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alight and proceed on foot to the place of our confinement, as many as could not walk without assistance being supported by the attendants. We were neither chained nor bound; the practice of the Inquisition being to deliver the condemned upon such occasions into the hands of two sureties each, who placed their charge in the middle between them; and men of the most respectable characters were accustomed, from religious motives, to sue for this melancholy office.

relieve the flagging interest after the death of Marguerite. The thunder-storm which destroys the property of Leon is described with great power and vividness; and his early distresses and losses at the gaming table are also in the author's best manner. The scene may be said to shift too often, and the want of fortitude and energy in the character of the hero lessens our sympathy for his reverses. At the same time his tenderness and affection as a husband and father are inexpressibly touching, when we see them, in consequence of his strange destiny, lead to Dejected and despairing I entered the streets of the ruin of those for whom alone he wishes to live. the city, no object present to the eyes of my mind 'How minute,' says one of Godwin's critics, 'how but that of my approaching execution. The crowd pathetic, how tragical is the detail of the gradual was vast, the confusion inexpressible. As we passed ruin which falls on this weak devoted man, up to by the end of a narrow lane, the horse of one of the its heart-breaking consummation in the death of guards, who rode exactly in a line with me, plunged the noble Marguerite de Damville! how tremendous and reared in a violent manner, and at length threw and perfect is his desolation after voluntarily leaving his rider upon the pavement. Others of the horsehis daughters, and cutting the last thread which guards attempted to catch the bridle of the enraged binds him to his kind! "I saw my dear children animal; they rushed against each other; several of set forward on their journey, and I knew not that the crowd were thrown down, and trampled under the I should ever behold them more. I was determined horses' feet. The shrieks of these, and the loud never to see them again to their injury, and I could cries and exclamations of the bystanders mingled in not take to myself the consolation, on such a day, confused and discordant chorus; no sound, no object could be distinguished. From the excess of the in such a month, or even after such a lapse of years, I will again have the joy to embrace them. In a tumult, a sudden thought darted into my mind, little while they were out of sight, and I was alone." where all, an instant before, had been relaxation and How complete is the description of his escape from despair. Two or three of the horses pushed forward the procession to the auto de fe; of his entrance into in a particular direction; a moment after, they re-filed the Jew's house; his fears; his decaying strength with equal violence, and left a wide but transitory just serving to make up the life-restoring elixir; gap. My project was no sooner conceived than exethe dying taper; the insensibility; the resurrection cuted. Weak as I had just now felt myself, a supernatural tide of strength seemed to come over me; 1 to new life, and the day-spring of his young manhood! How shall we speak of the old man, the sprung away with all imaginable impetuosity, and bequeather of the fatal legacy to St Leon, and his rushed down the lane I have just mentioned. Every one amidst the confusion was attentive to his perfew fearful words, "Friendless, friendless-alone, alone!" Alas! how terrible to imagine a being insonal safety, and several minutes elapsed before I possession of such endowments, who could bring himself to think of death! able to turn back upon In the lane everything was silent, and the darkness was extreme. Man, woman, and child, were gone out his path, and meet immortal youth, to see again the morning of his day, and find in fresh renewed life distinguish a single object; the doors and windows to view the procession. For some time I could scarcely and beauty a disguise impenetrable to his former were all closed. I now chanced to come to an open enemies, yet, in the sadness of his experience, so door; within I saw no one but an old man, who was dreading the mistakes and persecution of his fellow-busy over some metallic work at a chafing dish of fire, men, as to choose rather to lie down with the worm, and seek oblivion in the seats of rottenness and corruption.'*

[St Leon's Escape from the Auto de Fe.] [St Leon is imprisoned by the Inquisition on suspicion of exercising the powers of necromancy, and is carried with other prisoners to feed the flames at an auto de fe at Valladolid.]

was missed.

