
 Now Jersey.. 
 Connecticut . 
 Connecticut.. 
 Vermont 
 
 Crosby 
 
 Smith 
 
 Warren 
 
 Clark 
 
 Howard 
 
 Brown 
 
 Sumner 
 
 Morse 
 
 Lyman 
 
 Minor 
 
 Hopkins 
 
 Everett 
 
 Fairbanks 
 
 Ruggles 
 
 VanAVagener 
 
 Rev. James Herrick ... 
 Rev. William Hervey 
 Martin Heydenburk .. 
 Rev. Abel R. Hinsdale 
 Rev. Harvey R. Hitchcock 
 
 Jacob Hitchcock , 
 
 Asa Hitchcock , 
 
 A'ermont 
 
 Massachusetts .... 
 
 New York 
 
 New Hampshire... 
 
 New York 
 
 Connecticut 
 
 Rev. Henry R.Hoisington 
 Rev. Albert Holladay 
 
 William Holland 
 
 William Hooper 
 
 Massachusetts ... 
 Massachusetts ... 
 
 Virginia 
 
 New Hampshire.. 
 Massachusetts ... 
 
 Thomas Holman, M. D. 
 
 Rev. James Holmes 
 
 Rev. Henry A. Howes .. 
 Robert Hopkins 
 
 Thacher .. 
 
 Ebenezer Hotchkin 
 
 Pennsylvania . 
 
 Rowland 
 
 Hutchinson., 
 
 Reed 
 
 Booth 
 
 Burge 
 
 Rev. Samuel R. Houston 
 Zachariah Howa 
 
 Virginia . 
 
 Pettijohn . 
 
 Sackett .. 
 Nims 
 
 Grozer ... 
 Lathrop . 
 
 Wilson .... 
 Brainerd . 
 
 Jackson, Mary A., Mrs 
 
 James, MargaretE., Mrs. ... 
 
 James, Phebe G., Mrs 
 
 Jewell, Mrs 
 
 Johnson, Lois S., Mrs 
 
 *John8on, Mrs 
 
 Johnson, Marianne C, Mrs. 
 
 Johnson, Mrs 
 
 Jones, Miriam, Mrs 
 
 Jones, Eunice G., Mrs 
 
 Jones, Roxana, Mrs 
 
 Joslyn, Sophia M., Mrs 
 
 Judd, Laura, Mrs 
 
 Sawyer ... 
 Spobel .... 
 Jacquitt . 
 
 Hoyt .. 
 Howe.. 
 
 Pratt 
 
 Robinson . 
 Stearms .. 
 Palmer .... 
 Fish 
 
 Kanouse, Mrs 
 
 Kelly, Hannah, Mias 
 
 Kerr, Sarah, Miss 
 
 Keyes, Mary, Mrs 
 
 Keyes, Harriet N., Miss 
 
 *Kingsbury, Sarah B., Mrs. 
 
 Kingsbury, Electa, Mrs 
 
 Kinney, Maria L., Mrs 
 
 Knapp, Charlotte, Mrs 
 
 Pettegrew 
 
 Ladd, Charlotte II., Mra 
 
 Ladd, Cornelia, Miss 
 
 Lafore, Sophia L., Mra 
 
 Lane, Rebecca, Mrs 
 
 Lanman, Julia H., Mrs 
 
 Lathrop, Jane E., Miss 
 
 Lathrop, Mrs 
 
 *Laurie, Martha F., Mrs 
 
 Lawrence, Mary, Mrs 
 
 Leyburn, Elizabeth W., Mrs. . 
 
 Little, Amelia M., Mra 
 
 Lindley, Lucy, Mrs 
 
 *Locke, Martha L., Mrs 
 
 Lockwood, Cassandra, Mrs...., 
 
 Loomis, Maria T., Mrs 
 
 Lovell, Harriet M., Miss 
 
 *Lyon3, Betsey, Mrs 
 
 Lyons, Lucia G., Mrs 
 
 Lyman, Eliza, Mra 
 
 Lyman, Sarah, Mrs 
 
 I Macomber, Mra 
 
 f Marsh, Eunice C, Mrs 
 
 Marsh, Mary S-, Mrs 
 
 I Maynard, Celestia A,, Mrs.. 
 
 M'Donald, Harriet T., Mrs.. 
 
 Varnum ... . 
 
 May 
 
 Watsworth . 
 Close 
 
 Kitchel ., 
 
 Parker .... 
 Philbrick . 
 Gray 
 
 Osgood ... 
 Hulin .... 
 Moseley . 
 Newton .. 
 
 Allen 
 
 RowelK... 
 Sawyer ... 
 Sartwell , 
 
 Curtis . 
 Smith . 
 Pond ... 
 Joiner 
 
 Osman.... 
 Skinner . 
 
 Kirk 
 
 Halsted . 
 
 Andrew Hoyt 
 
 George W. Hubbard .... 
 
 John S. Hudson 
 
 Alexander G. Huggins . 
 
 Massachusetts .. 
 
 Connecticut 
 
 New Hampshire. 
 
 Rev. Robert W. Hume ... 
 
 Phineas R. Hunt 
 
 Rev. T. Dwight Hunt .... 
 
 George C. Hunter 
 
 Rev. Samuel Hutchings 
 
 Rev. William Ireland .... 
 Rev. Mark Ivea 
 
 Ohio 
 
 Ohio 
 
 Massachusetts ... 
 New York 
 
 Massachusetts 
 Connecticut 
 
 New Hampshire., 
 Connecticut 
 
 Rev. William C. Jackson 
 
 Benjamin V. James 
 
 Woodbridge L. James ....' 
 
 Moses Jewell ' 
 
 Edward Johnson 
 
 Rev. Stephen Johnson 
 Rev. Thomas P. Johnaon 
 
 Andrew Johnson 
 
 Rev. Willard Jones ... 
 
 Abner D. Jones 
 
 Rev. Amasa Jones ... 
 
 Mathias Joslyn 
 
 Gerrit P. Judd, M. D. 
 
 John G. Kanouse 
 
 Massachusetts ... 
 
 Georgia 
 
 Connecticut 
 
 Rev. Nathaniel A. Keyes 
 Rev. Cyrua Kingabury 
 
 Rev. Henry Kinney . 
 Horton 0. Knapp 
 
 Rev. Daniel Ladd 
 
 Thomas Lafore, M. D. . 
 
 Rev. Joseph Lane 
 
 Rev. John F. Lanman . 
 
 Edwin Lathrop 
 
 Rev. Thomas Laurie ... 
 Rev. John J. Lawrence 
 Rev. George W. Leyburn 
 Rev. Charles Little ... 
 Rev. Daniel Lindley .. 
 
 Edwin Locke 
 
 Rev. Jesse Lockwood 
 Elisha Loomis 
 
 Rev. Lorenzo Lyons . 
 
 Rev. Henry Lyman 
 
 Rev. David B. Lyman .. 
 
 Stephen B. Macomber .. 
 
 Rev. Cutting Marsh 
 
 Rev. Samuel D. Marsh .. 
 Rev. Eliphal Maynard .. 
 Charles, M'Donald 
 
 New Hampshire.. 
 Vermont 
 
 Massachusetts 
 Massachusetts 
 Massachusetts 
 
 Vermont 
 
 New York 
 
 Massachusetts 
 Vermont 
 
 Massachusetta 
 
 Ohio 
 
 Connecticut 
 
 Vermont.. 
 
 Massachu.setts ... 
 New Hampshire.. 
 South Carolina .. 
 Connecticut 
 
 Massachusetts ... 
 
 New York 
 
 Virginia 
 
 New York 
 
 New York 
 
 New Hampshire.. 
 
 New York.. 
 
 New Hampshire.. 
 Vermont 
 
 New York 
 
 Connecticut . 
 
 New York 
 
 New York 
 
 Ojibwas 
 
 Mackinaw 
 
 N. Y. Indians 
 
 N. Y. Indians 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Turkey 
 
 Sioux 
 
 N. Y. Indians 
 
 Mahrattas 
 
 Syria 
 
 Siatn 
 
 N. Y. Indians 
 
 Madura 
 
 Mahrattas 
 
 Mackinaw 
 
 Nestorians 
 
 Sandwich Islands . 
 
 Cherokees 
 
 Cherokees 
 
 Cherokees 
 
 Ceylon 
 
 Persia 
 
 Cherokees 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Sandwich Islands . 
 
 Chickasawa 
 
 Turkey 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Greece 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Ceylon 
 
 Cherokees 
 
 JIahrattas 
 
 Mackinaw 
 
 Sioux 
 
 Sioux 
 
 Mahrattas 
 
 Madras 
 
 Sandwich Islands . 
 
 Syria 
 
 Ceylon 
 
 South Africa 
 
 Sandwich Islands . 
 
 Turkey 
 
 West Africa 
 
 Ojibwas 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Sandwich Islands . 
 
 Siam 
 
 Turkey 
 
 Sandwich Islands . 
 
 Persia 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Osages 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Sandwich Islands . 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Cherokees 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Syria 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Sandwich Islands . 
 Sandwich Islands . 
 
 Cyprus 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Sandwich Islands .. 
 
 N. Y. Indiana 
 
 Syria 
 
 Ceylon 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Persia 
 
 Madura 
 
 Greece 
 
 Madura 
 
 South Africa 
 
 Sandwich Islands .. 
 
 Cherokees 
 
 Sandwich Islands .. 
 
 Turkey 
 
 Sandwich Islands .. 
 Sandwich Islands .. 
 Indian Archipelago 
 Sandwich Islands .. 
 
 Choctaws 1823 
 
 Stockbridge Indians 18.37 
 
 South Africa 1848 
 
 Salonica 1849 
 
 Sandwich Islands ... 1836 
 
 P93 
 
AMERICAN MISSIONARY WOMEN. 
 
 Maiden Name. 
 
 Haobands' Naine. 
 
 Where Born. 
 
 Field of Labour. 
 
 M-Farland, Betsey, Miss 
 
 M'Kiimey, Fanny M., Mrs... 
 MOlillan, Rebecca N., Mrs... 
 
 Meigs, Sarah M., Mrs 
 
 Merrick, Emma, Mrs 
 
 Merrill. Elizabeth A., Miss.. 
 
 Miles, Susan L., Mrs 
 
 Miner, Amanda, Mrs 
 
 *Minor, Lucv, Mrs 
 
 Mitchell, Eli'za A., Mrs 
 
 *Montgomery, Harriet, Mrs. 
 
 Moore, Hannah, Miss 
 
 Moseley, Sarah, Mrs 
 
 Moulton, Luciuda, Mi-s 
 
 Mudgite, Sophia, Miss 
 
 *Munger, Miiria L., Mrs 
 
 Munn, Louisa, Mrs 
 
 Munson. Abigail, Mrs 
 
 Muzzy, S.. Mrs 
 
 Myers, Catharine E., Miss .. 
 
 Xast, Erminia, Miss 
 
 Nevins, Maria L., Mrs 
 
 *Xewell, Harriet, Mrs 
 
 Newell, Philomela, Mrs 
 
 Newell, Rebecca, Miss 
 
 Newland, Mrs 
 
 Newton, Seely Mary H., Mrs. 
 
 Nichols, Elizabeth, Mrs. 
 
 *North, Minerva, Mrs 
 
 Nott, Mrs 
 
 Noyes. Elizabeth A., Mrs 
 
 Nelson., 
 Brand ... 
 Peet .... 
 Taylor ., 
 
 Rev. Silas M'Kinney 
 
 Rev. Geo. TV. M'MiUan... 
 Rev. Benjamin C. Meigs 
 Rev. James L. Merrick ... 
 
 Massachusetts 
 Massachusetts 
 
 New Jersey 
 
 Connecticut 
 
 England 
 
 Tobnan .. 
 
 Head 
 
 Biiiley .... 
 Richards 
 Woolley . 
 
 Rev. Cyrus T. Miles 
 
 Jesse Miner 
 
 Eastman S. Minor 
 
 Rev. Colby C. MitcheU ... 
 TTilliam B. Montgomery 
 
 Curtis , 
 Field ... 
 
 Rev. Samuel Moseley 
 Samuel Moulton 
 
 Andrews . 
 
 Clark 
 
 Johnson . 
 Robbins . 
 
 Rev. Sindol B. Munger... 
 
 Bethel Munn 
 
 Rev. Samuel Munson .... 
 Rev. Clarendon F. Muzzy 
 
 Atwood ... 
 Thurston . 
 
 Rev. Elbert Nevins . 
 Rev. Samuel Newell . 
 
 M-Carthy . 
 
 Shaw 
 
 Bryan 
 
 John Newland 
 
 Samuel C. Newton 
 
 Rev. John Nichols 
 
 Alfred North 
 
 Rev. Samuel Nott 
 
 Rev. Joseph T. Noyes ... 
 
 Ogden, Maria, Jliss . 
 
 Omsted, Mrs 
 
 Orr, Minerva, Mrs. . 
 
 *Palmer, Clarissa, Mrs 
 
 Palmer, Jerusha, Mrs 
 
 Palmer, Sarah A., Miss 
 
 *Paris, Mary, Mrs 
 
 Parker, Mary E., Mrs 
 
 Parker, Philena, Mrs 
 
 Parker, Mrs 
 
 Parsons, Catherine, Mrs 
 
 Pease, Lucinda, Mrs 
 
 PealXKly, Mary L., Mrs 
 
 Peet, Rebecca C, Mrs 
 
 Perkins, Charlotte, Mrs 
 
 Perkins, Elvira G., Miss 
 
 Perry, Harriet J., Mrs 
 
 *Pierce, Mary E., Miss 
 
 Pixley, Lucia F., Mrs 
 
 *Pohlman, Theodosia R., Mrs. 
 
 Poor, Susan, Mrs 
 
 Pond, Cordelia, Mrs 
 
 Pond, Sarah, Mrs 
 
 Porter, Nancy A., Mrs 
 
 Post, Flora, Miss 
 
 Potter, Laura, Mrs 
 
 Potter, Mrs 
 
 *Powns, Harriet, Mrs 
 
 Powns, Sarah L., Mrs 
 
 Preston, Jane F., Mrs 
 
 Pride, Hannah, Mrs 
 
 Proctor, Mrs 
 
 Pnlsifer, Mrs 
 
 "Washburn .. 
 
 Johnson 
 Johnson 
 
 Jared Omsted . 
 James Orr 
 
 Rev.Marcus Palmer, M.D. 
 
 Grant 
 
 Barker .... 
 Griffin .... 
 Webster ... 
 Jennings . 
 Leonard .. 
 Herbert .. 
 Sherrill ... 
 
 Rev. John D. Paris 
 
 Rev. Benj. W. Parker . 
 
 Henry Parker 
 
 Peter Parker, M. D 
 
 Rev. Justin Parsons .... 
 Rev. Alonzo W. Pease . 
 Rev. Josiah Peabody.... 
 
 Rev. Lyman Peet 
 
 Rev. Justin Perkins .... 
 
 Lathrop . 
 
 Howell 
 
 Scudder 
 
 Bulfinch ... 
 Eggleston.. 
 Poage 
 
 Rev. John S. Perry 
 
 Rev. Benton Pixley .... 
 Rev. Wm. J. Pohlman . 
 
 Rev. Daniel Poor 
 
 Samuel W. Poud 
 
 Gideon H. Pond 
 
 Rev. RoUin Porter 
 
 Weld ., 
 
 Goulding . 
 
 Perry 
 
 Woodruff . 
 Thacher ... 
 
 William Potter 
 
 Joshua Potter ■.,. 
 
 Rev. Philander 0. Pown; 
 
 Rev. Ira M. Preston ., 
 Wm. W. Pride, M. D. 
 
 Isaac Proctor 
 
 Charles Pnlsifer 
 
 Ramsay, Mary, Mrs 
 
 Rancy, Charlotte, Mrs 
 
 Read, Caroline, Mrs 
 
 Redfield, Phebe, JIrs 
 
 Remington, Esther, Mrs. .. 
 
 Rendall, Jane, Mrs 
 
 *Regna, Susan, Mrs 
 
 *Regua, Jaue, Mrs 
 
 *Regna, Sarah S., Mrs 
 
 Regna, Mary H., Mrs 
 
 Rice, Mary S.. Mrs 
 
 Rice, Mary Su.san, Miss .... 
 
 *Richards, Sarah, Mrs 
 
 Richards, Clarissa, Mrs 
 
 Richmond, Emeline, Miss . 
 
 Riggs, Martha L.. Mrs 
 
 Riggs, Mary A. C. Mrs 
 
 Riggs, Hannah, Miss 
 
 Robbins, Martha R., Mrs. . 
 
 Robinson, Maria, Mrs 
 
 Rockwood, Avis, Mrs 
 
 *Rogers, Mary, Mrs 
 
 Rogers, Elizabeth M., Mrs. . 
 
 Rood, Alzina v., Mrs 
 
 Root, Mary Ann, Miss 
 
 *Root, Emily, Miss 
 
 Rowell, Mrs 
 
 Ruggles, Nancy, Mrs 
 
 Sampson, Mary L., Mrs. 
 Sergeant, Delight, Miss . 
 
 Wise 
 
 Taylor .., 
 Hubbell . 
 Beach ... 
 
 Ballard 
 
 Comstock 
 
 Montgomery 
 
 Clapp 
 
 Austin 
 
 Hyde 
 
 Rev. William Ramsay .. 
 Rev. Timothy E. Rancy. 
 
 Rev. llollis Read 
 
 Abraham Redfield 
 
 Rev. David Remington.. 
 
 Rev, John Rendall 
 
 William C. Regna 
 
 George Regna 
 
 William H. Rice 
 
 Bardwell 
 Lyman .... 
 
 Rev. James Richards ... 
 Rev. AYilliam Richards. 
 
 Dalzell ... 
 Longley . 
 
 Rev. Elia.s Riggs 
 
 Rev. Stephen Riggs , 
 
 Pierce 
 
 Church 
 
 Hooper ..... 
 
 Ward. 
 
 Hitchcock.. 
 Pixley 
 
 Rev. Samuel Robbins . 
 Rev. Charles Robinson. 
 
 Gilbert Rockwood 
 
 Edmund H. Rogers 
 
 Rev. David Rood , 
 
 WeUs .... 
 Barker . 
 
