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tron, that makes the Corinnes and Heloises appear very insignificant. We may safely venture to assert that a nation which produces many such wives and mothers as Mrs. Lucy Hutchinson, must be both great and happy."

We should do injustice to the worth of female genius if we omitted to give a few extracts from this work of Mrs. Hutchinson. An "Address to her Children" forms the introduction to the Memoir. Thus she writes:

"I, who am under a command not to grieve at the common rate of desolate women, while I am studying which way to moderate my wo, and, if it were possible, to augment my love, can find out none more just to your dear father, or more consoling to myself, than the preservation of his memory; which I need not gild with such flattering commendations as the hired preachers equally give to the truly and the nominally honourable; an undrest narrative, speaking the simple truth of him, will deck him with more substantial glory than all the panegyrics the best pens could ever consecrate to the virtues of the best men. To number his virtues is to give the epitome of his life, which was nothing else but a progress from one degree of virtue to another. His example was more instructive than the best rules of the 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 governed by him. He had a native majesty that struck awe into the hearts of men, and a sweet greatness that commanded love."

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His affection for his wife was such, that whoever would form rules of kindness, honour, and religion, to be practised in that state, need no more, but exactly draw out his example. Man never had a greater passion or a more honourable esteem for woman; yet he was not uxorious, and never remitted that just rule which it was her honour to obey; but he managed the reins of government with such prudence and affection, that she who would not delight in such honourable and advantageous subjection, must have wanted a reasonable soul. He governed by persuasion, which he never employed but in things profitable to herself. He loved her soul better than her countenance; yet even for her person he had a constant affection, exceeding the common 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; he regarded her, not as his idol, but as his fellow-crea

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ture in the Lord, and proved that such a feeling exceeds all the irregularities in the world."

Mrs. Hutchinson brought up her children and lived to see some of them married. The time of her decease is not known.

HYDE, ANNE, DUCHESS OF YORK, THE eldest daughter of Lord Clarendon, and mother of two of the queens of Great Britain, was born in 1638. During the exile of the royal family she attended her father abroad, and was appointed maid of honour to the princess of Orange, the eldest sister of Charles II. Her intercourse with James, duke of York, then a young and gallant soldier, commenced when Miss Hyde was in her twenty-first year. She had accompanied the princess of Orange to Paris, on a visit to her mother, queen Henrietta, when James saw, and fell in love with her. They were betrothed at Breda, November 24th, 1659; but there were so many difficulties in obtaining the consent of the royal family to this alliance, that they were not married till September 3d, 1660. The ceremony was performed at Worcester-House, London. The duchess of York was a handsome and sensible woman, and lived in harmony with her husband, notwithstanding his open infidelities. Before her death she became a Roman Catholic. She died at St. James' palace, March 31st, 1671, in her thirty-fourth year.

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A DRAMATIST and novelist, whose maiden name was Simpson, was born in 1756, at Stanningfield, near Bury, in Suffolk. The beauty of Elizabeth Simpson was much celebrated in the circle of her acquaintance, and she appears to have been noticed by those of a higher rank than her own circle; but an imperfection in her organs of utterance rendered her averse to society, and she would, in early youth, fly to solitude, and seek, in books, for the amusement she could not enjoy in conversation. The kind of education she received may

be gathered from an observation of her own: "It is astonishing how much all girls are inclined to literature, to what boys are. My brother went to school seven years, and could not spell; I, and my two sisters, though we were never taught, could spell from our infancy."

To cure the impediment in her speech she exerted the most persevering efforts, and by repeated trials discovered the way of palliating her defects. She says that she wrote out all the words with which she had any difficulty, carried them constantly about with her, and at last perceived, or fancied she perceived, that stage declamation was favourable to this defect, rather than the reverse. When sixteen she secretly left her family, prompted by an irrepressible desire to visit London. After escaping many dangers in this rash adventure, she married Mr. Inchbald, of Drury Lane theatre, and was for several years on the stage. Mr. Inchbald died suddenly, in 1779, and left his widow, at twenty-five years of age, entirely dependent on herself for support. She continued on the stage for a time, but left it in 1789, and from that time devoted herself solely to her literary labours. She wrote nineteen dramas, some of which were very successful, and two novels, "The Simple Story," and "Nature and Art,” which rank among the standard works in that class of literature; and she edited "The British Theatre," 66 The Modern Theatre," and a collection of farces. Mrs. Inchbald died August 1st, 1821, aged sixty-seven.

