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lived in or near London. In connexion with her brother, Miss Lamb wrote two volumes of juvenile poetry; "Stories for Children, or Mrs. Leicester's School;" and "Tales from Shakspeare." Lamb was remarkable for the sweetness of her disposition, the clearness of her understanding, and the gentle wisdom of all her acts and words, notwithstanding the distraction under which she suffered for weeks, and latterly for months, in every year. She survived her brother eleven years, dying May 20th, 1847. She was buried with him in Edmonton church-yard.
LAMBALLE, MARIE THÉRÈSE LOUISE, OF SAVOY, CARIGNAN, PRINCESS DE, Was born at Turin, September 8th, 1749, and married the duke of Bourbon Penthièvre, by whom she was left a wealthy, young, beautiful, and amiable widow. When appointed intendant of the royal household of Marie Antoinette, she gained and deserved the confidence and warm affection of her mistress. On the unfortunate flight of the royal family to Varennes, Madame Lamballe | escaped by another road from France to England, where she might have lived in safety; but she no sooner heard of the imprisonment of her royal friend, than she hastened back to Paris to soothe her miseries. This fidelity and devotion proved fatal to her. Dragged to the prison of La Force, she was tried before the bloody tribunal, September 3d, 1792; and, when questioned about the queen, she answered with firmness and dignity. Some of the judges, moved by her heroism, youth, and beauty, wished to spare her; but as soon as she had left the place of her trial, she was seized by the mob and literally torn and cut to pieces. Her head was placed on a pike, and paraded by the diabolical monsters in view of the unfortunate queen and her family.
The character of the princess de Lamballe was so perfect, that not even her enemies and assassins dared to asperse it.
LAMBERT, ANNE THÉRÈSE, MARQUISE DE,
WAS daughter of a master of the accounts, and was born at Paris in 1647. She lost her father at three years old; and her mother then married the ingenious Bachaumont, who took great pleasure in cultivating his step-daughter's talents. married Henri Lambert, marquis of St. Bris, in 1666; but he died in 1688. After this, she had long and troublesome law-suits; but succeeding in them, she took a house in Paris, to which it was considered an honour to be admitted. All literary persons resorted to it for the sake of conversation, as hers was almost the only house free from the vice of gaming. She died in 1733, aged 86. Her works were printed in two volumes, and are marked by fine sense, taste, and spirit. The principal ones are, "Avis d'une Mére à son fils, et d'une Mére à sa fille." These are not mere dry didactic precepts, but the easy and graceful effusions of a noble and delicate mind. "Nouvelles Reflexions sur les Femmes;" ;” “Traité de l'Amitié ;""Traité de la Viellesse; et "La Femme Hermite;" were among her works. The following selections give a
Au-dessus de tous vos devoirs, est le culte que vous devez à l'Etre Suprême. La religion est un commerce établi entre Dieu et les hommes; par la grâce de Dieu aux hommes, et par le culte des hommes à Dieu. Les ames élevées ont pour Dieu des sentimens et un culte à part, qui ne ressemble point à celui du peuple: tout part du cœur et va à Dieu. Les vertus morales sont en danger, sans les chrétiennes. Je ne vous demande point une religion remplie de faiblesse et de superstition: je demande seulement que l'amour de l'ordre soumette à Dieu vos lumières et vos sentimens, que le même amour de l'ordre se répande sur votre conduite; il vous donnera la justice, et la justice assure toutes les vertus.
Il y a des ames basses qui sont toujours prosternées devant la grandeur. Il faut séparer l'homme de la dignité, et voir ce qu'il est, quand il en est dépouille; il y a bien une autre grandeur que celle qui vient de l'autorité; ce n'est ni la puissance ni les richesses qui distinguent les hommes; la supériorité réelle et véritable entre eux, c'est le mérite.
