p^:' M'^' VWJ ^■\ t .t.,crii,ii~/ -v '. J.J . ••■ :.'^.:.;4'i'.i.-i! ■■■■ ■:. FEMALE PROSE AVRITERS. jjr&i-a; Uffi. alierl]iiverax,^,ciis. Tr. in Colors ly T. Sijidair, Zhil^ Drtser. lit)-..afterj)w&ren^, dee. rk in Colurs bf T Sin 1 THE FEMALE PPiOSE WRITERS OF AMERICA. WITH PORTRAITS, BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES, AND SPECIMENS OF THEIR WRITINGS. BY JOHN S. HAET, LL.D. (Fmkllisljrii niitl; iflrgaiit SllEHtrntintis PHILADELPHIA: PUBLISHED BY E. H. BUTLER & CO 1852. ^6 ^^ y\t» Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1851, by E. H. BUTLER & CO., in the Clerk's office of the District Court of the United States, in and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. t^ > I /72- PREFACE. The unwonted favour extended to " Read's Female Poets of America," led to the belief that a work on the Female Prose Writers, constructed on a similar plan, would be not unacceptable to the public. In the preparation of the biographies, much difficulty has been experienced. Few things are more intangible and elusive, than the biography of persons still living, and yet, in the case of those who have pleased us by their writings, few things are more interesting. It seems to be an instinctive desire of the human heart, on becom- ing acquainted with any work of genius, to know something of its author. Nor is this mere idle curiosity. It is a part of that homage, which every mind rightly constituted, spontaneously offers to whatever is great or good. This feeling of personal interest in an author who has moved us, is greatly increased where, as in the case of most female writers, the subjects of which they write, are chiefly of an emotional nature, carrying with them on every page the unraistakeable impress of personal sympathy, if not experience. Women, far more than men, write from the heart. Their own likes and dislikes, their feelings, opinions, tastes, and sympathies are so mixed up with those of their subject, that the interest of the (7) viii P 11 E F xV C E . reader is often enlisted quite as mucli for the writer, as for the hero, of a tale. Knowing, therefore, how general is this desire to become ac- quainted with the personal history of authors, I have taken special pains, in preparing a work on the Female Prose Writers of the country, to make the biographical sketches as full and minute as circumstances would justify, or the writers themselves would allow. The work contains two charming pieces of autobiography, now appearing for the first time, from two long-established favourites with the public. Miss Leslie and Mrs. Oilman. In almost all cases the information has been obtained directly by correspondence with the authors, or their friends. Where this has failed, recourse has been had to the best printed authorities. The work, it is believed, will be found to contain an unusual amount of authentic informa- tion, and on subjects where authentic information is equally desir- able and difficult to obtain. The task of making selections has not been easy. I have studied, as far as possible, to select passages characteristic of the different styles of each writer, and at the same time to present the reader with an agreeable variety. Those who have not been led professionally, or otherwise, to exa- mine the subject particularly, will probably be surprised at the evidences of the rapid growth of literature, among American women, during the present generation. When Hannah Adams first published her "View of all Religions," so rare was the example of a woman who could write a book, that she was looked upon as one of the wonders of the Western world. Learned men of Europe sought her acquaintance, and entered into correspondence with her. Yet now, less than twenty years since the death of Hannah Adams, a pon- derous volume of nearly five hundred pages is hardly sufficient to enrol the names, and give a few brief extracts from each of our female writers, who have already adorned the annals of literature PREFACE. is by their prose writings, to say nothing of the numerous and not less distinguished sisterhood, who have limited themselves to poetry. A word in regard to the portraits. These have been made, wherever it was practicable, from original paintings or drawings, recently executed, so as to give a likeness of the author as she is now. That of Margaret Fuller is from a portrait by Hicks, copied from an original painted by himself in Rome, during her residence in that city, and considered by her friends, there and here, an excel- lent likeness. The portrait of Mrs. Hentz is from a miniature, painted last year by her husband, who is an artist. Mrs. Kirkland's is from a crayon drawing by Martin, and Mrs. Neal's from a crayon drawing by Furness, both made expressly for the work. The others are, with one exception, from recent likenesses, redrawn by Croome. All of these have been engraved in London, in the light and grace- ful style most generally approved for heads. The illuminated fron- tispiece and title-page were designed by Mr. Devereux, who has done so much, by his skill, to make the productions of literature at the same time specimens of art. CONTENTS. OATHERINE M. SEDGWICK: page BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 17 MAGNETISM AMONG THE SHAKERS J 9 THE SABBATH IN NEW ENGLAND 24 ELIZA LESLIE : BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 26 AUTOBIOGRAPHY 27 MRS. DERRTNGTON'S RECEPTION DAY 32 CAROLINE GILMAN: BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 49 AUTOBIOGRAPHY 49 SARAH HALL; BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE . - 58 ON FASHION 60 MARIA J. McINTOSH : BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 63 TWO PORTRAITS 69 LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY: BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 76 THE LOST CHILDREN 84 I HAVE SEEN AN END OF ALL PERFECTION 90 SARAH J. HALE : BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 93 FROM "woman's record" 9b THE MODE 96 LOUISA 0. TUTHILL: BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 100 DOMESTIC ARCHITECTURE IN THE UNITED STATES ...... 103 CAROLINE M. KIRKLAND : BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 105 THE MYSTERY OF VISITING 106 (11) sii CONTENTS. LYDIA M. CHILD: page BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 11(5 OLE BUL 118 THE UMBRELLA GIRL 122 EMMA O. EMBURY: BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 128 TWO FACES UNDER ONE HOOD ■ . . . . 129 MARY S. B. SHINDLER: BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 142 A DAY IN NEW YORK . 147 CAROLINE LEE HENTZ: BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 151 AUNT patty's scrap BAG 154 HANNAH ADAMS: BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 161 THE GNOSTICS 162 ELIZABETH F. ELLET : BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 166 MARY SLOCUMB 167 E. OAKES SMITH: BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 178 THE MYSTERY OF THE MOUNTAIN 179 THE ANGEL AND THE MAIDEN 183 LOUISA S. McCORD : BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 187 THE RIGHT TO LABOUR 187 ANN S. STEPHENS: BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 193 THE QUILTING PARTY 194 FRANCES S. OSGOOD: BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 200 THE MAGIC LUTE . 201 ELIZABETH C. KINNEY : BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 208 OLD MAIDS 209 THE SONNET 211 HARRIET FARLEY: BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 215 ABBY'S year in LOWELL 217 MARY H. EASTMAN: BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 226 SHAH-CO-PEE ; THE ORATOR OF THE SIOUX 227 S. MARGARET FULLER: BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 237 A SHORT ESSAY ON CRITICS ' . . 239 HARRIET BEECHER STOWE : BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 246 THE TEA ROSE 246 CONTENTS. xiii SARA H. BROWNE : PAGE BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE „, . A SALUTATION TO FREDRIKA BREJIEK O"? MARIA J. B. BROWNE : BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE LOOKING UP IN THE WORLD ELIZABETH BOGART: BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE ARTHUR jrOWBRAY RECOLLECTIONS OF CHILDHOOD JANE ELIZABETH LARCOMBE: BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 260 262 274 276 279 280 THOUGHTS BY THE WAYSIDE 280 EMILY C. JUDSON : BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE oq"? LUCY DUTTON 2S4 MY FIRST GRIEF ..,.,.., 290 SARA J. CLARKE : 'J >J c e O, \(Lt tyit. CO A " BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 292 A DREAM OF DEATH . . . . . . , _ OQl EXTRACT FROM A LETTER . 298 ANNE C. LYNCH : BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 3Q2 FREDRIKA BREMER gQg MARY E. HEWITT: BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 012 A LEGEND OF IRELAND gjg ALICE B. NEAL : BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 321 THE CHILD LOVE . . 323 CLARA MOORE : BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 335 THE YOUNG minister's CHOICE 33(5 ANN E. PORTER: BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 345 COUSIN Helen's baby ' . . , . 346 E. V/. BARNES: BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 353 THE YOUNG RECTOR 353 ANNE T. WILBUR : BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 3f;Q ALICE VERNON 3g2 ELIZA L. SPROAT : BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 367 THE ENCHANTED LUTE ........... 367 MARY SPENSER PEASE : BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE . 37] THE WITCH-HAZEL 37) THE sisters 37i xiv CONTENTS. SUSAN FENIMORE COOPER : page BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 379 SPIDEKS 379 HUirMING-BIRDS 381 AVEEDS 384 ELIZABETH WETHERELL : BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 387 LITTLE ELLEN AND THE SHOPMAN 388 CAROLINE ORNE: BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 396 DOCTOR PLUMLEY 398 CAROLINE MAY: BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 401 HANDEL 401 LtrCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON 402 JULIA C. R. DORR: BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 407 HILLSIDE COTTAGE 408 MARY ELIZABETH MORAGNE : BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 413 THE HUGUENOT TOWN . . . . . . . . . . .415 MARY ELIZABETH LEE : BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 418 EXTRACT FROM A LETTER 420 MARY J. WINDLE : BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 423 ALICE heath's interview WITH CROMWELL 424 FRANCES B. M. BROTHERSON : BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 430 THE OLD AND THE NEW YEAR 430 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. / ILLUMINATED FRONTISPIECE. EXECUTED BY SINCLAIR, FROM AN ORIGINAL DRAWING BY DEVEREUX. II. / ILLUMINATED TITLE-PAGE. EXECUTED BY SINCLAIR, FROM AN ORIGINAL DRAWING BY DEVEREUX. III. PORTRAIT OF MISS SEDGAVICK. ENGRAVED IN LONDON, FROM A DRAWING BY CROOME AFTER A PORTRAIT BY INGHAM. IV. PORTRAIT OF MISS McINTOSH. ENGRAVED IN LONDON, FROM A DRAWING BY CROOME. (15) LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. V. PORTRAIT OF MRS. KIRKLAND. ENGRAVED IN LONDON, FROM A CRAYON DRAWING BY MARTIN. VI. PORTRAIT OF MRS. HENTZ. ENGRAVED IN LONDON, FROM A DRAWING BY CROOME, AFTER A MINIATURE BY MR. HENTZ. VII. / PORTRAIT OF MRS. STEPHENS. ENGRAVED IN LONDON, FROM A DRAWING BY CROOME. VIII. / PORTRAIT OF S. MARGARET FULLER. (marchioness d'ossoli.) ENGRAVED IN LONDON, FROM A PORTRAIT BY HICKS. IX. PORTRAIT OF MRS. JUDSON. (fanny poeeester.) ENGRAVED IN LONDON, FROM A DRAWING BY CROOME. X. PORTRAIT OF MRS. NEAL. ENGRAVED IN LONDON, FROM A CRAYON DRAWING BY FURNESS. ^/y2/ai!^y/^.^/>i>Z*:^^,^/>^^^y .ig^;2ii(>g<^ ^ . CATHERINE M. SEDGWICK. Miss Sedgwick holds about the same position among our female prose writers that Cooper holds among American novelists. She was the first of her class whose writings became generally known, and the eminence universally conceded to her on account of priority, has been almost as generally granted on ofrher grounds. Amid the throng of new competitors for public favour, who have entered the arena within the last few years, there is not one, probably, whose admirers would care to disturb the well- earned laurels of the author of " Redwood" and " Hope Leslie." Miss Sedgwick is a native, and has been much of her life, a resident of Stockbridge, Massachusetts. Her father was the Hon. Theodore Sedgwick, of Stockbridge, who served his country with distinguished reputation in various stations, and particularly in the Congress of the United States, as Speaker of the House of Representatives, and afterwards as Senator, and who, at the time of his death, was one of the Judges of the Supreme Court of his own State. Her brothers, Henry and Theodore, have both been distinguished as lawyers and as political writers. On the mother's side, she is connected with the Dwight family, of whom her grandfather, Joseph Dwight, was a Brigadier-General in the Massachusetts Provincial forces, and actively engaged in the old French war of 1756. Judge Sedgwick died in 1813, before his daughter had given any public demonstration of her abilities as a writer. Her talents seem to have been from the first justly appreciated by her brothers, whose judicious encou- ragement is very gracefully acknowledged in the preface to the new edition of her woi'ks, commenced by Mr. Putnam, in 1849. Miss Sedgwick's first publication was " The New England Tale." The author informs us in the preface, that the story was commenced as a religious tract, and that it gradually grew in her hands, beyond the proper limits of such a work. Finding this to be the case, she abandoned all design of publication, but finished the tale for her own amusement. Once 2 (17) 18 CATHERINE M. SEDGWICK. finished, however, the opinions and solicitations of her friends prevailed over her own earnest wishes, and the volume was given to the world in 1822. The original intention of this book led the author to give special prominence to topics of a questionable character for a professed novel, and the unfavourable portraiture which she gives, both here and elsewhere, of New England Puritanism, has naturally brought upon her some censure. The limited plan of the story did not give opportunity for the display of that extent and variety of power which appear in some of her later pro- ductions. Still it contains passages of stirring eloquence, as well as of deep tenderness, that will compare favourably with anything she has written. Perhaps the chief value of " The New England Tale" was its effect upon the author herself. Its publication broke the ice of diffidence and indifference, and launched her, under a strong wind, upon the broad sea of letters. "Redwood" accordingly followed in 1824. It was received at once with a degree of favour that caused the author's name to be associated, and on equal terms, with that of Cooper, who was then at the height of his popularity ; and, indeed, in a French translation of the book, which then appeared. Cooper is given on the title-page as the author. " Redwood" was also translated into the Italian, besides being reprinted in England, The reputation of the author was confirmed and extended by the appearance, in 1827, of ''Hope Leslie," the most decided favourite of all her novels. She has written other things since, that in the opinion of some of the critics are superior to either " Redwood" or " Hope Leslie." But, these later writings have had to jostle their way among a crowd of competitors, both domestic and foreign. Her earlier works stood alone, and " Hope Leslie," especially, became firmly associated in the public mind with the rising glories of a native literature. It was not only read with lively satisfaction, but familiarly quoted and applauded as a source of national pride. Her subsequent novels followed at about uniform intervals ; " Clarence, a Tale of our Own Times," in 1830 ; " Le Bossu," one of the Tales of the " Grlauber Spa," in 1832 ; and " The Linwoods, or Sixty Years Since in America," in 1835. In 1836, she commenced writing in quite a new vein, giving a series of illustrations of common life, called " The Poor Rich Man, and the Rich Poor Man." These were followed, in 1887, by "Live and Let Live," and afterwards by " Means and Ends," a " Love Token for Children," and " Stories for Young Persons." In 1839, Miss Sedgwick went to Europe, and while there, wrote " Letters from Abroad to Kindred at Home." These were collected after her return, and published in two volumes. She has written also a " Life of Lucretia M. Davidson," and has con- tributed numerous articles to the Annuals and the Magazines. Some of CATHERINE M. SEDGWICK. 19 her recent publications have been prepared expressly for children and young persons. " The Boy of Mount Rhigi/' published in 1848, is one of a series of tales projected for the purpose of diffusing sentiments of goodness among the young. The titles of some of her other small vo- lumes are *' Facts and Fancies," " Beatitudes and Pleasant Sundays," " Morals of Manners," " Wilton Harvey," " Home," " Louisa and her Cousins," " Lessons without Books," &c. The quality of mind which is most apparent in Miss Sedgwick's writ- ings is that of strength. The reader feels at every step that he has to do with a vigorous and active intellect. Another quality, resulting from this possession of power, is the entire absence of affectation of every kind. There is no straining for effect, no mere verbal prettinesses. The discourse proceeds with the utmost simplicity and directness, as though the author were more intent upon what she is saying than how she says it. And yet, the mountain springs of her own Housatonick do not send up a more limpid stream, than is the apparently spontaneous flow of her pure English. As a novelist. Miss Sedgwick has for the most part wisely cho- sen American subjects. The local traditions, scenery, manners, and costume, being thus entirely familiar, she has had greater freedom in the exercise of the creative faculty, on which, after all, real eminence in the art mainly depends. Her characters are conceived with distinctness, and are minutely individual and consistent, while her plot always shows a mind fertile in resources and a happy adaptation of means to ends. MAGNETISM AMONG THE SHAKERS. One of the brethren from a Shaker settlement in our neighbour- hood, called on us the other day. I was staying with a friend, in whose atmosphere there is a moral power, analogous to some chemical test, which elicits from every form of humanity whatever of sweet and genial is in it. Our visiter was an old acquaintance, and an old member of his order, having joined it more than forty years ago with his wife and two children. I have known marked individuals among these people, and yet it surprises me when I see an original stamp of character, surviving the extinguishing mono- tony of life, or rather suspended animation among them. What God has impressed man cannot efface. To a child's eye, each leaf of a tree is like the other ; to a philosopher's each has its distinc- tive mark. Our fi'iend W.'s individuality might have struck a careless observer. He has nothing of the angular, crusty, silent 20 CATHERINE M. SEDGWICK. aspect of most of his yea and nay brethren, who have a perfect conviction that they have dived to the bottom of the well and found the pearl truth, while all the rest of the world look upon them as at the bottom of a well indeed ; but without the pearl, and with only so much light as may come in through the little aperture that communicates with the outward world. Neither are quite right ; the Shaker has no monopoly of truth or holiness, but we believe he has enough of both to light a dusky path to heaven. Friend Wilcox is a man of no pretension whatever ; but content in conscious mediocrity. We were at dinner when he came in ; but friend Wilcox is too childlike or too simple, to be disturbed by any observances of conventional politeness. He declined an invitation to dine, saying he had eaten and was not hungry, and seated him- self in the corner, after depositing some apples on the table, of rare size and beauty. "I have brought some notions, too," he said, "for you, B ," and he took from his ample pocket his handkerchief, in which he had tied up a parcel of sugar plums and peppermints. B accepted them most affably, and without any apparent recoiling, shifted them from the old man's handkerchief to an empty plate beside her. " Half of them," he said, " remem- ber, B , are for . You both played and sung to me last summer — I don't forget it. She is a likely woman, and makes the music sound almost as good as when I was young !" This was enthusiasm in the old Shaker ; but to us it sounded strangely, who knew that she who had so kindly condescended to call back brother Wilcox's youth, had held crowds entranced by her genius. Brother Wilcox is a genial old man, and fifty years of abstinence from the world's pleasures has not made him forget or contemn them. He resembles the jolly friars in conventual life, who never resist, and are therefore allowed to go without bits or reins, and in a very easy harness. There is no galling in restraint where there is no desire for freedom. It is the " immortal long- ings" that make the friction in life. After dinner, B , at brother Wilcox's request, sate down to the piano, and played for him the various tunes that were the favourites in rustic inland life forty years ago. First the Highland reel, then "Money Musk." CATHERINE M. SEDGWICK. 