voured, by her writings, to reclaim her rights from her father, who had basely denied his marriage with her mother, and disowned her as his child. She wrote the "Divorce," a musical entertainment, and "Theodora," a novel, in which she delineates her own history. She died in Dublin, in 1774. DUCLOS, MARIE ANNE, A FRENCH actress of great merit, was born at Paris, where she died in 1748, aged seventy-eight. She excelled in the representation of queens and princesses. Her maiden name was Chateauneuf; that of Duclos was assumed; she married, in 1730, Duchemin, an actor, from whom she was divorced three years after. DUFRESNOY, MADEMOISELLE, WAS born in Paris, and entered "La congregation des filles de la Croix." Her poems were very popular, and she holds a respectable rank among the female poets of France. She died in 1825. DUMÉE, JOAN, WAS born at Paris, and instructed, from her earliest infancy, in belles-lettres. She married very young, and was scarcely seventeen when her husband was killed, in Germany, at the head of a company he commanded. She employed the liberty her widowhood gave her in ardent application to study, devoting herself especially to astronomy. She published, in 1680, at Paris, a quarto volume under the title of "Discourses of Copernicus touching the Mobility of the Earth, by Madame Joanne Dumée, of Paris." She explains with clearness the three motions attributed to the earth, and the arguments that establish or militate against the system of Copernicus. DUMESNIL, MARIE FRANCES, A CELEBRATED tragic actress, was born at Paris in 1713, went upon the stage in 1737, and remained popular till the moment of her retirement, in 1775. She died in 1803, having preserved her intellectual powers to the last. She displayed her talents most strikingly in queens and lofty characters, especially in the parts of Merope, Clytemnestra, Athaliah, and Agrippina. When she exerted her full powers, she surpassed all her theatrical contemporaries in exciting emotions of pity and of terror. DUMONT, MADAME, Was born at Paris, in the 18th century. She was the daughter of M. Lutel, an officer in the household of the duke of Orleans, then regent. She was celebrated for her poetical talents, and she published a collection of fugitive pieces, translations of Horace, fables, songs, &c. DUPRÉ, MARY, DAUGHTER of a sister of des Marêts de St. Sorlin, of the French Academy, was born at Paris and educated by her uncle. Endowed with a happy genius and a retentive memory, she read the principal French, Italian, and Latin authors, in the original, and understood Greek and philosophy. She studied Descartes so thoroughly, that she obtained the surname of la Cartesienne; and she also wrote very agreeable verses, and corresponded with several of her learned contemporaries. The answers of Isis to Climene, in the select pieces of poetry published by father Bouhors, are by this lady. She lived in the seventeenth century. DURAND, CATHARINE, An A FRENCH poetess, married a man by the name of Bedacien, and died in 1736. She kept the name of Durand because she had begun to write under it. She published several romances, comedies, in prose and verse, and some poetry. "Ode a la Louange de Louis XIV." gained the prize for poetry at the French Academy, in 1701. It is too long for insertion, and its chief merit, that which obtained the prize, was doubtless the homage the author rendered the Grand Monarque. DURAS, DUCHESS OF, A MODERN French authoress, best known from her novel Aurika. She was the daughter of a captain in the navy, count Corsain. During the French revolution, in 1793, she left France and went with her father to England. There she married the refugee duke Duras, a firm royalist. In the year 1800, she returned with her husband to France, where she made the acquaintance of Madame de Staël, and then opened her labours to a literary circle, composed of the greatest minds of the country. When Louis XVIII. returned to France, he called her husband to his court, and gave him a place near his person. The duchess, although now a great favourite at court, devoted much of her time to a school which she established, and in superintending several benevolent societies of which she was an active member. Her novel Aurika, in which she attacks, in a firm but gentle way, the prejudices of the nobility of birth, made quite a sensation, and was translated in several countries. Her next work, "Edward," was not quite equal to the first. She died in the year 1828. DUSTON, HANNAH, WAS the wife of Thomas Duston, of Haverhill, in Massachusetts. In 1679, Haverhill was attacked by the Indians; and Mrs. Duston, with her infant, only a week old, and the nurse, were taken by them. Mr. Duston succeeded in saving himself and the other seven children. After proceeding a short distance, the Indians killed the child, by dashing out its brains against a tree, because it embarrassed their march. Proceeding on the fatiguing journey, they arrived at an island in the Merrimack, just above Concord, N. H., now called Duston's Island. When they reached the place of rest, they slept soundly. Mrs. Duston did not sleep. The