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to that could be useful to improve her genius. Her delight in intellectual cultivation was only equalled by her conscientious industry; the most complete success crowned her application. As a painter, her works take place among the best Italian nasters. She has also left some very excellent

engravings, and displayed no mean ability in modelling in plaster. Before she had attained her eighteenth year, she had painted many large historical pieces, which were regarded with admiration, and obtained an honourable situation in the various churches. Besides this, the young artist was a very excellent musician, singing beautifully, and playing with grace upon the harp. She was as remarkable for her plain good sense and amiable disposition, as for her talents. The solace and support of her invalid father, she put into his hands all the money she received for her pictures. Her mother having become paralytic, the household affairs devolved upon her; and her attention to the minutiae of inferior occupations, as well as her motherly care of her younger sisters, proved that the brilliant exercise of the most refined accomplishments and the most intellectual attainments is by no means incompatible with the perfect discharge of those menial employments to which the wisdom of some Solomons would limit the ⚫ faculties of woman.

It would be impossible to enumerate the works of this indefatigable artist. She was admired and visited by the great of that day, who vied with one another in the desire to obtain specimens of her pencil. At one time, a committee appointed to order a large picture of the baptism of Jesus, to be placed opposite a Holy Supper in the church of the Certosini, called upon her. Radiant with inspiration, the girl, then scarcely twenty, took a sheet of paper, and, before the eyes of the astonished beholders, with the utmost promptness, drew in Indian ink, that composition so rich in figures, so spirited in its details, and so grand in its ensemble. As soon as it was finished, it was hung where it now stands, and drew an immense concourse of admiring spectators. The drawing, the colouring, the harmony of the parts, have obtain

ed the praise and enthusiastic tributes of all succeeding artists. Her fame was spread throughout Italy, and foreign courts became desirous of extending to her their patronage. A large picture was bespoken by the empress Eleonora, widow of Ferdinand III., when she was assailed by a disease of the stomach, which, after a few months of slight indisposition, attacked her so violently, that in less than twenty-four hours she was reduced to extremity. She received the sacrament, and died on the 28th of August, her birth-day. She was twenty-seven years of age. As she was apparently robust and of good constitution, suspicions arose of poison having been administered to her; but, upon a post mortem examination, no conclusive evidence could be found; and as the suspected individual (a servant) was acquitted in the legal scrutiny which took place, we are not warranted in the idea that her death was otherwise than a natural one.

There was a universal mourning among her fellow-citizens; all funereal honours were given to her remains, which were deposited near those of Guido, in the church of San Domenico.

SIRIES, VIOLANTE BEATRICE, Was born at Florence, in 1710. She was a pupil of Giovanna Fratellini, who at that time lived in high esteem in Florence; by whose instruction she made an extraordinary proficiency in water-colour and crayon painting, till she was sixteen, when she went, with her father, to Paris, where he was appointed goldsmith to the king of France. Here she continued for five years, and studied under an eminent Flemish artist.. She painted portraits of several of the nobility with such beauty and fidelity, that she was invited to take likenesses of the royal family; but she was under the necessity of declining this honour, as she was about to return with her father to Florence, where he had a very lucrative employment conferred on him by the Grand Duke.

The Grand Duke professed great esteem for this artist, and ordered her portrait to be placed in the gallery of artists at Florence. To perpetuate her father's memory, she introduced his portrait with her own, giving at once a proof of her filial piety and distinguished merit. She painted equally well in oil and with crayons; but most of her works are in oil, and are principally from historical subjects. She also painted fruit and flowers; and executed every subject with extraordinary taste, truth, and delicacy. She died in 1760.

SMITH, CHARLOTTE,

ELDEST daughter of Nicholas Turner, Esq., of Surrey, in England, was born in London, May 4th, 1749. She lost her mother when she was only three years old, and the charge of her education devolved on her aunt. Miss Turner was carefully instructed in all the accomplishments of the day, but she afterwards regretted that her attention had not been directed more to the solid branches of learning. She began to write when very young, and was always extravagantly fond of reading, especially poetry and romances. At the early age

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of twelve she left school, and from that time was | lation of some of the most remarkable trials, from accustomed to frequent public amusements with "Les Causes Célébres." her family, and even appear in society with them. She was beautiful, animated, and attractive, and appeared so much older than she really was, that at fourteen she received proposals of marriage, which were refused, and at fifteen she was married to Mr. Smith, son of Richard Smith, a West India mercnant, and Director of the East India Company.