21 "I remember who I danced that with," he said, " Sophy Drurj. The ball was held in the school room at Feeding fields. She is tight built, and cheeks as red as a rose (past and present were eon- founded in brother Wilcox's imagination). I went home with Sophy — it was as light as day, and near upon day — them was pleasant times !" concluded the old man, but without one sigh of regret, and with a gleam of light from his twinkling gray eye. " There have been no such pleasant times since, brother Wilcox, has there ?" asked B , with assumed or real sympathy. " I can't say that, it has been all along pleasant. I have had what others call crosses, but I don't look at them that way — what's the use?" The old man's philosophy struck me. There was no record of a cross in his round jolly face. "Were you married," I asked, "when you joined the Shakers?" " Oh, yes ; I married at twenty — it's never too soon nor too late to do right, you know, and it was right for me to marry according to the light I had then. May be you think it was a cross to part from my wife — all men don't take it so — but I own I should ; I liked Eunice. She is a peaceable woman, and we lived in unity, but it was rather hard times, and we felt a call to join the brethren, and so we walked out of the world together, and took our two children with us. In the society she was the first woman handy in all cases." " And she is still with you ?" " No. Our girl took a notion and went off, and got married, and my wife went after her — that's natural for mothers, you know. I went after Eunice, and tried to persuade her to come back, and she felt so ; but it's hard rooting out mother-love ; it's planted deep, and spreads wide ; so I left her to nature, and troubled myself no more about it, for what was the use ? My son, too, took a liking to a young English girl that was one of our sisters — may be you have seen her ?" We had all seen her and admired her fresh English beauty, and deplored her fate. " Well, she was a picture, and speaking after the manner of men, as good as she was hand- some. They went off together ; I could not much blame them, 22 CATHERINE M. SEDGWICK. and I took no steps after them — for wliat was the use ? But come, strike up again ; play ' Haste to the wedding.' " B obeyed, and our old friend sang or chanted a low accom- paniment ; in which the dancing tune and the Shaker nasal chant were ludicrously mingled. B — — played all his favourite airs, and then said, " You do love dancing, brother Wilcox ?" " Yes, to be sure — ' praise him in the cymbals and dances !' " " Oh, but I mean such dances as we have here. Would not you like, brother Wilcox, t6 come over and see us dance ?" "Why, may be I should." " And would not you like to dance with one of our pretty young ladies, brother Wilcox?" " May be I should ;" the old man's face lit up joyously — but he smiled and shook his head, " they would not let me, they would not let me." Perhaps the old Shaker's imagination wandered for a moment from the very straight path of the brotherhood, but it was but a moment. His face reverted to its placid passiveness, and he said, " I am perfectly content. I have enough to eat and drink — everything good after its kind, too — good clothes to wear, a warm bed to sleep in, and just as much work as I like, and no more." "All this, and heaven too," — of which the old man felt perfectly sure — was quite enough to fill the measure of a Shaker's desires. "Now," said he, "you think so much of your dances, I wish you could see one of our young sisters dance, when we go up to Mount Holy. She has the whirling gift ; she will spin round like a top, on one foot, for half an hour, all the while seeing visions, and receiving revelations." This whirling is a recent gift of the Shakers. The few "world's folk" who have been permitted to see its exhibition, compare its subjects to the whirling Dervishes. " Have you any other new inspiration ?" I asked. " Gifts, you mean ? Oh, yes ; we have visionists. It's a wonder- ful mystery to me. I never was much for looking into mysteries — they rather scare me !" Naturally enough, poor childlike old man ! "What, brother Wilcox," I asked, " do you mean by a visionist ?" CATHERINE M. SEDGWICK. 23 "I can't exactly explain," lie replied. "They see things that the natural eye can't see, and hear, and touch, and taste, with inward senses. As for me, I never had any kind of gifts, but a contented mind, and submission to those in authority, and I don't see at all into this new mystery. It makes me of a tremble when I think of it. I'll tell you how it acts. Last summer I was among our brethren in York State, and when I was coming away, I went down into the garden to take leave of a young brother there. He asked me if I would carry something for him to Vesta. Vesta is a young sister, famous for her spiritual gifts, whirling, &c." I could have added, for I had seen Vesta — for other less questionable gifts in the world's estimation — a light graceful figure, graceful even in the Shaker straight jacket, and a face like a young Sibyl's. " Well," continued brother Wilcox, " he put his hand in his pocket, as if to take out something, and then stretching it to me, he said, ' I want you to give this white pear to Vesta.' I felt to take some- thing, though I saw nothing, and a sort of trickling heat ran through me ; and even now, when I think of it, I have the same feeling, fainter, but the same. When I got home, I asked Vesta if she knew that young brother. ' Yea,' she said. I put my hand in my pocket and took it out again, to all earthly seeming as empty as it went in, and stretched it out to her. ' Oh, a white pear !' she said. As I hope for salvation, every word that I tell you is true," concluded the old man. It was evident he believed every word of it to be true. The incredulous may imagine that there was some clandestine inter- course between the "young brother" and "young sister," and that simple old brother Wilcox was merely made the medium of a fact or sentiment, symbolized by the w^hite pear. However that may be, it is certain that animal magnetism has penetrated into the cold and dark recesses of the Shakers. CATHERINE M. SEDGWICK. THE SABBATH IN NEW EN&LAND. The observance of the Sabbath began with the Puritans, as it still does with a great portion of their descendants, on Saturday- night. At the going down of the sun on Saturday, all temporal affairs were suspended ; and so zealously did our fathers maintain the letter, as well as the spirit of the law, that, according to a vulgar tradition in Connecticut, no beer was brewed in the latter part of the week, lest it should presume to worTc on Sunday. It must be confessed, that the tendency of the age is to laxity ; and so rapidly is the wholesome strictness of primitive times abating, that, should some antiquary, fifty years hence, in explor- ing his garret rubbish, chance to cast his eye on our humble pages, he may be surprised to learn, that, even now, the Sabbath is observed, in the interior of New England, with an almost Judaical severity. On Saturday afternoon an uncommon bustle is apparent. The great class of procrastinators are hurrying to and fro to complete the lagging business of the week. The good mothers, like Burns's matron, are plying their needles, making " auld claes look amaist as weel's the new;" while the domestics, or help (we prefer the national descriptive term), are wielding, with might and main, their brooms and mops, to make all tidy for the Sabbath. As the day declines, the hum of labour dies away, and, after the sun is set, perfect stillness reigns in every well-ordered house- hold, and not a foot-fall is heard in the village street. It cannot be denied, that even the most scriptural, missing the excitement of their ordinary occupations, anticipate their usual bed-time. The obvious inference from this fact is skilfully avoided by certain ingenious reasoners, who allege, that the constitution was origi- nally so organized as to require an extra quantity of sleep on every seventh night. "We recommend it to the curious to inquire, how this peculiarity was adjusted, when the first day of the week was changed from Saturday to Sunday. CATHERINE M. SEDGWICK. 25 The Sabbath morning is as peaceful as the first hallowed day. 'Not a human sound is heard without the dwellings, and, but for the lowing of the herds, the crowing of the cocks, and the gossipping of the birds, animal life would seem to be extinct, till, at the bid- ding of the church-going bell, the old and young issue from their habitations, and, with solemn demeanour, bend their measured steps to the meeting-house ; — the families of the minister, the squire, the doctor, the merchant, the modest gentry of the village, and the mechanic and labourer, all arrayed in their best, all meeting on even ground, and all with that consciousness of independence and equality, which breaks down the pride of the rich, and rescues the poor from servility, envy, and discontent. If a morning salutation is reciprocated, it is in a suppressed voice; and if, perchance, nature, in some reckless urchin, burst forth in laughter — "My dear, you forget it's Sunday," is the ever ready reproof. Though every face wears a solemn aspect, yet we once chanced to see even a deacon's muscles relaxed by the wit of a neighbour, and heard him allege, in a half-deprecating, half-laughing voice, " The squire is so droll, that a body must laugh, though it be Sabbath-day." Towards the close of the day (or to borrow a phrase descriptive of his feelings, who first used it), " when the Sabbath begins to abate," the children cluster about the windows. Their eyes wan- der from their catechism to the western sky, and, though it seems to them as if the sun would never disappear, his broad disk does slowly sink behind the mountain ; and, while his last ray still lingers on the eastern summits, merry voices break forth, and the ground resounds with bounding footsteps. The village belle arrays herself for her twilight walk ; the boys gather on " the green ;" the lads and girls throng to the "singing-school;" while some coy maiden lingers at home, awaiting her expected suitor; and all enter upon the pleasures of the evening with as keen a relish as if the day had been a preparatory penance. ELIZA LESLIE. We have room but for a brief preface to the charming autobiography of Miss Leslie, furnished to our pages by her friend Mrs. Neal, for whom it was recently written. All that is of interest in the personal history of this gifted lady, she has herself supplied. It only remains for us to point out the characteristics of her style, and the great popularity of her writings, to which she so modestly alludes. Her tales are perfect daguerreotypes of real life ; their actors think, act, and speak for themselves ; with a keen eye for the ludicrous, the failings of human nature are never portrayed but to warn the young and the thoughtless. Her writings are distinguished for vivacity and ease of expression, strong common sense, and right principle. In her juvenile tales the children are neither " good little girls, or bad little boys" — but real little boys and girls, who act and speak with all the genuineness and naiveti of childhood. No writer of fiction in our coun- try has ever had a wider, or more interested circle of readers ; and this is clearly proved by the increased circulation of all those publications in which her name has appeared as a regular contributor. It will be noticed that the autobiography is dated from the United States Hotel, of this city, where Miss Leslie at present resides — a charm to its social circle, and sought out by distinguished travellers of many nations, as well as those of our own land. Her conversation is quite equal to her writings, a circumstance by no means common with authors; her remarkable memory furnishing an inexhaustible store of anecdote, mingled with sprightly and original opinions. Her early life will be learned from the following sketch. (26) ELIZA LESLIE. 27 LETTER TO MRS. ALICE B. NEAL. My Dear Friend : I was born in Philadelphia, at the corner of Market and Second streets, on the 15th of November, 1787, and was baptized in Christ Church by Bishop White. Both my parents were natives of Cecil county, Maryland, also the birth-place of my grandfathers and grandmothers on each side. My great-grandfather, Robert Leslie, was a Scotchman. He came to settle in America about the year 1745 or '46, and bought a farm on North-East River, nearly opposite to the insulated hill called Maiden's Mountain. I have been at the place. My maternal great-grandfather was a Swede named Jansen. So I have no English blood in me. My father was a man of considerable natural genius, and much self-taught knowledge ; particularly in Natural Philosophy and in mechanics. He was also a good draughtsman, and a ready writer on scientific subjects ; and in his familiar letters, and in his con- versation, there was evidence of a most entertaining vein of hu- mour, with extraordinary powers of description. He had an ex- cellent ear for music; and, without any regular instruction, he played well on the flute and violin. I remember, at this day, many fine Scottish airs that I have never seen in print, and which my father had learned in his boyhood from his Scottish grandsire, who was a good singer. My mother was a handsome woman, of excel- lent sense, very amusing, and a first-rate housewife. Soon after their marriage, my parents removed from Elkton to Philadelphia, where my father commenced business as a watch- maker. He had great success. Philadelphia was then the seat of the Federal Government ; and he soon obtained the custom of the principal people in the place, including that of Washington, Franklin, and Jefierson, the two last becoming his warm personal friends. There is a free-masonry in men of genius which makes them find out each other immediately. It was by Mr. Jeiferson's recommendation that my father was elected a member of the Ameri- can Philosophical Society. To Dr. Franklin he suggested an §8 ELIZA LESLIE. improvement in lightning rods, — gilding the points to prevent their rusting, — that was immediately, and afterwards universally adopted. Among my father's familiar visiters were Robert Patterson, long Professor of Mathematics at the University of Pennsylvania, and afterwards President of the Mint; Charles Wilson Peale, who painted the men of the revolution, and founded the noble museum called by his name ; John Vaughan, and Matthew Carey. When I was about five years old, my father went to England with the intention of engaging in the exportation of clocks and watches to Philadelphia, having recently taken into partnership Isaac Price, of this city. We arrived in London in June, 1793, after an old-fashioned voyage of six weeks. We lived in England about six years and a half, when the death of my father's partner in Philadelphia, obliged us to return home. An extraordinary circumstance compelled our ship to go into Lisbon, and detained us there from November till March ; and we did not finish our voyage and arrive in Philadelphia till May. The winter we spent in our Lisbon lodgings was very uncomfortable, but very amusing. After we came home, my father's health, which had long been precarious, declined rapidly ; but he lived till 1803. My mother and her five children (of whom I was the eldest) were left in cir- cumstances which rendered it necessary that she and myself should make immediate exertions for the support of those who were yet too young to assist themselves, as they did afterwards. Our diffi- culties we kept uncomplainingly to ourselves. We asked no assist- ance of our friends, we incurred no debts, and we lived on cheer- fully, and with such moderate enjoyments as our means afforded ; believing in the proverb, that " All work and no play make Jack a dull boy." My two brothers were then, and still are, sources of happiness to the family. But they both left home at the age of sixteen. Charles, with an extraordinary genius for painting, went to London to cultivate it. He rapidly rose to the front rank of his profession, and maintains a high place among the great artists of Europe. He married in England, and still lives there. My youngest brother, Thomas Jefferson Leslie, having passed ELIZA LESLIE. ^ through the usual course of military education, in the West Point Academy, was commissioned in the Engineers, and, with the rank of Major, is still attached to the army. My sister, Anna Leslie, resides in New York. She has several times visited London, where she was instructed in painting by her brother Charles, and has been very successful in copying pictures. My youngest sister, Patty, became the wife of Henry C. Carey, and never in married life was happiness more perfect than theirs. To return now to myself. Fortunate in being gifted with an extraordinary memory, I was never in childhood much troubled with long lessons to learn, or long exercises to write. My father thought I could acquire sufficient knowledge for a child by simply reading " in book," without making any great effort to learn things by heart. And as this is not the plan usually pursued at schools, I got nearly all my education at home. I had a French master, and a music master (both coming to give lessons at the house) ; my father himself taught me to write, and overlooked my drawing ; and my mother was fully competent to instruct me in every sort of useful sewing. I went three months to school, merely to learn ornamental needle-work. All this was in London. We had a governess in the house for the younger children. My chief delight was in reading and drawing. My first attempts at the latter were on my slate, and I was very happy when my father brought me one day a box of colours and a drawing-book, and showed me how to use them. There was no restriction on my reading, except to prevent me from "reading my eyes out." And indeed they have never been very strong. At that time there were very few books written pur- posely for children. I believe I obtained all that were then to be found. But this catalogue being soon exhausted, and my appetite for reading being continually on the increase, I was fain to supply it with works that were considered beyond the capacity of early youth — a capacity which is too generally underrated. Children are often kept on bread and milk long after they are able to eat meat and potatoes. I could read at four years old, and before twelve I was familiar, among a multitude of other books, with Goldsmith's 30 ELIZA LESLIE. admirable Letters on England, and his histories of Rome and Greece (Robinson Crusoe and the Arabian Nights, of course), and I had gone through the six octavo volumes of the first edition of Cook's Voyages. I talked much of Tupia and Omiah, and Otoo and Terreoboo — Captain Cook I almost adored. Among our visiters in London, was a naval officer who had sailed with Cook on his last voyage, and had seen him killed at Owhyhee — I am sorry the name of that island has been changed to the unspellable and unpronounceable Hawaii. I was delighted when my father took me to the British Museum, to see the numerous curiosities brought from the South Sea by the great circumnavigator. The "Elegant Extracts" made me acquainted with the best passages in the works of all the British writers who had flourished before the present century. From this book I first learned the beauties of Shakspeare. My chief novels were Miss Burney's, Mrs. RadclifFe's, and the Children of the Abbey. Like most authors, I made my first attempts in verse. They were always songs, adapted to the popular airs of that time, the close of the last century. The subjects were chiefly soldiers, sailors, hunters, and nuns. I scribbled two or three in the pas- toral line, but my father once pointing out to me a real shepherd, in a field somewhere in Kent, I made no farther attempt at Damons and Strephons, playing on lutes and wreathing their brows with roses. My songs were, of course, foolish enough ; but in justice to myself I will say, that having a good ear, I was never . guilty of a false quantity in any of my poetry — my lines never had a syllable too much or too little, and my rhymes always did rhyme. At thirteen or fourteen, I began to despise my own poetry, and destroyed all I had. I then, for many years, abandoned the dream of my childhood, the hope of one day seeing my name in print. It was not till 1827 that I first ventured "to put out a book," and a most unparnassian one it was — " Seventy-five receipts for pastry, cakes, and sweetmeats." Truth was, I had a tolerable collection of receipts, taken by myself while a pupil of Mrs. Good- fellow's cooking school, in Philadelphia. I had so many applica- tions from my friends for copies of the^e directions, that my brother ELIZA LESLIE. 