Le titre d'honnête homme est bien au-dessus des titres de la fortune. Le plaisir le plus délicat est de faire le plaisir d'autrui; mais pour cela, il ne faut pas tant faire de cas des biens de la fortune. Les richesses n'ont jamais donné la vertu ; mais la vertu a souvent donné les richesses. . . .
L'honnête homme aime mieux manquer à sa fortune qu'à la justice. L'amour des richesses est le commencement de tous les vices, comme le désintéressement et le principe de toutes les vertus.
Le plaisir le plus touchant pour les honnêtes gens, c'est de faire du bien, et de soulager les misérables. Quelle différence d'avoir un peu plus d'argent, ou de le savoir perdre pour faire plaisir, et de le changer contre la réputation de bonté et de générosité!
Ayez des pensées et des sentimens qui soient dignes de vous. La vertu rehausse l'état de l'homme, et le vice le dégrade.
EXTRAIT DES AVIS D'UNE MÉRE A SA FILLE.
Il ne suffit pas, ma fille, pour être estimable, de s'assujettir extérieurement aux bienséances; ce sont les sentimens qui forment le caractère, qui conduisent l'esprit, qui gouvernent la volonté, qui répondent de la réalité et de la durée de toutes nos vertus. Quel sera le principe de ces sentimens? la religion; quand elle sera gravée dans notre cœur, alors toutes les vertus couleront de cette source; tous les devoirs se rangeront chacun dans leur ordre. Ce n'est pas assez pour la conduite des jeunes personnes, que de les obliger à faire leur devoir; il faut le leur faire aimer: l'autorité est le tyran de l'extérieur, qui n'assujettit point le dedans. Quand on prescrit une conduite, il faut en montrer les raisons et les motifs, et donner du goût pour ce que l'on conseille.
Nous avons tant d'intérêt à pratiquer la vertu,
Les plaisirs du monde sont trompeurs ; ils prommettent plus qu'ils ne donnent; ils nous inquiètent dans leur recherche, ne nous satisfont point dans leur possession, et nous désespèrent dans leur perte. . . . . Ne nous croyons heureuses, ma fille, que lorsque nous sentirons nos plaisirs naître du fond de notre ame. . . . . Il y a de grandes vertus, qui, portées à un certain degré, font pardonner bien des défauts: la suprême valeur dans les hommes, et l'extrême pudeur dans les femmes. On pardonnait tout à Agrippine, femme de Germanicus, en faveur de sa chasteté : cette princesse était ambitieuse et hautaine; mais, dit Tacite, "toutes ses passions étaient consacrées par sa chastetê."
Que votre première parure soit donc la modestie: elle a de grands avantages, elle augmente la beauté et sert de voile à la laideur; la modestie est le supplément de la beauté. . . . . Il ne faut pas négliger les talens ni les agrémens, puisque les femmes sont destinées a plaire; mais il faut bien plus penser à se donner un mérite solide, qu'à s'occuper de choses frivoles. Rien n'est plus court que le règne de la beautè; rien n'est plus triste que la suite de la vie des femmes qui n'ont su qu'être belles. . . . . Une honnête femme a les vertus des hommes, l'amitié, la probité, la fidélité à ses devoirs.
Les femmes apprennent volontiers l'Italien qui me parait dangereux: c'est la langue de l'amour, les auteurs italiens sont peu chatiés; il règne dans leurs ouvrage un jeux de mots, une imagination sans règle, qui s'oppose à la justesse de l'esprit.
La poésie peut avoir des inconvéniens; j'aurais pourtant de la peine à interdire la lecture des belles tragédies de Corneille: mais souvent les meilleures vous donnent des leçons de vertu, et vous laissent l'impression du vice.
La lecture des romans est plus dangereuse: je ne voudrais pas que l'on en fit un grand usage, ils mettent du faux dans l'esprit. Le roman n'étant jamais pris sur le vrai, allume l'imagination, affaiblit la pudeur, met le désordre dans le cœur, et, pour peu qu'une jeune personne ait de la disposition à la tendresse, hâte et précipite son penchant. Il ne faut point augmenter le charme et l'illusion de l'amour: plus il est adoucit plus il est modeste
et plus il est dangereux. Je ne voudrais point les défendre; toutes défenses blessent la liberté, et augmentent le désir; mais il faut, autant qu'on peut, s'accoutumer à des lectures solides, qui ornent l'esprit et fortifient le cœur: on ne peut trop éviter celles qui laissent des impressions dangereuses et difficiles à effacer.