I had no room for choice; I expected every moment to hear the myrmidons of the Inquisition at my heels. I rushed in; I impetuously closed the door, and bolted it; I then seized the old man by the collar of his shirt with a determined grasp, and swore vehemently that I would annihilate him that instant if he did not consent to afford me assistance. Though for some time I had perhaps been feebler than he, the terror that now drove me on rendered me comparatively a giant. He Our progress to Valladolid was slow and solemn, intreated me to permit him to breathe, and promised to do whatever I should desire. I looked round the and occupied a space of no less than four days. On the evening of the fourth day we approached that apartment, and saw a rapier hanging against the wall, city. The king and his court came out to meet us; of which I instantly proceeded to make myself master. he saluted the inquisitor-general with all the demon- While I was doing this, my involuntary host, who was strations of the deepest submission and humility; and extremely terrified at my procedure, nimbly attempted then having yielded him the place of honour, turned to slip by me and rush into the street. With diffiround his horse, and accompanied us back to Valla-culty I caught hold of his arm, and pulling him back, dolid. The cavalcade that attended the king broke into two files, and received us in the midst of them. The whole city seemed to empty itself on this memorable occasion, and the multitudes that crowded along the road, and were scattered in the neighbouring fields, were innumerable. The day was now closed, and the procession went forward amidst the light of a thousand torches. We, the condemned of the Inquisition, had been conducted from the metropolis upon tumbrils; but as we arrived at the gates of Valladolid, we were commanded, for the greater humiliation, to

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put the point of my rapier to his breast, solemnly as-
suring him that no consideration on earth should save
him from my fury if he attempted to escape a second
time. He immediately dropped on his knees, and
with the most piteous accents intreated me to spare
his life. I told him that I was no robber, that I did
not intend him the slightest harm; and that, if he
would implicitly yield to my direction, he might as-
sure himself he never should have reason to repent
his compliance. By this declaration the terrors of the
old man were somewhat appeased. I took the oppor-
tunity of this calm to go to the street door, which I
instantly locked, and put the key in my bosom.
We were still engaged in discussing the topics I

Now for the first time I was at leisure to attend to the state of my strength and my health. My confinement in the Inquisition, and the treatment I had experienced, had before rendered me feeble and almost helpless; but these appeared to be circumstances scarcely worthy of attention in the situation in which I was then placed. The impulse I felt in the midst of the confusion in the grand street of Valladolid, pronothing but the actual experience of the fact could have persuaded me was possible. This energy, once begun, appeared to have the faculty of prolonging itself, and I did not relapse into imbecility till the occasion seemed to be exhausted which called for my exertion. I examined myself by a mirror with which Mordecai furnished me; I found my hair as white as snow, and my face ploughed with a thousand furrows. I was now fifty-four, an age which, with moderate exercise and a vigorous constitution, often appears like the prime of human existence; but whoever had looked upon me in my present condition would not have doubted to affirm that I had reached the eightieth year of my age. I examined with dispassionate remark the state of my intellect: I was persuaded that it had subsided into childishness. My mind had been as much cribbed and immured as my body. I was the mere shadow of a man, of no more power and worth than that which a magie lantern produces upon a wall. These are thy works, superstition! this the genuine and proper operation of what is called Christianity! Let the reader judge of what I had passed through and known within those cursed walls by the effects; I have already refused, I continue to refuse, to tell how those effects were produced. Enough of compassion; enough of complaint; I will confine myself, as far as I am able, to simple history.

