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opinion of a work influenced a little by large type, broad margin, and a formal division into books, sections, and chapters.

We think this publication calculated to do more good than any work of the kind that has been written in this country for many years, and we trust the measures of congress will be in unison with the correct and liberal policy it advocates.

ART. VI.-On the Works of Miss Edgeworth;-and Memoirs of Richard Lovell Edgeworth, Esq.

Few writers have acquired more extensive popularity than Miss Edgeworth. This lady may be said to be the first who possessed courage to strip romance of the artificial and sickly sentiments, the bright but false colours, with which it had been loaded by depraved taste. It was a bold attempt in a youthful author to publish a novel which was the transcript of real life, heightened only by her own talent and humour; in which there were no miraculous escapes, inexplicable mysteries, or moonlight adventures; and where the heroes were men of mortal mould, and the heroines women whom we might claim as fellow beings. This, however, Miss Edgeworth dared to attempt; and from that period we may date a general reformation in novels, and the taste of novel readers.-To those sentimental writers, who sullied their pages with delusive views of life, and scenes of delirious passion, or feeble sensibility, she might truly have used the words of Prince Henry, "mark, how a plain tale shall put you down."

Miss Edgeworth's most distinguishing merits are close, accurate observation, and spirited delineation of character.— The every day scenes of common life, touched by her animated pen, become vivid and interesting. That she possesses true humour and refined wit, we need only cite, in illustration, her scenes among the Irish peasantry, and the inimitable "Lady Delacour." Another, and not the least of her merits, is the pure moralitythe ardent desire of proving useful-which breathes through all her works, and the chastened and healthful tone of mind they not only evince, but communicate to the reader. Her dialogues charm by their wit and spirit-her descriptions of humble life, by their accuracy and humour. We had rather, with Lord Colambre, have been entertained by his Irish tenants, than have feasted with all the crowned heads that were congregated in London.

But like all reformers, Miss Edgeworth has gone too far.

She has judiciously discarded the flummery of false sentiment; but she has not substituted the tenderness of deep feeling in its stead. She seldom rises to passion, scarce ever to the pathetic; and we meet with few of those sudden touches which come home to our bosoms. There is not, in all her works, one stroke to be compared to the scene in Waverley, where Baron Bradwardine accepts Edward as his son-in-law. She never surprises us into sympathy; and in her softest scenes there is an evident want of tenderness. We are aware that, in perusing these assertions, every reader will instantly recur to the affectionate old nurse in Ennui, and many instances of Irish devotedness; but these, though they please and interest us, go no farther. The "Modern Griselda" is, we think, one of her best productions. It is a gem in which no eye can detect a blemish; shining in the purity of wit, and the polish of fine writing. It seems to have been written at a single effort; in some happy humour of the mind, which would not permit the author to resign her pen till the task was completed. Of "Belinda" nothing is left to say. The avidity with which it was read, the rank it holds, and the innumerable imitations of its principal character, are sufficient proofs of its excellence. Who has not dwelt on and admired "Ennui ;" or triumphed over the manoeuvring Mrs. Beaumont ?

Those of her works which have been least spoken of have, probably, been the most useful. "Popular Tales" were an invaluable gift to society. While to the higher class of readers they afforded pleasure-to the middle ranks they offered wholesome amusement, and held characters to their view in whose feelings they could enter-whose motives they could appreciate and whose example the natural events of the narrative, as well as the truths they demonstrated, led them to copy.-That men should be rendered better by the influence of novels has been generally ridiculed. If it is allowed, however, that their effects are sometimes mischievous, it may be fairly granted that they may sometimes be beneficial. There are many who would turn from a moral work, or yawn over a serious essay, who peruse the same sentiment, adorned by the pen of Miss Edgeworth, with delight. No heart, however hardened, if it had not lost the impress of humanity, and the recollections of parental kindness, but would feel a glow of pleasure in reading the last scene in "The Contrast;" where the children of Frankland, being enabled by their industry to remove him from the almshouse, assemble round their aged but happy father, to conduct him in honest triumph to a comfortable home. His son throws away the badge coat with rapture, while one sister strokes her father's gray hair and the other ties on his neckcloth, that he may appear properly before their friends. Few persons ever rose from the perusal of "To-morrow" without re

solving against procrastination. It is true, that to resolve and to execute, are widely different, yet it is a great point gained, when one acknowledges a fault, and wishes to amend. It is sufficient compensation for an author's labours, if they have instilled one right feeling into their reader's mind:-Even if it be but a transient one, it may prove beneficial. An old author has quaintly said, "Evil thoughts are the devil's harbingers; for he lodgeth not but where they provide for his entertainment." Thus, one virtuous thought may introduce another, and though the seed lie long dormant, it may yet take root and blossom into beauty.

Miss Edgeworth was blessed with great advantages in possessing a father whose mind was of a superior order, and whose highest virtues were those all-essential ones in authorship, perseverance and application. Her obligations to her parent are feelingly acknowledged in her continuation of his memoirs.