nurse, and an English boy, a prisoner, were apprised of her design, but were not of much use to her in the execution of it. In the stillness of the night she arose and went out of the wigwam to test the soundness and security of savage sleep. They moved not; they were to sleep until the last day. She returned, took one of their hatchets, and dispatched ten of them,-each with a single blow. An Indian woman, who was rising when she struck her, fled with her probable deathwound; and an Indian boy was designedly spared; for the avenger of blood was a woman and a mother, and could not deal a death-blow upon a helpless child. She surveyed the carnage ground by the light of the fire, which she stirred up after the deed was done; and catching a few handfuls of roasted corn, she commenced her journey; but on reflecting a moment, she thought the people of Haverhill would consider her tale as the ravings of madness, when she should get home, if ever that time might come; she therefore returned, and scalped the slain; then put her nurse and English boy into the canoe, and with herself they floated down to the falls, when she landed, and took to the woods, keeping the river in sight, which she knew must direct her on her way home. After suffering incredible hardships by hunger, cold, and fatigue, she reached home, to the surprise and joy of her husband, children and friends. The general court of Massachusetts examined her story, and being satisfied of the truth of it, took her trophies, the scalps, and gave her fifty pounds. The people of Boston made her many presents. All classes were anxious to see her; and they found her as modest as brave. In 1830, the house in Haverhill where Mrs. Duston had resided was standing, and was visited as a memorable spot, the home of an American neroine. DWIGHT, ELIZABETH BAKER, Was born at Andover, in Massachusetts, in 1808. Her maiden name was Baker. She was carefully educated; and her naturally strong mind was thus disciplined to give greater effect to her graces of character. She was about seventeen years of age when she became a member of the church of which Dr. Justin Edwards was pastor. From this period till the time of her marriage, Miss Baker was remarkable for the iningled sweetness and discretion of her manners; constantly striving to improve her time and talents in the service of the Saviour, whom she, like Mary of Bethany, had chosen for her portion. In 1830, she married the Rev. H. G. O. Dwight, and sailed with him to Malta, where she resided two years, her husband being a missionary to that place. She was actively and very usefully engaged while there, and when her husband removed to Constantinople. Her correspondence at this period, and the testimony of her associates, show how earnestly her spirit entered into the work she had undertaken. Her pious and tender sympathy was most efficient help to her husband, in his arduous missionary duties; though her delicate health, and many household cares, prevented her from giving the active assistance in the teacher's department she had intended, and was well qualified to have done. She had anticipated this work as her happiest privilege; to be able to imbue the minds of the children of unbelievers with the sweet and salutary truths of the gospel had been Mrs. Dwight's most cherished desire. The missionary family resided at San Stefano, near the Bosphorus. Scenes of beauty and of storied interest were around Mrs. Dwight; still she had few opportunities of visiting the remarkable places in this region of the world. Once she made an excursion with Lady Frankland and an American friend to the Black Sea, and found her health renovated; still she was drooping and delicate, like a transplanted flower, which pines for its own mountain home, and the fresh breezes and pure sunshine of its first blossoming. In the spring of 1837, the plague appeared at Constantinople, and Mrs. Dwight felt she was one of its doomed victims. The presentiment proved true. She died on the 8th of July, 1837; her devoted husband being the only person who remained to watch over, comfort her, and receive her last breath. She was only twenty-nine years of age, and had hardly become habituated to the missionary cross, when she was called to wear its crown. DYER, MARY, WAS the wife of William Dyer, who removed from Massachusetts to Rhode Island in 1638. Having been sentenced to execution for "rebellious sedition and obtruding herself after banishment upon pain of death," she was reprieved at the request of her son, on condition that she departed in forty-eight hours, and did not return. She returned, and was executed June 1st, 1660. She was a Quakeress, and, in the estimation of her friends, a martyr. E. EBOLI, ANNE DE MENDOZA LA CERDA, PRINCESS of, was married to Rui de Gomez de Silva, the favourite of Philip II. of Spain, whose favour he was supposed to have owed to the attractions of his wife. Her ambition induced her to listen to the king's passion, by which means she obtained, for a time, great influence in the state. Antonio Perez, the secretary of state, was the rival of his master, who, discovering the