have mentioned, when I was suddenly alarmed by the noise of some one stirring in the inner apartment. I had looked into this room, and had perceived nothing but the bed upon which the old man nightly reposed himself. I sprung up, however, at the sound, and perceiving that the door had a bolt on the outside, I eagerly fastened it. I then turned to Mordecai-that was the name of my host: Wretch, said I, did not you assure me that there was no one but yourself induced in me an energy and power of exertion which the house? Oh, cried Mordecai, it is my child! it is my child! she went into the inner apartment, and has fallen asleep on the bed. Beware, I answered; the slightest falsehood more shall instantly be expiated in your blood. I call Abraham to witness, rejoined the once more terrified Jew, it is my child! only my child! Tell me, cried I with severity of accent, how old is this child? Only five years, said Mordecai: my dear Leah died when she was a year old, and though we had several children, this single one has survived her. Speak to your child; let me hear her voice! He spoke to her, and she answered, Father, I want to come out. I was satisfied it was the voice of a little girl. I turned to the Jew: Take care, said I, how you deceive me now; is there no other person in that room? He imprecated a curse on himself if there were. I opened the door with caution, and the little girl came forward. As soon as I saw her, I seized her with a rapid motion, and returned to my chair. Man, said I, you have trifled with me too rashly; you have not considered what I am escaped from, and what I have to fear; from this moment this child shall be the pledge of my safety; I will not part with her an instant as long as I remain in your house; and with this rapier in my hand I will pierce her to the heart the moment I am led to imagine that I am no longer in safety. The Jew trembled at my resolution; the emotions of a father worked in his features and glistened in his eye. At least let me kiss her, said he. I was now once again alone. The little girl, who Be it so, replied I: one embrace, and then, till the had been unusually disturbed and roused at an undawn of the coming day, she remains with me. I re-seasonable hour, sunk into a profound sleep. I heard leased my hold; the child rushed to her father, and he caught her in his arms. My dear Leah, cried Mordecai, now a sainted spirit in the bosom of our father Abraham! I call God to witness between us, that, if all my caution and vigilance can prevent it, not a hair of this child shall be injured! Stranger, you little know by how strong a motive you have now engaged me to your cause. We poor Jews, hunted on the face of the earth, the abhorrence and execration of mankind, have nothing but family affections to support us under our multiplied disgraces; and family affections are entwined with our existence, the fondest and best loved part of ourselves. The God of Abraham bless you, my child! Now, sir, speak! what is it you require of me?

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*

the noise which Mordecai made in undressing himself, and composing his limbs upon a mattress which he had dragged for the present occasion into the front room, and spread before the hearth. I soon found by the hardness of his breathing that he also was asleep. I unfolded the papers he had brought me; they consisted of various medical ingredients I had directed him to procure; there were also two or three vials containing sirups and essences. I had near me a pair of scales with which to weigh my ingredients, a vessel of water, the chafing-dish of my host in which the fire was nearly extinguished, and a small taper, with some charcoal to relight the fire in case of necessity. While I was occupied in surveying these articles and arranging my materials, a sort of torpor came suddenly over me, so as to allow me no time for resistance. I sunk upon the bed. I remained thus for about half an hour, seemingly without the power of collecting my thoughts. At length I started, felt alarmed, and applied my utmost force of mind to rouse my exertions. While I drove, or attempted to drive, my animal spirits from limb to limb, and from part to part, as if to inquire into the general condition of my frame, I became convinced that I was dying. Let not the reader be sur

I told the Jew that I must have a suit of clothes conformable to the appearance of a Spanish cavalier, and certain medical ingredients that I named to him, together with his chafing-dish of coals to prepare them; and that done, I would then impose on him no further trouble. Having received his instructions, he immediately set out to procure what I demanded. He took with him the key of the house; and as soon as he was gone, I retired with the child into the inner apartment, and fastened the door. At first I applied my-prised at this; twelve years' imprisonment in a narself to tranquillise the child, who had been somewhat alarmed at what she had heard and seen this was no very difficult task. She presently left me, to amuse herself with some playthings that lay scattered in a corner of the apartment. My heart was now comparatively at ease; I saw the powerful hold I had on the fidelity of the Jew, and firmly persuaded myself that I had no treachery to fear on his part. Thus circumstanced, the exertion and activity with which I had lately been imbued left me, and I insensibly sunk into a sort of slumber. *

row and unwholesome cell may well account for so sudden a catastrophe. Strange and paradoxical as it may seem, I believe it will be found in the experiment, that the calm and security which succeed to great internal injuries are more dangerous than the pangs and hardships that went before. I was now thoroughly alarmed; I applied myself with all vigilance and expedition to the compounding my materials. The fire was gone out; the taper was glimmering in the socket: to swallow the julep, when I had prepared it, seemed to be the last effort of which my organs and

muscles were capable. It was the elixir of immortality, exactly made up according to the prescription of the stranger.