 Rev. George B. Rowell . 
 Samuel Ruggles 
 
 William G. Sampson.. 
 
 Vermont 
 
 Rhode Island .... 
 New Hampshire. 
 Connecticut , 
 
 New Hampshire. 
 
 Vermont .. 
 New York.. 
 
 Massach usetts . . 
 
 Massachusetts.. 
 Massachusetts.. 
 
 New Jersey . 
 New York.... 
 
 Massachusetts 
 Pennsylvania .. 
 Termont 
 
 Connecticut- 
 
 New York 
 
 Connecticut.. 
 Connecticut- 
 
 Connecticut 
 
 Massachusetts 
 
 Maine 
 
 Termont 
 
 Termont 
 
 Connecticut 
 
 New York 
 
 Termont 
 
 New Jersey 
 
 Massachusetts 
 
 Kentucky ... 
 Connecticut.. 
 
 Termont . 
 
 JIassachusetts 
 Massachusetts 
 
 Now York 
 
 Pennsylvania... 
 
 Pennsylvania.. 
 Massachusetts 
 Termont 
 
 Massachusetts 
 Connecticut 
 
 Vermont 
 
 Now York 
 
 Massachu.>=etts 
 ^lassacliusetts 
 Massachusetts.. 
 
 New Jersey 
 
 Massachusetts.. 
 
 Connecticut 
 
 New York 
 
 Massachusetts 
 
 New York 
 
 Massachusetts.. 
 Massachusetts.. 
 
 Connecticut.. 
 Connecticut.. 
 New York 
 
 Ojibwas 
 
 South Africa 
 
 Madura 
 
 Ceylon 
 
 Persia 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Ceylon 
 
 Stockbridge Indians 
 
 Ceylon 
 
 Nestorians 
 
 Osages 
 
 Cherokees 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Stockbridge Indians 
 
 Mahrattas 
 
 Sandwich Islands .., 
 Indian Archipelago 
 
 Madura 
 
 Persia 
 
 Cherokees 
 
 Borneo 
 
 India , 
 
 Mahrattas . 
 Maumees .. 
 Mackinaw .. 
 Cherokees . 
 Mahrattas . 
 Singapore... 
 Mahrattas . 
 Ceylon 
 
 Sandwich Islands . 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Cherokees 
 
 Cherokees 
 
 Cherokees 
 
 Cherokees 
 
 Sandwich Islands . 
 Sandwich Islands . 
 
 Cherokees 
 
 China 
 
 Salonica 
 
 Cvprus 
 
 Turkey 
 
 Slam 
 
 Persia 
 
 Osages 
 
 Ceylon 
 
 Siam 
 
 Osages 
 
 Borneo 
 
 Ceylon 
 
 Sioux 
 
 Sioux 
 
 South Africa 
 
 Cherokees 
 
 Cherokees 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Turkey 
 
 Turkey 
 
 Western Africa .... 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Cherokees 
 
 Ojibwas 
 
 Mahrattas 
 
 Pawnees 
 
 5Iahrattas 
 
 Osages 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Madura 
 
 Osages 
 
 Osages 
 
 Osages 
 
 Osages 
 
 Sandwich Islands . 
 
 Persia 
 
 Ceylon 
 
 Sandwich Islands - 
 
 Chickasaws 
 
 Turkey 
 
 Sioux 
 
 Maumees 
 
 Siam 
 
 Siam 
 
 N. Y. Indians 
 
 Sandwich Islands . 
 Sandwich Islands . 
 
 South Africa 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 N. Y. Indians 
 
 Sandwich Islands . 
 Sandwich Islands . 
 
 Mahrattas 1S32 
 
 Cherokees 1S27 
 
 18:i4 
 1847 
 1846 
 1815 
 
 1835 
 1849 
 1828 
 1833 
 1841 
 1821 
 1841 
 1823 
 1826 
 
 1834 
 1836 
 1833 
 1836 
 1843 
 
 1S25 
 1S36 
 1812 
 1817 
 1828 
 1828 
 1821 
 1817 
 1835 
 1812 
 1849 
 
 1827 
 1831 
 1819 
 
 1820 
 1833 
 1837 
 1841 
 1832 
 1821 
 1842 
 1850 
 1834 
 1841 
 1S39 
 1833 
 1833 
 1835 
 1839 
 1821 
 1838 
 1815 
 1838 
 1835 
 1851 
 1829 
 1820 
 1843 
 1834 
 1843 
 1848 
 1820 
 1822 
 1849 
 
 1830 
 1844 
 1830 
 1821 
 1821 
 1846 
 1821 
 1834 
 1823 
 1827 
 1841 
 1847 
 1815 
 1822 
 1825 
 1832 
 1837 
 1827 
 1836 
 1833 
 1837 
 1829 
 1S34 
 1848 
 1847 
 1827 
 1842 
 1819 
 
 894 
 
AMEBICAX BOARD OF FOKEIGX MISSION.? 
 
 FifU tt Idbonr. 
 
 *SxttE3Jee, Martha A-, Mrs. _. 
 
 Savrer. Sophia, Miss 
 
 ScJi&iifer. Maiy, Mrs. 
 
 Bdmeidtr. Eiixa C- Mi«. 
 
 Seadder, Harriet- Mrs ^ 
 
 ?7ul3eT. FiinDv L-. Mrs- ...: — 
 •^Si-ui'l-iT. Cittbarme K^ 3Iri . 
 
 Stjmour, Jaoe B_ Mrs. 
 
 Sbelton. Henrietia ?L. Mrs. . 
 Shejiard, Margaj^t C-. ?Ire. - 
 ^Sherman- 51anlia E_ Mr=- . 
 
 SiinnfT. Per?i=. Mis? 
 
 Skinner. Pamela. Mii? 
 
 =laT<, JiilirT:^- Mi^? , 
 
 •^SmiiiL ^larah L.. 3Ir?. _ , 
 
 ♦Smith. Man& W, Mr=. 
 
 SmjiJi- >lr£. _ 
 
 Smiiiu AT^iaW^ Mrs. 
 
 ;miT>i, Esther, Miss 
 
 Smita, Eunioe T-, Mrs. 
 
 Smiib, ilarda M-, Misg 
 
 Smiih- SfixahG., Mis. 
 
 Smi:li- 5Irs. 
 
 SmiiK MiE. 
 
 Sm:;^i^ Mrs. - „ 
 
 Siar.li. Lucia G_ 'Mies 
 
 Sia2 Jin^- £)ixa, Mre — 
 
 gpaniiing. Marr. Mrs. 
 
 Spanldln::. Jolia. ?Irs. 
 
 Spooner. Al'Lrdil. Miaa 
 
 Siri^s.!- Fi'imiilhe- ?Irs. 
 
 Siarr. Eunice. Mi^: 
 
 Sl-«i?je. Main"- Mr; 
 
 SieifciL EUea. !Mis; 
 
 Stusltt. Mr? 
 
 SieTenT. Jujia, Mr? 
 
 Si^T^nr. Salinii. Mi-? 
 
 Siewart, Harriei B- Mrr 
 
 SteTT'^iTT. Eiita- Mr- 
 
 Siccfiin.'. Jcni-L.3 E_ ?lr?. ... 
 
 «Stai«iari- Han^t, Mrs. 
 
 Stoddard, Sophia D- Mrs. „.. 
 
 *Si'' DC Vtossa. ^frs- 
 
 5T:-i^ Abigail H., 3It=. _ 
 
 Si'h:-- Caiharine 51- ilrs. — 
 
 *ST:iLe. ElizaJ-eth. Jliss 
 
 *Sir:iij. Celia S-j Mrs .... 
 
 T-alm-aze. Mire. 
 
 Talro-'ise, Mrs. 
 
 Tavlor; 3Iartha E^ Mr? 
 
 T*iT]:r- Judith M- ^Hes 
 
 *Templ& Rachel B- Sirs. „. 
 
 T^mT>le. 3Ianha. Mrs. 
 
 Tnaver. .--j.--jI1- Mr?. — 
 
 Ti^^Vcr. Rtliei Mi^6 
 
 ri;cmf^:.ii. i:-a:b B-?Ir=. .. 
 Thfwnpann- JESiza X_ Mr=. .. 
 
 ^UMopson, Xaner, Miss 
 
 SuraipSOIl, Ann G_ ?lr? 
 
 IlsdjQipBoiL, CatheriiL^ Mis. 
 
 rhrall, Crnthia, Sliss 
 
 Thurfton- Lacr. Mrs, 
 
 Tilden, Betsey," Miss — 
 
 Tilt^iii, Lanra E- Miss 
 
 Untpr. Marv T_ Mrs. 
 
 *Toii LucT, >Irs. 
 
 TOTTTL, TTam'inth £_ 31r£. 
 
 ToTTij, Hannah, 5tis. _ 
 
 Tmrj'. Euulj F- Sirs, 
 
 ^Tra/rr. Aieline. Sirs. 
 
 Traty. Alice H_ Mis. 
 
 TracT. Su?aiL. 31iBS 
 
 Txav'-IIL Bnsui, Mrs. 
 
 TtIs-, Sasaa TV- Mrs. 
 
 Mather 
 
 ' Remolds — 
 " AhlKitt 
 
 TTaJerbajy .. 
 
 ' WaljKtle 
 
 I Ha£tiii;gs 
 
 ' LeaTitt 
 
 'Hyde 
 
 Stow 
 
 \^' iHiMjng 
 
 Han^ngloD — 
 Chapin — 
 
 TemieT 
 
 I Morse 
 
 Benedict Sjtu-rlee, M.D. 
 
 B«T, Wm. G. Schaiiara'...l 
 BeT. BeDjamiii Sehnioder 
 
 John Scudder. M.D. ' 
 
 BeT. Heniy M. Sandier - 
 
 BeT. W. W. Srudaer 
 
 John L- SeTDi'MiT 
 
 Charle? M/Sbeli a. M.D. 
 
 Stfji-ben ."rbep'iird 
 
 Bev. Cbai- S. Sbenaan... 
 
 MasEischiiiaette . 
 
 Massachusietts 
 
 Massachusetts . 
 
 Xew York 
 
 XewTork.. 
 
 Rev. Eli Smith 
 
 XewYork. 
 
 PennsylTama 
 
 Oonnectieat 
 
 LfOwer Canada— ~. 
 
 Connecticm: 
 
 Conneeticnt 
 
 Ccnnecticui. 
 
 »w York 
 
 Ber. IiDwell FiTiith _ 
 
 ReT. John C. Smith 
 
 
 Hart ..... 
 
 I Christie.. 
 Brooks .. 
 
 Thiinpaoii 
 
 sn^iri""!!™ 
 
 Hfianj .... 
 
 Capen 
 
 Gilbert 
 
 Brigzs™. 
 
 Hazen 
 
 Prost 
 
 BimhoH .. 
 Arthur 
 
 Ber. Asa B. Smith 
 
 John Smith 
 
 Azariah Smith. M. D. ~ 
 James W. Saiith. 3L D... 
 
 RcT. Henrr H. Si al iing 
 
 Rev. Levi Sjranldmz: 
 
 Rev. E^hzaim Si:<aniding'. 
 
 Granvillt' T. Sj rrat .„ 
 
 John Steele, M. D. 
 
 Rev. TiMsnas C. Stuart— 
 Rev. Jeitedh. D. Stevens 
 
 Ma?;?acbusetts 
 
 XewTork 
 
 SlasfachTiselts 
 XewYork 
 
 M aSFacb iis-rtts 
 
 Conneetieat. 
 
 Xew Hampshire.. 
 
 Slassachnsetts ... 
 
 Massa^nsetts ... 
 
 Massajdiusetts ... 
 
 Bev. Charles S. Stewart _ CDnnecticut-.. 
 
 , "Wrigbt 
 
 Cougar .. 
 
 Startevaut . 
 
 Dis 
 
 EIy„ 
 
 J w hi <j"g 
 
 I Johnson 
 
 Runna 
 
 I Averv — - 
 j Wycfeoff . 
 
 .„.lGoodeIl. 
 
 Yafl- J nlia. Sirs. _...—— ..-.—-- 
 
 Taiii, Asenath, Mrs. — 
 
 Tan. Doreu. Jane A- Mzs. — 
 
 Tan Dozeel OraJL 5Ir?. 
 
 *Tan Lennep- 3Jjre- 
 
 i *Tan Lenncp. Mary. Sirs. 
 
 I Tan Lennep. Eniily A., ilis. . 
 Tan Tushrf. Mis- ' 
 
 1 Traia2^ Mar^a A-, Sirs. .... 
 
 i 
 
 : TTalker, Slarr. Mis. — 
 
 *WaIkOT, Prudeaioe, Mrs. 
 
 Walker. Mrs. 
 
 Wajd, Hw ;n"?*h W., Mrs. 
 
 Ward, Jane, Mrs, 
 
 Waghbum, Alngaii- Mrs. 
 
 Webb. >'ancy A_ Mrs- ...._-— 
 Webster, Marietta, Mte- 
 
 ' Weed, Eliza H_ Mrs. — 
 
 Wetmore, Lacy £- Sirs. 
 
 Wheder, Harriet, Sirs — 
 
 . Wheeler, Mrs. 
 
 ' Whiteomh, Hannah T- Miae - 
 
 Wood 
 
 Browuell - 
 
 Core 
 
 Hm 
 
 TraT^li .. 
 
 White 
 
 Daiia. 
 
 tt iitiwin E. Stocking 
 
 Rev. David T. Stoddard— 
 
 Rev. Cyrus Stone 
 
 Bev. SethB. Sione 
 
 Bev. John C- Strong 
 
 John Tabuaze 
 
 Rev. JohB y. X. Talmagt 
 
 Rev. Horace S- Tavlcr — 
 
 Cc'imeetKrat. 
 
 Maisaehusieifc ... 
 
 TencoDt 
 
 >'ew Hampshire- 
 Maine 
 
 XewYork 
 
 Ma5^^ajcii"U5eTt= 
 
 Massacbusetts 
 
 PaTDete 
 
 Cherokees 
 
 Turkey 
 
 Turkey 
 
 Ceylon 
 
 Sladras 
 
 C-erlon 
 
 Ojil'wa,e 
 
 Madura- 
 
 Sandwich Islands . 
 
 Syria 
 
 Ojil'was „ 
 
 Cbc*ctaws 
 
 Chc-ctaws 
 
 Syria 
 
 Syria 
 
 Syria 
 
 Sandwich Islands . 
 
 Cber.:>kees 
 
 C-evlon 
 
 Siindwic-h Islands . 
 
 Cbfxtaws 
 
 ^Ve?t€-rD A=ia 
 
 Sand-ni'i-b I-lande - 
 
 Sandwicb I?land? . 
 j Oregon .--. 
 
 Ceylon 
 
 I Sandwich Islands . 
 
 I C^jTiwas _ 
 
 ! C^ibwas — 
 
 Chc-ctaws 
 
 Madura- 
 
 ■ Cherokees 
 
 Chickasawg 
 
 Sioui 
 
 Ojihwas _ 
 
 Sandwich Islands . 
 
 Chc'Ctaws 
 
 Persia - 
 
 Persia _ 
 
 Persia 
 
 Slahrattas 
 
 Mahrattas -. 
 
 South Africa 
 
 X. Y. Indians 
 
 Cboctaws 
 
 Rev. Daniel Tonple 
 
 Wniiam A. Thayer 
 
 Rev. John Thonipson .... 
 Rev. Wm. Thompson 
 
 Rev. Leander Thompsd'n 
 Rev. Fred. B. Thompson 
 
 Rev. Asa Thurston 
 
 Irwin — 
 
 Oark 
 
 Rev. Eeahen Tinker .. 
 Rev. ^aiiam Todd ... 
 
 I~:iah S- Town .- 
 
 -Tv-epb To-aTi 
 
 Bev. William Tracy .. 
 
 Rev. Ira Trac>- - 
 
 Stephen Tracy, SL D. 
 
 Rev. Joseph S. Travelli— 
 Rer. Joaah Tyler ™ 
 
 John Tail 
 
 Rev. Wm. F. Taill 
 
 Rex. Wm. S. Tan Doren 
 
 Wm- S- Tan Duzee _ 
 
 Rev. H, J. Tan Lennep_ 
 
 , Cherokees 
 
 , China 
 
 Ohio Sladura — 
 
 Xew York. Siam „ 
 
 Xew Hampshire... ; Slalta 
 
 Slassachusetts .... 
 
 Oonnecticnt _ 
 
 Termont 
 
 Termont , 
 
 Maiyland _ , 
 
 Tirginia 
 
 Xew Hampshire... 
 
 Xew Jersey 
 
 Connecticut _ 
 
 Kew Ham^psfaire.. 
 
 Slassachusetts 
 Xew York 
 
 Pennsylrania .- 
 Slafisachusetts 
 Termont 
 
 Pennsylvania 
 
 Massachusetts 
 
 Selden — 
 DeGraw 
 Hobart ... 
 
 Bliss 
 
 Hawes ... 
 
 Bird - - 
 
 Badger Rev, Isaac Tan TnsbeL 
 
 Martin Rev. Henry J, Triable. 
 
 ' Richardson ...1 Rev. Elkannah Walker- 
 
 ; Eichardsion ... , Rev. WiUmiq Walker — 
 
 Shumwav —- — ~ 
 
 Clark - I Xathan Ward, 5L D 
 
 Shaw „ Rer. Ferd. De W. Ward— 
 
 I Woodward .- Rev. Cephas Washburn-. 
 
 i Foote - -. Rev. Edward Webb 
 
 EawBon. ' Elijah A. Webster 
 
 ! Laahrop i Bev. Geo. L. Weed; SI. D. 
 
 Tavlor Chas. H. Wetmore. M. D. 
 
 Wood Rer. Leonard H- Wheeler 
 
 i„.„ ^„ John F. Wheeler {. 
 
 Xew Jersey . 
 Xew Jersey - 
 
 Slalta .._ 
 
 X. Y. Indians — 
 
 X. Y. T-n<li«nB 
 
 Cherokees 
 
 Syria 
 
 Cherokees _ 
 
 Syria ...- 
 
 Borneo 
 
 Cherokees 
 
 Sandwich Islands . 
 
 Syria 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Sandwidi Islands . 
 
 Sf adura. 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Qjibwas -. 
 