The following is the opinion of Miss Edgeworth respecting the " Simple Story," the most popular of Mrs. Inchbald's works: "I have just been reading, for the third, I believe for the fourth time, the Simple Story.' Its effect upon my feelings was as powerful as at the first reading; I never read any novel-I except none-I never read any novel that affected me so strongly, or that so completely possessed me with the belief in the real existence of all the persons it represents. I never once recollected the author whilst I was reading it; never said or thought, that's a fine sentiment—or, that is well expressed-or, that is well invented; I believed all to be real, and was affected as I should be by the real scenes, if they had passed before my eyes; it is truly and deeply pathetic."

Of her second novel, "Nature and Art," Mr. Chambers, in his "Cyclopædia of English Literature," remarks: "Its object may be gathered from the concluding maxim-Let the poor no more be their own persecutors - -no longer pay homage to wealth-instantaneously the whole idolatrous worship will cease-the idol will be broken.' Mrs. Inchbald illustrated this by her own practice; yet few of her readers can feel aught but mortification and disappointment at the denouement of the tale, wherein the pure and noble-minded Henry, after the rich promise of his youth and his intellectual culture, finally settles down with his father to cheerful labour in fishing, or the tending of a garden, the produce of which they carry to the next market-town?' The following brief allusion to the miseries of low London service reminds us


of the vividness and stern pathos of Dickens :'In romances, and in some plays, there are scenes of dark and unwholesome mines, wherein the labourer works during the brightest day by the aid of artificial light. There are, in London, kitchens equally dismal, though not quite so much exposed to damp and noxious vapours. In one of these under ground, hidden from the cheerful light of the sun, poor Agnes was doomed to toil from morning till night, subjected to the command of a dissatisfied mistress, who, not estimating as she ought the misery incurred by serving her, constantly threatened her servants with a dismission, at which the unthinking wretches would tremble merely from the sound of the words; for to have reflected-to have considered what their purport was to be released from a dungeon, relieved from continual upbraiding and vile drudgery, must have been a subject of rejoicing; and yet, because these good tidings were delivered as a menace, custom had made the hearer fearful of the consequence. So, death being described to children as a disaster, even poverty and shame will start from it with affright; whereas, had it been pictured with its benign aspect, it would have been feared but by few, and many, many would welcome it with gladness.'"

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But better than any sentiment contained in her works of fiction are the noble generosity and true Christian self-denial she practised towards her poor, unfortunate sister, whom she supported for many years. The brief notices of her charitable deeds, gathered from letters and the records of her friends, are her best monument. One writer says: Mrs. Inchbald frequently suffered from the want of fire herself, when it is known that she had enabled others to avail themselves of that necessary of life, and her donations to her sisters and other friends in distress were generous and munificent. To her sister, Mrs. Hunt, she eventually allowed nearly a hundred per annum. At the time when Mrs. Inchbald was her own servant, she writes, I have raised her allowance to eighty, but in the rapid strides of her wants, and my obligation as a Christian to make no selfish refusal to the poor, a few months hence, I foresee, must make the sum a hundred.' Again, in 1810, she says, 'I say No to all the vanities of the world, and perhaps soon shall have to say, that I shall allow my poor infirm sister a hundred a year.'


To the last, Mrs. Hunt depended on Mrs. Inchbald almost exclusively for support. The following expresses the sentiments of her feeling and affectionate heart, on the receipt of the intelligence that she had no longer a brother or sister in the world. To return to my melancholy. Many a time this winter, when I cried with cold, I said to myself-but, thank God, my sister has not to stir from her room: she has her fire lighted every morning; all her provisions bought, and brought to her ready cooked: she would be less able to bear what I bear; and how much more should I have to suffer, but from this reflection! It almost made me warm, when I reflected that SHE suffered no cold; and yet, perhaps, this severe weather affected her also, for after only two

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Probably our readers would like to have a description of this excellent as well as eminent woman, who has shown an example of noble virtues under very adverse circumstances, and therefore is entitled to high estimation. Mrs. Inchbald was a strict Roman Catholic. One who knew her well thus describes her personal appearance: "The fair muse,' as she was often termed, was, when between thirty and forty, above the middle size, rather tall, of a striking figure, but a little too erect and stiff. She was naturally fair, slightly freckled, and her hair was of a sandy auburn hue. Her face and features were beautiful, and her countenance was full of spirit and sweetness." This description is from a decided admirer of hers, who winds it up with observing, that "her dress was always becoming, and very seldom worth so much as eight pence."