Whether from the potency of the medicine or the effect of imagination, I felt revived the moment I had swallowed it. I placed myself deliberately in Mordecai's bed, and drew over me the bedclothes. I fell asleep almost instantly.

骨 *

My sleep was not long: in a few hours I awaked. With difficulty I recognised the objects about me, and recollected where had been. It seemed to me that my heart had never beat so vigorously, nor my spirits flowed so gay. I was all elasticity and life; I could scarcely hold myself quiet; I felt impelled to bound and leap like a kid upon the mountains. I perceived that my little Jewess was still asleep; she had been unusually fatigued the night before. I know not whether Mordecai's hour of rising were come; if it were, he was careful not to disturb his guest. I put on the garments he had prepared; I gazed upon the mirror he had left in my apartment. I can recollect no sensation in the course of my life so unexpected and surprising as what I felt at that moment. The evening before I had seen my hair white, and my face ploughed with furrows; I looked fourscore. What I beheld now was totally different, yet altogether familiar; it was myself-myself as I had appeared on the day of my marriage with Marguerite de Damville; the eyes, the mouth, the hair, the complexion, every circumstance, point by point, the same. I leaped a gulf of thirty-two years. I waked from a dream, troublesome and distressful beyond all description; but it vanished like the shades of night upon the burst of a glorious morning in July, and left not a trace behind. I knew not how to take away my eyes from the mirror before me.

I soon began to consider that, if it were astonishing to me that, through all the regions of my countenance, I could discover no trace of what I had been the night before, it would be still more astonishing to my

host. This sort of sensation I had not the smallest

ambition to produce: one of the advantages of the metamorphosis I had sustained, consisted in its tendency, in the eyes of all that saw me, to cut off every species of connexion between my present and my former self. It fortunately happened that the room in which I slept, being constructed upon the model of many others in Spain, had a stair at the further end, with a trap-door in the ceiling, for the purpose of enabling the inhabitant to ascend on the roof in the cool of the day. The roofs were flat, and so constructed that there was little difficulty in passing along them from house to house, from one end of the street to the other. I availed myself of the opportunity, and took leave of the residence of my kind host in a way perfectly unceremonious, determined, however, speedily to transmit to him the reward I had promised. It may easily be believed that Mordecai was not less rejoiced at the absence of a guest whom the vigilance of the Inquisition rendered an uncommonly dangerous one, than I was to quit his habitation. I closed the trap after me, and clambered from roof to roof to a considerable distance. At length I encountered the occasion of an open window, and fortunately descended, unseen by any human being, into the street.

ANNA MARIA PORTER.

This lady was a daughter of an Irish officer, who died shortly after her birth, leaving a widow and several children, with but a small patrimony for their support. Mrs Porter took her family into Scotland, while ANNA MARIA was still in her nursemaid's arms, and there, with her only and elder sister Jane, and their brother, Sir Robert Ker Porter, she received the rudiments of her education.