 Sladuia 
 
 SiEigapore 
 
 Siam 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Singapore 
 
 South AMca 
 
 Cherokees 
 
 Osages 
 
 Borneo 
 
 Xew York. Sandwich Islands . 
 
 MiBSBsippi Western Asia 
 
 Oonnecticnt _. Turkey 
 
 Syria - ! Turkey 
 
 Maumees 
 
 Kentuckr South Africa 
 
 Slaine 
 
 SX&ssadiiiBetts .... 
 
 Termont 
 
 New York 
 
 Termnnt 
 
 Xew York 
 
 Ma.^sacha=ett? -... 
 Ma-5acba5etts .... 
 Massachusetts .... 
 Mafisachusetts — .. 
 
 Oregon Indians ... 
 
 West Africa 
 
 West Africa 
 
 Ceylon 
 
 Sladura. 
 
 Cherokee 
 
 Madura. 
 
 Slahrattas _ 
 
 Cherokees 
 
 Sandwich Inlands 
 
 Qjibwas - 
 
 Cherokees 
 
 X. Y. Indians 
 
 1836 
 
 1^23 
 Y^A 
 
 1K.>3 
 
 1S19 
 1^44 
 
 164^ 
 lS-33 
 1S49 
 l5i7 
 Is'i-' 
 \<M 
 
 1k4T 
 1633 
 
 1K41 
 
 lSi6 
 ls:32 
 JS32 
 1n42 
 1K36 
 1S3B 
 lS-20 
 
 1S4:S 
 
 1^42 
 ls36 
 
 lSi6 
 1S19 
 1n32 
 ISU 
 
 IFSS 
 
 1>-19 
 1S^6 
 1^22 
 1<21 
 1^2? 
 1^2^ 
 1^22 
 1^2: 
 ls57 
 1^3 
 
 iNf.l 
 
 ls34 
 iN^C) 
 IsSl 
 1847 
 
 1819 
 1850 
 1S44 
 
 1S39 
 1S22 
 1830 
 1822 
 1S.32 
 1828 
 1832 
 1820 
 ls40 
 18-38 
 1825 
 1819 
 lS-35 
 184.5 
 lS-30 
 lN.33 
 lv27 
 1835 
 ls36 
 1834 
 ls3o 
 1S44 
 1835 
 1849 
 
 1819 
 
 1S20 
 1841 
 1836 
 1840 
 1843 
 1850 
 1829 
 1834 
 
 1838 
 1842 
 1846 
 1S33 
 18-30 
 ISIS 
 184-5 
 1835 
 182.5 
 184S 
 1841 
 1S35 
 1839 
 
AMERICAN MISSIONARY WOMEN. 
 
 Maiden Name. 
 
 Hu aba lulu' Name. 
 
 Where Born. 
 
 Field or Labour. 
 
 White, Adeline, Mias 
 
 White, Helen M., Mrs 
 
 Whitney, Matilda S., Mrs 
 
 Whitman, Narcissa, Mrs 
 
 Whit, Mary, Mra 
 
 Whitney, Maria K., Miss 
 
 Whittelsey, Anna C., Mrs 
 
 Whittelsey, Elizabeth K., Mrs. 
 
 Whittelsey, Anna, Misa 
 
 Wilcox, Lucy E., Mrs 
 
 Wilder, Abby T., Mrs 
 
 Wilder, Mrs , 
 
 *Willey, Mary A., Mrs 
 
 Williams, Mrs 
 
 Williams, Mehitable, Mrs 
 
 Williams, Louisa M., Misa 
 
 Williams, Matilda, Mrs 
 
 Williams, Sarah, Mrs 
 
 *Williams, Judith, Mrs 
 
 Williamson, Margaret, Mrs. ... 
 
 *Wilson, Ethalinda, Mrs 
 
 Wilson, Prudence, Miss 
 
 *Wilson, Mary J., Mrs 
 
 *Wilson, Sarah, Mrs 
 
 Wilson, Emeline, Mrs 
 
 Wilson, Mary, Mrs 
 
 Wil.qon, Jane E., Mrs 
 
 Winship, Mrs 
 
 *Winslow, Harriet W., Mrs 
 
 *Winslow, Catherine, Mrs 
 
 Wisner, Judith, Mrs 
 
 Wolcott, Catharine B., Mrs. ... 
 
 Wood, Clarissa H., Mrs 
 
 *Wood, Martha M., Mrs 
 
 Wood, Mrs 
 
 Wood, Lucy W., Mrs 
 
 Woodward, Lydia, Mrs 
 
 Worcester, Anna, Mrs 
 
 ♦Wright, Martha, Mrs 
 
 Wright, Laura M., Mrs 
 
 Wright, Harriet, Mra 
 
 *Wright, Lucinda, Mrs 
 
 Wyman, Martha E., Mrs 
 
 Ward 
 
 Prentiss .. 
 Partridge . 
 
 Rev. David White 
 
 Rev. George B. Ward ., 
 Marcus Ward, M. D. ... 
 Rev. Samuel Whit 
 
 Massachusetts 
 
 New York 
 
 New Jersey , 
 
 New York 
 
 Massachusetts 
 
 Mills 
 
 Baldwin , 
 
 *Rev. Samuel Whittelsey 
 Rev.Eliphalet Whittelsey 
 
 Hart 
 
 Lindsly .. 
 
 Frye 
 
 Stearns . 
 
 Abner Wilcox 
 
 Rev. Hyman A. Wilder.. 
 Rev. Royal G. Wilder ... 
 Rev. Worcester Willey... 
 
 S. Wells Williams , 
 
 Rev. William Williams... 
 
 New Jersey . 
 New Jersey . 
 New York... ^. 
 New York.... 
 Vermont 
 
 Massachusetts 
 
 Loomis . 
 Pond .... 
 Chase.... 
 
 Hall 
 
 Rev. Loring S. Williams 
 Rev. W. Fred'k. Williams 
 
 A. V.Williams 
 
 Rev. T. S. Williamson 
 Rev. Hugh Wilson 
 
 Smithey .... 
 
 Beatty 
 
 Tomlinson . 
 Hardcastle . 
 Bayard 
 
 Lathrop 
 
 Waterbury ., 
 
 Frissell 
 
 Wood 
 
 Williams .... 
 Johnson .... 
 
 Rev. Alex. E. Wilson .... 
 Rev. Henry R. Wilson ... 
 Rev. David IVr. Wilson ... 
 Alex. E. Wilson, M. D. ... 
 Rev. J. Leighton Wilson 
 
 Daniel H. Winship 
 
 Rev. Miron Winslow .... 
 
 Connecticut 
 
 New York 
 
 New Hampshire. 
 
 Kentucky 
 
 North Carolina . 
 North Carolina . 
 
 Virginia 
 
 Pennsylvania.... 
 
 New Jersey 
 
 New York 
 
 Georgia 
 
 Samuel Wisner 
 
 Rev. Samuel Wolcott . 
 
 Rev. Joel Wood 
 
 Rev. George W. Wood 
 
 Connecticut 
 
 New York 
 
 Massachusetts 
 Massachusetts.. 
 
 New York 
 
 New Jersey 
 
 Lawrence ... 
 Middleton . 
 
 Orr 
 
 Egerton .... 
 Sheldon .... 
 
 Bruce 
 
 Washburn 
 Weston, 
 
 Rev. Wm. Wood 
 
 Rev. Henry Woodward... 
 Rev. Smith A. Worcester 
 Rev. Asher Wright 
 
 Massachusetts. . . ., 
 
 New Jersey 
 
 New Hampshire.. 
 
 Vermont 
 
 Vermont 
 
 Youngblood, Josephine, Mrs.... Mills 
 
 Rev. Alfred Wright., 
 
 David Wright ■ 
 
 Rev. Robert Wyman I Maine . 
 
 Rev. Wm. Youngblood-.l New York.. 
 
 Western Africa .... 
 
 Syria 
 
 Oregon Indians .... 
 Sandwich Islands . 
 Sandwich Islands . 
 
 Ceylon 
 
 Sandwich Islands . 
 
 Syria 
 
 Sandwich Islands . 
 
 South Africa 
 
 Mahrattas 
 
 Cherokees 
 
 Canton 
 
 N. Y. Indians 
 
 ChoctawB 
 
 Cherokees 
 
 Syria 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Ojibwas 
 
 Chickasaws 
 
 Chickasaws 
 
 West Africa 
 
 ChoctawB 
 
 Syria 
 
 West Africa 
 
 West Africa 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Ceylon 
 
 Madras 
 
 Cherokees 
 
 Syria 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Singapore 
 
 Turkey 
 
 Mahrattas 
 
 Ceylon 
 
 Cherokees 
 
 N, Y. Indians 
 
 N. Y. Indians 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Ceylon 
 
 Borneo . 
 
 1836 
 1830 
 1836 
 1819 
 1844 
 1842 
 1843 
 1851 
 1836 
 1849 
 1846 
 1846 
 1848 
 1834 
 1834 
 1817 
 1848 
 1818 
 1835 
 1822 
 1822 
 1834 
 1834 
 1847 
 1834 
 1838 
 1845 
 1819 
 1835 
 1820 
 1840 
 1820 
 1838 
 1842 
 1847 
 1819 
 1825 
 1832 
 1833 
 1825 
 1823 
 1841 
 
 1836 
 
 MISSIONARY SOCIETIES. 
 
 Tat first formed in the United States was styled "The American Board of Commission for Foreign Missions," instituted 
 June 29, 1810, by the Great Association of Massachusetts. The Congregational, Presbyterian, and Dutch and German Reformed 
 Churches, were united in this Mission, which has continued its work during the last forty years. It baa been greatly prospered. 
 The foregoing list of names shows its female agents, and it has the sacred glory of numbering among its missionary women 
 the first American martyr for the cause — Mrs. Harriet Newelll 
 
 "The American Baptist Mission Union" was formed in May, 1814, and has been in operation thirty-seven years. Among 
 its female helpers are found some of the brightest and loveliest examples of Christian faith and zeal; — the two Mrs. Judsons 
 and Miss Macomber are worthy to he ranked with the Phoebes and PrisciUas of the early Church. 
 
 " The American Protestant Episcopal Church Missionary Society" was formed in 1830, and has been actively engaged about 
 twenty years in its great work. Had it done nothing save found the Mission School at Athens, it would deserve the gratitude 
 of all Christendom. Mrs. Hill is one of the noblest patterns of feminine usefulness in the cause of Christian education 
 ■which the world has seen since the time of the " Elect Lady," whose commendation was that "her children were walking in 
 the truth," — doubtless those committed to her care for education, like the daughters of Greece to Mrs, Hill. 
 
 "The Western Foreign Missionary Society" formed at Pittsburg, Pennsylvania, in 1832, comprising a portion of the 
 Presbyterian Churches, was, in 1837, united to the Board of Foreign Missions of the "Old School" Presbyterians. These 
 form the fourth section in this List of " Missionary Women." 
 
 Had the names of those sent out by the " Missionary Society of the Methodist Episcopal Church in America" been obtained, 
 the list would have amounted to over one thousand. These are "honourable women," who have their memory in the 
 hearts of all Christians, ' May the next forty years add an hundred-fold to their numbers 1 The denomination of American 
 Christians which shall provide most liberally for female education, and employ most female agents, sending these out as 
 missionaries' wives, teachers of children, physicians for their own Bes — will take the lead in doing good, and, of course, in 
 the true glory of the true Church. 
 
FEMALE MISSIONAEIES 
 
 BAPTIST FOREIGN MISSIONS. 
 
 • Those markea with an (*) are deceased. 
 
 Abbot, Ann P., Mrs 
 
 Arnold, Sarah, Mrs 
 
 Ashmore, Martha Ann, Mrs. 
 
 Bennett, Stella, Mrs 
 
 Brayton, Maxy H., Mrs 
 
 Binney, Juliett, Mrs 
 
 Barker, Jane, Mrs 
 
 Beecher, Martha, Mrs 
 
 Bronson, Ruth M., Mrs 
 
 Bronson, Rhoda M., Miss 
 
 Barker, Elizabeth F., Mrs 
 
 Benjamin, Susan Ruggles, Mrs. 
 
 Bingham, Hannah, Mrs 
 
 Bond, Mary, Miss 
 
 Boynton, Elizabeth, Miss 
 
 Blanchard, Mary, Mrs 
 
 Brown, Eliza W., Mrs 
 
 Brown, Cynthia, Miss 
 
 Buel, Mary J., Mrs 
 
 Bullard, Ellen, Mrs 
 
 Butterfield, Mrs 
 
 Campbell, Clarissa C, Mrs. , 
 
 Case, Sylvia, Miss 
 
 Chajidler, Helen Mar, Mrs.. 
 
 Clarke, Lois G., Mrs 
 
 Cleaver, Rachel, Mrs 
 
 Colman, Elizabeth, Mrs. .... 
 
 Compere, Susan, Mrs 
 
 Comstoek, Sarah D., Mrs. ... 
 
 Constantine, Mary, Mrs 
 
 Crocker, M. B., Mrs 
 
 *Crocker, Rizpah, Mrs 
 
 Cross, Julia Ann, Mrs 
 
 *Cuminings, Sarah, Miss ... 
 
 Curtiss, M. A., Mrs 
 
 Cutter, Harriet B., Mrs 
 
 Danforth, Frances A., Mrs. ... 
 Davenport, Frances G., Mrs. 
 
 Day, Roenna, Mrs. 
 
 Day, Sarah, Miss 
 
 *Dean, Matilda, Mrs 
 
 *Dean, TheodosiaA., Mrs. ... 
 
 *Devan, Lydia, Mrs 
 
 Devan, Emma E., Mrs 
 
 Dickson, Harriet E.j Mrs 
 
 Edson, Temperance P., Mrs. 
 
 * Fielding, Maria P., Mrs. ... 
 
 Goddard, Eliza A., Mrs 
 
 *Hall, Catharine B., Mrs. .., 
 *Hancock, Abigail S., Mrs. . 
 
 Harris, 0. C, Mrs 
 
 Haswell, Jane M., Mrs 
 
 Hough, Phebe, Mrs 
 
 Howard, Theresa, Mrs 
 
 Hibhard, Sarah II., Miss .... 
 
 *Ingalls, Maria, Mrs. . 
 
 *Judson, Ann, Mrs , 
 
 *Judson, Sarah B., Mrs. ., 
 Judson, Emily C, Mrs. ... 
 *Jencks, Caroline, Mrs. ... 
 Jewett, Euphemia, Mrs. . . 
 *Johnson, A. Anna, Mrs. 
 
 *Jones, Eliza, Mrs 
 
 *Jones, J., Mrs 
 
 Jones, Sarah, Mrs 
 
 *Jones, Elizabeth, Mrs. .. 
 
 Jones, Mrs 
 
 Jones, Elizabeth, Miss 
 
 Maidea Name, 
 
 Gardener .. 
 
 Allin 
 
 Sanderson .. 
 
 Kneelend ., 
 
 Fuller 
 
 Pattison ... 
 "Weston .... 
 
 Footo 
 
 Lucas 
 
 ChurchUl . 
 
 Stone 
 
 Brown 
 
 Walton . 
 Ballard . 
 
 Raymond.. 
 Huntley ... 
 Lamson .. 
 
 Conant 
 
 Grossman . 
 
 Hubbard . 
 
 Davis 
 
 Fales 
 
 Chadbourn 
 
 Warren 
 
 Putnam 
 
 Husband'a Name. 
 
 Rev. Elisha L. Abbot .. 
 Rev. Albert N. Arnold . 
 Rev. William Ashmore 
 
 Rev. Cephas Bennet 
 
 Rev. Durlin L. Brayton 
 Rev, Joseph G. Binney.. 
 
 Rev. Cyrus Barker 
 
 Rev. John S. Beecher .. 
 Rev. Miles Bronson 
 
 Rev. Francis Barker 
 
 Rev. Judson Benjamin. 
 Rev. Abel Bingham 
 
 Rev. Ira D. Blanchard . 
 Rev. Nathan Brown ... . 
 
 Rev. RufusF. Buel 
 
 *Rev. Edwin B. Bullard 
 Rev. Leonard Butterfield 
 
 Rev. Harvey E. Campbell 
 
 Colbur^ . 
 Low 
 
 Studley.. 
 Roper .... 
 Clark 
 
 Coman .. 
 Barker . 
 Hale .... 
 Clark.... 
 Widow . 
 
 Bruce ,. 
 
 Madeira 
 Abbott ... 
 
 Morse 
 
 Thayer 
 
 Wadsworth . 
 
 Mason 
 
 Mann , 
 
 Patten 
 
 Dawes 
 
 Hasseltine ... 
 
 Hall 
 
 Chubbuck .... 
 
 Baldwin 
 
 Davis 
 
 Stevens 
 
 Grew 
 
 Leavitt 
 
 Sleeper 
 
 Cunningham 
 
 Mr. John H. Chandler., 
 
 *Rev. Ivory Clarke 
 
 Rev. Isaac Cleaver 
 
 *Rev. James Colman ... 
 
 Rev. Lee Compere 
 
 *Rev. Grover S. Comstoek 
 Rev. A. A. Constantine.., 
 
 Rev. W. G. Crocker 
 
 *Rev. Wm. G, Crocker .., 
 Rev. Edm. B. Cross , 
 
 Rev. Chandler Curtiss . 
 Mr. Oliver T. Cutter.... 
 
 Rev. A. H. Danforth ... . 
 *Rev. R. D. Davenport . 
 Rev. Samuel S. Day 
 
 New York 
 
 Rhode Island .. 
 Massachusetts 
 
 New York , 
 
 Connecticut 
 
 Vermont 
 
 England 
 
 New York 
 
 New York 
 
 New York 
 
 Massachusetts . 
 Massachusetts .... 
 
 New York * 
 
 Massachusetts. . . 
 Massachusetts . 
 Massachusetts .... 
 Massachusetts .... 
 
 Michigan , 
 
 New York , 
 
 Vermont 
 
 Massachusetts ., 
 
 Massachusetts 
 
 Rev. William Dean . 
 Rev. William Dean , 
 Rev. Ths.T. Devan, M. D. 
 Rev. Thomas T. Devan. 
 
 Rev. Ambler Edson . 
 
 *Rev. Joseph Fielding ... 
 Rev. Josiah Goddard. 
 