circum stance, would have sacrificed the lovers to his vengeance; but Perez made his escape to France, and the princess was imprisoned. EDGEWORTH, MARIA, DESCENDED from a respectable Irish family, was born in Oxfordshire, England, January 1st, 1767. Her father was Richard Lovell Edgeworth, Esq., who, succeeding to an estate in Ireland, removed thither when Maria was about four years old. The family residence was at Edgeworthstown, Longford county; and here the subject of our sketch passed her long and most useful life, leaving an example of literary excellence and beneficent goodness rarely surpassed in the annals of woman. Mr. Edgeworth was a man of talent, who devoted his original and very active mind chiefly to subjects of practical utility. Mechanics and general literature were his pursuits, in so far as he could make these subservient to his theories of education and improvement; but his heart was centered in his home, and his eldest child, Maria, was his pride. She early manifested a decided taste for literary pursuits; and it appears to have been one of her father's greatest pleasures to direct her studies and develope her genius. This sympathy and assistance were of invaluable advantage to her at the beginning of her literary career; and sweetly did she repay these attentions when her own ripened talents outstripped his more methodical but less gifted intellect! The father and daughter wrote, at first, together, and several works were their joint productions. The earliest book thus written in partnership was "Practical Education;" the second bore the title of "An Essay on Irish Bulls," which does not sound significantly of a young lady's agency, yet the book was very popular, because, with much wit, there was deep sympathy with the peculiar virtues of the Irish character, and pathetic touches in the stories illustrating Irish life, which warmed and won the heart of the reader. Miss Edgeworth was an earnest philanthropist, and herein lay the secret strength of her literary power. She felt for the wants and weaknesses of humanity; but as she saw human nature chiefly in Irish nature, her thoughts were directed towards the improvement of her adopted country, rather more, we suspect, from propinquity than patriotism. Be this as it may, her best novels are those in which Irish character is pourtrayed; but her best books are those written for the young; because in these her genuine philanthropy is most freely unfolded. From the beginning of the century, 1800, when Miss Edgeworth commenced her literary career, till 1825, almost every year was the herald of a new work from the pen of this distinguished lady. "Castle Rackrent," "Belinda," "Leonora," "Popular Tales," "Tales of Fashionable Life," "Patronage," "Vivian," "Harrington and Ormond," followed each other rapidly, and all were welcomed and approved by the public voice. In 1817, Mr. Edgeworth died, and Maria's profound sorrow for his loss suspended for some time her career of authorship. She did not resume her tales of fiction until she had given expression to her filial affection and gratitude to her father for his precious care in training her mind and encouraging her talents, and also to her deep and tender grief for his loss, by completing the "Memoir" he had commenced of his own life. This was published in 1820. Then she resumed her course of moral instruction for the young, and published that work, which so many children, in America as well as in Great Britain, have been happier and better for reading, namely, "Rosamond, a Sequel to Early Lessons." In 1825, "Harriet and Lucy," a continuation of the "Early Lessons," in four volumes, was issued. In 1823, Miss Edgeworth visited Sir Walter Scott at Abbotsford. "Never," says Mr. 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 people as a great lord ought to do." 66 In 1834, Miss Edgeworth made her last appearance as a novelist, with the exquisite story of Helen," in three volumes. It is her best work of fiction, combining with truth and nature more of the warmth of fancy and pathos of feeling than she displayed in her earlier writings. As though the last beams from the sun of her genius had, like the departing rays of a long unclouded day, become softer in their brightness and beauty, while stealing away from the world they had blessed. | tention to what was going on,-the one not seeming to interfere with the other,—puzzled me exceedingly. In that same corner, and upon that table, she had written nearly all that has enlightened and delighted the world; the novels that moved Sir Walter Scott to do for Scotland what Miss Edgeworth had done for Ireland;' the works in which she brought the elevated sensibilities and sound morality of maturer life to a level with the comprehension of childhood, and rendered knowledge, and virtue, and care, and order, the playthings and companions of the nursery;-in that spot, and while the multitudinous family were moving about and talking of the ordinary and everyday things of life,- she remained, wrapt up, to all appearance, in her subject, yet knowing, by a sort of instinct, when she was really wanted in the