Sir Walter Scott, when a student at college, was intimate with the family, and, we are told, 'was very fond of either teazing the little female student when very gravely engaged with her book, or more often fondling her on his knees, and telling her stories of witches and warlocks, till both forgot their former playful merriment in the marvellous interest of the tale.' Mrs Porter removed to Ireland, and subsequently to London, chiefly with a view to the education of her children. Anna Maria became an authoress at the age of twelve. Her first work bore the appropriate title of Artless Tales, the first volume being published in 1793, and a second in 1795. In 1797 she came forward again with a tale entitled Walsh Colville; and in the following year a novel in three volumes, Octavia, was produced. A numerous series of works of fiction now proceeded from Miss Porter-The Lake of Killarney, 1804; A Sailor's Friendship and a Soldier's Love, 1805; The Hungarian Brothers, 1807; Don Sebastian, or the House of Braganza, 1809; Ballad Romances, and other Poems, 1811; The Recluse of Norway, 1814; The Village of Mariendorpt; The Fast of St Magdalen; Tales of Pity for Youth; The Knight of St John; Roche Blanche; and Honor O'Hara. Altogether, the works of this lady amount to about fifty volumes. In private life Miss Porter was much beloved for her unostentatious piety and active benevolence. She died at Bristol while on a visit to her brother, Dr Porter of that city, on the 21st of June 1832, aged fifty-two. The most popular, and perhaps the best of Miss Porter's novels, is her 'Don Sebastian.' In all of them she portrays the domestic affections and the charms of

benevolence and virtue with warmth and earnest

ness, but in 'Don Sebastian' we have an interesting though melancholy plot, and characters finely dis

criminated and drawn.

The second fails

thoress of two romances, Thaddeus of Warsaw, 1803, MISS JANE PORTER, who still survives, is auand The Scottish Chiefs, 1810; both were highly popular. The first is the best, and contains a good entirely as a picture of national manners (the Scotplot and some impassioned scenes. tish patriot Wallace, for example, being represented as a sort of drawing-room hero), but is written with great animation and picturesque effect. In appeals to the tender and heroic passions, and in vivid scenepainting, both these ladies have evinced genius, but their works want the permanent interest of real life, variety of character, and dialogue. A third work by Miss Porter has been published, entitled The Pastor's Fireside.

MISS EDGEWORTH.

MARIA EDGEWORTH, one of our best painters of national manners, whose works stimulated the genius of Scott, and have delighted and instructed generations of readers, commenced her career as an authoress about the year 1800. She was of a respectable Irish family, long settled at Edgeworthtown, county of Longford, and it was on their property that Goldsmith was born. Her father, Richard Lovell Edgeworth (1744-1817), was himself a man attached to literary pursuits, and took great pleasure in exciting and directing the talents of his daughter. When

* Mr Edgeworth wrote a work on Professional Education, one volume, quarto, 1808; also some papers in the Philosophical riages, and an account of a telegraph which he invented. This Transactions, including an essay on Spring and Wheel Cargentleman was educated at Trinity college, Dublin, and was afterwards sent to Oxford. Before he was twenty, he ran off with Miss Elers, a young lady of Oxford, to whom he was married at Gretna Green. He then embarked on a life of fashionable gaiety and dissipation, and in 1770 succeeded, by

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ever the latter thought of writing any essay or story, she always submitted to him the first rough plans; and his ready invention and infinite resource, when she had run into difficulties or absurdities, never failed to extricate her at her utmost need. It was the happy experience of this,' says Miss Edgeworth, and my consequent reliance on his ability, decision, and perfect truth, that relieved me from the vacillation and anxiety to which I was so much subject, that I am sure I should not have written or finished anything without his support. He inspired in my mind a degree of hope and confidence, essential, in the first instance, to the full exertion of the mental powers, and necessary to insure perseverance in any occupation.' An able work, the joint production of Mr and Miss Edgeworth, appeared in 1801 under