 *Rev. Levi Hall 
 
 Mr. Royal B. Hancock .. 
 
 Rev. Norman Harris 
 
 Rev. James M. Haswell., 
 Rev. George H. Hough .. 
 Rev. Hosea Howard 
 
 Rev. Lovell Ingalls 
 
 Rev. Adoniram Judson.. 
 Rev. Adoniram Judson.. 
 *Rev. Adoniram Judson. 
 
 Erasmus N. Jencks 
 
 Rev. Lyman Jewett 
 
 Eev. John Johnson ....... 
 
 Rev. John T. Jones 
 
 Rev. J. T. Jones , 
 
 Rev. Evan Jones . 
 Rev. Evan Jones . 
 
 New York 
 
 Maine 
 
 Pennsylvania.. 
 Massachusetts.. 
 
 England 
 
 Massachusetts 
 Massachusetts 
 
 Maine 
 
 Massachusetts 
 
 Vermont 
 
 Maine 
 
 Massachusetts 
 Massachusetts 
 
 Massachusetts ... 
 
 Virginia 
 
 New Hampshire.., 
 
 New York 
 
 New York 
 
 England 
 
 Massachusetts ..., 
 
 New York 
 
 England 
 
 Massachusetts .. 
 
 Pennsylvania 
 
 Massachusetts ... 
 
 Massachusetts ... 
 Massachusetts ... 
 Massachusetts ... 
 Massachusetts ... 
 New Hampshire.. 
 
 New York 
 
 New Hampshire- 
 Massachusetts 
 
 Massachusetts ... 
 New Hampshire.. 
 
 New York 
 
 Connecticut 
 
 New York 
 
 Maine 
 
 Rhode Island 
 
 New Hampshire- 
 New Hampshire.. 
 
 Pennsylvania 
 
 Kentucky 
 
 Pennsylvania 
 
 Field of Labour. 
 
 Burmah . 
 Greece .... 
 Siam 
 
 Burmah . 
 Burmah . 
 Burmah . 
 
 Burmah , 
 Assam .... 
 
 1834 
 1844 
 1850 
 
 1828 
 1837 
 1843 
 1839 
 1846 
 1836 
 1839 
 1839 
 1848 
 1828 
 1835 
 1838 
 1837 
 1831 
 1833 
 1840 
 1843 
 1832 
 
 Burmah 1849 
 
 Shawauoes 1837 
 
 Siam 1841 
 
 West Africa 1837 
 
 Cherokees 1821 
 
 Burmah 1817 
 
 Creeks 1822 
 
 Burmah 1833 
 
 West Africa 1840 
 
 West Africa 1844 
 
 West Africa 1838 
 
 Burmah 1843 
 
 Burmah 1832 
 
 Creeks 1834 
 
 Burmah 1831 
 
 Shawanoes . 
 Burmah .... 
 
 Ojibwas 
 
 Ottowas .... 
 
 Creeks 
 
 Delawares . 
 
 Burmah 
 
 Ojibwas 
 
 Greece 
 
 Burmah 
 
 Cherokees . 
 
 Assam 
 
 Siam 
 
 Southern India . 
 
 Ottowas 
 
 Siam 
 
 China 
 
 China 
 
 France 
 
 Greece 
 
 Otoe Indians 
 West Africa ... 
 Siam 
 
 Burmah.... 
 Burmah.... 
 Burmah.... 
 Burmah .... 
 Burmah,.... 
 Burmah.... 
 Cherokees 
 
 Burmah .. 
 
 India 
 
 Burmah 
 
 Burmah 
 
 Siam 
 
 Southern India . 
 
 China 
 
 Burmah 
 
 Siam 
 
 Cherokees 
 Cherokees . 
 Cherokees 
 
 1847 
 1835 
 1835 
 1835 
 1834 
 1838 
 1844 
 1848 
 1839 
 
 1840 
 
 1840 
 
 1838 
 
 1836 
 1831 
 1844 
 1835 
 1815 
 1832 
 1842 
 
 1835 
 
 1812 
 1825 
 1846 
 1846 
 1848 
 1847 
 1830 
 1841 
 1847 
 1821 
 
 1821 
 
 3G 
 
 897 
 
AMERICAN MISSIONARY WOMEN. 
 
 Maiden Nai 
 
 Huflband's Name. 
 
 Where Born. 
 
 Field of Labour. 
 
 ♦Kellam, Elizabeth, Mrs. 
 
 Kelly, Jane, Miss , 
 
 *Kincaid, Almy, Mrs 
 
 Kincaid, Barbara, Mrs. .. 
 Knapp, Eunice R., Mrs. .. 
 
 Lathrop, Julia A., Miss . 
 
 Leach, Mary, Miss 
 
 ♦Lewis, Mrs 
 
 Lillybridge, Lydia, Miss . 
 
 Lord, Lucy T., Mrs 
 
 Love, C. G., Mrs 
 
 Lykins, Mrs 
 
 Piersou . 
 M'Baiu . 
 
 Rev. Charles K. Eellam 
 Wife of Mr. J. T. Jones.. 
 Rev. Eugenia Kincaid... 
 
 Rev. Hervey E. Keys 
 
 Rev. David Lewis . 
 
 Lyon 
 
 Waterman 
 M*Coy 
 
 Maf^owan, M. A., Mrs 
 
 ♦Macomber, Eleanor, Miss ... 
 
 ♦Mason, Helen M., Mrs 
 
 Mason, Ellen, Mrs 
 
 Mason, Mrs 
 
 M'Coy, Christiana, Mrs 
 
 Meeker, E. D., Mrs 
 
 Merrill, Eliza W., Mrs 
 
 Moore, L. C, Mrs 
 
 Moore, Emily Frances, Mrs. . 
 Moore, Elizabeth W., Mrs. ... 
 
 Morse, Harriet H., Miss 
 
 Morse, Elizabeth S., Miss .... 
 *Mylne, Elizabeth, Mrs 
 
 ♦(ySryant, Mrs , 
 
 ♦Osgood, Elhira, Mrs. 
 ♦Osgood, S, M., Mrs. ... 
 
 Rev. Edward C. Lord ... 
 Rev. Horace T. Love ... . 
 Rev. Johnston Lykins . 
 
 Dr. D. J. Macgowan .... 
 
 Massachusetts 
 
 Maine 
 
 Pennsylvania .. 
 India 
 
 Massachusetts 
 
 NewTork 
 
 New York 
 
 New York 
 
 New York 
 
 New York 
 
 Rhode Island . 
 Indiana 
 
 Creeks .... 
 Otto was . 
 Burmah .. 
 Burmah .. 
 Burmah .. 
 
 Griggs ... 
 Huntley 
 
 Pasco, H., Mrs. 
 
 Potts, L. A., Mrs. .. 
 Pratt, Olivia, Mrs. 
 ♦Price, Mrs 
 
 Ranney, Maria, Mrs 
 
 Kayner, Sarah, Miss , 
 
 Reed, Jane G., Mrs 
 
 Rice, Mary, Miss 
 
 Roberts, Elizabeth, Mrs. 
 RoUin, Sarepeta, Mrs 
 
 Sheldon, Rachel H., Mrs 
 
 ♦Shuck, Henrietta, Mrs 
 
 Slmmerwell, Frances, Mrs. , 
 ♦Simons, Caroline J., Mrs. .. 
 
 ♦Skinner, Eliza, Mrs 
 
 Slafter, Maria, Mrs 
 
 ♦Slater, Mary A., Mrs 
 
 ♦Smedley, Mrs 
 
 Stanard, Amanda W., Miss.. 
 Stevens, Elizabeth L., Mrs... 
 
 Stilson, Lucretia, Mrs 
 
 Stoddard, Drusilla C, Mrs. .. 
 
 Taylor, Lucy H., Miss 
 
 ♦Thomas, S. M., Mrs 
 
 Thomas, Charlotte, Mrs. . 
 Thompson, Susan, Miss .. 
 
 Upham, E. 0., Mrs. 
 tJpham, R. E., Mrs. 
 
 Van Husen, Joanna, Mrs. 
 
 Van Meter, Louisa, Mrs 
 
 Vinton, Calista, Mrs 
 
 Vinton, Miranda, Miss 
 
 Wade, Deborah B., Mrs. ... 
 
 Ward, Mrs 
 
 *Webb, Catharine S., Mrs. 
 
 Webster, Abigail, Miss 
 
 Wheelock, Eliza H., Mrs. . 
 White, Charlotte H., Mrs. 
 Whiting, Elizabeth, Mrs. . 
 
 ♦Willard, Sarah, Mrs 
 
 Wiliiard, Caroline, Mrs. ... 
 WiUmarth, Harriet, Mrs. .. 
 
 Wright, H. E. T,, Miss 
 
 ♦Waldo, S. Emily, Miss .... 
 
 Polk 
 
 Richardson . 
 
 Irish 
 
 Whitehead 
 Forbes 
 
 Rev. Francis Mason ... 
 Rev. Francis Mason ... 
 Rev. James 0. Mason 
 
 Rev. Isaac M'Coy 
 
 Rev. Jotham Meeker .. 
 *Rev. Moses Merrill ... 
 Rev. Calvin C. Moore . 
 
 England 
 
 New York 
 
 Massachusetts 
 
 Burmah 
 
 Ojibwaa 
 
 Creeks 
 
 Burmah 
 
 China 
 
 Greece 
 
 Potawatomies 
 
 China .... 
 Burmah . 
 Burmah . 
 
 Rev. William Moore . 
 
 Brown .... 
 Willsey .. 
 
 Sullivan . 
 Purchase . 
 Evans 
 
 Qager.. 
 
 Rev. William Mylne 
 
 *Rev. Duncan O'Bryant. 
 Rev. Sewall M. Osgood .. 
 Rev. S. M. Osgood 
 
 Rev. Cephas Pasco 
 
 Rev. Ramsay D. Potts ... 
 
 Rev. John G. Pratt 
 
 Rev. Jona D. Price, M. D. 
 
 Mr. Thomas S. Ranney... 
 
 New York 
 
 Kentucky 
 
 Ohio 
 
 New York 
 
 New York 
 
 India 
 
 Vermont 
 
 Massachusetts 
 
 Vermont 
 
 Virginia 
 
 Creeks , 
 
 Potawatomies 
 
 Ottowas 
 
 Otte Indians ... 
 
 Burmah 
 
 Burmah 
 
 Burmah 
 
 Siam 
 
 Delawares 
 
 West Africa .... 
 
 Cherokees 
 Burmah ... 
 
 Massachusetts 
 Massachusetts 
 Massachusetts 
 New Jersey 
 
 Greece 
 
 Ottowas 
 
 Shawanoes . 
 Burmah 
 
 *Rev. Alanson Reed . 
 
 Ripley , 
 
 Hall , 
 
 Goodrich 
 
 Harrington .., 
 
 Maine . 
 Ide 
 
 Mr. Thomas Roberts 
 
 *Rev. Davis B. Rollin .... 
 
 Rev. D. Newton Sheldon 
 
 Rev. J. Lewis Shuck 
 
 Mr. Robert Slmmerwell.. 
 Rev. Thomas Simons .... 
 Rev. Benj. R. Skinner ... 
 *Rev. Corodon H. Slafter 
 
 Rev. Leonard Slater 
 
 Rev. Joseph Smedley ... 
 
 New York 
 
 Massachusetts 
 
 New York 
 
 Massachusetts . 
 Pennsylvania .. 
 New York 
 
 Burmah ... 
 Cherokees 
 
 Siam 
 
 Ojibwaa 
 
 Cherokees 
 Creeks 
 
 Haven 
 
 Brownson 
 Allen 
 
 Rev. Edward A. Stevens, 
 
 Rev. Lyman Stilson 
 
 Rev. Ira J. Stoddard 
 
 Massachusetts ... 
 
 Virginia 
 
 Kentucky 
 
 Massachusetts ... 
 
 Connecticut 
 
 New York 
 
 Vermont 
 
 Pennsylvania 
 
 Vermont 
 
 Massachusetts ... 
 
 New York 
 
 New York 
 
 France 
 
 China 
 
 Potawatomies 
 
 Burmah 
 
 West Africa ... 
 
 Siam , 
 
 Ottowas 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 Potawatomies . 
 
 Burmah 
 
 Burmah 
 
 Assam 
 
 Willsey ... 
 Bacholer 
 
 ♦Rev. Jacob Thomas ,. 
 Rev. Benj. C. Thomas . 
 
 New York 
 
 New York 
 
 Massachusetts 
 
 Creeks , 
 
 Burmah , 
 Ottowas . 
 
 Rev. Willard P. Upham , 
 Mr. Hervey Upham 
 
 Massachusetts ... 
 Massachusetts ... 
 
 Cherokees 
 Cherokees 
 
 Brown .., 
 Hooker ... 
 Hohnan . 
 
 Rev. Stephen Van Husen 
 Rev. Henry L. Van Meter 
 Rev. Justus H. Vinton 
 
 New York 
 
 New York 
 
 Connecticut . 
 Connecticut , 
 
 Southern India . 
 
 Burmah 
 
 Burmah 
 
 Burmah 
 
 Lapham . 
 Watson ... 
 
 Rev. Jona Wade 
 
 Rev. William Ward . 
 Rev. Abner Watson . 
 
 New York.. 
 
 Burmah . 
 
 Newman 
 
 ♦Rev. Edw. H. Wheelock 
 
 Flint 
 
 Clark 
 
 Morse ... 
 Willard.. 
 
 Rev. Samuel M. Whiting 
 Rev. Erastus Willard 
 
 Rev. Isaac M. Willmarth 
 
 Massachusetts ... 
 Massachusetts ... 
 Massachusetts ... 
 
 Pennsylvania 
 
 Connecticut 
 
 Vermont 
 
 Maine 
 
 Vermont 
 
 New Hampshire.. 
 Massachusetts ... 
 
 Burmah .... 
 Shawanoes . 
 Burmah .... 
 Burmah. .... 
 
 France ... 
 France ... 
 France ... 
 Burmah . 
 
 Greece ... 
 
 1836 
 1843 
 
 1830 
 1833 
 1849 
 
 1843 
 1839 
 1832 
 1846 
 1846 
 1836 
 1828 
 
 1845 
 1834 
 1829 
 
 1817 
 1827 
 1832 
 1848 
 1851 
 1847 
 1847 
 1847 
 1835 
 
 1823 
 1834 
 
 1836 
 1826 
 1837 
 1818 
 
 1843 
 1832 
 
 1835 
 1830 
 1821 
 1834 
 
 1835 
 1835 
 1824 
 1832 
 1832 
 1838 
 1826 
 1834 
 1830 
 1832 
 1836 
 1847 
 
 1836 
 1836 
 1850 
 1828 
 
 1843 
 1843 
 
 1839 
 1848 
 1832 
 1841 
 
 1823 
 1850 
 1832 
 1840 
 1817 
 1815 
 1850 
 1835 
 1846 
 .1834 
 1849 
 1844 
 
 Note. — In giving the list of all female missionaries sent out by the American Churches, some names may accidentally 
 bare been omitted, which we shall regret. Yet it must not ho nnderstood that, except those marked (*) dead, all are still 
 Some, from their own fiiiling health ; others, on account of their husband's illness, have been compelled to return 
 A few have been transferred to new stations; and all have done something in the Great Christian Work. 
 
FEMALE MISSIONARIES 
 
 AMEEICAN EPISCOPAL FOREIGN MISSIONS. 
 
 <8®* Those marked with an (*) are deceased. 
 
 Appleby, Mrs 
 
 Baldwin, Mary B., Miss . 
 
 BeTiton, C, Mrs 
 
 *Boone, Sarah, Mrs 
 
 Boone, Mrs 
 
 *Chapin, Maria V., Miss 
 
 *Cogge3hall, Martha D., Miss. 
 
 Fay, Lydia M., Miss 
 
 Graham, Mrs 
 
 Gillett, Eliza, Miss.. 
 
 Henning, Elizaheth, Mrs. 
 
 Hill, Frances M.j Mrs 
 
 Hoffman, Tirginia, Mrs. .. 
 
 Jones, Emma G., Miss 
 
 Mulligan, Elizabeth, Miss .. 
 Mnlligan, Frederica, Miss . 
 Minor, Mary Stewart, Mrs.. 
 Morse, Jane, Miss 
 
 Payne, Anna, Mrs. 
 *Patch, C. L., Mrs... 
 Perkins, Mrs 
 
 Rutherford, Elizabeth, Miss 
 Robertson, Julia, Mrs 
 
 ♦Savage, S., Mrs 
 
 *Southgate, Mrs 
 
 Spencer, M. E., Mies ., 
 Syle, Jane, Mrs 
 
 Tenney, Caroline P., Miss ... 
 
 "VTatson, Elizabeth H,, Miss 
 
 "Wood, Mrs 
 
 "Willifrid, Martha, Miss 
 
 Spencer.. 
 Mliott '.'.. 
 
 Newman . 
 Mulligan . 
 
 Lyon . 
 
 Hnabanda' Name. 
 
 Mr. M. Appleby . 
 
 RcT. George Benton ... 
 
 Rev. Dr. Boone 
 
 Right Rev. Dr. Boone . 
 
 Bee. wife Rev. Dr. Savage 
 
 Rev. Richardson Graham 
 
 Rev. E. W. Henning . 
 
 Rev. J. H. HUl 
 
 Rev. C. C. Hoffman ... 
 
 Sisterof Mrs. Hill.. 
 Sister of Mrs. Hill., 
 *R€V. L. B. Minor ., 
 
 Widow 
 
 Mr. George A. Perkins ... 
 
 Bee. wife of Dr. Savage... 
 Rev. Dr. Robertson ... 
 
 Rev. Dr. Savage 
 
 Rt. Rev. Hor. Southgate 
 Sister of Mrs. Benton ... 
 Rev. E. W. Syle 
 
 Where Born. 
 
 Virginia . 
 
 South Carolina . 
 
 Vermont 
 
 Rhode Island . 
 
 Alabama . 
 
 New York 
 
 New York 
 
 Maryland 
 
 Massachusetts 
 
 Massachusetts 
 Maasachusetts 
 
 Rhode Island . 
 
 Rev. H. W. Wood . 
 
 Georgia . 
 
 Field of Laboar. 
 
 Africa .. 
 
