liiiii^^ I ft (IJorttcU MntucrBtty Slibrarg 3tl)aca. Ncm ^nrk WORDSWORTH COLLECTION MADE BY CYNTHIA MORGAN ST. JOHN ITHACA, N. Y. date sh cr 3^03 C^- /i: • '':^' MARY, MOTHER OF WASHINGTON. THE GIRLHOOD OF CELEBRATED WOMEN WOMEN OE WOETH THE MOTHEES OF THE BIBLE. TWO VOLUMES IN ONE. ILLUSTRATED. NEW YORK: THE WORLD PUBLISHING HOUSE, 139 Eighth Street. 1876. ^' ^y^ CC-OcJnrL , Cornell University Library V The original of this bool< 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/cu31924104095868 WOMEN OF WORTH. Ac when the night Its highest noon attains, And not a cloud o'ercasts the blue serene, The stars diffused through all the ethereal plallic. And all arrayed in living light are seen ; 80 in this night of time what patterns rise, Eich in celestial lustres to adorn And bless our world, till from those lower skies Shine the full glories of that promised morn, When Jesus rising, like the orient sun Shall drown these stars in his superior raya. And all these saints, their race nocturnal run. Alone on his unrivalled beauties gaze. But till this day shall break, how much we oiv© To those divine examples that illume ©ar journey through this vale of sin and wee. Direct our steps and half dispel our gloom. Te fair, heaven's kindest, noblest gift to mafl. Adorned with every charm and every grace. The flame your fonns inspire let virtue fan, And let the mind be lovelier than the face. Daughters of Eve, or in your silver hairs. Or flourishing in youth's auspicious bloom, The soul, the immortal soul, demands your cares; Oh live as heirs of endless life to come I Well weigh your various characters, fulfil All your relations both to God and man, ''•*-©» to be perfect, high, mount higher still ; Jrown, crowd with blessings your contracted spaa. CONTENTS. Mary Wasliington, the Illustrious Matron 9 Martha Washington, the True "Wife 22 Charlotte Bronte, the Worthy Daughter 21 Elizabeth Fry, the Newgate School-Mistress 58 Sarah Martiu, the Jail Missionary 16 Margaret Mercer, the Worker of Charity 94 Sarah Boardman Judson, the Teacher in the Wilds 106 Lady Russell, the Noble Dame 121 Luc y Hutchin son, the_^atternjQf.JDojiieatic.Yirtue... ,_. . . . 132 Isabel the Catholic, the Friend of Columbus 139 Mrs. Elizabeth Rowe, the Earnest Christian 1*76 Maria Theresa, the Star of Austria 185 Madame Oberlin, the Pastor's Helpmate 193 Ann Letitia Barbauld, the Children's Favorite 199 Rebecca Motte, the Devoted Patriot 226 Madame Necker, the Estimable Governess 231 Caroline L. Herschel, the Patient Astronomer. . , , 23*7 Hannah More, the Quiet Reformer 242 Ann Flaxman, the Sculptor's Assistant 263 Mrs. Wordsworth, the Poet's Companion 267 Harriet Newell, the Christian Heroine 212 Sarah Lanman Smith, the Missionary's Wife 217 Lady Warwick, the Laborer in the Vineyard, 283 Lady Mackintosh, the Guardian Angel 300 PEEFATOEY NOTE. THE EELATION OF BIOGEAPHT TO EVEET-DAT LIFE. "It is the divinest thing to be good." — John Foster. "Goodness is beauty in its best estate," — Marlowe. " The true mark of a good heart, is its capacity for loving." — Madame db Sevigne. The following Biographical Sketches form, it ia believed, a book which a woman of any age may- take up with pleasure and profit; while to the young — it may be of unformed character — the work is calculated to be more specially useful, in so far as it serves to show how those who were of "The Excellent of the Earth" walked amongst us. After a careful examination of the numerous books which treat of the lives and works of notable women, it may be sufficient to remark that if the editor of the present volume has made even an approach to the standard kept in view, this pub- lication will be found to present elements of char- acter and examples of action in a manner likely to exercise a wholesome influence while it possesses a distinctive tone. In conjunction with this pervading spirit it has been an object to combine in one cheap volume, Tl PEEFATORT NOTE. brief, graphic, and suggestive sketches, not only of tliose ah-eady famous in the annals of iemaie worth, but of those whose Uves, from having been spent in the midst of us, or at least within the memory of a still-existing generation, have thus, to some extent, been overlooked in previous collections of a some- what similar character. The aim has therefore been to record " deeds which should not pass away, and names that must not wither." With respect to the materials of which the book is composed a few words are necessary. The more lengthy sketches are original, enriched by a little fresh information from private sources. Of the shorter lives, the majority are taken from the thkd era of Sarah Josepha Hale's "Records of Women."* The interesting account of the labors of Sarah Mar- tin is gathered from the pages of the " Edinburgh Review ;" and the sketch of Mrs. Elizabeth Rowe is derived from Miss Kavanagh's "Women of Christianity." Every life here given has at least its one phase of excellence ; but not a few of them are worthy of contemplation under many aspects, and of imitation in several ways. In all we see blended the fruits of that labor, patience, truth, trust, and love which are the crown and glory of woman. There are not here many names of the great and 8 Woman's Record; or Sketches of all Di8tlng:iii8hed Women frotn the Creation to A. D lft54. T5y Sarah .Toflenha Hale. New York : Har« per Brothers. PREFATORY NOTE. Vl* titled. All honor to those who, with all the weak- ness of our common humanity, have borne meekly and bravely the trials of prosperity and high sta- tion : the full cup needs ar' steady hand. It has rather been designed to draw lessons from more commonplace people, and to show something of the poetry and charm of every-day life — ^from a notion that thereby the book will be more impressive to the majority of readers. Perhaps it may serve to soothe, encourage, and sustain, as well as to warn and guide. For, as good old Jeremy Taylor has well put it, good books, and the examples of good lives, are amongst the thousands of excellent arts which it has pleased God to use to win us. It is no doubt often a difficult matter for an en- thusiastic young woman to settle into the harness of every-day life. It seems so easy and so fine to act gracefully or grandly upon grand occasions, amongst people who are to one's taste. It is often very hard for a time (we use the words of a piquant and thoughtful writer) to learn that "fellow-mor- tals, every one, must be accepted as they are : you can neither straighten their noses, nor brigliten their wit, nor rectify their dispositions ; and it is these people — amongst whom your life is passed — that it is needful you should tolerate, pity, and love; it is these more or less ugly, stupid, incon- sistent people whose movements of goodness you should be able to admire — for whom you should cherish all possible hopes, all possible patience. ... .In this world there are so many of these VIU PREFATORY NOTE. common, coarse people, who have no picturesque sentimental wretchedness ! It is so needful we should remember their existence, else we may happen to leave them quite out of our religion and philanthropy, and frame lofty ideas which only fit 'a world of extremes There are few prophets in the world; few sublimely beautiful women ; few heroes. I can't afibrd to give all my love and reverence to such rarities : I want a great deal of those feelings for my every-day fellows, es- pecially for the few in the foreground of the great multitude, whose faces I know, whose hands I touch, for whom I have to make way with kindly courtesy." And so it will be a good thing if tliis gathering of exemplary lives will teach some to study to bo kind, and others to be quiet, and all to be cheerful The Editob. WOMEN OF WOPJH. THE ILLUSTRIOUS MATRON, MART WASHINGTON, The mother of George Washington, the hero of the American revolutionary war, and the first president of the United States, claims the noblest distinction 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. Mary 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 Yirginia, this lady, by the death of her husband, became involved in the cares of a young :femily, at a period when those cares seem more especially to * This biography was written by George W. P. Custis, grac Ison of Mn. Marthu Washingtoa. 10 WOl^IEN OF WORTH. 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 quaUties which gave lustre to the glories of his after-life. If the school savored 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 excellence for ages yet to come. It was remarked by the ancients, that the mother 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 great- ness to her child, than she whose remarkable life and actions this reminiscence will endeavor to illus- trate. 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, except the remembrance of his person, and of his jDarental 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 were tempered by a deference and well-regulated re- straint, which, while it neither suppressed nor con- / MAKY WASHINGTON. 11 4emned 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 held in reserve an authority which never departed from her, even when her son had become the most illus- trious 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." ISTor did the chief dissent from these truths ; but to the last moments of his venerable parent, yielded to her win the most dutiful and imphcit 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 j and that he not only profited by, but fully appreciated their excellence and the character of his mother, his behavior toward 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 contig- uous to her friends and relatives. It was there the matron remained during nearly 12 WOMEN OF WOKTH. 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 floAved the for- tunes of our cause, the mother, trusting to the wisdom and protection of divine providence, pre- served the even tenor 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 (December, 1776), 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 cahnness, 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 suVject of so much praise." During the war, and indeed during her useful MART WASHINGTON. IS life, up to the advanced age of eighty-two, until within three years of her death (when an aMctive disease prevented exertion), the mother set a most valuable example in the management of her domes- tic concerns, carrying her own keys, bustling in her household affairs, providing for her family, and living and moving in all the pride of independence. She was not actuated by that ambition for show which pervades lesser minds ; and the peculiar plainness and dignity of her manners became in nowise altered, when the sun of glory arose upon her house. There are some of the aged inhabit- ants of Fredericksburg who weU remember the matron, as seated in an old-fashioned open chaise, she was in the habit of visiting, ahnost 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 weU-regulated econ- omy of all her concerns, enabled the matron to dis- pense considerable charities to the poor, although her own circumstances were always far from rich. All manner of domestic economies, so useful in those times of privation and trouble, met her zeal- ous attention ; while every thing about her house- hold bore marks of her care and management, and very many things the impress of her own hands. In a very humble dwelling, and suffering under an excruciating disease (cancer of the breast), thus lived this mother of the first of men, preserving, 14 WOMEN OF WOETH. unclianged, her peculiar nobleness and independ- ence 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 secluded spot, foi-med by rocks and trees, near her dwelling, where, abstracted from the world and worldly things, she communed with her Creator, in humil- iation 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 pleasure 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 interview of the great Washington with his admirable parent and instructor. No pageantry of war proclaimed his coming, no trumpets sounded, no banners waved. Alone and on foot, the marshal of France, the general-in-chief of the combined armies of France and America, the deliverer of his coimtry, the hero of the age, repaired to pay his humble duty to her whom he venerated as the author 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. MART WASHINGTON. 15 The lady was alone, her aged hands employed, in the works of domestic industry, wlien the good news was announced ; and it was further told that the victor chief was in ivaiting at the threshold. She welcomed him with a warm embrace, and by the well-remembered and endearing name of his childhood ; inquiring as to his health, she remarked the hues 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 I Meantune, in the village of Fredericksburg, all was joy and revelry ; the town was crowded with the officers 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 sj^lendid 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 foreisrn officers were anxious to see the mother of their chief. They had heard indistinct rumors respecting her remarkable life and charac- ter ; but, forming their judgments from European 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 tha 16 wo:men of worth. 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 im- posing, was courteous, though reserved. She re- ceived the complimentary attentions, which were profusely paid her, without evincing the slightest elevation ; and, at an early hour, wishing the com- pany much enjoyment of their pleasures, observing that it was time for old people to be at home, re- tired. The foreign officers were amazed to behold one whom so many causes contributed to elevate, pre- serving the even tenor of her Hfe, whUe 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 hps ; 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. Willis. It closed his dancing days. The minuet was much m vogue at that period, and was peculiarly calcu- lated for the display of the splendid figm-e 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 MART ■WASHINGTON'. 17 commander-in-chief, jdelding to the gayety of the scene, went down some dozen couple in the contra- dance, with great spirit and satisfaction. The Marquis de Lafayette repaired to Fred- ericksburg, previous to his departure for Europe, in the fall of 1V84, to pay his parting respects to the mother, and to ask her blessing. Conducted by one of her grandsons, he approach- ed the house, when the young gentleman observed, "There, sir, is my grandmother." Lafayette be- held, working in the garden, clad in domestic-made clothes, and her gray 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 chang- ing my dress." The marquis spoke of the happy effects of the revolution, and the goodly prospect which opened upon independent America ; stated his speedy de- partm^e 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 ravished upon his hero and paternal chief, the ma- tron replied in these words : " I am not suprised at what George has done, for he was always a very good boy." Li her person, Mrs. Washington was of the mid- dle size, and finely formed ; her features pleasing, yet strongly marked. It is not the happiness of 2 18 WOMEN OF WORTH. the writer to remember her, having only seen hei with infant eyes. The sister of the chief he per- fectly well remembers. She was a most majestic 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 appear- ed on her brother's steed, battahons 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 hoy / of the merits of his early hfe ; 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 in- sensibility ? or want of ambition ? Oh, no ! her ambition had been gratified to overflowing. She had taught him to be good ; that he became great when the opportunity presented, was a consequence, 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 memorial- stone. But the heart of the nation acknowledired her worth, and the noble spirit of her native Vir- ginia 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 monu- ment was laid by Andrew Jackson, then the Presi- MART WASHINGTON. 19 dent of the United States. The public officers of the gcnei'al 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 beau- tiful tribute to the memory of the deceased, which, for its masterly exposition of the effect of mater- nal example, and of the importance of female in fluence, deserves to be preserved. 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 destmy of her son. The great points of his character are before the world. He who runs may read them m 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 pur- pose, high moral principles, perfect self-possession, untiring application, an inquiring mind, seeking in- formation from every quarter, and arriving at its conclusions with a full knowledge of the subject ; and he added to these an inflexibihty of resolution, which nothing could change but a conviction of error. Look back at the life and conduct of his motlier, and at her domestic government, and tliey will be foimd admirably adapted to form and de- 20 WOMEN OF WORTH. velop the elements of such a character. 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, patriotism, and wisdom, which will be precious in all succeeding ages, might have idded 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 discretion, might have changed the character of the son, and with it the destinies of the nation. We have rea- son to be proud of the virtue and intelligence of our women. As mothers and sisters, as wives and daughters, their duties are performed with exem- plary fidelity. They, no doubt, reaHze the great importance of the maternal character, and the pow erful influence it must exert upon the American youth. Happy is it for them and our country, that they have before them this illustrious example of maternal devotion, and this bright reward of filial success ! The mother of a family who lives to wit ness the virtues of her children, and their advance- ' ment in life, and who is known and honored because they are known and honored, should have no other wish, on this side the grave, to gratify. The seeds of virtue and vice are early sown, and we may MAKT WASHINGTON". 21 often anticipate the harvest that will be gathered. Changes, no doubt, occur, but let no one place hia hope upon these. Impressions made in infancy, if not indelible, are effiiced with dithculty, and renewed with facility ; and upon the mother, therefore, must frequently, if not generally, depend the fate of tha son. "Fellow-citizens: at your request, and in your name, I noAV deposit this plate in the spot destmed 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 strength- ened, while he invokes blessings upon the mother of Washington." | This monument bears the simple but touching inscription, Mary, the Mother of Washington. 22 WOMEN OF WOKTH. THE TEUE WIFE, MARTHA WASHINGTON, Wife of General George Washington, was born in the coiuity of New Kent, Vh-guiia, m May, 1732. Her maiden name was Martha Dandridge ; at the 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 17'70 ; and John, who perished in the service of his country, at the siege of Yorktown, aged tw^enty-seven. Mrs. Custis was left a yomig and very wealthy widow, and managed the extensive landed and pecuniary concerns of the estate with surprising ability. In 1759, she was married to George Wash- ington, then a colonel in the colonial service, and ^oon after, they removed permanently to Mount Vernon, on the Potomac. Upon the election of her husband to the command-in-chief of the arnnes of his country, Mrs., or Lady Washington, as she was generally caUed, accompanied the general to MABTHA WASHINGTON". 23 the lines before Boston, and witnessed its siege and evacuation; and was always constant in rier attendance on her husband, when it was possible. After General Washington's election to the presi dency of the United States, in 1787, Mrs. Washing- ton performed the duties belonging to the wife of a man in that high station, with great dignity and ease ; and on the retirement of Washington, she still continued her unbounded hospitality. The de- cease of her venerated husband, who died Decern ber 14th, 1799, was the shock from which she never recovered, though she bore the heavy sor- row with the most exemplary resignation. Slie was kneeling at the foot of his bed when he ex- pired, 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 aU 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, engaged in reading the Bible and in prayer. She survived her hus- band a little over two years, dying at Mount Ver non, aged seventy. In person Mrs. Washington was well-formed, though somewhat below the middle size. A por- trait taken previous to her marriage, shows that she must have been very handsome in her youth ; and she retained a comeUness of coimtenance, ag 24 WOMEN OF WOKTH. well as a dignified grace of manner, during life. In her liome she was the presiding genius that kept ac- tion 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 between George and Martha Washington, is shown to be the hap- piest, 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 confidence they had shared together should become public; it would be desecrating their chaste loves, and, per- haps, some word or expression might be misinter- preted to his disadvantage. One only letter from Washington to his wife was found among his pa- pers ; the extracts we give from this letter indicate clearly the character of their correspondence. "Philadelphia, June ISth, 1115. " My Dearest, — I am now set down to write you on a subject which fills me with inexpressible concern; 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 j^ut under mv MARTHA WASHINGTON. 25 care, and that it is necessary for me to proceed im- mediately to Boston, and take upon me the com- mand of it. " You may beheve me, dear Patsy, when I assure you, in the most solemn manner, that, so far from eekmg 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 the consciousness of it being a trust too great for my capacity, and that I should enjoy morp 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 upon me this service, I shall hope that my undertaking it is designed to answer some good purpose. ***** " I shall rely, therefore, confidently on that Prov- idence, 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 mihappiness 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. No- thing will give me so much sincere satisfaction as to hear this, and to hear it'from your own pen." He then goes on to say, that as life is always 26 WOMEN OF WOKTH. uncertain, he had had his will dra^vn up, and in- closed the draft to her ; by this will he gave her tlie use and control of all his estates and property during her life-time, which will was observed at Us de(;ease. Such was the love the greatest man the Avorld ever saw cherished toward his wife; ;i ad she worthy of his love. What higher celebrity fauld a woman desire? CHARLOTTE ERONTE. 27 THE WOETHY DxiUGHTEE, CHARLOTTE BRONTE. In the central region of Yorkshire, which, from its elevation, forms the rivershed of that portion of Great Britain, where wold and moor, beck and force, deep scooped-out valleys, and tier after tier of high-rounded hills running up into mountains, prevail, was born, and hved, and died, Charlotte Bronte. The region is rough and unsightly — no trees, no velvety soft verdure, no golden crops, no nesthng hedges, consequently few birds to wake the echoes, save the lark and the more common of the freemen of the air — a naked, cold, and barren tract, where, however, the treasures below the surface largely compensate for the absence of pic- turesque beauty above, and where, " as the soil is, so the heart of man," rough in the husk, rich in the core. Iron and coal, and lime and freestone, abound in these bold and hilly masses, and in the depressed flats between them; but without, the soil is cold and peaty, its chief vegetation being coarse pasturage, sundry heaths and mosses, and other components of the moorland FlcT*a. 28 WOMEN OF WORTH. In one of the least attractive spots of this dis trict, hard by the rising manufacturing town of Keighley, stands the village of Haworth, rathei high upon the moors, which, nevertheless, seem to stretch inimitably above and beyond it, till they border the sky. The village street runs straight up the hiU, and can be seen for miles' distance. The cottages are aU of that plain two-story, rough aspect, which is common in this part of Yorkshke and the corresponding section of Lancashire, built of the grit which abounds in the neighborhood, and which furnishes the stone dykes that demark the fields; those stony fences conveying the un- pression that, hke the material of which they are built, they are more useful than ornamental. With the same material the steeply-ascending street is pitched, the edge of the stones projecting sharply to give footing to the tripping horses, the whole seeming the very coarsest contrivance of an imper- fect civilization, and in singular keeping with all around. The church stands at the top of the street, with nothing of architectural decoration to reconmiend it, and behind it, still nearer the bleak moor, at the further end of the churchyard, is the plain, primitive, two-storied parsonage, where the author of " Jane Eyre " spent her early days, and where, at the end of thirty-nine years, she render- ed up her breath to the Great Giver; a house gloomy in its position, gloomy in exterior aspect, and in all its conditions gloomy — the only cheerful thing which the manse and the village can boast CHA.ELOTTE BRONTE. 29 being the fires which, summer and winter, the abundance of coal and the habits of the people bid sparlde in almost every apartment. The parsonage looks out on a churchyard, paved throughout witk tombstones, the singularly-ugly fancy predominat- mg here, as throughout the whole factory region, of hiding the verdure with flat stones, while head- stones would admit of the green sod growing over graves, and are every way more appropriate and pretty. But this uncouth and neglected look is in harmony with the appearance of every thing around: not poverty-struck, far from it, but a carelessness about arrangements which are not de- manded by the necessities of existence. And this is very characteristic of the manly and primitive population that abound in such districts, who in manner seem somewhat repulsive, from their frankness and independence of bearing, and in speech scarcely intelligible, from their broad provincialisms and abounding Saxon phraseology. A visitor must expect to be thee-^cRdi-thou'' d by them as sturdily as by any follower of George Fox, while thorpe and fored^ and fond un^ and a thousand pecuharities more, sufficiently proclaim the native affinities of their tongue. But they are faithful and affectionate, thoughtful and rehgious ; old Tabby, the servant of the Brontes, who died under their roof after a thirty years' residence, being an instance of the one, and the abounding of church and chapel, well supported and well attended, together with a defereixce for revealed 30 WOMEN OF WORTn. religion, being proof of the other. The contamina^ tion which springs from crowded factories, high wages, and the impulsive life of competition, is kept very steadily in check, in the part of York- shire of which we speak, by the earnest and suc- cessful efforts at evangelization made by Christians of all persuasions, and no district of the country is full of more lively promise for the future, on the score of morality and reHgion. They have a shrewd and racy hmnor, too, these blunt and downright fellows, with an amazing fund of plain common sense. As a sample of their Yorkshire Doric, and, at the same time, a spice of their caustic jokes, we quote a paragraph from their classic annual, the "Pogmoor Ohnenack," which will give a better idea of their style of thought and speech than an express dissertation. They call this screed of satire the "Dumestick Tutor." Long Division. — T' curns in a baker's cake. Short Division. — T' space atween a miser's purse an hiz heart. Guinpaand Addishan. — An oud laidy at tacks snuff, an hez hur cloaze scented it barsran. Propoarshu7i. — A womman lettin hur waist grow summut like natur intended it, an not squeaze it wal its na thicker then t' neck ov a champainG bottle. Exchainge. — ^Two wimmin differin, and tellin wun anuther all they naAv. Discaant. — A milk seller tackin t' cream off, an CHAELOTTE BEONtI:. 31 then warmiii' t' oud milk up and sellin Iiiz cus- tomers it for new. Invoices. — A womman at tawks more indoor then aght. Profit an Loss. — A man at swaps a good horse for a bad an, an gies summat ta booit. Promiscuous Excimples. — A man tackin hig bairns to a plaice a warship nobbat when t' fit tacks him. PJvolushans. — A man goin raand abaght ta get into hiz nabor's affairs. Pule-a-tJiree. — A lodsrin-hause bed. Single Posishan. — An oud meaid — poor thing ! Pook-keepin. — Borrain wmi ov a friend, an nivver tackin him it back agean. 'Weight an Measure — (9y Triibhles. — A regular weight. Ov Sorrow. — A full cup. Time — Fast. — A slander fresh slipt off an a womman's tongue. Slaio — A snail wauk wi' good deed on it back. The same dialect prevails in the language of the old woman whom Miss Bronte met on the moor, and who accosted her in a way which further illus- trates the natural frankness and independence of the natives of the West Riding. " How ! Miss Bronte ! Hey yah seen owt o' my cofe (calf) ?" Miss Bronte told her she could not say, for she did not knoAV it, when the old woman proceeded to de- Bcribe it • " Wall ! yah knaw its gettin up hke nah 32 WOMEN OF WOKTH. between a call (cow) an a cofe, wliat we call a stirk, yah know, Miss Bronte : will yah turn this way if yah happen to see't, as yah're going back, Mis3 Bronte ; nah c/o, Miss Bronte !" Amid such a people and such scenery was Char- lotte Bronte ordamed to spend the greater part of her mortal hfe, her father, the Kev. Patrick Bronte, A.B., of St. John's College, Cambridge, having ob- tained the perpetual curacy of Haworth in the year 1820. Previous to this, while curate of another place in Yorkshire, he married his wife, a Cornish lady, who was possessed of an annuity of £.50 a year, and on the slender means of both proceeded to set u]) house in- 1812. After the birth of his six children, he received the small benefice of Ilavrorth, and thither he transported his house- hold gods in the year before named — a dehcate wife, a swarm of little ones to be provided for, and scanty resources ; an unusual plain dietary and almost total seclusion from society being the result. Just one year after their arrival in the place, Mrs. Bronte died, leaving her six motherless children the inheritance of a consumptive constitution and a morbid tendency, which was probably height- ened by the eccentric notions of their father on the subject of early education. His wish was to make them hardy, he himself having been reared amid the stern penury of an Irish peasant's home. Other eccentricities of his, wliich dictated an almost total seclusion of himself from the orphans, such as hav- ing his meals alone, a custom observed by him CnAKT^OTTE BKONTE. 33 throTighout life, were not favorable to the cheerful- iiess of spirits, 7ior consequently to the good health of the little ones. About a year after their mother's death, a prim maiden annt, their mother's sister, came to reside in the parsonage, and took charge of the helpless family. She was a rigid domestic disciplmarian understanding how the work of a house should be done, and having it performed by her nieces and the servant, like so much clockwork. Every menial office in the estabhshment was exacted of the cliild- ren, not more as matter of necessity than of duty, and Charlotte continued to discharge them all uutil tlie year ]:)efore her death, with the force of habit and the pojialiant of hkmg. Grates were scoured, furniture scrubbed, beds tossed, floors washed and swept, bread baked, and all sorts of plain cooldng done by these httle, quiet, heartbroken-looking children, who did every one of the same things daily after they became celebrated women. To afford them, however, advantages of education su- perior to those which home supplied, the two elder sisters of Charlotte were sent, in the year 1 824, to a school for the daughters of the clergy, which had been opened shortly l>efore at no great distance from Haworth. This is the school, the graphic description of which is one of the main features of *' Jane Eyre." In the same year, at a later period, Charlotte, the third child, and Emily, her stiD younger sister, were sent to the same school. The failing health of the whole party led to their le- 'i 34 WOMEN OF WOETH. moval in the antiimn of next year, during which (1825) Charlotte lost her two eldest sisters by consumption, and became by this dispensation the eldest of the survivors. The education of the family was now conducted in the most homely way in their aunt's bedroom, papa occasionally assisting with lessons in his stndy. Nevertheless, except that such volumes as were in the house were at their disposal, these remark- able children were to a great degree self-taught. Society they had none beyond the walls of their own home ; but their father was a man of books, and this, and their seclusion, probably furnished the strong impulse toward a creative hterature which the surviving members of the family so early exliibited. When Charlotte had reached only her thirteenth year, she had, assisted in some small degree by younger members of the family, filled volume after volume of MS. with tales, romances, plays, and poems, indicative of the most extraor- dinary bent toward literature, and ease and variety m composition. Before she was sixteen, the fol- lowing verses fell from her pen : "THE WOUNDED STAG. "Passing amid the deepest shade Of the wood's sombre heart, Last night I saw a wounded deer Laid lonely and apart. CHARLOTTE BRONTE. 35 'Such light as pierced the crowded boughs (Light scatter'd, scant, and dim), Pass'd through the fern that formed his coucii, And centred full on him. " Pain trembled in his weary limbs, Pain fiU'd his patient eye, Pain-crush' d amid the shadowy fern His branchy crown did lie. " Where were his comrades ? Where his mate ? All from his death-bed gone ! And he, thus struck and desolate, Suffer' d and bled alone. ** Did he feel what a man might feel, Friend- left and sore distrest? Did pain's keen dart and griefs sharp sting Strive in his mangled breast ? ** Did longing for affection lost Barb every deadly dart? Love unrepaid, and faith betray'd, Did these torment his heart? " No ! leave to man his proper doom I These are the pangs that rise Around the bed of state and gloom Where Adam's offspring dies !" Tliese surely are not common verses, either in thought or style of expression, for any young person of her age, and are the more remarkable in her, the half of whose time was spent in the kitchen, in companionship with as uncultivated a 36 WOMEN OF WOKTH. specimen of Yorkshire old-womanliood as Torfc shire could supply, the before-named Tabby. In the year 1831, Charlotte was sent to a private school, under more favorable auspices than her former venture. Her appearance was that of a very small girl, quaintly dressed, with large and plain features, and with such strange nearness of vision, that her ordinary expression was that of a person assiduously seeking something. She seemed a regular scarecrow to most of the yomig people aroimd her, avoiding their society, never joining in their plays, and bemg not seldom the butt of their ridicule, as the old-fashioned daughter of a poor tory country clergyman, while they were the blooming daughters of wealthy dissenters. But, while she secured the esteem and regard of the proprietor of the school, she also made one or two fast friendships, which continued through life. In one year she left this school, and then devoted herself at home to the instruction and charge of her yoimger sisters, whom she tenderly loved, and carefully watched over. Their hfe was spent in the house or on the moor, never mustering cour- age enough to face the stare of the village street, except at some call of duty. Charlotte taught regularly in the Sunday school. Besides the extreme seclusion of their home, and the sensitive pride fostered by their father, both in a measure the result of narrow circumstances, but both aggravated by that eccentricity which in his children took the form of genius, the girls had CHARLOTTE BRONTE. 87 anxieties and sorrows arising from their brotlier, a youth of great talent and lively conversational powers, next in age to Charlotte. His tastes inclined him to ado])t the profession of an artist; and in order to furnish tlie means snlhcient for liis residence in London while studying in the Eoyal Academy, whither it was projected he should go, the family circle must be broken up, and Charlotte become a governess. She returned to her last school in that capacity on the smallest possible remuneration, and had one of her sisters with her as pupil in the establishment. Here her whole time was devoted to teaching, to anxieties about her sisters' health, who were both delicate, to hei own personal troubles, which v/ere not few, and were aggravated by the sensitiveness of her nature, and to painful solicitudes regarding home and her brother. Bran well had begun to exiiibit a ten- dency toward ^dcious society and dissolute habits, which was, of all things, most repulsive to his pure-minded and self-denying sisters. The year in which Charlotte, under the inliuence of tlie most lofty motives, first left liome to be a govcrnesSy her brother was only eighteen years of age, and yet even then his face was as fainihar at tiie Black Bull Inn, at the head of the village, as at home. The good humor of the lad, his high spirits and rare conversational talent, made him an acceptable visitor within the bar of the Taurine hostel ; and the habit of conviviality, which began in fm, ended, as it has often done before, in sad earnest. 38 WOMEN OF WORTH. From the hour in which he took to segars and the taproom he was a lost man, for he lacked that seyen-fold shield of virtue which his sisters pos- sessed, in their indomitable feeling of pride or self- respect, which would descend from its sphere for the sake of do indulgence whatsoever, and, above all, that high sense of duty which made Chailotte's exertions through life a daily martyrdom, with lier weak frame and her trembUngly susceptible soul, that rendered to her things which others cared not for, as if she "had been touched with hot iron." Pride and principle he lacked, and the conse- quences were to himself ruin, and to his family the unspeakable misery of many years. To help tliis ungrateful boy and reduce the family expenditure, after a short interval spent at home, poor Charlotte has to turn out again in search of a situation, home being peculiarly home to her, be- cause it gave her leisure for the cultivation of lite- rature, because, too, her person was so Httle at- tractive, her diffidence so painful, and her acquisi- tions, on the scale of accomplishments, so deficient, that she could only occupy a subordinate position among teachers. The immortal author of "Jane Eyre" never got above being a kind of nursery governess, with £16 a year, and endless tasks of sewing to do. Her experiences of governess-work were not of an agreeable kind. When twenty-two years of age she writes thus of her employer, and in no complaining mood, but simply describing the facts of the case ; " She cares notlung about me, CHARLOTTE BRONTE. 39 except to contrive how the greatest possible quan- tity of labor may be got out of me ; and to that end she overwhelms me with oceans of needlework ; yards of cambric to hem, muslin nightcaps to make, and, above all thhigs, dolls to dress I see more clearly than I have ever done before, that a private governess has no existence, is not con- sidered as a living rational being, except as coq- nected with the wearisome duties she has to fullil." In conversation at a later period she said : " that none but those who had been in the position of a governess could ever realize the dark side of ' re- spectable ' human nature." If this be so, as this retiring woman, of no inordinate expectations, and the most modest pretensions, avers, God help our governesses, and speed their emancipation from the thraldom of the taskmasters of their own sex. Men have some conscience how they tyrannize over their servants, and in any case dread the vengeance of their over-goaded victim; but female tyrants are ahke destitute of shame and fear, in their treatment of their female subordinates. Some of Charlotte Bronte's employers appear to have been of this character. Poor girl ! well might she Vv'rite to her sister from that situation : "I could like to be at jpQi-iie — I could like to work in a mill — I could like to feel some mental liberty." The roughest coun- try girl in a Yorkshire miR was not worked half so hard, and dared not be treated ill, while she re- ceived larger wages than this refined, shrinking, upright, and most gifted child of a reputable clergy 40 WOMEN OF WOKTH. man in the neighborhood. However, even govern- ess-ships end, and there is an exodus from the house of bondage of the most unbending female Pharaoh. Miss Bronte left this uncongenial family in 1837, but not before the constant strain upon her strength and spirits had seriously aftected her health. When this delicacy became apparent in palpitations and shortness of breath, it was treated as an affectation, and the summary prescription of her considerate mistress, who was reckoned agreeable in society, was — a good scolding. Well might the emanci- pated girl enjoying the freedom of her home, write to a friend, describing their doing without a ser- vant : " Emily and I are sufficiently busy, as you may suppose; I manage the ironing, and keep the rooms clean ; Emily does the baking, and attends to the kitchen. . . . Human feelings are queer things ; I am much happier blackleadmg the stoves, making the beds, and sweeping the floors at home, than I should be living like a fine lady anywhere else 1 intend to force myself to take another situation when I can get one, though I hate and ahhor the very thoughts of governess- ship. But I must do it ; and therefore I heartily wish I could hear of a family Avhere they need such a commodity." There spoke the brave, heroic soid which sustained this delicate, shy, home-loving wo- man through many a scene of painful endurance from which stouter natures have shrunk. But there was an alternation to governessing abroad, and that was teaching school at home. CHARLOTTE BilONTE. 