the death of his father, to his Irish property. During a visit to Lichfield, he became enamoured of Miss Honora Sneyd, a cousin of Anna Seward's, and married her shortly after the death of his wife. In six years this lady died of consumption, and he married her sister, a circumstance which exposed him to a good deal of observation and censure. After a matrimonial union of seventeen years, his third wife died of the same malady as her sister; and, although past fifty, Mr Edgeworth scarce lost a year till he was united to an Irish lady, Miss Beaufort. His latter years were spent in active exertions to benefit Ireland, by reclaiming bog land, introducing agricultural and mechanical improvements, and promoting education. He was fond of mechanical pursuits and new projects of all kinds. Among his numerous schemes, was an attempt to educate his eldest son on the plan delineated in Rousseau's Emile. He dressed him in jacket and trousers, with arms and legs bare, and allowed him to run about wherever he pleased, and to do nothing but what was agreeable to himself. In a few years he found that the scheme had succeeded completely, so far as related to the body; the youth's health, strength, and agility were conspicuous; but the state of his mind induced some perplexity. He had all the virtues that are found in the hut of the savage; he was quick, fearless, generous; but he knew not what it was to obey. It was impossible to induce him to do anything that he did not please, or prevent him from doing anything that he did please. Under the former head, learning, even of the lowest description, was never included. In fine,

this child of nature grew up perfectly ungovernable, and never could or would apply to anything; so that there remained no alternative but to allow him to follow his own inclination of going to sea! Maria Edgeworth was by her father's first marriage: she was born in Oxfordshire, and was twelve years old before she was taken to Ireland. The family were involved in the troubles of the Irish rebellion (1798), and were obliged to make a precipitate retreat from their house, and leave it in the hands of the rebels; but it was spared from being pillaged by one of the invaders, to whom Mr Edgeworth had previously done some kindness. Their return home, when the troubles were over, is thus described by Miss Edgeworth in her father's memoirs. It serves to show the affection which subsisted

between the landlord and his dependents.

When we came near Edgeworthtown, we saw many well

known faces at the cabin doors looking out to welcome us. One man, who was digging in his field by the road-side, when

he looked up as our horses passed, and saw my father, let fall his spade and clasped his hands; his face, as the morning sun shone upon it, was the strongest picture of joy I ever saw. The village was a melancholy spectacle; windows shattered and doors broken. But though the mischief done was great, there had been little pillage. Within our gates we found all property safe; literally "not a twig touched, nor a leaf harmed." Within the house everything was as we had left it. A map that we had been consulting was still open on the library table, with pencils, and slips of paper containing the first lessons in arithmetic, in which some of the young people (Mr Edgeworth's children by his second and third wife) had been engaged the morning we had been driven from home; a pansy, in a glass of water, which one of the children had been copying, was still on the chimney-piece. These trivial circumstances, marking repose and tranquillity, struck us at this moment with an unreasonable sort of surprise, and all that had passed seemed

like an incoherent dream.'