31 suggested my getting rid of the inconvenience by giving them to the public in print. An offer was immediately made to me by Munroe & Francis, of Boston, to publish them on fair terms. The little volume had much success, and has gone through many editions. Mr. Francis being urgent that I should try my hand at a work of imagination, I wrote a series of juvenile stories, which I called the Mirror. It was well received, and was followed by several other story-books for youth — " The Young Americans," " Stories for Emma," "Stories for Adelaide," "Atlantic Tales," "Stories for Helen," "Birth-day Stories." Also, I compiled a little book called "The Wonderful Traveller," being an abridg- ment (with essential alterations) of Munchausen, Gulliver, and Sindbad. In 1831 Munroe and Francis published my " American Girls' Book," of which an edition is still printed every year. Many juvenile tales, written by me, are to be found in the annuals called the Pearl and the Violet. I had but recently summoned courage to write fictions for grown people, when my story of Mrs. Washington Potts obtained a prize from Mr. Godey, of the Lady's Book. Subsequently I was allotted three other prizes successively, from different periodicals. I then withdrew from this sort of competition. For several years I wrote an article every month for the Lady's Book, and for a short time I was a contributor to Graham's Maga- zine ; and occasionally, I sent, by invitation, a contribution to the weekly papers. I was also editor of the Gift, an annual published by Carey & Hart ; and of the Violet, a juvenile souvenir. My only attempt at anything in the form of a novel, was " Ame- lia, or a Young Lady's Vicissitudes," first printed in the Lady's Book, and then in a small volume by itself. Could I begin anew my literary career, I would always write novels instead of short stories. Three volumes of my tales were published by Carey & Lea, under the title of Pencil Sketches. Of these, there will soon be a new edition. In 1838 Lea & Blanchard printed a volume con- taining " Althea Vernon, or the Embroidered Handkerchief," and "Henrietta Harrison, or the Blue Cotton Umbrella." Several 32 ELIZA LESLIE. books of my fugitive stories have been published in pamphlet form, — the titles being "Kitty's Relations," "Leonilla Lynmore," " The Maid of Canal Street" (the Maid is a refined and accom- plished young lady), and " The Jennings' and their Beaux." All my stories are of familiar life, and I have endeavoured to render their illustrations of character and manners, as entertaining and instructive as I could; trying always "to point a moral," as well as to " adorn a tale." The works from which I have, as yet, derived the greatest pecu- niary advantage, are my three books on domestic economy. The "Domestic Cookery Book," published in 1837, is now in the forty- first edition, no edition having been less than a thousand copies ; and the sale inci-eases every year. " The House Book" came out in 1840, and the "Lady's Receipt Book" in 1846. All have been successful, and profitable. My two last stories are " Jernigan's Pa," published in the Satur- day Gazette, and " The Baymounts," in the Saturday Evening Post. I am now engaged on a life of John Fitch, for which I have been several years collecting information, from authentic sources. I hope soon to finish a work (undertaken by particular desire) for the benefit of young ladies, and to which I purpose giving the plain, simple title of " The Behaviour Book." U. S. Hotel, Phila., Aug. 1, 1851. MRS. DERRINGTON'S RECEPTION DAY. Majoe Fayland had departed on his return home, and Sophia's tears had flowed fast and long on taking leave of her father. Mrs. Derrington reminded her, by way of consolation, that to-morrow was "reception day," and that she would then most probably see many of the ladies, who, having heard of Miss Fayland's arrival, had already left cards for her. " And what, dear aunt, is exactly meant by a reception day ?" inquired Sophia. ELIZA LESLIE. 33 " It is a convenient way of getting through our morning visit- ers," replied Mrs. Derrington. "We send round cards at the beginning of the season to notify our friends that we are at home on a certain morning, once a week. My day is Thursday. I sit in the drawing-room during several hours in a handsome demi- toilette. Full dress is not admissible, of course, at morning recep- tions. Any of my friends that wish to see me, take this opportunity ; understanding that I receive calls at no other time. They are served with chocolate and other refreshments, brought in and handed to them soon after their arrival. They talk awhile, and then depart. There are some coming in, and some going out all the time, and no one staying long. The guests are chiefly ladies ; few gentlemen of this city having leisure for morning visits. Still every gentleman manages to honour a lady's reception day with at least one call during the season. I suppose you had no such things as morning receptions at the fort ?" "No, indeed," replied Sophia; "our mornings were always fully occupied in attending to household affairs, and doing the sew- ing of the family. Afternoon was the time for walking or reading. But in the evening we all visited our neighbours, very much according to the fashion of Spanish tertulias." Next morning, when dressed for the reception, and seated in the drawing-room to wait for the first arrivals, Mrs. Derrington said to Sophia — " We shall now hear all about Mrs. Cotterell's great party which came off last night. I have some curiosity to know what it was like, being her first since she came to live in this part of the town." "Do you visit her?" asked Sophia. " Oh, no — not yet — and probably I never may. I am waiting to see if the Cotterells succeed in getting into society." "What society, dear aunt?" inquired Sophia. " I see, Sophy, that I shall be much amused with your simpli- city," replied Mrs. Derrington; "or rather with your extreme newness. In using the word society, we allude only to one class, and that of course is the very best." " By that I understand a select circle of intellectual, refined, 34 ELIZA LESLIE. agreeable, and every way excellent people," said Sophia; "men on whose integrity, and women on whose propriety there is not the slightest blemish, and who are admired for their talents, loved for their goodness, and esteemed for the truth and honour of their whole conduct." "Stop — stop," interrupted Mrs. Derrington, "you are going quite too far. Can you suppose all this is required to get people into society, or to keep them there ? The upper circles would be very small if nothing short of perfection could be admitted." "What then, dear aunt, are the requisites?" asked Sophia. " Is genius one ?" " Genius ? Oh, no, indeed. It is not that sort of thing that brings people into society. It is mostly considered rather a draw- back. Mrs. Goldsworth actually shuns people of genius. Indeed, most of my friends rather avoid them. I have no acquaintance whatever with any man or woman of genius." "I am sorry to hear it," said Sophia. "I had hoped while in New York to meet many of those gifted persons whose fame has spread throughout our country, whom I already know by reputa- tion, and whom I have long been desirous of seeing or hearing." "Oh, I suppose you mean lions," said Mrs. Derrington. "I can assure you that I patronize none of them ; neither do any of my friends." "I thought the lions were the patronizers," said Sophia, "and that their position gave them the exclusive power of selecting their associates, and deciding on whom to confer the honour of their acquaintance." " Sophy — Sophy, you really make me laugh !" exclaimed her aunt. " What strange notions you have picked up, with your gar- rison education. Do not you know that people of genius seldom live in any sort of style, or keep carriages, or give balls ? And they never make fortunes; unless they are foreign musicians or dancers, and I am not sure that the singing and dancing people are, classed as geniuses. They are regarded as something much better." "Is society composed entirely of people of fortune?" ELIZA LESLIE. ^ " Oh, no ; there are persons in the first circle who are not half so rich as many in the second, or even in the third, or fourth." " Then, if society is not distinguished for pre-eminence in talent or wealth, the distinction must depend upon the transcendent good- ness, and perfect respectability of those that belong to it." " Why, not exactly. I confess that some of the persons in soci- ety have done very bad things ; which after the first few days it is best to hush up, for the honour of our class. But then in certain respects society is most exemplary. We always subscribe to public charities. Charity is very fashionable, and so is church." "And now," continued Sophia, " to return to the lady who gave the party last night. Is not she a good and respectable woman ?" " I never heard anything against her goodness, or her respect- ability." " She must surely be a woman of education." " Oh, yes ; I went to school with her myself. But at all schools there is somewhat of a mixture. To give you Mrs. Cotterell's his- tory — her father kept a large store in Broadway, and afterwards he got into the wholesale line, and went into Pearl street. Now, my father was a shipping merchant, and owned vessels, and my dear late husband w^as his junior partner. Mr. Cotterell made his money in some sort of manufacturing business, across the river. He died two years ago, and is said to have left his family very rich. Her daughter being now grown, Mrs. Cotterell has bought a house up here, in the best part of the town, and has come out quite in style, and been tolerably called on. Some went to see her out of curiosity ; and some because they have an insatiable desire for en- larging their circle ; some because they have a passion for new people ; and some because they like to go to houses where every- thing is profuse and costly, as is generally the case vfithpaj^venus." "And some, I hope," said Sophia, "because they really like Mrs. Cotterell for herself." " She certainly is visited by a few very genteel people," con- tinued Mrs. Derrington, " and that has encouraged her to attempt a party last night. But the Goldsworths, the Highburys, the Featherstones, and myself, are waiting to Ijear if she is well taken 36 ELIZA LESLIE. up; and, above all, if the Pelham Prideauxs have called on her. And besides, it may be well for us not to begin till she has gradu- ally gotten rid of the people with whom she associated in her hus- band's time." " Surely," said Sophia, " she cannot be expected to throw off her old friends?" " Then she need not expect to gain new ones up here. "We can- not mix with people from the unfashionable districts. Mrs. Cotte- rell may do as she pleases — but she must be select in her circle, if she wants the countenance of the Pelham Prideauxs." "And who, dear aunt, are the Pelham Prideauxs?" inquired Sophia. " Is it possible you never heard of them ?" ejaculated Mrs. Der- rington. " To know Mrs. Pelham Prideaux, to be seen at her house, or to have her seen at yours, is sufficient. It gives the stamp of high fashion at once." "And for what reason?" persisted Sophia. " Because she is Mrs. Pelham Prideaux," was the reply. "What is her husband?" said Sophia. " He is a gentleman who has always lived upon the fortune left him by his father, who inherited property from his father, and he from his. None of the Prideauxs have done anything for a hun- dred years. The great-grandfather was from England, and came over a gentleman." "Surprising!" said Sophia, mischievously. "And whom have they to inherit all this glory ?" "An only daughter," replied Mrs. Derrington, "Maria Matilda Pelham Prideaux." At this moment a carriage stopped at the door, and presently Mrs. Middleby was announced ; and immediately after, two young ladies came in who were presented to Sophia as Miss Telford and Miss Ellen Telford. The conversation soon turned on Mrs. Cotte- roll's party. Mrs. Middleby had been there — the Miss Telfords had not, and were therefore anxious to " hear all about it." "Really," said Mrs. Middleby, "it was just like all other par- ties ; and like all others, it went off tolerably well. The company ELIZA LESLIE. 37 was such as one meets everywhere. The rooms were decorated in the usual style. Some of the people looked better than others, and some worse than others. The dressing was just as it always is at parties. The hostess and her daughter behaved as people generally do in their own houses ; the company as guests usually behave in other people's houses. There was some conversation and some music. The supper was like all other suppers, and everybody went away about the usual hour." Mrs. Derrington was dubious about taking up the Cotterells. " I knew we should not get much information out of Mrs. Mid- dleby," said Miss Telford to Sophia, after the lady had departed. " She always deals in generals, whatever may be the topic of con- versation." " Because her capacity of observation is so shallow that it cannot take in particulars," said Ellen Telford. " But here comes Mrs. Honeywood — we will stay to hear what she says." Mrs. Honeywood was introduced, and on being applied to for her account of Mrs. Cotterell's party, she pronounced it every way charming; and told of some delightful people that were there. "Among them," said Mrs. Honeywood, "was the dashing widow, Mrs. Crandon, as elegant and as much admired as ever. She was certainly the belle of the room, and looked even more captivating than usual, with her blooming cheeks, and her magnificent dark eyes, and her rich and graceful ringlets, and her fine tall figure set off by her superb dress, giving her the air of a duchess, or a count- ess at least." " What was her dress ?" inquired Sophia. " Oh, a beautiful glossy cherry-coloured velvet, trimmed with a profusion of rich black lace. On her head was an exquisite dress- hat of white satin and blond, with a splendid ostrich plume. She was surrounded by beaux all the evening. The gentlemen almost neglected the young ladies to crowd round the enchanting widow, particularly when she played on the harp and sung. They would scarcely allow her to quit the instrument ; and, indeed, her music was truly divine. There was quite a scramble as to who should have the honour of leading Mrs. Crandon to the supper-table," 38 ELIZA LESLIE. After some further encomiums on the widow Crandon, and on everything connected with the party, Mrs. Honeywood took her leave, first offering seats in her carriage to the Miss Telfords, which offer they accepted. Mrs. Derrington rather thought she would take up the Cotterells. The next of the guests who had been at Mrs. Cotterell's party was Miss Rodwell ; and she also gave an account of it. " Mrs. Cotterell and her daughter are rather presentable, and they are visited to a certain degree," said Miss Rodwell; "and I understand that Mrs. Pelham Prideaux does think of calling on them, I knew that I should meet many of my friends, or of course, I could not have risked being there myself. But, under any cir- cumstances, the company was too large to be select. A party can- not be perfectly comme il faut, if it numbers more than fifty. Mrs. De Manchester says, that to have the very cream and flower of New York society, you must not go beyond thirty. And, though an Englishwoman, I think, in this respect, she is right." " The Vanbombels, to be completely select, invite none but their own relations," observed Mrs. Derrington. "And for the same reason," rejoined Miss Rodwell, "the Jenkses invite none of their relations at all. But who do you think I saw last evening ? Poor Crandon, absolutely ! I wonder where Mrs. Cotterell found her ? She must have been invited out of compassion ; it certainly could not have been for the purpose of ornamenting the rooms. Most likely Mrs. Cotterell did not know that poor Crandon is so entirely passS, nobody minds cutting her in the least. There she was rigged out in that old dingy red velvet that everybody was long ago tired of seeing. It is now quite too narrow for the fashion, and looks faded and threadbare. She had taken off the white satin trimming that graced it in its high and palmy days, and decorated it scantily with some coarse brownish, blackish lace. And then her head, with its forlorn ringlets, stream- ing down with the curl all out, and a queer yellowish-white hat, and a meagre old feather to match ! Such an object ! I wish you could have seen her ! But, poor thing, I could not help pitying her, for she looked forlorn, and sat neglected, and was left to her- ELIZA LESLIE. self nearly all the time ; except when the Cotterells talked to her from a sense