ing years of her life in the
home of her adopted son Charles, now married, and a father; but it was
while she was on a little visit to her sister-in-law, Mrs. Aikin, that
the summons came, very swiftly and peacefully, as she sat in her chair
one day. Her nephew transcribed these, the last lines she ever wrote:--

'Who are you?'

'Do you not know me? have you not expected me?'

'Whither do you carry me?'

'Come with me and you shall know.'

'The way is dark.'

'It is well trodden.'

'Yes, in the forward track.'

'Come along.'

'Oh! shall I there see my beloved ones? Will they welcome me, and will
they know me? Oh, tell me, tell me; thou canst tell me.'

'Yes, but thou must come first.'

'Stop a little; keep thy hand off till thou hast told me.'

'I never wait.'

'Oh! shall I see the warm sun again in my cold grave?'

'Nothing is there that can feel the sun.'

'Oh, where then?'

'Come, I say.'

One may acknowledge the great progress which people have made since Mrs.
Barbauld's day in the practice of writing prose and poetry, in the art
of expressing upon paper the thoughts which are in most people's minds.
It is (to use a friend's simile) like playing upon the piano--everybody
now learns to play upon the piano, and it is certain that the modest
performances of the ladies of Mrs. Barbauld's time would scarcely meet
with the attention now, which they then received. But all the same, the
stock of true feeling, of real poetry, is not increased by the increased
volubility of our pens; and so when something comes to us that is real,
that is complete in pathos or in wisdom, we still acknowledge the gift,
and are grateful for it.

_MISS EDGEWORTH._

1767-1849.

'Exceeding wise, fairspoken, and persuading.'--_Hen. VIII._

EARLY DAYS.

I.

Few authoresses in these days can have enjoyed the ovations and
attentions which seem to have been considered the due of many of the
ladies distinguished at the end of the last century and the beginning of
this one. To read the accounts of the receptions and compliments which
fell to their lot may well fill later and lesser luminaries with envy.
Crowds opened to admit them, banquets spread themselves out before them,
lights were lighted up and flowers were scattered at their feet. Dukes,
editors, prime ministers, waited their convenience on their staircases;
whole theatres rose up _en masse_ to greet the gifted creatures of this
and that immortal trag