Invention, it is said, is often overawed by criticism, and many writers have complained, perhaps with justice, of critics, who can never suggest any thing new, in the place of that to which they object. Mine was a critic of a different sort; one who knew well both the difficulties and pleasures of invention-one who, if he objected, knew how to remedy--who, even in assisting, knew how to give the writer all the pleasure of original composition. He left me always at full liberty to use or reject his hints, throwing new materials before me continually, with the profusion of genius and of affection. There was no danger of offending, or of disappointing him by not using what he offered. There was no vanity, no selfishness, to be managed with delicacy and deference; he had too much resource ever to adhere tenaciously to any one idea or invention. So far from it, he forgot his gifts almost as soon as he had made themthought the ideas were mine, if they appeared before him in any form in which he liked them; and if never used, he never missed, never thought of inquiring for them. Continually he supplied new observations on every passing occurrence, and awakened the attention with anecdotes of the living or the dead. His knowledge of the world, and all that he had had opportunities of seeing behind the. scenes in the drama of life, proved of inestimable service to me; all that I could not otherwise have known, was thus supplied in the best possible manner. Few female authors, perhaps none, have ever enjoyed such advantages, in a critic, friend, and father, united. Few have ever been blest in their own family with such able assistance, such powerful motive, such constant sympathy.'

We cannot be contented with noticing these memoirs only by a slight allusion,-especially as the criticisms we have seen have seemed to attend more to the character of the book than of the man of whom it treats. If to mark the operations of an uncommonly active and intelligent mind-to observe the events of a long, varied and useful life, be interesting, this work possesses

strong claims to attention. Mr. Edgeworth appears to have been a fine specimen of the Irish character; uniting great warmth of heart, vivacity of feeling, and most elastic spirits. He seems also to have had the utmost purity and singleness of heart; and it is, perhaps, this engaging quality, shining through all his actions, which gives a charm to the narrative. It is of little importance to the public to know the exact number of Mr. Edgeworth's children, or the qualifications of his numerous wives. But it is certainly interesting to learn how an intelligent father educated a family, to reap the fruit of his long experience and observation; and we confess we cannot sneer at the simple details of domestic happiness. Mr. Edgeworth goes very far into the former history of his ancestors, and relates several curious incidents which afforded hints for many scenes in his daughter's works. It is worth remarking, that while Miss Edgeworth interwove in her novels striking parts of characters, whom she had seen or heard of, she produced an excellent effect; but when she introduced romantic incidents which occurred in real life, she totally failed. In one instance she alludes to herself. The story of Virginia, in Belinda, though it made a dull episode in the novel, was interesting in the history of Mr. Day. Another instance, which she has not mentioned, but which is quite as pointed, is the discovery of a forgery, by the date of a sixpence placed under the seal. This incident, though rather a blot in Patronage, was a most important occurrence to one of her ancestors.-Mr. Edgeworth's account of his mother is extremely pleasing. There is something touching in the mild fortitude with which she bore her misfortunes, and in the influence which her gentle wisdom retained over the affections of a passionate boy.

The account of Mr. Edgeworth's first marriage, and the minute details of his domestic uneasiness, evince, in our opinion, a degree of indelicate, we might say, improper feeling. It was not desirable that the world should be informed of the imperfections of the first Mrs. Edgeworth; and, certainly, his estimable daughter might have been spared the knowledge of her mother's faults; faults which, had they been of more serious magnitude, that daughter's excellence should have shielded from exposure. When we look back upon the character even of an enemy, whose offences death has cancelled, and whose grave is covered by the sod of many years, we dwell with softened feelings on his faults, and rather turn to contemplate his virtues. How much more sacred, then, should be the tomb which protects the remains of a friend-who is silent and cannot answer the upbraider.

While residing in England Mr. Edgeworth devoted a great portion of his time to mechanical pursuits, a fondness for which he retained to the close of his life. The description of his inven

tions, and the curious adventures they occasioned, is very amusing. We extract one of them as a fair specimen.

As I am on the subject of carriages, I shall mention a sailing carriage, that I tried on this common. The carriage was light, steady, and ran with amazing velocity. One day, when I was preparing for a sail in it, with my friend and school-fellow, Mr. William Foster, my wheel-boat escaped from its moorings, just as we were going to step on board. With the utmost difficulty I overtook it, and as I saw three or four stage-coaches on the road, and feared that this sailing chariot might frighten their horses, I, at the hazard of my life, got into my carriage while it was under full sail, and then, at a favourable part of the road, I used the means I had of guiding it easily out of the way. But the sense of the mischief which must have ensued, if I had not succeeded in getting into the machine at the proper place, and stopping it at the right moment, was so strong, as to deter me from trying any more experiments on this carriage in such a dangerous place.

Such should never be attempted except on a large common, at a distance from a high road.'

Though these amusements excite a smile, they were the diversions of an intelligent and inquiring mind, and are entitled to respect: But there was one experiment he practised, which was more reprehensible than wasting time and money upon vehicles that could only "be used on a common." It was an experiment upon a human being—and that being his son.

After my return from Ireland, in 1765, when I established myself at Hare Hatch, I formed a strong desire to educate my son according to the system of Rousseau. His Emile had made a great impression upon my young mind, as it had done upon the imaginations of many, far my superiors in age and understanding. His work had then all the power of novelty, as well as all the charms of eloquence; and when I compared the many plausible ideas it contains, with the obvious deficiencies and absurdities, that I saw in the treatment of children in almost every family with which I was acquainted, I determined to make a fair trial of Rousseau's system. My wife complied with my wishes, and the body and mind of my son were to be left as much as possible to the education of nature and of accident. I was but twenty-three years old, when I formed this resolution; I steadily pursued it for several years, notwithstanding the opposition with which I was embarrassed by my friends and relations, and the ridicule by which I became immediately assailed on all quarters.

I dressed my son without stockings, with his arms bare, in a jacket and trowsers, such as are quite common at present, but which were at that time novel and extraordinary. I succeeded in making him remarkably hardy: I also succeeded in making him fearless of danger, and, what is more difficult, capable of bearing privation of every sort. He had all the virtues of a child bred in the hut of a savage,

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