PORTRAIT DE FENELON.
Fénélon était d'une assez haute taille, bien fait, maigre et pâle; il avait la nez grand et bien tiré. Le feu et l'esprit sortaient de ses yeux comme un torrent. Sa physionomie était telle qu'on n'en voyait point qui lui ressemblât; aussi ne pouvaiton l'oublier dès qu'une fois on l'avait vu: elle rassemblait tout, et les contraires ne s'y combattaient point; elle avait de la gravité et de la douceur, du sérieux et de la gaieté. Ce qui surnageait sur tout sa personne, c'était la finesse, la décence, les grâces, et surtout la noblesse: il fallait faire effort sur soimême pour cesser de la regarder. Tous ses portraits sont parlans, sans que néanmoins on art jamais pu attraper la justesse et l'harmonie qui frappaient dan's l'original, et la délicatesse que chaque caractère de ce visage réunissait. Ses manières y répondait dedans la même proportion: c'était une aisance qui en l'honneur aux autres, un air de bon goût dont il était redevable à l'usage du grand monde et de la meilleure compagnie, et qui se répandait, comme de soimême, dans toutes ses conversations, et cela avec une éloquence naturelle, douce, fleurie; une politesse insinuante, mais noble et proportionnée; une élocution facile, nette, agréable; un ton de clarté et de précision pour se faire entendre, même en traitant les mattières les plus abstraites et les plus embarrassées. Avec cela il ne voulait jamais avoir plus d'esprit que ceux à qui il parlait; il se mettait à la portée de chacun sans le faire sentir, il mettait à l'aise, et semblait enchanter de façon qu'on ne pouvait le quitter, ni s'en défendre, ni ne pas soupirer après le moment de le retrouver. C'est ce talent si rare et qu'il avait au suprême degré, qui lui tint ses amis si attachés toute sa vie, malagré sa chute, sa disgrâce, et qui, dans le triste éloignement où ils étaient de lui, les réunissait pour parler de lui, pour le regretter, pour le désirer, pour soupirer après son retour, et l'espérer sans cesse.
LAMBRUN, MARGARET, WAS a Scotchwoman, one of the retinue of Mary, Queen of Scots, as was also her husband, who died of grief on account of his queen's execution. Margaret Lambrun then resolved to avenge the death of both by assassinating Queen Elizabeth; she, therefore, dressed herself like a man, took the name of Anthony Sparke, and went to the court of the English queen, carrying with her a brace of pistols; one for the queen, and the other for herself. But, as she was pressing through the crowd to get near her majesty, who was then walking in her garden, she dropped one of her pistols. This being seen by the guards, she was seized, and brought before the queen, who wished to examine the prisoner herself. When Elizabeth
demanded her name, country, and condition, Mar- | necklace then for sale, but not having at the time garet replied with great firmness:
sufficient money by her, would like him to purchase the necklace as if for himself, and the queen would repay him by instalments and restore him to favour. The cardinal did so, and gave the necklace to the countess de Lamotte for the queen, who gave him in return a bond which she had forged. The countess also procured a woman who resembled the queen, to personate her in a private interview with the cardinal, on a night in August, 1784. When the time for payment arrived, the cardinal, not being able to meet the demand, told the jewellers that he had bought it for the queen. The jewellers, after some time, applied to the king, and the fraud was discovered. Rohan was tried and acquitted; but the countess de Lamotte was sentenced to be scourged, branded, and imprisoned for life. After some months' confinement she escaped and went to England, where her
Madam, though I appear in this habit, I am a woman; my name is Margaret Lambrun; I was several years in the service of Queen Mary, whom you have so unjustly put to death; and, by her death, you have also caused that of my husband, who died of grief to see so innocent a queen perish so iniquitously. Now, as I had the greatest love and affection for both these personages, I resolved, at the peril of my life, to revenge their death by killing you, who are the cause of both. I confess to you, that I suffered many struggles within my breast, and have made all possible efforts to divert my resolution from so pernicious a design, but all in vain; I found myself necessitated to prove by experience the certain truth of that maxim, that neither reason nor force can hinder a woman from vengeance, when she is impelled thereto by love." The queen heard this bold address with compo-husband was living on the proceeds derived from sure, and answered calmly: You are then persuaded that, in this action, you have done your duty, and satisfied the demands which your love for your mistress and your spouse indispensably required from you; but what think you now is my duty to do to you?"