Mr. Smith's great inferiority to his wife, both in mind and principles, was more and more apparent every year, which Mrs. Smith felt keenly as she grew older; yet never to her most confidential friends did she allow a complaint or severe remark to escape her lips. Her father-in-law fully appreciated her, and often employed her pen on matters of business, and confided to her all his anxieties. He often remarked that she could expedite more business in an hour, from his dictation, than any one of his clerks could perform in a day. This affords a strong instance of the compass of her mind, which could adapt itself with equal facility to the charms of literature and the dry details of

commerce.

In 1776, the death of her father-in-law, who left an incomprehensible will which kept them for some time involved in law-suits, occasioned the final ruin of their fortunes. Their estate in Hampshire was sold, and they removed to Sussex. Mrs. Smith never deserted her husband for a moment during the period of his misfortunes. While suffering from the calamities he had brought on himself and his children, she exerted herself with as much energy as though his conduct had been unexceptionable, made herself mistress of his affairs, and finally succeeded in settling them.

Mr. Smith found it expedient, in 1783, to retire to the continent, where his wife joined him with their children. They resided near Dieppe; and here her youngest son was born. She translated while there the novel called "Manon l'Escaut." In 1785, she returned to England; and soon after published "The Romance of Real Life," a trans

In 1786, Mrs. Smith, finding it impossible to live longer with any degree of comfort with her husband, resolved to separate from him; and, with the approbation of all her most judicious friends, she settled herself in a small house near Chichester. Her husband, becoming involved in fresh difficulties, again retired to the continent, after some ineffectual attempts to induce her to return to him. They sometimes met after this, and constantly corresponded, Mrs. Smith never relaxing her efforts to afford him assistance, or bring the family affairs to a final arrangement; but they never afterwards resided together.

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In her seclusion at Wyhe, her novels of "Emmeline," Ethelinde," and "Celestina," were written. These were very successful. In 1791, she went to reside near London; and, during the excitement caused by the French revolution, she wrote "Desmond," which was severely censured for its political and moral tendency. "But she regained public favour," says Mr. Chambers, "by her tale, the Old Manor House,'" which is the best of her novels. Part of this work was written at Eartham, the residence of Hayley, during the period of Cowper's visit to that poetical retreat. "It was delightful," says Hayley, "to hear her read what she had just written; for she read, as she wrote, with simplicity and grace." Cowper was also astonished at the rapidity and excellence of her composition. Mrs. Smith continued her literary labours amidst private and family distress. She also wrote a "History of England," and a "Natural History of Birds," in 1807; "Conversations," and several other works. Her first publication was a volume of elegiac "Sonnets" and other Essays, in 1784. She died at Tilford, October 28th, 1806, in her fifty-eighth year. Her husband had died the preceding year. As a mother, she was most exemplary.

Mr. Chambers thus sums up his opinion of her writings:-" The poetry of Mrs. Smith is elegant and sentimental, and generally of a pathetic cast. She wrote as if melancholy had marked her for her own.' The keen satire and observation evinced in her novels do not appear in her verse; but the same powers of description are displayed. Her sketches of English scenery are true and pleasing."

Sir Walter Scott also gives "high praise to the sweet and sad effusions of Mrs. Smith's pen;" but observes, "We cannot admit that by these alone she could ever have risen to the height of eminence which we are disposed to claim for her as authoress of her prose narratives."

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Mark wl.ere transparent waters glide,

Soft flowing o'er their tranquil bed; There, cradled on the dimpling tide,

Nymphæa rests her lovely head.

But conscious of the earliest beam,
She rises from her humid nest,
And sees, reflected in the stream,
The virgin whiteness of her breast.

Till the bright day-star to the west
Declines, in ocean's surge to lave;
Then, folded in her modest vest,
She slumbers on the rocking wave.

See Hieracium's various tribe,

Of plumy seed and radiate flowers, The course of Time their blooms describe, And wake or sleep appointed hours.