 Athens . 
 Crete .... 
 China ... 
 China ... 
 
 Africa . 
 Africa . 
 
 China . 
 
 China ., 
 China .. 
 
 Africa .. 
 Athens . 
 Africa .. 
 
 China .. 
 
 Athens . 
 Athens . 
 Africa .. 
 China ., 
 
 Africa ., 
 Africa ., 
 Africa , 
 
 Africa 
 
 Constantinople . 
 
 Africa 
 
 Constantinople . 
 
 Crete 
 
 China ■ 
 
 China .. 
 
 Crete ... 
 China ., 
 China .. 
 
 1844 
 
 1835 
 1836 
 1837 
 1844 
 
 1842 
 1842 
 
 1844 
 1844 
 
 1844 
 
 1830 
 1850 
 
 1844 
 
 1830 
 1835 
 1840 
 1844 
 
 1837 
 1844 
 1838 
 
 1844 
 1839 
 
 1838 
 1839 
 1841 
 1845 
 
 1850 
 
 1839 
 1844 
 1850 
 
 Note. — At the first view we are inclined to exclaim — "How small the number of Female Missionaries sent out by our 
 Episcopal Churches! And so it is — yet the few have done much, and are now wielding great influence. Is it not because 
 these women were better qualified for their work than those of other denominations? Mrs. Hill, and her sisters, the Miss 
 Mulligans, were thoroughly educated ladies, and equal to the great task devolved on them — that of rekindling from the 
 pure flame of Gospel love the light of learning in Greece, so long darkened by idolatry and ignorance. In China, also, the 
 female missionaries are especially commended by BLshop Boone, for their efficient services. How these services are directed, 
 and the wonderful results for good which may be there wrought out by woman's agency, are well described in a letter from 
 Miss Tenney, one of those recently sent to China. After alluding to the anxiety of the Bishop (Rev. Dr. Boone) for the 
 establishment of a girl's school, she says : — 
 
 " The danger of the boys forming entirely heathen alliances, the importance of instruction while young, the influence of 
 these girls aa wives and mothers, the seclusion of woman in this country, so that the m^e Missionary cannot have access to 
 her mind — her utter ignorance, as destitute of all instruction in knowledge — her degraded position compared with the 
 daughters of Christendom — and more than all, the fact that ?ialf of this great nation is and will be composed of females who 
 have immortal souls of priceless value — all this forms an appeal to which a Christian heart must warmly respond. I know 
 not what measures the Foreign Committee may have already taken to advance this object, but such is our sense of the great 
 and immediate need of a Female Institution, that we know not how to wait for the slow accumulation of funds by ordinary 
 contributions. It has occurred to me that this object commends itself, in a peculiar manner, to the special attention, sym- 
 pathy and aid of Christian females at home. The cost of the building will be about three thousand dollars. Now, though 
 it is most ardently to be desired that every female member of the Episcopal Church should aid in the establishment and 
 maintenance of this Institution, a few churches could easily supply our present need. Here is a fine opportunity for Chris- 
 tian women to manifest their gratitude for the blessings of the Gospel to them as women — aside from the great and glorious 
 hopes it reveals for the future world." 
 
FEMALE MISSIONARIES 
 
 OP THE 
 
 PRESBYTERIAN FOREIGN MISSIONS. 
 
 ■ Those marked with an (*) are deceased. 
 
 Maiden Name. 
 
 Husband's Name. 
 
 Where Born. 
 
 New Jersey 
 
 PennsylTania .... 
 Pennsylvania .... 
 
 Connecticut 
 
 Pennsylvania .... 
 
 Virginia 
 
 New York 
 
 Ohio 
 
 Cherokee Nation, 
 
 Ireland 
 
 Virginia 
 
 Pennsylvania .... 
 
 New Jersey 
 
 New Jersey 
 
 New York 
 
 Indiana 
 
 Pennsylvania .... 
 
 Pennsylvania .... 
 
 New Jersey 
 
 New York 
 
 New Jersey 
 
 New Jersey 
 
 Pennsylvania .... 
 Ohio 
 
 Pennsylvania.... 
 New York 
 
 Virginia 
 
 Pennsylvania .... 
 
 Connecticut 
 
 South Carolina . 
 
 Virginia 
 
 Indiana 
 
 Pennsylvania .... 
 New York 
 
 Pennsylvania .... 
 Pennsylvania.... 
 New Jersey 
 
 Pennsylvania .... 
 
 Virginia 
 
 Pennsylvania .... 
 
 New York 
 
 Massachusetts .. 
 
 New York «.. 
 
 Pennsylvania .... 
 
 Pennsylvania .... 
 
 New Jersey 
 
 England 
 
 Pennsylvania.... 
 
 Georgia 
 
 New Jersey 
 
 Pennsylvania .... 
 
 New York 
 
 Maryland 
 
 Pennsylvania .... 
 Indiana 
 
 Field or Labour. 
 
 Western Africa 
 
 lowas and Sacs 
 lowas and Sacs 
 lowaa and Sacs 
 lowas and Sacs 
 
 Siam 
 
 Siam 
 
 Creeks 
 
 Creeks 
 
 North India 
 
 North India 
 
 North India 
 
 Western Africa 
 
 China 
 
 China 
 
 China 
 
 North India 
 
 North India 
 
 Chippewas 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 North India 
 
 Chippewas 
 
 North India 
 
 Omahas 
 
 Choctaws , 
 
 Creeks 
 
 lowaa and Sacs 
 lowas and Sacs 
 
 Singapore 
 
 China 
 
 North India , 
 
 North India 
 
 lowas and Sacs 
 North India 
 
 North India 
 
 North India 
 
 North India 
 
 Weas 
 
 North India , 
 
 Western Africa 
 
 Creeks , 
 
 Creeks 
 
 China 
 
 Creeks 
 
 North India 
 
 North India 
 
 North India. 
 
 North India , 
 
 Singapore 
 
 North India 
 
 Creeks 
 
 Siam 
 
 Western Africa 
 
 China 
 
 China 
 
 Alward, Catharine, Mrs. .. 
 
 fiushnell, Eleanor, Mrs. .. 
 
 Boal, Martha, Miss 
 
 Ballard, Sarah, Mrs 
 
 Bradley, Sarah W., Mrs. .. 
 
 Buell, Seniora B., Mrs 
 
 Bush, Annabella R., Mrs. 
 
 Bowen, Mary, Miss 
 
 Balentine, Nancy, Mrs. ... 
 
 Camphell, Mary, Mrs 
 
 *Caldwell, Jane, Mrs 
 
 Craig, Jane, Mrs 
 
 Canfield, Charlotte, Mrs. .. 
 
 Cole, Caroline, Mrs 
 
 Culbertson, Mary, Mrs. ... 
 Coulter, Caroline C, Mrs. 
 Campbell, Maria J., Mrs. . 
 
 Davis, Julia, Miss 
 
 Dougherty, Maria, Mrs. 
 *Dutcher, Susan, Miss .. 
 
 ♦Freeman, Mary Ann, Mrs. 
 ^Fleming, Margaret, Mrs. .. 
 FuUerton, Martha W., Mrs. 
 Fullerton, Martha, Miss 
 
 Gregory, Mary L., Mrs 
 
 Green, Hannah M., Miss .. 
 
 Henderson, Nancy, Miss .. 
 
 Hamilton, Mrs 
 
 Hepburn, Clara M., Mrs. .. 
 Happer, Elizabeth, Mrs. .. 
 Hodge, Elizabeth B., Mrs. 
 Hay, Mary, Mrs , 
 
 Irvin, Elizabeth, Mrs. . 
 Irvin, Elizabeth, Mrs. . 
 
 *Jamieson, Rebecca S., Mrs. 
 
 Jamieson, Miss , 
 
 Janvier, H. A., Mrs 
 
 Kerr, Mary Ann, Mrs. , 
 
 *Lowrie, Louisa A., Mrs 
 
 *Laird, Harriet, Mrs 
 
 *Loughridge, Olivia D., Mrs. . 
 
 *Loughridge, Mary, Mrs 
 
 Loomis, Mary Ann, Mrs 
 
 Lilley, Mrs 
 
 Vredenhurg . 
 Hanna 
 
 Rev. Jonathan P. Alward 
 
 Rev. Wells Bushnell.. 
 
 Douglass .. 
 Vaughn ... 
 Hassett.... 
 
 Mr. Aurey Ballard . 
 Mr. Henry Bradley 
 Rev. Wm. P. Buell .. 
 Rev. Stephen, Bush . 
 
 Hoyt. 
 
 Clark . 
 
 Dunlap.. 
 Crowe ... 
 Bigbam , 
 
 Rev. Henry Balentine ... 
 
 Rev. James R. Campbell 
 Rev. Joseph Caldwell .... 
 
 Mr. James Craig 
 
 Rev. Orrin K, Canfield ... 
 
 Mr. Richard Cole 
 
 Rev. M. S. Culbertson .... 
 
 Mr. Moses S. Coulter 
 
 Rev. David E. Campbell.. 
 
 Higgin 
 
 Rev. Peter Dougherty... 
 
 Beach .... 
 Scudder 
 White ... 
 
 Rev. John E, Freeman... 
 
 Rev. John Fleming 
 
 Rev. Robert S. Fullerton 
 
 Montgomery . 
 
 Rev. Caspar H. Gregory. 
 
 Leete 
 
 Ball 
 
 Holliday 
 Landis ... 
 
 Rev. Wm. Hamilton 
 
 Dr. James C. Hepburn ... 
 Rev. Andrew P. Happer., 
 Rev. Archibald A. Hodge 
 Rev. Lawrence G. Hay 
 
 Rev. Samuel M. Irvin . 
 Rev. David Irvin 
 
 Rev. Jesse M. Jamieson . 
 
 Rev. Levi Janvier . 
 Rev. Joseph Kerr . 
 
 Wilson . 
 Meyer ... 
 Hills .... 
 Avery... 
 Luce .... 
 
 Rev. John C. Lowrio..... 
 
 Rev. Mathew Laird 
 
 Rev. R. M. Loughridge., 
 
 Rev. Aug. W. Loomis 
 Mr. John Lilley 
 
 M'Ewen, Sarah, Mrs , 
 
 ♦Morrison, Anna Maria, Mrs.. 
 
 Morrison, A. M., Mrs 
 
 Morris, Mrs , 
 
 M'Bryde, Mary, Mrs 
 
 M'Auley, Emma, Mrs 
 
 M'Kinney, Theresa, Mrs , 
 
 Mattoon, Mary L., Mrs 
 
 ♦Mackey, Elizabeth J., Mrs. ... 
 
 Martin, Jane M., Mrs 
 
 Martin, Margaret, Mrs 
 
 Symington ...' Rev. 
 Ward Rev. 
 
 Hamed . 
 
 Dennis ... 
 Lourie ... 
 
 Blair 
 
 Vausant .. 
 Wiley 
 
 James M'Ewen 
 
 John H. Morrison. 
 
 Mr, 
 Rev, 
 Rev, 
 Rev, 
 Rev. 
 Rev. 
 Rev. 
 Rev. 
 
 Reese Morris 
 
 Thomas L. M'Bride 
 Wm. H. M'Aidey ... 
 Edmund M'Kinney 
 Stephen Mattoon ... 
 James L. Maekey ... 
 Wm. P. W. Martin., 
 Samuel N. Martin... 
 
 1840 
 
 1833 
 
 1833 
 1834 
 1836 
 1839 
 1848 
 1849 
 1849 
 
 1835 
 1837 
 1837 
 1840 
 1843 
 1844 
 1848 
 1850 
 
 1834 
 1838 
 1848 
 
 1838 
 1838 
 1850 
 1850 
 
 1849 
 1850 
 
 1837 
 1840 
 1847 
 1847 
 1850 
 
 1835 
 1846 
 
 1847 
 1846 
 
 1834 
 
 1833 
 1834 
 1842 
 1846 
 1844 
 1844 
 
 1835 
 1837 
 1846 
 1837 
 1839 
 1840 
 1843 
 1846 
 1849 
 1849 
 1849 
 
AMERICAN MISSIONARY WOMEN. 
 
 Newton, Elizabeth, ilrs. 
 
 Orr, Eliza, Mr? 
 
 Owen, Augusta Margaret, Mrs. 
 
 *Porter. Harriet, Mi^. 
 Porter, Mary B^ Mrs. . 
 
 Roger?. JuJia, Mrs, 
 
 Rankin, Sarah, 51rs 
 
 Rankin, Mary G. Mrs. 
 
 ♦Ramsey, Elizabeth B., Mrs. .. 
 
 Ramsey, J. M., Mrs 
 
 Robertson, Ann Eliza, Mrs. ... 
 Reid, Elizabeth, Mrs. 
 
 *Soott, Christiana M., Jlrs. .. 
 Sawyer, Catharine A., 51rf . 
 *Speer, Cornelia, Mrs. 
 
 M lidn Kunc 
 
 Proctor. 
 
 Pairin . 
 
 Riley 
 
 Comfort 
 
 Knight 
 
 Peck 
 
 Livingston . 
 Worcester... 
 Graham 
 
 Houston 
 
 Hammond.... 
 
 Brackenridge 
 
 Seeley, Enimeline, Mrs , Marrin 
 
 Simpson, Eliza P., Sirs Boss Rev. George W. Simpsoii 
 
 Shaw, Harriet R., Mrs Darling f Rev. Horatio W. Shaw ., 
 
 Hiutum!«' Sune- 
 
 Rev. John Newton . 
 
 Rev. Robert W. Orr . 
 Rev. Joseph Owen ... 
 
 Rev. Joseph Porter 
 
 Rev. TTm. S. Rogers 
 
 Rev. John C. Rankin ... . 
 Rev. Henry T. Rankin.. 
 Rev. James B. Ramsey.. 
 Rev. James R. Ramsey.. 
 Mr. Wm. S. Robertson .. 
 Rev. Alexander Reid .... 
 
 Rev. James L. Scott .... 
 Rev. Pu>bert W. Sawyer. 
 
 Rev. Wm. Speer ._ 
 
 Rev. Augustus H. Seeley 
 
 Thompson, Xancv, Miss . 
 Thompson, F. K.j Miss .. 
 
 Tanderveer, Jane, Miss . 
 
 I 
 
 Wilson, Eliza G., Mrs ; Rev. James Wilson 
 
 Wilson, Sarah, Mrs Little Rev. Henry R. Wilson . 
 
 Warren, Lydia D., Mrs. 
 Wray, Georgiana, 3Irs. 
 Walsh, Emma, Mrs. 
 Way, Susan C, 5Irs. 
 Woodside, Mrs. 
 
 T^ght, Elizabeth N., Mrs, TanDyke ., 
 
 Whiteside, J. K^ Mrs , 
 
 Rev. Joseph Warren . 
 Dennis Rev. John Wray . 
 
 Rev. John J. Walsh 
 
 Rev. R. Q. Way 
 
 Rev. John S. Woodside.. 
 Rev. Joseph K. Wight .. 
 Mr. J. K. Whiteside 
 
 FLtld of Ubonr. 
 
 Xew Jersey Singapore 
 
 England North India.. 
 
 Indiana 
 
 Penn.'fylvania . 
 
 New York 
 
 New Jersey 
 
 New Jersey 
 
 New York 
 
 Pennsylvania 
 
 Cherokee Nation 
 New York 
 
 Pennsylvania ., 
 
 New York 
 
 Pennsylvania ., 
 
 New York , 
 
 Pennsylvania .. 
 New York 
 
 Massachusetts 
 New York , 
 
 New Jersey . 
 
 Pennsylvania 
 
 Tirginia 
 
 New Hampshire.. 
 
 Pennsylvania 
 
 New York 
 
 Georgia 
 
 Ireland 
 
 New Jersey 
 
 Pennsylvania 
 
 North India.. 
 North India.. 
 
 North India.. 
 North India- 
 China 
 
 ChoctawB 
 
 Creeks 
 
 Creeks 
 
 Choctaws 
 
 North India.. 
 
 Western Afirica .. 
 
 China 
 
 North India 
 
 Western AMca .. 
 North India 
 
 Creeks 
 
 Choctaws . 
 
 North India- 
 
 North India... 
 North. India- 
 North India... 
 North India... 
 North India... 
 
 China 
 
 North India... 
 
 China - 
 
 Chippewa 
 
 1837 
 1$U 
 
 1835 
 1849 
 
 1835 
 1840 
 18i7 
 1844 
 1847 
 1850 
 1850 
 
 1838 
 1841 
 1846 
 1846 
 
 1849 
 1850 
 
 1847 
 1851 
 
 1840 
 
 18.54 
 1837 
 1838 
 1841 
 1843 
 1843 
 1848 
 1848 
 1850 
 
 Note. — The Missions of the American Presbyterian Church (Old School) have been in operation about thirteen years. 
 Marked success has attended their efforts, espeoally in North India ; and the schools for native children, chiefly instructed 
 by the wives of the missionaries, are now giving promise of great good. Throughout the heathen world the apparatus of 
 Christianity — so to speak — is prepared. The Bible has been translated into the languages of the greater portion of the 
 nations and tribes of Asia and Africa. Tracts and other book* are translated; printing-presses arc established; what is 
 needed is to reach the fountain of life in those lands, and bring the healing stream of God's Word to purify the stagnant 
 pools and sweeten the bitter waters of sin and ignorance that now diffuse only death to the souls of the people. This foun- 
 tain of life is the mothers of the land: through female aid in teaching these and their children; daughters particularly, the 
 t3ruth only f^n be rendered effective. Good men. American Protestant Christians even, have hardly yet conceived what in- 
 fluence pious educated women might wield in this work. Yet, when we turn to the earliest annals of the true Church, we 
 find this agency not only used, but openly acknowledged and commended. In St. Paul's Epistle to the Romans — his first on 
 record — sent by Phoebe, who certainly held an office in the church at Cenchrea — he names seven other female - labourers" 
 as among his best helpere :— Priscilla, Mary, Tryphena, Tiyphosa, Persia, Julia, and the sister of Nereus. Phcebe was a suo- 
 courer of many ;" — so might missionary female physicians now become, and through their agency reach those whose conver- 
 sion would, with heaven's biasing, ensure the speedy success of Christian missions. 
 