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the title of an Essay on Irish Bulls. Besides some critical and humorous illustration, the authors did justice to the better traits of the Irish character, and illustrated them by some interesting and pathetic stories. The same object was pursued in the tale, Castle Rackrent, and in Belinda, a novel of real life and ordinary characters. In 1804 Miss Edgeworth came forward with three volumes of Popular Tales, characterised by the features of her genius —‘a genuine display of nature, and a certain tone of rationality and good sense, which was the more pleasing, because in a novel it was then new.' The practical cast of her father's mind probably assisted in directing Miss Edgeworth's talents into this useful and unromantic channel. It appeared strange at first, and the best of the authoress's critics, Mr Jeffrey, said at the time that it required almost the same courage to get rid of the jargon of fashionable life, and the swarms of peers, foundlings, and seducers, as it did to sweep away the mythological persons of antiquity, and to introduce characters who spoke and acted like those who were to peruse their adventures.' In 1806 appeared Leonora, a novel, in two volumes. A moral purpose is here aimed at, and the same skill is displayed in working up ordinary incidents into the materials of powerful fiction; but the plot is painful and disagreeable. The seduction of an exemplary husband by an abandoned female, and his subsequent return to his injured but forgiving wife, is the groundwork of the story. Irish characters figure off in Leonora' as in the 'Popular Tales.' In 1809 Miss Edgeworth issued three volumes of Tales of Fashionable Life, more powerful and various than any of her previous productions. The history of Lord Glenthorn affords a striking picture of ennui, and contains some excellent delineation of character; while the story of Almeria represents the misery and heartlessness of a life of mere fashion. Three other volumes of Fashionable Tales were issued in 1812, and fully supported the authoress's reputation. The number of tales in this series was three- Vivian,' illustrating the evils and perplexities arising from vacillation and infirmity of purpose; 'Emilie de Coulanges,' depicting the life and manners of a fashionable French lady; and 'The Absentee' (by far the best of the three stories), written to expose the evils and mortifications of the system which the authoress saw too many instances of in Ireland, of persons of fortune forsaking their country seats and native vales for the frivolity, scorn, and expense of fashionable London society. In 1814 Miss Edgeworth entered still more extensively and sarcastically into the manners and characters in high-life, by her novel of Patronage, in four volumes. The miseries resulting from a dependence on the patronage of the great-a system which she says is twice accursed -once in giving, and once in receiving'-are drawn in vivid colours, and contrasted with the cheerfulness, the buoyancy of spirits, and the manly virtues arising from honest and independent exertion. In 1817 our authoress supplied the public with two other tales, Harrington and Ormond. The first was written to counteract the illiberal prejudice entertained by many against the Jews; the second is an Irish tale, equal to any of the former. The death of Mr Edgeworth in 1817 made a break in the literary exertion of his accomplished daughter, but she completed a memoir which that gentleman had begun of himself, and which was published in two volumes in 1820. In 1822 she returned to her course of moral instruction, and published in that year Rosamond, a Sequel to Early Lessons, a work for juvenile readers, of which an earlier specimen had been published. A further continuation appeared in 1825, under the

title of Harriet and Lucy, four volumes. These tales had been begun fifty years before by Mr Edgeworth, at a time when no one of any literary character, excepting Dr Watts and Mrs Barbauld, condescended to write for children.'

particular passion, would have been a hazardous experiment in common hands. Miss Edgeworth overcame it by the ease, spirit, and variety of her delineations, and the truly masculine freedom with which she exposes the crimes and follies of mankind. Her sentiments are so just and true, and her style so clear and forcible, that they compel an instant assent to her moral views and deductions, though sometimes, in winding up her tale, and distributing justice among her characters, she is not always very consistent or probable. Her delineations of her countrymen have obtained just praise. The highest compliment paid to them is the statement of Scott, that the rich humour, pathetic tenderness, and admirable tact' of these Irish portraits led him first to think that something might be attempted for his own country of the same kind with that which Miss Edgeworth so fortunately achieved for Ireland. He excelled his model, because, with equal knowledge and practical sagacity, he possessed that higher order of imagination, and more extensive sympathy with man and nature, which is more powerful, even for moral uses and effects, than the most clear and irresistible reasoning. The object of Miss Edgeworth, to inculcate instruction, and the style of the preceptress, occasionally interfere with the cordial sympathies of the reader, even in her Irish descriptions; whereas in Scott this is never apparent. He deals more with passions and feelings than with mere manners and peculiarities, and by the aid of his poetical imagination, and careless yet happy eloquence of expression, imparts the air of romance to ordinary incidents and characters. It must be admitted, however, that in originality and in fertility of invention Miss Edgeworth is inferior to none of her contemporary novelists. She never repeats her incidents, her characters, dialogues, or plots, and few novelists have written more. Her brief and rapid tales fill above twenty closely-printed volumes, and may be read one after the other without any feeling of satiety or sense of repetition.