of duty. She played something on the harp, hut nobody seemed to listen. I know that I was talking and laughing all the time, and so was every one else. People that are ill-dressed should never play on harps. It shows them too plainly." "And they should never go to parties either," said Mrs. Der- rington. " Poor Mrs. Crandon, has she no friend to tell her so ? But I never heard before that she had fallen off in her costume. The report may be true that her husband's executors have defrauded her of a considerable portion of her property. However, I have lost sight of her for some years." "And then," said Miss Rodwell, "it was not to be expected that Crandon could sustain herself permanently in society, con- sidering how she first got into it." " I own," resumed Mrs. Derrington, " I was rather surprised when I first saw Mrs. Crandon among us. It was, I believe, at Mrs. Hautonberg's famous thousand dollar party, the winter that it was fashionable to report the cost of those things ; so that, before the end of the season, parties had mounted up to twice that sum. How did she happen to get there, for it was certainly the cause of her having a run all that season ? I never exactly understood the circumstances." " Oh, I can tell you all about it," replied Miss Rodwell ; " for I was in the secret. Mr. Crandon was a jobber, and had realized a great deal of money, and they lived in a fine house, and made a show, but nobody in society ever thought of noticing them. After a while he took her to Europe, and they spent several months in Paris, and Mrs. Crandon (who, to do her justice, was then a very handsome woman) fitted herself out with a variety of elegant French dresses, made by an exquisite artiste, and with millinery equally recherche. When she came home, the fame of all these beautiful things spread beyond the limits of her own circle, and we were all dying to see them (particularly the evening costumes), and to borrow them as patterns for our own mantuamakers and milli- ners. But while she continued meandering about among her own set, we had no chance of seeing much more than the divine bonnet 40 ELIZA LESLIE. and pelisse she wore in Broadway, and they only whetted our appe- tite for the rest. So at one of Mrs. Hautonberg's soirees, a coterie of us got together and settled the plan. Mrs. Hautonberg at first made some difficulty, but finally came into it, and agreed to com- mence operations by calling on Mrs. Crandon next day, and after- wards sending her a note for her great thousand dollar party, which was then in agitation. So she called, and Mr. Hautonberg was prevailed on to leave his card for Mr. Crandon. They came to the party, thinking themselves highly honoured, and we all made a point of being introduced to the lady, and of showing her all possible civility, and of being delighted with her harp-playing. You may be sure, we took especial note of all the minutiae of her dress, which I must say far excelled in taste and elegance every other in the room. And no wonder, when it was fresh from France. Well, to be brief, she was visited and invited, and well treated, and her beautiful things were borrowed for patterns ; and by the time she had shown them all round at different parties, imitations of them were to be seen everywhere throughout our circle. The cherry-coloured velvet and the white hat and feathers were among them. She gave a grand party herself, and as it was at the close of the season, we all honoured her with our presence. Poor woman, she really thought all this was to last. Next winter we let her gently down; some dropping her entirely, and a few compas- sionately dragging on with her a while longer. Indeed, I still meet her at two or three houses." " I am very sure she was never seen at Mrs. Pelham Prideaux," observed Mrs. Derrington, " even in the winter of her glory. Her French costumes would have been no inducement to Mrs. Prideaux, whose station has placed her far above dress." "Mrs. Prideaux is rather too exclusive," said Miss Eodwell, somewhat piqued. "What an enviable station !" remarked Sophia, "to be above dress." "Well," continued Mrs. Derrington, to Miss Eodwell, "what did you think of Mrs. Cotterell's party arrangements ? How were the decorations, the supper, and all things thereunto belonging?" ELIZA LESLIE. 41 " Oh ! just such as we always see in the best houses. All in scrupulous accordance with the usual routine. Yet somehow it seemed to me there was a sort of parvenu air throughout." " What were the deficiencies ?" asked Mrs. Derrington. " Oh ! no particular deficiencies, except a want of that inde- scribable something which can only be found in the mansions of people of birth." Sophia could not forbear asking what in republican America could be meant by people of birth. To this Miss Rodwell vouchsafed no reply, but looking at her watch, said it was time to call for Mrs. De Manchester, whom she had promised to accompany to Stewart's. She then departed, leaving Mrs. Derrington impressed with a determination not to take up the Cotterells. The stopping of a carriage was followed by the entrance of Mrs. and INIiss Brockendale. The mother was a lady Avith an ever-varying countenance, and a restless eye. She was expensively dressed, but with her hair disordered, her bonnet crushed, her collar crooked, her gown rumpled, one end of her shawl trailing on the ground, and the other end scarcely reaching to her elbow. Her daughter's very handsome habiliments were arranged with the most scrupulous nicety ; and the young lady had a steadfast eye, and a resolute and determined expression of face. All her features were regular, but the tout ensemble was not agreeable. After some very desultory conversation, Mrs. Derrington recur- red to the subject that was uppermost in her mind, Mrs. Cotterell's party ; and on finding that the Brockendale ladies had been there, she again inquired about it ; observing that much as she had heard of it in the course of the morning, she had still obtained no satis- factory account. " How did it really go off?" said she, addressing Miss Brockendale ; but the mother eagerly answered, and the daughter finding herself anticipated, closed her lips firmly, and drew back her head. " Oh ! delightfully," exclaimed Mrs. Brockendale. " Everything was so elegant, and in such good taste, and on such a liberal scale." "How were the rooms decorated?" asked Mrs. Derrington. 6 43 ELIZA LESLIE. " Oh ! superbly, with flowers wreathed around the columns." " Mrs. Cotterell's rooms have no pillars," said Miss Brockendale, speaking very audibly and distinctly, and addressing herself to Sophia, near whom she was seated. " Well, then," continued Mrs. Brockendale, " there were wreaths festooned along the walls. You cannot say there were no walls." " There were no wreaths except those that ornamented the lamps and chandeliers," said Miss Brockendale, always addressing Sophia. " Oh ! yes, the flowers were all about the lights. That was what made them look so pretty. One thing I am certain of, the rooms were as light as day. There must have been five hundred candles." " There was not one," said Miss Brockendale to Sophia. " The rooms were lighted entirely with gas." " Well, it might have been a sort of gas. I declare my head is always so filled with things of importance, that I have no memory for trifles. This I know, that the furniture was all crimson velvet trimmed with gold-colour." " It was blue satin damask trimmed with a rich dark brown," said her daughter to Miss Fayland. " Well, the crimson might have had a bluish cast. I have cer- tainly seen crimson velvet somewhere. The truth is, almost as soon as we entered, I saw my friend Mr. Weston, the member of Congress (either from Greenbay or Georgetown, I forget which), and so we got to talking about Texas and things ; and that may be the reason I did not particularly notice the rooms. I almost got into a quarrel with this same Congress-man about the President, who, in spite of all I could say, Mr. Weston persisted in declaring has never threatened to go to war with Germany." "Neither he has," said Miss Brockendale, this time directing her looks to her mother. " Then he has set himself against railroads, or injured the crops, or invited over five hundred thousand millions of Irish." " He has done none of these things." " He has done something, I am very sure. Or, if he has not, some other President has. I never can remember how the Presi- ELIZA LESLIE. 4^ dents go, and perhaps I am apt to mix them up, my head being always full of more important objects." " I hear there was a very elegant supper," said Mrs. Derring- ton. " I believe there was. But all supper-time I was talking about the tariiF, and the theatre, and the army and navy, and I did not notice the things on the table. I rather think there was ice-cream, and I am almost positive there was jelly." " Had you fine music ?" inquired Mrs. Derrington. " It seems to me that I heard music. But I was talking then to Mr. Van Valkenburgh, who has travelled over half the world ; mostly pedestrian, poor fellow !" " He is not a poor fellow," explained her daughter to Sophia. " He is a rich bachelor, and a great botanist, and entomologist ; and when he rambles on foot, it is always from his own choice." "Augustina," said her mother, "do not you recollect we met Mr. Van Valkenburgh somewhere in Europe, when we were travel- ling with the Tirealls ?" " I never was in Europe," said Augustina to Sophia. " When mamma went over, she took my sister Isabella, but left me a little girl at boarding-school." " So you were a little girl at boarding-school ; I remember all about it," continued Mrs. Brockendale, "and I did take Isabella, because she was grown up. She is married now, poor thing, to a man that never crossed the Atlantic, and never will, and so her going to Europe was of no manner of use. What a strange girl she was. When we were at Venice she would make me go every- where in a boat — even to church." "You could not well go in anything else," remarked Augustina. "And then at Venice, she highly offended the showman by ring- ing the great bell of St. Mark's." " She could not get at it." " Then it must have been at St. Peter's, or St. Paul's, or else Notre Dame. Any how, she rung a bell." "My sister has told me," said Augustina, turning to Sophia, " that coming out of a village church in England, she took a fancy 44 ELIZA LESLIE. to pull the Ibell-rope, as it hung invitingly down just within the entrance ; and she greatly scandalized the beadle by doing so, still she pacified him with a shilling." " But now about Mr. Van Valkenburgh," proceeded Mrs. Brock- endale, " this I am certain of, that we met him on the Alps, and we were joined up there by old General Ofienham and his son, who was much taken with Isabella. It might have been a match, for the young man will be a half-millionaire one of these days ; but he has fits, and rolls down mountains. So that rather discouraged us, and we thought that nobody would ever marry him. Yet, after- wards, at Paris, or Portsmouth, or some of those places, the widow Sweeting snapped up young Ofienham, for her third husband. So Isabella might as well have taken him." "My sister," said Augustina, turning to Sophia, "is happily married to a man of sense, as well as of large fortune, and high respectability." "Mr. Van Valkenburgh," pursued Mrs. Brockendale, "was telling how delightful he found the literary society of England. I Avish I had been in it, when I was there. He became acquainted with them all. He even knew Shakspeare." "His plays, of course," said Sophia. " Oh ! no, the man himself. Shakspeare called on him at the hotel, and left his card for Mr. Van Valkenburgh." "Excuse me," said Sophia, "Shakspeare has been dead consi- derably more than two hundred years." "Ah! my dear young lady," observed Mrs. Brockendale, "you know we must not believe all we hear." "Mamma, Ave had best go home," said her daughter, who had sat for some moments looking as if too angry to speak, leaving to Sophia the explanation concerning Shakspeare. Mrs. Brockendale rose to depart. "If it was not Shakspeare that called on him, it must have been Dr. Johnson," said she. "Any how, it was some great author." They then took their leave. Miss Brockendale expressing a desire to be intimately acquainted with Miss Fayland. "Poor Mrs. Brockendale," said Sophia, "her head reminds me ELIZA LESLIE. 45 of a lumber room, where all sorts of things are stowed away in confusion. My father thinks that a defective memory is generally the result of careless or inattentive observation. But perhaps this lady was never gifted with the capacity of seeing or hearing things understandingly . ' ' " I do not wonder that the daughter has no patience with the mother," said Mrs. Derrington. "However, they are persons of birth, and live handsomely, and are visited. We cannot expect everybody in society to be alike. Unfortunately, Mr. Brocken- dale, who was a most excellent man, and doated on his queer wife, and tried hard to improve her, died ten years ago, and since losing his guidance, she has talked more like a fool than ever. And worse than all, every article of her dress seems to be continually getting into disorder. As soon as her things are put right, they somehow get wrong again." The next visiters were two rather insipid ladies, and soon after came in a remarkably handsome young man, dressed in the most perfect taste, but without the slightest approach to what is called dandyism. He had the air distingue which foreigners say is so rarely to be found among the citizens of America. He was intro- duced to Sophia as Mr. Percival Grafton, and she thought he looked exactly like a young nobleman, or rather as a young nobleman ought to look ; and she was still more delighted with his conversation. After some very pleasant interchange of ideas with Miss Fayland, he inquired of Mrs. Derrington if she had yet become acquainted with Mrs. Cotterell and her charming daughter. "Not yet," was the reply. " Then let me advise you by all means not to delay what I am sure will afford much pleasure to yourself and Miss Fayland. The Cotterells are delightful people ; polished, intelligent, natural, and having Vair coinme ilfaut, as if it had been born with them. Miss Cotterell is one of the loveliest girls I have ever seen ; and does infinite honour to the system on which her mother has educated her." " Does she dress well?" inquired Mrs. Derrington. "Charmingly," replied Grafton, "and she could not do other- 46 ELIZA LESLIE. wise, her good taste is so apparent in everything. She dresses ■well, talks well, moves well, and plays and sings delightfully. I heard her speaking French to Madame St. Ange, with the utmost fluency and elegance. She is really a most enchanting girl." "You seem to be quite smitten!" remarked Miss Waterly, one of the insipid young ladies. " Not to admire such a woman as Amelia Cotterell would evince the most pitiable insensibility to the united attractions of beauty, grace, and talent. But in the usual acceptation of the phrase, I am yet heart-whole. How long I may remain so is another question." Mr. Grafton then turned the conversation to another subject, and he soon after took his leave. '^Do you know, Mrs. Derrington," said Miss Milkby, the other insipid young lady, "it's all over town already, that Percival Grafton is dying in love with Amelia Cotterell. So you must not believe exactly all he says about her and her mother." "He really seems delirious," said Miss Waterly. Mrs. Derrington became again dubious about taking up the Cot- terells. But her doubts grew fainter as she reflected that Percival Grafton was a young gentleman of acknowledged taste in all that was refined and elegant ; being himself a person of birth, and " to the manner born" of the best society. Even his grandfather was an eminent lawyer, and Percival himself had been inducted into that high profession. While Mrs. Derrington sat, "pondering in her mind," Sophia was endeavouring to entertain the Misses Waterly and Milkby, when her aunt suddenly started from her reverie, and, her face beaming with ecstatic joy, advanced in eager empressement to receive a lady, whom the servant, throwing wide the door, an- nounced as Mrs. Pelham Prideaux. When Mrs. Derrington had a little recovered the first excitement of this supreme felicity, and placed her high and mighty guest in the easiest fauteuil, and seen her well served with refreshments, she recollected to introduce her niece, Miss Sophia Fayland. The two other misses had long been within the pale of Mrs. Prideaux's notice, and they timidly hoped she was well. ELIZA LESLIE. ^ This arbitress of fashion, this dictatress to society, was a -woman of no particular face, no particular figure, no particular dress, and no particular conversation. But she was well aware of her position, and made use of it accordingly. Mrs. Derrington, whose whole morning had been one long thought of the Cotterells (whenever she had a new thought she always pur- sued it a Voutrance), said something about the party of last night. "Were you there ?" asked Mrs. Prideaux. " Oh ! no. Mrs. Cotterell has come among us so lately, I know not exactly in what circle she will be." "You might have gone," said Mrs. Prideaux, "I intend calling on her." "Do you, indeed?" exclaimed Mrs. Derrington, with glad sur- prise. And Sophia's face brightened also ; for she longed to know the Cotterells, and she saw that all doubt was now over. Miss Waterly and Miss Milkby now acknowledged that they had both been at the party, and that they had liked it. " When do you make this call, my dear Mrs. Prideaux ?" asked Mrs. Derrington. "I have not exactly determined on the day," was the reply. " I hope Sophia and I may have the pleasure of meeting you there," said Mrs. Derrington. "When you have fixed on the exact time, will you let us know?" " Certainly, I can have no objection," answered Mrs. Prideaux, graciously, " provided I know it myself. " How kind you always are ! It will be so delightful for us to be at Mrs. Cotterell's together. Will it not, Sophy'?" " On consideration, I cannot make this call before next week," said Mrs. Prideaux. " Oh ! never mind. Consult your own convenience. We will wait for you." "Where does Mrs. Cotterell live?" inquired the great lady. Miss Waterly and Miss Milkby now both spoke together, and designated the place. Mrs. Prideaux condescendingly thanked them for the information. "Then," said she to Mrs. Derrington, "as I must pass your 48 ELIZA LESLIE. door in going there, I may as "well call for you in my carriage, whenever I do go." Mrs. Derrington was too happy at this unexpected glory ; and Miss Waterly and Miss Milkby too envious. All these young ladies could do was to accompany Mrs. Prideaux when she departed, and be seen leaving the door at the same time with her. She hon- oured them with a bow as they lingered on the door-step, when her no-particular-sort-of-carriage drove away. Unluckily, there chanced to be no spectators but a small party of German emigrants, and two schoolboys. Perhaps some of the neighbours might have been at their windows. The following Monday and Tuesday, Mrs. Derrington and Miss Fayland stayed at home all the morning ready-dressed, waiting in vain for Mrs. Prideaux to call for them in her carriage. " Surely," said Sophia, " she will apprise us in time ?" " She may probably not think of doing so," replied Mrs. Derrington. At last on Wednesday the joyful moment arrived when the vehi- cle of Mrs. Pelham Prideaux, with that lady in it, drew up to the door of Mrs. Derrington, who ran down stairs, followed by her niece ; and in a very short time they arrived at the mansion of the