 In the " Medical Department" at Siam, as we learn from the last Report of the Presbyterian Mission, much good had been 
 effected- '• Sis. days in the week. Dr. House spends two hours a day at the floating house, use-i a= a dispensary, except when 
 absent on missionary tours in the interior, and during the prevalence of the cholera- New cases only were recorded, amount- 
 ing to 1371, making in two and a half years since his arrival, 4488 patients.'' Very few of these were femalra; such cannot 
 be reached by male practitioners, and must, therefore, suffer the agonies of bodily disease, one of their own sex, if properly 
 qualified, might relieve, in addition to all other miseries and deprivations imposed on women in the East In Calcutta, so 
 long ruled by the English, where their physicians are employed freely by rich Hindoo men, it is only in cases of extremity 
 among the women that one is called to their aid, and then only permitted to see the patient, so covered up and concealed, 
 that^only the tongue and wri^ are exposed to view. As a measure of humanity only, the sendii^ out qualified female phy- 
 adans to those countries would be a great charity; but the aid such pious, intelligent ladies might give to the mission cause 
 is incalculable. Tery few men in this profession are willing to go ou^-very few have the faith and zeal needed for the work ; 
 but the daughters of America are, like Phcebe, ready to be sent, ready to become '-succourers of many"— were they only 
 suitably educated, encouraged and sustained. 
 
 Does any Christian man think I am claiming too much for my sex! Let him read, then, the following sentiments, written 
 by that good and great divine, the Bev. Hugh Blair, D.D.— "The prevailing manners of an age depend more than we are 
 aware of, or are willing to aUow, on the conduct of women; this is one of the principal things on which the great machine 
 of human society turns. Those who allow the influence which female graces have in contributing to polish the mannen, 
 of men, would do well to reflect how great an influence female morals must also have on their conduct. How much then is 
 it to be r^retted that women should ever sit down contented to polish when they are able to reform— to entertain when 
 they might instruct. Nothing deUghts men more than their strength of understanding when true gentleness of manners 
 is its assoaate: united, they become irresistible orators, blessed with the power of persuasion, fraught with the sweetness 
 of instruction, making woman the highest ornament of human nature." 
 
LAST WORDS. 
 
 " Be good !" was the dying injunction of the great novelist to his son-in-law, Mr. Lockhart. 
 " It is the divinest thing to be good," wrote the pious John Foster to his unknown lady corre- 
 spondent. " Goodness is beauty in its best estate," sings the old poet Marlowe ; and the high- 
 sonled Tennyson strikes the key-note of human greatness in the sentiment, " 'Tis only noble to 
 be good." 
 
 This personal goodness, the complement of all the virtues and accomplishments of humanity, 
 should be the grand aim of life. The true object of all philosophy is to discover the ways and 
 means by which this aim may be wrought out in the best manner. 
 
 If you had a precious plant to rear and develop, would you trust it to the care of an ignorant 
 person, who knew little or nothing of its nature, structure, properties, and uses ? Would you 
 not rather seek sedulously for one well skilled in the knowledge, theoretically at least, of plants, 
 and their capacities for being improved by judicious culture, or injured by neglect and hurtful 
 modes of training ? Moreover, if this plant had been, by its Maker, consigned to the keeping 
 of one guardian, in an especial manner, which could not be changed or superseded, would you 
 not consider it true wisdom to qualify that person for the office of developing the tender shoots 
 of the plant, pruning its luxuriance, and training its tendrils and its inclination in the right way 
 to ensure its greatest perfection ? 
 
 " It strikes me dumb to look over the long series of faces, such as any full church, court- 
 house, London-Tavern meeting, or miscellany of men, will show there. Some score or two of 
 years ago, all these wore little, red-coloured, pulpy infants ; each of them capable of being 
 kneaded, baked into any social form you chose," says the strong-voiced Carlyle. 
 
 God gave to woman's keeping this forming power over humanity. Never will the best capa- 
 cities, spiritual and physical, be developed in a healthy state, and directed heavenward, as the 
 immortal should tend, until the female sex are fitted for their duties, and honoured when dis- 
 charging them faithfully — duties, the first, the highest, the holiest, which the Creator has 
 entrusted to human beings. 
 
 Each sex has an allotted part ; the serious subjects of inquiry are, first. Which is the most 
 important ? Second, Has the female been allowed suitable means and opportunities to qualify 
 herself for her vocation ? The reader wiU easily discover that I place woman's office above 
 man's, because moral influence is superior to mechanical invention, and her peculiar mission is 
 to mould minds, while his deals with material things. 
 
 In the General Preface I alluded to my intention of giving, at the close of the work, "some 
 suggestions respecting the means and ends of female education," &c. I have hardly room, now, 
 to go into such details ; these rather require a separate treatise, which I hope at some time to 
 prepare. But whoever examines this " Record" will easily comprehend my sentiments. I do not 
 hold with those who would place women in competition with men in industrial pursuits. Such a 
 course would not only be destructive to feminine nature, but to society, because giving physical 
 power a stiU greater predominance over moral influence than is now anywhere found. Even in 
 France and Germany, where the ignorant peasant yokes his wife with his cow, andmakes them drag 
 the heavy plough, while he takes the lighter task of guiding it, the woman does not do her part 
 from choice, but is compelled by her brutal husband. The American woman who insists that 
 she is as capable of doing " man's work" as are the stronger sex, degrades herself even below 
 the poor, ignorant female drudges of Europe, who have no opportunities of cultivating womanly 
 dignity, and no sphere of womanly duties open before them. 
 
 Radical changes are not required in American life ; what we need is to increase the power of 
 the good influences and institutions now active, and to restrain that which is evil. For the first, 
 th«re is wanted an additional number of normal schools, to prepare female teachers ; also, an 
 improved and enlarged system of instruction in many of the present female seminaries. Then 
 
 (902) 
 
LAST WORDS. 903 
 
 the office of teacher in the greater portion of public schools should he assigned to educated 
 young women. In Massachusetts, this important change is fast gaining general favour. Of the 
 8163 teachers in the public schools of that State in 1849, five thousand seven hundred and thirty- 
 seven -were females — ^more than double the number of male teachers. In the other New England 
 States, in Kew York and Ohio, female teachers are taking the places of the other sex, to the 
 manifest advantage of popular education and morals. 
 
 Two associations have been formed, one by ladies of Boston, the other by eminent citizens 
 throughout the Union, within the last four years, for sending female teachers from the Eastern 
 or Northern States, to the South and "West. About five hundred young ladies, educated, pious, 
 and earnest in the cause of doing good, are already transplanted to their new sphere of duty. 
 Besides teaching week-day schools, they organize and instruct Sabbath-schools, distribute tracts 
 and Bibles ; and probably those lovely young girls will exercise a pure moral influence over 
 half a million of souls. Five of these were sent to Oregon, and everywhere more are invited. 
 Miss Beecher, one of the most judicious philanthropists in our country, who has gained her 
 knowledge from authentic sources, estimates there are two millions of children and youth in our 
 Republic who require school instruction, wholly or in part ; and a hundred thousand female 
 teachers are wanted. What a glorious field for woman's faculties and virtues to find scope ! 
 
 Medical science belongs to women more than to men. The female is the preserver; — the 
 study of the laws of health, and of the healing art, would harmonize with her feelings and her 
 intuitive faculties. She has a right to this knowledge, and to every means of acquiring it, so 
 far as particularly concerns her own sex and children. A number of our countrywomen axe 
 now studying for this profession; — will not every true tnan aid the movement? (The Bible 
 recognizes women only as midwives ; there is no authority for classing a midwife with men.) In 
 a few years, twenty thousand of these "ministering angels in female forms" will find ample 
 employment ; and the profession will be considered, like the duties of mother and nurse, which 
 it nearly resembles, the proper sphere of the sex. The whole field of Uterature is now open to 
 our women, and that of the fine arts is accessible. 
 
 These things accomplished, then legislation, which every year grows more favourable to 
 female claims for protection, must be invoked to suppress those crimes and vices of men which 
 destroy the happiness of home, where woman's world centres. Intemperance, gambling, licen- 
 tiousness — ^these are the blasting sins that now defy law, and disgrace the manhood of American 
 citizens. Surely there are enough good and true men, would these unite, to accomplish all 
 salutary reforms. While they sleep, an enemy sows tares. 
 
 The bayonet or the baUot-box must govern the world. Wherever the latter rules, moral power 
 is in the ascendant, and then woman's influence predominates. Would it not be better if the 
 sex were admitted to participate directly in the administration of government, voting and hold- 
 ing offices equally with men ? No! I reply unhesitatingly — No ! Female power is not coercive, 
 but persuasive. However salutary moral influences are, yet, in civil governments, the laws 
 must be, in the last resort, upheld by force. This duty, women could not perform; nor could 
 they share in the government, unless the other sex permitted. When men are prepared to do 
 this from an appreciation of female goodness, they wiU be good themselves, and therefore better 
 fitted than ever women can be to uphold and discharge aU the duties of government. Besides, 
 our American women have the controlling power over the young, and over social life ; it is but 
 just that the other sex should enjoy a separate theatre for the cultivation and display of their 
 own talents and virtues. 
 
 Would the true wife desire to supersede her husband? Has the good, intelligent mother 
 trained her son to the glorious ambition of serving his country, and gaining a noble fame ? 
 Would she, were it in her power, take the laurel from his brow, and place it on her own? 
 Would she' be willing any other woman should enter the lists against her son ? If not, then is 
 it right for this mother to encourage the competition of her own sex against the sons of other 
 
 mothers ? 
 
 Greatness is most perfect when it acts with the least display of self; Power is most efficient 
 when moving the wiU through the heart. Let us, as American ladies, cultivate the virtues, the 
 knowledge, the accomplishments, which wiU influence, imbue, and inspire the other sex to do 
 the work of the world to the glory of God; then the woman will truly shine forth as the glory 
 of the man ! 
 
LIST OF AUTHORITIES: 
 
 It would be like printing the catalogue of a large library to give the titles of all books examined in search- 
 ing out authentic materials for this work. I shall name only the sources of general information from which 
 I have drawn. New particulars have been sought by carefully reading the various works of those female 
 writers from whom selections are made. The records of the living have generally been communicated to me 
 from reliable sources ; and it has been my earnest endeavour to give only that which is true. Of books that 
 I have consulted, the first in importance and authority are — 
 
 The Holy Bible. 
 
 History of the Bible (Gleig). 
 
 Biographical Dictionary of Aiken. 
 
 " « Bayle. 
 
 " " Blake. 
 
 " " Chalmers. 
 
 " « Gorton. 
 
 " " Lempriere. 
 
 " « Platts. 
 
 ** " Rose. 
 
 " " "Watkins. 
 
 Biography and Mythology, Greek and Roman. 
 Biographie Universelle. 
 Repertoire de Litterature Fran^aise, &c. 
 Biografia delle Donne Italiane lUustrice nelle Scienze e 
 
 Lettere. 
 Cenni Biografia c Ritratti d'insigni Donne Bolognese. 
 Viti e Ritratti delle Donne celebre d'ogni Paese. 
 Conversations Lexicon (German). 
 Dictionary of Painters. 
 
 " Mnsicians. 
 
 Nouveau Dictionnaire Historique. 
 Encyclopaedia Americana. 
 Encyclopaedia Britannica. 
 Cyclopaedia of English Literature (Chambers). 
 CyclopEedia (Rees). 
 Penny Cyclopsedia. 
 Chambers' Miscellany. 
 Eemale Biography (Mrs. Hays). 
 Sacred Biography (Hunter). 
 Biographie Nouveau des Contemporaires. 
 Eemale Biography (Knapp). 
 
 HISTORIES, LIVES, TRAVEL?, REVIEWS, &c. 
 Ancient History (Rollin). 
 History of the Jews (Milman). 
 
 " of Christianity " 
 
 " of the Puritans (Neal). 
 
 " of the American Revolution (Ramsey). 
 
 ■" of the United States (Bancroft). 
 
 " of the Conquest of Mexico (Prcscott). 
 
 " " Peru " 
 
 '* of the Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire (Gibbon). 
 
 " of the Roman Republic (Ferguson). 
 
 " of the Middle Ages (nallam), 
 
 " of the Italian Republics (Sismondi). 
 
 " of Greece (Thirlwald). 
 
 " of Chivalry and the Crusades (James). 
 
 " of England (Hume, Mackintosh, and Macauley). 
 
 " of Poland (Jones). 
 
 " of the Russian Empire, from its foundation to the 
 death of the Empress Catherine II. 
 Northern Antiquities (jVIallot). 
 Reign of Charlemagne (Coad). 
 History of Modern Europe (Russell). 
 ' -" of the French Revolution (Thiers). 
 
 " of the Girondins (Lamartine). 
 ■" of Education (Smith). 
 
 " of Scotland (Robertson). 
 
 " of the Reformation (D'Aubigne). 
 
 " of India and the Hindoos (Ward). 
 
 " of Missions. 
 
 " of the Sandwich Islands (Jarvis). 
 Book of Martyrs (Fox). 
 Historical Sketches (Thierry). 
 History of French Literature (de Vericour). 
 History of Spanish Literature (Ticknor). 
 Germany (Madame de Stael). 
 Pictorial History of England. 
 Sketches from Venetian History. 
 Plutaxch's LiTee. 
 
 Prose Writings of Sir Walter Scott. 
 Jhe Female Revolutionary Plutarch (Stowartson). 
 
 Life of Madame de Stael (Saussure). 
 
 " Mary, Queen of Scotts (Bell). 
 
 " Ferdinand and Isabella (Prescott). 
 
 " the Empress Josephine (Memos). 
 
 " the Duchess d'Abrantes. 
 
 « SchUler. 
 
 " Luther. 
 Memoirs of Mrs. Hannah More (Roberts). 
 " Lady Fanshawe. 
 " Mrs. Ann H. Judson (Knoiyles). 
 " Literary Ladies in England. 
 " the Court of Queen Elizabeth (Aikin). 
 " Count de Grammont. 
 " Mirabeau. 
 The German Museum. 
 La Belle Assembl§e. 
 Christian Observer. 
 Missionary Register. 
 
 Modem Poets, with Biogi'aphical Notices (S. 0. Hall). 
 Female Poets of Great Britain (Bothune). 
 " " (Rowton). 
 
 " America (Griswold). 
 
 Prose Writers of America " 
 
 Poets and Poetry of the Ancients (Wm. Peter), 
 Lady's Book (Godey's). 
 Ladies' Magazine. 
 Ladies' Museum. 
 Ladies' Library. 
 Monthly Anthology. 
 A New Spirit of the Age. 
 Review, North American, 
 
 " Edinburgh, 
 
 " London Quarterly, 
 
 " Foreign Quarterly, 
 
 " North British, 
 
 " Westminster, 
 Blackwood's Magazine. 
 Spirit of Missions. 
 Missionary Herald. 
 Church Review. 
 
 American and Foreign Christian Union. 
 American Methodist Quarterly Review. 
 Homes and Haunts of the Poets (Howitt), 
 Queens of England (Strickland). 
 
 " Spain (George). 
 Women in France (Kavenah). 
 Woman and her Master (Lady Morgan). 
 Women of the American Revolution (Mrs. Ellet). 
 Les Femmes C616bres de I'ancieme France (Le Roux de Lincy). 
 De rinfluence des Femmes sur la Litterature Fran^aises 
 
 (Gcnlis). 
 Les Femmes C616bres de 1789 a 1795, et leur infliience dans la 
 
 Revolution. 
 Memoires d'outre Tombe (Chateaubriand). 
 Goethe's Correspondence with a Child. 
 Loves of the Poets (Mrs. Jameson). 
 Scenes and Sketches at Home and Abroad. 
 Sketches of conspicuous Living Characters in France. 
 The Education of Mothers, or the Civilization of Mankind 
 
 (Aim§-Martui). 
 Legal Rights, LiabDities, and Duties of Women, &c. (Edward 
 
 D. Mansfield). 
 Hindoo Female Education (Mrs. Chapman). 
 Frizzi Memorie per la Storia di Ferrara. 
 Vita di Vittoria Colonna di Rota. 
 Poliziano. 
 
 Agostini Scritto's Veneziani. 
 Opere di Olimpia Fulvia Morati. 
 Raccolta de Poeti Ferraresi antichi e moderni. 
 Bachlni Vita ed Opere di Piscopia Cornaro. Parma, 1G88. 
 Tiraboschi Storia literaria Venezia, 1795. 
 Bergalli Racconti delli piu illustri d'ogni secolo. 
 
 ("904) 
 
listeij nf tl]f f jiitA Ittttw nf linerira. 
 
 BY ISBiDH/aiSD PflLIDISllTH. 
 
 First -Series.— From the First Settlement of the Country to the Adoption of the Federal Con- 
 stitation. 3 vols. 8vo, Muslin, $6 00; Sheep, $6 75; half Calf, $7 50. 
 
 Second Series.-^From the Adoption of the Federal Constitution to the End of the Sixteenth 
 
 Congress. 3 vols. 8vo, Muslin, $6 00; Sheep, $6 75; half Calf, $7 50. 
 
 Volume IL now ready. 
 
 This 19, we belieTe, the first attempt at n c„... 
 plete history of the United States. The reader who 
 deairea to inform himself in all the parllcuiara, mil- 
 itary or political, of the American Revolution, will 
 llnd that they have been scrupulously collected for 
 him by Mr. Hildreth. — London Jtiienaum. 
 
 It has condensed into consecutive narrative the 
 substance of hundreds of volumes. — London Liter- 
 art/ Gazette. 
 
 The history of the Revohition is clearly and suc- 
 cinctly told. — North American Review. 
 
 The first series ofMr. Hildreth'a History of the 
 United States we read with high satisfaction. His 
 sources of information have evidently been ample 
 and various, and intelligently examined, his mate- 
 rials arranged with a just idea of their importance 
 (a the story, while his judgments are well consider- 
 ed, unbiassed, and reliable. His style is clear, for- 
 cible, and sententious * * The above remarks are 
 Hpplicable also to the second series of the history, 
 so far as published, which is intended to cover the 
 period from the formation oftheConstitution to the 
 end of Munroe's first term. — Christian Register. 
 