Broad o'er its imbricated cup

The goatsbeard spreads its golden rays,
But shuts its cautious petals up,
Retreating from the noontide blaze.
Pale as a pensive cloistered nun,
The Bethlem star her face unveils,
When o'er the mountain peers the sun,
But shades it from the vesper gales.
Among the loose and arid sands
The humble arenaria creeps;
Slowly the purple star expands,

But soon within its calyx sleeps.
And those small bells so lightly rayed
With young Aurora's rosy hue,
Are to the noontide sun displayed,
But shut their plaits against the dew

On upland slopes the shepherds mark
The hour when, as the dial true,
Cichorium to the towering lark

Lifts her soft eyes serenely blue.
And thou, "Wee crimson-tipped flower,"
Gatherest thy fringed mantle round
Thy bosom at the closing hour,
When night-drops bathe the turfy ground.
Unlike silene, who declines

The garish noontide's blazing light; But when the evening crescent shines, Gives all her sweetness to the night. Thus in each flower and simple bell, That in our path betrodden lie, Are sweet remembrancers who tell How fast their winged moments fly.

THE CRICKET.

Little inmate, full of mirth,
Chirping on my humble hearth;
Wheresoe'er be thine abode,
Always harbinger of good,

Pay me for thy warm retreat
With a song most soft and sweet;
In return thou shalt receive
Such a song as I can give.

Though in voice and shape they be
Formed as if akin to thee,
Thou surpassest, happier far,
Happiest grasshoppers that are;
Their's is but a summer-song,
Thine endures the winter long,
Unimpaired, and shrill and clear,
Melody throughout the year.
Neither night nor dawn of day
Puts a period to thy lay,
Then, insect! let thy simple song
Cheer the winter evening long;
While, secure from every storm,
In my cottage stout and warm,
Thou shalt my merry minstrel be,
And I delight to shelter thee.

SONNETS.

On the Departure of the Nightingale. Sweet poet of the woods, a long adieu! Farewell soft minstrel of the early year! Ah! 'twill be long ere thou shalt sing anew, And pour thy music on the night's dull ear. Whether on spring thy wandering flights await, Or whether silent in our groves you dwell. The pensive muse shall own thee for her mate, And still protect the song she loves so well. With cautious step the love-lorn youth shall glide Through the lone brake that shades thy mossy nest And shepherd girls from eyes profane shall hide The gentle bird who sings of pity best: For still thy voice shall soft affections move, And still be dear to sorrow and to love!

Written at the Close of Spring.

The garlands fade that Spring so lately wove;
Each simple flower, which she had nursed in dew,
Anemonies that spangled every grove,

The primrose wan, and harebell mildly blue
No more shall violets linger in the dell,

Or purple orchis variegate the plain,
Till Spring again shall call forth every bell,
And dress with humid hands her wreaths again.
Ah, poor humanity! so frail, so fair,

Are the fond visions of thy early day,
Till tyrant passion and corrosive care
Bid all thy fairy colours fade away!
Another May new buds and flowers shall bring;
Ah! why has happiness no second Spring?

TO NIGHT.

I love thee, mournful sober-suited night,
When the faint moon, yet lingering in her wane,
And veiled in clouds, with pale uncertain light
Hangs o'er the waters of the restless main.
In deep depression sunk, th' enfeebled mind
Will to the deaf, cold elements complain,
And tell th' embosomed grief, however vain,
To sullen surges and the viewless wind;
Though no repose on thy dark breast I find,
I still enjoy thee, cheerless as thou art;
For in thy quiet gloom th' exhausted heart

Is calm, though wretched; hopeless, yet resigned,
While to the winds and waves its sorrows given,
May reach-though lost on earth-the ear of Heaven

TO TRANQUILLITY.

In this tumultuous sphere, for thee unfit,
How seldom art thou found- - Tranquillity!
Unless 't is when with mild and downcast eye
By the low cradles thou delight'st to sit
Of sleeping infants, watching the soft breath,
And bidding the sweet slumberers easy lie,
Or sometimes hanging o'er the bed of death,
Where the poor languid sufferer hopes to die
O beauteous sister of the halcyon peace!

I sure shall find thee in that heavenly scene
Where care and anguish shall their power resign;
Where hope alike and vain regret shall cease;
And Memory, lost in happiness serene,
Repeat no more that misery has been mine!

