one of those women whose exalted
charms of person, character, and manners glorify their sex, fascinate
all beholders, and win the enthusiastic devotion of their associates.
She was the worthy grand-daughter of that noble Duchess Louise of
Saxe-Weimar, wife of Carl August, the friend of Goethe and Schiller,
of whom Napoleon said, "Behold a woman whom all my cannon cannot
frighten." Through the checkered scenes of her brilliant and
melancholy lot, her happy childhood; her dazzling nuptials; her
enviable married life; the terrible shock of her sudden widowhood;
the frightful scenes of the revolution, when, with her infant son by
her side, she confronted the levelled muskets of the infuriated mob,
and looked massacre in the face, without the ruffle of a feature; the
dismal days of exile, decline, and death, she bore herself with that
sweet dignity, that spotless purity, that ineffable and sublime grace
of wisdom and goodness which sometimes appear to lift the perfection
of womanhood so nearly to the prerogatives of an angel. She had many
friends of her own sex, who cherished an idolatrous affection for
her. One of these, the inseparable companion of her existence, has
anonymously written a sketch of her life and character, a most
charming and impressive tribute. This modest memoir instructively
suggests far more than it betrays. The writer says of her adorable
friend, "Life was interesting by her side. She captivated the
imagination of every one. I know no other woman with whom I could
converse for twelve hours together, without for an instant feeling
void or weariness. I feel as if I had always something to say to her;
for her interest never flags." It is singular that, of all the
multitude who desire to enchain their friends, so few ever learn to
practise the deep secret contained in this italicized clause, the
innocent secret of a self-abnegating heart of love.

Sarah Austin, one of the wisest and noblest women of England, formed
a reverential and ardent friendship for this matchless lady, in her
adversity. How profound, how sacred this attachment was, is proved by
the notice which, on the day the duchess died, Mrs. Austin wrote, and
sent to the press, blotted with tears; and also by the fuller sketch
she afterwards prefixed to her English translation of the life of the
duchess from its French original. "Her character was always
presenting itself in new and harmonious lights; her manners were
indescribably refined and w