Is celebrated for her skill in calligraphy, or fine writing. In the beauty, exactness, and variety of her characters, she excelled all who preceded her. In the library of Christ-church in Oxford are the Psalms of David, written in French by Mrs. Inglis, who presented them in person to queen Elizabeth, by whom they were given to the library. Two manuscripts, written by Mrs. Inglis, were also preserved with care in the Bodleian library: one of them is entitled "Le six vingt et six Quatrains de Guy de Tour, sieur de Pybrac, escrits par Esther Inglis, pour son dernier adieu, ce 21 ejour de Juin, 1617." The following address is, in the second leaf, written in capital letters: "To the right worshipful my very singular friende, Joseph Hall, doctor of divinity, and dean of Winchester, Esther Inglis wisheth all increase of true happiness. Junii xxi. 1617." In the third leaf is pasted the head of the writer, painted upon a card. The other manuscript is entitled "Les Proverbes de Salomon; escrites en diverses sortes de lettres, par Esther Anglois, en Françoise. A Lislebourge en Escosse," 1599. In the royal library, D. xvi. are "Esther Inglis's fifty Emblems," finely drawn and written: A Lislebourg en Escosse, l'anne 1624.

Esther Inglis married, when she was about forty, a Scotchman, Bartholomew Kello, and had one son, who was a learned and honourable man. The time of her death is not known.


ELDEST daughter of Oliver Cromwell, was baptized at St. John's church, Huntingdon, on the 4th of August, 1624. She was a gloomy enthusiast, and such a bigoted republican, that she grudged her father his title of Protector. Nevertheless, she is spoken of as a person of great wisdom, "humbled and not exalted by her accession of greatness." January 15th, 1647, she was married at Norton to the saintly Henry Ireton, Lord Deputy of Ireland; and after his death to Fleetwood, who was appointed to the same high post. She seems to have cherished as much admiration for her first

husband as she entertained contempt for her second. To Fleetwood, however, her strong sense, and advice, were of the greatest assistance. She died at Stoke Newington, where she was buried, September 5th, 1681.

ISABELLA, QUEEN OF HUNGARY, SISTER of Sigismund Augustus, king of Poland, married, in 1539, John Zapolita, king of Hungary. In 1540, she brought him a son, while her husband was besieging the castle of Fogarras; and he was so transported at the news that he gave a splendid feast to his soldiers, and died of intemperance on the occasion. Isabella, unable to retain the crown for her son, implored aid from the Ottoman Porte, the armies of which, entering Hungary, vanquished the troops of Ferdinand of Austria, employed in the siege of Buda. Solyman, who headed his troops in person, sent magnificent presents to the young king, whom he entreated he might be allowed to see. He excused himself, at the same time, from visiting the queen, lest their interview might prove injurious to her fame. Isabella, while she acknowledged the kindness and delicacy of the sultan, hesitated whether to trust her son in the Ottoman camp. But, at length, impressed by the services which Solyman had rendered to her, and overcome by the remonstrances of her counsellors, she determined on a compliance with the request. The prince, in a superb cradle, on a carriage of state, accompanied by his nurse, with some noble matrons and lords of the court, was conveyed to the camp. He was received by Solyman, who tenderly caressed him, and presented him to his sons Bajazet and Selim, with every royal honour, as a vassal of the Ottoman Porte, and the son of John Zapolita, whom he had highly esteemed.

But these specious appearances proved but a cover to the insidious purposes of the sultan, who, throwing off the mask, seized upon Buda, September 5th, 1541, and obliged Isabella to retire to Lippa, with the poor consolation of a promise, that when her son became of age, Hungary should be restored to him. In this reverse of fortune, Isabella displayed great constancy, and endeavoured to content herself with the title of regent of Transylvania, which the rapacity of Solyman had left to her. But, having appointed as her coadjutor in the administration of the government, George Martinusias, a monk, she experienced from him a thousand mortifications, and found the title of regent but an empty honour. A rupture with Martinusias was the consequence; when, enraged at the loss of his authority, he called in the assistance of Ferdinand of Austria, who sent an army into Hungary, and compelled Isabella, in 1551, to resign Transylvania into his hands, and to retire to Cassovia. While on her journey to Cassovia, the ruggedness of the roads obliged her to descend from her carriage; when, looking back to Transylvania while the driver was extricating his wheels, and recollecting her former situation, she carved on a tree her name, with this sentence:"SIC FATA VOLUNT"-" So Fate decrees."