4:1 But this required capital, and capital they had none. So Charlotte reverts of necessity, to seek- ing a situation again: "Verily, it is a dehghtful thing to hve here at home, at full liberty to do just what one pleases. But I recollect some ticrubby old fable about grasshoppers and ants, by a scrubby old knave yclept JEsop : the grasshop- pers sang all the summer, and starved all the win- ter." Thus no distaste, no suffering, ever made her shrink from any course which she believed it her duty to engage in. Hence, we find her again in a place where at least she was treated with the civihty of a Christian, although even here "the tale of the bricks," in the matter of sewing, was also exacted. The task was tenfold severe to Charlotte, as the infimiity of her vision made a re- dundancy of such occupation particularly trying. No wonder she writes under the pressure of many desagreements : " Wliat dismays and haunts me sometimes, is a conviction that I have no natural knack for my vocation. If teachmg only were re- quisite, it would be smooth and easy ; but it is the living in other people's houses — the estrangement from one's real character — the adoption of a cold, rigid, apathetic exterior, that is painful." Once more at home — this is now the close of 18 41. What art thou projecting now, with thy genial and loving sisters, thou stout and unyield- ing, and yet intensely feminine heart ? The pro- ject of a school for the three girls is recurred to again and again, somewhat more hopefully now; 42 WOINTEN OF WOKTH. for that maiden aunt, who has been the presiding; deity amongst their Penates so long, has certain savings that may be reckoned on to help. But would not something more in the shape of accom- plishment on the part of the teachers, be an acqui- sition, and a great aid to success ? Doubtless, and on the really good and kmd, but somewhat rigid aunt's money, a sojourn in Brussels was secured for a few months to the two elder girls, in order to qualify themselves in French for the task of keeping school. In February, 1842, Charlotte and Emily Bronte entered that domicile in Brussels made famoiis in "Yillette," and, therefore, con- cerning which we need say no more. We did not positively know this to be true before ; but we know Brussels, and could, have sworn that a ^jefz- sionnat in French style could not have been de- scribed as m that remarkable novel, except from personal experience. Our dictum may require some little abatement, inasmuch as romance may have invested reality in colors gayer than truth, nevertheless, it is scarcely going beyon4 the due license of expression to affirm that that novel is historically true. Here, for the first time in her life, Charlotte Bronte was in a position that she liked, where her only business was to improve herself, and where Bhe employed the means of improvement. Her mind rapidly developed under the system of acqui- sition pursued by an intelligent teacher. As learner first, and afterward as teacher, Charlotte spent CHAELOTl'E BEONTE. 43 two years at Brussels, and left that city in 1844, an accomplished French scholar, to begin the bat- tle of life earnestly at home. All that was now wanting to these good girls was pupils ; but how to get them was the rub. They fixed their terms low, and sought far and wide for the means to live, oflering really superior advantages ; but where ignorant pretenders acquire fortunes, these meritorious persons might have starved. Month after month rolled away, till 1845 itself had passed into eternity; and while they hoped for good tidings with every post, after the hour of dehvery, the upshot was a daily disappoint- ment — not one pupil ever arrived. And it was almost a relief, so came they in their sorrow to think; for their brother, who should have been their stay, and would have been their pride, became, from his folly and wickedness, their shame and their curse. Driven with ignominy from a situation which he disgraced, he sought refuge at home, where, till his death, his days and nights were Interchanofed between the fiery passions of a hell- cat and the stupor of a sot. His language, his habits, his very appearance, were contaminntion, and yet the aged parent and the suffering sisters afforded him an asylum, paid his drunken debts over and over again, to keep him out of jail, bore as patiently as they could what was all but intoler- able, and at last, laid the churchyard mould over his shame, when he died in 1848, at the early age of thirty misspent years. We shall not i-ecur to 44: WOMEN OF WORTH. this subject again; for far beyond jDOverty, or de^ pendence, or natural disappointments, was tliis guilty relative a misery, a daily eyesore, a gnaw- ing heartache, to this struggling and high-souled family. For three weary years, the trial and the degradation growing worse and worse, did this great wrong continue. During all that time it only became more aggravated. At the close of 1845, Miss Bronte writes to a friend : " No sufierings are so awful as those brought on by dissipation. Alas ! I see the truth of this daily proved It seems grievous, indeed, that those who have not sinned should suffer so largely." Again: "Bran- well declares that he neither can nor will do any- thing for himself; good situations have been offered him, for which, by a fortnight's work, he might have qualified liimself ; but he will do nothing ex- cept drink, and make us all wretched." In addition to tiiis sorrow, her aged father had been becoming gradually blind from the access of cataract, and to read and write, and care for him, especially to comfort and cheer him, under this soi e privation, became her leading concern. Her own health, too, ever delicate, was a source of constant suffering to her, and hei sisters were no less in- valids. Their old servant, Tabby, the unpolished but faithful domestic, was paralytic and almost help- less; for the girls Avould never consent that she should be dismissed, and nursed by others than themselves. The old creature, to the last, persisted in doing all those offices of Idndness for the young THE WORTHY DAUGHTER — CHARLOTTE BRONTE. "Her aged father had been hecomiug gradually blind from the access of cataract, and to read and write, and care for him, especially to comfort and cheer him. under this sore privation, became her leading concern." — Page 44. CHARLOTTE BKONTE. 45 ladies in which she fancied she excelled, one special task in which she prided herself, being her skill in peeling potatoes for table. With a delicate sense of kindness, which Charlotte ever displayed after Tabby's eyes failed her, and she did most miper- fectly what she fancied she had accomplished in her best manner, her young mistress used to steal away the dish from beneath her purbhud vision, complete the process, and replace them on the dresser, as though no amendment had been made of the old attendant's botch-work. Had Tabby been the grandmother of the family, she could not have received more touching^ attentions from these admirable Avomen ; and when she died from their midst at eighty years of age, and was buried by their care, they mourned as a loss what tlieir alfec- tionate kindness had made a voluntary burden of nursing and maintaining for years. The regard maintained for the worn-out domestic, after infir- mity had robbed her of her capacity of usefulness, speaks volumes for the merits of both parties, and, as much as their unusual endownnents, endears the names of Charlotte, Emily, and Anne Bronte to posterity. We write this sentence with no meas- ured feelings of admiration and respect. But even in this valley of tribulation all is not un- mingled woe, and the desert itself is coated here and there with its oasis of verdure. This melan- choly year, 1845, witnessed the first venture in literature of the three girls under their now well- known pseudonyms of Currer (Chai-lotte), Ellis 4:6 WOMEN OF WOKTH. (Emily), and Acton (Anne) Bell; names so chosen as to lea\'e tlie sex of the parties denominated in doii])t. The vohime of poems which they launched, while meeting' ^yitll a sufHciently friendly recep- tion, gained little notoriety, and entailed consider- able loss on the writers. Correspondence about this small venture, and devotion to prose composition occupied the year 1846, during which our heroine completed the "Professor," a prose tale, and "Jane Eyre," and her sisters "Wuthering Heights," and "Agnes Grey." The " Professor " went the round of the publishers in London, and was universally rejected ; but " Jane E}Te," after frequent rejections (and the same fate befell her sisters' tales), was accepted, as well as theirs. How enthusiastic ^vas its reception, and ho^^' f^dly public opinion indorsed the judg- ment of the publishers, it were an old tale to tell. Genius struo-Q-led ao^ainst difficulties, and in this case at last met with its reward. While composing this extraordinary fiction, of which the largest por- tion is fact. Miss Bronte had to nurse her father, now seventy-one years of age, through an operation for cataract, and the long season of helplessness which preceded and followed it. But for the strong sense of filial duty which bound her to her father's side, amid these and other trials, ao-ain and ao-ain would Charlotte have sought another home, under more congenial auspices, her qualifications for tui- tion now entitling her to more adequate remunera- tion and more respectful treatment. Her induce OHAELOTTE BROKTE. 47 ments to go were strong, for her proficiency iu French had hitherto been turned to no account, and to let this and other quahfications he idle pain- ed her ; but slie silenced every selfish consideration by the mandate of duty : " Vv^'henever I consult my conscience, it affirms that I am doing right in stay- ing at home, and bitter are its upbraidiugs when I yield to an eager desire for release. I could hardly expect success if I were to err against such warn- ings." Her success was reserved for 1847, in the October of which year she received complete copies of " Jane Eyre " from her j^ubhshers, and startled and delighted the world by a style of composition so novel, so fresh, so natural, so simple, and yet so redolent of undoubted genius, that it forms an era in the history of fictitious hterature. There is, it must be owned, something like ca- price in the taste and judgment of the reading pub- Uc, and of those who cater for them, the publishers. In the joint volume of the poetry of the three sisters, Emily's verses were pronounced superior to Char- lotte's; and again, when they volunteered their three tales together, hers was the only one returned in MS. But when she pubhshed her " Jane Eyi-e," her popularity was immense and immediate, while the tales of her two sisters made no impression upon the public mind. Her distinguished success must have been a source of pure satisfaction to the timid author ; but it neither altered her habits, nor over- came her dislike and shjmess of company, nor very materially afiected the condition of her home. It 4:8 WO]^IEN OF WOETH. gave her two or three pleasant friendships and ac- quaintances, and it sujoplied her with an impulse to employ her pen; but otherwise effected scarcely any change in her views and pursuits. Home was still home, and its meanest cares imperative duties. The time of the author of " Jane Eyre " was mainly devoted to the offices of a housemaid and nurse, for the health of all the family required constant atten- tion, and her own weakness of sight enforced an almost total abstinence from the use of the pen. In the year 1848, the vn.'etched brother was called away to his last account ; and, alas ! the threefold cord of the beloved sisterhood lost two of its strands ; for first Emily, and next Anne, was taken to a better home, leaving Charlotte, at the age of thirty-three, the only surviving child of the family. The pain rested with the survivor, for the death of these excellent persons was a Euthanasia, and they passed into the world of spirits with words of peace, resignation, and hope. The last expressions of Anne were, " Soon aU wiU be well, thi'ough the merits of our Redeemer Take courage, Charlotte, take courage." Charlotte had a heavy time of it, but knew where to resort for present help in trouble : " I do not know how life will pass, but I do feel confidence in Him who has upheld me hitherto. Solitude may be cheered and made en- durable beyond what I can believe." Again, giving way to her sorrow, she writes : " My fife is what I expected it to be. Sometimes when I wake in the morning, and know that solitude, remembraace, CHARLOTTE BRONTE. 49 and longing are to be almost my sole companions all day through; that at night I shall go to bed with them ; that they will long keep me sleepless ; that next morning I shall awake to them again — sometimes, Nell, I have a heavy heart of it. But crushed I am not yet, nor robbed of elasticity, nor of hope, nor quite of endeavor. I have some strength to fight the battle of hfe. I am aware, and can acknowledge, I have many comforts, many mercies. Still, I can get on. But I do hope and pray that never may you, nor any one I love, be placed as I am." Throughout 1849 she had the greater part of the house work to perform herself, being in the most delicate health, and to wait on her father and helpless old Tabby, who were both invalids. Well might the old crone say, two years afterward, to Mrs. Gaskell, in her homely Yorkshire way, refer- ring: to Charlotte Bronte's care of her : "Eh! she's a good un — she is V After the pubhcation of " Shirley," Miss Bronte went to town, but hved in a state of almost entire seclusion at her publishers'. She met the author of "Vanity Fair" by invitation, and says of him: "Thackeray is a Titan of mind. His presence and powers impress one deeply in an intellectual sense." Edinburgh received a flying visit from her in the midsummer of 1850, and of that grandly-sited city she says: "Edinburgh, compared to London, is like a vivid page of history compared to a large 4 60 WOMEN OF WOKTH. dull treatise on political economy ; and as to Mel- rose and AbLotsford, the very names possess music and magic." She was only two days in Scotland. In the same strain she writes to an English gentleman: " I always liked Scotland, as an idea ; but now, as a reality, I like it for better ; it furnished me with some hours as happy almost as any I ever spent. My dear sir, do not think I blaspheme, when I tell you that your great London, as com- pared to Dunedin, 'mine own romantic town,' is as prose compared to poetry, or as a great rumb- ling, rambling, heavy epic, compared to a lyi'ic, brief, bright, clear, and vital as a flash of hghtning. Ton have nothing like Scott's Monument; or, if you had that, and all the glories of architecture assembled together, you have nothing like Arthur's Seat ; and, above all, you have not the Scottish national character — and it is that grand character, after all, which gives the land its true charm, its true greatness." The author of " Jane Eyre" read freely the best French writers of the day. Her expression of dis- gust at Balzac's novels is striking. " They leave such a bad taste in the mouth." To Madame Du- devant she is more indulgent: "Fantastic, fanati- cal, unpractical enthusiast as she often is — far from truthful as are many of her views of life — misled, as she is apt to be, by her feelings — George Sand has a better nature than M. de Balzac; her braiu is larger, her heart warmer than his." On one of CHAELOITE BKONTE. 51 the works of the poet-laureate, she says — ourselves avowing of the self-same volume that it is amongst our hid treasures : " I have read Tennyson's ' In Memoriam,' or, rather, part of it; I closed the book when I got about half-way. It is beautiful — ^it is mournful — it is monotonous." We can un- derstand this m the author of " Jean Eyre," wliile our personal feehng toward that choicest volume of modern poetry is exactly the reverse. We find it hard to di-ag ourselves away from it, dip into it where we will. Of Dr. Arnold her judgment is muigled: "Dr. Arnold, it seems to me, was not quite saintly ; his greatness was cast in a mortal mould; he was a little severe, almost a httle hard; he was vehe- ment, and somewhat repugnant After- ward come his good quahties: about these there is nothing dubious. Where can we find justice, firmness, independence, earnestness, sincerity, fuller and purer than in him? But this is not all — and I am glad of it. Besides high intellect and stainless rectitude, his letters and his life attest his posses- sion of the most true-hearted affection. IVithoiit this, however one might admire, we could not love him ; but with it, I think we love him much. A himdred such men — fifty, nay, ten or five — such righteous men, might save any country, might vic- toriously champion any caik se." Writing of Miss Martineau, during a visit to that lady at Ambleside, Miss Bronte declares: " Of my kind hostess I cannot speak in terms too 52 WOMEN OF WORTH. liigh. Without being able to share all her opin- ions, pliilosophical, pohtical, or religious ; Tvdthout adopting her theories, I yet find a worth and greatness in hersell*, and a consistency, benevo- lence, perseverance in her practice, such as win the sincerest esteem and afiection She seems to me the benefactress of Ambleside, yet takes no sort of credit to herself for her active and indefatigable philanthropy Her servants and her poor neighbors love as well as respect her." Of Kuskin her judgment is generous : " The ' Stones of Venice ' seem nobly laid and chiselled. How grandly the quarry of vast marbles is dis- closed ! Mr. Ruskin seems to me one of the few genuine writers, as distinguished from book-makers, of this age He writes hke a consecrated priest of the abstract and ideal." In 1851 Miss Bronte saw the Great Exhibition in Hyde Park, but with no great interest. " It is a marvellous, stirring, bewildering sight — a mix- ture of a genii palace and a mighty bazaar ; but it is not much in my way." More in her way was it to hear D'Aubigne preach, and Thackeray leo ture, and the terrible Rachel declaim. We are disposed to beheve that, in her judgment of the French tragedienne, she unconsciously allowed her- self to be drawn into the error of identifying the actress with the parts she performed — the very injustice wliich she herself complained of when Charlotte Bronte was pronounced to be Jane Eyre. CHAELOTTE BROKTE. 63 *' Rachel's acting transfixed me with wonder, en- chained me with interest, and thrilled me with horror It is scarcely human nature that she shows you ; it is something wilder and worse ■ — ^the feelings and fury of a fiend. The great gift of genius she undoubtedly has ; but I fear she rather abuses it than turns it to good account." Now, with all deferencp- to Miss Bronte's judg- ment, the wrong lies not at the door of the actress who represents a Phsedi-a or Potiphar's wife with a startling resemblance to reality, but in that state of pubhc morals which takes such a theme for a dramatic composition, and tolerates its exhibition on the stage. To the touching power of Kingsley's drama on St. Ehzabeth, she bears testimony : " I have read the ' Saint's Tragedy.' As a work of art, it seems to me far superior to either 'Alton Locke' or ' Yeast.' Faulty it may be, crude and unequal, yet there are portions where some of the deep chords of human nature are swept with a hand which is strong even while it falters Seldom do I cry over books; but here my eyes rained as I read. When Elizabeth turns her face to the wall, I stopped — there needed no more." Her notion of the political characters of 1852 is amusing : " Disraeli was factious as leader of the Opposition , Lord John Russell is going to be fac- tious, now that he has stepped into Disraeli's shoes. Lord Derby's ' Christian love and spu-it is worth three-half-pencc fartliing." 5i WOMIiN OF WORTH. On Miss Kavanagh's " Women of Christii^nity," slie passes tlie following just strictures : " She for- gets, or does not know, that Protestantism is a quieter creed than Romanism; as it does not ';.i ^clothe its priesthood in scarlet, so neither does it ^^ set up its good women for saints, canonize their names, and proclaim their good works. In the records of man their almsgiving will not, perhaps, be found registered ; but heaven has its account as well as earth." The hapjDiness which our heroine had long looked for, by a release from an irksome solitude, at last made its appearance in a union with a Mr. Nicholls, who had for years been the observant witness of her virtues in his position of Mr. Bronte's cm-ate. But her draught was brief; for nine months there- after, after protracted weakness and suffering, she laid down the load of life in the parsonage at Haworth, and departed to be forever with the Lord. N'o more satisfying testimony to the purity of her wedded bUss can be required, than that fur- nished by her last unpremeditated words to her husband : " Oh, I am not going to die, am I? He will not separate us, we have been so happy!" But, alas ! the sentence had gone forth, and, early in April, 1855, all that was earthly of Charlotte Nicholls, nee Bronte, was committed to the dust, and sleeps mth the sleepers in Haworth Church, awaiting the resurrection of the just. The impression left upon our mind by the perusal of this fascinatmg history is one of unutterable sad- CHi^KLOTTE BRONTE. 55 ness, arising from sympathy with the heroine, and of the highest admiration of her stamless character and career. Every thing was agamst her through life — plainness of person, poverty, a sohtude and sensitiveness of soul that no one could appreciate, and disappointment of almost every expectation and wish. Yet she nobly struggled on — her watch- word Duty, and her reliance Heaven. Such is the testimony of her life-long friend, who, m an extract given at the close of her memoir, writes thus: " She thought much of her duty, and had loftier and clearer notions of it than most people, and held fast to them with more success. It was done, it seems to me, with much more difficulty than peo- ple have of stronger nerves and better fortunes. All her- life was but labor and pain ; and she never threAV down the burden for the sake of present pleasure." This is a true record, and justified by a thousand incidents in Miss Bronte's correspond- ence and history. We should be doing an injustice to the memory of this singularly-excellent person, did we not present, in connection with this sketch, a letter to a young friend written in 1846, which clearly exhibits her own principles of action : — *' I see you are in a dilemma, and one of a pecul- iar and difficult nature. Two i:)aths lie before you; you conscientiously wish to choose the right one, even though it be the most steep, straight, and rugged. But you do not know which is the right one; you cannot decide whether duty and religion command you to go out into a cold and friendless 56 WOMEN OF WOKTH. world, and there to earn your living by governess- drudgery, or whether they enjoin your contmued stay with your aged mother, neglecting, for the prese?it^ every pros23ect of independency for your- self, and putting up with daily inconvenience, some- tunes even with privations. I can well imagine that it is next to impossible for you to decide for yourself in this matter ; so I will decide it for you ; at least I will tell you what is my earnest convic- tion on the subject — I will show you candidly how the question strikes me. The right path is that which necessitates the greatest sacrifice of self- interest, which impHes the greatest good to others ; and this path, steadily followed, wlQ lead, I beUeve, in time, to prosperity and happiness, though it may seem at the outset to tend quite in a contrary direction. Your mother is both old and infirm; old and infirm people have but few sources of hap- piness, fewer, almost, than the comparatively young and healthy can conceive : to deprive them of one of these is cruel. If your mother is more composed when you are with her, stay with her. K she would be unhappy, in case you left her, stay with her. It will not apparently, as far as shortsighted humanity can see, be for your advantage to remain at , nor will you be praised and admired for remaining at home to comfort your mother ; yet probably your own conscience will approve, and, if" it does, stay with her. I recommend you to do what I am trying to do myself." The pure soul of the writer of this letter contended successfully CHARLOTTE BRONTE. t7 through her whole life agamst selfish instincts and unfriendly circumstances, as the broad river of Egypt, in its beneficent march to the sea, has re- sisted, from age to age, the sandy incursions of the desert ; and, beneficent as the fertilizing Nile, none approached Charlotte Bronte whom she did not blesfiu 68 WOMEN OF WOliTH. THE :n'ewgate schoolmistress. ELIZABETH FRY. Mrs. Elizabeth Fry was tlie third daughter of the late John Gurney, of Earlhain Hall, near ISTor- wich. Her childhood was characterized by strong affection and great mental vivacity. She early evinced an angehc disposition to alleviate the cares and soothe the sorrows of all those around her who needed sympathy and aid. As she increased in years, her inclination and powers of doing good extended and strengthened, the youthful stirrmgs of benevolence gradually became pi'inciples of phi- lanthropy, and the kind and spontaneous actions of her juvenile years were perform.ed in her opening womanliood from a sense of Christian duty. She took especial pleasure in organizing and superin- tending a school upon her father's premises for the indigent children of Earlham and the surrounding parishes, and the effect which her mild authoiity and judicious instructions produced upon these hitherto-neglected little ones, was a powerful illus- tration of the potency of gentle means, when em- ployed to guide the young in the path of learnijig, ELIZABETH FRY. 59 or to raise them from moral debasement. Not- withstanding this and several other similar benevo- lent pursuits, Miss Gurney's attachment to worldly- pleasures was not compatible with that gravity of deportment and subdued mildness of manners common to the members of the persuasion to which she subsequently belonged, her natural vivacity, and the companionship of those who made pleasure their pursuit, having a tendency to divide her mind with the practical and holy opera- tions of benevolence. But "infinitely higher and better things than the follies and vanities of pol- ished life, awaited this interesting young person," says the writer of her obituary, in the " Friends' Annual Monitor." She was aifected by a disease which assumed a serious character, and she thus became awakened to a true sense of the instability of hiunan life and the vanity of those inferior pleasures which have not their source in the higher principles of our nature, but depart with our capa- bilities of enjoyuig them. Soon after her illness she was powerfully awakened to a knowledge of her relation to God, and of her relation to mankind in their character of brethren in Christ, through the mimstry of an American friend, the late Wil- liam Savery. She forsook the pleasures which had hitherto divided her mind and time, and in the bosom of her family cultivated those social and endearing qualities which render home a temple of the affections, make woman a priestess of love, and elevate the hearth into an altar of peace and 60 WOMEN OF WORTH. unity. She became the joy and comfort of her widowed father and of her ten brothers and sisters; and in her own family she schooled her heart to that abandonment of self, and anxiety for the good of others, which inspired her with a Christian philanthropy scarcely paralleled, and a courage which was superior to obstruction, danger, or im- moral obduracy, and rendered her an invincible conqueror in her crusade against vice in its most hardened and appalling forms. In the year 1800, when she was twenty years of age. Miss Gurney became the wife of Mr. Joseph Fry, a banker in London, and settled in a house connected with her husband's business, in the very heart of the Great Babylon. It may easily be sup- posed that, in the metropolis, objects and scenes of especial interest would frequently be presented to this benevolent lady, and that her active philan- thropy and holy aspirations for human weal would not be blunted in consequence of her new relations as a beloved vnfe and tender mother. The poor found in her an imtiring benefactress and a willing friend. She visited their lowly homes, and, if she found them worthy, theu' wants were effectually relieved. Shortly after her marriage, Mrs. Fry became im- pressed with the opinion " that it would be requir- ed of her to bear public testimony to the efficacy of that divine grace by which she had been brought to partake of the joy's of God's salvation ;" and when she had reached the thirtieth year of her ELIZABETH FEY. 61 age, she began to speak in the religious meetings of the Friends. Her exhortations were marked by- peculiar humility and much persuasive sweetness of manner, and she was early engaged with the imity of the monthly meeting to which she belong- ed, in paying religious visits to Friends and others of various denominations. And now we have ar- rived at the most remarkable era of her hfe— at that period which begins the history of her glorious career of reformation, when, strong in faith and charity, she entered the receptacles of the outcast and impious, and bore to the hearts of the demor- alized criminals human sympathy and heavenly hope. Newgate, that grave of pollution, whose name we were taught to associate with all that was dark and fearful, was visited about 1812 by Mrs. Fry, who was induced to inspect it by repre- sentations of its condition made by some members of the Society of Friends. The prison had been constructed to hold about four hundred and eighty prisoners, but eight hundred, and even twelve hun dred, had been immured within its walls. Mrs. Fry found the female side in a most deplorable and indescribable condition. Nearly three hun- dred women, sent there for every species and gradation of crime — some untried, and therefore presumably innocent — others under sentence of death — were promiscuously huddled together in the two wards and two cells which were afterward appropriated to the untried, whose numbers were even inconveniently large for the limited space. 62 WOMEN OF WOKTH. Here the criminal^? saw their friends and kept their multitude of children, and here they also cooked, washed, took their victuals, and slept. They lay down on the floor, sometimes to the number of one hundred and twenty in one ward, without even a mat for bedding, and many of them very miserably clad. They openly drank ardent spirits, and their horrible imprecations broke upon the ears of this pure-minded and noble lady, mingled with offensive and disgusting epithets. Every thing was filthy and redolent of disgusting effluvia. No prison functionary liked to visit them, and the governor persuaded Mrs. Fry to leave her watch in his office, assuring her that his presence would not prevent its being torn from her ; and as if to illustrate the frightful extent to which vice and wretchedness can sink our nature and deaden our feehngs, two women were seen in the act of strip- ping a dead child for the purpose of clothing a living one. It must be recollected that this is no exaggerated picture of that den of pollution, New- gate, in those days. Mrs. Fry's own simple, yet powerful testimony is before us, and she thus ex- presses herself: "All I tell thee is a faint picture of the reality ; the filth, the closeness of the rooms, the ferocious manners and expressions of the women toward each other, and the abandoned wickedness which every thing bespoke, are quite indescri- bable." We do not know which quality most to admire in this magnanimous woman — the exalted sympathy which recognized in these ou^jcasts a ELIZABETH FRY. 63 common hmnanity, or the heroic courage which supported her in her ministrations of love and mercy. She clothed many of the children and some of the women, and read passages of the Bible to them in such soft and silvery tones, that latent feeling awoke in their bosoms, and the big tear started into many an eye. She left that prison with a strong conviction that much might be done; but circumstances intervened for three years to render efforts on her part inoperative. About Christmas, 1816, she resumed her visits, and found that much improvement had been made by the jail committee ; especially the females had additional accommodation conceded to them ; they were provided with mats, and gratings had been erected to prevent close communication between the criminals and their visitors. Still, the chief evil remained unremedied — all the women were playing cards, reading improper books, begging, or fight- mg for the division of the luoney thus acquired; and a fortune-teller was imposing upon the credu- lous and ignorant prisoners with her absurd divi- nations. There were continual complaints of want of employment, and declarations that profitless idleness had only been substituted for active vice. Mrs. Fry's first undertaking was the education of about seventy children, who, in this abode of ini- ' quity, were wandering about unheeded, which was no sooner proposed, than the most abandoned mothers thanked her with tears in their eyes for her benevolent intentions, and young women 64 WOIMEN OF WORTH. crowded round her, and prayed in pathetic eager- ness to be admitted to her projected school. Application was now made to the governor of Newgate, sheriffs of London, and the reverend prison ordinary. These gentlemen cordially ap- pi'oved of her intentions, but they intimated "their persuasio7i that her efforts would he %itterly fruit' less^ So little zeal did they manifest in further- ance of this scheme of piety, that an official intima- tion informed Mrs. Fry that there was no vacant place in the prison fit for school purposes. But she was not disheartened ; she mildly requested to be admitted once more alone among the women, that she might investigate for herself. She soon discovered an empty cell, and the school was opened the very next day. Mrs. Fry was accom- panied by a young lady, who had visited New- gate for the first time, and who had generously enlisted under the banner of philanthropy, to as- sisji in the work of reclamation so gloriously begun by her exalted friend. When they entered the prison school, the railing was crowded by women, many of whom were only half-clothed, struggling for front situations, and vociferatino; most violentlv. The young lady felt as if she had entered a den of wild beasts ; and when the door closed and was locked upon her, she shuddered at the idea of being immured with such a host of desperate companions. The first day's work, however, surpassed the ut- most expectations of Mrs. Fry, and the only pain she experienced Avas that of refusing numerous ELIZAJBETH FEY. 65 pressing applications from young women, who prayed to be taught and employed. The assurances and zeal of these poor forlorn creatm-es, induced Mrs. Fry and her companion to project a school where the tried women should be taught to read and work. When this idea was first expressed to the friends of the projectors, it was declared to be visionary and impracticable. They were told that the work introduced would be stolen; that women so long habituated to crime and idleness were the most irreclaimable of the vicious ; that novelty might, for a time, induce apparent attention and a temporary observance of rule, but that the change would not be lasting. In short, failure was predict- ed with almost oracular confidence. Nothing could induce the ladies, however to abandon their forlorn and almost unsupj^orted enterprise: from earth they turned their eyes to heaven, and when men forsook them, they asked aid of God and took courage. They declared if a committee could be found who would share the labor, and a matron who would engage to five in the prison night and day, they would undertake the experiment — that s, they would find employment for the women ; hey would procure funds for the prosecution of their scheme till the city could be induced to re- lieve them of the expense ; and they promised to become responsible for the property intrusted to the prisoners. Volunteers for this glorious service inmiediately presented themselves ; the wife of a cl<3rgyman and eleven members of the Society of 66 WOMEN OF WOETH. Friends declared tlieir willingness to suspend every other engagement and calling, and to devote them- selves to tliis good work, and faithfully they did their self-imposed duty. They almost entirely lived amongst the prisoners ; not a day or hour passed but some of them were to be found at their posts, sharing the employments and meals of their prote- gees, or abstemiously instructing their pupils, from morning till long after the close of day. Yet ah their toils, and the progress of those for whose ad- vantage they labored, were insufficient to eradicate the skepticism of some who viewed their exertions. The reverend ordinary admired their intrepid devo- tion; but he assured Mrs. Fry tliat her designs 100 f rid inevitably/ fail. The governor cheered her with words of sympathy, but those who possessed his confidence Avere accustomed to hear him de- clare " that he could not see the possibility of her success." But that charity which "hopeth all things, and believeth all things" was strong within her ; she looked to the goal, and not to the impedi- ments in her path ; she looked beyond the means to the consummation ; she was wilmg souls from the meshes and snares of sin, and she sought under God to lead her erring sisters into the fold of grace. She presented herself to the sheriffs and governor, and nearly one hundred Avomen were brouglit before them, who solenmly engaged to yield the strictest obedience to all tlie regulations of their lieroic benefactress. A set of rules was accordingly promulgated, and the vices which the ELIZABETH FET. 07 prisoners had formerly fostered were discarded and disclaimed. After a month's private exertion, the corporation of London was invited to behold the effects of these noble women's labors. The lord mayor, sheriffs, and several aldermen attended. The prisoners were assembled, and, in accordance with the usual practice, one of the ladies read ? chapter in the Bible, when the prisoners proceeded to their various employments. What a change was here to the accustomed tumult, filth, and li- centiousness of former days ! Their attention to the reading of the Scriptures ; their modest deport- ment, obedience, and respectful demeanor ; and the cheerfulness visible on their faces, conspired to excite the wonder and admiration of all who beheld them. They were no longer a herd of irre- claimable creatures, whose sympathies with the world were destroyed, and for whom the world had no longer any sympathy. Kindness had a^vakened reciprocal sentiments in their breasts, and mankind could no longer deny the possibility of their recla- mation to the ranks of humanity. The prison had ceased to be a nursery of crune ; its cells no longer resounded ^vith the laugh of women dead to hope and shame ; the bitter imprecation and the scoff of hardened hearts had died away ; and peace, cleanliness, and order, reigned under the influence of those true sisters of charity — Mrs. Fry and her assistants. The magistrates, to mark their appre- ciation of this system, incorporated it with the Newgate Code of regulations. They empowered 68 WOMEN OF WOKTH. the ladies to punish the refractory by temporary confinement, undertook to defray part of the ma- tron's sustentation, and loaded the ladies with thanks and blessings. A year passed away, and still the little band of philanthropists was cheered by progression ; infi- delity fell before mdubitable truth ; and success, confirmed by so long a trial, at last forced convic- tion on those who had doubted and predicted failure, and all who beheld the vast change which had been eflected, expressed their satisfaction and astonishment at the great improvement which had taken place in the conduct of the females. Mrs. Fry did not confine herself to the amelioration of prisons exclusively ; she visited lunatic asylums with the same high and holy purpose. It was her habit, when she did so, to sit down quietly amongst her afilicted fellow-mortals, and, amidst the greatest turbulence, begin to read in her sweetest tones some portion of the Bible. Gradually the noise around her would cease, eager ears would be bent to drink the music of her voice, and at last atten- tion and silence would reign aroimd her. On one occasion, a young man was observed to listen atten- tively, although ordinarily one of the most turbu- lent and violent of the patients. He became sub- dued even to tears. When Mrs. Fry ceased read- ' ing, the poor maniac exclaimed to hei:: '"'■Hush, the angels have lent you their voices .