conversation; and then, without laying down her pen,-hardly looking up from her page,-she would, by a judicious sentence, wisely and kindly spoken, explain and illustrate, in a few words, so as to clear up any difficulty; or turn the converin the " Art-Journal," thus delineates the domes-sation into a new and more pleasing current. She tic life of her revered friend, whom she visited in had the most harmonious way of throwing in ex1842: planations; informing, while entertaining, and that without embarrassing. As every thing pertaining to the private life of a woman whose intellect has had such wide-spread and happy influence on the risen and rising generations of the Saxon race, is of incalculable importance to the literary character of her sex, we will give a sketch of Miss Edgeworth at home, from the pen of one who knew her well, and has most charmingly described her. Mrs. S. C. Hall, "The entrance-hall at Edgeworthstown was an admirable preface to the house and family; it was spacious, hung with portraits; here, a case of stuffed birds; there, another of curiosities; specimens of various kinds, models of various things, all well arranged and well kept, all capable of affording amusement or instruction; an excellent place it was for children to play in, for at every pause in their games their little minds would be led to question what they saw; a charming waiting-room, it might have been, were it not that at Edgeworthstown no one was ever kept waiting, everything was as well-timed as at a railway-station. Many of this numerous family at that period had passed from time to eternity; others were absent; but there still remained a large family party. Among them were two of Miss Edgeworth's sisters, and Mr. and Mrs. Francis Edgeworth, and their children. The library at Edgeworthstown is by no means the stately, solitary room that libraries generally are; it is large, spacious, and lofty, well stored with books, and embellished with those most valuable of all classes of prints, the suggestive.' It is also picturesque, having been added to, and supported by pillars, so as to increase its breadth, and the beautiful lawn seen through the windows, embellished and varied by clumps of trees, imparts much cheerfulness to the exterior. If you look at the oblong table in the centre, you will see the rallying-point of the family, who were generally grouped around it, reading, writing, or working; while Miss Edgeworth, only anxious upon one point,—that all in the house should do exactly as they liked, without reference to her, sat in her own peculiar corner on the sofa: her desk,-upon which was Sir Walter Scott's pen, given to her by him, when in Ireland,-placed before her on a little quaint, unassuming table, constructed and added to for convenience. Miss Edgeworth's abstractedness, and yet power of at man. It was quite charming to see how Mr. Francis Edgeworth's children enjoyed the freedom of the library without abusing it; to set these little people right when they were wrong, to rise from her table to fetch them a toy, or even to save a servant a journey; to run up the high steps and find a volume that escaped all eyes but her own; and having done all this, in less space of time than I have taken to write it, to hunt out the exact passage wanted or referred to-were the hourly employments of this unspoiled and admirable woShe would then resume her pen, and continue writing, pausing sometimes to read a passage from an article or letter that pleased herself, and would please her still more if it excited the sympathy of those she loved. I expressed my astonishment at this to Mrs. Edgeworth, who said that "Maria was always the same; her mind was so rightly balanced, everything so honestly weighed, that she suffered no inconvenience from what would disturb and distract an ordinary writer." Perhaps to this habit, however, may be traced a want of closeness in her arguments; indeed, neither on paper or in conversation was she argumentative. She would rush at a thing at once, rendering it sparkling and interesting by her playfulness, and informing by anecdote or illustration, and then start another subject. She spoke in eloquent sentences, and felt so truly what she said, that she made others instantly feel also. moist, and a pair of gloves, too small for any hands but hers, told who was the early florist. She was passionately fond of flowers: she liked to grow them, and to give them; one of the most loved and cherished of my garden's rose-bushes, is a gift from Miss Edgeworth. There was a rose, or a little bouquet of her arranging, always by each plate on the breakfast-table, and if she saw my bouquet faded, she was sure to tap at my door with a fresh one before dinner. And this from Maria Edgeworth-then between seventy and eighty!