 Mr. Hildreth is a very concise, vigorous, and im- 
 partial writer, and, in cousulting the volume before 
 us (the fifth), a very accurate idea of the condition 
 of the country, and the relations and practices of 
 parties for the period embraced by the administra- 
 tions of Adams and Jefiisrson, may be gained. The 
 entire history is very accurate and interesting, and 
 well worthy a place in every American library. — 
 Louituitle Journal. 
 
 We have already spoken of Mr. Hiidreth's merit. 
 He is laborious, conscientious, and accurate. As 
 A methodical and very full narrative, its '■alne is un- 
 doubted.— JVi-io Orleans Bee. 
 
 The calmness and ability with wiiich he has pre 
 (■ented his narrative will give his work rank among 
 :''3 standard histories of the country. — IVatchynan 
 .Tui Observer. 
 
 * * We have, therefore, read his work with dis- 
 ttusL But we are bound in candor to say that i' 
 seems to us valuable and very fair. Mr, Hildreth 
 has confined himself to, as far as nossible, a dispas- 
 slunate collection of facts from the documents he 
 has consulted and copied, and his work fills a void 
 that has sensibly been felt in private libraries. As 
 a documentary history of the United States we are 
 free to commend it, — JV- Y. Freeman^s Journal. 
 
 Mr. Hildreth has placed before the public many 
 new and important facts, and whoever does this, 
 renders an essential and permanent service. — Prov- 
 idence Daily Journal. 
 
 If there be one nation under Heaven every feat- 
 ure of whose hwtory should be closely scanned by 
 tiie Christian patriot, that nation is our own. For 
 this we believe the volumes before us will be re- 
 garded as indispensable — it will take its place as a 
 standard work. Wa have previously expressed our 
 high appreciation of the author's style, which is 
 dignifiea, perspicuous, and vivacious. — Church Re- 
 view. 
 
 In his attempt to give a faithful account of trans- 
 actions, and an impartial view of the character of 
 those statesmen who were prominent in public life, 
 Mr, Hildreth is generally considered to have been 
 remarkably successful, — Vermont Journal. 
 
 The work is very complete. The marginal dates, 
 the two indexes, and running heads at the tops of 
 the pages, render it very convenient for reference, 
 f)oints which scholars will find all important fur 
 utility. — Newark Sentinel of Freedom. 
 
 The object is expressed to he "to trace sut in- 
 atitHtions, religious, social, and political, from their 
 embryo state — to show from what beginnings, by 
 what influences, and through what changes, the 
 United States are what they are; guarding, as far 
 as might be, against current illusions, to present, 
 through a pure medium of impartial truth and jus- 
 tice, events and characters, undistorted by preju- 
 liice, uncolored by sentiment; neither tricked out 
 111 the gaudy tinsel of a meretricious rhetoric, nor 
 utretched, nor shortened to suit the purposes of any 
 partial political theory." Thisis a distinct purpose, 
 plainly expressed, and within the most legitimate 
 range both of art and philosophy; and if Mr. Hil- 
 dreth'a work has any merit, that merit consists in 
 ncrupulo'is adherence to this original plan, giving to 
 it, in the midst of infinite details, by no means easy 
 Ui dispose of, that unity essential to every work of 
 art, and by a felicitous arrangement, and skillful 
 grouping, enabling the reader, with ease and pleas- 
 ure, to trace a course of events which, in the works 
 of his predeoesBora in this li-S, lay heaped togeth- 
 er, pell-mell, in the oiost discouraging confusion. 
 We should like to know what other book upon 
 American history, or even upon any limited por- 
 tion of it, presents any thing like the same distinct- 
 ness of view, or can at all compete with it in that 
 "lucid order" which is one of the first merits of ev- 
 «ry historical work, — Boston Jflat. 
 
 His work fills a want, and is, therefore, most wel- 
 come. Its positive merits, in addition to those we 
 have before mentioned, are impartiality, steadiness 
 of view, clear appreciation of character, and, in point 
 of style, a terseness and conciseness, not unlike Tac- 
 itus, with not a little, too, of Tacitean vigor of 
 thought, stern sense of justice, sharp irony, and pro- 
 found wisdom,— JVfe(/iorfi,T( Qtnrterly Review. 
 
 It occupies a apace which has not yet been filled, 
 and exhibits characteristics both of "design and of 
 composition which entitle it to a distinguished place 
 among the moat important productions of Ameri- 
 can genius and scholarship. We welcome it as a 
 simple, faithful, lucid, and elegant narrative of the 
 great events of American historj'. It is not written 
 in illustration of any favorite theory, it is not thfe 
 expression of any ideal system, but an honest en- 
 deavor to present the facts in question in the pure, 
 uncolored light of truth and reality. The impar- 
 tiality, good judgment, penetration, and diligent re- 
 search of the author are conspicuous in its compo- 
 sition,— iV. r. Tribune. 
 
 In our judgment, this is the ablest, best, and most 
 judicious popular history of the United States that 
 has yet appeared. It will be a standard book on 
 American history, and will not fail to secure a higli 
 reputation as a writer to its modest and unpretend- 
 ing author. — Washington Union. 
 
 This work is a valuable addition to eur historical 
 literiture. It is the fruit of wide research and hard 
 labor. It has those features of severe simplicity and 
 truthfulness which will render it an enduring lega- 
 cy to the future,— CArijtian Watchman. 
 
 Mr. Hildreth'a work will be a sUndard of refer- 
 ence for the student of American history, and will 
 become a favorite in proportion as it is known, — 
 National Era. 
 
 His narrative is lucid and succinct, his facts care- 
 fully ascertained and Bkillfully grouped, and his con- 
 clusions on all mooted questions are ably sustained 
 and impartially weighed, — New Orleans Bee 
 
 We think this the most valuable work of the kind 
 yet issued. It presents in a clear, graceful, and for- 
 cible style, a full and faithful picture of the country 
 from its first settlement down to the end of the Six- 
 teenth Congress. It is marked no less by its com- 
 pleteness tlian its accuracy and the beauty of its 
 narrative. — jTV-OI/ Daily Wfiig. 
 
 In amostgraphic,terBe,and elegant style, it gives 
 the history of each state, with its institutions, prog- 
 ress, and enterprise, civil, commercial, and agricul- 
 tural, which makes the book a valuable addendum 
 to the historical literature of the great republic. — 
 St. John's Morning Neias. 
 
 Our author has written his narrative in simple, 
 clear, and graphic language, giving us not only our 
 national course, but side views of the political af- 
 fairs of our several states. — State Register, Albany. 
 
 No better chronicle of the more recent periods 
 of our history has been given. — Alb. Eve. Journal. 
 
 The prevailing characteristic of Hildreth'a histo- 
 ry is its stem and inflexible impartiality, — Boston 
 Journal. 
 
 The author has shown a most commendable in 
 dustry. — Baltimore Patriot. 
 
 The style of the writer is good, and well adapted 
 to historic composition. The reader has nothing to 
 distract hie attention from the fact and the principle 
 Involved, — Oneida Herald. 
 
 The chief merits of Mr. Hildreth'a work are fidel- 
 ity and candor of spirit, and perspicuity and terse- 
 ness of style. — Southern Literary Gazette. 
 
 We like this work yet more and more as it ad- 
 vances. — American Spectator. 
 
 It is a plain, dignified, impartial, and fearless ex- 
 hibition of facts, — Genesee Evangelist. 
 
 The author's grouping of men and events is skill- 
 ful, and renders his rapid narrative pleasant read- 
 ing. — N. Y. Evening Post. 
 
 These handsome volumes should be on the table 
 of every American who desires the most thorough 
 and clear report of our nation's history yet publish- 
 ed. — Rochester Democrat. 
 
 The history is a reliable, and in all respects an 
 admirable one. — Ontario Repository. 
 
 The author makes every thing plain and clear 
 which he touches. — Southern Christian Advocate, 
 
 Mr. Hiidreth's success, in the former volumes of 
 his work, gave promise of a history of the United 
 States that could bereD;ardedby all men aa a stand- 
 ard of authority, as well as a model of impartial la- 
 bor. — Worcester palladium. 
 
 The accuracy and impartiality of the author com- 
 mend it as a popular history. — Philadelphia Dollar 
 Newspaper. 
 
 The work promises to be one of high value — suf- 
 ficiently detailed for all practical purposes, and ris- 
 ing to the dignity of an original historical work, 
 above all the compilations that have been inflicted 
 upon the public. It is a work which should be in 
 every American's hands. — Springjield Republican. 
 
 His style is clear and forcible, and his work s 
 very valuable on account of the political infur-ia- 
 tion it contains. — Savannah Republican. 
 
 This volume (the fifth) is written with the same 
 candor, brevity, fidelity to facU, and simplicity of 
 style and manner, as tlie preceding, and forms a 
 welcome addition to the history of the nation.— 
 Protestant Churchman. 
 
 Its style is finished, yet simple and unaflTected, 
 the author scorning all tinsel, and confining himself 
 to the strict narration of our great history.^t/tico 
 Observer. 
 
 Mr. Hildreth is a bold and copious writer. His 
 work is valuable for the immense amount of mate- 
 rial it embodies.— P.: Bow'sRevtewof the Southern 
 and Western Semes. 
 
 We have already expressed our opinion of the 
 preceding part of this history, as evincing very ex- 
 tended research, and great care ill collecting and 
 arranging materials. * * We may safely comment* 
 Mr. Hiidreth's work as written in an excellent style 
 and containing a vast amount of valuable informa 
 tion, — Albany Argus. 
 
 Mr. Hildreth has not abated the industo' of his 
 research. His style is vigorously simple. It bat 
 the virtue of perspicuity. — Zion's Herald. 
 
 We value it on account of its impartiality. We 
 have found nothing to indicate the least desire nn 
 the part of the author to exalt or debase any man 
 or any party. His very patriotism, though high 
 principled and sincere, is sober and discriminate, 
 and appears to be held in strong check by the con 
 trolling recollection that he is writing for posterity, 
 and that if the facts which he publiabes will not 
 honor his country and his countrymen, fulsome ad 
 ulation will not add to their glory.— A'no York Com 
 mercial Advertiser. 
 
 We are confident that when the merits of thi-. 
 history come to be known and appreciated, it will 
 be extensively regarded as decidedly superior to anj 
 thing that before existed on American history, and 
 as a valuable contribution to American authorship 
 These stately volumes will be an ornament to nn.\ 
 library, and no intelligent American can afford to hi- 
 without the work. We have nobly patronized tlit 
 great English history of the age, let us not fail hi 
 appreciate and patronize nn American history oo 
 respectable and valuable as this certainly is. — Bib 
 lical Repository ( Bibliotheca Sacra). 
 
 This work professes only to deal in Jacts ; it is a 
 book oirecords; itputs together clearly, consecu- 
 tively, and, we believe, with strict impartiality, the 
 events of American history; and we are convinced 
 that it is destined to become a standard book qfref- 
 erence. If so, it will supply a great desideratum. 
 The work indicates patient, honest, and careful re- 
 search, systematic arrangement, and lucid exposi- 
 tion, — Home Journal. 
 
 To exhibit the progress of the country from in- 
 fancy to maturity; to show the actual state of the 
 people, the real character of their laws and institu- 
 tions, and the true designs of their leading men, al 
 different periods, and to relate a sound, unvarnished 
 tale of our early history, has been his design; and 
 we are free to acknowledge that it has been execu- 
 ted with marked ability and triumphant euccens. 
 Every lover of impartial history will accord to Mr 
 Hildreth his due meed of praise for the able and 
 honest manner in which he has given the true his 
 torj' of the United States. — Pennsylvanian. 
 
 This work is fullof detail, bears marks of care an c 
 research, and is written under the guidance ofcleai 
 sight and good judgment rather than of theory, phi- 
 losophical or historical, or of prejudice of any aorl 
 whatever. We trust that it will be widely read.— 
 Courier and EiiQuirer. 
 
 We pronounce it unsurpassed as a full, clear, and 
 truthful history of our country eo far. We rejoice 
 that a work so important to our nation has been sti 
 ably performed. — Literary American. 
 
 As a work of reference it can not fail to attain 
 very hi^h reputation, — Boston Transcript. 
 
 This la an interesting, valuable, and very attract 
 ive work. It is written in a style eminently clenr 
 and attractive, and presents the remarkable histfiry 
 which it records in a form ofgreat simplicity ami 
 with graphic force. There is in it no attempt ti< 
 palliate what is wrong, or to conceal what is true. 
 It is a life-like and reliable history of the most r>>- 
 markable series of events in the annals of the worM. 
 — jV. Y. Journal of Commerce. 
 
 It is avaluable acquisition to American literatun.-. 
 — Baltimore American. 
 
 The history of our country narrated in a plain, 
 intelligible, and unpretending style, and with a scru- 
 pulous re^rd for truth, — Buffalo Courier. 
 
 We believe this to be a truthful, judicious, and 
 valuable history, worthy of general acceptation. — 
 Philadelphia Nortli Amei-ican. 
 
 In a compact and popular form is given Uie firet 
 complete history of our country. — Chronot^-pt. 
 
)takrii dreek ITmrnns, ^r. 
 
 tlMl anil $tn\i's €u^lm^-§xnk^ %nm% 
 
 Based on the German Work of Passow. With Corrections and Additions, and the 
 
 Insertion in Alphabetical Order of the Proper Names occurring in the 
 
 principal Greek Authors. 
 
 ©2 f enrg JUrislcr, M.'^. 
 
 Tho publication of thia excellent work will be 
 hailed with great satisfaction by all professors and 
 teachers of the Greek language. A significant test- 
 imoaial to its value is to be found in the fact that 
 from its fir&t appearance tliis luxicoo was adopted 
 in the English schools to the exclusion of all others, 
 received the stamp of public approbation, and was 
 awarded the palm of decided superiority over the 
 only other lexicooa of equal pretensions that were 
 then in use, Dunnegan's and Dunbar's. Its supe- 
 rior excellence is chiefly manifested in point uf ar- 
 rangement, development of sigQifications, and ac- 
 curacy of quotation. Adopting Passow's admira- 
 ble lexicon as the basis of theirs, and carrying out 
 the principles which he laid down for his own guid- 
 ance, the English editor?, by their own reading, by 
 the aid of the Paris edition of Stephens's Thessau- 
 ru8,and of other general as well as special lexicons, 
 have produced a work which, for real utility ana 
 general accuracy, now stands, and will likely long 
 be without a rival in the English language. — Prat- 
 ritani C/iurc/iman. 
 
 We may eafeiy congratulate the scholars of our 
 country on the appearance of this large, handsome, 
 complete, and valuable volume: Messrs. Liddeli 
 and Scott's enlarged translation of Passow's Greek- 
 German Lexicon, combining all the excellencies of 
 the previous dictionaries of the Greek language in 
 use in our schools, it adds features at once new, 
 strikiug, and important, while the copiousness of 
 the vocabulan', tlie completeness of the definitions, 
 
 ROYAL 8V0, SHEEP, $5 00. 
 
 the numerous inflections of the original word pre- 
 sented in the column, and especially the arrange- 
 ment of the proper names in the same columns with 
 the common, furnish such facilities to the student 
 as are not to be found in any other Greek and En- 
 glish Lexicon with which we are acquainted. — New 
 York Observer. 
 
 * '<' On the broad and solid basts, formed by the la- 
 bors of the continental scholars, they have erected 
 a supeffltructure far superior to any thing of the 
 kind that has yet been seen in the English language, 
 and to this work the finishing hand lias now been 
 put by Prof. Drisler, the American editor. — Nno 
 York Expreta. 
 
 * * Prof. Drislerhas gone still further, and, by 
 the laborious and judicious use of still more recent 
 writers, lio has given increased value to the book. 
 It will now be regarded, universally we think, aa 
 much the best Greek Lexicon accessible to classic- 
 al Eicholara. It is sold at a price which places it 
 within the reach of all. i^'tue dollars for such a vol- 
 ume is certainly a moderate price ; and we have no 
 doubt the work will speedily supersede the inferior 
 compilations of Donnegan, Grove, &c., now io use. 
 — New York Recorder. 
 
 Messrs. Liddcll and Scott took up Passow's j^eat 
 work where he left it, and completed it in the very 
 spirit of his system by independent reading of their 
 own; so great, indeed, are their additions, that the 
 work is rather an entirely new one than a modifi- 
 cation of Passow, Prof. Drisler baa not only care- 
 
 fully revised the work, but has added laigely to its 
 value, especially by tho insertion of all the proper 
 namee in their alphabetical order. It is imposaihls 
 for us, within the compass of a newspaper article, 
 to notice all the merits of the English or American 
 editors of the lexicon; suffice it to say, that the 
 fruit of their labors is before us in a specimen of 
 Greek lexicography so far superior to any that has 
 yet appeared in the language tuat comparison would 
 be ridiculous. — N. V. Commercial ^avertUer. 
 
 This Greek dictionary must inevitably take the 
 place of all others in the classical schools of this 
 country. — Knickerbocker Magazine. 
 
 The work of Liddeli and Scott is esteemed by 
 scholars as incomparably the best Greek lexicon 
 ever published. It is not merely a translation of 
 Passow's work, which has no equal in Germany, 
 and is a stahdard work there, but a carrying out of 
 Passow's principles of lexicography through alarge 
 part of the entire circle of Greek literature. It is 
 constructed on the true principles of lexicography, 
 and presents, besides the clear and consistent sig 
 nification of each word, its history, the changes it 
 has undergone, and especially its usage in each of 
 the great eras of the language. On the score of 
 completeness, accuracy, comprehensiveness, and 
 scholarship, the work is not t« be named in com- 
 parison with Donnegan, or any other lexicon with 
 which we are familiar. Its publication is really a 
 
 fiublic favor, and will do much to advance Greek 
 earning among us. — iV. ¥. Evan^elitt. 
 
 'VsA^S/Vr^ </^'^^V'V» - 
 
 I (§mk anil Cnglmlj ttxmu af tlje Mm €mlmm\. 
 
 A New Edition, Revised, and in great part Rewritten. 
 
 ROYAL 8V0, MUSLIN. 
 
 150; SHEEP, $4 75; half calf, $5 00. 
 
