in a manner that may be serviceable." From Allan Cunningham came the following enthusiastic eulogium of the same work (“The Lay of Marie"): "How could you suspect my admiration and love of poetry by apologizing for gratifying me with the perusal of a poem so full of fine feeling and fancy, beautiful description and imagery, impressive morality, and melting pathos?"

Without being able to echo the high praise just quoted, I have felt that much interest and some instruction might be afforded by some memorial of my aunt and god-mother, who was a "strong-minded" woman, and in her prime in the early part of this century, the intimate friend, moreover, of Charles and Mary Lamb, the Southeys, Mrs. Barbauld, and many other noteworthy personages of that epoch.

There was literature in the family.1 Her

The Bethams or De Bethams are an ancient Westmorland family (see Burn's "History of Westmorland " for

father, the Rev. William Betham, Rector of Stoke Lacy, compiled the voluminous "Genealogical Tables of the Sovereigns of the World," also the “ Baronetage of England," still to be found in libraries and on bookstalls; and her eldest brother, the late Sir William Betham, wrote many interesting and curious works on Irish archæology, "Etruria Celtica," "The Gael and the Cymri," also "The Parliamentary History of England," all of which still possess a real interest.

From a little girl brought up in an isolated

notice of the De Bethams of Betham), and in the little church of Betham, near Kendal, are the recumbent figures in stone of Sir Thomas De Betham and his wife, still in tolerable preservation, though dating from the reign of Richard III. For several hundred years the Bethams have been baptized and buried in Morland Church, some distance to the north of Betham; and though the manor of Betham has long since passed into other hands, small estates still remain in the family dating from that early period. The present writer is a daughter of the little Barbara mentioned in these pages, who afterwards married Mr. Edward Edwards, of Westerfield, near Ipswich, where she was born.

country parsonage, who at the age of fourteen read Tom Paine and set herself to answer his arguments seriatim, something remarkable might be expected. The promise of her youth, partly owing to domestic circumstances. and illness, and chiefly to the lack of educational opportunities then existing for women, was never fulfilled; yet Matilda Betham attempted and achieved much more than was usual in those days.

The story of her early life, as told by herself, has a touching interest for all who sympathize with that hunger and thirst of her sex after knowledge then so seldom encouraged, much less satisfied. She had no education beyond that afforded by her father's excellent library, and what teaching he found time to give her. She thus acquired a passionate love of history and anecdote, which, coupled with the marvellous memory she had inherited from him, made her conversation so delightful in old age.

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Many people have thought me naturally a singular and perhaps imprudent person because I rhymed and ventured into the world as an artist," she wrote; "but I belonged to a large family, and dreaded dependence. My mother's handsome fortune was lessened by the expense of a Chancery suit of eleven years' standing. My father's hopes of preferment were one by one disappointed by death and translation of bishops, and once by having delayed a request because he would not call about it on a Sunday. The destination of his children, therefore, became modified by existing circumstances. I was sent to school as a child to learn sewing, and to prevent my too strict application to books. In my visits to London, I had learned French. The desire of knowing Italian had been kindled by reading Hoole's Metastasio,' and I took advantage of an invitation to Cambridge to have a half

year's instruction from Agostino Isola, a delightful old man, who had been the preceptor of Gray the poet, of Pitt, and others." In those days women lived in terror of being held "blue," and she relates how "foolishly enough I felt it a disgrace to be thought learned, when somebody told a bishop, sitting next to me at dinner one day, that he must talk Greek to that young lady." She studied or rather taught herself miniature-painting, with a view to making it a profession, and had so much talent that her first efforts in that line were hailed as full of promise. But there were no art-schools for women, nothing to be had in the way of thorough teaching; and charming as many of these likenesses are, they often betray both inaccuracy of drawing and unscientific handling of colour.

Her friends one and all encouraged her aspirations, both literary and artistic. "I tell you," said one, "for the thousandth time,