this chapel; her monument is the History of her country. Yet surely in these days of testimonials to the dead and to the living, when statesmen

and warriors are "perpetuated in stone," it is scarcely too much to ask that one great and good woman may be thus commemorated, and so her example be extended and her influence more widely spread.

And behold what lustre the exercise of 'DUTIES bestows upon a WOMAN! The celebrity of her character has been purchased by the sacrifice of no feminine virtue, and her principles, conduct, and sentiments, equally well adapted to every condition of her sex, will in all be found the surest guides to peace, honour, and happiness.'

EDGEWORTHSTOWN.*

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ow often do we feel while gazing on a face upon which Time's iron pen is rapidly, and severely, inscribing and deepening the lines of age-how often do we feel that it would be a priceless privilege to lengthen a beloved life by the sacrifice of many of the years that seem promised to ourselves.

This very feeling, agonising though it be in its hopelessness, is a merciful preparation, enabling us all the better to endure a bereavement when it comes; we note the decreasing strength,

* I feel it a duty and a privilege to give some reminiscence of the venerable lady, who long permitted me the honour of calling her my friend. The opportunities I enjoyed of knowing Miss Edgeworth in her own home, the generous confidence she reposed in me, and the correspondence I have held with her, will I trust justify me in the desire to do honour to the memory of one I have so reverenced, and loved. I have heard from Mrs. Edgeworth, the widow of Miss Edgeworth's father (and heard it with regret in which all will participate,) that Miss Edgeworth had left a letter, to be delivered after death,' in which she requested that, no life might be written of her, and that none of her letters might be printed. But Mrs. Edgeworth does not express a wish that my respectful attachment to Miss Edgeworth shall not be recorded, and I recur with much satisfaction to a letter I received some five years ago from Miss Edgeworth, commenting upon the observations on Edgeworthstown and its inmates, necessarily introduced into our published work on "Ireland," in which she says, there is not a passage nor a word I should desire to erase.' I have therefore the belief, that to record a memory of this invaluable woman, as a beautiful example of domestic virtue, combined with the highest intellectual endowments, while it may gratify many and be useful to some, can be distasteful to no surviving member of a family, whose renown is a part of history, and who could have furnished the world, but for this interdict, with the most

the fluttering breath, and the increasing feebleness; and, it may be, perceive a small cloud over the mental powers-a forgetfulness of the present, while the memories of childhood continue fresh as ever; we observe these warnings with fears keenly awakened; but they are observed; and observed with natural dread, although suggestive of gratitude for long years of past enjoyment, sending us back to the treasure-house of our still green memory for the wealth created by the care, the protection, the unfathomable love of a dear parent, or almost as dear a friend. And if perchance we rebel against God for that He is about to call HOME the aged and true and faithful labourer in his vineyard, a still small whisper comes to us in our lonely watchings, in the quiet night season-reminding us that after a little more weariness we shall all be united, and there shall be one fold and one Shepherd;' the bitterness of sorrow passes, even as the harrow over the furrow, and we repeat, until the sweetness of consolation comes with the words; 'Lord, not my will, but thine be done!'

This preparation is elysium compared with the terror which fills the heart when a dearly beloved object is so unexpectedly stricken by the hand of death, that it is hardly possible to realise the event which you are told it was only natural to anticipate. Such is especially the case when the friend has not been seen for a long season.

Miss Edgeworth's letters came to us as usual, and betrayed no symptoms of decay; sometimes breathing a calm and Christian resignation to the ' removals,' which seemed all too rapidly to call from her domestic circle, many of those she loved; those sorrows she never dwelt upon, so that her correspondence was full to overflowing with life and hope, containing little hints as to the disposal of the future, mingled with glances at the past, in such loving harmony that we never thought of the years the writer had numbered or if we did, it was with pride, anticipating how many more it would still be given her to enjoy. We saw no change in the wellknown writing; it was as straight and firm as ever; we heard of no failing; and in our letters we had hoped and planned for the future, and said that

valuable correspondence of modern times. My readers will, I trust, pardon me if I am not always enabled to detach myself entirely from the theme concerning which I write ; and that they will also permit me to follow, without studied order or arrangement, my thoughts and feelings just as they occur to me in treating this subject.-A. M. H.

now the winter was gone, and the long days of summer at hand, we should meet again!

How vain are all human arrangements; we had forgotten that age as certainly brings death, as that the sparks fly heavenward! The bitter grief which overwhelmed us when we heard of the death of one so honoured and so dear as Miss Edgeworth had been to us from our youth up, cannot be considered as intrusive in these pages; thousands felt as we did, without having enjoyed the happiness of knowing her, as we have done; to such we may feel sure these brief memories of a woman to whom the actual world owes so much, cannot fail to be interesting.

She was full of vitality; unresting without being at all restless; she was tranquil, except when called into active thought or movement by somebody's want or whim; she was not too wise to minister even to the latter, and contrived not only to do everything it was necessary to do, but to do it at the exact time when it was most needed. To borrow a phrase of Lady Rachel Russell's, she was the most delicious friend' it was possible to have. She had abundance of sympathy, but it was tempered by a thoughtfulness that was sure to be of value to those who told her their wants and wishes; and her little impromptu lectures,-half earnest, half playful,-were positive blessings to those who knew the priceless integrity of her most truthful nature.

When stimulated by her example, which had been a light to us, as well as to thousands, and warmed by her enthusiasm, we ventured to creep into the path she had trodden so triumphantly before our birth, and sent her, with an author's pride, and a young author's trembling, the first edition of Sketches of Irish Character,' we received, within a week, an analysis of every 'Sketch,' accompanied by such full and hearty praise, mingled with invaluable criticism, urging us forward at the same time, and stimulating the desire we felt to make the Irish peasant more favourably known to England, while earnestly endeavouring to correct those faults in the Irish character, which we believed to be the result of unhappy circumstances, and careless, if not cruel, treatment.

This correspondence led to our personal acquaintance, and it is a melancholy pleasure to recal our first visit to her, at the house of her sister

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