 How completely thia i 
 
 ___ _ . . olumo supplied a great 
 
 want in the theological literature of'^the day our 
 readers will readily judge, from the fact that three 
 rival editions of it were (?peedily reprinted in Lon- 
 don and Edinburgh, besides two subsequent abridg- 
 ments. The first edition having been exhausted, 
 Dr. Robinson, during the last three years, has con- 
 centrated his labors upon the preparation of the 
 present edition of his lexicon, a comparison of which 
 with the first impression enables us to attest the 
 truthful accuracy of the author's statement that it 
 is indeed " a new edition revised and partly rewrit- 
 tnn," and we must add, with most valuable addi- 
 tiona and improvements. — Church of England Rev. 
 
 The excellence of this edition of tho " Greek and 
 English Lexicon" is found in many particulars: 1. 
 It embodies the results of the labors of the best lex- 
 icographers and grammarians, down to the present 
 time, together with the author's own materials, ac- 
 
 cumulated during his whole professional life, and in • 
 eluding his personal explorations in the land of the 
 Bible; 2. It is marked by ttie presiding influence 
 of good judgment in the combination and use of 
 these materials; 3. It combines the qualities both 
 of a Cancoi-iianee and Commentary. — Nem York 
 Obxerver. 
 
 This lexicon is inestimable to the grammarian. — 
 London Chrittian Times. 
 
 We regard this new edition of his lexicon as Dr. 
 Robinson's master-piece, both in utility and erudi- 
 tion. The book has already been adopted in this 
 country and in England, where it has wnolly super- 
 seded Pnrkhurst, and where it is considered an in- 
 disTjensable chrestomathy for the biblical student, 
 and for promoting the course of sacred learning and 
 Christian piety. — National Intelligencer. 
 
 This is one of tho most valuable contributions that 
 has been given to the world during the present cen- 
 
 tury, and tho scholar and tlio aivine may wen return 
 their humble tribute for this great resultof bis trav- 
 els through the Holy Land, and his patient, earnest, 
 and deep research through all the fields of language 
 and literature. Dr. Robinson has given to tho stu- 
 dent what ha has so much needed, but now first ob 
 tained, the most complete and admirable lexicon of 
 the New Testament extant, combining more than 
 all the excellencies of all other lexicons.— .rfmertcfln 
 Spectator. 
 
 It would be difficult for us to express, to a deserT 
 ed extent, the value of this great work to the divin* 
 aa well as to other classical scholars, and to all col- 
 leges and academies of a high grade. To all who 
 engage in the critical study of the New Testament 
 it is indeed indisponaable, as it is not equaled in abil- 
 ity of execution by any similar work. — Bali. Amer. 
 
 It is unquestionably the best book upon the same 
 subject ever given to the public— Courier ^ Enq. 
 
 Inttmann'0 §xtik (irammar. 
 
 For the Use of High Schools and Universities. Revised and Enlarged by his Son, 
 Alexander Buttmann. Translated from the 18th German Edition, 
 
 Bb (Ebroarb lobinson, mM., ttM. 
 
 Buttmann is unqueMtiouably one of tlie most ac- 
 curate and reliable of grammarians. I consider his 
 middle grammar as aurpassed by none of tho re- 
 cent works in the requisites ofa good school-book 
 — accuracy, brevity, and adaptation to the wants of 
 t student. — Prof. H. Dritler, Columbia College. 
 
 I am rejoiced to see this useful book, in its im- 
 proved form, rendered accessible to American 
 scholars. It would be difficult to name a classical 
 school-book which has exercised a more extended 
 or longer continued influence. — Charles Beck, 
 LL.D., Harvard University. 
 
 8V0, SHEEP, $2 00. 
 
 In clearness and neatness of arrangement, and 
 consequent convenience for consulting, and in per- 
 opicuity of style, I much prefer it to every other. 
 As a reference book for the student I consider it 
 unsurpnssed. — Prof. M. Stw^es, Hanover College. 
 
 I shall take great pleasure in recommending it to 
 my friends ana the public as one of the best Greek 
 grammars ever published. — Pro/. .John J. Owen. 
 
 There is nothmg in the English language that can 
 be at all compared with it.— Evangelical Review. 
 
 We can conceive of nothing that a Greek gram- 
 m,ir ought tu contain which is not found in thia. 
 
 It will bo also of essential aid to the classical and 
 biblical critic, through the numerous exegetical hints 
 wIiIlIi occuron almost every page. — Christ.Exam. 
 
 It is one of the moat full and comprehensivr. 
 Greek .grammars ever published in thia country, 
 and at the same time so well digested and syste- 
 matically arranged, as to render tho progress of tlia 
 scholar natural and aa^y.— Christian Freeman. 
 
 The history of Bultmann's Greek Grammar u, 
 to a great extent, a history of the better methods 
 and triumphs of modem philology. — Vmv. Quarter- 
 ly Review. 
 
 %zxpi k 56rntliprs, f nlilisjiBrs, Mtm ^nrk. 
 
Founded on the larger Latin-German Lexicon of Dr. Wm. Freund. Witli Additions and 
 Corrections from the Lexicons of Gesner, Facciolati, Schiller, Georges, &c. 
 
 ROYAL 8V0, SHEEP EXTRA, $5 00. 
 
 From Rev. Alonzo Church, D.D., Frtsident afiht 
 Univertiiy, Georgia. 
 
 I am convinced that it is a very valuable acqui- 
 
 iitioa to the means which we nircndy possess for 
 
 acquiring a correctknowledge of the Latin laugii age. 
 
 From M. Sltirgtu, Pro/etsor qf LangMages in 
 
 Hanover College, Indiana. 
 
 Of this work it is needless to speak. The opinion 
 ofBCtiolara, butli in this country and in Great Brit- 
 ain, ia unanimous in its favor, as the best lexicon 
 yet publialied in any language. The \Tork, internal- 
 ly an d externally, is every thing a ecbolar can ad mire. 
 From Prof. A. S. Packard, Bawdoin College, Me. 
 
 1 value it highly, and regard it as a great advance 
 on the helps which our students have been obliged 
 to depend ueretofore. By tliis enterprise, as by the 
 former, in which you placed witbin reach Liddell 
 and Scott's Greek Lexicon, you have conferred a 
 great beneiit on the cause of classical education. 
 From D. Prentice, LL.D., Rector of Uiica Gram- 
 mar School. 
 
 The great Latin Lexicon of Dr. Freund, which, 
 in a profound comprehension of the Latin language, 
 has probably no equal, has been, by the learned 
 and careful labors of Prof. Andrews, brought into a 
 form sizeable and convenient for use; and by hav. 
 ing its copious and accurate reference, through the 
 entire range of the Latin classics, subjected to a 
 most judicious arrangement, it constitutes the most 
 valuable philological and historical index of the lan- 
 guage, in its successive periods, that baa been giv- 
 en to the world. Its excellence, in every essential 
 quality of a Latin lexicon, can not be too highly es- 
 timated. The beauty of the typography will not 
 fail of meeting unqualified approbation, and furnish- 
 es another splendid proof of the taste and literary 
 enterprise of the publishers. I am sure it will give 
 you pleasure to leam that I have introduced the 
 work into our grammar school, where it will here- 
 after be used exclusively and solely with entire sat- 
 isfaction. 
 From Prof. J. T. ChampVm, Waterville College. 
 
 The book will fully meet the high expecutions 
 which have been formed of its character. In mat- 
 Uir, arrangement, and form, it is all that could be 
 desired, I shall take great pleasure in recommend- 
 ing it to the classes nnder my charge. 
 
 From ProJ. A. M. Faysan, Principal of Ber- 
 wick Academy. 
 
 I have examined the work sufficiently to satisfy 
 my mind of its superior excellence; accordingly I 
 have recommended it to my pupils, and it has al- 
 ready made its appearance in tlie school-room. 
 From Gessner Harrison, President University of 
 Virgmia. 
 
 It is beyond qoestion, I should say, greatly supe- 
 rior to any other Latln-Enghsh Dictionary ia use in 
 our country, and wojild be advantageously adopted 
 by all who wish to have in a convenient form a sat- 
 isfactory account of the form and signification of the 
 words of the Latin language. 
 From Rev. Prof. Lindsay, Wesleyan University. 
 
 I have used it almost daily, and am prepared to 
 say that it ia superior to any lexicon we have. 
 From Edward RUchcock, D.D., LL.D., President 
 of Amherst College. 
 
 I can not doubt but that it will come mto speedy 
 use in our colleges. 
 From Prof. T. B. Hudson, Oberlin College, Ohio. 
 
 I deem the publication of this work almost an 
 era in the study of the Latin language on this side 
 of the Atlantic The unequaled fullness in the vo- 
 cabulary, the philosophical arrangement of the def- 
 initions, the abundant references to the Roman au- 
 thors which support these definitions, the designa- 
 tion of the words as classical or otherwise, with the 
 period to which each word belongs, and the nice 
 attention to the quantity of syllables which runs 
 through the whole, altogether constitute a group ol 
 excelfences which place this lexicon far above any 
 otiier of the kind that I have seen. 
 
 From Prof. Pease, UniversUy of Vermont. 
 
 Although the work is in no need of commendation 
 from me, I may, perhapa, be permitted to express 
 the opinion that it is the first dictionary which haa 
 appeared in English which ia calculated tobnngtbe 
 study of Latin up to the level occupied by that ol 
 Greek. 
 
 From the American Biblical ReposUory. 
 
 * * In short, the lexicon is a great advance on all 
 • which have been hitherto used in our country, and 
 will make ^n era in the study of Latin. 
 
 From the New York Recorder. 
 
 We venture to say that teacheraof Latin, wher- 
 ever the English language is spoken, will acknowl- 
 edge their indebtedness to the editor, translators, 
 and publiahers for this work, as one altogether su- 
 psrior to any Latin-English Lexicon in existence. 
 
 From the London Literary Gazette, 
 We have examined this book with considerable 
 attention, and have no hesitation in saying it ia the 
 heat Dictionary of the Latin Language that has ap- 
 peared. 
 
 From t/ie London Aihenaium. 
 
 In conclusion, we are glad to have an opportunity 
 of introducing so excellent a work to the notice of 
 ourclaseicat and philological readers. It has all 
 that true German Grundlichkeit about it which is 
 Eo highly appreciated by English scholars. Rarely, 
 if ever, has so vast an amount of philological infor- 
 mation been comprised in a single volume of thia 
 size. The knowledge which it conveys of the early 
 and later Latin is not to be gathered from ordinary 
 Latin Dictionaries. Witb regard to tlie manner in 
 which it is got up, we can apeak most favorabi}'. 
 Never have we aeen a better apecimen of American 
 typography. Every page beara the impresa of in- 
 dustry and care. The type is clear, neat, and ju- 
 diciously varied. A pretty close inspection has not 
 enabled us to discover any error worth mentioning. 
 From the Watchman and Reflector, 
 
 It is difBcult to speak ol this magnificent work in 
 terms that will not savor of extravagance to those 
 who have not examined it. The imperfections of 
 the lexicons in common use, such as Ainswortb'a 
 and Leverett's, have long been felt, white the large 
 works of Facciolati and others have been at once 
 beyond the means and unsuitable to the purpose 
 of ordinary students. The work before ue combines 
 the cbeapne.ss and compactness of the one class 
 with the completeness and accuracy oftbe other. 
 It ia essentially a reproduction into English, with 
 corrections by the American editor, of the great 
 German Lexicon of Freund, a work which, being 
 the result of many years' patient toil by one of the 
 first Latin scbolars ofthe age, stands confessedly 
 at the bead of this department of scholarship. * * 
 Witli these advantages, thia lexicon must speedily 
 supersede all thoae in common use, as the cheapest 
 and best acceptable aid to the acquisition of the no- 
 ble language of Virgil and Cicero. 
 
 From the Christian Advocate. 
 
 A little experience in the use of this extensive and 
 accurate cyclopedia ofthe Latin language, will in- 
 duce students to abandon the old lexicons at once. 
 
 From the Christian Parlor Magazine. 
 
 Liddell and Scott's most admirable Greek Lexi- 
 con, Dr. Robinson's Lexicon oftbe New Testa- 
 ment, Prof. Anthon'a Classical Dictionary, and 
 now this work of Prof. Andrewa, together form a 
 aeries whoae uafifulness, scholarship, and excel- 
 lence it would be impossible to exceed in the En- 
 glish language. 
 
 From the Methodist Protestant. 
 
 A great work — a work of great labor — a work of 
 
 great practical importance to the classical student. 
 
 From Zion's Herald. 
 
 The best work ofthe kind unquestionably in the 
 English language. 
 
 From the Protestant Churchman. 
 
 A valuable work. It forms an excellent compan- 
 ion for the Greek Lexicon, edited by Prof: Drisler, 
 and llie English-Latin, by Prof. Anthon. We per- 
 ceive that an English-Greek Lexicon, edited by 
 Prof. Drisler, is silso in preparation — when com- 
 pleted, the student will have a very complete ap- 
 paratus for the reading ofthe classical authors of 
 Greece and Rome, and composing in those lan- 
 guages with correctness and facihty. 
 
 From the Southern Christian Advocate. 
 
 A superb volume. The American student has 
 here all the substantial advantages oftbe roost su- 
 perior of the German-Latin Lexicons, in a form 
 adapted to daily use. This will become the stand- 
 ard lexicon of its kind, and find its way into all the 
 schools and colleges ofthe country. 
 
 From the New York Observer. 
 
 We congratulate the students and teachers of the 
 Latin language on the appearance of this elaborate 
 work. It furnishes them with an apparatus far su- 
 perior to that enjoyed by their predecessors. It 
 contains the results ofthe most thorough scholar- 
 ship, foreign and domestic, and ia abundantly adapt- 
 ed to the wants ofthe student The present work 
 is diatinguished from every manual Latin-English 
 Lexicon heretofore published, not only by the num- 
 ber of authorities cited, but by its full reference in 
 every case both to the name of the classical author, 
 and to the particular treatise, hook, section, or line 
 of his writings in which the pa-ssage referred to is 
 to be found. We hope the book will find its way 
 inta all the literary institutions of our land. 
 From the New York Evening Post. 
 
 We may congratulate the schools of this country, 
 and the readers of Latin, on the publication of this 
 work, which ia unquestionably far superior to any 
 Latin-English dicUonarv we have. 
 
 From the Methodist Quarterly Review. 
 
 The most complete Latin Dictionary that has 
 ever appeared. 
 
 From the National Intelligencer. 
 
 It is decidedly the heat dictionary of the Latin 
 language we have yet seen. 
 
 From the Albany State Register. 
 
 Superior to any in the language for fullness, pre- 
 cision, and systematic exactness. 
 
 From the New York Mirror. 
 
 We presume that this work will at once take »« 
 place of all other Latin Lexicons in the higher sem- 
 inaries in the United States, as well Oif be adopted 
 for occasLnal consultation. The vast amount of 
 pbilologica. iuformation which it contains, the sim- 
 plicity and clearness of its arrangement, the pro. 
 found and accurate researches on which it is found- 
 ed, and the strenuous industry, vigilant judgment, 
 and discriminating taste which are every where 
 visible in its compoaitioo, justly entitle it to this 
 pre-eminence. 
 
 From the Louisville Courier. 
 
 The Harpers have laid all the students of Latin 
 in the Union under obligations of gratitude by the 
 excellence of this Lexicon. All others that we have 
 
 From the Savannah Neiot. 
 Unquestionably the most complete work of the 
 kind yet issued. 
 
 From the New York Courier and Enquirer. 
 
 This Lexicon excels every other, of the same 
 compass, in the completeneaa of its vocabularies, 
 the extent of its definitions, the number of authori- 
 ties quoted or referred to, and especially in the ex- 
 actness ofthe references made to the original au- 
 thors, which are always designated by book, section, 
 and line. The American editor, assisted by many 
 learned Iriends, haa devoted the labor of many years 
 to the translation and improvement ofthe original 
 work, and the result ia a proud monument of Amer- 
 ican scholarship. The typographical execution of 
 the work is superior, and the printing of tlie words 
 defined in large type, we regard as a det ided im- 
 provement. 
 
 From the New York Commercial Advertiser. 
 
 This we believe to be the best Latin-English Lex- 
 icon yet extant. Its superiority consists, first, in 
 its copiousness, the whole.range of eminent German 
 philologists having been made tributary to it ; sec- 
 ond, in the multitnde and accuracy of its references 
 or examples, in which not only are the authors 
 quoted who employ the word in the sense cited, but 
 the works in which the examples occur; in thia re- 
 spect we have seen no lexicon equal to thia. It in 
 a work of immense philological research. A third 
 excellence is its clear and perspicuous arrangement. 
 It haa also many other improvements. Much ae 
 the editor and publishers hsve done for the promo- 
 tion of classical education, this edition of Dr. 
 Freund's Lexicon surpasses all their former edu- 
 cational publications. 
 
 From the Baltimore American. 
 
 No work extant is so well adapted to general uae, 
 or exhibits so well the most important results of 
 dodem labors in Latin lexicography. It ia india- 
 pensable to the general scholar, as well as ^o all 
 colleges and achools of a high order. 
 
 From the Commonwealth. 
 
 A treasure for the Latin student 
 From the Independent. 
 
 It has been understood for years, among classical 
 at:idents, that Prof. Andrewa, than whom no Amer- 
 ican scholar is more competent for such a work, 
 was devoting the maturity of his scholarship and 
 his life to the preparation of a Latin Lexicon, which 
 should supply the manifold deficiencies of Ainsworth 
 and Leverett, and should introduce the learner to a 
 more thoroughly critical and phtlosop^hical knowl 
 edge of the Latin language. 'This great work is at 
 length aompleted; and, notwithstanding the labor 
 and cost of preparation, it is presented to the stu- 
 dent at a reasonable price and in a most inviting 
 dress. * * * This Lexicon must supersede all oth- 
 ers now in use. Whoever is about tu begin the 
 study of Latin will ofcourse procure it, an^ many 
 who have long been dissatisfied with their lexico- 
 graphical helps will gladly dispense with those for 
 such a substitute. We have uoscrunuloualy laid 
 up on the shelf the well-thumbed A.nsworth, that 
 companled with us through oar preparatory and 
 collegiate course, and by the help of which we di- 
 vinea tbewit of Horace and of Plautua, and elab 
 orated the terse narrative of Tacitus, and also 
 [heu! panitet me!) wrote and spoke much barbar 
 ous Latin! 
 
 From the Hartford Calendar. 
 
 It must supersede all other Latin Lexicoa& 
 
Thomson's Seasons. Illustrated by 
 
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