Cotterells. CAROLINE GILMAN. Of our living authoresses, no one has been so long before the public, and at the same time retained her place so entirely in its affections, as Mrs. Caroline Gilman. Her first publications, which were poems, commenced as early as 1810. Among these, " Jephthah's Rash Vow," and '* Jairus' Daughter," attracted particular attention. Her importance as a prose writer begins with the " Southern Rose Bud," a weekly juvenile paper, which she began in 1832, and continued for seven years. This miscellany contains a large amount of valuable literature, and is especially rich in contributions from Mrs. Gilman's own pen. Her other publications have been as follows : " Re- collections of a New England Housekeeper," " Recollections of a Southern Matron" (both running through a large number of editions), " Ruth Ray- mond; or Love's Progress," " Poetry of Travelling," " Tales and Ballads," " Letters of Eliza Wilkinson" (written during the invasion of Charles- ton by the British), "Verses of a Lifetime," "The Oracles from the Poets," " The Sibyl," and several juvenile books now collected under the general title of " Mrs. Grilman's Grift." The following graceful piece of autobiography will serve the double purpose of a specimen of her style, and a narrative of her life. MY AUTOBIOGRAPHY. I AM asked for some "particulars of my literary and domestic life." It seems to me, and I suppose at first thought, it seems to all, a vain and awkward egotism to sit down and inform the world who you are. But if I, like the Petrarchs, and Byrons, and Ilemanses, greater or less, have opened my heart to the public for 7 (49) 50 CAROLINE GILMAN. a series of years, with all the pulses of love and hatred and sor- row so transparently unveiled, that the throbs may be almost counted, why should I or they feel embarrassed in responding to this request? Is there not some inconsistency in this shyness about autobiography? I find myself, then, at nearly sixty years of age, somewhat of a patriarch in the line of American female authors — a kind of Past Master in the order. The only interesting point connected with my birth, which took place October 8th, 1794, in Boston, Mass., is that I first saw the light where the Mariners' Church now stands, in the North Square. My father, Samuel Howard, was a shipwright, and to my fancy it seems fitting, that seamen should assemble on the former homestead of one who spent his manhood in planning and perfecting the noble fabrics which bear them over the waves. All the record I have of him is, that on every State thanksgiving day he spread a liberal table for the poor, and for this I honour his memory. My mother descended from the family of the Brecks, a branch of which is located in Philadelphia as well as in Boston, and which, by those who love to look into such matters, is traced, as far as I have heard, to 1703 in America. The families of 1794 in the North Square, have changed their abode. Our pastor, the good Dr. Lathrop, minister of the " Old North," then resided at the head of the Square — the Mays, Reveres, and others, being his neighbours. It appears to me, that I remember my baptism on a cold Novem- ber morning, in the aisle of the old North, and how my minister bent over me with one of the last bush-wigs of that century, and touched his finger to my befrilled little forehead : but being only five weeks old, and not a very precocious babe, I suppose I must have learned it from oral tradition. I presume, also, I am under the same hallucination, when I see myself, at two years of age, sitting on a little elevated triangular seat, in the corner of the pew, with red morocco shoes, clasped with silver buckles, turning the movable balusters, which modern archi- tects have so unkindly taken away from children in churches. CAEOLINE GILMAN. 51 My father died before I was three years old, and was buried at Copp's Hill. A few years since, I made a pilgrimage to that most ancient and interesting cemetery, but its grass-covered vaults revealed to me nothing of him. My mother, who was an enthusiastic lover of nature, retired into the country with her six children, and placing her boys at an aca- demy at Woburn, resided with her girls in turn at Concord, Ded- ham, Watertown, and Cambridge, changing her residence, almost annually, until I was nearly ten years old, when she passed away, and I followed her to her resting-place, in the burial-ground at North Andrews. Either childhood is not the thoughtless period for which it is famed, or my susceptibility to suffering was peculiar. I remember much physical pain. I recollect, and I think Bunyan, the author of Pilgrim's Progress, describes the same, a deep horror at dark- ness, a suffocation, a despair, a sense of injury when left alone at night, that has since made me tender to this mysterious trial of youth. I recollect also my indignation after a chastisement for breaking some china, and in consequence I have always been careful never to express anger at children or servants for a similar misfortune. In contrast to this, come the memories of chasing butterflies, launching chips for boats on sunny rills, dressing dolls, embroider- ing the glowing sampler, and the soft maternal mesmerism of my mother's hand, when, with my head reclined on her knee, she smoothed my hair, and sang the fine old song " In the downhill of life." As Wordsworth says in his almost garrulous enthusiasm, " Fair seed-time had my soul, and I grew up Fostered alike by beauty and by fear ; Much favoured in my birth-place." I say birth-place, for true life is not stamped on the spot where our eyes first open, but our mind-birth comes from the varied asso- ciations of childhood, and therefore may I trace to the wild influ- ences of nature, particularly to those of sweet Auburn, now the Cambridge Cemetery, the formation of whatever I may possess of 52 CAROLINE GILMAN. the poetical temperament. Residing just at its entrance, I passed long summer mornings making thrones and couches of moss, and listening to the robins and blackbirds. The love of the beautiful then was quite undeveloped in social life ; the dead reposed by roadside burial-grounds, the broken stone walls of which scarcely sheltered the sod which covered them. Now all is changed in those haunts of my childhood, and perchance costly monuments in Mount Auburn have risen on the sites of my moss-covered thrones. Our residence was nearly opposite Governor Gerry's, and we were frequent visiters there. One evening I saw a small book on the recessed window-seat of their parlour. It was Gesner's Death of Abel ; I opened it, spelt out its contents, and soon tears began to flow. Eager to finish it, and ashamed of emotions so novel, I screened my little self so as to allow the light to fall only on the book, and, while forgotten by the group, I also forgetting the music and mirth that surrounded me, I shed, at eight years, the first pre- luding tears over fictitious sorrow. It was formerly the custom for countrypeople in Massachusetts to visit Boston in throngs on election day, and see the Governor sit in his chair on the Common. This pleasure was promised me, and a neighbouring farmer was good enough to offer to take me to my uncle Phillips's. Therefore, soon after sunrise, I was dressed in my best frock, and red shoes, and with a large peony called a 'lection posey, in one hand, and a quarter of a dollar in the other, I sprang with a merry heart into the chaise, my imagination teeming with soldiers, and sights, and sugar-plums, and a vague thought of something like a huge giant sitting in a big chair, overtopping everybody. I was an incessant talker when travelling, therefore the time seemed short when I was landed, as I supposed, at my uncle Phillips's door, and the farmer drove away. But what was my distress at finding myself among strangers ! Entirely ignorant of my uncle's direction, I knew not what to say. In vain a cluster of kind ladies tried to soothe and amuse me with promises of playmates and toys; a sense of utter loneliness and intrusion kept me in tears. At CAROLINE OILMAN. 53 sunset, the good farmer returned for me, and I burst into a new agony of grief. I have never forgotten that long, long day with the kind and hospitable, but wrong PkUlipses. If this statement should chance to be read and remembered by them, at this far interval, I beg them to receive the thanks which the timid child neglected to give to her stranger-friends. I had seen scarcely any children's books except the Primer, and at the age of ten, no poetry adapted to my age ; therefore, without presumption, I may claim some originality for an attempt at an acrostic on an infant, by the name of Howard, beginning — How sweet is the half opened rose ! Oh, how sweet is the violet to view! Who receives more pleasure from them, Here it seems I broke down in the acrostic department, and went on — Than the one who thinks them like you ? Yes, yes, you're a sweet little rose, That will bloom like one awhile ; And then you will be like one still. For I hope you will die without guile. The Davidsons, at the same age, would, I suppose, have smiled at this poor rhyming, but in vindication of my ten-year-old-ship I must remark, that they were surrounded by the educational light of the present era, while I was in the dark age of 1805. My education was exceedingly irregular, a perpetual passing from school to school, from my earliest memory. I drew a very little, and worked the "Babes in the Woods" on white satin, in floss silk ; my teacher and my grandmother being the only persons who recognised in the remarkable individuals that issued from my hands a likeness to those innocent sufferers. I taught myself the English guitar at the age of fifteen from hearing a schoolmate take lessons, and ambitiously made a tune, which I doubt if posterity will care to hear. By depriving myself of some luxuries, I purchased an instrument, over which my whole soul was poured in joy and sorrow for many years. A dear friend, who shared my desk at school, was kind enough to work out all my 54 CAROLINE GILMAN. sums for me (there were no black-boards then), while I wrote a novel in a series of letters, under the euphonious name of Eugenia Fitz Allen. The consequence is that, so far as arithmetic is con- cerned, I have been subject to perpetual mortifications ever since, and shudder to this day when any one asks me how much is seven times nine. I never could remember the multiplication table, and, to heap coals of fire on its head in revenge, set it to rhyme. I wrote my school themes in rhyme, and instead of following "Beauty soon decays," and " Cherish no ill designs," in B and C, I surprised my teacher with — " Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll, Charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul." My teacher, who at that period was more ambitious for me than I was for myself, initiated me into Latin, a great step for that period. The desire to gratify a friend induced me to study Watts's Logic. I did commit it to memory conscientiously, but on what an unge- nial soil it fell ! I think, to this day, that science is the dryest of intellectual chips, and for sorry quibblings, and self-evident propo- sitions, syllogisms are only equalled by legal instruments, for which, by the way, I have lately seen a call for reform. Spirits of Locke, and Brown, and Whewell, forgive me ! About this period I walked four miles a week to Boston to join a private class in French. The religious feeling was always powerful within me. I remem- ber, in girlhood, a passionate joy in lonely prayer, and a delicious elevation, when with upraised look, I trod my chamber floor, recit- ing or singing Watts's Sacred Lyrics. At sixteen I joined the Communion at the Episcopal Church in Cambridge. At the age of eighteen I made another sacrifice in dress to pur- chase a Bible with a margin sufficiently large to enable me to insert a commentary. To this object I devoted several months of study, transferring to its pages my deliberate convictions. I am glad to class myself with the few who first established the CAROLINE GILMAN. 55 Sabbath School and Benevolent Society at Watertown, and to say that I have endeavoured, under all circumstances, wherever my lot has fallen, to carry on the work of social love. * * * * At the age of sixteen I wrote " Jephthah's Rash Vow." I was gratified by the request of an introduction from Miss Hannah Adams, the erudite, the simple-minded, and gentle-mannered author of the History of Religions. After her warm expressions of praise for my verses, I said to her, " Oh, Miss Adams, how strange to hear a lady, who knows so much, admire me !" "My dear," replied she, with her little lisp, "my writings are merely compilations, Jephthah is your own." This incident is a specimen of her habitual humility. To show the change from that period, I will remark, that when I learned that my verses had been surreptitiously printed in a news- paper, I wept bitterly, and was as alarmed as if I had been detected in man's apparel. The next effusion of mine was "Jairus's Daughter," which I inserted, by request, in the North American Review, then a miscellany. A few years later I passed four winters at Savannah, and remember still vividly, the love and sympathy of that genial community. In 1819 I married Samuel Gilman, and came to Charleston, S. C, where he was ordained pastor of the Unitarian Church In 1832, I commenced editing the "Rose Bud," a hebdomadal, the first juvenile newspaper, if I mistake not, in the Union. Mrs. Child had led the way in her monthly miscellany, to my apprehen- sion the most perfect work that has ever appeared for youth. The " Rose Bud" gradually unfolded through seven volumes, taking the title of the " Southern Rose," and being the vehicle of some rich literature and valuable criticism. From this periodical I have reprinted, at various times, the following volumes : " Recollections of a New England Housekeeper ;" " Recollections 56 CAROLINE GIL MAN. of a Southern Matron;" "Ruth Raymond, or Love's Progress;" "Poetry of Travelling in the United States;" "Tales and Bal- lads;" "Verses of a Lifetime;" "Letters of Eliza Wilkinson, during the invasion of Charleston;" also, several volumes for youth, now collected in one, and recently republished, as "Mrs. Oilman's Gift Book." The "Poetry of Travelling," "Tales and Ballads," and " Eliza Wilkinson," are out of print. The " Oracles from the Poets," and "The Sibyl," which occupied me two years, are of later date. On the publication of the " Recollections of a New England Housekeeper," I received thanks and congratulations from every quarter, and I attribute its popularity to the fact that it was the first attempt, in that particular mode, to enter into the recesses of American homes and hearths, the first unveiling of what I may call the altar of the Lares in our cuisine. I feel proud to say that a chapter in that work was among the first heralds of the temperance movement, a cause to which I shall cheerfully give my later as well as earlier powers. My ambition has never been to write a novel; in the "Matron" and "Clarissa Packard" it will be seen that the story is a mere hinge for facts. After the publication of the "Poetry of Travelling," I opened to a notice in a review, and was greeted with, " This aflfectation will never do." It has amused me since to notice how "this aifecta- tion" has spread, until we have now the "Poetry of Teaching," and the " Poetry of Science." My only pride is in my books for children. I have never thought myself a poet, only a versifier ; but I know that I have learned the way to youthful hearts, and I think I have originated several styles of writing for them. While dwelling on the above sketch, I have discovered the difii- culty of autobiography, in the impossibility of referring to one's faults. Perchance were I to detail the personal mistakes and defi- ciencies of this long era, I might lose the sympathy which may have followed me thus far. I have purposely confined myself to my earlier recollections, CAROLINE GILMAN. 57 believing that my writings will be the best exponents of my views and experience. It would be wrong, however, for me not to allude, in passing, to one subject which has had a potent influence on my life, I refer to mesmerism or magnetic psychology. This seemingly mysterious agency, has given me relief when other human aid was hopeless, and I believe it is destined, when calmly investigated, to be, under Providence, a great remedial agent for mankind. My Heavenly Father has called me to varied trials of joy and sorrow. I trust they have all drawn me nearer to him. I have resided in Charleston thirty-one years, and shall probably make my final resting-place in the beautiful cemetery adjoining my husband's church — the church of my faith and my love. SARAH HALL. Mrs. Sarah Hall was born at Philadelphia, on the 30th of October, 1761. She was the daughter of the Rev. John Ewing, D. D., who was, for many years, Provost of the University of Pennsylvania, and Pastor of the First Presbyterian Church at Philadelphia. At the close of the revolutionary war, in the year 1782, she was mar- ried to Mr. John Hall, the son of a wealthy planter in Maryland, to which State they removed. Here she spent about eight years, upon a beautiful farm on the shores of the Susquehanna. After their residence in Maryland, they settled in Philadelphia, where Mr. Hall filled successively the offices of Secretary of the Land Office, and Marshal of the United States, for the district of Pennsylvania. Endowed by nature with an ardent and lively imagination, she early imbibed a keen relish for the beauties of polite literature, and devoted much time to such pursuits. When the Port Folio was established by Mr. Dennie in 1800, she was one of the literary circle with which he associated, and to whose pens that work was indebted for its celebrity. Elegant litera- ture was at that time more successfully cultivated in Philadelphia than in any other part of the Union. To write for the Port Folio was considered no small honour; and to be among the favoured correspondents of Mr. Dennie was a distinction of some value, where the competitors were so numerous, and so highly gifted; for among the writers for that work were a number of gentlemen, who have since filled the most exalted stations in the Federal government, both in the cabinet and on the bench, and who have, in various ways, reaped the highest rewards of patriotism and genius. Some of the most sprightly essays and pointed criticisms which appeared in this paper, at the time of its greatest popu- larity, were from the pen of Mrs. Hall. When the Port Folio came under the direction of her son, the late (58) SARAH HALL. 59 John E. Hall, who was its editor for more than ten years, she con- tinually aided him in his labours ; and her contributions may readily be distinguished, as well by their vivacity as the classic purity of their diction. She survived but a few months that son, her eldest, whom she had encouraged and assisted in his various literary labours for about twenty years. She studied the Scriptures with diligence, and with prayer — with all the humility of Christian zeal, and with all the scholar's thirst for acqui- sition. By such means, and with the aid of the best libraries of Phila- delphia, Mrs. Hall became as eminent for scholarship in this department of learning, as she was for wit, vivacity, and genius. Her " Conversa- tions on the Bible," a practical and useful book, which is now extensively known, affords ample testimony that her memory is entitled to this praise. This work is written with that ease and simplicity which belongs to true genius ; and contains a fund of information which could only have been collected by diligent research and mature thought. While engaged in this undertaking, she began the study of the Hebrew language, to enable herself to make the necessary critical researches, and is supposed to have made a considerable proficiency in the attainment of that dialect. When it is stated that she commenced the authorship of this work after she had passed the age of fifty, she being then the mother of eleven children, and that during her whole life she was eminently distinguished for her industry, economy, and exact attention to all the duties belonging to her station, as the head of a numerous family, it will be seen that she was no ordinary woman. In a letter to a literary lady in Scotland, written in 1821, Mrs. Hall makes the following remarks, which will be read with interest, as show- ing the change that has taken place in the last thirty years : — " Your flattering inquiry about my ' literary career' may be answered in a word — literature has no career in America. It is like wine, which, we are told, must cross the ocean to make it good. We are a business- doing, money-making people. And as for us poor females, the blessed tree of liberty has produced such an exuberant crop of bad servants, that we have no eye nor ear for anything but work. We are the most devoted wives, and mothers, and housekeepers, but every moment given to a book is stolen. The first edition of the ' Conversations' astonished me by its rapid sale ; for I declare to you, truly, that I promised myself nothing. Should the second do tolerably, I may perhaps be tempted to accede to the intimations of good-natured people, by continuing the history to the end of the Acts of the Apostles. Yet I found so much difficulty in the performance of the first part, having never written one hour without the interruption of company, or business, that I sent off my last sheet as peevishly as Johnson sent the Finis of his Dictionary to Miller, almost 60 SARAH HALL. vowing that I would never again touch a pen. In fact it is, as your friend says, ' She that would be a notable housewife, must be that thing only.'" Mrs. Hall died at Philadelphia, on the 8th of April, 1830, aged 69. A small volume containing selections from her miscellaneous writings, was published in Philadelphia, in 1833. This volume contains also an inter- esting sketch of her life, from which the present notice has been compiled. ON FASHION.