Her disposition was too restless and active to allow her to remain long at Cassovia. She went

to Silesia, and thence to Poland, where her mother, Bonna Sforza, resided. In the hope of regaining her power, she continued to correspond with the grandees of Transylvania; and she also applied again to Solyman. In 1556, she was, by the efforts of the sultan, restored to Transylvania. She maintained her authority during the rest of her life, without imparting any share of it to her son, John Sigismund. She died September 5th, 1558.

Isabella was a warm Roman Catholic, and some of her regulations were directed with much severity against the heretics. She was a woman of great talents and learning. Her son, after her death, declared in favour of the Protestants.


JARDINS, MARIE CATHARINE DES, Was born about 1640, at Alençon, in Normandy, where her father was provost. She went when young to Paris, where she supported herself for some time by writing novels and dramas. She was three times married; first, to M. Villedieu, a young captain of the infantry, who was only separated, not divorced, from a former wife; after his death, to the marquis de la Chasse, who was also only parted from his wife; and, for the third time, to one of her cousins, who allowed her to resume the name of Villedieu. She soon after retired to a little village, called Clinchemare, in the province of Maine, where she died in 1683.

Her works were printed in 1702, and form ten duodecimo volumes. Her compositions consisted of dramas, miscellaneous poems, fables, and romances; among which latter class are "Les Disordres de l'Amour;" "Portraits des Faiblesses Humains;" Les Exiles de la Cour d'Auguste;" "Cleonice;" "Carmeute;""Les Galanteries Grenadines;" "Les Amours des Grands Hommes ;" "Les Memoirs du Serail;" &c.

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Her style is rapid and animated; but she is often incorrect, and her incidents improbable. Her short stories certainly extinguished the taste for tedious romances, and led the way to the novel; but were by no means of such excellence as those that have since been written. Her verse

is inferior to her prose. Her society was much sought by men of learning, wit, and fashion; and her conduct during her widowhood was by no means irreproachable. But good morals were not then the fashion in French society.


WE choose to retain the name by which this gifted woman was known as an authoress, although she had changed it before her decease; but we can never think of her as Mrs. Fletcher. Miss Jewsbury was born about 1800, in Warwickshire, England. In early youth she lost her mother, and was thenceforth called to take her place at the head of a large family. Her father, soon after her mother's death, removed to Manchester; and here, in the midst of a busy population, oppressed with ill health, and

the grave cares of life, the promptings of genius still triumphed, and the young lady found time to dream dreams of literary distinction, which the energy of her mind, in a few years, converted into realities.

It was at this period that she addressed a letter to Wordsworth, full of the enthusiasm of an ardent imagination: this led to a correspondence with the bard of the Excursion, which soon ripened into permanent friendship. She was also materially assisted in the development of her talents, and the circulation of her first literary efforts, by the advice and active kindness of Mr. Alaric Watts, at that time a resident in Manchester: these obligations she always gratefully acknowledged.

Her first work was entitled "Phantasmagoria; or, Essays of Life and Literature," which was well received by the public. This was followed by "Letters to the Young," written soon after a severe illness: then appeared "Lays for Leisure Hours." Her last work was her "Three Histories," which she allows displays much of her own character and feelings. But her best writings are to be found in the periodicals and annuals, to which she was a large and most popular contributor.

In 1833, she married Mr. Fletcher, a gentleman who held an office under the London East India Company - and soon after her marriage left England with her husband for Bombay. She anticipated with eager pleasure the riches of nature and antiquity, which the gorgeous East would open before her- but the buoyant and active spirit was soon to be called to another and higher existence. She died a short time after reaching India, and sleeps in that "clime of the sun," a fit resting-place for her warm and ardent heart.

As the best illustration of her character and genius which we can give, we subjoin some extracts from a private letter, which she wrote to a friend a short time before she left England:

"The passion for literary distinction consumed me from nine years old. I had no advantages· great obstacles and now, when from disgust I cannot write a line to please myself, I look back with regret to the days when facility and audacity went hand in hand; I wish in vain for the simplicity which neither dreaded criticism nor knew fear. Intense labour has, in some measure, supplied the deficiency of early idleness and commonplace instruction; intercourse with those who were once distant and bright as the stars, has become a thing of course; I have not been unsuccessful in my own career. But the period of timidity and sadness is now come, and with my foot upon the threshold of a new life, and a new world

'I would lay down like a tired child,
And weep away this life of wo.'

"Unfortunately, I was twenty-one before I became a reader, and I became a writer almost as soon it is the ruin of all the young talent of the

*This interesting volume was republished in America, and was very popular. Her other works have not been reprinted here.