^" Fancy and reason combined could not have offered a moro beautiful compliment to goodness and benignity. ELIZA -BETTT FRY. 69 It was Mrs. Fry's regular practice to attend at Newgate on a particular morning of the week to read the Scri})tures to the prisoners. The prison was open to any visitors whom she chose to ad mit, and her i-eadings were attended both by our own countrymen and foreigners, among whom were many of rank and power. These were most aftect- ing reunions, both to those who came as visitors, and they who claimed especially these services. Mrs. Fry's attention was not wholly absorbed by Newgate. The female prisoners in other parts of the city were ministered to by her. In the prose- cution of her plans of reformation, she was gener- ously supported by the city authorities, and suc- cessive secretaries of state seconded her benevolent views. The British Ladies' Society for the refor- mation of female prisonei-s owes its origin to her exertions ; and a similar system of reform, by means of associated committees, was begun in many prisons in Great Britain and Ireland. jMrs. Fry's indefatigable zeal for good, induced her to press her views upon the governments and monarchs of the continental nations ; and she and every lover of hmnanity had the inestimable satis- faction of seeing her plans adopted in France, Hol- land, Denmark, Russia, Swtzerland, Prussia, sev- eral of the minor German States, and in Philadel- phia, and other parts of the United States of America. Mrs. Fry materially promoted her ob- jects by the publication of a pamphlet, in which she promulgated her views on the species of prison 70 WOIVIEN OF WORTH. discipline necessary for females, and of the only sound prmcij)les of punishment. Death punish- ments, in her estimation, were completely ineffica- cious in stopping the progress of crime, and she disapproved of them also upon loftier grounds than that of expediency ; she did not condemn the Draco- like proceedings of our judiciary from maudlin theory. She often \dsited the cells of condemned criminals on the day or night before their execu- tion ; she saw the agony of soul endured by some, the insolent bravado manifested by others, and she observed that death punishment generally produced an obduracy in its victims, which reacted on tlieii criminal observers, or those who came to gaze od the last scene of all. Mrs. Fry and her associate? bad voluntarily conceded to them by government the care and superintendence of convict-shij^s for females about to be transj)orted to New South "Wales ; and so important were their improvements, and judicious their regulations in this department, that the colonial authorities frequently transmitted them their grateful acknoAvledgments. All the poor convicts were supplied with several articles necessary for their comfort, and each was carefully provided with a copy of the Holy Scriptures. Mrs. Fry's name is principally coimected with her prison labors ; but her humanity was boundless. She had s}mij>athy for every species of distress, and a hand to aid in every object of human ameliora- tion. By her influence — the mflueuce of humble piety and active virtue — she stunulated many mdi- ELIZABETH FEY. 71 viduals possessing the power, to institute district societies for the effectual relief of the destitute and the houseless, and also for the educating of those neglected children whose only tuition had pre- viously been that of crime. She chiefly assisted in the formation of libraries for the use of the coast- guard, in all their stations around the British isles. In 1818, Mrs. Fry visited Scotland in company with her brother Joseph John Gurney, and her Bister-in-law, Elizabeth Fry; and in 1827, she visited Ireland. Still the same benevolent S])irit guided her. It may be emphatically said that slie " went about doing good." In foreign lands, or in her own country, she meekly yet fearlessly inter- ceded for the persecuted and oppressed, and to her is attributable much of that enlargement of the liberty of conscience, and the softening of the rigors of prison discipline, which has taken place in Eu rope of late years. The king of Prussia courted the friendship of this great and good woman; and in 1842, when on a visit to Great Britam with Lis queen and family, he visited her at Upton. By his particular request she met him at the Mansion-house, between the hours of public worship on Sunday, 30th January, and they passed two hours in conversation together, at the close of which the king expressed a strong desire to meet her in ISTewgate, at her reading next day. She met him in company with her brother and sister, and the wife of the mayor. Lady Pirie. The king was attended by sevei-al noblemen, foreigc 72 - WOMEN OF WORTH. and English. lie led Mrs. Fry tlirougli the pas- sages and apartments of the prison, until they reached the seats placed for them at the extremity of a line of tables, at which the prisoners, attentive and serious, were arranged. A solemn silence en- sued. Mrs. Fry then read the 12th chapter of Romans, and a psalm. Stillness again reigned for a short space, and then she addressed all present, adverting to the perfect equality of all men in the sight of God, declaring that if, through the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, we are brought to be- come his disciples, we are made one in him, even from the loAvest and most degraded of the poor prisoners before her to the sovereign at her side. Mrs. Fry then knelt in prayer, the king kneehng down beside her, and in an extcmj^oraneous effu- sion of great fervor and sweetness, she prayed in behalf of the prisoners, and also for his majesty's sanctitication tlu-ough the Holy Spirit. This solemn and affecthig service being concluded, the king ao- companied Mrs. Fry to her own residence. In the summer of 1843, Mrs. Fry visited Paris for the last time, and concerted with several benev- olent friends for the prosecution of works of goodness and charity. After her return home slie became seriously indisposed, and the symptoms were such as to alarm her friends and family ; yet she bore her trouble with Christian resignation, and recognized in all her pains the hand of God. As the spring of 1844 advanced, her health was so far restored as to permit her to ride out occasion- ELIZABETH FKT. 73 ally, and in the summer she joined her friends in public worship. On this occasion she was accom- panied by several members of her family, and her son, William Storrs Fry, sat beside her and ten- derly watched his feeble parent. Alas for the un- certainty of life and strength ! He, with two of his children, were shortly afterward removed from the family circle, and his afflicted parent saw him pass away before her. She again attended the religious meeting of Friends at Plaistow, on the 13th of October, and addressed those assembled with great clearness and power. She gradually regained strength, and was enabled once more to resume her ministry of love. Near the close of the summer of 1845, she went with her husband to Kamsgate, an earnest hope being entertained that change of air and scene would benefit her. She attended a httle meeting at Drapers, and repeated-- ly engaged in religious service among the few Friends there. She distributed a great many Bibles; and a ship crowded with German emi- grants, bound for Texas, was provided with one for each of the passengers. A few days before her death she applied to the committee of the British and Foreign Bible Society concernmg the purchase of a supply of copies of the Scriptures. The committee, through their secretary, informed her that she should receive them gratis, and that they felt it a privilege to cir- culate them through her ministrations. They also sent her, as a token of esteem, a copy of their first 74 WOMEN OF WOKTH. translation of one of tlie gospels in the Chineso language. She Avas engaged in projects affecting the weal of mankind to the very hour in which she was seized with her fatal illness. On the evening of Saturday, the 11th of October, 1845, slight symptoms of paralysis were apparent. Early next morning, when very ill, she alluded to the conflict which nature then endured, adding, '•'-But I am safe.'''' In a short time after she uttered a short prayer to God, and after this all consciousness appeared to forsake her. About four o'clock on the morning of the 12th, her pure spirit left its frail tenement of clay and ascended to Him who gave it. The history of Mrs. Fry can hardly be said to end with her death. The deeds men do often die with them ; not so with hers. Her spirit of active benevolence has been transmitted to many, and the works she promoted are carried on by others who have been impelled to engage in them by her ex- ample. We cannot leave our subject without assuring our readers that tliis eminently good woman was supported in her manifold labors ])y a constant faith in Christ, and an assurance of divine aid. May the humblest in life's lowly course be similarly strengthened, and, according to their means, may they profit by her example of love and charity ! In closing this memoir, for the materials of which we have been mainly indebted to an emi- nent philanthropist and friend of Mrs. Fry, we ex- tract the following truthful and beautiful tribute ELIZJ BETH FEY. Y5 to her worth, written in 1816, by Francis Jeffrey: "We cannot envy th^e happiness which Mrs. Fry must enjoy from the consciousness of her own great achievements, but there is no happiness or honor of which we should be so proud to be par- takers ; and we seem to relieve our own hearts of their share of national gratitude in thus placing on her simple and mode?t brow that truly civic crown, which far outshines tl^Le laurels of conquest or the coronals of power, and can only be outshone itself by those wreaths of imperishable glory which awaits the champions of faith and charity ii» % higher state of existence." 76 WOMEN OF WOKTH. THE JAIL MISSIONARY. SARAH MARTIN, Who has Avon for herself the fame most cesirable for a woman, that of Christian benevolence, a fame indeed 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. 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 Bonnett, and who deserves to have it recorded for the kind care she took of her grand-daughter. Sarah Martin's education was merely such as the village school aftbrded. At the age of fourteen she passed a year in learning the business of dress- making; and then gained her livelihood by goin^ out and working at her trade by the day, among the families of the village. In the town of Yar- mouth was the comity prison, where criminals were confined : their condition was at that j^eriod most lamentable. Their time was given to gaming, swearing, play- SAUAH MAETIN. 77 ing, fighting, and bad language ; and their visitors were admitted from without with httle restriction. There was no divine worship in the jail on Sun- days, nor any respect paid to that holy day. There were underground cells (these continued even down to 1836), quite dark, and deficient in proper ventilation. The prisoners described their heat in summer as almost sufibcating, but they preferred them for their warmth in winter; their situation was such as to defy inspection, and they were 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 ofience was calculated to pro- duce a great efiect upon a female mind ; and there was one person in the neighborhood of Yarmouth who was deeply moved by it. Sarah Martin was a little woman, of gentle, quiet manners, possess- ing no beauty of person, nor, as it seemed, any pecuhai* endowment of mind. She was then just eight, and. twenty years of age, and had, for thir- teen years yast, earned her livelihood by going out T8 WOMEN OF WOETH. to the houses of various families in the town as a day-laborer in her business of dress-making. From her residence at Caister, where she lived with her aged grandmother, she walked to Yarmouth aiid back again in the prosecution of her daily toil. This poor girl had long mourned over the con- dition 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 admission 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 in- struction, which alone could meet their unhappy circumstances." 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 mitil the object was at- tained, even to my beloved grandmother ; so sen- sitive was my fear lest any obstacle should thereby arise m 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, lit 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 pai-ent. There was some SAEAH MARTIN. 79 aifficiilty — 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 unnat- ural mother stood before her. She " was surpris- ed at the sight of a stranger." "When I told her," says Sarah Martin, "the motive of my visit, of her guilt, and of her need of God's mercy, she burst into tears and thanked me!" Her reception at once jDroved the necessity for such a missionary, and her OAvn 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 labors. At first she contented herself with merely reading to the pris- oners; 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 labor inter fered with her ordinary occupations. It became necessary to sacrifice a portion of her time, and consequently of her means, to these new duties. 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 regularly given, with many an additional one, was not felt 80 WOMEN OF WOKTH. as a pecuniary loss, but was ever followed witK abuudant 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 nvestment 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 increased energy to her philanthropic labors. 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 com- pensating her for that day in the same way as if she had been engaged in dressmaking. With that assistance, and Avith a few quarterly subscriptions, " chiefly 2s. 6d. each, for Bibles, Testaments, tracts, and other books for distribution," she went on de- voting every available moment of her life to her great purpose. But dress-making, like other pro- fessions, is a jealous mistress ; customers fell off, and, eventually, almost 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 Hfe. Was she to pursiie her benevolent labors, even although they led to utter poverty? Her little mcome was not more than enough to pay her lodging, and the expenses consequent upon the SARAH MAETIN". 81 exercise of her charitable functions : and was ac- tual deslitution of ordinary necessaries to be sub- mitted to? She never doubted; but her reasoning upon the subject presents so clear an illustration of the exalted character of her thoughts and pur- poses, and exhibits so eminent an example of Christian devotedness and heroism, that it would be an injustice to her memory not to quote it in her own words: "In the full occupation of dress- making, 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, and could not forget his child. I knew also that it some- times 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 Zare- phath and Elijah ; and my mind, in the contempla- tion 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 momentary to an individual would not admit of comparison with following the Lord, in thus administering to others." Her next object was to secure the observance of 6 82 WOMEN OF WORTH. Sunday ; and, after long urging and recommenda^ tion, 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 thinking that my presence might exert a beneficial tendency, 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 afterward 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 material for baby-clothes ; and ha^dng borrowed patterns, 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 eflect. The prisoners also made shirts, coats, etc By means of this plan, many young women who were not able to sew, learned this art, and, in satisfactory instances, had a little money to take at the end of the term of imprisonment The fund of one pound ten shillmgs for this purpose, as a foundation and perpetual stock (for whilst desiring its preserva- tion, I did not require its increase), soon rose to Beven gidneas, and since its establishment, above SAKAH MAETIN. 83 four hundred and eiglit pounds' worth of vari )U9 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 men's and boys' caps, cut in eight quarters — the material, old cloth or moreen, or whatever my friends could find to give me for them. In some instances, young men, and more frequently boys, have learned to sew gray cotton shirts, or even patch-work, with a view of shutting out idleness and making them- selves 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 al- lowed to do so, and being furnished with pencil, pen, paper, etc., they succeeded remarkably Avell. 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-half-penny in children, tc cards, dice, etc., in men. The business of copy- ing 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 afterward many continued to copy it." After another interval she proceeded to Xhc for- mation of a fund which she applied to the fiiruisli- bg of work for piisoners upon their discharge; 84 WOMEN OF WOETH. "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, occuj^a- 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 accom2)lishing 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 ; every thing she did was conceived in the best sj^irit; and, considering the time, and the means at her command, could scarcely have been improved. The full extent to Avhich 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 recommendar . 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 Boon abandoned ; but finding that to be the case, she attended on that part of the day also, and the SARAH ]VIAETIN. 85 »er\d^'o AYOMEN OF WOKTH. We believe that there are gentlemen in the world who stand so stiirly upon the virtue of cer- tain forms of ministerial ordination, as to set their flices 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, labored eloquence 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 prisoners who came under her notice, it is easy to describe the ordinary members of her congregation : pert London pick- pockets, whom a cheap steamboat brought to reap a harvest at some country festival; boors, whom ignorance and distress 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 hi- larity consequent upon a discharge with a paid-up arrear of wages ; servants, of both sexes, seduced by bad company into the commission of crimes SAEAH MARTIN. 87 against their masters ; profligate womeu, who Jiad added- assault or theft to the ordinary vices of a licentious hfe; smugglers; a few game-law crimi- nals ; and paupers transferred from a workhouse, 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 assemhied aromid this singular teacher of righteousness. l^oble woman! A faith so firm, and so disin- terested, 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 industry and order. We have already explained the nature of the emplo}mient which she provided for them ; the manner of their instruction is described as fol- lows: "Any one who could not read, I encouraged to learn, whilst others in my absence assisted them. They were taught to write also; whilst such as could write already, copied extracts from books letit to tliem. Prisoners who were able to read, committed verses from the Holy Scriptures to mem- ory every day according to their ability or inclina- tion. I, as an example, also committed a few Ferses to menioiy to repeat to them every day; 88 WOMEN OF WOIiTH. 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 ex- changed in every room daily, whilst any who could read more were supphed 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 ob- jections, 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 instructed, would beg to be allowed to take their part in the general course. Once within the circle of her infiuence, the effect was curious. Men old in years, as well as in crime, might be seen striving for the first tmie in their fives to hold a pen, or bending hoary heads over primers and spelling-books, or study- ing to commit to memory some prciiept taken from the Holy Scriptures. Young rascals, as impudent as they were ignorant, beginning 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 operations, it must be borne SAEAII MARTIN. 89 in niiiid, were carried 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 favor of it," knowing well that " to de- part from this course, would only be followed by the. prisoners doing less, and not doing it well.'* The ascendency she thus aquired was very singular. A general persuasion of the sincerity with which " she watched, and wept, and prayed, and felt for all," rendered her the general depositary 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 risino; desire for emancipation, to succor the tempted, to encourage the timid, and put the erring in the way. After the close of her labors at the jail, she pro- ceeded, at one time of her life, to a large school which she superintended at the workhouse; and afterward, when that school was turned over to proper teachers, she devoted two nights in the week to a scliool 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 while Sarah Martin, in her strik- ing and effective way, imparted instruction 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 questiona 90 WOMEN OF WOKTH. went round, she would explain them by a piece of poetry, or an anecdote, Avhich she had always ready at command, and, more especially, by Scrip- ture illustration. The Bible was, indeed, the great fountain of her knowledge and her power. For many years she read it through four tunes every year, and had formed a most exact reference book to its contents. Her intimate familiarity with its striking imagery and lofty diction, impressed a poetical character upon her own style, and filled her mind with exalted thoughts. After her class duties Avere over, there remained to be performed many ofiices of kindness, which with her were con- sequent upon the relation of teacher and pupil ; there was personal communication with this scholar and with that; some mquiry here, some tale to listen to there ; for she was never a mere school- mistress, but ahvays the friend and counselor, as well as the instructor. The evenings on which there was no tuition were devoted by her to visiting the sick, either in the workhouse, or through the town generally; and occasionally an evening was passed with some of those worthy people in Yarmouth by whom her labors were regarded with interest. Her appear- ance in any of their houses was the signal for a busy evening. Her benevolent smile, and quick, active mannner 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 ali SAEAn MARTTN". 91 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 thmgs 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 satisfaction was complete ; and at intervals, if there were no stran- gers present, or if such communication were de- sired, she would dilate upon the sorrows and suf- ferings of her guilty flock, and her own hopes and disappointments in connection with them, m 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 kej^t 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 gener- ally extended long beyond the period of their im- prisonment ; with most exact accounts of the expenditure of the httle subscrij^tions b.efore men- tioned, and also of a small annual payment from 92 WOIklEN OF WOETH. the British Ladies' Society, established "by Mrs. Fry, and of all other money committed to her in aid of any branch of her charitable labors. These books of record and account have been very prop- erly preserved, and have been presented to a pub- lic 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 triumphant, and the joy of her heart found expression in sacred song. 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 condition, she remarked, in worda of singular beauty, " I seem to lie So near the heavenly portals bright, I catch the streaming rays that fly From eternity's own light." Thus she cheered her sohtary 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 Christ- ian 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* SARAH MAETrN". 93 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 tills hght of moral loveliness enshrined in a female form. " Her gentle disposition," says one of her biographers, "never irritated by disappointment, nor her charity strai tened by ingratitude, pre- sent a combination of qualities which imagination sometimes portrays as the ideal of what is pure and beautiful, but which are rarely found em- bodied with humanity. She was no titular Sister of Charity, but was silently felt and acknowledged to be one, by the many outcast and destitute per- sons who received encouragement from her lips and rehef 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 uprears 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 entitled her to renown, and children to associate the name of Sarah Martin with those of Howard, Buxton, Fry — the most benevolent of mankind. 94 ^OMEN OF WORTH. THE WOKKEE OF CHAKITY. MAEGARET MERCER, Who deserves a place^ among the most distin- guished of her sex, for her noble philanthropy, and efforts in the cause of female education, was born at Annapolis, Maryland, United States, in 1791. The family of Mercer was descended from an ancient English stock, transplanted to America soon after its colonization, and the race has, in its nevf location, done honor to the source from "whence it was derived. The father of Margaret "was, at the time of her birth, governor of Mary- land, a man of excellent education, refined taste, and large wealth. Retiring from pubhc life, Gov- ernor Mercer withdrew to his estate at Cedai Fork, and devoted himself to agricultural pursuits, and the training of his children. Margaret was his only daughter, and her education was conducted under his immediate care, with httle assistance from other teachers: she often remarked, that she had been " brought up at her father's feet." Mar- garet Mercer is another example of the beneficial influence which thorough mental training exercises MAKGAKET T^IERCEji 95 on woman's character, by enabling her to make her moral power more respected and more effect- ive. Scarcely an instance can be found where a father has aided and encourao-ed the mental im- provement of his daughter, but that she has done honor to his care and Idndness, and been one of the brightest jewels in his crown. Such was Mar- garet Mercer : proud as the family might well be of the name they bore, she added its holiest lustre. " Her character," says her biographer. Dr. Caspar Morris, in his excellent memoir of this noble woman, "comprised elements apparently very di- verse, and yet all combined into a perfect whole, as the varied colors of a ray of hght. 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 every- where around these traces of her path through life; she yet possessed an energy and firmness rarely found in this connection." If we reflect further on the subject, remembering 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 — one reason of her superiority becomes appar- ent. After giving a sketch of her studies in botany, and love of gardening, etc.. Dr. Morris says : "But it was not upon these sportive finciea alone that her mind exerted its poAvers. Graver 96 WOMEN OF WORTH. subjects occuiDied her attention, ana performed their part in givmg increased vigor to her reason- ing faculties, whilst the others were adding to tlie already-abounding stores of her fertile imagina- tion." She had access to a choice collection of works on history and general literature : these were her familiar companions, and her mind was thoroughly stored with their contents : whilst we find her at one time deep in mathematics, allowing herself but too little rest, that she might bring her mind under the wholesome discipline of this parent of careful thought; at another, theological discus- sions asserted strong empire over her mind, and in order to drink, as she supposed, more purely from the fountain itself, with less intervention of human teaching, she devoted herself with almost undivided attention to the study of Hebrew. A short time afterward, we find her carefully threading the in- tricate mysteries of medical science, that by the acquisition of a correct knowledge of the nature of diseases and their remedies, she might enlarge the sphere of her benevolent usefulness. 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 w^ell with metaphysics ; I dislike any thing so inconclu- sive, and should be tired of following an angel, if he talked so in a ring." A paper of "Thoughts MARGAKET MEECEK. 97 on the Magnet" proves her to have given attention to natural philosophy, and at an early period to have wrestled with some of those mysterious truths which are now but dawning upon the horizon of human knowledge. But whilst on all these subjects she could express herself with ease and eloquence, there was a simplicity and delicacy about her character A^hich 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 dehcacy which communicate an appropriate and attractive grace to the female character. These can never be laid aside 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 sublime hrrmony of that universe which attests His wisdom and power. IsTever was feminine grace more beau- tifully illustrated than in her whole career. Sho never, forgot that it is the peculiar province of woman to minister to the comfort, and promote the happiness, first, of those most nearly alhed tc ner, and then of those who, by the providence ol God, are placed in a state of dependence upon her. To discharge these duties was her unceasing ob- ject, to the accomplishment of which she devoted herself with entire singleness of purpose. Thus she writes to a friend: "I, like every little mole toiling in his own dark passage, have been given to 7 98 WOMEN OF WOKTH. murmuring, and my great complaint for some time past has been, that I was cut off from every means of usefuhiess, 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 liappiness is not a principle v/hich belongs exclusively to God, and whether we can e\'er be satisfied till we wake up in His likeness. Whenever you can find that spot, sacred to religious peace and true friendshii^, send for me to your paradise ; but remember tliis is the reward promised to those who have gone through the struggle of our great spiritual warfare." At tliis time her pencil, her pen, and her needle, were all put in requisition in aid of the Greeks, in their stiuggie 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 im])oi'tant 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 1 still feel the pressure of his hand on my head. lie has promised to come to see me next spring I do not thmk I was ever made for a married wo- MAKGAKET MEECER. 99 maD ; I feel as if I was noi 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 cultivated by a libei'al educauon and an extensive course of reading, and her naturally amiable disposition 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 pecu- liarly attractive ; her stature was originally tall, her carriage graceful, her eye beaming, with intelli- gence, and her Avhole countenance exi^ressive of the loveliest traits of female character. Disease 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 dark- ened the radiance of her soul, which shone on every feature to the very last." There was a combination of attractive grace with the impressiveness of su- perior power, which is rarely met with ; and wliile her manner was often sportive, and she could adorn the most common subjects of conversation by happy 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 coimnon everyday existence. Even thosa lOd WOMEN OF WORTH. who could not sympathize with, and appreciate I.ei character, were still struck with this feature in it. 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 endui*- ance ; 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 feelmgs of embarrassment in company than I had at sixteen. I am old^ too ; and, when I go into gay scenes, the illusion is gone, and I flmcy the illuminated hall to resemble 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 education, 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, oi plants virtue where vice was the only growth— MARGARET MERCER. 101 Arhat are all tliei?e chattering 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 j:>rojects of my head." Miss Mercer was to have a wider sphere for the office of teacher, which seeiiied her pecuHar mis sion. Her mother died when Margaret was young. Her father's death, which took place at Philadel- phia, Avhither 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 their only faith in God and tlieir own energies on which to rely. Much of her property consisted in slaves — these she hber- ated, 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 luiked together, by wiiicli she reduced herself from affluence to absolute de- pendence on her own exertions for maintenance ; and that not ignorantly and gradually, but instantly, and with full knowledge of the inevitable result. 102 WOMEN OF WORTH. She therefore apologizes to Mr. Gurley for doing so httle for them, and remarks: ' Should any think I have not dene my part by these poor creatures, I can but bear the blame silently. A formal re- monstrance agamst my making such a disposition of my property has been addressed to me by and . But I have determined to abide the consequences.' These consequences were anxiety, toil, and poverty, endured without a murmur or regret, during twenty-five years of life enfeebled by disease." 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 yom* 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 Sunday- 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 Avho 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 circimistances in the mode of life I have adopted ; for those very things that are. most 2MinJul, prove how much the'''e is to do y and MAKGAKET MEECER. 103 ■where- there is much to do, steady laborious efforts 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. G. is sometimes very much dispirited, at times without cause ; for every little painful occurrence of misconduct in the cliildren 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 es- teemed as higlily as any one could do, and labored 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 com- munity 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 em- ployed as a text-book in teaching moral jjhilosophy. It is admirably adapted to its purpose, couveyhig 104 WOMEN OF WORTH. in chaste, yet glowing language, the feelings of a sanctified heart. Adopting the word of God as the only source of knowledge, as well as of the prac- tical duties of life, she endeavors to explain and enforce the principles there laid down for the for- mation of character, and the government of life. It is a work well worthy of the study of every woman who desires to attain to a high degree of moral worth. We give one extract : — CONVEESATION. " If you are conscious that the sin of idle talking prevails among you ; if you are sensible of so of- fending 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 per- fection 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 improve- ment or happiness of the human race. When th.is has once become the main object of your hopes, your fears, your labors, and your prayers, it will be- come the most interesting subject of your thoughts, and the favorite theme of your conversations. Imagine Mr. Howard, or Mrs. Fry, to return home at evening, with souls filled with images of the UARGAll'KT IMERCER. 105 poor prisoners they had visited, handcuffed and chained, Ijmg upon a pile of filthy straw, perishing with cold and hunger; or, worse, in the horrid bondage of sin, blaspheming, drinking, and fightmg in their subterrene hole. Do you think they would bo 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 labors, they were called upon to join in the childish prattle of girls discussing the ribbands on their hair, or the rings on their fingers ; or, in the equally con- temptible jargon 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 wor/cs what the flower. is to the fruit. A godly conversation shelters and cherishes the new-born spirit of virtTi<^, as the flower does the fruit from the cold, chiU atmos- phere, 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. Honor God, then, with youi bodies and spirits, in your lives and conversation* ; show forth holiness out of a good conversation : for thd king's daughter is all glorious withinr 106 WOMEN OF WOIiTH. THE TEACHEE IN THE WILDS. SARAH BOARDMAN JUDSON. In the merchants' mndows, at the comers of streets, and amongst the other multifarious announcements of our busy days, people may from time to time perceive little handbill intimations anent meetmgs, at which some devoted one is to be set apart to labor amongst the far-oiF heathens. These notices produce little or no eifect upon the world general- ly ; but to the Christian churches they are usually of the most' lively interest. They illustrate the chiv- alry of the church, if we may so speak ; they ex- hibit the Christian heroism of our age, and present a lovely moral and religious contrast to the de- structive heroism of the world. It is easy to become a warrior; the poor neglected innnortals, whose fei-ocity has alone been tramed, have gained the reputation of dauntless heroism. Tlie applause of tJie world is of itself sufficient to incite any man to rush into the deadly rift of battle, but the cour- age requisite for a missionary ap|)ears to us to be of tlie most subhme and noble kind. No world's a^'>plause could sustain a man or woman, fidl of SAEAH BOAKDMAK JUDSON". 107 heai t-affection for friends and home, amidst the dreary desolate wastes of heathen lands during a life-time. Nothing but the religious sense of duty, and the applause of a pure conscience, could so elevate and sustain the soul amongst weary labors^ and pestilential airs. When we look at courage through tlie true medium, how immeasurably supe- rior to the ferocious passions of a Ctesar or a N*poleon do the faithful souls of a Williams, Roberts, and Waddel, appear. The book of his- tory is full of the fame of the former, and their monuments are on almost every chinmey-piece* the latter are only known to the Christian world of Great Britain and America, the angels, and the heathen ; but their place of remembrance shall be heaven. The missionary field, however, is not exclusively reserved for the strong and faithful and forward man. As Christianity is woman's bond of equality with man, so is the vineyard of Christ equally her place of labor, and she also goes forth in the faith that maketh strong, to do the will of Him who sends her. Perhaps it might appear invidious to sketch the life of any one of those amiable heroines of the cross, when the lives of all are so full of true courage and faith ; but as, on the otlier hand, the life of one, save in its incidents, may be looked upon as a j^arallel to that of all others, it is both necessary and profitable to particularize. Sarah Boardman Judsou was born iu 1803, at 108 wo:men of wokth. Alstead, in the state of l^ow Hampsliire, and sub- scqnently removed witli her parents, Ralph and Abiah Hall, to Danvers, and then to Salem, in the state of Massachusetts. Sarah was the eldest of five children ; and, as her parents were of the in- dustrious class, she was constrained, Hke the ma^ jority of poor men's eldest daughters, to devote herself more to the care of her younger brothers and sisters than to the regular cultivation of her own mind. There are some minds that would never grow strong unless they had something to struggle against. The latent courage of the noblest souls is only aroused and developed by those op- posing forces that seem any thing but blessings. Mysterious are the ways of Providence, however, and finite and partial the judgments of men. We know not how the circumstances of life may oper- ate toward the soul — God knows. Deprived of the power of attending school, Sarah Hall was thrown upon herself. She had no teacher save ex- perience, no guide in her lessons save her books, and to these she applied herself with heroic dih- gence. Care produced thus early in Sarah HaU that thoughtfulness and patience which, when ma- tured, so beautifully adorn the Christian character, and her self-education was just the path to riper self-rehance. She early began to observe and think, and to wi'ite down her thoughts in a little day- book ; and then in the form of j)oetry, when her ideas became more expanded and matured. At seventeen years of age, Sarah Hall had devoted SAEAH BOAKDMAJST JTJDSON. 109 herself to the business of mstructing others, in order that she might obtain the means of educat- ing herself. During the day she taught, and at night she devoted her mind to the acquisition of logic, geometry, and Latin, etc. — a course of severe procedure that none but those Avho have pursued it can properly estimate. The baptism of Sarah Hall seems to have awakened in her the whole force of her inward life ; and her meditations and aspirations seem, shortly after this event, to have been toward the path of a missionary. "I am privileged to worship the true God," she would say, " but, alas ! for the poor perishing heathen who has never known Him." There is something so admirable in the spirit of these musings and ex- pressions that, apart from their religious character, they are suthcient to claim the respect of every generous heart. A sense of blessings and privi- leges, and a strong desire to impart them to others, despite of toil, and uncertainty, and distance, and disease, are the glorious principles which animate those who bear the cross to distant lands. How unlike the vain-glorious spii'it of those who go forth to slay ! As time wore onward Sarah Hall's name began to be heard in the literary world, and many looked upon her as a rising poetess, when she married the Rev. George Dana Boardman on the 4th of July, 1825, and the same month pro- ceeded with him to join the American missionaries recently settled at Biirmah, in the East Indies. It was here that the most interesting and eventful 110 WOMEN OF WOKTH. part of Sarah's life began. It was here that all her self-reliance and courage were called into requisi- tion. Mr. Boardman and his wife settled at a station called Amherst, in order to become ac- quainted with the key to the heart of thfe heatlien, which is his language. Dr. Judson and his family resided here, and assisted in the studies of the new comers, as well as in encouraging them in their )abors. Burmah was at this time in a most unfavorable condition for receiving from wliite men the religion of peace, for war and force were the first instru- ments wliich the whites had exercised toward the Burmese in visiting their country, and they had little confidence in any peaceful attempt that was made for their good. After stud^dng for some time at Amherst, Mr. and Mrs. Boardman removed to Maulmain, to a lonely and dangerous mission- house. The spot where it stood was a mile beyond the cantonments, close beside the thick jungle, where, during the night, the wild beasts made dis- mal bowlings. Behind the station rose a fine range of hills, whose solitary asj^ect was relieved by the gilded masonry of handsome pagodas, and before rolled the broad deep river, where rode an English sloop of war, and where danced the boats of the natives. Just across the river was the Burman province of Martaban, whose terrible freebooters issued from then- fastnesses during the night, armed with knives, spears, and sometimes muskets, driv- ing away or slaymg the peaceful inhabitants, while SAEAn BQARDMAX JUDSDN. Ill they seized upon the produce of their toil. The English general suggested to Mr. Boardman the necessity of having an armed guard ; but this Tvould have totally deprived the missionary of gaining the confidence of the people, and it was declined. It was to study the language, habits, and character of the natives that he had gone thither, and not a3 a conqueror. About a month after her settlement at Maulmain, Mrs. Boardman wrote to a friend: " We are in excellent health, and as happy as it is possible for human beings to be upon earth. It is our earnest desire to live, and labor, and die, among this people." The life of a missionary is not one of ease and safety, as the following thrilling in- cident in the life of young Sarah Boardman will show. About the middle of June, as the meridian sun came down from its altitude, men in loose gar- ments of gaily-plaided cloth, and with their long black hair wound about their heads, and confined by folds of muslin, looked curiously in at the door of the strange foreigner ; and then encouraged by some kind word or glance, or the spreading of a mat, seated themselves in their own fashion, talked a little while with their host, though often, from misapprehension of each others meaning, at cross purposes, and went away, leaving him to his books and teacher. Women and -^.hildrei gathered more timidly, but with curiosity even less disguised, about the Kalahma-pyoo (white foreigners), won- dering at her strange costume, the fairness of her skin, and the superiority displayed in her bearing \ 112 WOMEN OF WOKTH. and some of the bolder of them venturing to touch her hand, or to pass their tawny taper fingers from the covered instep to the toe of the neatly-formed slipper, so unlike their own clumsy sandals. But who, among all these came to inquire of Jesus Christ, or learn the way to heaven? Most em- phatically could they say: "We have not so much as heard if there be a God." On the evening of the fourth day, as it deepened into night, the books of study were thrown aside, and the book of God taken in their stead ; then the prayer was raised to heaven, and the little family went to rest. Fee- ble were the rays of the one pale lamp, close by the pillow of the yoimg mother, scarce throwing its light upon the infant resting on her bosom, and penetrating into the remote darkness but by feeble flickerings. So sleep soon brooded over the shut eyelids, and silence folded its solemn wings about the little habitation. The infant stirred, and the mother opened her eyes. Why was she in dark- ness ? and what objects were those scattered so strangely about her apartment, just distinguishable from the gray shadows ? The lamp was soon re- lighted, and startling was the scene which it re- vealed. There lay in odd confusion, trunks, boxes, and chests of drawers, all rifled of their contents ; and strewed carelessly about the floor, were such articles as the marauders had not considered worth their taking. While regarding in consternation, not nppreciable by those who have access to the shops of an American city, this spoiling of their ^^-^.