SMITH, ELIZABETH,

Was born, in 1776, at the family seat of Burnhall, in the county of Durham. She understood mathematics, drawing, Hebrew, Syriac, Arabic, Persian, Greek, Latin, Italian, Spanish, German, and French. Her" Fragments," "Translation of Job," and "Translation of the Life of Klopstock," have been published. She also wrote poetry. She died in 1806. aged thirty years.

SMITH, SARAH LOUISA P.,

Was born at Detroit, in 1811, while her maternal grandfather, Major-General William Hull, so well known for his patriotism and his misfortunes, was governor of the territory of Michigan. Her father's name was Hickman; he died when Louisa was an infant; and her mother, returning to her own home at Newton, Massachusetts, there educated her two daughters. The uncommon quickness of talent exhibited by Louisa, soon attracted the attention of her instructers. She had a most wonderful memory, and gathered knowledge without any apparent effort - yet was she ever among the most active in mental pursuits. And the ease with which she acquired information was not more remarkable than the modesty which accompanied her superiority. She began to write when a mere child, and these juvenile productions were often so excellent, as to elicit great commendations from her family and their confidential friends; yet this praise never fostered pride or self-confidence in the youthful poetess. She wrote from the spontaneous overflowing of her own heart, which seemed filled with thoughts of beauty, and all tender and sweet emotions. By the persuasion of her friends, she was induced to send some of her effusions, anonymously, to different periodicals. These were greatly admired, and often reprinted. Before she was fifteen, her name had become known, and she was distinguished as a young lady of uncommon She was soon an object of powers of intellect. attention. Her personal appearance was very prepossessing. She had a countenance bright with the "light of mind," a soft and delicate complexion, a large loving eye," and a head of that fine "spiritual form," which at once impresses the beholder with the majesty and purity of the mind within.

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In 1828, Miss Hickman was married to Mr. S. J. Smith, then the editor of a literary periodical in Providence. Soon after her marriage, her husband published a volume of her poems; some collected from the literary journals, and others written as the book was passing through the press. She was then but "careless seventeen," as she says of herself; and it was a hazardous experiment to give a volume of poetry, which must have been, however highly imbued with genius, more fraught with the feelings and sentiments of others, than with those teachings of truth and nature which experience in the real world can only bestow. But the book was popular; and though she would, had she lived till the maturity of her powers, no doubt greatly excelled her early writings, yet, as the blossoms of an original and extraordinary genius, these poems will ever be admired.

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to those she loved, which made her presence a perpetual delight." In her own home she was a model of discretion, cheerfulness and kindness. Her husband was always her lover, and her two little sons she cherished with that peculiar tenderness which only those endowed with the finest sensibilities can feel. Yet, amid all her maternal and household cares, her mind was rapidly gathering strength for higher literary pursuits. She was, at the time of her decease, engaged in reviewing her early opinions on literature, and her early productions, pointing out, and acknowledging her errors and deficiencies, with the most frank honesty; and preparing by study and reflection to make her genius the faithful interpreter of nature and the human heart. What she has written is marked by ease, grace, and that intuitive perception of the beautiful and good, which shows that her imagination was a blessing to herself, as well as a pleasure to others. And with the refinement of taste and warmth of affections which Mrs. Smith possessed, was united pure, ardent, and unaffected piety. The hope of immortality was to her a glorious hope; and the benevolence which the Gospel inculcates, was her cherished feeling.

She died, February, 1832, in the twenty-first year of her age.

The following are considered among her best

poems:

THE HUMA.

"A bird peculiar to the East. It is supposed to fly constantly
in the air and never touch the ground."
Fly on nor touch thy wing, bright bird,
Too near our shaded earth,

Or the warbling, now so sweetly heard,
May lose its note of mirth.

Fly on nor seek a place of rest

In the home of "care-worn things;"
'T would dim the light of thy shining crest
And thy brightly burnished wings,
To dip them where the waters glide
That flow from a troubled earthly tide.

The fields of upper air are thine,

Thy place where stars shine free:

I would thy home, bright one, were mine,
Above life's stormy sea.

I would never wander, bird, like thee,
So near this place again,

With wing and spirit once light and free-
They should wear no more the chain
With which they are bound and fettered here.
For ever struggling for skies more clear.