It is worthy of mention, that, in the autumn of 1823, Miss Edgeworth, accompanied by two of her sisters, made a visit to Sir Walter Scott at Abbotsford. She not only, he said, completely answered, but exceeded the expectations which he had formed, and he was particularly pleased with the naïveté and good-humoured ardour of mind which she united with such formidable powers of acute observation. 'Never,' says Mr Lockhart, 'did I see a brighter day at Abbotsford than that on which Miss Edgeworth first arrived there; never can I forget her look and accent when she was received by him at his archway, and exclaimed, "everything about you is exactly what one ought to have had wit enough to dream." The weather was beautiful, and the edifice and its appurtenances were all but complete; and day after day, so long as she could remain, her host had always some new plan of gaiety.' Miss Edgeworth remained a fortnight at Abbotsford. Two years afterwards she had an opportunity of repaying the hospitalities of her entertainer, by receiving him at Edgeworthtown, where Sir Walter met with as cordial a welcome, and where he found neither mud hovels nor naked peasantry, but snug cottages and smiling faces all about.' Literary fame had spoiled neither of these eminent persons, nor unfitted them for the common business and enjoyment of life. We shall never,' said Scott, 'learn to feel and respect our real calling and destiny, unless we have taught ourselves to consider everything as moonshine compared with the education of the heart.' 'Maria did not listen to this without some water in her eyes; her tears are always ready when any generous string is touched-(for, as Pope says, "the finest minds, like the finest metals, dissolve the easiest"); but she brushed them gaily aside, and said, "You see how it is; Dean Swift said he had written his books in order that people might learn to treat him like a great lord. Sir Walter writes his in order that he may be able to treat his peopleThe library at Edgeworthtown,' say the writers, as a great lord ought to do.""*

In 1834 Miss Edgeworth reappeared as a novelist: her Helen, in three volumes, is fully equal to her Fashionable Tales,' and possesses more of ardour and pathos. The gradations of vice and folly, and the unhappiness attending falsehood and artifice, are strikingly depicted in this novel, in connexion with characters (that of Lady Davenant, for example) drawn with great force, truth, and nature. This is the latest work of fiction we have had from the pen of the gifted authoress; nor is it likely, from her advanced age, that she will make further incursions into that domain of fancy and observation she has enriched with so many admirable performances. Long, however, may she be able to dispense common sense to her readers, and to bring them within the precincts of real life and natural feeling! The good and evil of this world have supplied Miss Edgeworth with materials sufficient for her purposes as a novelist. Of poetical or romantic feeling she has exhibited scarcely a single instance. She is a strict utilitarian. Her knowledge of the world is extensive and correct, though in some of her representations of fashionable folly and dissipation she borders upon caricature. The plan of confining a tale to the exposure and correction of one particular vice, or one erroneous line of conduct, as Joanna Baillie confined her dramas each to the elucidation of one

*Life of Scott, vol. vi. p. 61.

In a work lately published, Ireland,' by Mr and Mrs Hall, there is a very interesting account of the residence and present situation of Miss Edgeworth:

'is by no means the reserved and solitary room that libraries are in general. It is large, and spacious, and lofty; well stored with books, and embellished with those most valuable of all classes of printsthe suggestive; it is also picturesque, having been added to so as to increase its breadth; the addition is supported by square pillars, and the beautiful lawn seen through the windows, embellished and varied by clumps of trees judiciously planted, imparts much cheerfulness to the exterior. An oblong table in the centre is a sort of rallying-point for the family, who group around it-reading, writing, or working; while Miss Edgeworth, only anxious upon one point-that all in the house should do exactly as they like without reference to her-sits quietly and abstractedly in her own peculiar corner on the sofa ; her desk, upon which lies Sir Walter Scott's pen, given to her by him when in Ireland, placed before her upon a little quaint table, as unassuming as possible. Miss Edgeworth's abstractedness would puzzle the philosophers; in that same corner, and upon that table, she has written nearly all that has enlightened and delighted the world. There she writes as eloquently as ever, wrapt up to all appearance in her subject, yet knowing, by a sort of instinct, when she is really wanted in dialogue; and, without laying down her pen, hardly looking up from her page, she will, by a judicious sentence, wisely and kindly spoken, explain and elucidate in a few words so as to clear up any difficulty, or turn the conversation into

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