^vT^C??^ !:'^=f*^^-s^ SARAH JUDSON AND THE BURMESE FREEBOOTERS. "The roimcled limbs of the Titfle iuiant lay motionless as their marble counterfeit ; for if their rosy lips had moved but to the slightest murmur, or the tiny hand crept closer to the loved bosom in her baby dream, the chord in the mother's breast must have answered, and the death-stroke followed. . . Murderers stood by the bedsid^; regarding the tableau, and the husband and father slept."— Page 113. SAEAH BOAEDMAN .nJDSON. 113 goods, Mrs. Boardman chanced to raise her eye to the curtain beneath which her husband had slept, and she thought of her lost goods no moro. Two long gashes, one at the head and the other at the foot, had been cut in the muslin ; and there had the desperate villains stood, glaring on the uncon- scious sleeper with their fierce, murderous eyes, while the booty was secured by theu' companions. The bared, swarthy arm was ready for the blow, and the sharp knife, or pointed spear, glittered in their hands. Had the sleeper opened his eyes, had he only stirred, had but a heavy, long-drawn breath startled the cowardice of guilt — ah, had it ! But it did not. The rounded hmbs of the little infant lay motionless as their marble counterfeit ; for if their rosy lips had moved but to the slightest mur- mur, or the tiny hand crept closer to the loved bosom in her baby dreams, the chord in the moth- er's breast must have answered, and the death- stroke followed. But the mother held her treasure to her heart, and slept on. Murderers stood by the bedside, regarding with callous hearts the beau- tiful tableau; and the husband and father slept. But there was one eye open — the eye that never slumbers — a protecting wing was over them, and a soft invisible hand pressed down their sleeping lids. Nearly every article of value that could be taken away had disappeared from the house ; and though strict search was made throughout the neighborhood, no trace of them was ever discov* ered. 8 114 WOMEN OF WORTH. It was at Tavoy, however, that the real labors of the Boardmans began, and here they had to struo-(Tle with the ntmost difficulties. Both Lad suffered in their health, and both were called upon to exert themselves to the utmost in the acquire- ment of the dialect of the people, and in the pur- suit of plans for their instruction. The missionaries had not only to contend with the climate, failing strength, and the other accidents of their position, but they had also to share the dangers and trials incidental to those states which forcibly base them- selves upon the subjugation of their neighbors. In August, 1827, at the dead of night, the natives of Tavoy revolted against the British, and drove the commandant of the whites and a hundred sepoys into a blockhouse on the quay. Here the Europeans maintained themselves until the arrival of Colonel Burney, when the revolt was suppress- ed ; but the fatigue, agitation, and exposure, accel- erated the decline of Mr. Boardman's already failing health, and hurried him on to that grave which he found on Burmah's distant shore. And now Mrs. Boardman was left alone with her only child, George. And now came the inquiry from Sarah's widowed heart, " What shall I do ?" She wrote to America, to Maulmain, to Rangoon, and Am- herst for advice, and prayed to be directed in the way that she should go. Her spirit inchned her, however, to remain in her appointed sphere, and she did remain. "When I first stood by the grave of my husband, I thought I must go home with SAEAII BOAKDMAN JTJDSOIT. 115 Geoige. But these poor, inquiring, and Christian Karens, and the schoolboys, and the Burmese Christians, would then be left without any one to instruct them ; and the poor, stupid Tavoyana would go on in the road to death, with no one to warn them of their danger. How then, oh, how can I go? We shall not be separated long. A few more years, and we shall all meet in yonder blissful world, whither those we love have gone before us. I feel thankful that I was allowed to come to this heathen land. Oh, it is a precious privilege to tell idolaters of the gospel ; and when we see them disposed to love the Saviour, we forget all our privations and dangers. My beloved husband wore out his life in this glorious cause ; and that remembrance makes me more than ever attached to the work, and the people for whose salvation he labored till death." Mrs. Boardman now devoted herself with all the energy of her soul to the mstruction of those so much cast upon her by the death of her hus- band, and moved about from place to place, en- countering much danger and enduring much fatigue in her apostolic mission. She went into the jungle amongst the simple Karens, and established schools, with the supervision of which she taxed herself. Tliese day-schools attracted the notice of the agents of the British government, and they were allow- anced by the same, although differmg somewhat in constitution from the formula prescribed in the East India Company's circular. She soon became 116 WOMEN OF WOKTH. a most excellent Burmese scholar, and was enabled to communicate in that language with great fluency. " Mrs. Boardman's tours in the Karen wilderness, with little George, borne in the arms of her follow- ers, beside her — through wild mountain passes, over swollen streams and deceitful marshes, and imong the craggy rocks and tangled shrubs of the jmigle — if they could be spread out in detail, would doubtless present scenes of thrilling interest. But her singular modesty always made her silent on a subject which would present her in a light so enterprising and adventurous. Even her most in- timate friends could seldom draw from her any thing on the subject; and they knew little more than that such tours were made, and that the pro- gress of the gospel was not suspended among the Karens wliile her husband's successor was engaged in the study of the language. There is a note addressed to Mrs. Mason, from a zayat by the wayside, just before she reached the moimtains; and this is the only scrap among her writings alluding in any way to these tours. It was sent back by a party of men who were to bring her provisions, and contains only directions about the things necessary to her journey. She says: 'Per- haps you had better send the chair, as it is conve- nient to be carried over the streams when they are^ deep. You will laugh when I tell you that I have forded all the smaller ones.' A single anecdote is related by Captain F , a British ofiicer, station- ed at Tavoy; and he used to dwell with much SAKAII BOaKDMAN" JUDS0J!T. 117 unction on the lovely apj^arition which once greet- ed him among these wild, dreary mountains. He had left Tavoy, accompanied by a few followers, I think on a hunting expedition, and had strolled far into the jungle. The heavy rains which deluge this comitry in the summer had not yet commenced ; but they were near at hand, and during the night had sent an earnest of their coming, Avhich was any thing but agreeable. All along his path hung the dripping trailers, and beneath his feet were the roots of vegetables, half-bared, and half- imbedded in mud ; while the dark clouds, with the rain almost incessantly pourmg from them, and the crazy clusters of bamboo huts, which appeared here and there in the gloomy waste, and were honored by the name of village, made up a scene of desolation absolutely indescribable. A heavy shower coming up as he approached a zayat by the wayside, and far from even one of those primitive villages, he hastily took refuge beneath the roof. Here, in no very good humor with the world, especially Asiatic jungles and tropic rains, he sulk ily ' whistled for want of thought,' and employed his eyes in watching the preparations, for his break- fast. ' Uh ! what wretched corners the world has, hidden beyond its oceans and behind its trees !' Just as he had made this sage mental reflection, he was startled by the vision of a fair, smiling face in front of the zayat, the property of a dripping figure, which seemed to his surprised imagination to have stepped that moment from the clouds. 118 WOMEN OF WOETH. But the party of udld Karen followers, ^^^hic]^ gathered around her, had a very human ak ; and the shght burthens they bore spoke of human wants and human cares. The lady seemed as much surprised as hmiself ; but she curtsied with ready grace, as she made some pleasant remark iu English, and then turned to retire. Here was a dilemma. He could not suffer the lady to go out into the rain, but — his miserable accommodations, and still more miserable breakfast ! He hesitated and stammered ; but her quick apprehension had taken it all at a glance, and she at once relieved him from his embarrassment. Mentioning her name and errand, she added, smiling, that the emergencies of the wilderness were not knew to her ; and now she begged leave to put her own breakfast with his, and make up a pleasant morning party. Then beckoning to her Karens, she spoke a few unintelligible words, and disappeared under a low shed — a mouldering appendage of the zayat. She soon returned with the same sunny face, and in dry clothing; and very pleasant mdeed was the interview between the pious officer and the lady- missionary. They were friends afterward; and the circumstances of their first meeting proved a very charming reminiscence." After three years of widowhood, Mrs. Board- man was united to Dr. Judson, of the American mission, at Maulmain, whither she removed with her little son, where she devoted herself to the ac- quii-ement of a new language, called the Pegiiau, SARAH BOAKDMAN JUDSON". IID in wliich '^lie made considerable advancement. She revised ^he standard tracts in Peguan, and the cate- chism and Gospel according to St. Luke ; and, as- sisted by Ko-man-boke, a Peguan Christian, she transl'Ued the New Testament. The life at Maul- main was one of love, labor, and trial. Eight children were born to her here, and three of them withered away and died, while, to add to the depth of her trials, Dr. Judson was threatened with the fatal disease which had bereft her of her first hus- band. Here, too, had she parted from her oldest son, and endured all the pangs of a wife and loving mother. Her last child was born in December, 1844, when she was attacked with chronic diar- rhoea, from which she had suffered much in the early part of her missionary life. It soon became evident, from the smking of her physical powers, that death was in her cup, unless some remedy could be found to alleviate her suffermgs : and a sea-voyage being the only thing that suggested itself to the physician, she departed with her hus- band and three eldest children for America. At first, the voyage seemed to produce the most bene- ficial results, and she even proposed to proceed alone from the Isle of France, but the disease re- turned • once more with fatal virulence, and she died at sea on 1st September, 1845, and was buried at St. Helena. She sleeps amongst the distant mould of the sea-washed solitary isle, and over her ashes her husband has erected a monument, Avith the following inscription : " Sacred to the memory 120 WOMEN OF WOETH. of Sarah B. Jiidson, member of the American Bap- tist Mission to Bm-mah, formerly wife of the Rev. George D. Boardman, of Tavoy, and lately wife of the Rev. Adoniram Judson, of Maulmain, who died in this port, September 1, 1845, on her passage to the United States, in the forty-second year of her age, and the twenty-first of her missionary life." " Would that those who declare that there is no vitality in Christianity, could see and appreciate the courage and sacrifices which animate and are demanded from those who, like Mrs. Judson, go forth to tell the darkened savage of Christ I EACHKL. LADT KDSSELL. 121 THE ISTOBLE DAME. RACHEL, LADY RUSSELL. •*She neither sought to shine in the world by the extent of her caj>^ city, nor to display, by affected retirement, the elevation of her soul, and when circumstances obliged her to come forward on the stage of his- tory, she showed herself in the appropriate character of a wife and a mother. Hence we may helie/ce, that the unohtrusive Tnodenty of pri- vate life contains mam,y a female capable of giving the same exa/)npl6 to her sex, and to mankind.'''' — Lord John Eusskll's IIe.makrs on thb Chabactbr of Eachel, Lady Eusseix. " A woman distinguished for ardent and tender affection ; pious, reflect- ing, firm, and courageous; alike cxeiii|)lary in prosperity and adversity, •when observed by multitudes, or hidden in retirement." Rachel, Lady Russelx, second daughter of Thomas Wriothesley, Earl of Southampton, was born in 1636. She married first Lord Yaughan; and after his death she married, in 1669, WilUam, 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 Russell, being implicated in a conspiracy with the Duke of Monmouth, nat- ural son of Charles II., Algernon Sidney, John Hampden, grandson to the celebrated patriot of 122 WOMEN OF WORTH. that name, Essex, and Howard, to prevent the suo- ccssion of the Duke of York to the throne, was arrested and sent to the Tower. Monmouth lied ; Howard saved hhnself by reveahng his accom- plices; and Essex, Sidney, and Hampden, were apprehended on his evidence. They were also accused of conspiring against the life of Charles H., which was not true. The Protestant succes- sion, and the prevention of encroachments on the Hberties of the people, were their chief objects. On the day of his trial Lord Russell asked leave of the court that notes of the evidence might be taken for his use. He was informed that he mig^ht have the assistance of one of his servants. " My wife is here, my lord, to do it," rephed the noble prisoner. The spectators, seeing the daughter of the virtuous Southampton thus assisting her hus- band in his distress, melted into tears. Every ap- plication to save Lord Russell proved vain. The independent spirit, patriotism, popularity, courage, talents, and virtues of the prisoner, Avere his most dangerous offences, and became so many arguments against his escape. Lady Russell threw h.erself at the feet of the king, and pleaded with tears the merits and loyiilty of her father, as an atonement for her husband's offences. But Charles remained unmoved, and even rejected her petition for a respite of a lew weeks. On finding every effort fruitless for saving the life of her husband, she collected her courage, and fortified her mind for the fatal stroke, connrm^ EACIIELj LADY KIJSSELL. 123 ing by her example the resolution of her li nsband. His courage never appeared to falter but when he si)oke of his wife ; his eyes would then fill with tears, and be appeared anxious to avoid the sub- ject. AVhen parting from Lady Russell, they mu- tually preserved a solemn silence; and when she left him, he said, " The bitterness of death was ]xast." He then expressed his gratitude to Provi- dence that had given him a wife who, to birth, fortune, talents, and virtue, united sensibihty of heart ; and whose conduct in this trying crisis, had even surpassed all her other virtues. Lord Russell Avas executed July 21st, 1683. His widow proved the faithful guardian of his honor, a wise and active mother to his children, and a 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 child- bed. Her other daughter, the Duchess of Devon shire, was also in childbed at the time of her sis- ter'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 counte- nance. The Duchess of Devonshire earnestly inquir 124 WOMEN OF WOETH. ing 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 waa under apprehensions of an entire loss of sight ; but this was prevented by an operation. Lady Russell died September 29th, 1723, aged eighty-seven. About fifty years afterward, her letters were col- lected and published, which established her fame in literature, as one of the most elegant writers of her time. In whatever light we consider her char- acter, 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 patriot martyr. His widow wore her weeds to the close of her life ; their con- jugal union of hearts was never broken, as the fol- lowing extracts from her letters will show : — TO DR. PITZWILLIAM ON HER SORROW. I am sure my heart is filled wi^h 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 of my dis- tracted thoughts, and reducmg them to a just mcas- EACH EL, LADY EUSSELL. 125 ure of jDatience for all I have or can suffer. I trust I shall, with diUgence, and some success, serve those ends they were designed to. They have very punctually, the time you intended them for, the last two sheets coming to my hands the 16tli 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 rea- sons strongly maintained, and rarely illustrated. 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, thougti he knows much greater than he did here. All I can say for myself, is, that Avhile we are clothed with flesh, to the perfectest, some displeasure will attend a separation from things we love. This comfort I think I have in my afflic- tion, 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 hke it ; hia Holy Spirit, in the mean time, speaking ]3eace to our consciences, and through all the gloomy sad- ness 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 126 WOMEN OF WORTH. myself for my own sins, and those of our families, that brouo-ht such a day on us. I have been under more tlian 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 Avith her, but he found her so hkely to do well he stayed only one day. I have gent you these Gazettes, and will send no more, for I reckon you will be m your progress of visits. I wish with you Lord Camp den would marry ; but I want skiU to prevail by what I can say. I hope I need employ none to persuade Dr. Fitzwil- liam that I am very acknowledging, and very sin- cerely, etc. TO THE SAME. 4: 4: ^ % H< * * 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 affect 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; 1 Bpeak 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 RACHEL, LADY RUSSELL. 127 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 afiections upward, and set my heart upon the ever-satisf}dng perfec- tions of God ; not starting at his darkest provi- dences, but remembering continually either hi 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 deUght see : in the mean time, I endeavor to suppress all wild imagi- nations a melancholy fancy is apt to let in; and say with the man in tlie gospel, " I believe, help thou my unbeUef." TO THE SAJVIE. N"ever shall I, good doctor, I hope, forget your work (as I may term it) of labor and love : so m- 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 repeathig my thanks to you anew, which is all I can do toward the, discharge 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 128 WOMEN OF WORTH. will esteem to have attained it here in s";:e meas- ure. Never could you m.ore seasonal)!/ liave fed me with such discourses, and left me wi /i expeota- ticnis of new repasts, in a more seasoj^^ble time, tlian these my misei-able months, and u( those this very week in which I have lived over again that fatal day that determined what fell cat a week after, and that has given me so long ai d so bitter a time of sorrow. But God has a con pass in his providences, that is out of our reach, a. id as he is all good and wise, that consideratio/i should in reason slacken the fierce rages of grief. But sure, doctor, 'tis 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 con- fusion as these last weeks have been, closing so tragically as they have done ; and sure never any poor creature, for two whole years together, has had more awakers to quicken and revive the an guish 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 ofiended thee, O my God! and that nothing may be so mar- vellous 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 honor and dishonor, good report and bad report, prosperity and adversity, with some evenness of mmd. The inspiring me with these desires is, I hope, a token of his never-failing love toward me, though an unthankful creature for all the good RACHEL, LADY KUSSELL. 129 things I have enjoyed, and do still in the lives of hopeful children by so beloved a husbf*nd. TO THE EARL OF GALWAY ON FRIENDSHIP. I have before me, my good lord, two of your etters, both partially and tenderly kind, and coming from a sincere heart and honest mind (the last a plain word, but, if I mistake not, very significant), 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 willing mind to do her duty toward that Almighty Being, who has, from infinite bounty and goodness, so chequered my days on this earth, as I can thank- lully reflect I felt many, I may say many years of pure, and, I trust, innocent, pleasant content, and happy enjoyments as this world can afibrd, partic- ularly that biggest blessing of loving and being loved by those I loved and res^Dected ; on earth no enjoyment certamly to be put in the balance with it. All other are like wine, intoxicates 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 thev sing, and that they love." The best news I have heard is, you have two good companions with you, which, I trust, wil] 130 WOMEN OF WOllTII. 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 SUNDEKLAND ON HEALTH, FRIENDSHIP, LOVE. Your kind letter, madam, asks me to do much better for myself and mine, than to scribble so in- Bignificantly as I do in a piece of paper ; but for twenty several reasons you must have the advantage you oifer me with obliging earnestness a thousand times greater tlian I deserve, or there can be cause foi*, but that you have taken a resolution to be all goodness and favor to me. And indeed what greater mark can you almost give than remember- ing me so often, and letting me receive the exceed- ing 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 neces- sary employments as you are, and have but too imperfect health, which to any other in the world but Lady Sunderland would imfit for at least so great despatches as you are charged with. These are most visible tokens of Providence, that every one that aims to do their duty shall be enabled to do it. I hope your natural 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 stiictly considers, is the first of earthly bless- KAOHEL, LADY HUSSELL. 131 ings ; for even the conversation of friends, wliicli as to sj^iritual profits, as you excellently observe, is the nearest approach we can make to heaven while we hve 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 spe^id on earth. But, as I was say- ing, 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 slum- ber, that may take off our sense of pain, than to accept what we know in worth excels almost to in- finiteness ? 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 the insipidness of it would, I beheve, never choose it. Mr. Waller says — " 'Tis (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 humors, to creatures what must it be to our clarified spirits to love in the presence of God ! Can there be a greater con. templation to provoke to diligence for our prepa- ration to that great change, where Ave shall be per- fected, 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 candle-fight. 3252 WOMKK Ub' Woia 11. THE PATTERN OF DOMESTIC YIRTUE. LUCT HUTCHINSON, Daughter of Sir Allan Aj)sley, was born in 1624. At the age of eighteen she was married to Colonel John Hutchinson, who distinguished himself as one of the luost efficient among the Puritan leaders in the war between Charles I. and the Parliament. Their courtship was a very romantic one, as it is given by the lady in her " Memoir " of her hus- band. She says : " N'ever was there a passion more ardent and less idolatrous ; he loved her better than his life ; with inexpressible tenderness and kind- ness; had a most high, obliging esteem of her; yet still considered honor, reUgion, and duty, above her; nor ever suffered the intrusion of such a dotage as should blind him from marking her im- perfections." That it was " not her face he loved," but "her honor and her virtue were his mistress,"*: 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 fiital to life and beautyi LUCY lIUTCIIINrfON. 133 She was taken ill of the smail-pox ; was for some time in imminent dangei- ; and, at last, when lier recovery was assured, the return of her personal attractions was considered more than doubtful." She says, indeed, hei'seif, that her ilhiess made her, for a long time after she had regained her healtli, *' the most ddibrmed person that could be seen." But Mr. Hutchinson's affection was as strong as hia honor. He neither doubted nor delayed to pros- ecute his suit ; but, thankful to God for her pres- ervation, he claimed her hand as soon as she was able to quit her cliamber, and when the clergyman who pei'foi-med tlie 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, 1G38. Their union was an example of the happiness which marria2:e confers on those who fulfil its duties 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 exeitions 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 entreaty 134 WOMEN OF WOETH. to be permitted to reside in the castle with him. This was refused ; but she took lodgings in Deal, and walked e\'ery 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 Hutch- inson was a Puritan and a republican on princi- ple, and would not disclaim his opinions, though he would promise to live in quiet, his enemies listen- ed to no pleadings for mercy. What was to have been his ultimate punishment will never be known ; the damp and miserable apartment in which he was confined brought on an illness which ended his Hfe, September 11th, 1664, leaving liis wife mth eight children and an embarrassed 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 ob- serve their cross humors ; but when her children are all near, I mil have her in the chamber with me, and they shall not pluck her out of my arms. During the winter evenings she shall collect to- gether the observations I have made on this Epistle since I have been in prison." As he grew worse, the doctor feared dehrium, and advised his brother and daughter not to defer any thing they wished to say to Mm. Being ii> LUCY nUTCIIINSON. 135 formed of his condition, he replied with much com- posure, "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; evin- cing her sorrow and her love, not by useless repin- ings, but by training up her children to be like their father, and emplo}dng her talents in con- structing a monument to his fame. For tliis 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 accomphshments infinitely more common ; but the perusal of this volume has taught us to doubt whether the better sort of women were not fiishioned of old, by a purer and more exalted standard; and whether the most enunent female of the present day would not 'i appear to disadvantage by the side of Mrs. Hutch- inson. There is something in the domestic virtue and calm commanding mind of this EngHsh ma- tron, that makes the Corinnes and Heloises a23pear very insignificant. We may safely venture to assert that a nation Avhich produces many such 136 WOMEN OF WOETH. wives and mothers as Mrs. Lucy Hiitcliinsou, must be Loth great and happy." We should do injustice to the worth of female genius if we omitted to give at least a brief extract from this work of Mrs. Hutchinson. An "Address to her Children" forms the introduction to the ^ memoir. Thus she writes : " I, who am under a command not to grieve at the common rate of desolate women, while I am stud}dng which way to moderate my woe, 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 mem- ory; which I need not gild with such flattering commendations as the hired preachers equally give to the truly and the nominally honorable ; an un- drest narrative, speaking the sunple 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 Hfe, wliich was nothing else but a progress from one degree of virtue to another. His example was more instruct- ive than the best rules of the moralists ; for his practice was of a more divine extraction, 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 gov- LUCY HUTCHraSON. 137 orned by him. He had a native majesty that struck awe mto the hearts of men, and a sweet greatness that commanded love. "His affection for his wife was such, that whoevei would form rules of kindness, honor, 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 honorable esteem for woman ; yet he was not uxorious, and never remit- ted that just rule which it was her honor to obey; but he managed the reins of government with such prudence and affection, that she who would not delight in such honorable and advantageous sub- jection 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 temporary 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 ; ha regarded her, not as his idol, but as his fellow 138 WOMEN OF WORTH. creature in the Lord, and proved that such a fcel« ing 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. ISABEL THE CATHOLIC. 139 THE FRIEND OF COLUMBUS. ISABEL THE CATHOLIC. To judge aright of the merits of Isabel the Catholic as 5xn administratrix of public affairs, in virtue of wb\ch, and of her queenly arts and endowments, she became so firmly fixed in the hearts and affec- tions of lier subjects, it mil be necessary to take a glance at the high state of prosjoerity and political consequence enjoyed by the kingdom of Castile previous to the accession of the house of Trasta- mara, in 1368, and of the causes of the subsequent declme of its glory among the nations, and the condition to which it had been reduced by long years of misrule, at the commencement of her most auspicious reign. So far back as the fifth century, the germs of constitutional liberty and of many free institutions had been introduced into the Peninsula by that branch of the Teutonic race by which it was then overrun. These, however, had been only partially unfolded when the great Saracen invasion of the eighth century, which seemed at first to threaten their extinction, proved, on the contrary, the means 1.40 WOMEN OF WORTE. of their more rapid development. The enjoyment of long peace and prosperity had done its usual work in relaxing the morals of both the court and the clergy. Driven by the invader beyond the sterile mountains of the north, they must toil for tlie most scanty subsistence, or, descending from their fastnesses, snatch it, sword in hand, from the mighty foe who lay stretched on the plains beneath. At length priest and people girded themselves for the conflict of centuries, and when the Spaniards descended into the open plains of Castile and Leon, they were never secure from the predatory incur- sions of the Arabs, until they had driven them beyond some natural boundary — a river, or a chain of mountains — securing their conquests by strong fortifications. The Castilian towns being specially open to these incursions, every citizen was trained to arms, and the bui'gesses were the most effective part of the militia. Charters of communion were early granted, the most ancient extant bearing date 1020. By these, the citizens had the right of elect- ing their own magistrates, who appointed judges of the law. In 1169, at Burgos, occurred the earliest instance on record of popular representation, almost a cen- tury before the parliament of Leicester. So great was the power of the popular branch of the Cas- tilian cortes, whose meml^ers were originally nom- inated by the householders, Jbut afterward by the municipal bodies, that no tax could be imposed without their consent ; they narrowly watched and ISABEL THE CATHOLIC. 141 restrained the public expenditure, venturing even to regulate the economy of the royal household ; and no title to the crown was vaHd without their consent. The nobles and clergy might attend in cortes, but legislative acts Avere vahd without their sanction. Both these orders were exempt from taxation, and the situation of Castile was no less favorable to the growth of their power. Embarked with their king in rescuing their country from the infidel, they hesitated not to divide with him the spoil. Immense domains were thus accumulated, and each noble was a petty sovereign. In the end of the fourteenth century, when Castile had reached its zenith, the constable Davalos could ride through his own estates from Seville to Compostella, nearly the two extremities of the kingdom. Eighty towns and castles were under the sway of the Lord of Biscay. A court favorite could muster twenty thousand vassals. It is scarcely a figure of speech to say that they were warriors from their cradle. Mendoza tells of a descendant of the famous Mar- quis of Cadiz carrying out with him to battle his son, only tliirteen years old, adding, "an ancient usage in that noble house." And the only son of Alfonso yi. was slain when only eleven, fighting manfully in the ranks. Ever since that memorable day on which St. James had been seen hovering in the air, mounted on a milk-white steed, leading on to victory, and bearing aloft the banner of the cross, when seventy thousand infidels fell on the field, the name of St 142 WOMEN OF WOETH. Jago had been the war-cry of the SjDaniards ; and, in imitation of the military apostle, their patron saint, priests militant ^ent forth with the crucifix in their hands, leadmg on the soldiers to battle. In an age holding wealth in Aontempt, these war- like prelates amd,ssed enormous: riches, for when a town was r^&tnied from the infidel, some ancient rehgiouG .'^rablishment must be pupported, or a new Oiu. founded. The Archbishop of Toledo, primatt^ of Spain, and grand chancellor of Castile, besides his immense revenues, could muster a greater number of vassals than any othrr subject, and had jurisdiction over fifteen large and populous towns. One lady-abbess of Castile had juri^^diction over fourteen capital towns, and more than fifty smaller places, and ranked next 'to the que^^n in dignity. Amusing and almost incredible stories are told of the luxurious banquetings of the nobles and prelates, while the king had often neither money nor credit. One bond of union alone ex- isted between prince and people. Hand to hand they joined against the infidel, but every man's hand was also against his neighbor ; and when at length the Moors w^ere repulsed within the king- dom of Granada, and nearly a century of long minorities, or now weak and now vicious rule, was the fate of Castile, bitterly came then to be felt the evil efifects of such an mmatural division of inter- ests. The sacred name of law became a by-word. Rapine, murder, and incendiarism spread terror and desolation through the land. The insolent ISABM. THE CATHOLIC. 143 nobles not only waged open war with each other, but converted their castles into dens of robbers, plundering the traveler, and pubhcly selling his property in the cities. One robber chieftain carried on an infamous traffic with the Moors, selling to them as slaves Christian prisoners of both sexes. Every farm {dehesa^ meaning protected ground) was a fortress, and it was in nearly hopeless des- pondency that the agriculturist committed the seed to the earth. So shameless was the adulteration of the coin, that the most common article was en- hanced four and even six fold in value. One sov- ereign tried oppressive acts, a return to arbitrary taxation, and mterference with freedom of election ; while another turned a deaf ear to the groans of his people by giving himself up to the chase. Such at the birth of Isabel was the wretched state of the fertile and beautiful Castile. At Madrigal, a town of Old Castile, on the 22d of April, 1451, was born Isabel, daughter of Juan II., by his second consort, a Princess of Portugal. Her father dymg when she was in her fourth year, she, and her brother, Alfonso, who was two years younger, Uved in the strictest retirement with their mother, the widowed queen ; and the state of seclu- sion and even privation in which she is said to have passed the first ten years of her life, may account for the fii'mness, as the rigid practices of devotion, from the example of her mother, for the zeal, springing up into bigotry and bitter persecution, by which she was afterward so distmguished 14* WOMEN OF WORTH. When in her seventh year, it was agreed she should marry Prince Ferdinand of Aragon, who was one year younger, both of them the children of second marriages, and neither heir apparent to the two kingdoms. Many events intervened to interrupt this project, and France, Portugal, and England sought her alliance. She was also on the point of being: sacrificed to an ambitious and dissolute sub- ject, when reheved by his death. Her biographers extol the wisdom and prudence of her reply when only thirteen, to a proposal for marrying her to the King of Portugal, a widower, with heirs to his throne, that a princess of Castile could not be dis- posed of in marriage without the consent of the cortes. The weak rule of her brother Enrique, doubts as "to the legitimacy of his daughter, the death of her brother, Alfonso, caused an offer of the crown to be made to her, which she rejected, declaring she would lay no claim to the title so long as its present possessor lived. Resolving, however, to be no longer thwarted in her desire of marrying Ferdinand, who had been long carrying on a ro- mantic courtship, faithfully recorded in the decades of the ancient chronicler Palencia, she eluded the vigilance of the king's spies, and protected by a body of troops, under the escort of the Ai'chbishop of Toledo, she lied to Valladolid, whence the prince lost no time in following her, traveling with only five attendants, and in strict disguise, sometimes acting as servant to liis companions. The first interview realized the expectations ISABEL THE CATHOLIO. 145 formed on both sides. Isabel was then in her nine- teenth year, and is described as inheriting from Catharine of Lancaster bhie eyes, auburn hair, and a fair complexion ; her face regular and pleasing, rather than indicating any very high order of intel- lect ; while Ferdinand, though a year younger, was of manly form, his Hmbs strengthened by hard- ship and exercise, his features regular and hand- some, the dark-brown hair on his ample forehead somewhat thinned from the helmet he had worn from his infancy. The prince was greatly inferior in education to Isabel. A soldier from his child- hood, his attainments were hniited to reading and writing; and so great was his poverty, ho had to borrow money for the expenses of the nuptials. Gutierre de Cardenas, who, on the entrance of the prince, was the first to point him out to Isabel, ex- claiming, " Ese es, ese es " (this is he), was permit- ted to bear on his shield the letters SS, being like to the sound of these words in Spanish. The marriage was celebrated on the 19th of Oc- tober, 1469, in the presence of Isabel's two prin- cipal adherents, the Archbishop of Toledo and the Admiral of Castile, who was also Ferdinand's grand- father, and an assemblage of more than 2,000 per- sons. The young pair being within the forbidden degrees of consanguinity, and the Pope in the in- terests of the king, a bull of dispensation was forged by the king of Aragon and the archbishop, the discovery of which was a shock to Isabel, to whose honest mind everything hke artifice was abhorrent, 10 146 WOMEN OF WORTH. and she could only console herself thai il ^va^ m good faith she had acted. The princess had long before this been acknowledged by the ki)ig, her brother, as heir to the crown, and it was now agreed that she and Ferdinand should reign jointly, but all essential power was vested in her, the prmce not even being allowed to quit the kingdom with- out her consent. As future queen of Aragon, a magnificent dower was settled on her. She lost no time in informing the king, her brother, in the most respectful terms, of the step she had taken, but his only reply was, that " he would lay the matter before his council." The weak rule of Enrique lasted yet five years, during which pubHc favor fluctuated between Isa- bel and his daughter, whom he before his death declared to be legitimate, although he had formerly acknowledged Isabel as his heir. But the cortes never having revoked the allegiance they had sworn to her, when the news reached her at Segovia of the king's death, she at once caused herself to be proclaimed queen, Ferdinand being then absent in Aragon. Mounted on a white jennet, she pro- ceeded to the j^ubUc square, where a throne had been erected on a platform, on ascending which, the royal standard was unfurled, and the herald cried, " Castile, Castile, for the King Don Fer- nando, and his consort the Queen Donna Isabel ;" after which simple ceremony, she returned thanks in the principal church, and the people swore alle- cifiance to her, but not to the absent Ferdinand; ISAI3KL TllK uATHOLIC. 147 nor does it appear that she demanded this, which so greatly displeased him, that he said to Palcncia, " Alfonso, thy learning far exceeds mine ; tell me didst ever read m thy histories of any woman acting as the queen has done ? She writes to her husband to return at his leisure, and in his absence causes herself to be proclaimed with pomp and cere- mony." Tliis step, which shows the decided and inde- pendent character of the queen, gave rise to a dis- pute of great warmth ; but she was too wary not to see that her soundest pohcy was union, and with infinite tact she sought to allay his wrath, and to persuade him that the difference in their authority was only nominal. The king of Portugal having espoused the cause of the princess, there now followed the war of the succession, lasting nearly four years and a half, during which only one serious battle was fought, when the Portuguese standard-bearer, after losing both his arms, held the banner between his teeth, till cut down by the enemy. The better to carry on the operations of the war, the consorts separated, and the queen, sometimes endangering her healthy hastened from place to place, dictated dispatches, addressed the soldiers, showed great moderation in victory, redressed grievances, while maintaining with a high hand her own authority, and thus be- fore long gained both the confidence and affections of her subjects. For the expenses of the war, the clergy forced on her a loan of half the church plato 148 WOMEN OF WORTH. in the kingdom, and she afterward carefully repaid the debt. The distractions of war did not prevent Isabel from turning her attention to the lawless state of her kingdom. She instituted, or rather revived under a different form, the institution of the Santa Ilermandad^ or Holy Brotherhood, a kind of rural police, consisting of 4,000 members, the half of whom were horsemen, having power to ar- rest, try, and execute criminals, without respect of persons, or appeal to any other tribunal. Its pro- ceedings were at fii'st excessively severe, and no institution could be better adapted to curb the power of the aristocracy, and to consolidate that of the sovereign. Its powers were increased or modified as the state of the times demanded ; but the end having been attained,. it was in 1498 shorn of its powers, and dwindled down, with some slight changes, to the form in which it exists at the j^res- ent day, as a body of gendarmerie. The queen, too, sat every Friday on a chair of state, covered with cloth of gold, to administer justice. She or dered restitution of stolen property, and delin- quents were executed without distinction of rank, which caused so much consternation that more than 8,000 persons fled from Seville, rather than stand a trial. After a time, however, the clergy and mao-is- trates being alarmed at the decrease of population, the queen, willing to temper justice with lenity, published a general amnesty, on condition of the restoration of illegally-acquired property. She de- prived of their possessions and privileges all tho ISABEL lUE CATHOLIC. 