† Mrs. Hemans.

day, that reading and writing are simultaneous. We do not educate ourselves for literary enterprise. I would gladly burn almost everything I ever wrote, if so be I might start now with a mind that has seen, read, thought, and suffered somewhat, at least, approaching to a preparation. Alas, alas! we all sacrifice the palm-tree to obtain the temporary draught of wine! We slay the camel that would bear us through the desert, because we will not endure a momentary thirst.

"I have done nothing to live. The powers which I feel, and of which I have given promise, may mature may stamp themselves in act; but the spirit of despondency is strong upon the future exile, and I fear they never will. In the language of Keats,

"I feel the long grass growing o'er my heart.

"In the best of everything I have done, you will find one leading idea - Death. All thoughts, all images, all contrast of thoughts and images, are derived from living much in the valley of that shadow. My poetry, except some half-dozen pieces, may be consigned to oblivion; but in all you would find the sober hue, which, to my mind's eye, blends equally with the golden glow of sunset, and the bright green of spring; and is seen equally in the temple of delight,' as is in the tomb of decay and separation. I am melancholy by nature, but cheerful on principle."

Such was the mind and heart of this noble woman. In conversation she was brilliant and eloquent; in the domestic circle she was a treasure that Solomon would have placed above "rubies." Active, judicious, and kind, she showed the strength of her understanding, as well as the correctness of her principles, by discharging her household duties with the same promptness and cheerfulness with which she pursued her literary career.

Her friendships are sufficient testimony of her genius and her goodness. Mr. Wordsworth, who was her warm friend, thus speaks of her with beautiful simplicity:

"Her enthusiasm was ardent, her piety steadfast, and her great talents would have enabled her to be eminently useful in the path to which she had been called. The opinion she entertained of her own performances, given to the world under her maiden name, was modest and humble, indeed far below her merits, as is often the case with those who are making trial of their powers to discover what they are fit for. In one quality — quickness in the motions of her mind - - she was, in the author's estimation, unrivalled."

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In the Three Histories," Miss Jewsbury has commemorated the friend of her heart's idolatry, Mrs. Hemans. The picture of "Egeria" was, avowedly, taken from this original; its exquisite beauty renders it a fitting selection to show the power of Miss Jewsbury's genius when brightened by a subject which warmed her heart as well as her imagination.


"Egeria was totally different from any other woman I had ever seen, either in Italy or England.

She did not dazzle, she subdued me; cner women might be more commanding, more versatile, more acute, but I never saw any one so exquisitely feminine.. Her birth, her education, but,

above all, the genius with which she was gifted, combined to inspire a passion for the ethereal, the tender, the imaginative, the heroic-in one word, the beautiful. It was in her a faculty divine, and yet of daily life-it touched all things, but, like a sunbeam, touched them with a golden finger.' Anything abstract or scientific was unintelligible and distasteful to her; her knowledge was extensive and various, but, true to the first principle of her nature, it was poetry that she sought in history, scenery, character, and religious beliefpoetry that guided all her studies, governed all her thoughts, coloured all her imaginative conversation. Her nature was at once simple and profound; there was no room in her mind for philosophy, nor in her heart for ambition; - the one was filled by imagination, the other engrossed by tenderness. She had a passive temper, but decided tastes; any one might influence, but very few impressed her. Her strength and her weakness alike lay in her affections; these would sometimes make her weep, at others imbue her with courage; so that she was alternately a falconhearted dove,' and a 'reed broken with the wind.' Her voice was a sad, sweet melody, and her spirits reminded me of an old poet's description of the orange-tree, with its

'Golden lamps hid in a night of green;'

or of those Spanish gardens where the pomegranate grows beside the cypress. Her gladness was like a burst of sunlight; and if, in her depression, she resembled night, it was night bearing her stars. I might describe and describe for ever, but I should never succeed in pourtraying Egeria; she was a muse, a grace, a variable child, a dependent woman, the Italy of human beings."


A sound in yonder glade,

But not of fount or breeze,

A sound-but of the whispering made
By the palm and the olive trees;
It is not the minstrel's lute,

Nor the swell of the night-bird's song, Nor the city's hum, when all else is mute, By echo borne along.

'Tis a voice the Saviour's own"Woman, why weepest thou?"

She turns and her grief is for ever flown, And the shade that dimmed her brow; He is there, her risen Lord,

No more to know decline; He is there, with peace in his every word The wept one-still divine.

"My father's throne to share,
As King, as God, I go,

But a brother's heart will be with me there,
For my brethren left below!"
The Weeper is laid in dust,

Her Lord is throned on high,
But our's may be still that Weeper's trust,
And our's that Lord's reply.

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