* Most of you writers have leaped into the censor's throne without leave or license ; where you were no sooner seated, than, with the impudence one might expect from such conduct, you have railed, with all the severity of satire and indecency of invective, against our folly, frivolity, forwardness, fondness of dress, and so forth. You can't conceive what a latitude is assumed by the witlings of the day, from the encouragement of such pens as yours. Those well dressed young gentlemen who will lay awake whole nights in carving the fashion of a new doublet, and who will criticise Cooper without knowing whether Shakspeare wrote dramas or epic poems, these wiseacres, I say, saunter along Chestnut street, when the sun shines, and amuse themselves with sneers against our sex : and in nothing are we so much the object of their ridicule as in our devotion to fashion, on whose shrine, according to these modern peripatetics, we sacrifice our time, our understanding, and our health. We have freedom of the press, and freedom of religion, and why should we not enjoy a freedom of fashions ? What do these sapient gentlemen wish? Would they have a dress for females established by an act of the Assembly, as doctors of medicine have been created in Maryland ? " Which dress afore- said of the aforegoing figure, colour, materials, fashion, cut, make, &c., &c., all the good spinsters of Pennsylvania shall wear on all highdays and holydays, under pain, &c., &c." Horrible idea! — What ! tie us down to the dull routine of the same looks, the same bonnets, the same cloaks ? — take from us that charming diversity, that delightful variety, which blooms in endless succession from * Addressed to the editor of the Port Folio. SARAH HALL. 61 week to week, with the changes of the season — make us tedious to ourselves, and as unalterable and unattractable as an old family picture — or, what is equally out of the way and insipid, an old bachelor ? But some of you talk of simplicity of nature ; of the gewgaw display of artificial charms ; of deforming nature's works by the cumbrous and fantastical embellishments of art, and so forth. Now, sir, if you will pin the argument to this point, I shall have you in my power. Pray, is nature simple, barren, tedious, dull, uniform, and unadorned, as you old bachelors would have us to be, so that we might resemble your comfortless selves ? Look at the trees — are they all of the same colour ? Are they not so infinitely diversified in their shades and figures, that, to an observing eye, no two are alike ? Observe the flowers of the garden : do they exhibit the same sombre or pale hue ? Do they present that dull simplicity which you recommend to us, whom your gravest philoso- phers allow to be the handsomest beings in creation ? Do you prefer the dull uniformity of a trench of upright celery to the variegated bed of tulips ? What would you say of a project to reform nature by robbing the rose of its blushing red, the lily of its silver lustre, the tulip of its gorgeous streaks, the violet of its regal purple, and allowing the vale to be no longer embroidered with their various beauties ? or, of blotting from the clouds their golden streaks and dazzling silver, and banishing the gay rainbow from the heavens, because they are not of a uniform colour, but for ever present more varieties and combinations of beauties than our imagination can paint ? And shall not we, who, at least, pre- tended to have the use of reason, imitate nature ? Nature has given for our use the varied dyes of the mineral and vegetable world, which enables us almost to vie with her own splendid gild- ing. Nature made us to be various, changeable, inconstant, many- coloured, whimsical, fickle, and fond of show, if you please, and we follow nature with the greatest fidelity when, like her, we use her beauties to delight the eye, gratify the taste, and employ the mind in the harmonious varieties of colour and figure to which fashion resorts, and to which we devote so much time and thought. 62 SARAH HALL. Attend to these hints, and if you properly digest them, I have no doubt so sensible a head as you possess must nod assent to my doctrine, that to study fashion and be in the fashion is the most delightful and harmless employment upon earth, and the most con- formable to our nature. But if you should be so perverse as to think erroneously on this subject, I advise you to keep your obser- vations to yourselves, or to have your heads well wigged the next time you come amongst us. MARIA J. McINTOSH. One of the earliest clans in the Highlands of Scotland that won fame by Southron foray, was formed from the united families of Moy, Borlam, and Mcintosh, and bore the general title of " Clan Chatan." This family sided with the House of Stuart in its last bold struggle for power, and fought under its chief, Brigadier-General Mcintosh. With the defeat of the Royal family came the fall of their faithful adherents and the con- fiscation of their property, and with one hundred and thirty Highlanders William Mcintosh accompanied Oglethorpe's party, and settled on the Altamaha, in the district now called Georgia. The refugees carried with them their love for the fatherland, even to the names of its hills. They styled their frontier settlement New Inver- ness (since changed to Darien), and the county received, and still bears, the family title of Mcintosh. Colonel William Mcintosh, the son of the first settler of the new colony, fought as an officer in the French and Indian wars, and died leaving a son. Major Lachlan Mcintosh, who was the father of Miss Maria J. Mcintosh, the subject of the present sketch. By profession Major Mcintosh was a lawyer, but with the readiness that warlike times engender, at the first summons of danger he stepped from the legal arena to the higher joust of arms, and fought, with the enthusiastic bravery of a Georgian, through all our revolutionary war. After the establishment of peace, he married a lady of the name of Maxwell, and settled in the practice of his original profession at Sun- bury, Liberty county, in Georgia, where our author was born, and where she has spent the greater portion of her life. This place is a small village, most beautifully situated at the head of a bay or long arm of the sea. The house of Major Mcintosh, a stately old mansion, stood in the centre of the village, commanding a full view of the water, and was, for years, a general gathering place for the gentry of the State. The remembrance of the (63) 64 MAEIA J. McINTOSH. generous liospitality, the faithful adherents, the graceful society, and the luxuriant beauty of nature, that displayed itself in and around the family mansion, is still vivid in the mind of our author, and shows itself in the fervour and enthusiasm of her language whenever she writes of the land of her childhood. But the day-dreams of youth were doomed to a sad awakening. Miss Mcintosh, in 1835, after the death of both her parents, left her native place, to reside in New York, with her brother, James M. Mcintosh, of the U. S. Navy. With the change of residence came a change in the investment of her property. The whole of her ample fortune was vested in New York securities just previous to the commercial crisis of 1837, and the lady awoke from her life-dream of prosperity, in a strange city, totally bankrupt. By an almost universal dispensation of Providence, which ordains means of defence and support to the frailest formations of animal life, with the new station was granted a power of protection, of pleasure, and mainte- nance, unknown to the old. New feelings and powers came into life. Thoughts that before were scarcely formed, emotions that had never shaped themselves into expression, and ideas of the high and holy in life that had been hitherto unshapen dreams, suddenly attained a new growth. Hundreds of seeds that hung to the tree when all was sunshine, were shaken to the earth by the blast, watered by the storm, and sprung to a vigorous life, — until, at length, the very subject of misfortune blessed the evil that had been changed to a good. Two years after the loss of her property. Miss Mcintosh had completed her first work. It was a small volume, bearing the marks of a feeling, religious mind, and written in a pleasant, easy style, suitable for children, and bore the name of " Blind Alice." Few understand how sensitive is the anxiety of an author for his first work ; how he watches and criticises his dearest feelings when they are about to be made public property, and issued to the world. But how much greater must be this sensitive dread when the author is a woman, and a woman whose whole life and support are cast upon that one venture ? Miss Mcintosh had all these feelings to struggle with in their fullest strength, and, in addition, the delays and difficulty of obtaining the publication of a work by a new writer. For two years the manuscript of this little volume lay alternately on the table of the author and the desk of the publishers. At last, in Janu- ary, 1841, it was issued anonymously. Its success was complete ; and with renewed energy the author resumed her pen, and finished and pub- lished in the summer of the same year " Jessie G-raham," a work of similar size and character. " Florence Arnott," " Grace and Clara," and " Ellen Leslie," all of the same class and style, appeared successively, and at short intervals, the last being published in 1843. These works are generally known as "Aunt Kitty's Tales." They MARIA J. Mc IN TOSH. 65 •were received with constantly increasing favour, as the series proceeded, and, after its completion, were republished in England with equal suc- cess. They are simple talcs of American life, told in graceful and easy language, and conveying a moral of beauty and truthfulness that wins love at once for the fictitious character and the earnest writer. And many a girl, as she read of the charities of Harriet Arniand, of Florence Arnott, and O'Donnel's cabin, and the nameless Aunt Kitty, who wove a moral with every pleasure, a lesson with every pain, and yet so secretly that the moral could never be discerned until the tale was finished, has laid down the book and wondered involuntarily who Aunt Kitty was. In the year 1844, she published " Conquest and Self-Conquest." This work is a fiction of a more ambitious character than any of the pre- ceding. The hero of the tale is a midshipman. One portion of the plot is laid in the city of Washington, another at sea. It is then changed to New Orleans, and again to the piratical island of Barrataria, on the Mexican coast. Frederick Stanley, the hero of the story, is made to feel that constant self-restraint will win self-command, and that self-command will rule his own happiness and the minds of others. In the same year appeared another work, entitled " Woman an Enigma." It is an attempt to delineate, not moral principles that are well defined — not religious duties, that are more easily depicted, — but the ideal, impalpable, varied substance of woman's love. This seems to be a natural ground for a woman to walk upon, when she has passed the days of girlhood, and arrived at such a distance from the scenes of passion as to look back with a calm eye on the rush of early thoughts. The first scene in the book opens in a convent in France, where young Louise waits upon a dying friend, and the friend leaves her ward as an affianced bride to her brother the Marquis de Montrevel. The vow is duly made between the noble courtier and the trusting girl. Louise is then taken to Paris by her parents and introduced to fashionable life, with its gayeties and seductions, while the Marquis is absent on his estate. The new world of pleasure has no efi'ect on the novice, save so far as it stimulates her to excel, that she may the more be worthy of her hus- band's love. She mingles in the dance to acquire grace, in the soiree to learn the styles of fashionable life, and all for the sole purpose of being the better fitted to be the companion and wife of the high-born noble. But the absent lover hears of the brilliant life of his so lately timid girl, and, ignorant of the mighty power that impels her to the exertion, scorns the supposed fickleness that will give to the many that regard which he had hoped to have won exclusively for himself. Then follows the portion of the work which most perfectly pictures the author's ideas of womanly love. The earnest toil of the poor girl for the pittance of a smile that is rewarded by jealousy with a sneer; the pas- 9 66 MARIA J. Mcintosh. sionate pride of the wounded woman ; the stern sorrow of the man ; and the final separation, are all true to the instincts of that master feeling. In 1845 appeared " Praise and Principle," a fiction of the same size as the others just named. The hero of the story, Frank Derwent, is an American boy, and is introduced to the reader while at school. After graduating at college he studies law, and at last by energy and a steadfast adherence to truth and principle, attains a high position as a lawyer, and wins the hand of a fair client. The foil to this character is Charles Ellersby, a school companion of Frank, and a competitor in the world for the praise that Frank discards for the love of the dearer right. Frank wins an honourable name and a happy home, while Charles receives, as a bitter punishment, that curse of manhood, a fashionable wife, — and in a year is ruined. The whole work illustrates the character of the author, and her constant endeavour to write not so much for the entertaining powers of the tale, which is for a day, but for the inner life of the story, that is for all time. " The Cousins, a Tale for Children," appeared in the latter part of the same year. This is a small volume, originally written for the series of Aunt Kitty's Tales, and is the last work she has published anonymously. In 1847 was published " Two Lives, or To Seem and To Be," and with it the name of the author, who had heretofore been unknown. The suc- cess that it won may be estimated by the fact that it reached a seventh edition in less than four years from its publication. In 1848 appeared " Charms and Counter Charms," a work of greater size and power, and on the most complex plan of any yet written by our author, and received with so great favour that it is already in its sixth edition. Miss Mcintosh here treats of a subject that woman seldom attempts, and the bearing of the tale is mainly on this one point ; namely, the neces- sity of the marriage rite not only for the morality of the world, but for the morality, happiness, fidelity, and religion of any individual couple. Euston Hastings, the hero of the story, a man somewhat on the Byronic order, whom having seen you turn to watch, scarcely knowing why, wins and marries a young girl, Evelyn Beresford. But before the marriage, and after the engagement, he declares to the lady of his choice his so-called liberal views on the subject of religion. Not long after, Evelyn asks his views in regard to marriage. The man of the world replies — " I answer you with confidence, because I know such is your afl&nity with purity and truth that you will discover them though they appear in forms which conventionalism condemns ; and I tell you, without disguise, that I think marriage unnecessary to secure fidelity where there is love, and insufficient where there is not." The revelation of these foreign views does not, however, alienate the MARIA J. McINTOSH. 