149 nobles who had taken up arms against her ; amongst others her former powerful adherent the archbishop of Toledo, whose defection nothing could induce her to pardon. She well knew how to choose and reward wise and faithful counselors ; and her fame would indeed have been stainless, were it not for the dark and remorseless bigotry which caused her to establish the tribunal of the Inquisition, whose frightful sway in the space of eighteen years des- troyed 8,800 of her subjects by fire, otherwise tor- turing and punishing more than 96,000. It is said that her confessor predicted she would be queen of Castile while yet her two brothers hved, and that she promised on its fulfilment to extirpate heresy from the land. Of the horrors of the Inqui- sition, no detail' is needed here. To Isabel belongs the praise of restoring peace and order in her dis- tracted kingdom. But no sooner had her subjects Bhcathed their swords, than she unsheathed against them one which treacherously pierced their sides. "With one hand she raised and protected prostrate industry, whilst with the other she dealt against it a blow wliich paralyzed its energies, the efiects of which are still felt in that fair and goodly, dark, and bigoted land. It is a relief to turn from such a picture, and behold the queen the joyful mother of a son ; which event took place at Seville, in June, 1478, after an interval of seven years from the birth of her only other child, a daughter. The child was christened Juan, and we would willingly tell of the three days* 150 WOMEN OF WOKTH. rejoicings, and how at the baptism the Ciiurch of Santa Maria was hung with satin, and the chapel with brocade ; how the ' royal babe was carried under a canopy of rich brocade ; and how the god- mother wore a tabard of crimson silk, lined with damask, which she afterward gave to the king's fool, and a rich brocaded kirtle, embroidered Avith seed and large pearls, with many other raree shows and wonders, but that space would fail us to re- count them. Soon after this event, the king aftid queen made a progress through part of her do- minions, Isabel showing her usual firmness and intrepidity ; enforcmg relaxed laws ; appointing ex- traordinary judges ; on one occasion, to punish an outrage, taking horse alone amidst torrents of rain, before the captains of her guard had time to follow her. In Gallicia alone, where anarchy still ruled, fifty towering strongholds, from which robber chieftains descended like birds of prey to levy black mail on the hapless district beneath, were razed to the ground, and no less than fifteen hundred malefac- tors compelled to fly. In January, 1479, died Juan, King of Ai'agon. And now proud Castile saw herself mistress of nearly the whole of Spain. Aragon, and indeed all Spain, and even Portugal, had at one tune or other done homage to Castile for their dominions, and this, with the sense of owing their conquests to their personal bravery, had induced among the nobles a proud and inflexible bearing, scarcely to ISABEL THE CATHOIJC. 151 be curbed by the iron rule of the Austrian dyunsty, and which drew from the Venetian ambassador in the time of Charles Y. the remark, that " if tlivAv power were equal to their pride, the world would not be able to withstand them." The Inquisition being now firmly established in Castile, Ferdinand introduced it into his own do- minions, which so maddened the people, that they arose and slew the chief inquisitor on the very steps of the altai\ But torrents of blood were made to flow for that which had been shed on con- secrated ground, and the galhng yoke only weighed the more heavily. Such had been the horrors ex- hibited in Castile, that the Pope himself sent to remonstrate, but in this, and in all rnatters ecclesi- astical, Isabel chose to be her own pope, as has been said of our Henry VIII., herself nominating to every benefice, which when the Pope attempted to do, she forced him by the most vigorous resist- ance to submit to her will. She thus bound bur- thens on her subjects which she herself refused to touch with one of her fing-ers. In 1479 was born the unfortunate Juana; about three years after, Maria; and, in 1485, the equally unfortunate Catherine, called Catherine of Aragon, wife of Henry VIII., and the youngest child of the sovereigns. In 1489, Isabel, the eldest and best- beloved daughter of the queen, was betrothed to the heir of the Portuguese sovereign, and with amazing magnificence, considering the expense of the war, to defray which the queen had once ao- 152 WOMEN OF WORTH. iLially pawned her jewels. The fetes continued for a fortnight, the queen and the betrothed bride appearing at them all, dressed in cloth of gold, attended by seventy noble ladies, attired in brocade and resplendent with jewels. One historian says ; *'The principal articles of the trousseau were four costly necklaces of gold, set with pearls and pre- cious stones ; rich tapestries, woven of silk and gold ; twenty silk and brocade robes ; four of dra^ii golden threads ; and six of silk, embroidered with pearls and gold." The whole wardrobe estimated at two hundred and twenty thousand florins. In eight months this briUiant bride was a widow, and returned to Castile in a litter hung with black. The care the queen bestowed on the education of her cliildren— indeed, the svhole tenor of domes- tic life — cannot be too highly lauded. What she did could only be achieved by boundless energy, and never-failing resources. While actively en- gaged in war, and sometimes sitting up all night long engaged in state aflairs, she neglected none of her private duties. She carefully cultivated the intellects of her children, whose dispositions were mild and amiable, and sought to eradicate every germ of e\il. Her daughters, like herself, were well versed in Latin, in the solid branches of educa- tion, as well as in all the elegant accomphshments. That the prince might have the spur of emulation, as well as the benefit of private tuition, she caused ten noble youths, five of them his own age, and five somewhat older, to be brought up with him, ISABEL THE CATHOLIC. 15S partaking of all his advantages, and sharing in all his pleasures. These youths, and all who wore brought into contact with him, and even his pages, were so carefully selected, that almost aU of them were, in after hfe, distinguished by some superior excellence, while the fond object of so many hopes lay buried ui an early grave. At the age of eio-hteen, a seioarate establishment was formed for him, and a council, in imitation of the council of state, assembled round him, in which pubhc affairs were discussed. The profound wisdom of all this needs no comment. The queen also sought to in- spire the young nobility with a taste for learning, and invited to her court all, both native and foreign, famed for their scholarship. The following year, the prince was married to Margaret, daughter of Maximilian, Emperor of Germany, afterward the celebrated governess of the Netherlands, and at the same time her brother, the Archduke Philip, to the Princess Juana; but sadly the eye turns from the page which records the festivities cele- brated on the occasion of these ill-fated unions, for dismal reverses are at hand. Lideed, from this time to its close, the life of the queen presents an almost constant succession of domestic distresses, only varied by a few brilliant triumphs ; her many private virtues sullied, also, by more than one pub- Uc fault. By her unwearied encouragement and protection of Cliristoph.er Columbus, she added a new world to her dominions. But she signed an edict for the expulsion of the Jews, which was 154: WOMEN OF WORl'H. carried out with merciless severity ; the creatures of luxury dying by the wayside ; the hand of the Christian restrained who would have extended a cup of cold water to the sufferer; mothers and their new-born infants perishing from the pangs of hunger. True, they were permitted to sell their property, but this mercy was in reality a mockery, for, the time being limited, we are told, " a house was given for an ass, and a vineyard for a piece of cloth." Her Christian subjects were forbidden, under severe penalties, from giving shelter or as- sistance to the Jews, who had made a last effort to avert the blow, by offering to the queen thirty thousand ducats for the expenses of the late war, iind the sovereigns were hesitating whether to accept their tempting bribe, when the chief inquis- itor, abruptly entermg the apartment, drew a cru- cifix from his bosom, saying, " Judas Iscariot sold the Saviour for thirty pieces of silver ; your High- nesses are now selling him for thirty thousand. Behold him hei'e ; take him and barter him as you wiU ;" and the insane fanatic threw the symbol on the table, and withdrew. Who need tell that mercy fled away, and fanaticism obtained the vic- tory? From tlie commencement of their reign, Fer- dinand and Isabel had shown an earnest solicitud.e for the encouragement of commerce and nautical science, as is evinced by a variety of regulations which, however imperfect, from the misconception of the true pi'inciples of trade in that day, are sul- ISABEL TKE CATHOLIC. 155 ficiently indicative of the dispositions of the govern* ment. Under them, and indeed under tlieir pre- decessors as far back as Henry the Third, a consid- erable traffic had been carried on with the western coast of Africa, from which gold dust and slaves were imported into the city of Seville. The annalist of that city notices the repeated interference of Isabel m behalf of these unfortunate beings, by ordinances tending to secure them a more equal protection of the laws, or opening such social indul- gences as might mitigate the hardships of their condition. A misunderstanding gradually arose between the subjects of Castile and Portugal, in relation to their respective rights of discovery and commerce on the African coast, which promised a fruitful source of collision between the two crowns ; but which was happily adjusted by an article in the treaty of 1479, that terminated the war of the succession. By this it was settled that the right of traffic and of discovery on the western coast of Africa should be exclusively reserved to the Portu- guese, who in their turn should resign all claims on the Canaries to the crown of Castile. The Spaniards, thus excluded from further progress to the south, seemed to have no other opening left for naval adventure than the hitherto untraveled re- gions of the great western ocean. Fortunately, at this juncture, an individual appeared among them, in the person of Christopher Columbus, endowed with capacity for stimulating them to this heroio enter^^rise, and conducting it to a glorious issue. 156 WOMEN OF WORTH. Some of the most striking features of that great enterprise we shall here bring out. Using for that purpose, in a somewhat condensed form, the graphic narrative of Mr. Prescott, the painstaking and im- partial historian of this notable reign. Columbus was a native of Genoa, of humble parentage, though perhaps honorable descent. He was instructed in his early youth at Pavia, where he acquired a strong reUsh for the mathematical sciences, in which he subsequently excelled. At the age of fourteen, he engaged in a seafaring Ufe, which he followed with little intermission till 1470. Filled with lofty anticipations of achieving a dis- covery which would settle a question of such mo- ment, so long involved in obscurity, Columbus submitted the theory on which he had founded his belief in the existence of a western route, to King John the Second, of Portugal. Here he was doomed to encounter for the first time the embar- rassments and mortifications which so often obstruct the conceptions of genius, too sublime for the age in which they are formed. After a long and fruitless negotiation, and a dishonorable attempt on the part of the Portuguese to avail themselves clandes- tinely, of his information, he quitted Lisbon in dis- gust, determined to submit his proposals to the Si^anish sovereigns, relying on their reputed char- acter for wisdom and enterpiise. The period of his arrival in Spain being the latter part of 1484, would seem to have been the most unprojiitious possible to his design. The ISABEL THE CATHOLIC. 157 nation was then in the heat of the Moorish war, and the sovereigns were unintermittingly engaged, as we have seen, in prosecuting their campaigns, or in active preparation for them. The large expen- diture incident to this, exhausted all their resources ; and indeed the engrossing character of this domes- tic conquest left tliem little leisure for indulging in dreams of distant and doubtful discovery. Ferdinand and Isabel, desirous of obtaining the opinion of the most competent judges on the merits of Columbus's theory, referred him to a council selected by Talavera, from the most eminent schol- ars of the kingdom, chiefly ecclesiastics, whose pro- fession embodied most of the science of that day. Such was the apathy exhibited by this learned con clave, and so numerous the impediments suggested by dullness, prejudice, or skepticism, that years ghded away before it came to a decision. During this time, Columbus appears to have remained in attendance on the court, bearing arms occasionally in the campaigns, and experiencing from the sov- ereigns an unusual degree of deference and personal attention ; an evidence of which is afforded in the disbursements repeatedly made by the royal order for his private expenses, and in the instructions issued to the municipalities of the different towns in Andalusia, to supply him gratuitously with lodg- uig and other personal accommodations. At length, however, Columbus, Avearied out by tliis painful procrastination, pressed the court for a definite answer to his propositions ; when he was 158 WOMFN OF WORTH. informed that the council of Salamanca pronounced his scheme to be "vain, impracticable, and resting on grounds too weak to merit the support of the government." Many in the council, however, wei-e too enlightened to acquiesce in this sentence of the majority ; and the authority of these individuals had undoubtedly great weight with the sovereigns, who softened the verdict of the junto by an assur- ance to Columbus, that, " although they were too much occupied at present to embark in his under- taking, yet, at the conclusion of the war, they should find both time and inclination to treat with him." Such was the inefiectual result of Colum- bus's long and painful solicitation; and, far from receiving the qualified assurance of the sovereigns in mitigation of their refusal, he seems to have con- sidered it as peremptory and final. In great de- jection of mind, therefore, but without further delay, he quitted the court, and bent his way to the south, with the apparently ahnost desperate intent of seeking out Some other patron to his un- dertaking. Without wasting time in further solicitation, Columbus prepared, with a heavy heart, to bid adieu to Spain (1491), and carry his proposals to the king of France, from whom he had received a letter of encouragement while detained in Anda- lusia. His progress, however, was arrested at the con- vent of La Rabida, which he visited previous to his departure, by his friend the guardian, who pre- ISABEL THE CATHOLIC. 150 vailed on him to postpone his journey till another effort had been made to move the Spanish court in his favor. For this purpose the Avorthy ecclesiastic undertook an expedition in person to the newly- erected city of Santa F^, where the sovereigns lay encamped before Granada. Juan Perez had for- merly been confessor of Isabel, and was held in great consideration by her for his excellent quali- ties. On arriving at the camp he was readily admitted to an audience, when he pressed the suit of Columbus with all the earnestness and reasoning of which he was capable. The friar''s eloquence was supported by that of several eminent persons whom Columbus, during his long residence in the country, had interested in his j^roject, and who viewed with sincere regret the prospect of its abandonment. Their representations, combined with the opportune season of the apphcation, oc- curring at the moment when the approaching ter mination of the Moorish war allowed room for interest in other objects, wrought so favoi-able a change in the dispositions of the sovereigns, that they consented to resimie the negotiation with Columbus. An invitation was accordingly sent to him to repair to Santa Fe, and a considerable sum provided for his suitable equipment, and his ex- penses on the road. Columbus, who lost no time in availing himself of this welcome intelhgence, arrived at the camp in season to witness the surrender of Granada, w^hen every heart, swelling with exultation at the inO WOMEN OF WORTH. triumphant termination of the war, was naturally disposed to enter with greater confidence on a new career of adventure. At his interview witli tlje king and queen, he once more exhibited the argu- ments on which his hypothesis was founded. He then endeavored to stimulate the cupidity of his audience, by picturing the realms of Mangi and Cathay, which he confidently expected to reach by this western route, in all the barbaric splendors which had been shed over them by the lively fancy of Marco Polo and other travelers of the middle ages ; and he concluded with appealing to a higher principle, by holding out the prospect of extending the empire of the Cross over nations of benighted heathen, while he proposed to devote the profits of his enterprise to the recovery of the Holy Sepul- chre. This last ebullition, which might well have passed for fanaticism in a later day, and given a visionary tinge to his whole project, was not quite so preposterous in an age in which the spirit of the crusades might be said still to linger, and the ro- mance of religion had not yet been dispelled by sober reason. The more temperate suggestion of the diffusion of the gospel was well suited to affect Isabel, in whose heart the principle of devotion was deeply seated, and who, in all her imdertak- ings, seems to have been far less sensible to the vulgar impulses of avarice or ambition, than to any argument connected, however remotely, with the nil crests of religion. Amidst all these propitious demonstrations to ISABEL THE OATnOLIC. 161 ward Columbus, an obstacle unexpectedly arose in the nature of his demands, which stipulated for himself and heirs the title and authority of admiral and viceroy over all lands discovered by him, with one-tenth of the profits. Tliis was deemed wholly inadmissible. Ferdinand, who had looked with cold distrust on the expedition from the first, was sup- ported by the remonstrances of Talavera, the new archbishop of Granada, w^ho declared that " such demands savored of the highest degree of arro- gance, and would be unbecoming m their High- nesses to grant to a needy foreign adventurer." Cohnnbus, however, steadily resisted every attempt to induce him to modify his propositions. On this ground the conferences were abruptly broken off, and he once more turned his back upon the SjDan- ish court, resolved rather to forego his splendid anticipations of discovery at the very moment when the career so long sought was thrown open to him, than surrender one of the honorable dis- tinctions due to his services. This last act is, perliaps, the most remarkable exhibition in his whole life, of that proud, imyielding spirit which sustained him through so many years of trial, and enabled him at length to achieve his great enter- prise, in the face of every obstacle which man and nature had opposed to it. The misunderstanding was not suffered to be of long duration. Columbus's friends, and especially Louis de St. Angel, remonstrated with the queen on these proceedings in the most earnest manner. 11 162 . WOMEN OF WORTH. He frankly cold her that Columbus's demands, if high, ATere at least contingent on success, when they would be well deserved ; that, if he foiled, he required nothing. He expatiated on his qualifica- tions for the undertaking, so signal as to insure in all probabihty the patronage of some other mon- arch, who would reap the fruits of his discoveries : and he ventured to remind the queen that her present policy was not in accordance with the magnanimous spirit which had hitherto made her the ready patron of great and heroic enterprise. Far from being displeased, Isabel was moved by his honest eloquence. She contemplated the pro- posals of Columbus in their true light ; and, refus- ing to hearken any longer to the suggestions of cold and timid counselors, she gave way to the natural impulses of her own noble and generous heart. " I will assume the undertakiug," said she, " for my crown of Castile, and am ready to pawn my jewels to defray the expenses of it, if the funds in the treasury shall be found inadequate." The treasury had been reduced to the lowest ebb by the late war ; but the receiver, St. Angel, advanced the sums required from the Aragonese revenues deposited in his hands. Aragon, however, was not considered as adventuring in the expedition, the cha]-ges and emoluments of which were reserved exclusively for Castile. Colmnbus, who was overtaken by the royal mes- senger at a few leagues' distance only from Granada, experienced the most courteous reception on his ISABEL THE CATHOLIC. 103 return to Santa Fe, where a definitive arrangcanent was concluded with the Spanish sovereigns, April 17th, 1492. p ISTo sooner were the arrangements completed, than Isabel prepared with her characteristic prompt- ness to forward the expedition by the most efiicient measures ; and on ihe morning of the 3d of August, 1492, the intrepid navigator, bidding adieu to the Old World, launched forth on that unfathomed waste of waters where no sail had ever been spread before. While on a review of the circumstances, we are led more and more to admire the constancy and miconquerable spirit which carried Columbus vic- torious through all the difiiculties of his undertak- ing, we must remember, in justice to Isabel, that, although tardily, she did in fact furnish the re- sources essential to its execution ; that she under- took the enterprise when it had been explicitly de- clined by other powers, and when, probably, n 32 178 WOMEN OF WOKTH. fined to the circle of home, some verses which she wrote drew the attention of the Weymouth family. She was not then twenty; but this incident was the origin of a long and pleasant friendship. The Honorable Mr. Thynne, son of Lord Weymouth, undertook to teach her the Italian language, in which she made rapid progress. In 1696, being then twenty-two, she pubhshed, at the request of her friends, various 23oems, to which she prefixed the poetical name of Philomela. A paraphrase of the thirty-eighth chapter of Job, written at the suggestion of Bishop Kenn, procured her some reputation. liiterary success changed nothing in her calm and domestic life ; the friendship of the polite and the great, found and left her in her quiet home. The happiness which she thus enjoyed was deep, though peaceful. She loved her father with all the tenderness and reverence due to his virtues ; an ex- tract from a letter shows her feehngs : " I have ease and plenty to the extent of my wishes, and can form desires of nothhig but what my father's indulgence would procure ; and I ask nothing of heaven but the good old man's life. The perfect sanctity of his life, and the benevolence of his tem- per make hun a refuge to all in distress, to the widow and fatherless ; the peoj)le load him with blessings and prayers when he goes abroad, which he never does but to reconcile his neighbors, or to right the injured and oppressed; the rest of his hours are entirely devoted to his private devo MES. ELIZABETH EOWE. 179 tions, and to books, which are his perpetual enter- tainment." This excellent man, to whose example his daughter was, no doubt, deeply indebted, died in 1719, in sentiments of great piety. A friend, ' who witnessed his last hours, observed that he set- tled his affairs, and took leave of the world, with as much freedom and composure as if he had been setting out on a journey. His great care was to gee that the widows and orphans with whose concerns he had been intrusted, might not be in- jured after his death. His cheerfulness and sweet- ness of temper never forsook him ; but he some- times felt his pulse, complained that it was still so regular, and smiled with a Christian's triumph at every sign and symptom of approaching death. His only surviving daughter was already a widow when this event took place. Her charming coun- tenance, agreeable conversation, and gentle temper, had early secured her a sufficient number of ad- mirers ; amongst the rest, Prior, the poet, who an- swered one of her pastorals in a very tender strain, and wished, it is said, to marry her ; but she would not go beyond friendship with him. The young and learned Thomas Rowe was the preferred suitor. They were married in 1710; Elizabeth Singer being then thirty-six, her husband but twenty- three. Time, which had not taken from her tho simplicity and purity of youth, had left her its freshness and comely aspect ; without being a i)er- feet beauty, she was extremely attractive. She had hair of a fine auburn hue ; eyes of a deep grey, in- 180 WOMEN OF WOETb. eliding to blue, and full of fire^ fler complexion was exquisitely pure ; her voico poft and harmo* nious. The passion which her hiis^and folt for her was both ardent and sincere , her gentleness, her compliance with his wishes, thr many virtues wliich he daily witnessed in her life, endeared her to him ; and marriage only increased his affection. They had been united about five years, when a fatal con- sumption, partly brought on by intense study, car- ried him oif, in the twenty- eighth year of his age. He died, as he had wished to die, in the arms of his wife. She had attended on him dm-mg his ill- ness with devoted affection ; and though she sur- vived liim many years, she could not, a short time before her own death, hear his name mentioned without shedding fresh tears at the loss it recalled. It was only to please her husband that Mrs. Rowe had ever hved, even for a time, in London. After his death she indulged her passion for solitude, by residing ahnost entirely at Frome ; where, like her father, she devoted her days to piety, good deeds, and books. She gave little time to dress, none to play or pleasure ; her leisure was devoted to lite- rary works of a moral character, and to labors of charity. She was constantly engaged in making garments for the poor ; she did so not only for the natives of the lower Palatinate, when the war drove them from their country, but also for whosoever around her needed such aid. She visited the sick, and instructed poor cliikh-en; or caused them to be instructed at her expense. She never went out MKS. ELIZABETH EOWE. 181 .^thout uoing- provided with coins of different value, to give away to objects of charity. The first sum of money wliich she received from a pubhsher was bestowed on a family in distress, and she once sold ft piece of plate for a similar purpose. She carried her indifference in money matters to an excess ; there was no life she hated so much as the sordid and ungenerous love of gold, and none of which she was less guilty. She let her estates be- neath their real value, and would not even allow unwilling tenants to be threatened with the seizure of their goods. But another trait of her character seems to us to paint her in a still more amiable light. Mrs. Rowe did not confine her charity to the miserable ; she thought that " it was one of the greatest benefits that could be done to man- kind, to free them from the cares and anxieties that attend a narrow fortune ;" and she accordmgly made large presents to persons who were not in the ex- tremity of want. There are few, we believe, who are unable to feel the pleasure which attends the relief of great misery ; but only the most delicate minds, and the most generous hearts, can expe- rience the pecuUar gratification which Mrs. Rowe found in relieving, not mere physical distress, but also those many painful cares which are the tor- ment of poverty, as distinguished from want. The solitude in which Mrs. Rowe hved did not separate her from many valued friends. Her name occurs frequently in the pleaspjit lettei'S addressed by the Countess of Rf^rtfo^rd to Dr. Isaac Watts ; 182 WOMEN OF WORTH. and when this eminent man edited her "Devout Exercises of the Heart," it was to the countess that he dedicated them. All the poetical ardor which characterized Mrs. Rowe's turn of mind appears in this work ; once widely popular, and stUl read by those who are not tempted to smile at the mys- ticism of a pure and pious heart. Tenderness and enthusiasm are essential to the religion of woman : that of man is more properly belief; hers is love. We will make no extracts from the Devout Exer- cises, but we will transcribe from Mrs. Rowe's secret effusions a page which needs no comment. " I consecrate half of my yearly income to char- itable uses ; and though by this, according to hu- man appearances, I have reduced myself to some necessity, I cast all my care on that gracious God to whom I am devoted, and to whose truth I sub- scribe Avith my hand. I attest his faithfulness, and bring in my testimony to the veracity of his word ; I set to my seal that God is true ; and 0, by the God of truth, I swear to perform this, and beyond this All that I have, beyond the bare con- venience and necessity of life, shall surely be the Lord's; and O grant me sufficiency, that I may abound in every good work! O let me be th( messenger of consolation to the poor ! Hei'e I am, Lord ; send me. Let me ha\e the honor to admin- ister to the necessities of my brethren. I am, in- deed, unworthy to wipe the feet of the least of the servants of my Lord, much more unworthy of this glorious commission; and yet, O send me, for thy MKS. ELIZABETH KOWE. 183 goodness is free. Send whom thou wilt on em- bassies to kings and rulers of the earth, but ]et me be a servant to the servants of my Lord. Let me administer to the afflicted members of my exalted and glorious Redeemer. Let this be my lot, and I give the glories of the world to the Avind." This solemn vow, which, as Mrs. Rowe herself expressed it, in another part of her manuscripts, " was not made in an hour of fear and distress, but in the joy and gratitude of her soul," was reli- giously fulfilled, even when it exposed her to much personal inconvenience. To the end of her life, the poor shared with her in those blessings which she held from the bounty of God. In 1736, her health began to fail. She prepared herself for death in that cheerful spirit with which she had lived. There seemed, however, no imme- diate cause for fear. After spending an evening in friendly conversation, she went up to her room ; where, shortly afterward, her servant found her in the agonies of death. She was, according to her request, quietly buried by the side of her father, in their place of worship at Frome. Like him, she was lamented by all those who had knoAvn her, and by none more than the poor. Amongst her papers were found several letters addressed to valued friends. They express, in ardent and confident language, the behef that, like the spirit, the afiec- tions are immortal. To the end, the religion of EUzabeth Rowe remained a religion of love. To love God and his creatures had been her delight 184 WOMEN OF WOKTH. on earth, and she hoped to do both ia heaven. As she fervently expresses it, "That benignity, that divine charity, which just warms the soul in these cold regions, will shine with new lustre, and burn with an eternal ardor in the happy seats of peaco and love." MARIA TBEKE8A. IS5 THE STAE OF AUSTRIA. MARIA THERESA, Archduchess of Austria, Queen of Hungary and Bohemia, and Emj^ress of Germany, born in 1717, was the eldest daughter of Charles VI. of Austria, Emijeror 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 aU the Austrian dominions, and her children after her. The Prag- matic 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 Bour- bons. 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- trian monarchy, to portions of which each laid iS6 WOMEK OF WORTH claim. Maria Theresa, however, went immediately to Vienna, and took possession of Austria, Bohemia, and her other German states ; she then repaired to Presburg, took the oaths to the constitution of Hungary, and was solemnly proclaimed queen of that kingdom in 1741. Frederic of Prussia oiFered the young queen his friendship on condition of her giving up to him Silesia, which she resolutely re- fused, 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 refuge in Presburg, where she convoked the Hungarian diet ; and ap- pearing 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 exclaimed, "Moriamur pro Rege nostro, Maria Theresa !" " We will die for our queen, Maiia Theresa." 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 little more than a century, a descendant of this idolized queen would trample on their rights, overthrow their constitution, mas- sacre the nobles and patriots, and ravage and Iny waste their beautiful land ! Well would it be fnr 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 MAEIA THERESA. 187 diet assembled at Frankfort, undei the name of Cluirles VII. Frederic of Prussia soon made i^eace with Maria Theresa, who was ohUged to surrender Silesia to bun. 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 1*756, began the Seven Years' war between France, Austria, and Russia, on one side, and Prussia on the other. It ended in 1V63, leaving Austria and Prussia with the same boundaries as before. In 1765, Maria Theresa lost her husband, for whom she wore mourning till her deaih. Her son Joseph was elected emperor. She however retained the administration of the govern- ment. 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- hngly, only when she was told that Russia and Prussia would not regard her disapproval, and that her refusal would endanger her own dominions. The improvements Maria Theresa made in her dominions were many and important. She abol- ished 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 tht* arts and sciences; insti* 188 WOMEN OF WOETH. tuted numerous seminaries for the education of all ranks of the 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 behav- ior, or purity of morals. She established prizes for those who excelled in different branches of manu- facture, in geometry, mining, smelting metals, and even spinning. She particularly tm-ned her atten- tion to agriculture, which, on a medal struck by her order, was entitled the "Ai't which nourishes all other arts ;" and founded a society of agricul- ture at Milan, with bounties to the peasants who obtained the best crops. She took away the per- nicious rights which the convents and churches enjoyed of affording sanctuary to all criminals without distinction, and in many other ways evin- ced her regard for the welfare of the people. Al- though she was a pious and sincere Roman Cathohc, not a blind devotee, but could discriminate between 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 affection of her Belgian sub- jects ; and never was Lombardy so prosperous or tranquil as under her reign. The population in- creased 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 con- duct was characterized by a regard for propriety and self-respect. MARIA THERESA. 189 Maria Theresa was, in her youth, exceediiigly beautiM; and she retained the majesty, grace, and elegance of queenly attractiveness to the close of her hfe. She was sincere in her affection for her husband, and never marred the power of her love- liness by artifice or coquetry. She used her gifts and graces not for the gratification 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, aU born Avithia twenty years. There is every reason to suppose that her naturally warm affection, and her strong sense, would have rendered her, in a private station, an admirable, an exemplary pa- rent ; and it was not her fault, but rather her mis- fortime, that she was placed in a situation where the most sacred duties and feelings of her sex became in some measure secondary. While her numerous 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 mo- ment of her time. The court physician. Von Swietar, waited on her each morning at her levee, 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, 190 WOMEN OF WORTH. Immediately hastened to their apartment. They all spoke and v/rote Italian with elegance and facility. Iler children were brought up with extreme shnplicity. They were not allowed to indulge in personal pride or caprice ; their benevolent 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 con- viction of their mother, all true piety consisted. A high sense of family pride, an unbounded devotion to the house of Austria, and to their mother, the empress, as the head of that house, was early im- pressed 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 wpon 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 mto different countries of Europe, carried with them their national and fam- ily prejudices ; that some of them, in later years, supplied the defects of their early education, and became remarkable for talent and for virtue ; that all of them, even those who were least distin- guished and estimable, displayed occasionally both goodness of heart and elevation of character ; and that their filial devotion to their mother, and what they considered her mterests, was caiTied to an excess, which in one or two instances proved fatal to themselves. Thus it is apparent that her mater- MARIA THEKESA. 191 nal duties were not neglected : had this been the case, she could never have acquii'ed 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 humble trust in heaven, never foiled 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 apprehensive that her reason and her physical strength might fail her together. She was once heard to say, " God grant that these sufl:erings may soon termuiate, for other- wise, I know not if I can much longer endure them." After receiving the last sacraments, she sura- 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 cannot 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 daus-h- ters, blessed them individually, in the tenderest terms, and exhorted them to obey and honor 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 pa- tience, death at length released her, and she expired 193 WOMEN OF WOKTH. on the 29th of November, 1780, in her sixty-fourth year. She was undoubtedly the greatest and best ruler vAio ever swayed the imperial sceptre of Aus- tria; while, as a woman, she was one of the most "imiable and exemplary of those in high station who hved in the eighteenth century. MADELELtiE SALOME OBEKLIN. 193 THE PASTOE'S HELPMATE. MADELEINE SALOME OBERLIN, Distinguished for her intelligence, piety, and the perfect unison of soul which she enjoyed with her husband, the good and great John Frederic OberUn, was born at Strasburg, in France. Her Either, M. Witter, a mm of property, who had luaiTi^d a relative of the Jberhn family, gave his daughter an exceUent education. John James Oberhn was the pastor of Waldbach, a small village 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 aroimd him. Un- der his care and instruction, the poor, ignorant peasantry became pious, industrious, and happy. In all his actions he folio-wed what he believed to be a divine influence, or the leadings of Providence ; and his courtship and marriage were guided by his rehgious feelings. OberUn's sister resided with him at Waldbach, and managed his house. Made- lehie Witter came to visit Sophia Oberlin. Miss Witter was amiable, and her mind had been highly 13 194r WOMEN OF WOIITH. cultivated; but she was fond of fashion and dis- play. Twice had Frederic Oherlin declined to marry young ladies who had been commended to him, because he had felt an inward admonition Jiat neither of these wa.s for him. But now when Madeleine came before him, the impression was different. Two days prior to her intended depar- ture, 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 tlie divine will ; solemnly declaring that if Made- leine acceded to the proposition with great readi- ness, he should consider the voice he had heard as a leading of Providence. He found his cousin in the garden, and imme- diately began the conversation by saying, " You are about to leave us, my dear friend. I have re- ceived 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 been accustomed to protest that she would not marry a clergyman ; but she was MADELEI]^nE SAXOME OBEKLIN. 195 devotedly attaclied to her excellent husband, and cordially assisted in all his plans. 'No dissatisfac- tion at her humble lot, no complaints of the arduous duties belonging to their peculiar situation, marred their mutual happiness. They were far removed from the vain excitements and tinsel splendor of the world ; they Were surromided by the rude, ilht- erate peasantry ; and every step in improvement was contested by ignorance 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 : — PEAYEK OF OBERLIN AND HIS WIFE FOE THE BLULSS- ING AND GEACE OF GOD. " Holy Spirit ! descend into our hearts ; assist us to pray with fervor from our inmost souls. Per- mit thy children, O gracious Father, to present 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 foithful in the exercise of our duties, that we may stimulate each other therein, warning each other of our faults, and seek 196 TV OMEN OF WOETH. ng together for pardon in the blood of Jesus Christ. When we ]3ray together (and may we pray much and frequently), be thou, O Lord Jesus, with us ; kindle our fervor, O Heavenly Father, and grant us, for the sake of Jesus Christ, whatever thy Holy Spirit shall teach us to ask. "Seemg 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 riglit. If thou givest us children, and preservest them to us, O grant us grace to bring them up to 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 wiU be undertaken for them at their baptism, they may remain faithful from the cradle to the grave. O Heavenly Father, may we inculcate thy word, ac- cording to thy will, all our hves, with gentleness, love and patience, both at their rising up and lying down, at home and abroad, and under all circum- stances ; 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, O ever give us renewed grace, renewed strength, and renewed courage, for continuing to walk in the MABELEESnE SALOME OBEKLESr. 