-to me!! These small attentions enter the heart and remain there, when great services and great talents are regarded perhaps like great mountains,-distant, and cold, and ungenial. I linger over what I write, and yet feel I cannot pourtray her at all as I desire to do. "Her whole life was a lesson of truth, and yet her truths never offended; she took the rough edge off an opinion with so tender and skilful a hand, she was so much fonder of wiling you into a virtue than exciting terror at a vice; so stedfast yet so gentle, that whenever she left the room, there was something wanting, a joy departed, a light gone out. She had a vivid perception of the ridiculous, but that was kept in admirable order by her benevolence. Her eyes and mouth would often smile, when she restrained an observation, which, if it had found words, would have amused us, while it perhaps pained others; and yet she had the happiest manner of saying things, drawing a picture with a few words, as a great artist produces a likeness with a few touches of his pencil. I remember Cuvier excited my admiration very much, during one of our visits to Paris; I saw him frequently in society, and his magnificent head captivated my imagination. "Yes," said Miss Edgeworth, "he is indeed a wonder, but he has been an example of the folly of literary and scientific men being taken out of their sphere; Cuvier was more vain of his bad speeches in the Chamber of Peers, than he was of his vast reputa tion as a naturalist." I never knew any one so ready to give information; her mind was generous in every sense of the word, in small things as well as in large; she gave away all the duplicates of her shells -"One is enough," she would say, "I must keep that out of compliment to the giver." She was not reserved in speaking of her literary labours, but she never volunteered speaking of them or of herself; she never seemed to be in her own head, as it were -much less in her own heart: she loved herself, thought of herself, cared for herself, infinitely less than she did for those around her. Naturally anxious to know everything connected with her habits of thought and writing-I often reverted to her books, which she said I remembered a great deal better than she did herself. When she saw that I really enjoyed talking about them, she spoke of them with her usual frankness. I told her I observed that she spoke to children as she wrote for them, and she said it was so; and she believed that having been so much with children, had taught her to think for them. I have no. doubt that the succession of children in the Edgeworth family, kept alive her interest in childhood; those who withdraw from the society of youth, when they themselves are no longer young, turn away from the greenness and freshness of existence; it is as if winter made no preparation for, and had no desire to be succeeded by spring. While seeing the little weaknesses of humanity, clearly and truly, she avoided dwelling upon them, and could not bear to inflict pain: "People," she said, "see matters so differently that the very thing I should be most proud of makes others blush with shame; Wedgwood carried the 'hod' of mortar in his youth, but his family objected to that fact being stated in Harry and Lucy.'" I once asked her how long she took to write a novel. She replied, she had generally taken ample time; she had written "Ormond" in three months; "but that," she added, "was at my father's command; I read to him at night what I wrote by day, and I never heard of the book, nor could I think of it, after his death, until my sister, two years after, read it me; then it was quite forgotten." She had a great veneration for father Matthew, and said Mr. Hall did himself honour by being the first Protestant, and the first Conservative, who advocated his cause in print: "What authors say goes for nothing," she observed; "it is what they write they should be judged by." I remember saying to her, how happy it was for Ireland that she had overcome every religious prejudice. "Ah!" she exclaimed, "I never had religious prejudices to overcome, so I deserve no praise for being without them." Miss Edgeworth never wrote that other people might practise, but she wrote what she and hers practised daily; it was evident from the children being constantly with the family, that they still held by the opinion that intercourse between children and servants is injurious to the former. "We believe in it," said Miss Edgeworth; "but I have long learned how very impossible it is for others to practise it. My father made it easy; for not only his wife, but his children knew all his affairs. Whatever business he had to do was done in the midst of his family, usually in the common sitting-room; so that we were intimately acquainted, not only with his general principles of conduct, but with the most minute details of their every-day application." Some of the "unco good" have complained of what they call the want of religious, but what I should rather call sectarian, instruction, in Miss Edgeworth's juvenile works. "We wrote," she said to me, "for every sect, and did not, nor do I now, think it right, to introduce the awful idea of God's superintendence upon puerile occasions. I hold religion in a more exalted view than as a subject of perpetual outward exhibition. Many dignitaries of the established church honoured my father by their esteem and private friendship; this could not have been, had they believed him to be |