been since it had ceased to offend with obscenity. The paltry absurdities that had for long done service as "Inci, dents," and "mysteries," in novels; "the swarms of peers, foundlings, and seducers," she declined to re-use for the thousandth time. The traditionary villain, the traditionary victim of heartless debauchery, and all other traditionary characters and things, Miss Edgeworth determined to have nothing to do with, albeit they were from good and true originals of the best masters-only taken from copies of copies, that had been copied at hundredth hand. All the dusty stage properties, and all the rubbish and lumber that had accumulated during years, she discarded, and with new materials, the living human manners and interests she beheld around her, and by the guidance of her warm affections and clear sound intelligence, she resolved to make a new start. She was not highly imaginative, but she had poetic feeling, and earnestness, and a fund of healthy satire at her command. She took the world as she found it, perhaps from a somewhat too prosaic point of view, and in tales she tried to inculcate sentiments and principles suited to its inhabitants. That she was not hard, or cold, or forbidding, the tenderness and benevolence of her truthful descriptions declare; but perhaps it may be charged against her, that she had not a sufficiently exalted ideal, that she sought and admired the useful and expedient, rather than the beautiful and noble. Sir James Mackintosh at first enthusiastically extolled her writings, because they were useful, illustrating and enforcing the exercise of all the minor virtues, of which prudence is the parent. But in time he modified his opinion, and said that her excellence as a moralist, and a woman of genius, consisted in her scientific and powerful treatment of a class of virtues most difficult to handle-not most beneficial in themselves. Any how she performed her task in such a style, that she struck home to the hearts of all people sufficiently educated to be able to read her. Sir

Walter Scott the novelist may be regarded as the immediate offspring of her genius. It was in consequence of the deep impression made on him by the simple pathos and truth of her delineations of Irish character, that he determined to do the like for his own Scotland. In the composition of "Waverley," she was the model he set before his eyes, and while reading the chapters, as the work progressed, James Ballantyne found he most gratified the author, when he said, "Positively this is equal to Miss Edgeworth;" and when "Waverley " was published, Scott showed his gratitude to his instructress, by causing a copy to be sent to her, from "the author of Waverley," and though he kept in the letter the secret of the authorship, he permitted it in truth to be revealed to her. With all his failings of vanity, Scott was far above the pettiness of disliking to acknowledge the benefits he derived from the works of his contemporaries.

In private life Miss Edgeworth was not less charming and beloved, than she was as a writer. The glimpses obtained of her life at Edgeworthtown at two different periods, in Lockhart's account of Sir Walter Scott's visit to her in Ireland, and Mr. and Mrs. Hall's "Ireland,” make us feel as though we were personally known to her, and were individually indebted to her for that healthy freshness of thought, and serene cheerfulness she diffused around her domestic circle. In 1823, Sir Walter wrote of her, "she is full of fun and spirit; a little slight figure, very active in her motions, very good humoured, and full of enthusiasm." Again, in the same year, he wrote, "It is scarcely possible to say more of this very remarkable person, than that she not only completely answered, but exceeded the expectations which I had formed. I am particularly pleased with the naiveté, and good-humoured ardour of mind, which she unites with such formidable powers of acute observation. In external appearance she was quite the fairy of our

nursery tale—the, Whippity Stowrie, if you remember such a sprite, who came flying through the windows to work all sorts of marvels." And Byron, though in his journal he sneered at Mr. Edgeworth as a fine old fellow of a clarety, elderly, red complexion, and as a boisterous, vehement self-opiniated man, much disliked in London, altered his tone when speaking of her-though she didn't make love to him. "The fact was, everybody cared more about her. She was a nice little unassuming Jeannie Deans looking body,' as we Scotch say; and, if not handsome, certainly not ill-looking. Her conversation was as quiet as herself. One would never have guessed she could write her name; whereas her father talked, not as if he could write nothing else, but as if nothing else was worth writing."

CHAPTER III.

AMELIA OPIE.

It is only the other day that Amelia Opie left us, but she began her course in a time that few who are alive can remember, and was the friend of many celebrated men and women, who have long since committed their reputations to history or "tradition's simple tongue." She commenced life a brilliant wilful worldling, and ended it a demure Quakeress; as a girl she was the darling pet of revolutionary writers and extreme sceptics, and in her calm autumn found her chief excitement in religious meetings, and in keeping a journal of spiritual experiences. Still there was a singular unity in her career; from first to last she was a coquette, a buoyant hearted, mischief loving, but most amiable coquette; not less so at seventy years of age in the prim costume of her sect, than in girlhood when her vanity delighted in small bonnets, blue robes, satin slips, worked cambric gowns with flounces, and feathers flat and curled. She tasted love at sixteen-the date of her last attachment who shall tell?

She was born in Norwich, on the 12th of November, 1769, being the only child of Dr. James Alderson, the leading physician of that city, and a grand-daughter of the Rev. Mr. Alderson of Lowestoft, Suffolk. She was also first cousin of the late Sir E. H. Alderson, the much respected judge. On her mother's side she was of good extraction, for that lady's name was Briggs. The comical adventures of a member of this family, who is one of Mr. Punch's intimate friends, render it difficult for us to associate ideas of feudal dignity with the name; but not the less was Briggs the appellation of " an ancient and honourable family of Salle, in

Norfolk, who before the reign of Edward the First assumed the surname of De Ponte or Pontibus, i.e. at Brigge or Brigges; as the ancient family of Fountaines residing at the same place assumed theirs of De Fonte or Fontibus, much about the same time, one we presume dwelling by the bridge or bridges, the other by the springs or fountains' heads."

At an early period Amelia Opie lost her mother, and at an age when most children are still in the nursery she was made to preside at her father's table, and be the mistress of his house. Norwich was then the centre of a brilliant and highly intellectual society, the barristers of the Norfolk circuit so highly esteeming its beautiful women, and gifted men, that they looked forward to their periodical visits to it with no ordinary pleasure. It was very gay, and very republican; it was the hot-bed of balls, card parties, and revolutionary clubs; and at no house in the city was there better dancing, or better whist playing, or more favour to liberal politics than at Dr. Alderson's. The genial physician's only daughter too added not slightly to the attractions of his establishment; she was a bewitching, ravishing little beauty, with auburn hair, soft laughing eyes, petite figure, delicate features, lucid complexion, tiny hands and arms, thousand winning affectations, a merry heart, and a mischievous tongue. Her accomplishments would be esteemed considerable even in these days; for she was a tolerable linguist, a clever artist for a young lady, and she wrote tender and pathetic ballads, which she sung with the most exquisite feeling. She was admired, adored; and like a foolish girl formed an imprudent attachment which, like a wise one, she laid aside at the bidding of her friends. When Gibbon was ordered by his father to dismiss from his thoughts all sentimental care for the noble girl who won the poor prize of his cold affections, " after a painful struggle he yielded to his fate; he sighed as a lover, he obeyed as a son; his wound was insensibly healed by time, absence, and the