197 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 (lay 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, O 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, O gracious Father, in the name of Jesus Christ, thy well-beloved son. And, O merciful Redeemer, may we both love thee with ardent de- votion, always walking and holding communion with thee, not jDlacing 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, tloly Spirit, dwell always in our hearts ; teach us to lift our thoughts contin- ually 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, honor, and glory, for ever and ever. Amen." For sixteen years Mrs. OberUn was a beloved friend and useful assistant to her husband. In their tastes and pursuits, in their opinions and feel- ings, they became entirely one. She managed his household discreetly, educated their children judi- ciously, and entered into all his benevolent plana with earnestness and prudence. 198 WOMEN OF WORTH. She died suddenly, in January, 1*784, a few weeks after the birth of her nuith and last child. Her death was deeply mourned in the Ban'de la Roche, for her assistance and sympathy had always been freely offered to the poor and the atHicted. Oberlin survived his wife forty-two years ; but never separated himself from her memory. lie devoted several liours 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. MADELEINE OBEKLtN VISITING THE SICK. " She was devotedly attached to her excellent husband, and cordially assisted in all his plans. • • • Her death was deeply mourned m the iBande la Koche for her assistance and sympathy had always been freely offered to the ^oor aiid afflicted."— Page 198. Aim A LETITIA BAP.BAULD. 199 THE CIIILDEEIsT'S FAYOEITE. ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD. 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 Harcourt, in Leicestershire, England, where her father was at that time master of a boys' scliooL From her cliildhood she manifested great quickness of intel- lect, and her education was conducted mth much care by her parents. In 1773, she was induced to publish a volume of her poems, and within the year four editions of the Avork were called for. In the same year she published, in conjunction with her brother, Dr. Aiken, a volmne called " Miscel- laneous Pieces in Prose." In 1774, Miss Aiken married the Rev. Rochemont Barbauld, a dissen- ting minister, descended from a family of French Protestants. He had charge, at that time, of a congregation at Palgrave, in Suffolk, where he also opened a boarding-school for boys, the success of which is, in a great measure, to be attributed to Mrs. Barbauld's exertions. She also took several 200 WOMEN OF WORTH. very young boys as her own entire charge, among whom were Lord Denman, afterward Chief Justice of England; and Sir William Gell. It was for these boys that she composed her " Hymns in Prose for Children." In 1'7'75, she published a volume en- titled, "Devotional Pieces, compiled from the Psalms of David," with " Thoughts on the Devo- tional Taste, and on Sects and Estabhshments ;" and also her " Early Lessons," which still stands unrivaled among children's books. In 1786, after a tour on the continent, Mr. and Mrs. Barbauld established themselves at Hampstead, 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 Col- lins, prefixed to editions of their Avorks. In 1802, Mr. Barbauld became pastor of the congregation (formerly Dr. Price's) at J^ewington Green, also in the vicinity of London; and, quitting Hampstead, they took up their abode in the village of Stoke Ne^vington. In 1803, Mrs. Barbauld compiled a selection of essays from the "Spectator," "Tatler," and "Guardian," to which she prefixed a prelimi- nary essay ; and, in the followiuL, year, she edited the correspondence of Richardson and wrote an interesting and elegant life of the lovelist. Her husband died in 1808, and Mrs. Bai auld has re- corded her feelings on this melanchoiy event in a AIWA LETniA BARBAULD. 2C1 poetical dirge to his memory, and also in her poem of " Eighteen Hundred and Eleven." Seeking re- lief in literary occupation, she also edited a collec- tion of the British novelists, j^ublished in 1810, with an introductory essay, and biographical and critical notices. After a gradual decay, this accom- plished 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 ha^^py imitation of Collins. She wrote also several poems in blank verse, cha- racterized by a serious tenderness 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 intellect, which exercised itself in rapid but not unprofitable excursions over almost every field of knowledge. In age, when this activity abated, imagination appeared to exert over her an undiminished 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 unimpassioned in their character. Her works show great powers of mind, an ardent love of civil and religious liberty, and that genuine and practical piety which ever distinguished her character. In many a bosom has Mrs. Barbauld, " by deep, 202 WO:\[KN OF WORTH. 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, and the crimson blossoms 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 beautiful succession of nature, and think, "IIow doth every plant know its season to put forth ? They are marshaled in order ; each one knoweth his place, and standeth up in his own rank." " The snowdrop and the primrose make haste to hft 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 hke an open book; every painted flower hath a lesson written on its leaves. "Every murmuring brook hath a tongue; a voice is m every whispering wind. " Tliey all speak of him who made them ; they all tell us he is very good." Such sentiments, instilled into the hearts of chil- dren, have power, with the blessing of God, to pre- ANNA LETITIA BARB7i.ULD. 203 serve the moral feelings pure and holy; and also to keep the love of nature and the memories of early life anaong 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 tenor of her writings, bear abundant testimony to this part of her character. It is a higher, or at least a rarer commendation to add, that no one ever better loved 'a sister's praise,' even that of such sisters as might have been pecul- iarly regarded in the light of rivals. She was ac- quainted with almost all the principal female writers of her time ; and there was not one of the number whom she failed frequently to mention in terms of admiration, esteem, or aflection, whether in con- versation, 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 ])eauty was pecuharly gratifying to her fancy and her feelings ; and children and young persons, es- pecially females, w^ere accordingly large sharers in her benevolence : she loved their society, and would often invite them to pass wrecks or months in hei 204 WOMEN OF WORTH. house, when she spared no pains to amuse and in- struct them ; and she seldom failed, after they had quitted her, to recall herself from time to time to their recollection, by affectionate and playful let- ters, or welcome 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, mani- fested by nimiberless tokens of love — not alone to her brother, but to every member of his family — will ever be recalled by them mth emotions 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 vigor of expression. Its sentiments 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 honorable industry, and mar- ried rather late in life, a lady to whcm he had been long attached, and in whom centered the wealth AISTNA LETITIA BAEBAULD. 205 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 hb- rary, where I found him busied in turning over books of education, of which he had collected all that were worthy of notice, from Xenophon to Locke, and from Locke to Catharine Macauley. As he knows I have been engaged in the business of instruction, he did me the honor to consult me on the subject of his researches, hopmg, he said, that, out of all the systems before him, we should be able to form a plan equally complete and com- prehensive; it being the determination of both himself 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 20G WOMEN OF WORTH. ' your cliild masters and tutors at large salaries ; and you do well, for they are com]>etent to ir»struct liim ; ^ they will give him the means, at least, of ac- quiring 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 dis- likings you express ; these will educate him ; — the society you live in will educate him ; your domes- tics will educate him; above all, your rank an^ situation in Ufe, your house, your table, your pleaF. ure-grounds, your hounds and your stables wih educate him. It is not in your power to withdraw him from the continual influence of these things, except you Avere 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, Hke insensible perspiration, is of more constant and powerful effect, and of infinitely more consequence to the habit, than that which is more 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 notliing more. The circwnstances in which your ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD. 207 Ron is placed wiU. he even more prevalent than your example ; and you have no right to expect him to become what you yourself are, but by the^rsame means. You, that have toiled during youth, to set your son upon highbr ground, and to enable him jO begin where you left off, do not expect that son to be what you were — diligent, modest, active, sim- ple in his tastes, fertile in resources. You have put him under quite a different master. Poverty educated you ; wealth will educate him. You can- not 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 fortime 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 degree by your former one. But I take great care, you will say, to counteract these ten- dencies, 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 attended, for, it may be, an hour in a clear frosty winter's day upon your graveled ter- race ; or perhaps you take the puny shivering in- fant from his warm bed, and dip him in an icy-cold bath, and you think you have done great matters 208 WOMEN OF WOETH. And SO you have ; you have done all you can. But you were suffered to run abroad hali' the day on a bleak heath, in weather fit and imfit, wading bare- foot through dirty ponds, sometimes losing your way benighted, scrambling over hedges, chmbiug 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 nu- merous family, had little time to indulge the soft- nesses 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 reaUty; some weak part left unfortified, for the arrows of misfortune to find their way into. Achil- les was a young nobleman, dios Achilleus^ and therefore, though he had Chiron for his tutor, there was one foot left undipped. You may throw by Rousseau ; your parents practised without having read it ; you may read, but imperious circumstances forbid you the practice of it. You are sensible of the advantages of simphcity 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 o^m cook; his fruit is ripened from your walls; his cloth, his glasses, all the accompaniments of the ANNA LETITIA EAEBAULD. 209 table, are such as are only met with in families of opulence; the very servants who attend him are neat, well dressed, and have a certain air of fashion. You may call this simplicity ; but I say 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 dehcacies which your table abomids with ; you yourself wUl give hun of them occasionally ; you would be un- kind if you did not : your servants, if good natured, will do the same. Do you think you can keep the fuU stream of luxury running by his hps, 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 elegances in manners and in taste ; I only wish to prevent un- profitable pains and inconsistent expectations. You are sensible of the benefit of early rising ; and you may, if you please, make it a point that your daughter shaU 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 slida 14 210 "WOMEN OF WORTH. into the habitudes of the rest of the family, whoso hours are determined by their comj^.^Jiy and situa- tion in life. You have, however, done good, as far as it goes; it is something gained, to defer per- nicious habits, if we cannot prevent them. There is nothing which has so httle share in education as direct precept. To be convinced of this, we need only reflect that there is no one point we labor more to establish with children, than that of their speakmg truth ; and there is not any in which we succeed worse. And why? Because children readUy see we have an interest in it. Their speaking truth is used by us as an engine of government — "Tell me, my dear child, when you have broken any thing, 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 hfe, you tell a thousand falsehoods. But these are necessary Hes on im- portant occasions. Your child is the best judge how much occasion he has to tell a he : 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 upon an answer to every in- terrogation, however indiscreet or oppressive to the feelinsjs, will, in young or old, produce falsehood ; ANNA LETITIA BAiCBAULD. 211 or, if in some few instances the deeply-imbibed fear of future and unknown punishment should restrain from direct falsehood, it will produce a habit of dissimulation, which is still worse. The child, the «lave, or the subject, who, on proper occasions, may Qot say, " I do not choose to tell," 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 overheiar when playing unnoticed in a corner of the room, which has an effect upon children ; and not what is addressed directly to them in the tone of exhortation. If you would know precisely the effect these set discourses have upon your child, be pleased to reflect upon that which a discourse from the pulpit, which you have reason to think merely professional, has upon you. Children have almost an intuitive discernment between the max- ims you bring forward for their use, and those by which you direct your own conduct. Be as cun- ning as you wiU, they are always more cunning than you. Every child knows whom his father and mother love and see with pleasure, and v/hom they dishke ; for whom they think themselves ob- liged to set out their best plate and china; wliom they think it an honor to visit, and upon whom they confer honor by admitting them to their com 212 WOMEN OF WOKTH. pany. " 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 dif- ferent stations in life. This is a Uttle difficult 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 prepara- tion; common business laid aside, everybody in movement, an unusual anxiety to please and to shme. Nobody is at leisure to receive his caresses or attend to his questions ; his lessons are inter- rupted, 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 child, Eugenio, has received a lesson of education. Re- sume, 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 remem- ber. 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 re- ligion. Pie may lielp Lim to prepare liis tasks ; but do you imagine it will be in his power to form his ANNA LE1ITIA BARBATJLD. 213 mind ? His school-fellows, the allowance you give him, the manners of the age and of the place, will do that ; and not the lectures which he is obhged 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 connections, 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 genera- tions have kept their carriage and continued Dis- senters. 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 will remain circumstances which perhaps you cannot alter, that will still have their effect. Do you wish him to love simplicity ? Would you be content 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 artisans, and show him different machines and fabrics, to awaken his ingenuity. The necessity of getting his bread would awaken it much more effectually. The single circumstance of having a fortune to get, or a fortune 214 WOMEN OF WORTH. to spend, will probably operate more strongly upon his mind, not only than yom* precepts, but even than your example. You wish your child to be modest and unassuming; you are so, perhaps, yourself — and you pay liberally a preceptor for giving him lessons of humility. You do not per- ceive, that the very circumstance of having a man of letters and accomplishments 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 under- taker to his man in the play of ' The Funeral ;' " I give you I know not how much money for looking sad, and 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 ]3rove 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 can- not help these things. Your servants, out of re- spect to you, will bear with his petulance ; your company, out of respect to you, will forbear to check his impatience. And you yourself, if he is clever, will repeat his observations. In the exploded doctrine of sympathies, you are directed, if you have cut your finger, to let that alone, and put j^our plaster upon the knife. This IS very bad doctrine, I must confess;, in philvsox»hy j ANNA LETITIA BAEBAUUD. 215 but very good in morals. Is a man luxurious, self-indulgent? do not aj^ply your xohysic of tlte soul to him, but cure his fortune. Is he hauglity ? cure his rank, his title. Is he vulgar? cure his company. Is he diffident or mean-spirited ? cure his poverty, give him consequence — but these pre- scriptions go far beyond the family recipes of edu- cation. 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 Avill return. It can likewise give, in a great degree, j>grsonal habits; and even if these should afterward 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 wronor. Let us also be assured that the business of education, properly so called, is not transferable. You may engage masters to instruct your child in this or the other accompHshment, 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 de- tii6 WOMEN OF WORTH. pendent upon systems uncertain, operose, and diffi. cult of investigation. It is not necessary, with Rousseau or Madame Genlis, to devote to the edu- cation 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 profes- sion, domestic in his habits, whose house is the resort of well-informed intelligent people — a mother whose time is usefully filled, whose attention to her duties secures esteem, and whose amiable manners attract afiection ? Do not be solicitous, respectable couple, about the moral education of your ofispring ; do not be uneasy because you cannot surround them with the apparatus of books and systems ; or fancy that you must retire from the world to de- vote yourselves to their improvement. In your world they are brought up much better than they could be imder any plan of factitious education which you could provide for them ; they will imbibe affection from your caresses ; taste from your con- versation; 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 sedu- lous and servile anxiety, and furnish him with max ANNA LETITIA BAKBAULD. 217 nns it is morally impossible 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 characters start up every day from the bosom of obscurity with scarcely any care at all ? Are children then to be neglected ? Surely not ; but having given them the instruction and accom- phshments which their situation in life requires, let us reject superfluous solicitude, and trust that their characters will form themselves from the spon- taneous influence of good examples, and circum- stances which impel them to useful action. But the education of your house, important as it is, is only a part of a more comprehensive system. Providence takes your child where you leave hun. Providence continues his education upon a larger scale, and by a process which includes means far more eflicacious. Has your son entered the world at eighteen, opinionated, haughty, rash, inclined to dissipation ? Do not despair ; he may yet be cured of these faults, if it please Hexiven. 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 counselor, the considerate, steady friend ! how often the thoughtless, gay girl into the sober wife, the affectionate mother ! Faded beauty, hum- bled self-consequence, disappointed ambition, loss of fortune — this is the rough physic provided by 218 WOMEN OF WORTH. Providence to meliorate the temper, to correct the oifensive j)etulances of youth, and bring out all the energies of the finished character. Afflictions sof- ten the proud ; difficulties push forward the inge- nious; successful industry gives consequence and credit, and develops a thousand latent good qual- ities. There is no malady of the mind so inveter- ate, which this education 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 nature, will renew the' discipline in another state, and finish the. imperfect man ? States are educated as individuals — by circum- stances ; tlie 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 civil- ization. But what these srentle alternatives fail of doing may be accomplished by an unsuccessful war, a loss of trade, or any of those great calamities by which it pleases Pro\idence 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 morti- fication; if of luxury, by a national bankruptcy, 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 wu AJra^A LETITIA BA-RBAIJLD. 219 will hero inti'oduce, for its good sense, aud striking application to the ^^resent times : — ON T^^CONSISTENCY IN OUR 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 Hberty 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 something better. I have chosen my lot. I am content and satisfied. You are a modest man — you love quiet and in- dependence, and have a delicacy and reserve in your temper which 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 modest retirement, with the esteem of your intimate friends, with the praises of a blameless heart, and a delicate, ingenuous spirit ; but resign the splendid distinc- tions of the world to those who can better scram- ble for them. The man whose tender sensibility of con? ience 220 WOMEN OF WOKTH. and strict regard to the rules of morality make him scrupulous and fearful of ofleiidiiig, is often heard to complain of the disadvantages he lies under in every path of honor and profit. " Could I Lut 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 prefer ment." And why can you not ? What hinders you from discarding this troublesome scrupulosity of yours, which stands so grievously in your way ? K 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 re- morse and perturbation; unsuUied whiteness and simplicity of manners ; a genuine integrity — " Pure in the last recesses of the mind j" if you think these advantages an inadequate recom- pense for what you resign, dismiss your scruples this instant, and be a slave-merchant, a parasite, or — what you please — " If these be motives weak, break off betimes ;" and as you have not spirit to assert the dignity of virtue, be wise enough not to forego the emolu- ments of vice. I much admire the spirit of the ancient philoso- phers, in that they never attempted, as our moral- ists often do, to lower the tone of philosophy, and make it consistent with all the indulgrences of in- dolence and sensuality. They never thought of ANN^A LETITIA BARBAULD. 221 having the bulk of mankind for their disciple!^ ; but kept themselves as distinct as possible from a "worldly life. They plainly told men what sacrifices were required, and what advantages they wero which might be expected : — " Si virtus hoc una potest dare, fortis omisses Hoc age deliciis " Kyou 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 quahty 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 vigor, we cannot withhold our admiration. The most char- acteristic mark of a great mind is to choose some one hnportant object, and pursue it through life. It was this made Csesar a great man. His object was ambition ; he pursued it steadily, and was al- ways ready to sacrifice to it every interfering pas- sion or inclination. There is a different air and complexion in char- acters as well as in faces, though perhaps equally beautifiil; and the excellences of one cannot be transferred to the other. Thus, if one man pos- sesses a stoical apathy of soul, acts independent 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 222 WOMEN OF WOETH. of pity, or the partialities of friendship ; you must not be ofFeiided that he does not fly to meet you after a short absence ; or require from him the con- vivial spirit and honest eifusions of a warm, open, susceptible heart. If another is remarkable for a lively active zeal, inflexible integrity, a strong in- dignation against vice, and freedom in reproving it, he will probably have some little bluntness in his address not altogether suitable to poli^ jed life ; he will want the winning arts of con vers' i tion ; he will disgust by a kind of haughtiness and negli- gence in his manner, and often hurt the delicacy of Ms acquaintance with harsh and disagreeable truths. We do not consider the poetry of Mrs. Barbauld equal to her prose writings ; but there is a benig- nity, mingled with vivacity, m some of her poetical productions which make them always pleasant, as the face of a cheerful friend. WASHING-DAY. The Muses are turn'd gossips; they have lost The buskin'd step, and clear high-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 ; Come, Muse, and sing the dreaded Washing-Day. Ye who beneath the yoke of wedlock bend, With bowed soul, full well je ken the day Which week, smooth sliding after week, brings on ANNA LETITIA BAJRBAULD. 223 Too soon ; — for to that day nor peace belongs Not comfort ; — ere the first gray streak of dawn. The red-armed washers come and chase repose. Nor pleasant smile, nor quaint device of mirth, E'er visit(id that day; the very cat, From the wet kitchen scared and reeking hearth Visits the parlor — an unwonted guest. The silent bretvkfast-meal is soon dispatch'd ; Uninterrupted, save by anxious looks Cast at the lowering sky, if sky should lower. From that last evil, preserve us, heavens ! 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 stretched 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 call'st 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 Some snug recess impervious ; shouldst thou try The 'customed garden walks, thine eye s'hall rue The budding fragrance of thy tender shrubs. Myrtle or rose, all crushed beneath the weight Of coarse check'd apron — with impatient hand Twitched off when showers impend; or crossing linet 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, savory pie. 224 WOMEN 05 WORTH. Or tart, or pudding; — pudding he nor tart That day shall eat ; nor, though the husband try. Mending what can't be helped, 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 da}^ struck into me ; for then the maids, I scarce knew why ; look'd cross, and drove me from them. Nor soft caress could I 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 witch, or murder — so I went And shelter'd me beside the parlor fire ; There my dear grandmother, eldest of forms, Tended the little ones, and watched from harm, Anxiously fond, though oft her spectacles With elfin cunning hid, and oft the pins Drawn from her ravell'd stocking, might have sour'd One less indulgent. — At intervals my mother's voice was heard, Urging dispatch ; briskly the work went on, ^ All hands employ'd to wash, to rinse, to ring, 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 floatting bubbles ; little dreaming 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. ANISTA LETTTIA BAEBAULD. 226 PAINTED FLOWERS. 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. 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 ff.mily, 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 hearty Nor blush, my fair, to own you copy these, Your best, your sweetest empire is — to pleMfO. U 226 WOMEN OF WOETH. THE DEVOTED PATEIOT. REBECCA MOTTE, Dacgiiter of Robert Brewton, an English gentle, man, who had emigrated to South Carolina, was born in 1738, in Charleston. When abont twenty, she married Mr. Jacob Motte, who died soon after the commencement of the revolutionary war. Cap- tain 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 firm-house in the vicinity. In order to dis- lodge the garrison before succors could arrive, Generals Marion and Lee, who were commandin^j the American forces there, could devise no meang but burning the mansion. This they were very relnctant to do, but Mrs. Motte willingly assented 10 the proposal, and presented, herself, a bow^ and .ts apparatus, which had been imported from India, and was prepared to carry combustible matter. We will conclude this scene from the eloquent de- KEBECCA MOTTE. 227 scription of Mrs. Ellet, to whose admirable work * we are indebted for the interesting materials for this sketch. " Every thing was now prepared for the conclu- ding scene. The Hnes were manned, and an addi- tional force stationed at the battery, to meet a desperate assault, if such should be made. The American entrenchments being withm arrow-shot, McPherson was once more summoned, and agam 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 difierent quarters of the roof McPherson imme- diately ordered men to repair to the loft of the house, and check the flames by knocking off 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- n ion at discretion. " K ever a situation in real life afforded a fit sub- ject for poetry, by filling the mind with a sense of * "Women of tLe American Eevolution," 228 WOMEN OF WORTH. moral grandeur, it was that of Mrs. Motte contem- plating the spectacle of her home in flames, and re- joicing in tlie triumph secured to her countrymen — the benefit to her native land, by her surrender of her own interest to the public service. 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 ornament ; and the simple narra- tive of that memorable occurrence has more eflect to stir the feelings than could a tale artistically framed and glowing with the richest hues of im- agination. "After the captors had taken possession, McPher- son and his ofiicers accompanied them to Mrs. Motte' s dwelling, where they sat down together to a sumptuous dinner. Again, in the softened pic- ture, our heroine is the principal figure. She showed herself prepared, not only to give up her splendid mansion to ensure victory to the American arms, but to do her part toward soothing the agitation of the conflict just ended. Her dignified, courteous, and afiable deportment adorned the hos- pitaUty of her table ; she did the honors with that unafliected pohteness 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, endeavored to obliterate the recollection of the loss she had been called upon to sustain, and at the same tune to remove REBECCA MOTTE. 229 from the minds of the prisoners the sense of their misfortm/es." Another portion of her history is important, as illustrating her high sense of honor, 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 honor of her deceased husband involved in the responsibili- ties he had assumed. She determined to devote- the remainder of her hfe to the honorable task of paying the debts. Her friends and connections, whose acquaintance with her affairs gave weight to their judgment, warned her of the apparent hopelessness of such an effort. But, steadfast in the principles that governed all her conduct, she persevered. Living in an humble dwelling, and relinquishing many of her habitual comforts, she devoted herself with such zeal, imtiring industry, and indomitable resolution, to the attainment of her object, that her success triumphed over every difficulty, and exceeded the expectations of all who had discouraged her. She not only paid her hus- band's debts to the full, but secured for her chil- dren and descendants a handsome and unencum- bered estate. Sucli an example of perseverance under adverse circumstances, for the accomphsh- meut of a high and noble purpose, exhibits in yet 230 WOMEN OF WORTH. brighter colors the heroism that shone in her coun- try's days of peril!" Mrs. Motte died in 1815, at her plantation on the Santee. SUZAl^-NE CUKCHOD. MADAME NECKEK. 231 THE ESTIMABLE GOYEK]^ESS. SUZANNE CURCHOD, MADAME NECKER, Was descended, on the maternal side, from an an- cient family in Provence, who had taken refuge in Switzerland on the revocation of the Edict of Nan- tes. She was born at Grassy, her father, M. Cur- chod, 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 bestowed only on men. The yomig Suzanne Curchod was renowned throughout the whole province for her wit, beauty, and intellectual attainments. Gibbon, the future historian, but then an im- known youth studying in Lausanne, met Made- moiselle Curchod, fell in love with her, and succeeded in rendering his attachment acceptable to both the object of his affections and her parents. When he returned, however, to England, his father indig- nantly refused to hear of the proposed mai-riage between him and the Swiss minister's portionless daughter. Gibl>on yielded to parental authority, and philosophically forgot his learned mistress* 232 WOMEN OF WOETH. After her father's death, which left her wholly nnjrro^dded 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 Paris, 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 Thellusson, tho banker, and occasionally visited Madame de Ver- menoux. Struck with the noble character and grave beauty of the young governess, Necker cul- tivated her acquaintance, and ultimately made her his wife. Mutual poverty had delayed their mar- riage for several years ; but it was not long ere Necker rose from his obscurity. Madame Necker had an ardent love of honorable distinction, which she imparted to her husband, and which greatly served to quicken his efforts: his liigh talents in financial matters were at length recognized : he became a wealthy and resj^ected man. Shortly after her marriage, Madame JSTecker expressed the desire of devoting herself to literature. Her hus- band, however, dehcately hinted to her that lie should regret seeing her adopt such a course. This sufficed to induce her to reluiquish her intention : she loved him so entirely, that, without effort or rejoining, she could make his least wish her law. As Necker rose in the world, Madame Necker's influence increased ; but it never was an individual power, like that of Madame du Deffand, or of the SUZAK-NIE CUKCHOD, MADAME NECKER. 233 Marecliale de Luxembourg. Over her husband 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 opinions as those of a high-minded being, whom all the surrounding folly and corruption could not draw down from her sphere of holy pm-ity. If Madame Necker was loved and esteemed by her husband, she may be said to have almost idolized him ; and her passion- ate attachment probably increased the feeUngs of vanity and self-imj^ortance of which Necker has often been accused. Tliis exclusive devotedness caused some wonder amongst the friends of the minister and his wife ; for seldom had these skep- tical philosophers witnessed a conjugal imion so strict and uncompromising, and yet so touching in its very severity. When IsTecker became, in 177G, Director-Gen- eral of the Finances, his wife resolved that the influence her husband's official position gave her should not be employed in procuring unmerited favors for flatterers or parasites. She placed before herself the far more noble object of alleviating mis- fortune, 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, however, all ho 234 WOifEN OF WORTH. could to moderate its excesses. The prisons and hospitals of Paris greatly occupied the attentioD of Madame Necker dm-ing the five years of her hnsband^s power. Her devotedness to the cause of humanity was admirable, and shone with double lustre amidst the heartless selfishness of the sur- rounding 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 feehng of deep compassion seized her heart. To hberate a state prisoner was more than her influence could command, but she resolved to hghten, if possible, his load of misery. She set out for Ham, and suc- ceeded m 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 rep- tiles. Madame Nccker 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 char- ities, she amied none the less to effect general good. Considerable ameliorations were introduced by her in the (.'ondition of the hospitals of Paris, 235 She entered, with unwearied patience, into the most minute details of their actual administration, and with admirahie ingenuity, rectified errors or suggested 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 to fomid the hospital which still bears her name. Beyond this, Madame Necker sought to exercise no power over her husband, or through his means. She loved him far too truly and too well to ami at an mfluence 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 office, 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 allude, without naming her, to a person gifted with sin- gular virtues, and who has materially assisted me in accomplishing the designs of your majesty. Al- though her name was never uttered to you, in all the vanities of high office, it is right, sire, that you should be aware that it is known and frequently 236 WOMEN OF WORTH. 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 hfe, the' assistance he needs for so many details of beneficence and charity, which might otherwise prove too much for the strength and attention. Carried away by the tumults of general affairs — often obliged to sacrifice the feelings of the private man to the duties of the citizen — he may well es- teem himself happy, when the complaints of pov- erty and misery can be confided to an enlightened person who shares the sentiment of his duties." If Madame ISTecker 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 examj^le of woman's virtues— devoted love, truth, and purity. She died m 1794, cahn and re- signed throughout 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 Inter- ments," " Memorial on the Establishment of Hos- pitals," "Reflections on divorce," and her "Miscel- lanies." ller only child was the celebrated Madame de Stael. OAEOLESTE LTJCJRETIA HEKSCHEL. 237 THE PATIENT ASTEOKOMER. CAROLIi^"B LUCRETIA HERSCHEL, SiSTEK, and for a long time assistant, of the cele- brated astronomer, Sir William Herschel, was born at Hanover on the 16th of March, 1*750. She is herself distinguished for her astronomical researches, and particularly for the construction of a seleno- graphical globe, giving in relief the surface of the moon. But it was for her brother. Sir William Herschel, that the activity of her mind Avas awaken- ed. From the first commencement of his astro- nomical pursuits, her attendance on both his daily labors and nightly watches was put in requisition ; and was found so useful, that on his removal to Datchet, and subsequently to Slough — he bemg then occupied with his reviews of the heavens and other researches — she performed the whole of the arduous and important duties of his astronomical assistant, not only reading the clocks, and notuig down all the observations from dictation as an amanuensis, but subsequently executing the whole of the extensive and laborious numerical calcula- tions necessary to render them available to science, 238 WOMEN OF WORTH. as well as a multitude of others relative to the various objects of theoretical and experimental in- quiry in which, during his long and active career, he at any tune engaged. For the performance of these duties, his majesty, King George III., was pleased to place her in the receipt of a salary suffi- cient for her singularly moderate wants and retired habits. 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 insufiicient to exhaust her activity. In their intervals she found time for both 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, constru^ed for her by her brother ; with which, whenever his occasional absence, or any interruption to the regular course of liis observations permitted, she searched the heavens for comets, and that so effectively as on no less than eight several occasions to be rewarded by their discovery. On five of these occasions (re- corded in the pages of the " Philosophical Trans- actions " of London) her claim to the first discov- ery is admitted. These sweeps, moreover, proved productive of the detection of several remarkable nebulae and clusters of stars previously unobserved, CAROLINE LFCEETIA HEESOHEL. 230 aniong whicli may be specially mentioned the su- perb Nebula, No. 1, Class Y., of Sir William Iler- schel's catalogues — an object bearing much resem- blance to the celebrated nebula in Andromeda, dis- covered by Simeon Inarius. 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 Lidex of Hef- erence to every Observation of every Star inserted in the British Catalogue." These works were pub- lished together in one volume by the Royal So- ciety ; and to their utility in subsequent researches Mr. Baily, in his " Life of Flamsteed," bears am- ple testimony. She further completed the reduc- tion and arrangement as a " Zone Catalogue " of all the nebulse and clusters of stars observed by her brother in his sweeps ; a work for which she was honored 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 hfe in repose — en- joying the society and cherished by the regard of her remaining relatives and friends — gratified by the occasional visits of eminent astronomers — and honored with many marks of favor and distinction 240 WOMEN OF WORTH. on the part of the King of Hanover, the crown prince, and his amiable and ilbistrious consort. Until within a very short period of her death, her health continued uninterrupted, her faculties perfect, and her memory (especially of the scenes and circumstances of former days) remarkably clear and distinct. Her end was tranquil and free fi'om 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 honored by the Royal Irish Academy. The following just and eloquent tribute to the merits of Miss Herschel is from Dr. Nichol's "Views of the Architecture of the Heavens:" "The astronomer (Sir William Herschel), during these engrossing nights, was constantly assisted in his labors by a devoted maiden sister, who braved with him the inclemency of the weather — who heroically shared his privations that she might par- ticipate 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 manuscripts to her cottage at the dawn of day, and produced a fair copy of the night's work on the ensuing morn- ing ; she it was who planned the labor of each suc- ceeding night, who reduced every observation, made every calculation, and kept everytliing in SIR villiam^herschel's astronomical assistant. " She it was who, having passed the nights near the telescope took the ron-h manuscripts to he^ cottage at the dawn of day, and produced a ^ir copy ot the SeE work on the enduing morning, she it was who planned the labor of Saf h sucleedin- night, who riduced every observation made every calculation, and kern evtrythrn- in order; she it was-Miss Caroline Herschel-who hXed Sir astronomer to gather an imperishable name.--PAGE 240. CAEOLTIO: LFOEETI^ HEKSCHEL. 241 gystematic order,' she it was — Miss Caroline Her- schel — who helped our astronomer to gather an imperishable L>ame. This venerable 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 transmitted to her to her native Hanover, whither she removed after Sir William's death ; and the same learned society 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 favorite nephew, him who grew up under her eye unto an astronomer, gather around him the highest hopes of scientific Europe, and prove him- self fully equal to tread in the footsteps of his fa- ther." In 1847, she celebrated the ninety-seventh anni- versary 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 awai-ded for the Extension of the Sciences. Miss Herschel died at the opening of the follow- ing 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. 