67 woman's heart, and Evelyn is soon bound to her husband by the same holy tie that he considers a conventional form. But Evelyn loves with an engrossing passion. With a strength of feel- ing that demands a constant return, and forgetting the hundred busy things that are calling a man's attention, she desires the whole time and the whole regard of her husband. This selfish, exclusive love, that engrosses the object when it submits, and is thrown into tears when it does not, produces the natural consequence on a man to whom perfect liberty is an accustomed right. He seeks for the regard from other per- sons, that he cannot receive from his wife without a corresponding degree of personal restraint. This course produces another result on Evelyn. She feels wounded and becomes reproachful. Instead of winning him by her charms, she calls him to her society by her rights, until at last Hastings leaves secretly for Europe, and is supposed to have fled with another lady. The blow falls fearfully heavy on one who had centred all her hopes on the dearly loved husband. Everything is forgotten but her mighty love, and she follows him abroad. A valet accompanying leads her to Rome, and she meets her husband. He is struck by her devotion and the wrongs he has inflicted. He provides her a house and every attention, and they reside together happy in the love which is at last acknowledged above every consideration. But it is on this express agreement, that Evelyn is not to be known as his wife, and that they are free to part whenever either of them may choose. Hastings has the liberty that he so dearly prizes, and Evelyn the lover that she regards more than all the world besides. It is in this curious relation that the power of the writer is shown. The most ultra case is taken upon which to build the argument for the holiness of the marriage vow. A couple are duly married, and the marriage is made public to all the world. They live together for a time as man and wife. They are then separated, and again come together, not on the strength of the marriage rite, but only on their mutual love. But does this new connexion produce the happiness to Evelyn that she desired? On the contrary, there is a sense of wrong in every pleasure. She looks at her own servants with shame ; and between her and every flower she touches, every kiss she receives, there seems springing up a consciousness of guilt. At length Hastings is taken ill, and lies unconscious and near to death. Evelyn watches by his side with tearful fidelity, and in agony unutterable attends him through the dark valley, and at length sees him recovering with feelings of joy and childlike happiness But during the course of this weary illness she is made to see the right way, even amid the darkness by which she had been surrounded ; aud, when Euston has entirely recovered his health, the young wife (though 68 MARIA J. McINTOSH. not bearing the name) flees from the land of beauty and the arms of her lover, in an agony of grief, leaving behind her a letter explaining her change of views and the cause of her departure. At last, in the heart of the sensualist, the crust of worldliness is broken up, and Euston Hastings, roused from the guilty selfishness of his life, leaves Rome to seek the wife who has become his all in the world. He finds her in Paris, and they are again united, not by any wavering passion, but by holy love and marriage, which gains a higher beauty from the bright faith and exquisite description of its able defender. This work, though a high-wrought tale of fiction, is really an exposition of a theory, and the reader frequently finds himself laying aside the book to think, Is that theory really so? and finds that, after the work is read, there is within the fabric of the tale, an inner temple of right and wrong j where are engraven principles that are pervading his memory equally, if not more constantly than the plot of the fiction. " Woman in America 3 Her "Work, and Her Reward," the next succeed- ing work in the order of publication, was issued in 1850. In this work, the author, apparently tired of teaching only through the medium of fiction, addresses herself to reasoning and argument. We read here the ideas of a religious woman, well acquainted with all grades of American society, in an earnest tone denouncing the servility of her sex to the rules of fashion and opinion, modelled not by the good and virtuous, but by the dissolute societies of Europe, and forms and customs made not after the model of a naturally honest, or even commonly virtuous ideal, but copied after the ever-changing, never true, leader of some dissolute or fastidious circle — it may be, of Paris, it may be of Saratoga. The only rule that seems never to have changed among this class of people iintil it is embodied in their social confession of faith, is " Money makes the man." Mahogany doors are closed to the gentleman-labourer, that are flung wide open to him when he becomes a millionaire. White arms are outstretched to the banker, that are folded in scorn to his approach when a bankrupt. The last work of Miss Mcintosh that has yet appeared is '' Evenings at Donaldson Manor," which was intended as a Christmas Guest, for the year 1850. It was a completion of tales that had appeared at different times in periodicals. This list of works includes all the writings of Miss Mcintosh, with the exception of numerous fugitive tales, published at various times in maga- zines. It will be obvious to every one familiar with Miss Mcintosh's writings, that she is a delineator entirely of mental life. The physical in man, in animals, and nature, is never used, except so far as is necessary to bring forward the mind and its virtues, desires, and principles. She has appa- rently excluded from her attention everything that did not absolutely belong to the moral life. MARIA' J. McINTOSH. (59 Evelyn and Euston live for a summer on the Tiber, but not the faintest tinge of the golden light, or the lowest breath of Roman air enters within their villa. Hubert Falconer builds a frontier cottage, but he never listens to the sighing pines, or treads the forest aisles. Mind, with its wayward creeds, can alone be seen in the Imperial City. Feelings right and wrong, and promises faithfully performed are more to Hubert than earth, air, and water, and the glorious gifts of Nature. Miss Mcintosh still further restricts herself in the' characters of her story, and selects only the common ones of practical life, as though anx- ious for the principle alone, and the fiction that would draw the reader off from the moral is discarded. In her quiet pages there never occurs the extreme either of character or passion. It is only the system of con- science — the rule of right — the law of God that is portrayed, and the more marked characters, or the more easily delineated beauties and feel- ings of life and nature are left with a rigid indifference to those whose design is to please more than to instruct. Yet the reader, when the book is closed, and he has gone to his daily labour, or mingles in social life, finds lingering in his brain, and warming in his heart, a true principle of honour and love that is constantly con- trasting itself with the hollow forms by which he is surrounded, and if he fails to bear himself up to that high ideal of principle which he feels to be true, he still walks a little nearer to his conscience and his God, and long after the volume is returned to the shelf and forgotten, a kindly benediction is given to the noble influence it incited. And thus will it be with the author that lives in the hearts and not in the fancy of her readers. And long after she is returned to the great library of the unforgotten dead, a blessing wide as her language, and fer- vent as devotion, will descend on the delineator of those lofty principles that showed the nobleness of simplicity, and the holiness of truth. The extract which follows is from " Woman in America." TWO PORTRAITS. Permit us, in illustration of our subject, to place before you a sketch of an American woman of fashion as she is and as she might be — as she must be to accomplish the task we would appoint her. Examine with a careful eye "the counterfeit presentment" of these two widely differing characters, and choose the model on which you will form yourselves. And first, by a few sti'okes of this magic wand — the pen — we will conjure within the charmed circle of your vision, the woman of fashion as she is. 70 MARIA J. McINTOSH. Flirtilla, — for so noted a character must not want a name, — may well be pronounced a favourite of nature and of fortune. To the first she owed a pleasing person and a mind which offered no unapt soil for cultivation ; by favour of the last, she was born the heiress to wealth and to those advantages which wealth unquestionably confers. Her childhood was carefully sequestered from all vulgar influences, and she was early taught, that to be a little lady was her highest possible attainment. At six years old she astonished the elite assembled in her father's halls, and even dazzled the larger assemblages of Saratoga by her grace in dancing and by the ease with which she conversed in French, which, as it was the language of her nursery attendants, had been a second mother-tongue to her. At the fashionable boarding-school, at which her education was, in common parlance, completed, she distanced all competitors for the prizes in modern languages, dancing, and music ; and acquired so much acquaintance with geography and history as would secure her from mistaking Prussia for Persia, or imagining that Lord Wellington had conquered Julius Caesar — in other words, so much knowledge of them as would guard her from betraying her igno- rance. To these acquirements she added a slight smattering of various natural sciences. All these accomplishments had nearly been lost to the world, by her forming an attachment for one of fine qualities, personal and mental, who was entirely destitute of fortune. From the fatal mistake of yielding to such an attachment she was preserved by a judicious mother, who placed before her in vivid contrast the commanding position in which she would be placed as the wife of Mr. A—, with his houses and lands, his bank stock and magnificent equipage ; and the mSdiocre station she would occupy as Mrs. B — , a station to which one of her aspiring mind could not readily succumb, even though she found herself there in company with one of the most interesting and agreeable of men. Relinquishing with a sigh the gratification of the last sentiment that bound her to nature and to rational life, she magnanimously sacrificed her inclinations to her sense of duty, and became Mrs. A — . From this time her course has been undisturbed by one faltering feeling, one wavering thought. She has visited London MAKIA J. McINTOSH. 71 and Paris, only that she might assure herself that her house pos- sessed all which was considered essential to a genteel establishment in the first, and that her toilette was the most recherche that could be obtained in the last. She laughs at the very idea of wearing anything made in America, and is exceedingly merry over the por- traitures of Yankee character and Yankee life occasionally to be met in the pages of foreign tourists, or to be seen personated in foreign theatres. She complains much of the promiscuous charac- ter of American society, dances in no set but her own, and, in order to secure her exclusiveness from contact with the common herd moves about from one point of fashionable life to another, attended by the same satellites, to whom she is the great centre of attraction. Her manners, like her dresses, are imported from Paris. She talks and laughs very loudly at all public places, lec- tures, concerts, and the like ; and has sometimes, even in the house of God, expressed audibly her assent with or dissent from the preacher, that she may prove herself entirely free from that shock- ingly American mauvaise honte, which she supposes to be all that keeps other women silent. Any gentleman desiring admission to her circle must produce authentic credentials that he has been abroad, must wear his mustaches after the latest Parisian cut, must interlard his bad English with worse French, and must be familiar with the names and histories of the latest ballet-dancers and opera- singers who have created a fever of excitement abroad. To foreign- ers she is particularly gracious, and nothing throws her into such a fervour of activity as the arrival in the country of an English Lord, a German Baron, or a French or Italian Count, To draw such a character within her circle she thinks no effort too great, no sacri- fice of feeling too humiliating. It may be objected that all our descriptions of the fashionable woman as she is, relates to externals ; that of the essential charac- ter, the inner life, we have, in truth, said nothing. But what can we do ? So far as we have yet been able to discover, this class is destitute of any inner life. Those who compose it live for the world and in the world. Home is with them only the place in which they receive visits. We acknowledge that few in our country 72 MARIAJ. McINTOSH, have yet attained to so perfect a development of fashionalDle cha- racter as we have here described; but to some it is already an attainment ; to many — we fear to most, young women of what are called the higher classes in our large cities — it is an aim. Nobler spirits there are, indeed, among us, of every age and every class, and from these we must choose our example of a woman of fashion as she should be. On her, too, we will bestow a name — a name associated with all gentle and benignant influences — the name of her who in her shaded retreats received of old the ruler of earth's proudest empire, that she might "Jsreathe off with the holy air" of her pure affection, "that dust o' the heart" caught from contact with coarser spirits. So have we dreamed of Egeria, and Egeria shall be the name of our heroine. Heroine indeed, for heroic must be her life. With eyes uplifted to a protecting Heaven, she must walk the narrow path of right, — a precipice on either hand, — never submitting, in her lowliness of soul, to the encroachments of the selfish, and eager, and clamorous crowd, — never bowing her own native nobility to the dictation of those whom the world styles great. "Resisting the proud, but giving grace unto the humble," if we may without irreverence appropriate to a mortal, words descriptive of Him whose unapproachable and glorious holiness we are exhorted to imitate. In society, Egeria is more desirous to please than to shine. Her associates are selected mainly for their personal qualities, and if she is peculiarly attentive and deferential to any class, it is to those unfortunates whom poverty, the accidents of birth, or the false arrangements of society, have divorced from a sphere for which their refinement of taste and manner and their intellectual cultivation had fitted them. Admission to her society is sought as a distinction, because it is known that it must be purchased by something more than a graceful address, a well-curled mustache, or the reputation of a travelled man. At her entertainments, you will often meet some whom you will meet nowhere else ; some promis- ing young artist, yet unknown to fame, — some who, once standing in the sunshine of fortune, were well known to many whose vision is too imperfect for the recognition of features over which adversity MARIA J. Mcintosh. 73 has thrown its shadow. The influence of Egeria is felt through the whole circle of her acquaintance; — she encourages the young to high aims and persevering efforts, — she brightens the fading light of the aged, but above all is she a blessing and a glory within her own home. Her husband cannot look on her — to borrow Longfel- low's beautiful thought — without "reading in the serene expression of her face, the Divine beatitude, 'Blessed are the pure in heart.' " Her children revere her as the earthly type of perfect love. They learn, even more from her example than her precept, that they are to live not to themselves, but to their fellow-creatures, and to God in them. She has so cultivated their taste for all which is beautiful and noble, that they cannot but desire to conform themselves to such models. She has taught them to love their country and devote themselves to its advancement — not because it excels all others, but because it is that to which God in his providence united them, and whose advancement and true interest they are bound to seek by all just and Christian methods. In a word, she has never forgotten that they are immortal and responsible beings, and this thought has reappeared in every impression she has stamped upon their minds. But it is her conduct towards those in a social position inferior to her own, which individualizes most strongly the character of Egeria. Remembering that there are none who may not, under our free institutions, attain to positions of influence and responsi- bility, she endeavours, in all her intercourse with them, to awaken their self-respect and desire for improvement, and she is ever ready to aid them in the attainment of that desire, and thus to fit them for the performance of those duties that may devolve on them. "Are you not afraid that Bridget will leave you, if, by your lessons, you fit her for some higher position?" asked a lady, on finding her teaching embroidery to a servant who had shown much aptitude for it. " If Bridget can advance her interest by leaving me, she shall have my cheerful consent to go. God forbid that I should stand in the way of good to any fellow-creature — above all, to one whom, 10 74 MARIA J. McINTOSH. by placing her under my temporary protection, he has made it especially my duty to serve," was her reply. In the general ignorance and vice of the population daily pour- ing into our country from foreign lands, Egeria finds new reason for activity, in the moral and intellectual advancement of all who are brought within her sphere of influence. Egeria has been accused of being ambitious for her children. "I am ambitious for them," she replies; "ambitious that they should occupy stations that may be as a vantage-ground from which to act for the public good." Notwithstanding this ambition, she has, to the astonishment of many in her own circle, consented that one of her sons should devote himself to mechanical pursuits. She was at first pitied for this, as a mortification to which she must certainly have been com- pelled, by her husband's singular notions, to submit. "You mistake," said Egeria, to one who delicately expressed this pity to her ; "my son's choice of a trade had my hearty con- currence. I was prepared for it by the whole bias of his mind from childhood. He will excel in the career he has chosen, I have no doubt ; for he has abilities equal to either of his brothers, and he loves the object to which he has devoted them. As a lawyer or physician he would, probably, have but added one to the number of mediocre practitioners who lounge through life with no higher aim than their own maintenance." "But then," it was objected, "he would' not have sacrificed his position in society." Egeria is human, and the sudden flush of indignation must have crimsoned the mother's brow at this ; and somewhat of scorn, we doubt not, was in the smile that curled her lip as she replied, "My son can afford to lose the acquaintance of those who cannot appre- ciate the true nobility and independence of spirit which have made him choose a position offering, as he believes, the highest means of development for his own peculiar powers, and the greatest probabi- lity, therefore, of his becoming useful to others." Our sketches are finished — imperfect sketches we acknowledge them. It would have been a labour of love to have rendered the MARIA J. McINTOSH. 