Margaret replied, with the same unmoved hardiness: "I will tell you frankly my opinion, provided you will let me know whether you put this question in the quality of a queen or in that of a judge?"
To which her majesty professing that of a queen: "Then," said Margaret, "your majesty ought to grant me a pardon."
"But what assurance can you give me," said the queen, "that you will not make the like attempt on some other occasion ?"
"Madam," replied Lambrun, "a favour given under such restraint is no more a favour; and, in so doing, your majesty would act against me as a judge."
The queen turned to some of her council, and said, "I have been thirty years a queen, but do not remember to have had such a lecture ever read to me before ;" and immediately granted an entire and unconditional pardon. Margaret Lambrun showed her prudence by begging the queen to extend her generosity still farther, and grant her a safe conduct to the coast of France; with which request Elizabeth complied.
LAMOTTE, VALOIS, COUNTESS OF, WAS the principal actor in the affair of the necklace, which caused so much annoyance and injury to Marie Antoinette, queen of France. The countess of Lamotte, an immoral intriguing woman, well known as such to most of the principal persons in Paris, suddenly, from great poverty, apparently became very wealthy. The means by which she supported her extravagance at length was ascertained. The countess, knowing the great desire of prince Louis de Rohan, cardinal bishop of Strasburg, who had fallen into disgrace at court, to regain favour, told him that the queen, Marie Antoinette, with whom she said she was on very confidential terms, wished to obtain a diamond
the sale of the necklace. Here she wrote a pamphlet defaming the queen, which prejudiced many people against that princess. The countess was found one morning dead on the pavement in one of the streets of London, having fallen, while intoxicated, from a window in the third story of her lodgings.
WAS eminent for her beauty and learning. She wrote a letter in Latin to Peter Bembo, which, with his answer, is printed in that author's works. She died in 1526, at a very early age.
A WOMAN of great spirit and sagacity, assisted in the escape of Charles II. after the battle of Worcester. The royal fugitive, disguised in her father's livery, rode before her on horseback from Bentley-Hall, in Staffordshire, to Mr. Norton's, near Bristol. Charles II., on his restoration, rewarded her amply; and she married Sir Clement Fisher, bart., of Packington-Hall, in Warwickshire.
LANDON, LETITIA ELIZABETH,
GENERALLY known as L. E. L., in consequence of having first published under her initials only, was born at Hans Place, Chelsea, in 1802. Her father, Mr. Landon, was a partner in the house of Adairs, army agents. When about seven years of age, Miss Landon's parents removed to Trevor Park, not far from East Barnet, where, amidst scenes vividly depicted in various passages in her later works, were passed many of the happiest days of her childhood. In the "Traits and Trials of Early Life," in "The History of a Child," she is supposed to have pourtrayed that of her own early years; but the account is part romance and part reality. She describes "a large, old, and somewhat dilapidated place,” — of which "only part of the grounds were kept in their original high order." Here she was wont "to wander in the almost deserted shrubberies, where the flowers grew in all the luxuriance of neglect over the" walls." According to the same fictitious picture,
on a small island, in a deep pcnd, almost dark with the depth of shadow, and partly covered with water-lilies, "with the large green leaves that support the loveliest of ivory boats, fit for the fairy queen and her summer court," grew one curiously-shaped but huge yew-tree, and in the shadows of this gloomy tree the embryo poetess was wont to conceal herself for the whole of her playtime, "chewing the cud of sweet and bitter fancy," and brooding over the troubles and sorrows which necessarily await every shy and sensitive person, and which are perhaps never more acutely felt than in the days of early childhood. Her childhood, however, was cheerful and often joyous.