16 242 WOMEN OF wonrH. THE QUIET KEFOKMER HANNAH MORE. In estimating the merits of distingmslied ii.di* viduals, our opinion must obviously be modified by a knowledge of the external influences to which they were subjected. According as the tendency of these is to counteract or to forward their aims, a greater or less tenacity of purpose is demanded. And looking at the whole of a life, this is a quality that has more to do with greatness than may at first strike us ; for greatness depends not so much upon the possession of brilliant talents, as upon steadiness and perseverance in pursuing a laudable object. A most obstinate struggle with circmn- stances has to be kept up by such as would rise to eminence from the humbler walks of hfe ; but a contest on a more extended scale has to be encoun- tered by whosoever asj^ires to be a reformer, as in' this case the obstacles result from the condition of a nation or of society. They are also of a complex nature ; the reformer has first to disentangle hia own mmd from the shackles of custom and preju- dice, and next undertake the same task for others. HANNAH MORE. 243 Hannah More was a reformer ; we conceive one who did so much, by example, and purse, and pen, toward purifying the morahty and advancing the cause of religion in England, to be well Avorthy of such a title, and all the greatness it imj^lies. It is true she had the primary advantage of a sound and rehgious education, and was thus placed so aa to have a Pisgah-like view of existing defects; but next to the difficulty of divesting our minds of the warpings of habit and popular opinion, is that of preventing ourselves from being caught in their meshes. Of the state of religious knowledge, even amongst the higher classes, in the days of Hannah More, we may have a pretty accurate idea, from the anecdote related in connection with Sir Joshua Reynolds' "Samuel." When this celebrated painting was finished, numerous visitors flocked to his studio to see it, and amongst them were several who pro- posed the intelligent question, "Who was Samuel?" The manners and morality of the j^eriod were quite in agreement with this; and though it is by no means denied that there were many fine excep- tions, it was then the fashion to be irreligious and immoral. Hannah More, when httle above twenty years of age, was taken from the comparatively quiet coteries of Bristol, and plunged into the whiid of the gay world of London ; the caresses and blandishments of the witty, the great, and the learned, were heaj^ed u^xju her, but her keen, in- stinctive sense of rii^hl Avas in no degree blunted, 24:4: WOMEN DF WORTH. and the endeavors of the world to win her to its side only served to draw forth the more unequivo- cal declaration of her principles. These principles, like the course of every great mind, deepened and widened with progressing years. We find her whose first essay was penned with the design of " fostering a purer morality, gradually increasmg her efforts for the same praiseworthy end, and by and by retiring from the vortex of fashion- able life, to devote herself to the study of the Scriptures, and the composition of works bearing more immediately on the subject of religion. Besides her literary reputation, Mrs. Hannah More was eminent for her piety and philanthropy ; so much so, that, although she had not obtained celebrity by her writings, her memory would have been deservedly cherished as a Christian and phil- anthropist. She Avas ever prompt to originate or help forward philanthropic movements ; she wrote for them — books for the drawing-rooms of the great, and tracts and ballads that insinuated them- selves into the workshops of the town, and the cottages of the country; and she established schools for bestowing the blessings of education and a knowledge of the trnths of the gospel on the poor. She was considerate and liberal to that class during her lifetime, and at her death, the sums bequeathed by her to religious and charitable mstitutions were on ihe most munificent scale. But perhaps the truest and most touching proof of her generosity and kindness to the poor, was that given on the HA^NAJI MOKE. 245 day of her funeral, when each, with some sem- blance of mournmg, they came crowding from village and hamlet to pay a last tribute to their benefactress, and give "all they had to give — a tear." In reading the life of this celebrated person, we cannot fail to be struck with the large amount of good that she effected; and yet she was but a " lone woman ;" and, in addition to the disadvan- tages pertaining to her sex, Mrs. Hannah More was at all times delicate m health, and subject to very frequent illness. In consequence of this, she was deeply impressed with the evil of procrastina- tion, and has recorded in her diary how necessary she felt it to be to prosecute her work assiduously during her intervals of freedom from sickness. This goes to prove that greatness, in general, as well as success, arises less from the possession of great talents, or from favorable circumstances, than the selection of a proper aim, and the resolution to follow it unswervingly. There are multitudes of examples in the world, of a stern and successful resistance of circumstances more overwhelming than any we are Jikely to encounter, that may serve for encouraging and inciting us to emulation. W^e are disiDOsed to lay too much stress on the force of circumstances, forgetting that we are to some extent the originators of them. Then we consider this a capital excuse for our indolence ; it is this that is keeping us inactive.; we are waiting for an opening, instead cf making an opening. As 246 WOMEN OF WORTH. for a favorable opportunity, it is vain for us tc plead the want of them ; we must not be too scru- pulous, but seize the best that happens to come witliin our reach. Hannah More was the youngest of five sisters, and was born at Stapleton, in Gloucestershire, in the year 1745. Her father having lost his money by the unfavorable termination of a lawsuit, lived here in a secluded manner. He was the son of the former master of an endowed school in the neigh- borhood, who, not being encumbered with a super- abundance of pupils, had plenty of leisure to " rear the tender thought" of his son. He, in his turn, " kept the ball moving," as Franklin says of kind- ness, and devoted his time to the education of his daughters ; and as he brought a highly creditable amount of talents and learning to the task, and had good materials to work upon, it is not surprising that he was very successful. This was particularly the case with Hannah, Avho was a somewhat pre- cocious child, and her aptness in the acquisition of the first principles of geometry, and the rudiments of Latin, must have delighted the old man, and transformed the labor of instruction into a pleasant relaxation. The bias of her tastes very early dis- played itself: one of her childish amusements was riding on a chair, accompanied by the announce- ment that " she was gohjg to London to see book- sellers and bishops." It was a darling object of her ambition to attain to the possession of a Avhole quire of paper, and when some friend gratified her HANNAH MOKE. 247 wish, it was speedily filled with letters to imagmary personages. The talents of the whole family were so much above the average that they soon attracted atten- tion, and under the auspices of Dr. Stonehouse and others, the Misses More established a day-school in Bristol : this shortly after gave place to a boarding- school, which long maintained the character of being one of the best and most flourishing in that part of England. To this school Hannah was re- moved when twelve years of age, and eagerly availed herself of the means of extending her knowl- edge now placed within her reach. She acquired a 2:>erfect and idiomatical knowledge of the French, and afterward of the Itahan and Spanish languages. Even at this early period her converisational powers were so fascinating that Dr. Woodw^rdi an eminent scholar, when attending her in his med- ical capacity, under their influence on one occasion so far forgot the object of his visit, that he was proceeding down stairs, when, suddenly recollect- ing hbnself, he returned to the room, exclaiming, *' Bless me ! I forgot to ask the girl how she is." In the year 1762, she gave her first literary com- position to the world, in the shape of a pastoral drama, entitled, " The Search after Happiness." Having met with the approval of Garrick, Dr. Stonehouse, and other persons of hterary taste, it was issued from the Bristol press, and its popu- larity Avas so great, that in a few months it passed through three editions. The poem, as the authoress 248 WOMEN OF WORTH. informs us, had for its object " an earnest wish to furnish a substitute for the very improper custom, which then prevailed, of allowing plays, and these not always of the purest kind, to be acted by young ladies in boarding-schools." About this time a proposal of marriage was made to her by a landed proprietor in the neigh- borhood ; and though Mr. Turner was many years her senior, his oifer was accepted, and she resigned her share in the management of the boarding- school. Owing to various circumstances, however, the engagement was broken off, and although the gentleman soon after sought to renew it, the lady would not give her consent. Her feehngs had un- deniably been trifled with, and she made a resolu- tion to eschew all such overtures in future. It is but due to Mr. Turner to state that he settled an annuity on her, and bequeathed her at his death the sum of one thousand pounds. Perhaps, if we knew it, the hves of many of the tea-bibbing, scan- dal-mongering class, denominated " old maids," contain a little episode of such a vexation, and such a determination; and perhaps the secret of their railing at the world in general is that " there is a cross in their hearts." When in her twenty-second year, Hannah More paid her visit to London, and returned the follow- ing year, to reside for a short time with the Gar- ricks, at their beautiful retreat at Hampton. Here she became acquainted with Johnson, Burke, Rey- nolds, and others of the elite of the hterary world. HANNAH MORE. 249 The great moralist in particular had a most affec- tionate regard for her, terming her " Child," " Lit- tle Fool," " Love," and " Dearest." One of her sisters, in writing home, gives the following inter- esting accomit of a conversation between herself and Johnson. " After much critical discourse, h.Q turns round to me, and with one of his most ami- able looks, which must be seen to form the least idea of it, he says, ' I have heard that you are en- gaged in the useful and honorable employment of teaching young ladies;' upon which, with all the same ease, familiarity, and confidence as we should have done, had only our own Dr. Stonehouse been present, we entered upon the history of our birth, parentage, and education, showing how we were born with more desires than guineas, and how, as years increased, our appetites mcreased also, the cupboard at home being too small to gratify them ; and how, with a bottle of water, a bed, and a blanket, we set out to seek our fortunes ; and how we found a great house with nothing in it; and how it was Uke to remain so, till looking into our knowledge-box, we happened to find a little lar?i' ing, a good thing when land is gone, or rather when there is none ; and so, at last, by giving a little of this little lariiing to those who had less, we got a good store of gold in return, but how ! alas ! we wanted the wit to keep it. ' I love you both,' cried the inamorato ; ' I love you all five. 1 never was at Bristol — I will come on purpose to see you. What ! five women live happily together 1 250 WOMEN OF WORTH. I will come and see you. I have spent a happy evening — I am glad I came. God for ever blesa you ; you live to shame duchesses.' He took his leave with so much warmth and tenderness, we were quite affected at his manner." In what an amiable light does the great moralist appear in such an anecdote as this ; and Madame D'Arblay, an- other of his pets, has many similar in her gossiping diary ; and with all his faults, can we help loving him still ? In the midst of the adidation which was now lavished on the youthful authoress, it is most grati- fying to find her writing thus to one of her sisters : " For my own part, the more I see of the honored, famed, and great, the more I see of the httleness, the unsatisfactoriness of all created good, and that no earthly pleasure can fill up the wants of the immortal principle within." After her return to Bristol, she produced two short poems — " The Bleeding Rock," and " Sir Eldred of the Bower ;" the latter a moral tale in two parts, in the ballad style. A handsome sum was paid for these pieces by Mr. Caddell, and their success Avas so great, that a thousand copies were sold in a fortnight. She now plumed her wing for a higher flight, and the direction which it took was no doubt influenced by her intimacy with the Garricks, as well as the success of her pastoral drama. "The Inflexible Captive," a regular piece in five acts, appeared in 1774, and on its performance in the theatre at Bath was favorably received. It is founded un the well- HANNAH MORE. 251 knoA\^n classical story of Tiegulus, tlie Roman am- bassador to Carthage, and displays considerable power. There are many fine passages, and the in- terest is sustained throughout. Within th e three following years, the t^ o trage- dies of "Percy" and the "Fatal Falsehood" were produced; the former was deservedly the most popular of Miss More's dramatic works. It greatly exceeds "The Inflexible Captive" in point of dram- atic interest; the various characters are brought out Avith much clearness and precision ; and that of Elwina is a particularly fine sketch. In the year 1780, Miss Hannah More paid an- other visit to London, during wliich she resided at the house of the amiable and accomplished widow of Dean Delany, and had the j^rivilege of enlarging the number of her fiterary acquaintances, which, in addition to many distinguished prelates, now in- cluded the names of Walpole, Jenyns, Pepys, Mrs. Boscawen, Mrs. Chapone, and Mrs. Carter. About this time she published a small volume in j^rose, en- titled "Essays for Young Ladies," now very scarce, and a volume of "Sacred Dramas." These dramas were greatly esteemed, and a specimen of a trans- lation of one of them into the Cingalese language, was presented to the authoress, written on a Pal- myra leaf, and enclosed in a beautifully-painted wooden case. IsTor was this the only instance of her works being read in countries where one would little expect them to have found their way, for a Kussian princess, who bad procured some of her 262 WOMEN OF WORTH. short tracts, translated them into Russ, and wrote a complmientary letter to the authoress. We have hitherto traced the career of Hannah More merely as a popular authoress, who Avaa gradually gaining favor in the eyes of the public ; but the time was now come when the results of her careful education in the truths of the Christian religion, and the influence which those principles possess over every Avell-constituted mind, were to be more broadly manifested. The death of her friend Garrick severed the strongest link between her and the dramatic world, and the sense of the hollowness of worldly enjoyments pressed uj)on her mind with ever-increasing force. She had all along retained her native simplicity of character, and the adulation that was lavished on her had left as Uttle trace as water on the plumage of a bird : she had never suffered herself to be intoxicated by the pleasures of the world ; and what a testimony it is to their unsatisfactoriness, that they palled upon the taste of one who had enjoyed those of the most refined description, and always with a due regard to mode- ration. The cast of her mmd was eminently prac- tical ; this was e^ddenced as early as the time that her juvenile pastoral, "The Search after Happiness,'* was produced, for, as we have stated, it sprang from a nobler wish than a youthful love of notoriety. Even the three most ambitious effVisions of her dramatic muse were not written as mere passports to fame. Her oAvn reading, and the society in which she mingled at that period, gave her thoughts •^i HANNAIL MOKE. JOd a strong bent toward the stage ; but she viewed it not only as an entertainment, but as a powerful lever of the heart, and one which she hoped to enHst on the side of virtue. Her plays were written under that impression, though in after years she abandoned the hope of metamorphosing the theatre mto a school of virtue, and became convinced that "this Utopian good could not be produced, until not only the stage itself had undergone a complete purification, but until the audience was purified also." In conformity with her desire of withdrawing more from the world, Hannah More, in 1786, pur- chased a neat cottage in the neighborhood of Bris- tol, called Cowslip Green. IsTanght of ascetism, however, entered into her ideas of retirement ; she who had tasted wisely and temj^erately of the pleasures of society, partook in equal moderation of the sweets of seclusion. Her annual visits to her friend, Mrs. Garrick, in London, were still con- tinued, and from time to time she indulged in in- tercourse with the most eminent Hterary characters of the day. Theology had even in early life been one of her favorite studies, and she gladly embraced the op- portunity now afibrded her of prosecuting it with greater vigor. Two years after her retreat to Cowslip Green, she published a small tract, enti- tled, "Thoughts on the Manners of the Great," followed in the same year by a poem on " Slavery." About ten miles distant from the residence of 254: WOIVIEN OF WOETII. Miss Hannah More and licr sisters, lay the village of Chedder. It is picturesquely situated at the'' mouth of a narrow ravine in the Mendip Hills : close to the town, fantastically-shaped cliffs of lime-stone shoot abruptly upward, to the height of several hundreds of feet ; and those who penetrate mto the gorge, which extends for nearly three miles, are rewarded by a display of the grandest rocky scenery in all " merry England." The coun- try around is rich pasture-land; and the dairies have long been celebrated for their cheese, which in the days of Camden was so good and so great, that it required more than one man to hoist a cheese on to the table. But it was not the garden- like fertility of the country, nor the romantic beauty of the village, that drew toward it the notice of Hannah More. The rural population of this fine district were in a state of terrible demoraUzation, which will be best described by the following ex- tract from a letter of Miss More to her friend Wil- berforce: "We found more than two thousand people in the parish, almost all very poor; no gentry; a dozen wealthy farmers, hard, brutal, and ignorant. We saw but one Bible in all the parish, and that was used to prop a flower-pot. No cler- gjTiian had resided in it for forty years. One rode over, three miles from Wells, to preach once on a Sunday, but no weekly duty was done, or sick persons visited; and children were often buried without any funeral service. Eight persons in the HAITNAH MORE. 255 morning, and twenty in the afternoon, was a good congregation." But, *' For man's neglect, she loved it more." A wide field was extended on wMch to exert her energies, and nobly she and her two sisters labored in the performance of their self-appointed work. The influence which the French Revolution ex- ercised on the lower classes in this country induced her to publish a tract, entitled "Village Politics, in a Dialogue between two Mechanics." The sale and circulation of this little work were astonishing, and led her, in 1795, to commence a regular series, which was issued monthly from Bath, under the name of the " Cheap Repository Tracts." During the same year, which was one of horror and com- motion abroad, and anxiety and scarcity at home, her purse and liand were no less readily opened to relieve the one, than her pen had been used to counteract the influence of the other. At her hos- pitable door the poor were supphed with soup and food, and every means in her power were taken to assist them, and mitigate their sufterings. Nor was her liberality restricted to her own country- men, for the sum of £240, the proceeds of a publi- cation, " Remarks on a Production of M. Dupont, a French Atheist," was devoted to the rehef of the French emigrant clergy, who flocked in consider- able numbers to our shores. In the year lYOQ, Hannah More (who now as- Bimaed the title of Mrs.) wrote her " Strictures on 250 WOMEN OF WORTH. • the Modern System of Female Education." From some of tlie opinions advanced in this work, and fi'om the opposition to her schools reviving in a quarter where it might least have been expected, Mrs. More was subjected to a seri-es of calumni- ations and persecutions that would have been try- ing to a person of ordinary sensibility, and must have been severely so to a woman who was desirous of living as much in retirement as was compatible with the schemes of usefulness she sought to carry out. Mrs. More, in 1802, changed her residence from Cowslip Green to Barley Wood — beautiful Barley Wood — famihar to every one as a household name. To this charming retreat, where she dwelt for more than twenty years, crowds of the wisest, greatest, and best congregated to visit her. It was proposed at this period to commit to her the superinten- dence of the education of the Princess Charlotte of Wales. This scheme was not carried into effect, but it probably led to the publication, in 1805, of two volumes, " Hints towards Forming the Char- acter of a Young Princess." This work, which was anonymous, procured the author the flattering compliment of several letters from the heads of the church, beginning and ending with " Sir." It was dedicated to Dr. John Fisher, bishop of Exeter, then tutor to her Poyal Highness, and he brought it under the notice of her Majesty, who signified her gracious approval of it. A few years after- ward, the novel of " Ccelebs in Search of a Wife " HANNAH MOEE. 257 dame ont, in two volumes, and, like its predecessor, without the author's name. " The discerning pub- iic," however, were not slow in attributmg it to its proper source. This novel achieved a wide popu- larity. We have already mentioned that theology and scriptural subjects possessed great attractions in the estimation of Mrs. More, and she now gave to the w^orld some of the fruits of her studies. She printed, in 1811, a very excellent treatise, entitled, " Practical Piety ; or, the Influence of the Rehgion of the Heart on the Conduct of Life ;" and the succeeding year, a work on " Christian Morals." In the preface to the last, she tendered her thanks to the public for their long-continued patronage, apologized for another appearance as an authoress, and bade them adieu in that capacity. We know not what Joshua Geddes, or those of his sect, would have said to the " taking back her word," which followed thereupon ; but the public in general had reason to esteem it a fortunate circumstance, and surely such sensible people as the Society of Friends would be of the same opinion. It was in- deed one of her grandest Uterary performances that she gave to the world in 1815, under the title of "An Essay on the Character and Writings of St. Paul." The design of this work was to delineate the alluring features of the Christian life, as they were displayed in the conduct of the apostle, " for a pattern to them which should hereafter believe." In the year 1819, she printed another work, "^'MoraJ 17 268 woivrEN of wokth. Sketches of Prevailing Opinions and Manners, Foreign and Domestic, with Reflections on Prayer," forming a sequel to her "Practical Piety," and *' Christian Morals." The sale of this publication also was extensive and speedy, though it was for the most part merely a collection of sketches from real life, which had formerly made their appearance in the pages of the " Christian Observer." We cannot resist the temptation of transcribing here a portion of a letter which gives a most graphic picture of the occupant of Barley Wood at this period of her life : — " I was much struck by the air of affectionate kindness with which the old lady welcomed me to Barley Wood ; there was something of courtliness about it, at the same time the ' courtliness of the vieille coitr which one reads of, but so seldom meets. Her dress was of hght green Venetian silk ; a yel- low, richly embroidered crape shawl enveloped her shoulders ; and a pretty net cap, tied under her chin with white satin ribbon, completed the costume. Her figure is singularly ^je^zi^e/ but to have any idea of the expression of her countenance, you must imagine the small withered face of a woman in her eighty-seventh year ; and imagine also (shaded, but not obscured, by long and perfectly Avhite eyelashes) eyes dark, brilHant, flashing, and penetrating ; sparkhng from object to object with all the fire and energy of youth, and smiling wel- come on all around. "When I fii-st entered the room, Lady S HANNAH MORE. 259 and her family were there ; they soon prepared to depart ; but the youngest boy, a fine Httle fellow of six, looked anxiously iii Mrs. More's face after she had kissed him, and his mamma said, 'You will not forget Mrs. Hannah, my dear ?' He shook his head. ' Do not forget me, my dear child,' said the kind old lady, assuming a playful manner ; 'but they say your sex is naturally capricious. There, I will give you another kiss; keep it for my sake, and when you are a man, remember Han- nah More.' — ■ ' I will,' he repHed, ' remember that you loved children.' It was a beautiful compU- meut." Mrs. More was now doomed to experience the sorrowful compensation that must be paid for a hfe prolonged to the verge of fourscore and ten years. Of the five talented Mores — the five women who, to Dr. Johnson's amazement, hved happily together — Hannah was the sole representative ; her sister Sarah having died in 1817, and her favorite Patty, two years later. And beside those mem- bers of her own family, there were many losses to be bewailed of those friends with whom, in other years, she had "taken sweet counsel together." As she herself remarked to a visitor, " Johnson, Burke, Garrick, Rejmolds, Porteous — all — all the associates of my youth are gone." "Yet when as one by one sweet sounds And wandering lights departed, She wore no less a loving face, Althouirb so broken hearted.** 260 WOMEN OF WOETH. Her own health was decidedly failing, but, though she had become so infirm as to be unable to leave her room, her mind had lost none of its accustomed vigor, and, in 1822, she occupied her- self during an illness with preparing for the press a small volume on Prayer. With this work she laid aside for ever the powerful pen that had been wielded so well to " defend the right ;" but there still lingered for a season, the eloquence of the hps and of the life. And eloquent indeed those must have been to all who heard and saw her, standing as she was " in the shadow of coming death ;" and inconceivably " sublime and subhmating " must have been the shadow that comiug events cast be- fore it, over her who had left behind a long vista of years spent in glorifying God, and doing good to man. In consequence of the disgraceful conduct of her servants, which was accidentally discovered by a visitor, Mrs. More considered it advisable to leave her much-loved haunt of Barley Wood, and take up her abode at Clifton, whither she removed in 1825. Mrs. Hannah More lived in Clifton for sev- eral years after this event, honored, respected, and beloved by all about her ; as how could they choose but love one who was "cheerful as the day,'* and: had such depths of tenderness in her dark eyes, or else her portrait sadly belies her ? But her long and useful life was drawing to a close. She became more and more subject to catarrhal attacks, and, during the winter months of 1832, had occasional HANNAH MOKE. 261 paroxysms of delirium. The account of htr last illness is thus given by an eye-witness:— During this illness of ten months, the time was passed in a series of alternations between restlessness and com- posure, long sleeps and long wakefulness, with oc- casional great excitements, elevated and sunken tspirits. At length nature seemed to shrink from further conflict, and the time of her deliverance drew near. On Friday, the 6th of September, 1833, we offered up the mornmg family devotion by her bedside ; she was silent, and apparently at- tentive, with her hands devoutly lifted up. From eight in the evening of this day till nearly nine, I sat watching her. Her face was smooth and glow- ing ; there was an unusual brightness in its expres- sion. At about ten, the symptoms of speedy de- parture could not be doubted. She fell hito a dozing sleep, and slight convulsions succeeded, which seemed to be attended with no pain. Con- trary to expectation, she survived the night. She continued till ten minutes after one, when I saw the last gentle breath escape, and one more was added ' to that multitude wliich no man can number, who sing the praises of God and of the Lamb for ever and ever.' " Her remains were interred on the 13th of Sep- tember, beside those of her sisters, in the church- yard of Wrington, not far from the grave of Locke. It was her own wish that her funeral should be private, and that, instead of money being expended in useless show, suits of mom-ning should be givea 262 WOMEN OF WOETH. to fifteen old men, whom she nominated. The bells of all the churches were tolled as the cortege passed through Bristol, and a short distance from Wrington the whole of the gentlemen of the neigh- bourhood joined the procession. But perhaps the most affecting part of all the pageant was the lines of weeping villagers formed on each side of the road, every one in the nearest approximation to mourning that poverty would allow. Al^N FLAXMAN. 263 THE SCULPTOR'S ASSISTANT. ANN FLAXMAN, Wu'E of John Flaxman, tlie celebrated sculptor deserves a place among distinguislied women, for the admirable maimer in which she devoted herself 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 fjxme, had no one but this chosen partner of his life who sympathized in his success. She was amiable and accomplished, had a taste for art and hterature, was skilful in French and Italian, and, like her hus- band, had acquired some knowledge of the Greek. But what was better than all, she was an enthusi- astic admirer of his genius — she cheered and en- couraged him in his moments of despondency — • regulated modestly and prudently his domestic economy — arranged his drawings — managed now and then his correspondence, and acted in aU par- 204 WOMEN OF WOKTH. ticulars so that it seemed as if the church, in per- forming a marriage, had accomphshed a miracle, and blended them really into one flesh and one blood. That tranquility of mind, so essential to those who Hve 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 matri- mony had for a time interrupted. He had never doubted that in the company of her whom he loved he should be able to work with an intenser spirit; but of another opinion 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 Den- man has done it : I met Sir Joshua Reynolds just now, and he said marriage 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, deternuned peo- ple, who asked no one's advice, who shared their domestic secrets with none of their neighbors, and Uved as if they were unconscious that they were in /^;aI:5JI£- S\^^ "To^r^ O^V^J JOBTN FL^lSMAN UtTTNED FOR AN ARTIST. " So Flaxman ' said the JrTesident 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 Flasman went home, sat down beside his wife, took her hand, and said, with •I smile, 'I am ruined for an artist.' John,' said she, 'how has this happened, and who has done it r ' It happened,' said he, ' m the church, and Vnn Denman has done it ; I met Si.' doshua Reynolds just now, and he said marriage had ruined rao in my profession.' "—Page 264. ANN FLAXMAN. 265 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, hut these Avords of Reynolds have determined me. I shall go to Rome as soon as my affaks are fit to be left ; and to show him that Avedlock is lor a man's good rather than his harm, you shall accompany me. If I remain here, I shall be accused of igno- rance 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 resolution Mrs. Flaxman fully concurred. They resolved to prepare them- selves in silence for the journey, to inform no one of their intentions, and to set, meantime, a still stricter watch over their expenditure. No assist- ance was proffered by the Academy, nor was any asked ; and five years elapsed from the day of the memorable speech of the president, before Flax- man, by incessant study and labor, had accumu- lated the means of departing for Italy. They went together; and in aU his subsequent labors 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 happi- ness, had been always at his side. She was a most cheerful, intelligent woman; a collector, too, of drawings and sketches, and an admirer of Stothard, of whose designs and prints she had amassed more than a thousand. Pier husband paid her the double 266 WOMEN OF WOIiTH. 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 dic- tionary." She maintained the simplicity and dig- nity of her husband, and refused all presents of paintings, or drawings, or books, unless some recip- rocal interchange were made. It is almost need- less to say that Flaxman loved such a woman very tenderly. The hour of their separation approached — she fell ill, and died in the year 1820 ; and from the time of this bereavement, something hke a lethargy came over his spirit, although he, as his biographer remarks, was " surrounded with the applause of the world." He survived his wife six years. MRS. WORDS WORTH. 267 THE POET'S COMPANlOir. MRS. WORDSWORTH. [raOM A SERMON PEEAOHKD IN W'BSTMINSTEB ABBEY ON TlTE SUNBAV AFTEB HEB DEATH.] " There be some standing here that shall not taste of death." Matt. xtI. 9-^. Let us not imagine that these words are appli- cable merely to eminent saints and martyrs. They are realized every day and every hour, in the peaceful dissolution of all who depart henoa in the true faith and fear of God. Far be from us, my brethren, the spirit of irrev- erent curiosity, which pries into the sanctities of private death-beds, and reveals their secrets to the world. But when Almighty God takes to himself the spirits of just men and holy women, and when their mortal remains are consigned to the peaceful chambers of the tomb, in the hope of a glorious resurrection, then Cki'istian piety loves to linger at their graves, and to ponder on the lessons of wis- dom which may be learnt from their examples. Bear with me, therefore, my beloved brethren, in making here a passing allusio?i to one who de* '2QS WOMEN or WORTH. parted this life in the bygone week, full of years and good works, and whose body now rests in peace by the side of a mountain stream, in a quiet country churchyard. Let me be permitted to invite you to meditate for a few moments by the side of that grave. It is not the grave of a soldier, illustrious for heroic deeds, it is not the grave of a statesman, distin- guished by poHtical wisdom and biilliant elo- quence ; it is not the grave of any of the noble or great of this world ; but it is the grave of an aged widow, who lived in retirement in a beautiful spot, in a fair region of our own land ; and it is not for any personal purpose, but for the sake of the public lessons of religious wisdom which may thence be derived, that you are now invited to pause for a moment there. She was the wife of an English poet, who ap- peared before the world at the close of the last cen- tury — one whose poems were at first received with cold indifference or disdainful scorn, except by some few prophetic spirits who acknowledged their value and augured their fame — one who, nothing daunted by harsh judgments and rash censures, not cast down by despondency, not irritated by obloquy, not brooding in sullen moodiness over his own ill-requited labors — but, conscious of the secret breathings of poetic inspiration stirring within him, toiled on calmly and quietly, devoting the intellec tual gifts he had received from God to the glory of the great Giver, and to the welfare of human MRS. WORDSWORTH. 269 kind, in interpreting to the world the beautiful mag- nificence of nature, and in throwing a veil of grace- ful delicacy over the common concerns of daily life, and in elevating and purifying the thoughts by high and holy aspirations, and in enlisting the sym- pathies and aifections of mankind in whatever is good and great, noble and lovely — especially when It is found in the life of the lowly-minded, the meek, the simple, and the poor. He labored year after year, and he did not labor in vain. He scaled the hill of fame, and won his way to glory. The author of the "Lyrical Bal- lads " and of the " Excursion," the late Poet Lau- reate of England — for of him we now speak — re- ceived in his old age from the royal hand the noblest meed of praise that could be conferred by it on poetic genius ; he was greeted by academic applause; the fame which he had earned in Eng- land was echoed across the Atlantic, with a voice of cordial assent, from every part of America ; and at length, after his death, his memory was honored by a monument erected by pubhc contributions, in this sacred Minster, in this mausoleum of national genius, amid the trophies of national glory. And what now is our moral ? what is our reli- gious inference from these facts ? How were they brought to pass ? Where, let us ask, under God, was a mainspring of the comfort which cheered him in days of difiiculty and of chilling neglect? Whence was the genial light which gleamed over his path? 270 WOMEN OF WORTH. It was — as he himself has declared in his pub- lished writings — it was in his marriage union. It was in his conjugal partnership with a holy and virtuous woman, whose price is above rubies. It was in his wedded Hfe, in holy fellowship with one who was richly endued with " the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which (as the Apostle testi- fies) is in the sight of God of great price." (1 Pet. iii. 3.) This it was which gave consolation and joy to his hours of care and sadness, and minis- tered strength and courage for his noble intellec- tual work. This it was which conduced to im- port a holy fragrance and a healthful tone to his writings, and made tlieni more instrumental in the diiFu.-sion of 23ublic and permanent good in this and other lands Blessed consummation! leaving a beautiful ex- ample of tlie salutary influence exercised by wo- man's love, by woman's faith, by woman's qmet- ness, meekness, gentleness, holiness, over men of vigorous minds, endued mth great intellectual gifts, and stirred by strong emotions, such as are generally found in those who are endued with poetic genius, and are fired with fervid imagina- tions. The influence of holy womanhood on such minds as these is Hke that of a spiritual gravitation. It is like that elemental influence of attraction, never seen, but always felt, which acts upon the heavenly bodies themselves, and controls those planetary luminaries, traveling in their rapid course, and keeps them in their proper spheres, and makes MRS. WOEDSWOETH. 271 them ministers of light, of health, and joy to the world. Here let woman see her privileges, here let her recognize her powers. Her might is in meekness. *'In quietness shall be your strength." (Isa. xxx. 15.) It resides in the hidden springs of the heart, m holy instincts, and delicate reserve, and modest re^'erence, and tender sensibilities 272 WOMEN OF WOETH. THE CHEISTIAIsr HEROINi. HARRIET NEWELL, The first American heroine of the missionary enter- prise, was born at Haverhill, Massachusetts, Octo- ber 10th, 1793. Her maiden name was Atwood. 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, Harriet Atwood jmarried the Kev. Samuel NeweU, 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 reachinor the island she became the mother of a child, which died in five days. On the 30th of November, seven weeks and foar days after her confinement, 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 * . HAERIET NEWELT,. 2T3 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, ap- parently, done this, better and more effectually, than the longest life and most arduous labors of any one of the noble band 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 Amer- ican 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 vaUey 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 maityr. Heathen lands are dotted over with the graves of fallen Christians; missionary women sleep on almost every shore, and the bonea of some are whitening in the fathomless depths of the ocean, 18 274: WOMEN OF WOETH. N'ever will the influence of the devoted womaB whose life and death are here portrayed, be es- timated 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 suffered, for others have suffered 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 East. Things have changed since then. Our missiona- ries go forth with the approval of aU 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 splendor around the name of Har- riet NeweU, and invests her short eventful life with such a charm. She went when no foot had trodden out the path, and was the first American mission- ary 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 wiU be mingled with the loved ones who are falhng year by year ; and if, when the glad millennium comes, and the eartb is con- HAKKIET NEWELL. 275 Veitedto God, some crowns brighter than, otliera Bhall be seen amid the throng of the ransomed, one of those crowns will be foimd upon the head of }-[arriet Newell." "History is busy with us," said Marie Antoi- nette ; and the hope that her heroic endurance of i^jnominy and suffering would be recorded, and en- fcure the pity and admiration of a future age, doubt- less 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 siilf-conscious. The greatest souls, those who elevate himianity 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 toward God. She does what she can, feeUng constantly how small is the mite she gives ; and the worth which it is afterward discovered 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 rehgious feelings and the events of her short missionary life. These fragments have been pub- lished, making a little book. Such is her contribu- tion to literature; yet this smaU work has been and is now of more importance to the intellectual progress of the world than all the works of Madame de Stael. The Avritiugs of Harriet Newell, trans- lated into several tongues, ai d pubhshed in many 276 WOMEN CF WOKTH. editions, have reached tie 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 highest elevation but througli the medium of moral cultivation. BAKAJl ItAls^MAN BMITH. 