seen.

each other, their ridges clothed with pines, exhibited a stronger image of grandeur, than any that Emily had yet The sun had just sunk below the top of the mountain she was descending, whose long shadow stretched athwart the valley, but his sloping rays, shooting through an opening of the cliffs, touched with a yellow gloom the summits of the forests that hung upon the opposite steeps, and streamed in full splendour upon the towers and battlements of a castle that spread its extensive ramparts along the brow of a precipice above. The splendour of these illumined objects was heightened by the contrasted shade which involved the valley below."

In what fiction published before Mrs. Radcliffe's time, is there such a piece of description as the above? And who cannot recognise her peculiar touches of the brush in almost all the best novels of a subsequent date-in Scott's, Bulwer's, and James's?

Although Mrs. Radcliffe liberally employed what may be called "supernatural effects" in the construction of her romantic novels, she was original in her way of using them. Like Miss Reeve she felt that society would not endure the free and unfettered introduction of the materials of the old romance, and that the charge of extravagance and impossibility ought to be avoided even in the treatment of the extravagant and impossible. But not contented with keeping herself within the limits of SUB-supernaturalism, she introduced the plan of explaining away at the conclusion of the story all the marvels of the early chapters, and showing how all the miracles proceeded from simple and natural causes.

In 1834, Mrs. Radcliffe's poems were collected for the first time and published in two volumes 8vo. As a poetess she merits no praise, and much censure. Constrained and stilted immediately she tried to express herself in verse, she forms as remarkable an instance of a powerful and facile prose author (a most rythmical one, too) being unable to

compose a simple stanza, as Burns does of an unaffected and pathetic poet unable to write prose without immediately being guilty of affectation and pomposity. Perhaps Mrs. Radcliffe's least objectionable poem is that entitled " To the Nightingale," but in it she merely "echoes the conceit," made popular by Milton, and condemned by Coleridge, of the song of Philomel being melancholy.

CHAPTER II.

MARIA EDGEWORTH.

THE story of the greater and more eventful portion of Miss Edgeworth's life is told in the "Memoirs" of her father, begun by himself and concluded by her, a biography crammed with lively social sketches and valuable anecdotes, which it would be well for some publisher to put before the public in a cheap edition.

The Edgeworth family is an old one, having been originally established at Edgeware, Middlesex, and giving a name to or receiving one from that place. The stock was transplanted from England to Ireland in the reign of Elizabeth, when Edward and Francis (sons of Roger Edgeworth, a monk, who like his Master Henry the Eighth first wrote against the reformers, and then influenced by feminine charms exerted his abilities in pleading for them), under the patronage of Essex and Cecil emigrated to the emerald island.

The chronicles of the house of Edgeworth are amusing beyond description, so full are they of romantic occurrences and eccentric actions. Jane Edgeworth, the daughter of Sir Edmond Tuite, Knight of Sonna, Westmeath, wanted her husband to take out a baronet's patent, so that as "Lady Edgeworth" she might take place at church over some lady she deemed her inferior; her churlish husband refused to pay a large sum of money for so excellent a purpose, and, on her arguing and declaring she would never again go to church, told her she might stay at home or go wherever she pleased. The lady interpreted her lord's words literally, went off to Henrietta Maria in France, and

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remained in attendance on that Queen till her Majesty's death. Another Edgeworth, a captain, who was a boon companion of Charles the Second, and was knighted by that merriest, or rather most riotous, of sots, rendered himself illustrious by foolish extravagance with money. To furnish means for his pleasures in London, he raised a sum by mortgage on one of his estates, and kept the cash (till it was squandered) in a stocking at the top of his bed, he and his lady dipping their hands into the long purse without consulting each other. He was a well-looking fellow and passionately fond of dress, and positively, being without funds in his pocket, sold the ground plot of a house in Dublin for a high-crowned hat and feathers. Yet this man died rich; with years came prudence; he pushed his interest at court, held several lucrative posts, and on quitting the world left each of his eight sons a comfortable landed estate, and his widow a large jointure. The eldest son of this Sir John, Colonel Francis Edgeworth, was a wit, and a gambler. One night at a party he lost at play all the money he could command, and then going to his wife, who was with the ladies in an adjoining room, asked her for her ear-rings to stake. Like a good wife she lent them, and such fortune accompanied them, that he won back all he had lost. In gratitude to his wife he promised her with an oath never again to play with cards or dice. He doubtless intended to keep his word, for shortly afterwards he was found with a friend in the hay-yard, the two amusing themselves with drawing straws out of a rick, and betting on which should draw the longest. Now in possession of a coach and four, and now with scarce a wheelbarrow, this fine Irish gentleman "of the old school" tasted the extremes of coarse luxury and privation. He left his affairs in such disorder that his son well nigh lost all his estate, or rather failed to find it; but the counsels of a good guardian and some successful lawsuits eventually made him a

wealthy heir. One of these suits was rendered notable by the detection of a fraud. A witness, aged and of venerable aspect, was brought into court as the witness of a certain deed, the genuineness of which was disputed. The old man stated he had been a retainer of the Edgeworth family, and had been accustomed to transcribe papers for the gentleman who had executed the deed in question; and that foreseeing a dispute would arise and the deed be declared a forgery, he had put a sixpence under the seal, which would appear on the wax being broken. It was broken, and a sixpence was discovered, but it was dated five years subsequent to the date of the deed. This incident, it will be remembered, Miss Edgeworth made use of in one of her very best novels.

The winner of this suit married in 1732, Jane Lovell, a daughter of Sir Samuel Lovell, a Welsh Judge, a son of that Sir Salathiel Lovell, one of the Barons of the Exchequer, who, as Recorder of London, made himself conspicuous at the trial of the seven bishops. Sir Salathiel lived till he was ninety-four years of age, and sc far lost his memory that instead of recorder he was called the obliviscor of London. "Sir," said a pert young barrister pleading before him, "you have forgotten the law." "Young man," was the reply," I have forgotten more law than you will ever remember.” An equally good story is told of Samuel Lovell, the Welsh Judge. Travelling on circuit near Beaumorris, his coach was overtaken by the tide, and set fast in the sand. Higher and higher came the water, but the judge sat without moving. His registrar crept out of the coach through one of the windows to the driver's seat, two other attendants quitted the interior of the vehicle through the same or a similar aperture and clambered to the roof-top. But still the judge remained in stolid dignity with the water creeping higher and higher round his legs. His companions implored him to come out, and follow their advice and example. "I will follow," replied the lawyer,