75 last complete — to have followed the steps of Egeria — the Christian gentlewoman — through at least one day of her life ; to have shown her embellishing her social circle hj her graces of manner and charms of conversation, and to have accompanied her from the saloons which she thus adorned, to more humble abodes. In these abodes she was ever a welcome as well as an honoured guest, for she bore thither a respectful consideration for their inmates, which is a rarer and more coveted gift to the poor than any wealth can purchase. Having done this, we would have liked to glance at her in the tranquil evening of a life well spent, and to contrast her then with Flirtilla — old beyond the power of rouge, false teeth, and false hair, to disguise — still running through a round of pleasures that have ceased to charm, — regretting the past, dissatisfied with the present, and dreading the future, — alternately courting and abusing the world, which has grown weary of her. LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY. Justice has hardly been done to Mrs. Sigourney as a prose writer. She has been so long, and is so familiarly, quoted as a poet, that the public has in a measure forgotten that her indefatigable pen has sent forth almost a volume of prose yearly for more than a quarter of a century — that her prose works already issued number, in fact, twenty-five volumes, averaging more than two hundred pages each, and some of them having gone through not less than twenty editions. She has indeed produced no one work of a thrilling or startling character, wherewith to electrify the public mind. Her writings have been more like the dew than the light- ning. Yet the dew, it is well to remember, is not only one of the most beneficent, but one of the most powerful of nature's agents — far more potential in grand results than its brilliant rival. When account shall be made of the various agencies, moral and intellectual, that have moulded the American mind and heart during the first half of the nineteenth cen- tury, few names will be honoured with a larger credit than that of Lydia H. Sigourney. The maiden name of this most excellent woman was Lydia Howard Huntley. She was born in Norwich, Connecticut, September 1st, 1791, of Ezekiel and Sophia Huntley. Being an only child, she was nurtured with special care and tenderness. But, besides the ordinary parental influences, there was in her early history one circumstance of a peculiar character, which, according to the testimony of those who have known her best, contributed largely and most happily to the moulding of h-er mind and heart. I refer to the remarkable intimacy that existed between the gifted and brilliant young girl and an aged lady that lived for many years in the same house. Madam Jerusha Lathrop, the lady referred to, was the relict of Dr. Daniel Lathrop, and daughter of Joseph Talcot, one of the Provincial Grovernors of Connecticut. Madam Lathrop is reported to have been gifted by nature with strong (76) LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY. 77 powers of mmd, and a dignity of person and manners that commanded universal respect. Her character had been matured by intercourse with men of powerful intellect, and by participation in great and trying scenes. The parents of Mrs. Sigourney resided under the roof of Madam Lathrop, who had been bereft of her husband and children, and though the house- bold was separate, the latter manifested from the first a tender solicitude for their infant daughter. As the mind of the child began to unfold itself, and to give promise of future richness and depth, the attachment became mutual, and in a few years an enduring confidence, an almost inseparable companion- ship, was established between the little maiden of six and the venerable woman of eighty. The following glimpse into the chamber of Madam Lathrop is from one entirely conversant with the subject. For its substantial correctness as to fact, we are permitted to quote the authority of Mrs. Sigourney her- self. It is quoted, not only as a beautiful episode in human life, but also as affording a key to some of the most charming peculiarities of Mrs. Sigourney' s writings. " Methinks we stand upon that ancient threshold ; we enter those low- browed, but ample rooms ; we mark the wood-fire gleaming upon crimson 'moreen curtains, gilded clock, ebony-framed mirror, and polished wainscot; but what most engages our attention, is the venerable occupant and her youthful companion. There sits the lady in her large arm-chair, and the young friend beside her, with face upturned, and loving eyes fixed on that beaming countenance. We can imagine that we hear, in alternate notes, the quick, gushing voice of childhood, and the tremulous tones of age, as question and reply are freely interchanged. And now we are startled, as the tremulous voice unexpectedly- recovers strength and fulness, and breaks forth into some wild or pathetic melody — the ballad or patriotic stanza of former days. The young auditor listens with rapt delight, and now, as the scene changes, with light breath and glowing aspect, she sits attentive to the minute and lively details of some domestic tale of truth, or striking episode of our national history — treasuring up the diamond- dust, to be fused hereafter, by her genius, into pellucid gems. As night closes round, and the light from the two stately candlesticks glimmers through the room, the lady takes the cushioned seat in the corner, and the young inmate spreads out upon the table some well-kept, ancient book, often perused, yet never found wearisome ; and beguiles, with inces- sant reading, all too mature for her years, the long and lonely knitting hours of her aged friend." This glimpse into the parlour of Madam Lathrop is no fancy sketch. The evening was usually closed by the singing of devotional hymns, and the repetition, from memory, of favourite psalms, or choice specimens of serious verse. The readings were mostly of devotional works. Young's Night Thoughts stood highest upon the list, and had several 78 LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY. times been read aloud, from beginning to end, by the young student, at an age in which most children can scarcely read, intelligibly, the simplest verse. Other tomes, and some heavy and sorabrous, were also made fami- liar to her young mind, by repeated perusal ; but as the upper shelves of the lady's library contained some volumes of a lighter character, the curi- osity of childhood would render it pardonable, if now and then those shelves were furtively explored, or some old play or romance withdrawn, to be read by stealth in the solitary chamber. The chamber, to the young student, is a sacred precinct. There, not only is the evening problem and the morning recitation faithfully pre- pared for the school, and the borrowed book pored over in delightful secrecy, with no intrusive eye to note the smiles and tears and unconscious gesticulation, that respond to the moving incidents of the tale — but there, too, in silent and solitary hours, the light-footed muse slips in, and makes her earliest visits, leaving behind those first faintly dotted notes of music, which are for a long time bashfully kept concealed from every eye. Madam Lathrop watched with entire complacency the dawning genius of her young favourite. The simple, poetic effusion occasionally brought from that solitary chamber and timidly submitted to her inspection, was sure to be received with encouraging praise, and to kindle in the face of her aged friend that glow of approbation which was the highest reward that the imagination of the young aspirant had then conceived. The death of her venerable benefactress, which took place when she was fourteen years of age, was the first deep sorrow which her young heart had known. It was a disruption of very tender ties — the breaking up of a peculiar intimacy between youth and age, and she could not be easily solaced for the bereavement. Nor has her mind ever lost the influence of this early association. It has kept with her through life, and runs like a fine vein through all her writings. The memory, the image, the teachings of this sainted friend, seem to accompany her like an invisible presence, and wherever the scene may be, she turns aside to commune with her spirit, or to cast a fresh flower upon her grave. Mrs. Sigourney has been remarkable through life for the steadfastness of her friendships. Besides the venerable companion already commemo- rated, she became early in life very tenderly attached to one of her own age, whose history has become identified with her own. This was Anna Maria Hyde ; a young lady whose sterling worth and fine mental powers were graced and rendered winning by uncommon vivacity and sweetness of disposition, unaffected modesty, and varied acquirements. The friend- ship of these two young persons for each other was intimate and endearing. They were companions in long rural walks, they sat side by side at their studies, visited at each other's dwellings, read together, wrought the same needle-work pattern, or, with paint and pencil, shaded the same flower. The neighbours regarded them as inseparable ; the names of Hyde and LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY. 79 Huntley were wreathed together, and one was seldom mentioned without the other. Youthful friendships are, however, so common, and usually so transient, that this would scarcely demand notice, but for the strength of its foundation. It appeared to be based upon a mutual, strong desire to do good to others ; a fixed purpose to employ the talents which God had given them, for the benefit of the world upon which they had entered. In pursuance of this object, they not only addressed themselves to the assi- duous cultivation of their mental powers, but they engaged with alacrity in domestic aflfairs and household duties ; and they found time, also, to make garments for the poor, to instruct indigent children, to visit the old and infirm, read with them, and administer to their temporal comfort, and to watch with the sick and dying. Among the plans for future usefulness which these young friends revolved, none seemed so feasible, or so congenial to their tastes, as that of devoting themselves to the oflGice of instruction. This, therefore, they adopted as their province, their chosen sphere of action, and they reso- lutely kept this object in view, through the course of their education. The books they read, the studies they pursued, the accomplishments they sought, all had a reference to this main design. After qualifying them- selves to teach those English sciences which were considered necessary to the education of young females, together with the elements of the Latin tongue, they went to Hartford and spent the winter of 1810-11 princi- pally in attention to the ornamental branches, which were then in vogue. Returning from thence, they entered at once, at the age of nineteen, upon their grand pursuit. A class of young ladies in their native town gathered joyfully around them, and into this circle they cast not only the afiluence of their well stored minds, and the cheering inspiration of youthful zeal, but all the strength of their best and holiest principles. Animated, blooming, happy, linked affectionately arm in arm, they daily came in among their pupils, diffusing love and cheerfulness, as well as knowledge, and commanding the most grateful attention and respect. The cordial affection between these interesting young teachers was itself a most important lesson to their pupils. One of the privileged few, wri- ting after a lapse of forty years, thus testifies to the lasting impression it produced upon their young hearts. "Pleasant it is to review those dove- like days — to recall the lineaments of that diligent, earnest, mind-expand- ing group; and to note again the dissimilarity so beautifully harmonious, between those whom we delighted to call our sweet sister-teachers — the tivo inseparahJes, inimitdbles. It was a matter of admiration to the pupils, that such oneness of sentiment, opinion, and affection, should co-exist with such a diversity in feature, voice, eyes, expression, manner, and movement, as the two friends exhibited." After a pleasing association of two years, the young teachers parted, each to pursue the same line of occupation in a different sphere. But 80 LYDIA H. SIGOTJRNEY. another separation, fatal and afflictive, soon took place. The interesting and accomplished Miss Hyde was taken away in the midst of usefulness and promise — mowed down like a rose-tree in bloom, March 26th, 1816, at the age of twenty -four. Of this beloved companion of her youth, Mrs. Sigourney wrote an interesting memoir, soon after her decease ; and she again recurs to her with gushing tenderness, in the piece entitled " Home of an early friend," written nearly thirty years after the scene of bereave- ment. In flowing verse, and prose almost as harmonious as music, she has twined a lasting memorial of the worth of the departed, and of that tender friendship which was a marked incident in her own young life. Before the death of her friend, she had transferred her residence to Hartford, and again entered, with fresh enthusiasm, upon the task of instruction. In this path she was happy and successful ; it was regarded as a privilege to be received into her circle, and many of her pupils became life-long friends, strewing her subsequent pathway with flowers. In Hartford, she was at once received as a welcome and cherished inmate of the family of Madam Wadsworth, relict of Col. Jeremiah Wads- worth, whose mother was a Talcot, and nearly connected with the revered Madam Lathrop. The mansion-house in which Madam Wadsworth and the aged sisters of her husband dwelt, stood upon the spot now occupied by the Wadsworth Athenaeum. It was a spacious structure ; unadorned, but deeply interesting in its historic associations. To the young guest it seemed a consecrated roof, whose every room was peopled with images of the past J nor was her ear ever inattentive to those descriptive sketches of the heroic age of our country, with which its venerable inhabitants enli- vened the evening hours. The poem, "On the Removal of an Ancient Mansion," is a graphic delineation of the impressions made on her mind by her acquaintance with the threshold and hearth-stone of this fine old house, and her communion with its excellent inmates. Another member of the same family, Daniel Wadsworth, Esq., had always manifested a lively interest in her mental cultivation. He had known her in childhood, under the roof of Madam Lathrop, and had there seen some of her early effusions, both in prose and verse. At his earnest solicitation, she made a collection of her fugitive pieces, and under his patronage, and with his influence and liberality cast around her as a shield, she first ventured to appear before the public as an author. Mr. Wads- worth's regard for her suffered no diminution till his death, which took place in 1848. Few authors have found a friend so kind and so true. Of her affection for him and his amiable wife, her writings contain many proofs. Her Monody on the death of Mr. Wadsworth has the following noble stanza: — "Oh, friend! thou didst o'ermaster well The pride of wealth, and multiply LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY. 81 Good deeds not alone for the good word of men, But for Heaven's judging ken, And clear, omniscient eye, And surely where 'the just made perfect' dwell, Earth's voice of highest eulogy Is like the bubble of the far-ofif sea ; A sigh upon the grave Scarce moving the frail flowers that o'er its surface wave." "We have thus far glanced at the principal scenes and circumstances, which appear to have had an influence in forming the character of Mrs. Sigourney, and preparing her genius for flight. As Miss Huntley, she gave no works to the press except those to which allusion has been made, viz: "Moral Pieces in Prose and Verse," and a memoir of her friend, Miss Hyde. The " Sketch of Connecticut, forty years since," was, how- ever, one of her earliest productions, though not published until 1824. It is honourable to her sensibilities, that so large a portion of these works was prompted by the grateful feelings of the heart. Her later emanations are enriched with deeper trains of thought, and melodies of higher and more varied power, but these are the genuine outpourings of aff"ection — the first fruits of mind, bathed in the dew of life's morning, and laid upon the altar of gratitude. The marriage of Miss Huntley with Charles Sigourney, Esq., merchant of Hartford, took place at Norwich, June 16th, 1819. Mrs. Sigourney' s domestic life has been varied with frequent excur- sions and tours, which have rendered her familiar with the scenery and society of most parts of her own country, and in 1840, she went to Europe, and remained there nearly a year, visiting England, Scotland, and France. "Pleasant Memories of Pleasant Lands," published in 1843, and "Scenes in my Native Land," published in 1845, afi"ord sufiicient evidence that tra- velling has had a conspicuous agency in giving richness and variety to hcF productions. A personal stranger to Mrs, Sigourney, acquainted only with her varied literary pursuits and numerous writings, might be disposed to think that they occupied her whole time, and that she had accomplished little else in life. Such an assumption would be entirely at variance with the truth. The popular, but now somewhat stale notion, that female writers are, of course, negligent in personal costume, domestic thrift, and all those social offices which are woman's appropriate and beautiful sphere of action, can never prop its baseless and falling fabric with her example. She has sacrificed no womanly or household duty, no office of friendship or bene- volence for the society of the muses. That she is able to perform so much in so many varied departments of literature and social obligation, is owing to her diligence. She acquired in early life that lesson — simple, homely, but invaluable — to make the most of passing time. Hours are seeds of gold ; she has not sown them on the wind, but planted them in good ground, and the harvest is consequently a hundred fold. 11 ^ LVPTA n. SIGOURNEY. Authontio report informs Uf* that no one bettor Blls the arduous station of a New England houf-eiveeper, in all its various and complicated depart- ments. Nor are the calls of benevolence unheeded. Like that distin- gtiished philanthropist, from whom she derives her intermediate name, she is said to go about cluing good. Much of her time is devoted to the practi- cal, silent, unambitious duties of charity. Nor must we omit the crowning praise of all — the report of her humble, unooa.^ing, unpretending, untiring devotion. We may not conclude this brief review of the life of ISfrs. Sigourney, without allusion to a recent afflictive stroke of Providence, which has ovcr- ■^hadowed her path with a dark cloud, and almost bowed her spirit to the oarth with its weight. She was the mother of two children ; the young- est, an only son, had just arrived at the verge of manhood, when he was selected by the Destroying Angel as his own, and veiled from her sight.* A sorrow like this, ehe had never before known. Such a bereave- ment cannot take place and not leave desolation behind. Around this oarly-smitten one, the fond hopes of a mother's heart had clustered ; all tho.se hopes are extinguished; innumerable, tender sympathies are cut away ; the glowing expectations, nurtured for many years, are destroyed, and the cohl urn left in their place. But the Divine Hand knows how to remove branches from the tree without blighting it; and though crushed and wounded, the faith of the Christian sustains the bereaved parent. Her reply to a friend who sympathi/.ed in her affliction, will show both the •lopth of her sorrow, and the source of her consolation — "(Jod's time and will are beautiful, and through bursts of blinding tears I give him thanks." The amount of Mrs. Sigoumey's literary labours may be estimated from the following list of her publications, which is lx?lieved to be nearly complete. The works are all prose, and all 12mo., unless otherwise expressly staUxl : " Moral Pieces in Pro.se and Verse," 267 psiges, 1816; •• Biography and Writings of A. M. Hyde," 241 pp., 1816; «*Tniits of the Aborigines," a poem, 284 pp., 1822; "Sketch of Connecticut, forty years since," 280 pp., 1824; "Poems," 228 pp., 1827; "Biography of Females," 112 pp., small size, 1829; "Biography of Pious Pei*sons," :i38 pp., 1832, two editions the first year, now out of print, as are all the preceding volumes; " Evening Headings in History," 128 pp., 1883; "Let- ters to Voung Ladies," 20r) pp., 1838, twenty editions; "Memoirs of IHielw Hammond," 30 pp., 1833; "How to bo Happy," 120 pp.. 1833, two «ondon ; "Sketches," 210 pp., 1634; "Po«tryfor Children," 102 pp., small site, 1834; "Select Poems," l^i^ pp., 1^ > editions; "Tales and Essays forChild»x!n," 128 pp., 1834: " / ■ and other Poems," 300 pp., 1834; " His- tory of Marcus AureUos," 122 pp., 1835 ; " Olive Buds," 130 pp., 1830 ; • Aadr«w M. SSgottmty dl«d In Hartford, J«n«, 1850, «g«d nin«t«en jr