277 THE MISSIOISTAEY'S WIFE. SARAH LANMAN SMITH, Was born in Norwich, Connecticut, June 18, 1802. Her father was Jabez Huntington, Esq. Her biographer, Rev. Edward W. Hooker, says of her early years, after describing her sufferings from ill health during childhood, and also from the severity of a school-mistress, which cncumstances, added to the death of her mother, had the effect to bring out gi^eat 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 vktues which are useful and lovely; and probably went as far in those excel- lences of natural character on which many en- deavor 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. 278 WOMEN OF WOKl^. "She was exceedingly attached to her friends. Her father was ahnost 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 beheved the instances are rare in which the parties are uniformly happier in each other, in that relation, than were Mrs. Hmi- tington and this daughter. Her warmth and ten- derness of affection as a sister were also peculiar and exemplary. Her childhood and youth were marked with great delicacy of mind and manners ; diligence, promptitude, and efficiency in her under- takings ; love of system and fondness for study, improvement, and the acquirement of useful knowl- edge, joined with a great desu-e to answer the wishes and expectations of her friends. Dutiful- ness and respect for her parents and grandjjarents ; reverence for her superiors generally ; readiness to receive advice or admonition; a just appreciation of the good influence of others, and a spirit of cau- tiousness respecting whatever might be injurious to her own character, were also prominent traits in her habits. Disinterestedness and self-denial for the benefit of others were conspicuous. Long be- fore 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 charactei* in the later years of her hfe. Self government economy SAltAH LAJSTMAN 6MITH. 271) in the use of her time and pocket-money ; tasteful* ness in dress, without extravagance ; and a careful and conscientious consideration of her father's re- sources, also were observable in her early habits. These traits are not mentioned because they are not found in many other young persons, but be- cause they appeared in her in an uncommon de- gree." The vii'tues and graces of character enumerated do not, it is true, constitute the holiness of a Chris- tian — that is, the especial gift of the Holy Spirit, to sanctify the heart ; but they do show a state of feehng naturally incHned to the morahties of life, to which sin, acted out, would have been at " en- mity." Her " moral sense " was refined and en- lightened ; she only needed the breath of divine grace to turn her heart to God ; all her ways were in harmony with his laws ; while converted men have, usually, the whole inner course of their lives to alter, or at least to put off the " old man with his deeds y" which is the struggle of a carnal nature women do not often have to undergo. Mrs. Smith is a true and lovely illustration 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 determmed to live the hfe of duty, and seek her own happiness in doing good to others. Thia £80 WOMEN OF WORTH. cliange 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 Hunting- ton was married to the Rev. Eh Smith, of the American mission at Beyroot, Syria ; and she went to that remote region as the " help meet " for a humble missionary. She was singularly fitted for this important station, having been a voluntary missionary 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 office of moral teacher as among the most efficient causes of the success of the Gos- pel. The literary merits of her writings are of a high order; we venture to say, that, compared 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 reasoning powers, as well as her moral and rehgious senthnents, to bear on any subject discussed; the following is proof in point. The powerful competition which the mis- sionary cause held in Miss Huntington's affections, with her home and all its pleasant circumstances, SAKAH LANMAN SINHTH. 281 may be learned from two or three sentences m one of her letters written a few months before she left her comitry. "To make and receive visits, ex- change friendly salutations, attend to one's ward- robe, cultivate a garden, read good and entertain- hig books, and even attend religious meetings for one's own enjoyment; 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 ncAV and un- looked for trials and hindrances ; still it is my choice to be there. And so far from looking upon it as a difficult task to sacrifice my home and comi- try, 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 wiU ]3rovide 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 eflect on the mixed population of Moslems, Syrians, Jews ; visiting and instructing the mothers 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 282 WOMEN OF WOKTH. ground of the latter her precious dust reposes, be- neath a monument which does honor to America, by showing the heroic and holy character of her missionary daughters. LADT WARWICK. 283 THE LABOKER m THE YINEYAED. LADY WARWICK. The Right Honorable Mary, Countess of Warwick, was celebrated alike for her piety and accomplish- ments. She was born in November, in the year 1624, and died April 12th, 1677, aged 53. Her life extended over those years of the eventful sev- enteenth century which saw the splendor, the fall, and the restoration of the Stuart dynasty. Lady Warwick's maiden name was Mary Boyle. She was the daughter of that Mr. Richard Boyle, born 1566, who, from the position of a private gen- tleman, rose by his merits to be the first, or great Earl of Cork. She had seven brothers and seven sisters, several of whom became illustrious ; espe- cially the Honorable Robert Boyle, who attained BO much eminence as a Christian philosopher. Lady Warwick had only two children, a daugh- ter, who died young, and that promising young nobleman. Lord Rich, who died in 1664. Her life affords us a conspicuous proof that there existed among the nobihty and gentry of her period some persons of devoted piety who do not make 284: WOMEN OF WOKTIl. much figure in our historical annals, as they pur- posely kept themselves as free as possible from the numerous political pertm'bations of the times in which they lived. Her "Diary" furnishes a vivid and graphic pic- ture — not only of her ladyship's character, but of the actual every-day hfe of her contemporaries; and also alludes to many events of the time which have been too little noticed by other writers. It affords us a peep behind the curtain at the secret history of the leading persons of the age, which is alike interesting and improving to reflective read- ers. On the whole, Lady Warwick stands before us as an eminently devout and excellent character. Her life and writings present to our fellow-coun- trywomen — especially those in the higher classes — ' a noble picture of the true piety, dignity, and grace which the daughters, wives, and mothers of England should seek to cultivate and to display. The most imjoortant biographical notice of her that has yet appeared is in a work of her friend and pastor. Dr. Anthony Walker. It bears this singular title : " The Virtuous Woman Found, her Loss Bewailed, and Character Exemplified, in a Sermon pi cached at Felsted, in Essex, April 30th, 1678, at the fmieral of that most excellent lady the Right Honorable and eminently religious and char- itable Mary, Coimtess Dowager of Warwick, the most illustrious pattern of sincere piety and solid goodness this age hath produced: with so large LADY wahwice:. 285 additions, as may be styled, The Life of that ISToble Lady. To which are annexed, some of her Lady- ship's Pious and Useful Meditations : by Anthony Walker, D.D., and rector of Fyfield, in the same ODunty." The first edition of this work was printed for Nathaniel Ranew, St. Paul's Churchyard, A. D. 1678, and another A. D. 1687, and it is from this graphic memoir, written with so much of the old- world warmth, fulness, and directness, that the following picture of Lady Warwick's grave but winning character is taken. God made use of two more remote means of her conversion — afflictions and retirement. Like the wise man in the Gospel, Matt. vii. 24, she dug deep to lay her foundation on a rock. She made a strict scrutiny into the state of her soul, and weighed the reasons of her choice on the balance of the sanctuary. And, with the other builder of the Gospel, sat down and considered with herself what it might cost to finish her spir- itual edifice, and whether she were furnished to defray that charge. And also whether the grounds of her hope were fii-m, and such as would not abuse and shame her, and her evidences for heaven such as would bear the test and Scripture would approve. An account of this self-examination she drew up at large, with her own hand, judiciously, soberly, modestly, humbly. Having thus put her hand to the plough, she 286 WOMEN OF WORTH. looked not back, but minded religion as her busi- ness indeed, and never gave suspicion of triflmg in so serious a work. Therefore, for her practice of it, it was her great design to walk worthy of God in all well pleasing, to adorn her professed subjection to the gospel by a conversation becoming it, and to show forth hia virtues &nd praises who had called her to his mar- velous hght. She was circumspectly careful to abstain from aU appearance of evil. In all doubtful cases, it was her rule to take the surest side. Though, there- fore, none were further from censuring others, or usurping judgment over their Uberties, yet for her- self she would never allow herself the addition of artificial handsomeness. She used neither paint nor patch, and was pleased with the saying of one of her spiritual friends, upon reading the book which apologizes for it: "O Lord, I thank thee that thou gavest me not wit enough to write such a book, unless withal thou hadst given me grace enough not to write it." Neither would she play at any games ; because, beside many other incon- veniences, she judged them great wasters of pre- cious time, of which she was always very thrifty. And though she was known to be a woman of good understanding, yet there were three things that were too hard for hei, and she would confess she could not comprehend them : 1. How those who professed to beheve an eter- nal state, and its dependence upon the short inch LADY WARWICK. 287 of time, could complain of time lying as a dead coinniodity on tlieir hand, which they were troubled how to diive away 2. How Christians, who would seem devout at church, could laugh at others for being serious out of it, and burlesque the very Bible, and turn reli- gion into ridicule. 3. How knowing men could take care of souls, and seldom come amongst them, and never look after them. And though, in the fore-named particulars, she was content only to give example of forbearance ; yet from the playhouse, since the stage hath taken so great liberty, she would openly dehort her friends with the greatest earnestness. She very many years since began to keep a diary; and consulted two, whom she used to call her soul-friends — and ever esteemed such her best friends — concerning the best manner of performing it. This "diary" she used at first to write every evening ; but finding that inconvenient, by reason of her lord's long illness, which gave her many inevitable diversions and interruptions at that season, she changed the time into the quiet, silent morning, always rising early. And therein, amongst other thmgs, she recorded the daily frame of her own heart toward God, his signal providences to herself and sometimes toward others, his gracious manifestations to her soul, returns of prayer, temp- tations resisted or prevailing; or wl atever might be useful for caution or encouragement, and afford 288 WOMEN OF WORTH. her matter of thankfulness or humiliation. By this means she arrived at such experience that she could conclude (at least make strong conjectures) of the events of things she spread before the Lord in prayer, by the frame of her own heart in the performance of it, as I could mstance in particulars if it were convenient. She used to call prayer, " heart' s-ease ;" as she often found it ; and though her modesty was such, and she was so far from a vain affected ostentation of her gifts, that I cannot name one person with whom she prayed, yet can I say she was as mighty and fervent in prayer as constant and abundant in it : for she sometimes, using her voice, hath been overheard ; and her own lord, knowing her hours of prayer, once conveyed a grave minister into a secret place within hearing ; Vv^ho, if I should name him, I suppose would not be denied to be a com- petent judge, and who much admired her humble fervency ; for she, prajdng, prayed ; and when she used not an audible voice, her sighs and groans would echo from her closet at a good distance. But if she exceeded herself in any thing as much as she excelled others in most things, it was in meditation : this was her master-piece. She usually walked two hours daily in the morning to meditate alone ; in which divine art she was an accomplished mistress, both in set times and occasional. In the first, choosing some select subject, which she would press upon her heart with intensest thoughts till she had drawn out all its juice and nourishment; LADY WARWICK. 289 fiii*l in the second, like a, spii-itual b(»e, she would Buck honey from all occurrences, whole volumes of which she hath left behind her. After tliis consecrating of the day with reading the Scriptures, prayer, and meditation, a short dressing-time, and ordering her domestic affairs, or reading some good book, she spent the remain- der of the morning till chapel-prayers, from which she was never absent, and at which she was ever reverent and a devout example to her whole family. She was a strict observer of the Lord's day, which is truly called the hedge and fence of reli- gion ; and though some please themselves to call tliis Judaizing, to excuse tlje liberties they indulge themselves, I am sure our church hath enjoined us all to cry to God for mercy for the breach of, and for the grace to incline our hearts to keep the fourth commandment, as well as any of the other nine. And it is not hard to observe that the streams of religion are deep or shallow according as those banks ai-e kept up or neglected. She was a very devout communicant, seldom omitting to prepare her soul with solemn fasting to renew her covenant wdth God. And in the act of receivuig, I cannot think of her without reflecting on St. Stephen, when he saw the heavens opened and Jesus standing at God's right hand, and his face was as the face of an angel. She was a very serious and attentive hearer of the word, and constantly after sermon recollected 19 290 . WOMEN OF WORTH. what slie heard — sometimes by writing, always by thinking, and calling it to mind — that she might make it her own, and turn it into practice; not content to be a forgetful, fruitless hearer only, but a doer, that she might be blessed in her deed. And such she was for the external performances of religion. And though this was beautiful and lovely, yet her chief glory was within, in the hidden man of the heart, in that which is not corruptible, in that dress of graces which adorned her soul. This string was all of orient pearls, and evenly matched, not one ill- watered or of unequal size. There was not one dried or withered limb, one member want- ing or defective in the new creature; she was com- plete in Christ, all of a piece. She avowedly designed to rei:)resent religion as amiable and taldng, and free from vulgar prejudice, as possibly she might ; not so as might affright and scare men from it, but that it might allure them, and insinuate itself into their love and liking. To this end she was affable, familiar, pleasant, of a free and agreeable conversation, unaffected, not sour, reserved, morose, nor disposed to melancholy, which presents religion most disadvantageously. She was naturally of the sweetest temper m the world ; and grace, inoculated into such a stock, thrives even hixuriantly. Whereas, some crabbed, peevish, sul len natures starve the best scion they are grafted with. And she made grace and nature both sub- servient to the good of oihers. LADY WARWICK, i591 As we say of some neat, well-fashioned persons, " whatever they wear becomes them, and sits well,'* I must do her this right to testify I never saw re- ligion become any person better. And it was hard not to approve and love a dress so decent and adorning. She kept herself free and disinterested from all parties and factions, that none might suspect her of a design of making proselytes to any but to God. She was neither of Paul, nor Apollos, nor Cephas, but only Christ. Her name was Christian, and her sm-name Catholic. She had a large and unconfined soul, not hemmed in or pounded up within the circle of any man's name or drawing ; a latitudina- rian in the true commendable sense ; and whoever feared God and wrought righteousness was accept- ed of her. She very moffensively, regularly, devoutly, ob- served all the orders of the Church of England, in its Liturgy and public service, which she failed not to attend twice a day with exemplary reverence ; yet was she very far from placing religion in ritual observances. And I may not deny that she would sometimes warm her heart (though never with strange fii-e) at private altars in her own chamber or closet. She would perfume the company with good dis- course, to prevent idle or worse communication, not abruptly, upbraidingly, or importunely, which is very nauseous and fulsome, and spoils a good §92 WOMEN OF WOETH. game by bad playing. But she was like a spu'itual stove; you should feel the heat and not see the fire, and find yourself in oiher company amongst the same persons, and rather wonder than perceive how you came there. For she would drop a wise sentence or moral holy apothegm (with which she was admirably furnished, of her own making or collection) that suited with, at least was not far remote from what was talked of; and commending or improving that, she would wind about the whole discourse without offence, yea, with plea- sure. She kept a book of such wise pithy sayings, much valuing words which contained great use and worth in httle compass. I shall transcribe a few of many : "The almost Christian is the unhappiest man; having religion enough to make the world hate him, and not enough to make God love him. " God's servants should be as bold for him as the devil's are for him. " What will make thee happy at any time wiR make thee happy at all times. " O Lord, what I give thee doth not please thee, unless I give thee myself. So what thou givest me shall not satisfy me, unless thou give me thy- seH". " O Lord, who givest grace to the humble, give me grace to be humble. " He loves God too little, who loves anything mth him, which he loves not for him. LADY AVAR WICK. 293 " The true measure of loving God is to love him without measure. " So speak of God as though men heard thee ; so speak to men as kno^ring God hears thee. " Seneca said, he was better born than to be a slave to his body. " Luther said, Christ's cross is no letter ; yet it taught him more than all the alphabet. " We should meditate of Christ's cross till we be fastened as close to him as he was to his cross. *' By how much the more Christ made himself vile for us, by so much the more precious he should be to us. " We need every day blood for our hearts, as water for our hands. " He only can satisfy us who satisfied /br us. "He that takes up Christ's cross handsomely shall find it such a burden as wings to a bird, or sails to a ship. " It is a great honor to be ahnoner to the King of heaven. " Who would not starve a lust to feed a saint ? " To give is the greatest sensible dehght ; how indulgent, then, is God to annex future rewards to what is so much its own recompense ! " To be hbeled for Christ is the best panegyiic. "Where afl^ction is heavy sin is fight. "God chastises whom he loves, but he loves not to chastise. " Sin brought death into the world, and nothing but death will carry sin out of the world. 294 WOMEN OF WORTH. *' If all men's troubles were brought into a com. mon store, every one would carry back what he brought rather than stand to a share of an equal division. "Though time be not lasting, what depends on it is everlasting. " The best shield against slanderers is to live so that none may believe them. " He that revenges an injury acts the part of an executioner. He that pardons it acts the part of a prince.* " Sanctified afflictions are spiritual promotions. " Man is a pile of dust and puff of wind. " Why are Ave so fond of that life which begins with a cry and ends with a groan ?" But I will not cloy you ; knowing it is safest to rise with an appetite, even when we are entertained at a banquet. It would require a volume to follow the biogra- pher with his review of Lady "Warwick, as a wife, as a friend, as a mother, a landlady, and the mistress of a great household — always affectionate, dignified, and charitable. The poor, the young children, and young scholars of promise were the objects of her special and unfailing care. But methinks I hear it asked, says the worthy chaplam, "What! had she no spots, no scars, no real nor imputed blemishes ? how could the five in such an age and not be corrupted, or at least tra- duced; neither scorched by the fire of infection, nor blackened by the smoke of revengeful detrao LADY WARWICK. 295 tion. for upbraiding tlie guilty by her innocence ? This overdoing is undoing, if you make us believe she had no faults ; we shall sooner believe you have no truth ; and all that you have said hath nioi-e of romance and what you fancy than narrative of what she was or did." I confess it is next to a miracle to consider both how divine grace enlarged her heart and estab- lished her goings, and restrained the tongues of others from reproach or showmg dislike of that in her for which they deride and hate, not to say per- secute others. But since you are so inquisitive, and seem to deny me the just and civil freedom to draw a veil of silence over her imperfections, and your curiosity will be peeping under that sacred j^all which should secure and shroud the worst of men from being pried into ; and the vault and grave, that place of darkness and forgetfulness, which should bury all defects and render them invisible, must be ran- sacked: draw back the curtains, let in the light, survey its secret recesses; nor she, nor I in her behalf, fear the most piercing eagle-eye or scent. Not that I deny her to have been a sinner while I adore that grace that made her a saint. But these two things I say and will adhere to. First, that she was not notoriously defective in any grace or virtue. Secondly, she was never stained with any scan- dalous deformity : another rare mercy ; for though she did slip now and then, or stmnble, if you will, 296 WOMEN OF WOKTH. she fell not, much less lay or wallowed to defile ner garments ; which I testify not only from mine own observation but her own pen. She says, "After God had thus savingly (I hope) wrought upon me, I went on constantly, comfortably, in my Christian course, though I had many doubts and fears to contend with ; and did truly obey that precept of working out my salvation with fear and trembhng ; yet God was pleased to carry me still onward; and though I too often broke my good resolutions, I never renounced them ; and though I too often tripped in my jom'ney to heaven, yet I never for- sook my purpose of going thither." I never heard her blamed for more than two faults by the most curious observers and inspectors of her disposition or behavior. 1. Excess of charity. 2. Defect of anger, or what was reducible to those two. Two goodly faults ! But even these admit apology more easily than they need it. 1. What was reputed the culpable excess of her charity was her credulous easiness to beheve most people good, or at least better than they were. I confess she did bend a little to this right-hand error; but if it were a bad effect, it proceeded from a good cause. For, as it is observed, that as they who are conscious to themselves of some great evils, scarce can esteem any less nocent* than themselv 3s ; so they that have clear and innocent * Noxious, injurious. LADY WARWICK. 297 hearts are ready to judge the like of others. "Charity thinketh no evil," and she used ihia good opinion of others as an instrument to make them what she was so willing to signify she thought them. But though she would never despair of any men while she found them under the awe of God's authority and word — (for even those may receive some nourishment who eat against stomach, and the sieve under the pump may be cleansed, though it hold no water) — yet if she observed a person to scorn or deride the Scriptures, despise God's ordmances, and turn all that was sacred into ridicule, she used, as her phrase was, to set her mark upon that man. And I must further add, she was neither so often or so much mistaken in her judgment of persons as some supposed she was; they more misinterpreling her civility than slie did the other's sanctity. 2. For her defect of anger. — This implies (if it be faulty) want of zeal against sin and sinners; and so it is an unjust charge ; for though I confess she could not rage and storm, and discover her anger, as some persons do who verify the saying, "Anger is a kind of madness," — for her sedate, composed, serene mind, and sweet and amicable disposition were scarcely forcible to what was so contrary to her nature ; yet would she make deeper impressions of her displeasure for great faults, than those who appeared most curious ; like a still soak- ing shower, which wiU wet more than a driving storm. And therefore it was observed, that if any 298 WO^EEN OF WORTH. servants had been faulty, they ha J rather ha\a passed the gauntlet thrice of theu' lord's most furious expressions than have once been sent for to their lady's closet, whose treatment was soft words, but hard arguments against their faults; and like that silent lightning, which, without the noise of thunder, melts the blade and singeth not the scabbard. Her reproofs were neither the fright- ful hissing, nor the venomed sting, but the pene- trating oil of scorpions. This httle is enough to extenuate her almost commendable faults ; and it is a great evidence of her goodness that these things were imputed as blemishes; for they who would not spare her in these Httle errors showed plainly that she was not chargeable with more or greater. Never did bird take wing when disentangled from a net with greater cheerfulness, nor chirp out the pleasures of its unconfined freedom more mer- rily, than she did solace herself, when she had escaped the noise and crowd of affairs, which ruffled and turmoiled her quiet, and suspended the enjoy- ment of herself. And when her dearest sister was, in the beginning of the last winter, about to leave her, her last farewell she took was in these words : "Now I have done my drudgery (meaning her business), I will, set to the renewing of my prepa- rations for eternity ; and she made it the repeated business of the last winter. She on the Tuesday in Passion-week (March 26th, 16V8) was taken with some indisposition, loss LADY WAEWICK. 299 of appetite, and an aguish distemper, and had four or five fits, which yet m that season were judged both by physicians and her friends more advan- tasreous to her health than dano-erous to lier fife. And in this state she continued freed from her fits, in her own apprehension and in our hopes, till Friday, the 12th of April, on which day she rose with good strength, and after sitting up some time, being laid upon her bed, discoursing cheerfully and piously, one of the last sentence^ she spake was this, turning back the curtain with her hand : " Well, ladies, if I were one hour in heaven, I would not be again with you, as well as I love you." Thus lived, thus died, this right honorable lady, this heroic woman, this blessed saint, this incom- pai'able pattern of flaming zeal for the glory of God and burning charity for the good of men, in the actual exercise of prayer, according to her own desire. For there are many witnesses who have testified that they have often heard her say, that if she might choose the manner and circumstances of her death, she would die praying, by which desire she so often anticipated heaven. 300 WOMEN OF WORTH THE GUAEDIAN AXGEL. LADY MACKINTOSH. [This noble tribute to a devoted wife is piven in tbe " Memoirs'" of Sir Jaires Mackintosh, the "philosophical politician" and the huiiifine and upright Judge — one of the most able and estimable men ever intrusted "With the administration of justice.] Allow me, in justice to lier memory, to tell you what she was, and what I owed her. I was guided in my choice only by the blind affection of my youth. I found an intelligent companion and a tender friend, a prudent monitress, the most faithful of wives, and a mother as tender as children ever had the misfortime to lose. I met a woman who, by the tender management of my weaknesses, gradually corrected the most pernicious of them. She became prudent from affection ; and though of the most generous natm'e, she was taught economy and frugality by her love for me. During the most critical period of my life, she preserved order in my affairs, from the care of which she relieved me. She. gently reclaimed me from dissipation ; she propped my weak and irresolute nature; she urged my indolence to all the exertions that have been LADY MACKIJSTTOSH. 301 useful or creditable to me ; and she was perpetually at hand to admonish my heedlessness and improvi- dence. To her I owe whatever I am ; to her what- ever I shall be. In her solicitude for my interest, she never for a moment forgot my feelings or my character. Even in her occasional resentment, for w^liich I but too often gave her cause (would to God I coald recall those moments!) she had no sullenness or acrimony. Her feelings were warm and impetuous, but she was placable, tender, and constant. Such was she whom I have lost ; and I have lost her when her excellent natural sense was rapidly improving, after eight years of struggle and distress had bound us fast together, and moulded our tempers to each other — when a knowledge of her worth had refined my youthfid love into friend- ship, before age had deprived it of much of its original ardor — I lost her, alas ! (the choice of my youth and the partner of my misfortunes) at a mo- ment when I had the prospect of her sharing my better days. The philosophy which I have learned only teaches me that virtue and friendship are the greatest of human blessings, and that then* loss is irreparable. It aggravates my calamity, instead of consoling me under it. My wounded heart seeks another con- lolation. Governed by these feelings, which have m every age and region of the world actuated the iiuman mind, I seek relief, and find it, in the sooth- ing hope and consolatory opinion that a Benevolent Wisdom inflicts the chastisement as well as bestows 302 ' WOIVIEN OF WOllTH. the enjoyments of liumrin life; that Snperintending Goodness will one day enlighten the darkness which surrounds our nature and hangs over our prospects; that this dreary and wretched life is not the whole of man ; that an animal so sagacious and provident, and capable of such proficiency in science and vir- tue, is not like the beasts that perish ; that there is a dwelhng-place prepared for the spirits of the just, and that the ways of God will yet be vindicated to man. The sentiments of religion which were im- planted in my mind in my early youth, and which were revived by the awful scenes which I have seen passing before ray eyes in the world, are, I trust, deeply rooted in my heart by this great ca^ lamity. l-HE EJSTD. THE MOTHERS OE THE BIBLE BY MRS. S. G ASHTON, WITH AN INTKODUCTOEY ESSAYg B T REV. A. L. STONE. ^ALL gORIPTCRE IS PROFITABLE.* NEW YORK: THE WORLD PUBLISHING HOUSE, 139 Eighth Street. 1876. ^6 "THE HEART TaAI "WK SAVE LAIN NEAR BEFORE OUK BIRTH 18 THE ONLY ONE THAI CAN NEVER FORGET TUAl IT HAS LOTED US." Eo MY MOTHER, A3 A LKHIT TOKEN OF TUE ESTI3IATI0N IN WHICH £ HOLD HEB UNFORGETTING LOVE, CTljis TJolunu la GllATEFULLY INSCRIBED. INTRODUCTION. BY REV. A. L. STONE Two immediate objects seem to have influenced the authoi of the following pages, in preparing them for the press : one, to prompt her readers to a diligent and careful study of the Bible ; the other, to quicken, in those who sustain the mater- nal relation, a sense of their responsibility, and to inspire them with a more prayerful devotion to their solemn trust. The book itself is the offspring of this double parentage, — the habit of the daily study of the Scriptures, and the pressure of a mother's duty. The richest recompense it can bring to the writer will be the knowledge that it has led other minds, trembling and fainting under that pressure, to seek light and guidance, strength and hope, in the teachings of the Holy Ghost. The wealth of the Scripture fulness in respect to any com- manding interest of life is, except to the earnest and laborious student, a mine of unknown riches. The careless reader, in lightly skimming the surface, may catch the sheen of here and there a gem, the glimmer of golden dust ; but the rarer jewels of truth, the deep-chambered veining of the precious ore, are to such eyes hidden treasures. The thoughts of God, by which he would make us, the pupils of his tuition, wise unto salvation, are not in their clear but profound depths so easily fathomed Shutting up all this lore of spiritual things in one volume, our divine Teacher has meant us to search and master that one book with a patience and thoroughness of A* VI INTRODUCTION. acquisition beyond those of all other scholarship. If this book were a systematic treatise upon the topics comprehended within its broad horizon, like a volume of theological essays, the demand for this steady and keen-eyed investigation were possibly not so urgent. But the truths it contains are scat- tered along its pages, in seeming disorder and disconnection. Here stands a sublime doctrine ; next comes an impassioned song ; next, a prophet's vision of the far future ; then a page of history, or a chapter of biography, and then some earnest exhortation. The sweet voices of the bards, the seer's mystic utterances, the confused shouts of the warriors, fall upon our ear in the same wave of sound. The Saviour himself taught no body of divinity in philosophic form. He spake and wrought as occasion prompted. The scenes of his wander- ings, the insulting question of some haughty scribe, the peti- tion of some poor sufferer for healing, or the death of one he loved, were the texts upon which his lips distilled wisdom. So we look for one doctrine in Galilee, for another at the well of Sychar, and for another in the desert. Out of the utterances of four thousand years we have to gather up the sublime whole of revelation. It is not strange, therefore, that we are -commanded, by that word of intense significance, to search the Scriptures. This is, not to sit carelessly down, in the hurrying mornings and fling open a leaf anywhere, and glance the eye at speed along the lines of a short chapter, or the half of a long one. It is not to hang at late evening, with heavy eyelids, over a brief Psalm, satisfied that we have thus honored the word of God. *' Search," as the gold-hunter for the glittering scales he covets ; as the shepherd of the fold for a lamb straying in the wilderness , as the woman of the parable for her lost piece of silver. We are to study the Scriptures, portion by INTRODUCTION. \U portion, patiently, intently, with commentaries ai^d Bible dictionaries, and cyclopedias, and whatsoever helps we can command ; and, first of all, and most of all, with wrestling prayer for divine illumination, as scholars of the Spirit. It will be one of the happiest influences of these sketches, as it has been their chief inspiration, if they awaken in any soul a new relish for the Book of books, and a fresh purpose to commune more intimately with its celestial voices. And for none were such an influence more precious and blessed, than for one sustaining the tender relation, and charged with the solemn responsibility, of A mother. As the joy of maternity is hers ; as she bears and nurtures the new life waking to a deathless being ; as its first pulses of vitality and consciousness beat next to her heart, and beneath her eye ; as none can come, in the tenderness and closeness of this nat- ural tie, between her and her child ; so the earliest, nearest, and most determinate forces that mould the character of that young aspirant for immortality, are those she wields. They are shed silently as dews of night. Their author may be altogether unconscious, and purposeless in their administration. But none the less are they potent and controlling. The first sights those wondering eyes open upon, the first sounds that fall upon the ear, all the surroundings of the cradle and the nursery, leave images of themselves on that young brain never to be effaced, and shaping the first rudimental elements of character. How many unwritten histories, one day to be published, keep within their hidden volumes the memorial of these infi- nitesimal and subtle influences that have the first access to the heart, and inweave themselves with its earliest sentiments and passions ! How needful that a relation, so linked with human destinies here and hereafter, should be instructed and furnished out of 1 Tin INTRODUCTION the Divine Manual. — that all which is warning and all which is consoling in the historic examples which it recourds of such a relation, should press with its hopes and fears the maternal heart ! What other light shines so clear to guide ? — what other wisdom can give safe responses when this momentous question exercises that heart ? " For what end, and by what principles and methods, shall I train my child ? " To awaken this question with unthinking spirits : to enter with quick and large sympathies into the solicitudes of every Christian mother ; to gather into one picture gallery, from the wide ranges and scattered sketches of inspiration, the portrait- ures of those in the elder ages who wrought blessing or curs- ing in this one relation ; to lead all, who may gaze with inter- est upon the faint copies, to seek for themselves the presence of the originals, and so to help the sanctification of the homes of our land, is the mission on which this little volume is sent forth. With what simple beauty and pathos, with what careful fidelity to sacred history, and with what diligence of investi* gation, the author has accomplished her task, we may confi- dently leave her readers to testify. "Hillside," Eoxbury. CONTENTS. The Bible, ....c«...5 The Mothers of the Bible, 8 Eve, ...••.. .11 Other Antediluvian Mothers • 22 Sarah and Hagar, 81 The Wife of Lot, 60 Eebekah, 65 Leah and Rachel, 90 jochebed, 102 The Mothers of Israel in Egypt, 110 ZiPPORAH, 120 The Mothers of Israel at Horeb, .129 The Widowed Mothers of Israel at Horeb, 137 Naomi and Ruth, 146 Hannah, . 156 Ichabod's Mother, 169 The Mother of Samson, 177 KizpAH, 188 Bathsheba, 200 Abigail, 211 X CONTENTS. Tub Mother of Krhodoam, 221 The Mother of Abijah, - 233 Jezebel, 240 Athaliah, 248 Tub Widow of Zarephath, 2G1 The Shunamite, 2G9 The Mother of Job's Children, 283 Elizabeth, 290 Mary, 296 The Widow op Nain, 311 The SYRoruENiciAN Mother, 321 The Grandmother and Mother of Timotky, 328 THE MOTHERS OF THE BIBLE. THE BIBLE. My Bible ! my precious, blessed Bible ! what were life without thee ? Guide of my otherwise wandering feet, solace of all my cares ! Only competent instructor of my ignorance — truest, safest counsellor in difficulty — most cheerful companion in hours of darkness ! Rich treasure- house, in which are stored the thoughts of my God, his purposes of mercy toward a ruined world ! Inexhaustible fountain of pure and sweet waters, from which I daily drink and am re freshed ! " With thee conversing I forget all time.*' My dull, earthly spirit, quickened by the spirit divine which illumines thy pages, rises invigor- ated and gladdened from every fresh communion 1 * 6 THE MOTHERS OF THE BIBLE. With thee, I witness, delighted, creating wonders. I see earth, rohed in beauty, spring from chaos at the Almighty mandate, and listen to the song of the morning stars. I com^erse with the first parents of our race amid their Eden joys, and shed tears of pity over the bitter and dark reverse. "With Noah and his liberated family I rejoice, as the long-absent sun lights the mountain-top, and from the sacred altar goes up the incense of grat- itude to the God of winds and waves. I listen and admire while Abraham pleads, and Moses talks with God as a man talketh with his friend. For me the sweet psalmist of Israel pours forth rich strains of heavenly melody, and the prophet thunders the threatenings of Jehovah upon his backsliding people. I follow down the long track of ages with eager step, beholding on every side the wonders God hath wrought, and singing ever, as I go, '* Praise ye the Lord! Praise him for his mighty acts ! Happy is he that hath the God of Jacob for his help!'' Folded and laid aside as a garment by his powerful hand, I see the fading glories of the old dispensation give place to simpler, but more delightful and signifi- THE BIBLE. 7 cant ceremonies. Touched by his finger, I see Judea's pride, the joy of the whole earth, the city of her God, crumbling to dust ; and on its ruins, built by Almighty power, there rises an edifice in comparison of which the former shall not be mentioned nor come into mind. But, 0, most precious of all the joys thou hast in store for those that love thee is the record of His life and death who is the believer's portion, whom having not seen he loves, his refuge and hiding-place, the source of joy unspeakable to his soul. Here, indeed, I am fed with living bread. Again and again, with new wonder and love, I study the history of my Redeemer's earthly sojourn. With intense and absorbing interest I ponder on his mysterious birth, his wonderful childhood, the cares and labors of his most sorrowful life, and the mighty agonies of his atoning death. There is no theme interesting to man of which thou canst not speak. Blest book of God ! Vaiu is it that I strive to show thy worth to me ! THE MOTHERS OE THE BIBLE. We propose, in the pages of this volume, tc record the results of an earnest and diligent study of the Bible with reference to this particular topic, and to gather together, in as interesting a manner as we may, such instruction and encour- agement as it will afford mothers in their import- ant work. Of all the mothers who have lived in our worlds those who are mentioned in the Bible are the only ones of whom God has ever spoken. To millions upon millions he has given the care of children, and capabilities for their proper nurture. Many of them, doubtless, have been faithful mothers, whom he has blessed, whose prayers he has heard, whose children he has numbered amone: his jewels. But whether he has approved or censured we know not from his own mouth, and shall not know till the final day. Some have passed from earth ; and some still live, but their record is not here. In the .Bible, however, there THE MOTHERS OF THE BIBLE. 9 are the names of those concerning whom God h