In 1815, when Miss Landon was about thirteen years of age, the family quitted Trevor Park; and after a twelvemonths' residence at Lewis Place, Fulham, Mr. Landon removed to Brompton, where a considerable part of his daughter's youth was passed, excepting a year or two spent with her grandmother in Sloane street, and some occasional visits to her relations. Here, no sooner was she emancipated from the school-room, and allowed to pursue the bent of her own mind, than her poetical reveries were committed to paper; and through the encouraging kindness of Mr. Jerdan, the editor of the Literary Gazette, to whose judgment they were submitted, while still in her teens, the youthful writer had the pleasure of seeing some of her verses first appear in print, in the pages of that periodical, and visions of fame, perhaps, in some degree, comforted her for the reverses to which her family were then beginning to be subjected.
"The Fate of Adelaide," a romantic tale, and some minor poems, were published in 1821, when Miss Landon was nineteen; and the first of her principal poetical works was issued in 1824. In the summer of 1825, the "Troubadour" appeared, and some other volumes of her poetry.
Her father died about this time, and Miss Landon's literary exertions were directed to support her family and assist her brother. An extract from a letter of hers touchingly alludes to the painful circumstances in which this delicate daughter of the muse was placed:
"The more I think of my past life, and of my future prospects, the more dreary do they seem. I have known little else than privation, disappointment, unkindness, and harassment; from the time I was fifteen, my life has been one continual struggle, in some shape or other, against absolute poverty; and I must say not a tithe of my profits have I ever expended on myself. And here I cannot but allude to the remarks on my dress. It is easy for those whose only trouble on that head is change, to find fault with one who never in her life knew what it was to have two dresses at a time. No one knows but myself what I have had to contend with."
Miss Landon has herself remarked, that "a history of the how and where works of imagination have been produced, would often be more extraordinary than the works themselves." A friend. of hers observes, that "though a dilettante of literature would assign for the scene of her authorship a fairy-like boudoir, with rose-coloured and silver hangings, filled with all the luxuries of a fastidious taste," yet the reality was of a very different nature; for though her drawing-room was prettily furnished, it was her invariable habit to write in her bed-room, "a homely-looking, almost uncomfortable room, fronting the street, and barely furnished-with a simple white bed, at the foot of which was a small, old, oblong-shaped sort of dressing-table, quite covered with a common worn writing-desk, heaped with papers, while some strewed the ground, the table being too small for aught besides the desk: A little highbacked cane chair, which gave you any idea but that of comfort, and a few books scattered about, completed the author's paraphernalia."
"Miss Landon was not strictly handsome, her eyes being the only good feature in her face; but her countenance was intellectual and piquant, and her figure slight and beautifully proportioned. Altogether, however, her clear complexion, dark hair and eyes, the vivacious expression with which the latter were lighted up when animated and in good health, combined with her kind and fascinating manners, to render her extremely attractive; so that the rustic expression of sentiment from the Ettrick Shepherd, when he was first introduced to her, I did nae think ye had been sae bonny,' was perhaps the feeling experienced by many when they first beheld L. E. L."
Such is the portrait of this fascinating writer, drawn by one of her biographers. William Howitt, in his notice of Miss Landon, gives a sweeter touch to the picture. "Your first impressions of her were-what a little, light, simple-looking girl! If you had not been aware of her being a popular poetess, you would have suspected her of nothing more than an agreeable, bright, and joyous young lady. This feeling in her own house, or among a few congenial people, was quickly followed by a feeling of the kind-heartedness and goodness about her. You felt that you could not be long with her without loving her."