There are many things like thee, bright bird,
Hopes as thy plumage gay;

Our air is with them for ever stirred,
But still in air they stay.
And happiness, like thee, fair one,
Is ever hovering o'er,
But rests in a land of brighter sun,
On a waveless, peaceful shore,
And stoops to lave her weary wings,
Where the fount of living waters" springs.

THE HEART'S TREASURES.

Know ye what things the heart holds dear
In its hidden cells?

'Tis never the beam of careless smiles,
Nor riches wafted from far-off isles;
The light that cheers it is never shed
From the jewelled pomp of a regal head,
Not there it dwells

Gay things, the loved of worldly eyes,
Enchain it not;

It suns its blossoms in fairer skies,
The dewy beam of affection's eyes;
The spell is there that can hold it fast,
When earthly pride in its pomp is past,
And all forgot.

Thoughts that come from their far, dim rest,
Woke by a smile-

The memory sweet of a youthful hour,
The faded hue of a cherished flower,
Or parting tones of a far-off friend,
It loves in melody soft to blend
With him the while.

Know ye what things the heart holds dear: Its buried loves!

Those that have wrung from it many a tear, Gone where the leaves never fall or sear, Gone to the land that is sought in prayer, The trace of whose step is fairest, where Fond memory roves.

The sound of music at even-fall,
Filling its springs

With a flow of thought, and feeling sweet
As summer winds, when at eve they meet,
And lips that are loved, breathe forth the song,
When day with its troubled sounds is gone-
To these it clings.

And nature's pleasant murmurings,

So sweet to hear;

Her bowers of beauty, and soft-shed gleams
Of light and shadow on forest streams,
Her mossy rocks and places rude,
The charm of her breathing solitude-
These it holds dear.

TRUST IN HEAVEN.

For He hath said, I will never leave thee nor forsake thee."
Yes, He hath said, whose word hath power,
Nor may his children fear
The clouds that on their pathway lower,
With this high promise near.

When He, whose arm sends o'er the deep
The shades of falling night,

And calls the morning sun to steep
The isles of earth in light,

Is o'er their path, and guarding still Those whom he knows are frail; When gathering clouds of worldly ill Cause human strength to fail.

The spirit hath a chord that clings. To lights that must grow dim, And places trust in fragile things, That should be placed on Him.

But when that hold is severed - then,
In sorrow's hour of night-
When the plant has lost its earthly stem,
He sends his own clear light.

And in those words of truth and power
Is the sacred promise given:
Which has lifted many a drooping flower
To the still clear air of heaven.

SMITH, SARAH LANMAN, WAS born in Norwich, Connecticut, June 18, 1802. Her father was Jabez Huntington, Esq. Her biographer, Rev. Edward W. Hooker, says of her early years, after describing her sufferings from ill health during childhood, and also from the severity of a school-mistress, which circum

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she exhibited, as she was advancing in the years of youth, many of the virtues which are useful and lovely; and probably went as far in those excellences of natural character on which many endeavour to build their hope of salvation, as almost any unconverted persons do; carrying with her however, the clear and often disturbing conviction, that the best virtues which she practised were not holiness, nor any evidence of fitness for heaven.

She was exceedingly attached to her friends Her father was almost her idol. The affection for her mother, who was so early removed by death, she transferred, with exemplary tenderness, to her step-mother; and it is believed the instances are rare in which the parties are uniformly happier in each other, in that relation, than were Mrs. Huntington and this daughter. Her warmth and tenderness of affection as a sister were also peculiar and exemplary. Her childhood and youth were marked with great delicacy of mind and manners; diligence, promptitude, and efficiency in her undertakings; love of system and fondness for study, improvement, and the acquirement of useful knowledge, joined with a great desire to answer the wishes and expectations of her friends. Dutifulness and respect for her parents and grandparents; reverence for her superiors generally; readiness to receive advice or admonition; a just appreciation of the good influence of others, and a spirit of cautiousness respecting whatever might be injurious to her own character, were also prominent traits in her habits. Disinterestedness and self-denial for the benefit of others were conspicuLong before she became a subject of divine grace, she took an interest in various objects of benevolence, particularly Sabbath schools; and exhibited that spirit of enterprise, patience, and perseverance, in aiding the efforts of others, which constituted so prominent an excellence in her cha

ous.

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