In her later productions, Miss Landon greatly improved in the philosophy of her art. She addresses other feelings besides love; her style has
more simplicity and strength, and the sentiment becomes elevated and womanly-for we hold that the loftiest, purest, and best qualities of our nature, the moral feelings, are peculiarly suitable, for their development and description, to the genius of woman. "The Lost Pleiad" and "The History of the Lyre," have many passages of true and simple feeling, united with an elevated moral sentiment, and that accurate knowledge of life, which shows the observing and reasoning mind in rapid progress. Such are the following passages:
"Love mine, I know my weakness, and I know
Which is the holiness of love or bade
In 1838, Miss Landon married George Maclean, governor of Cape-Coast castle, and soon after sailed for Cape-Coast with her husband. She landed there in August, and was resuming, for the benefit of her family in England, her literary engagements in her solitary African home, when one morning, after writing the previous night some cheerful and affectionate letters to her friends in England, she was (October 16th) found dead in her room, with a bottle, which had contained prussic acid, in her hand. It was conjectured that she had undesignedly taken an over-dose of the fatal medicine, as a relief from spasms in the stomach, to which she was subject. Her last poems are superior in freedom, force, and originality, to her first. She is most distinguished for her poetical writings, though her tales and romances show great wit, vivacity, and knowledge of life. Her principal poetical works are "The Improvisatrice;" "The Troubadour;" "The Golden Violet;" "The Golden Bracelet;" and "The Vow of the Peacock." Besides these, she has written three novels, "Romance and Reality;" "Francesca Carrera ;" and "Ethel Churchill;" and a volume of tales, entitled "Traits and Trials," in which she is supposed to have depicted the history of her own childhood. She was a frequent contributor to many of the periodicals, and nearly all the annuals of the day. Many of her best poems were written for these publications, and may be found in "Literary Remains of L. E. L., with Memoirs of her Life." Edited by Laman Blanchard. In our selections, we will cull a few of the aphorisms and sentiments which make her prose remarkable for its boldness of truth and sympathy with "those who suffer and are sad."
Extracts from "Francesca Carrera."
No marvel that we regret our youth. Let its bloom, let pleasures depart, could they but leave behind the singleness and the innocence of the happy and trusting heart. The lessons of experience may open the eyes; but, as in the northern superstition, they only open to see dust and clay, where they once beheld the beauty of palaces.
Enthusiasm is the royal road to success. Now, call it fame, vanity-what you will-how strange and how strong is the feeling which urges on the painter or the author! We ought to marvel less at the works produced, than at the efforts made. Their youth given to hopes, or rather fears-now brightening and now darkening, on equally slight grounds,
"A breath can mar them, as a breath has made,”— hours of ceaseless exertion in solitude, of feverish solicitude in society: doomed to censure, which is always in earnest, and to praise, which is not. Alas! we talk of their vanity; we forget that in doling forth the careless sneer, we are bestowing but the passing thought of a moment to that which has been the work of an existence. Truly, genius, like virtue, ought to be its own reward, but it cannot. Bitter though the toil, and vain the hope, human exertion must still look to human approbation.
Nothing at first frames such false estimates as an imaginative temperament. It finds the power of creation so easy, the path it fashions so actual, that no marvel for a time hope is its own security, and the fancied world appears the true copy of the real.
There never was a mask so gay but some tears were shed behind it.
We cannot understand what we have never experienced; we need pain, were it only to teach us sympathy.
It is a great error for the heart to hoard up the romance which is only graceful in youth and it is dangerous too.
Hopes and regrets are the sweetest links of existence.
Society is like a large piece of frozen water; and skating well is the great art of social life.
From "Trials of Early Life."
What a duty it is to cultivate a pleasant manner! how many a meeting does it make cheerful which would otherwise have been stupid and formal! We do not mean by this the mere routine/